The Summer of the Phoenix

Chapter 20

"Hedwig!" In three long strides, Sirius crossed to the table, and untied the letter she had brought. He opened it eagerly, and began to read, stroking the faithful owl's white feathers absent-mindedly with his left hand.

To his surprise, the letter wasn't from Harry, but in a very neat and tidy handwriting Sirius had never seen before.

"Dear Snuffles," it read, "Hedwig arrived here last night, but as we've still got Pig, we thought we'd send her on to you, in case you've got a message for her owner. Bill told us that people liked your story, and we're really happy about it for you. Fred and George keep brandishing their new Apparating licences under everyone's nose. They're still popping up all over the place just to show off, you'd think they're getting paid for it. Mrs W. says prepare for an invasion soon. We really hope it won't be too bad for you. Best wishes."

The letter was signed, as neatly as it was written, "Hermione", and underneath there was an untidy scrawl that was only just discernible as "and Ron" if you knew what to look for.

Prepare for an invasion, Sirius thought, smiling to himself. He had never met Ron's and Bill's other brothers and sister, but if Ron and Bill were anything to go by, it would be the most cheerful and welcome invasion of his house that he could imagine. "We really hope it won't be too bad for you," honestly, what were they thinking? What could possibly be better?

Better, the familiar little voice said in Sirius's head, would be a letter that actually contained some real information. This one didn't even say when they'd be arriving, nor did it say anything about the reason why the Weasley family were moving into Headquarters in the first place. Sirius felt his spirits sink. It was very nice of his young friends to write to him, it was exactly what Hermione would do, but Fred and George passing their Apparation test was not really the kind of news he'd been waiting for.

But then - was it a coincidence that Hedwig had turned up at exactly the moment when he desperately needed to get in touch with his friends in the world outside? He picked up the letter again. "Hedwig arrived here last night, but as we've still got Pig, we thought we'd send her on to you." Sirius was thankful to Pig, who- or whatever he was, for leaving Hedwig free to carry his own post. He looked thoughtfully at the snowy owl, which was still hooting softly. What if he just sent her out to Lupin, or to Moody, or Tonks, or anyone, and ask for news? Maybe that was exactly why the Weasleys had sent her to him in the first place?

He turned back to the letter. "In case you've got a message for her owner," it read. It didn't say "in case you've got a message for anyone". And they were right, Sirius thought resignedly. Hedwig was a rare kind of owl, she attracted a great deal of attention, and and many people knew she was Harry's. Whatever message she'd be carrying would inevitably be linked to Harry if it fell into the wrong hands. Sirius couldn't risk that - he might disagree with Molly Weasley that underage wizards like Harry and her own children weren't able to understand what involvement in the Order meant, but as long as they hadn't even been given the chance to understand, he had no right to drag Harry into this. You're his godfather, for heaven's sake, Sirius told himself. It's your duty to keep Harry out of trouble, not to land him in more.

He went to find ink and parchment, sat down at the table, swept his long hair out of his eyes and began to write.

"Dear Harry," he wrote, and paused again. His godson's face was still fresh in his mind. The last time he had seen him, less than a month ago, Harry had been in bed in the hospital wing at school, his face as white as the sheets, his lightning-bolt shaped scar burning on his forehead, and his eyes, Lily's eyes, so blank and empty with shock it had hurt Sirius's heart. He had looked so young then, so young and vulnerable, much younger than a boy of fourteen. He had escaped another confrontation with Voldemort, escaped alive - but he had certainly not escaped unscathed. Nobody who ever strayed across Voldemort's path escaped unscathed. And Harry hadn't just accidentally strayed across Voldemort's path either - the one who had, Harry's fellow student, had been killed in a mere afterthought. Harry had faced Voldemort with his wand in his hand like a grown man, rather than a boy of fourteen.

And there had always been more to Harry than met the eye, Sirius remembered. He recalled the first time he had seen Harry again since he'd been a baby in Lily Potter's arms, a night in June last year, in the Shrieking Shack on the edge of Hogsmeade. It had been an absurd scene: Sirius himself filthy and ragged after being on the run for months, certainly not a sight to invite anyone's trust or sympathy; Ron with his broken leg (Sirius realised guiltily that he'd never properly apologised for that) and the rat that was Peter Pettigrew, squeaking and squirming in Ron's hands; Hermione with her big eyes wide in shock; and Harry, thirteen-year-old Harry, who had had nothing on his mind but his parents, and his burning desire for revenge on those that had betrayed and killed them. Thirteen year old Harry, who hadn't hesitated to turn his wand against the one he thought responsible for it, with the intention of no less than killing, and who, only minutes later, hadn't hesitated either to turn his wand against one of his own teachers to save Sirius from the Dementors.

He had been an amazing boy even at thirteen, truly his parents' son, and Sirius had no doubt that this wouldn't be any different at almost fifteen, whatever was to come. At fifteen, you were no longer a child. Sirius himself had not been much older than fifteen when he had finally packed his stuff and run away from the home he hated, to live the life he wanted and not the life others had devised for him.

But look where it all ended, he suddenly thought bitterly. He was back where he'd started, and whatever else had happened in the meantime was so far from the life he had wanted that he felt like crying.

Sirius stared into the fire for a while, his eyes burning dryly, and tried to force his thoughts to go back to Harry, Harry who had been left alone with the memory of the events at the end of the Triwizard Tournament just as he, Sirius, was left alone here with his own dark memories. Both of them trapped in a house they hated, and forced to call it home, in the worst possible company and with no idea what was going on outside.

Sirius hoped fervently that Harry wouldn't take all of this too badly, and wouldn't get any crazy ideas of running away from there. Running wasn't really an option this time, neither for Harry nor for Sirius. There was someone out there just waiting for Harry to leave the place where he was protected, and even if he left it only for a minute, it might be for one minute too long.

Sirius sighed. He couldn't do much from the distance, but he had at least to try to make sure that Harry didn't do anything stupid.

"Dear Harry," he had written, and now continued, "I haven't heard from you in a while, I hope you're all right. Don't do the Muggles the favour of letting them make you feel bad, they're not worth it." Easier said than done, he knew. He had never met Harry's Muggle family, but by all accounts they weren't easy to ignore, let alone get along with.

"Be careful and don't do anything rash," he added, and wondered for a moment whether he was talking to Harry or to himself there, but he left it in anyway. It wouldn't do either of them any harm to be reminded of it now and again.

Sirius thought of what he'd written in his last letter, and he wanted to say something about last Friday night, he wanted to share the joy and relief the meeting of the Order and their reaction to his story had given him, but he couldn't safely put that in a letter in a way that would make Harry understand. He almost regretted he had ever mentioned it at all. Whatever he might say now would just raise more questions, questions that he wouldn't be able to answer until he and Harry met again face to face, and who knew when that would be.

"I wish I could tell you more, but at the moment, I just can't," he continued, knowing this was even worse than his previous letter. "I know this must be frustrating for you," he added, "but we must be careful. It won't be like this forever. Until then, just keep your nose clean and everything will be OK."

Hedwig hooted again as if to remind him that she was waiting, so Sirius signed the letter as Snuffles and rolled it up. She stuck out her leg, eager to be on her way again, hooted once more, and took off through the fireplace, carefully avoiding the flames. And again, Sirius was left alone, but feeling considerably better now than he had felt in the morning.

Looking forward to the Weasleys' arrival, he took a look at the several bedrooms they would occupy. There had to be one for Molly and Arthur, and three more for the children still living with the family. None of the rooms upstairs was big enough for more than two persons to sleep in, not with his mother's bedroom occupied by a Hippogriff and the big drawing room on the first floor infested with doxies. But they'd divide up nicely. Fred and George could have a room on the third floor. That should teach them to remember how to walk up and down the stairs like sensible persons instead of Apparating every few feet, now that the house had been made Apparation-proof. Hermione and Ron's younger sister could share the small room next door that had been Sirius's brother's bedroom years ago. And Ron could stay in his own old room on the second floor, and share with Percy. He just needed to put another bed in there, but there'd be enough space.

Strange, Sirius thought for a moment. Percy, the oldest of the Weasley brothers still living at home, had already left school, or so Ron had told him last year. He was of age, and he even worked in the Ministry. And yet he hadn't come to the Order's meeting with his parents and Bill. Maybe he'd just been looking after the younger children at home. Or maybe - Sirius remembered how Dumbledore had urged everyone to consider well how far they wanted to be involved - he hadn't made up his mind yet how active he wanted to be in the Order. But his absence had been puzzling. Percy had worked in Barty Crouch's department last year, and admired his boss greatly, Ron had said. What ever else may be said about Barty Crouch senior, he had always been a fervent enemy of Voldemort and his supporters, and certainly someone as devoted to him as Percy had appeared to be would share these beliefs? Then why had nobody even mentioned his name yet? But it didn't matter now. He could still ask him when he arrived with his family.

Sirius went to bed early, his thoughts on life in Grimmauld Place with the young Weasleys, and hoped that the 'soon' in Hermione's letter was a 'soon' in the definition of Alastor Moody.