The Third Day

Sirius Black was not in the Department of Mysteries. Beyond that, it got a bit more difficult to narrow down - it was certainly nowhere he'd ever been before. If he'd been asked to describe the place, he probably would have said, "Sort of dark, in a light kind of way." There were a lot of people around but it wasn't crowded, and they all seemed know exactly where they were going. Focused, like Remus, and in a different way like James - confident, like nothing could get in their way. Not that there was anything much to get in their way, he thought drily, noting the absence of, well, anything much. However, unlike the admirable focus of his friends, these guys were just creepy. For lack of anything else to do (a reason he seemed to use a lot, though less often these, post-Azkaban, days), Sirius followed.

After a while he saw a sign that said "Character Check-in". He stopped, staring at it for a moment as the crocodile-line of people flowed around him mindlessly. Forcing his eyes away, he did the only thing he could think of - kept walking. About fifty metres ahead was a small building, rather like a Muggle toll- or ticket-booth, and it was here that the line of people seemed to be heading. Merlin only knew there wasn't anywhere else. He followed curiously, waiting until he reached the counter before stopping again, in front of a bored looking woman who could have been anywhere from twenty to forty, handing out coloured plastic cards. "What is this place?" he asked.

She didn't answer, hardly paused in her work long enough to hand him a piece of pale blue paper. Taking it, he veered back through the line, walking beside them until he reached the sign. Sitting down with his back to the post, digging into the curve of his spine as he hunched over, he began to read.

'Thank you for completing your run as a character!' the flier declared. 'If you have received this letter there may have been a slight technical difficulty, but rest assured that any problems will be rectified as soon as possible. In the meantime, feel free to explore our premises and make use of our many facilities. Everything here at the Homer Retirement Village for Expired Characters has been designed with your comfort in mind.'

Sirius snorted softly, scrunching the piece of paper into a ball and tossing it away. A small voice told him that this all really ought to be...well...*surprising* him more, and that maybe the 'technical difficulties' were being resolved already.

He found he didn't entirely like that idea.

Using the sigh as a prop to pull himself up, he set off at a job to find the source of the ever-steady flow of people. There'd been an archway...or something...hadn't there? Narrowing his eyes, he spotted something standing tall ahead of him, and morphed into dog form to take advantage of his faster running speed. Yes! it was an archway, and he bounded closer to it, tongue lolling out as he panted, getting nearer, near enough to just spring off the ground and leap--

***

"Mum, we're only going to the cornerstore, not London!" Hermione, dressed warmly in Muggle clothing and feeling a mixture of amusement and embarrassment at her mother's concern and pandering, rolled her eyes at the boy standing next to her on the doorstep, and he smiled back.

It wasn't often that Hermione saw Harry Potter smile anymore, and she grinned back happily at the sight, feeling a rush in her stomach. He was staying with the Grangers for Christmas this year - normally he'd remain at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry for the holidays, but this year, his sixth, both the Grangers and the Weasleys (the family of their other best friend, Ron) had invited him to stay. Hermione rather thought he suspected the reason, that they didn't want him to be alone, or at Hogwarts, or in the house on Grimmauld Place that was the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix but now belonged to him, but he hadn't said anything and neither had she. It had been a tough decision for him, she knew, but he'd finally said that he'd hardly met Hermione's family, and chose to stay with them. Dumbledore had not been happy about it, considering the state of things, and Hermione rather suspected that he and Harry had had a few flaming rows on the matter - if any! thing, once the Headmaster began his objections Harry had only grown more stubborn. Finally Dumbledore had given in, but she didn't doubt that there were fully qualified wizards watching over them even now.

In an effort to prolong his lightening mood, she decided to play the role that Ron usually filled, grabbing his hand impulsively and impatiently and dragging him down the snow-covered path to the street. "Come on! Last one there buys the pies!" It seemed the sort of thing the boys did, usually while she watched with concern, but today she felt like nothing in the world could hurt them. Not even the tiny little voice in the back of her head that scolded at her when Harry and Ron started acting up like she was doing now with him, telling her that she was just a third wheel, just the one to turn to when they needed homework and brains.

Ignoring that voice, she tore off down the footpath, Harry easily making up for her headstart thanks to his longer legs and the natural speed that made him such a great Seeker. He'd pulled ahead of her before stopping suddenly, making her have to react quickly to prevent herself bumping into him. "What--?"

She broke off, spotting the big black dog sitting calmly in the snow in front of them, and she didn't need to look at Harry's face to know what he was thinking. "Harry...come on, it's just a stray..."

The young wizard nodded numbly, letting her take him by the elbow and steer him firmly past the mutt. As she passed, she realised that it did indeed bear an uncanny resemblance to Harry's dead godfather when he was in his Animagus form. The dog whined dolefully, standing up and shaking itself off before padding after them decisively.

"We haven't got anything for you. Shoo! Go on!"

"Leave it," Harry said woodenly. "He can follow us if he wants."

His voice sounded rough, and Hermione's eyes started filling with tears. For a few moments she'd almost had the old Harry back, and now... ~You're being childish,~ she scolded herself. Through supreme force of will, she didn't say anything as they entered the store, nor when she noticed Harry picking up an extra meat pie. The sight of the Muggle money, pence and pounds, intermingled with bronze Knuts and silver Sickles in his hand made her smile, though, and impulsively she pulled a little extra money out of her own pocket and bought a handful of candy canes to go with their snack, never minding what her parents would say.

Outside again, breath coming in fogged bursts and dampening the top of her red and gold scarf - Gryffindor colours - she waited as Harry lay the third pie on the ground on top of its packet, and scratched the stray behind the ear. "Sorry, dog," he said quietly. "You can't follow me. I'm going back to school tomorrow, and I already have Hedwig." The dog gazed at him for a long moment, its deep brown eyes looking almost intelligent, and then licked his hand and barked. Harry patted its head again, then allowed Hermione to lead him back down the road.

She searched desperately for a way to change the subject, to take his attention away from the dog and Sirius and the path she knew his thoughts would be taking, back to Cedric and his parents and Voldemort. Eventually she settled on Christmas, recent enough to be a novelty still, and Ron. "Do you think he'll like the books I sent him?" she asked, still hesitant over her choice of gift, but comfortable enough in the Trio's friendship that she didn't need to specify which 'he' she meant.

"Sure," Harry said, voice softening a little already. "He's almost as fascinated with that sort of thing as his dad, you know, he just doesn't admit it."

She nodded with a triumphant grin. "Well, we'll find out tomorrow morning, won't we? I can't wait to see him again! I wish I had a picture of the look on my parents' faces when they saw all the candy he sent us."

"We'd better start packing tonight."

He'd gone back to being non-committal, and she paused with her hand on the doorknob, looking at him sympathetically. "There's a lot of black dogs in Britain," she said, breaking her resolve not to mention it.

He shrugged briefly. "I know. I just... thanks."

She wasn't entirely sure what he was thanking her for, but she nodded just the same, letting them into the house and the warm.

***

In the car the next morning she wasn't entirely sure whether Harry seemed quieter than usual. It was getting harder to gauge, these days, even though (she didn't always like to admit) she did spend quite a lot of her time watching him. In truth she spent quite a lot of her time watching Ron as well; she had quietly termed them "her boys", though she'd never tell either of them that. Ever since they'd come running brazenly into the girls bathrooms to defend her from a mountain troll that was taller than both of them combined, with an IQ at least fifty points higher than the sum total of their useful spell knowledge (that was, zero), she'd felt a certain responsibility for them. It was obvious their *hearts* were in the right place. It was just a pity she couldn't say the same about their heads.

She watched him, now, for a good fifteen minutes, letting her mind drift and relax. They'd all grown up so much.

Her attention was caught when he shifted suddenly, tensing and staring out the window of the car at something. Almost as quickly he'd looked away, twisting in his seat and pulling a book out of his bag, but when she glanced out the rear window she thought she saw a flash of black. "I should have started this earlier," he commented quietly, and she returned her gaze to him. He was looking at his Potions textbook with an expression of disgust.

"I told you that over a week ago," she said primly, aware that he was deliberately drawing the focus of the conversation into relatively safe waters. As well as she knew him and Ron, they knew her just as well. "You'd better do it when we get there or you'll get detention."

"I'll do it. If I can borrow your notes." He turned pleading eyes to her, and she laughed, ignoring the small part of her that didn't need to say anything, but was only smirking malignantly.

***

Harry and Hermione arrived back at Hogwarts early the next day, before most of the other students. This suited Harry; leaving his friend in the common room, he bolted up to his dormitory with a muttered excuse about putting his things away, and drew the curtains around his bed with a hurried 'hi' tossed to Seamus and Dean, who were both already back. They were engrossed in their conversation, something about Quidditch and football, and Harry didn't bother to listen. He didn't want to.

At least he didn't remember his parents, he thought bitterly. Aside from snatches of words heard when he got too close to Dementors, and when he'd fought Voldemort fourth year, and they hadn't really counted had they? Echoes were not people. Sirius, though...

Lying down, staring at the roof, he closed his eyes, groping blindly under his pillow for a hard, rectangular object - a photo album. He just...held it, for a moment, feeling its weight on his chest, then tiredly propped it up and shifted so his head was angled where he could see it. He flicked idly through the pages, watching his parents laugh and wave, himself as a baby, crawling and grabbing things...why the photos were out of order, he didn't know, but for once he bypassed those images of a happy, innocent family, blissfully ignorant of what fate had in store for them.

When he found what he was looking for he rolled over, book open on his bed now. James and Lily were beaming at each other as their gathered friends cheered. His mother was a vision in white, auburn hair drawn up in some fancy do, her green eyes, which he had been assured were Just Like His, focused only on his father.

Sirius stood behind them, looking just as happy as the newly-pronounced Potters. He looked full of energy, like he was about to bound off into the fields and bark madly at the sky, chasing butterflies and his tail. From what Remus had told him about their days at school, he'd always been like that. Nothing could stop Sirius, except an innocuous looking archway.

~Didn't even get to see his body...~

He traced his finger lightly over the figure, then glanced around at the other gathered miniature people. Lupin, gazing up at the trio with an odd expression on his face from his seat next to Peter. Dumbledore and Hagrid, Professor McGonagall, looking less severe than usual. Within two years Harry would be born. A year after that they'd be dead, their best friend in jail, another left to fend for himself, and the last one living as a spineless rat in the pocket of a small red-haired boy.

Feeling a knot of slow-burning anger in his stomach, he closed the book firmly, staring at the cover as Dean and Seamus kept talking, oblivious to the emotions of the only other boy in the room.

Finally there was a disturbance on the stairs, twin pairs of feet rushing up, and he had time to stuff the album back under the pillow and sit up, cross-legged, before his curtains flew open and amber and hazel streaked in, bed rocking as a tall, lean shape landed on it unmercilessly, followed with slightly more decorum by a slighter one. He grinned, not having to fake it (much, a voice added treacherously) at his two best friends, the things that made Hogwarts most worth returning to. He'd always thought it was unfair that wards kept Ron and himself out of the girls' dormitories, but Hermione was free to enter theirs, especially since there were fewer residents in her room and thus it was that much more likely as a private place to talk. "You should see the sweater Mum knitted for me this year!" Ron groaned. "It's horrible, it is!"

Not a word about Harry choosing the Grangers over the Burrow, not a whit of ill-will. That was Ron. When he was jealous, he hardly suffered in silence, but it didn't happen often with things like this, between the three of them. "I got one too," he replied. Mrs Weasley's jumpers were legendary, and he'd been receiving them, just like any other of her sons (but without the shock of carrot hair), for years now. "Red. What colour's yours?"

"Puce. I dunno what she was thinking! Absolutely mental. Did you get the candy?" though of course he knew they had, had to know, even Pigwidgeon wasn't unreliable enough to give the parcel to the wrong recipient or leave it somewhere if he couldn't find them. But it was Sunday, and the first day back after Christmas, and everyone was excited and catching up with friends they hadn't seen in two weeks, and even the most stupidly rhetorical questions were forgiven.

Harry didn't know why, but in all the babble that followed throughout the day, talk of Quidditch practice and the upcoming match against Ravenclaw, presents and demonstrations, pissing contests about what they'd done on their holidays, he didn't tell Ron about the big dog he'd seen. He tried to tell himself it was nothing, but that did little to dispel the small ball of black guilt that appeared every time he kept something from his friends. Several times he noticed Hermione looking at him, worried or wondering, and eventually he moved to the window box, robes drawn tight around him to keep him warm this far from the fire, and opened a book in the pretence of doing homework. Christmas had not been an excuse for most of their teachers to lighten the load of work, particularly Snape. If anything he'd given them more, with a look on his face that just dared them to argue. After five and a half years experience of him, though, no one had.

Even if he had been trying to work, though, it would have been hard to concentrate with all the noise in the common room. Someone had let off some Filibuster's Wet-start Fireworks, and any time now McGonagall was going to come and shut them all up they were making that much noise. Even Hermione didn't seem to be trying to stop it, and Ginny was too busy avoiding Dean (their break-up had been very loud and very public, and for that matter very recent) to wield her own prefectorial powers. Ron was always useless at that sort of thing unless Hermione pushed him into it or there were Slytherins involved, and besides, he seemed to be having as much fun as everyone else.

Abandoning his book with a sigh, he twisted and stared blankly out the window. It had been months. He ought to be okay by now. And, he admitted, mostly he was. Just sometimes, moments were, it would all come back to him and it would be as hard as it had been right after, it would just take him by the throat and squeeze until he couldn't breathe and tears sprang to his eyes.

Hermione was supposed to be the one who cried for no reason.

Besides, there were better things to think about - Voldemort was still out there, and then there was schoolwork, and the Order, not that he was allowed to do much with it, and Quidditch. Filling his days was getting easier. And if sometimes, when he was flying on his Firebolt high above the pitch, gazing down at his teammates and studying their tactics to look for areas that could be improved, and he felt...well, a little guilty, for enjoying himself like that when Sirius was dead and Voldemort was getting stronger...

Turning from the window for a minute, he looked at the room behind him, at his friends, so many happy faces. They were enjoying themselves. Why shouldn't he? He'd never asked for all of this. If Neville could laugh when his parents sat in St Mungo's, if Ron and Ginny could immerse themselves in a game of wizarding chess when their father was at the Ministry, worrying about Death Eaters and keeping the Muggles happy, then maybe there was hope for him too.

He picked up the book again, blinking at the lines that stretched into each other on the page in front of him. Homework. It all felt a little surreal sometimes.

The words droned on, dancing with each other in his mind, and he wondered if you could learn by osmosis, just staring at the information until it soaked into your skin and up to your brain. It hadn't worked so far, but maybe, just maybe. Sighing, he looked out the window again. Likely he'd need to attend a full day of classes before getting back into the rhythm of things. He'd need the reality to hit him before he could comprehend the reality of school-work.

Outside the snow was trampled and dirty in places, clearly identifying the paths that criss-crossed the grounds; rucked up on fields, too, where students had had snowfights. The only place it was still pure was there, in front of the Whomping Willow. Most people kept their distance, and remembering the occasions he'd had the misfortune of getting close to it - the beginning of his second year, with Ron, and the end of their third, when he'd met Sirius and beaten off the Dementors - Harry knew exactly why. At least in the Muggle world trees didn't fight back.

Something moved, and he drew in a sharp breath, leaning closer to the window as though it would help him see better. His warm breath fogged it up slightly, but it didn't matter, he could still make out the dark shape that sat directly below the window, gazing upwards. Wiping at the condensation with his sleeve, he saw that his first impression had been correct. Below him, in the snow, looking for all the world as though it had every right to be there, was a large black dog.