Against the Tide

Standing in the Death Chamber, old memories flashed through Harry. It seemed utterly surreal to have returned to the scene of his total failure. Walking down the terraced benches, toward the pit of the room, where the veil fluttered in a non-existent breeze, Harry's memory played through the battle that had taken place the last time he had been in the Chamber.

Just there, Neville had caught the prophecy and placed it in his pocket, only to have his pocket tear. Harry could see the prophecy falling and breaking just there, a few steps down. The words had been lost in the rage of battle, but the memory remained. Other memories Harry had thought no longer remained became fresh: the valor of the Order members as they fought Death Eaters, the relief of Dumbledore's sudden appearance, the assurance that had swept over Harry when he'd arrived, the misery and disbelief of Sirius falling behind the veil.

Harry walked slowly as he and Ron reached the end of the steps. He hated this Chamber and every memory he had of it. At the time, it had been terrifying and terrible, the battle and the aftermath destroying Harry's confidence and judgment for such a long time. He and Neville, Hermione and Ginny, Ron and Luna, they had been only children, really. He realized that now, noting how different he was from the last time he had been in the Chamber. Harry recalled with shame the anger he had unleashed at Dumbledore after the Battle, his rage at being protected, guarded by omission. Almost smiling, Harry thought back to himself at fifteen, and understood Dumbledore's hesitation to destroy that simplicity.

But more importantly, Harry realized he had blamed himself for too long because of his own pain. Sirius had been gone, and Harry had missed him painfully. It was too easy to blame Voldemort, or Bellatrix Lestrange, Snape or Dumbledore. In the end, it had always been himself who was to blame for Sirius' death, because he had made a mistake. Looking back, Harry realized just had childish that seemed; accepting a bad mistake was one thing, but taking credit for a series of events that had begun before he had been born was certainly another. He wasn't a god, after all.

"Harry? Are you alright, then?" Ron asked hesitantly. Ron, with only vague memories of the Death Chamber, seemed muted all the same. It may have been the cold, damp air that permeated the pit of the Chamber. His eyes danced from the veil to Harry, watching carefully every flutter the veil made. "Does this seem right to you?"

"It seems the same, I suppose," Harry said, glancing about finally for any traps.

"I already checked," Ron said, indicating the perimeter of the dais. "You seemed occupied."

"Just realizing how much I hate this Chamber."

"Uh-huh," Ron said, walking up to the veil and poking it gently with his wand.

"Careful!" Harry cried fearfully, pulling Ron back. "Are you mad?" With a sick feeling in his stomach, Harry remembered the almost mesmerizing pull the veil had, as if beckoning to the living. Quietly, as before, Harry could hear the whispers beyond the cloth; this time, though, the sound was almost comforting. Yes, indeed, there was someone beyond the veil.

"Just curious, Harry. Relax. Now, how do you think this works?" Ron puzzled, stepping away from the arch as if he too remembered the pull of the veil.

"I'm not sure. I brought the two-way mirror Sirius gave me that Christmas. He said he'd always answer, but, I tried just after he died, and he didn't respond."

"Well, Harry, if you tried to contact me in my first few days in the afterworld, I might not get back to you right away, either. I might be a bit too busy getting used to being in the afterlife to be concerned."

"That makes a queer sort of sense, you know?" Harry said, recalling the feeling he'd had of having matured greatly in the last year and a half. He was older, more mature, and he would be patient this time. Why had he felt so sincerely that Sirius not responding immediately to his calls had been a definite sign of his death? If the afterlife was anything like Harry imagined it, friends who he loved and good cheer and happiness had surrounded Sirius. If Sirius had even noticed his cries, perhaps, in the afterlife, things seemed less important.

"Well, give it another go," Ron said. He glanced at his watched. "It's four-thirty in the morning. The workday starts at nine here at the Ministry, and even then, its doubtful any Unspeakables are working through the holidays." With that, Ron turned and stepped down off the dais, facing the entrance of the Chamber, wand drawn and face alert.

Taking a deep breath, Harry pulled the mirror from his pocket. He'd grabbed it quickly from his trunk, not looking into its face, but now, forced to concentrate on it, he brushed filth and crumbs off the glass. The mirror wasn't anything impressive, not really; the girls in his class would refuse to do their make-up by it, and it shaded half his reflection, so small the face. But this was his chance.

Glancing at the cold, crumbling archway that supported the unearthly veil, Harry could again hear the unintelligible whispers from beyond the veil. Suddenly wishing he and Ron had thought to bring Extendable Ears with them, Harry sighed deeply. He had one chance, and he was quite sure of that.

Hermione's warnings rang quietly in his ears. Sirius might not be the same after his time behind the veil. It wasn't as if he was simply holiday-making, as Ron seemed to make out. He was in the afterlife, and had to be different now. After all, Harry reasoned, he'd just realized how much he'd changed since Sirius had been gone. And those changes seemed natural; what if Sirius had changed in such a way that seemed normal to him, but to no one else. It wasn't as if after passing over into a different state of being one would remain the same.

But, in the pit of his stomach, Harry knew that this was his duty. Sirius had fallen through the veil after years in hiding, years in Azkaban, and years without his best friends. Whatever his changes, he at least deserved the chance to live a life.

"Harry, is it working?" Ron called softly from the bottom of the dais.

"Uh- I haven't tried yet," Harry said.

"Well, come on then. Not to rush you, Harry, but we haven't forever," Ron said matter-of-factly. "Besides, I'm hungry."

"Your always hungry, Ron." Harry returned his concentration to the mirror, and opened his mouth to speak only to shut it. "Uh, Ron. Would you mind guarding at the top of the steps instead?"

"Am I too far to cast a spell to the entrance?" Ron questioned, measuring the distance. Harry knew for certain that one could cast a spell from the dais and it would reach the top terrace without fail. It was doubtful that a room had been built in the Ministry which was too large to send a strong spell from one end to the other, but the possibility was enough to send Ron off to the steps, without Harry admitting that he wanted to be alone for this.

Ron positioned himself carefully at the back corner of the room, close enough to reach both the dais and the doors with a strong spell should it be necessary, and Harry turned back to face the veil. Mirror raised to his mouth, he spoke Sirius' name.

Nothing happened. Waiting patiently, promising not to give up, though his confidence was waning, Harry called again louder. Nothing happened. Slowly, though, his visage faded into nothingness. Again, Harry spoke Sirius' name, louder still, and gradually, teasingly, the sheen of the mirror changed from the dark backdrop of the Chamber to a blinding light. Once more, Harry called Sirius' name, and steadily, a face came into focus.

"Harry?"

**

Hermione wasn't happy to be woken by a tapping sound at her window. It was nearly five in the morning, and who would be trying to wake her? Grumpily flinging the covers of herself and reaching cautiously for her wand, she wrapped her robed around her and opened the window. She felt as if she had only just fallen into sleep, and realized that was probably the case. It had been an eventful day.

Gasping more at the freezing cold then the boy hovering on a broom mere feet below the window, Hermione was instantly awake. "What do you want, Draco?"

"To talk with you. Will you come down?"

"No, Draco. I've had quite enough of you, really." What a nerve he had, coming to see her after what he'd accomplished in the last few days. Engaged to Blaise Zabini and promised a fortune for the marriage, he thought he should pop over and see how Hermione was?

"Hermione, please," he whined. "I want to speak to you."

"Why? Blaise came to see me this afternoon. She explained everything, and I assured her I wasn't angry."

"You aren't angry?" Draco asked, puzzled.

"Don't sound so disappointed, Draco. I'm not angry with her. You, I'm furious with," Hermione said vehemently. "What happened to your face?"

"Your friend Weasley tried to kill me when I told him. Just trying to be honourable, you know."

"Well, you obviously didn't manage very well."

"Why, of course. Thank-you for pointing that out, Hermione. I had almost forgotten what it was about you that drove me mad."

"Good night, Draco," Hermione snapped, determined not to accept that tone. She hated that tone, the same one he had used when they were children and he was calling her horrid names. She hadn't accepted it then, and she certainly wasn't going to accept it now, after having had a relationship with the jerk. Would it have killed him to be upset over their break-up?

"Wait, Hermione. I don't mean it like that, really. I actually wanted to see how they were."

"How who are?" Hermione asked.

"Potter and Weasley. I didn't stay after the attack, but they were taken to the Ministry to be questioned."

"What attack?"

It took Draco only a few minutes to explain what had happened that evening. Relieved to hear no one had been hurt seriously, Hermione managed to Draco him to leave, on the condition that she'd see him on New Year's Eve for a few minutes. He wanted to talk, he claimed. Not caring what it was he felt he had to say, Hermione sank onto her bed in confusion.

Contrary to what Ron thought, her derision of prophecy was not a disbelief in fate. She was, after all, exposed to the mystical and amazing everyday. She was, after all, a witch. It went a bit beyond fate, she knew, but often she felt as if she were destined to have become Harry and Ron's friend. Merlin knew those two wouldn't have survived first year without her. But know, she had to accept the unreal possibility that fate had allowed them entrance to the Ministry of Magic.

While a strictly logical reading of the situation would suggest that it was happenstance that there should be an attack on Ron's brothers wedding which would cause the two to be escorted to the Ministry, just hours before they had planned to sneak in, Hermione credited herself with being a bit smarter than that.

But what do I do now? Hermione asked herself. Standing, she looked down and snorted at the question. She had, while pondering what to do, dressed herself without realizing it. Accepting her subconscious decision, feeling impetuous and a bit dangerous, Hermione wrapped her cloak about her and made the hasty choice to first check the Leaky Cauldron. Though she knew where the boys were, it made no sense to ignore the possibility that they had been escorted from the Ministry and into the safe arms of Mrs. Weasley.

She'd have to Apparate. Her parents were light sleepers, and had continued their childlike treatment of her. It was as if she couldn't do anything without their approval. This had been the first Christmas she had spent with her parents since first year, and she hadn't spent much time with them during the summers, either. Hermione knew that they probably saw her still as a young girl, but why on earth would they insist on accompanying her to the shopping centre, while she tried to purchase their gifts? She loved them, but they were driving her mad; there was no way she could let them know she was sneaking into the Ministry of Magic to help bring a convicted murderer back from the dead. It would not be conductive to a happy holiday.

But then, little seemed to be conductive of familial bliss at the moment. Her announcement that she would be studying at the Dragon's Keep had horrified her parents; they had thought she'd take a position in the Ministry and live at home with them. Hermione was sick of the arguments that her decision to continue her studies had created, but she found herself actually wanted to sequester herself away for a few years, and didn't really care for what reason.

Apparating into the Leaky Cauldron, she hesitated a moment at seeing not Tom, but Stephen Cornfoot manning the bar. She really wasn't interested in making polite conversation with Cornfoot after what he had done to Blaise. She may have just promised to marry Draco, but Blaise was a gentle, sweet girl, and Cornfoot had hurt her badly.

"Hello, Hermione," Cornfoot said sleepily. On second appraisal, Hermione almost wished she had the time to stay and laugh at the boy. His hasty decision to join the Auror College, only to quit that as well, obviously had not been conductive to his health. Late nights at the Leaky Cauldron, where he sat waiting to help a lodger or someone who needed entrance to Diagon Alley, was not a great job.

Ignoring the urge to mock, chalking it up to lack of sleep and nerves, Hermione smiled brightly. "Stephen, hello. I don't suppose you know which room Harry Potter's rented?"

"Er- sorry, Hermione. I can't tell you, really," Cornfoot said. "Besides, he never returned this evening."

"Yes, I know," Hermione said quickly; though her stomach lurched at the lie, she pressed on. "He's asked me to come and fetch something from his room. Between you and I, he had a bit too much fun this evening," she finished, winking conspiratorially.

Cornfoot grinned back. "No such thing as too much fun. 'Specially not for your lot, yeah?" he continued as he pulled out a registrar. Hermione grinned back at Cornfoot, truthfully this time- was she part of a wild crowd? She wished someone had told her. "Ah, here he is. Room 313. Need any help?"

"No, thanks. Happy Christmas, Stephen," Hermione waved as she took the key from his outstretched hand and dashed up the stairs. Finding Harry's room was no trouble, nor was getting inside. Once there, though, she hadn't any idea what to do.

"Breaking into the Department of Mysteries, and sneaking a fully-grown man out. What do you take with you?" Hermione passed to Harry's trunk and opened it. "Not dirty robes. Not filthy socks. Nor books or parchments, quills and ink..." A few minutes later, pleased with herself, she emerged down the stairs carrying a bulging book bag and returned Harry's spare key to Cornfoot. Stepping away from the bar, Hermione Apparated again to the Ministry buildings.

It was just six when she explained to the automated voice that she was visiting the Ministry Runes Library. She affected a panicked voice, which she continued when she met with the security guard at the desk.

"Bit early for study, isn't it?" the old man asked, scratching his head.

"No! I'm so behind on my revision as it is," Hermione insisted.

"Revision? Got a test the first day back?"

"No, my revision for my N.E.W.T.'s in June," she replied matter-of-factly.

"June?" Clearly horrified, the man passed her through, informing her that the Floo Network and the telephone service would be stopped at seven that morning. "New security methods, you know. No one can get in, or out, while we change our shift."

Stepping on to the lifts, Hermione first took lift to the fourth floor, where the library was actually stationed, before continuing down to the ninth. Seeing no one once she stepped off the lift, she walked straight to the spinning room, and asked for the Death Chamber. A door to her left swung open immediately, and Hermione stepped through.

"Hermione!" Ron's voice shouted as she stepped into the chamber, followed quickly by: "Duck!" A bolt of blue light shot by her left shoulder, and she gave a sharp squeak. Ron came bounding over. "What are you doing here? I thought you didn't approve?" Ron asked in a harsh whisper.

"Well, I didn't. But when I found out that you were brought here, I decided..." Hermione trailed off as she spotted Harry, kneeling on the dais that held the veil and arch. "Is it working?"

"Maybe," Ron whispered. "He's in some kind of deep concentration. I sneezed a few minutes ago, and he didn't look up. He didn't even move when the door opened and I launched that spell. I imagine he didn't hear me."

"Oh. That's good, I suppose."

"Haven't a clue, really," Ron said, yawning. "What's in the bag?"

"Well, officially, my Runes revision work..."

"Hermione! You didn't bring your revision with you, did you? Honestly, you need to get a grip!"

"Even you can't be that stupid, Ron," Hermione retorted, scowling. "It's Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Only, I needed an excuse to be coming here so early, didn't I?"

Ron glanced at his watch. "Six fifteen. Harry's been at it for almost two hours. I reckon to give him until seven, after then we'll have to give up for today. I'm really tired," he said, yawning again. "I don't suppose you brought any food?"

"I brought some chocolate from Harry's trunk, but it's for Sirius, just in case coming back from the after life is like being Demented."

"So, I guess that means I can't have any?"

Ignoring him, Hermione began down the tiers toward the pit of the room. Behind her, she heard Ron returning to the corner of the room. Harry was in profile from her vantage point, and she took in the scene. He looked nothing but a medieval monk deep in prayer with his black cloak on and his cowl thrown back, his lips moving smoothly, his eyes riveted on the veil in front of him. The mirror he held in his hands reflected a pale, white light onto his face, paling his skin. Stern, but with the faith of the devoted, Harry made a picture of perfect hope.

Her intention had been to sneak behind him and glance into the small mirror he held, but the vision of Harry as monk changed her mind. Instead, she sat on the bottom tier of the room, straining to hear what Harry said. She could hear the rhythm of his speech, as if it were a chant. Slowly, her ears became accustomed to the relative silence of the Chamber, and Harry's words came to her from the dais.

"Sirius Black, I, Harry Potter, call to you from beyond the veil. Follow my voice to return to the world where you belong. Reclaim your body and your life," Harry chanted quietly. "Sirius Black, I, Harry Potter, call to you from beyond the veil. Follow my voice to return to the world where you belong. Reclaim your body and your life."

Over and over Harry repeated the words, and Hermione sat, transfixed, in her mind seeing a man in meditation. So absorbed was she that Hermione did not notice the fluttering of the veil had become very strong until it was almost whipping about, as if in a storm. While the veil thrashed, the light reflected from the mirror Harry held gained a piercing quality. Tension, as if a storm truly brewed in the chamber, was thick in the suddenly warm air, waiting to crack and kindle.

Nervously, Hermione shifted off the stone tier and stood, wand at the ready. Glancing quickly at Ron, who seemed unable to pick his priority, Hermione motioned that she would cover Harry, and stepped to the edge of the dais. It was then that the two-way mirror Harry held shattered.

As if he didn't realize the mirror he held was splintered and destroyed, Harry continued to chant his dirge. The flapping of the veil was more unsettling from the dais, where Hermione could hear the whispers of those behind the veil. A whine of anxious whispers surrounded her, and Hermione could feel the hair on her neck prickle in dread. Steadily growing in volume, the voices became a rasping chorus. Deciding that she had been right to be wary, that this was definitely not a good idea, Hermione heaved herself onto the platform to bring it to an end.

Just then, the veil flew fully away from Harry and her, stiffly perpendicular to the arch, and gently fell back to its normal, fluttering position. Standing in front, wavering on his feet, was Sirius Black. Skeletal, haggard, filthy, and very real, Sirius stood unsteadily on shaking legs; his hair longer than ever and shot through with grey, his face obscured with beard until nothing but his eyes were recognizable as Sirius, his fingernails longer than any Hermione had ever seen, Sirius stood.

As if in slow motion, though, Sirius began to fall backwards, back towards the veil which had fluttered to place. Harry, still sitting on his knees, as if he'd been calling through the Floo Network, struck out his hands desperately to catch Sirius, but only fell to his side. Hermione reacted without thinking, pouncing onto the dais and grabbing Sirius by the waist. He weighs nothing, she thought, as they both toppled onto Harry's strewn body, thrashing about on the stones.

"Sirius?" Harry cried when he righted himself. "Oh, Sirius!" Grasping Sirius into an embrace, Harry began to cry.

"Harry?" whispered Sirius after a long moment. His voice was raw, his eyes squeezed shut against the low light, and his arms stiff so that it took several attempts to embrace Harry back. But he was clearly elated to be hugging Harry, and Hermione smiled in relief.

She let them hug for a moment before clearing her throat. "Very happy to have you back, Sirius, but we must plan an exit strategy," she said matter-of-factly; she was rewarded with a bear hug from Sirius.

"Hermione! I'm so happy to see you!" he said hoarsely, his eyes still shut. Hermione did not clarify that he wasn't, in fact, seeing her. "Should have known it would be you to get me out."

"Hey, she had nothing to do with it," Ron said crossly from behind them. He'd left his perch at the top of the stairs to gruffly hug Sirius. "Something about you being dead..."

"Not exactly true," Sirius said. "But an understandable assumption." Gently, he lowered himself down to the ground of the chamber, his eyes opened into slits. "I need a bit of help," he continued, indicating his finger and toe nails, grown out to impossible lengths.

Harry removed his wand and performed the necessary spells. "And, what's it like Sirius?" he asked. "What's the afterlife like?"

"Well, I was in a sort of limbo, I suppose, but it wasn't too bad. Saw your parents, Harry- and my own," Sirius continued with a shiver. Stretching and shaking out his legs one by one, he laughed. "Forgot how much I hated them. But it wasn't bad, really. How long was I gone for?"

"A year and a half," Hermione answered as she handed him the chocolate she'd brought. "Are you hungry?"

"Am I?" Sirius cried, snatching the bar away from her. "Mmm. Merlin, but this is fantastic. That's how I knew I hadn't just bonked my head on the ground and was hallucinating, or I wasn't in Azkaban. I wandered for days before coming across anyone I knew, but I was never hungry or thirsty. That's how I knew. Oh, dear..." Making terrible sounds, Sirius turned his face from the group and rid himself of the chocolate he'd been enjoying. "Really, Hermione, where was your warning?" he grinned when he turned back.

"Evanesco!" Hermione waved at the mess without actually looking. "Would you have listened?"

"No," Sirius said, pulling Harry into another hug. "You all look so different! Was it only a year and a half? That makes you all seventeen, yeah? Amazing! Ron, you need to shave. Harry, you've grown at least two inches. And Hermione! You've grown neither inches nor a beard. Congratulations!"

"Thanks for noticing," Hermione said tartly as she dug Harry's Invisibility Cloak from his bag. "Hope you don't mind I burglarized you, Harry, but I didn't expect you'd be totally prepared."

"No, don't mind," Harry said. "So, what's the exit strategy?"

"You don't have a plan?" Sirius asked. "Where's Dumbledore?"

"Uh, well, you see. About that..." Harry began, but stopped.

Sirius turned his squinting eyes on the three teenagers, this time with consideration. "Do you mean, Dumbledore doesn't know?" Three sets of eyes examined the stonework of the chamber floor. "Do you mean, you haven't any plan as to what to do now?" Three set of eyes remained on the floor. Sirius sighed and sat on the first step. "That's so impetuous of you. Yes, Ron, I can see that Hermione had nothing to do with this."

"We had to do it," Harry said, sitting next to Sirius. "Ron only just told me that he knew how to manage it yesterday. It's winter break right now, and we were going to spend time planning, except the Auror's brought us in after there was an attack on Percy's wedding."

It took a moment before Sirius spoke. "I'm not angry, Harry. I'm shocked that you managed this on your own. Many have tried, you know. No one could remember the last time it worked, but I knew you would manage. I knew it."

"How did you?" Hermione asked.

"Well, I didn't really know it. I just hoped irrational hope," he admitted. "It doesn't matter. Dumbledore will understand, in the end." Sirius said it with such certainty that no one spoke to contradict him. Of course, his idea of in the end might be a teensy bit different then ours, Hermione noted.

"So, its seven in the morning, exactly," Hermione said, glancing at her watch. "The guard shift is changing, so we can leave as a group. Where should we go? I think the Leaky Cauldron is out, as is The Burrow. And Hogwarts. And Grimmauld Place. And Headquarters." Mentally, she ticked a dozen places more off her list. "What does that leave us with?"

Ron gave a quick laugh. "Hey, Harry. Do you reckon your family would fancy a visit?"

**

As it happened, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon did not fancy a visit. Harry wasn't surprised, nor did he much care. After the ordeal of sneaking Sirius from the Ministry, under the Invisibility Cloak, passed the security guards, through the telephone box, Harry wasn't concerned by a bit of relative distress. Of course, the most trying part of sneaking from the Ministry was Harry's overbearing need to see Sirius every moment, to be reassured that he was, indeed, there. The Invisibility Cloak that had generously disguised three eleven-year-olds would not stretch to cover both Sirius and Harry.

Apparating from an alley beside the Ministry to the Dursley home was another challenge. Sirius had no wand, so Harry, Hermione and Ron had had to experiment to transport him. Hermione knew the method best- she had, of course, studied it strenuously for just such an occasion- and between herself and Sirius, the four managed to Apparate to Privet Drive without any splinching.

So it happened that Harry, Ron, Hermione and Sirius were in the kitchen at Number 4 when the homes occupants arrived for breakfast.

"Aah!" Aunt Petunia shrieked. "What are you doing here? In my kitchen!" She peered about the room as if they had destroyed it, but it was as pristine as they had found it. The only change was the smell of coffee permeating the room, and a few bits of slush tracked in from the outside that lay within inches of the grotesque welcome mat by the back door. Ron, with his innate ability to find and fix food, no matter where or when- a survival instinct for Ron, really- was standing by the range, the sausages and eggs just beginning to sizzle. As if in mockery of Aunt Petunia's outrage, toast popped merrily from the toaster.

"Out!" Uncle Vernon demanded, moving his body to cover Aunt Petunia and Dudley behind him. "You aren't to be coming 'round anymore. I won't have you treat my home as a flophouse for you and your freak friends."

Taking the tone he had developed especially for his relatives, Harry replied as if they had not spoken. "Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, have you met my godfather, Sirius Black?"

"Godfather? But, I thought..." Aunt Petunia trailed off, staring open-mouthed at Sirius. Her eyes closed briefly and fluttered open. "I though you were dead, Black."

"Yes, and no doubt were very happy to hear of my passing. Unfortunately, I was just... how did Ron put it? Indisposed?" Sirius grinned wolfishly. "However, I've made a complete recovery. Well, if you take into account that I'm quite likely to die of starvation."

Figuring that to a man who had eaten rats half cooked sausages were a delicacy when offered with coffee and toast, Ron placed two on a plate with a slice of toast. This time, Sirius made a more careful work of the meal. Eating slowly, while gulping coffee and water between bites, he kept talking.

"Your nephew and his friends discovered where I was and brought me back, Petunia. But, as so many people did believe me dead, we felt it best to come here, where no one would get upset and behave rashly."

"I'll give you rash," Uncle Vernon shouted, pulling Sirius from his chair and tossing him to the floor. Shouts rose up from Harry and Ron, while Hermione calmly pulled her wand and leveled it at Uncle Vernon.

"You'll not do that again, Dursley. Sirius, are you all right?" she asked evenly, never pulling her eyes from Uncle Vernon. Sirius made a small grunt and returned to his chair, muttering something about regaining his strength. "Now, then. Mrs. Dursley, perhaps you and your family would prefer breakfast out this morning?" Hermione suggested, pulling a wallet from her pocket and withdrawing several pound notes from it. "We aren't asking you to leave, but I promise, if you can return after noon, we'll be gone."

Uncle Vernon opened his mouth to shout again, but Aunt Petunia laid a hand on his arm and pushed him into the front hall, without taking Hermione's money. A few moments later, the front door closed, an engine started, and a vehicle peeled angrily down Privet Drive.

"How did you do that, Hermione? I've been trying to get them to leave me alone since I arrived as a child, and you manage it with ease," Harry said in amazement. He would have been piqued at any other time to see Hermione handle his impossible relatives with such ease, but he was in such a wonderful mood, he preferred to stand in awe.

"I just provided an alternative. Path of least resistance and all that," Hermione said, sitting heavily at the table and pulling a mug of coffee towards her. "So, does anyone have an idea of what to do next?"

"Well, if we could contact someone in the Order," Ron began as he brought eggs and sausages to the table, slapping Sirius's hand as it reached toward the pan. "One who isn't going to get nasty because we did something quasi-illegal..."

"So, not your parents. Or brothers. What about Tonks?" Hermione suggested. Sirius nodded in approval, but Ron interrupted.

"Spending Christmas at Hogwarts with Charlie, so she's out." Ron sat in thought. "What about Mundungus Fletcher?" Sirius let out a helpless laugh at that.

"I thought we were looking for someone useful?" he asked innocently.

"Point taken," Harry said. "What about Remus." The others looked at him stupidly for a moment. "What?"

"Sorry, Harry," Hermione said. "I'm just trying to think why I didn't think of that. He is the obvious person, isn't he?" Sirius nodded, smiling, his mouth curiously filled with toast.

"But how do we get a hold of him?" Ron asked, pulling the plate of toast away from Sirius and settling a huge stack on his own plate. "We haven't an owl, and the fireplace is stuck up."

Sirius swallowed. "Ring him. He has a telephone." The others looked at him in amazement. "Well, he lived in Muggle London for ever. Almost the entire time I was in Azkaban. Worked at a bookstore, if I remember. He was still working part-time there, when Grimmauld Place served as Headquarters, and kept up his little bedsit."

"A bookstore?" Hermione asked, as if this were more interesting than the idea of Remus living in the Muggle world with a telephone and a bedsit.

"An antique bookstore, dealing almost completely with moldy tomes. Remus was the resident expert. Paid badly, because he hadn't any qualifications or legal papers, but it paid."

"Do you have his number, so we can ring?" Harry asked, retrieving the console. Sirius shook his head, his mouth somehow full of toast again. Ron slapped him upside the head. "Information, then. Can't be many Remus Lupin's living in any city."

It took a few minutes before Harry listened to the ringing of Remus's telephone.

"Hello?" a deep, tired voice said on the other end.

"Remus? This is Harry."
"Harry! Wonderful to hear from you." A pause. "You aren't in any trouble, are you, Harry?"

"Well, yes, probably." Harry could feel a blush creeping up his throat. How could he do this? "Do you think you could come here? I'm at my Aunt and Uncle's house. Ron and Hermione are with me... and someone else."

"What's the matter, Harry?"

"Can you come, Remus?"

"One moment." The phone clicked into disuse, and a knock erupted from the back door, a lacy curtain obscuring the kitchen from the outside. Hermione jumped with a short gasp and dashed to the door. She opened it, and Remus Lupin entered. He stopped dead on the horrid welcome mat, and launched himself toward the table.

Harry, Hermione and Ron backed away from the two men. They'd been privy to this brotherly embrace once before, after nearly as impossible an ordeal, and the unrestrained joy of seeing each other again had the three feeling like intruders. Harry imagined that he would embrace Ron or Hermione in exactly the same way if he had thought them dead. Soon though, Remus threw Sirius from him and starting demanding answers.

The story came out much like a triumph, sitting around the Dursley's kitchen table, food and coffee and friends being enjoyed. Ron and Sirius were best, waving arms for dramatic effect, shuddering at the right moment, and trading off each other as if partners in crime. They reminded Harry of Fred and George, regaling a group with a wild bit of hooliganism. Professor Lupin ate with almost as much hunger as Sirius, though he managed not to laugh or talk with his mouth full.

"I had wondered. There was so little knowledge about the veil, no information surviving the Conquest of 1066. Very difficult to understand something when you haven't any idea what it is or why it exists at all."

"Yeah, very interesting, Moony. Apparently the answer was sitting in Hogwarts Library for hundreds of years. Now I ask, how did you fail to read that book?" Sirius asked with a grin. "You were just faking, weren't you, all those years?"

"I'm so ashamed," Lupin cried dramatically. "I should have admitted to being illiterate when I admitted to being a werewolf." The two men grinned at each other again before Lupin turned to Hermione. "Did you know of the book?"

"No. But really," Hermione asked, "what do we do now? We can't just take Sirius to Diagon Alley and wave our wands, have everyone forget that he's supposed to be dead."

"Indeed, no. Well, I suppose there isn't any help for it. We'll have to turn him in."

"No, you can't!" Hermione cried, horrified. "We haven't any idea how they would react."

"Hermione, please relax. I only meant that we shall have to tell Dumbledore."

"Oh." Hermione blushed a bit. "What do you think Headmaster Dumbledore will do? Will he punish us?"

Lupin considered this as he spread jam over a piece of toast. "Sirius, did you know that Ron and Hermione are Head Boy and Girl?" Sirius nodded congratulations. "That Hermione started a student newspaper which spurred a democratic movement, which has since become a fully-fledged anti-Fudge movement?" Sirius smiled. "That Ron and Harry are co-Captains of the Gryffindor Quidditch side?" Sirius smile grew broader. "That the three of them were instrumental in defending Hogwarts from a Death Eater attack that June?" At this, Sirius's smile disappeared and his eyes seem to bleed anger. "Yes. They attacked our school. But, did you know, Hermione has been Summoned to the Dragon's Keep? That Harry's been asked to take up first-string Seeker for Tutshill? That Ron's a budding Prophet, and..."

"Merlin, stop, Moony! That's a lot to take in," Sirius said, glancing at the three children at the table, maybe only just realizing that they were about to leave school and become adults. "I feel a bit dizzy."

"What was the point of all that, Professor?" Hermione asked, her mouth pursed in concern for Sirius, until she realized he wasn't actually going to swoon.

"The point, Hermione," Sirius answered for Lupin, "is that Dumbledore will not punish you. Besides, you didn't break Hogwarts rules, just Ministry rules. Likely Dumbledore will turn a blind eye to how I'm here, and focus on what to do next."

"But how do we contact Dumbledore?" Hermione asked.

"We don't. We go to him," Lupin said, standing and clearing the table with a wave of his wand. Both Ron and Sirius managed to snatch one last piece of toast before all disappeared. "Ready?"

**

The group Apparated to the outskirts of Hogsmeade, landing thigh deep in snow, and Sirius immediately changed into his Animagus form. Progress was slow over the icy trails past the village and onto Hogwarts grounds and conversation was muted. Ron was weary- more than tired, more than exhausted, he felt as if his very essence had bloated and threatened to escape his skin.

It was happening again. The film of prophecy that so often burst through his mind after an important event occurred had caught Ron by surprise. All he had seen prior to Sirius returning was an image of Harry recalling him, all he had felt was a general sense of rightness about the possibility; now, however, it was as if tomorrow had invaded his mind and would not be banished. Not just tomorrow, of course, but several different events, or possible events, which taunted Ron with their elusivity.

That Sirius returning to the living side of the veil should be a major event was not surprising. That one man's return should mean so much to fate was surprising. New possibilities were ramming each other out of Ron's mind just as soon as they were recognized. So many different options emerged, bang, bang, bang! It was startling, overwhelming, but more than anything, it was terrifyingly invigorating. Sirius's return could be the salvation of the wizarding world, if only it were handled properly. Ron knew this.

Slowly, the group had managed their way to the castle entrance. Knocking the snow off his boots, Ron pushed the huge doors open and held them for the others before following. Sirius, or rather Padfoot, let out a furious bark of happiness that echoed through the Entrance Hall. Shushing him, Hermione led the way up the stairs, only to be overtaking by Padfoot, madly wagging his tail in excitement. A grin broke out on Ron's face that was mirrored by the others.

When they reached Dumbledore's office, the gargoyle sprang away from the door without command, and the smiles vanished from Padfoot's entourage. Realizing that Dumbledore was expecting them, a simple conclusion considering the security around the grounds, the group assumed a more somber attitude as it reached the door to the Headmaster's office. It too swayed opened without impetus.

"So..." Dumbledore began as they crowded into the spacious, sun-dimpled room. He stood from his desk and walked toward them, pausing in front of Padfoot. "Surely, Sirius, you don't need an invitation?" Immediately, Padfoot disappeared and Sirius stood, a determined look on his face. Disbelief clearly shone on Dumbledore's face; his eyes lit like blue flame and a magnificent smile blossomed. Quickly controlled, Dumbledore sighed. "I should not be quite so pleased. Oh, Sirius," he said, a smile taking over the schooled look, "you've been nothing but trouble for me since your first day at Hogwarts."

"I'm sorry," Sirius said contritely, though his resolution was clear. "I don't mean to cause half the trouble I do."

"I know," Dumbledore said, patting Sirius on the back. "And I am not sorry at all. Welcome home, Sirius." After a few moments of staring at the resurrected man, Dumbledore clapped his hands and turned to the others. "It looks as if Sirius needs to recuperate, and I'm very sure Madame Pomfrey will be most interested in any ailments he may have. You others may wish to accompany him and congratulate Professor Gryffindor on the birth of a rather adorable baby girl. I'm willing to wait to learn how you accomplished this amazing feat." Ushering the group toward the door, Dumbledore asked Ron to remain behind.

"Please sit down, Ron," Dumbledore said, seating himself behind his desk. "Truly remarkable, young man. I am assuming, of course, that there is a grander plan at work. While I am very happy to see Sirius again, very happy that he may finally be able to live, I don't imagine this to have been a solitary act."

"No sir," Ron admitted. "I was standing guard while Harry brought him back. I wasn't looking at the veil, sir, but I knew the moment he had returned. So many visions came to me instantly. It was as if I had been blind for years and finally I could see again."

"Will these visions help to guide us through the duration, Mr. Weasley?"

"Yes. That is, I believe they will," Ron corrected. Dumbledore's relief was palpable, and Ron continued. "It's best though, Headmaster, that Sirius be accepted back. He cannot remain hidden. More than just unfair, hiding his return will restrict his ability to help in the resistance. It may also keep him from going stir crazy again."

"Well, it is a good thing that the pressure applied on Minister Fudge by the Hogwarts Hornblower and other groups has placed me in a position to make this possible. I'll leave immediately for London, but I shall return in time for dinner. Will Harry, Hermione and yourself be in the castle?"

"I think so," Ron said, suddenly realizing that he hadn't thought to contact his parents and let them know he was all right. They hadn't seen him after the attack on Percy's wedding. "I need to visit the Owlery."

"Why don't you use my Floo connection, and ask your father to meet me at the Ministry. Tell him I'll explain everything once he arrives, please." With that, Dumbledore disappeared through the door.

Ron's talk with his mother was not quite pleasant. Explaining to his Mum that he and Harry were at Hogwarts was the easiest part. Apparently, she'd been in a panic trying to find them; Ginny was angry with Harry, as they'd planned to have breakfast together. His quick talk with his father, when he relayed Dumbledore's message, was much more satisfying.

"Do you know why?" his Dad had asked.

"Yeah, I know. But Dumbledore said he'd explain when you arrived. I will tell you, though, Dad, that it's good news."

"Well, then get your head out of my fireplace so I can get to the Ministry."

Yawning and stretching, Ron made his way out of Dumbledore's office and toward the Hospitable Wing. The images in his mind were still in rapid succession, but they seemed less frightening then they had early. It finally looked as if the world might be saved.