Promises Unbroken

Promises Unbroken

Chapter Twenty-One: Brothers

James Potter had never been so frightened in his life. Face him with Dark Magic, Death Eaters, or even the Dark Lord himself, and he wouldn't quail, but the prospect of seeing his best friend alive after so many years terrified him. His hands were shaking; he knew it. He was torn between excitement and apprehension: triumph made him want to jump up and down and spit in Voldemort's eye and terror made him completely unsure of what to say. Ten years ago, he had sent Sirius into hell. James had asked him to be their Secret Keeper, and set off the following chain of events. It was his fault, and his best friend had suffered for a decade because of it.

He, Peter, Remus, and Lily walked the quite halls of Hogwarts together. The hour was still just shy of seven in the morning, and so far, the group of friends had managed to avoid contact with any students. Their presence, added to Dumbledore's from the previous night, would certainly have caused a few whispers, but James could hardly care. On one hand, he wanted to sprint to the Hospital Wing as fast as he could--and on the other, he couldn't bear to get there so soon. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say.

Fleeing would have been so much easier.

As they walked, Remus told them the story of Sirius' arrival, and James smiled slightly upon learning that it was Harry and his friends who had found Sirius. In addition to Severus, of course--it had to gall Snape quite a bit, but James didn't care. Every now and then, something needed to light a fire under Severus' arse...but they were rounding the corner before the Hospital Wing, and all pleasant thoughts fled from his head. Remus had to say his name twice before James noticed.

"Just talk to him," the headmaster said quietly. "He's not going to be angry with you."

"How do you know?"

Remus' blank look was proof that he didn't, but by then they had reached the doorway. James didn't miss the significant look traded between his two friends, and Peter's nervous stance, but Remus' hand planted itself between his shoulder blades and didn't give James time to argue. Without warning, he found himself propelled into the Hospital Wing with a gentle shove, and heard the doors close behind him.

He tried to take a deep breath and calm himself, but this wasn't a simple thing like an Auror raid. Glancing around, he realized that Madam Pomfrey was the only one there; James supposed that mid-week had grown quieter over the years, or there just hadn't been any recent Quidditch matches. Pomfrey, though, was no help. She merely gave him a smile and made herself scarce, leaving him to walk towards the first bed on the left. Curtains were closed around it to keep prying eyes out, so James had to walk around to the opening before seeing his oldest friend.

He froze.

Remus had been right; Sirius looked like hell. Oh, someone had certainly given him a shave and a haircut, but there was no hiding his sick pallor or the bruises on his face. Likewise, James quickly noted the splint on his right arm, and the bed sheets could not hope to cover his thinness or the unnatural straightness of his right leg. His blue eyes were sunk deep into his face, and he looked to be more skeleton than man--but his gaze tracked James just like it always had.

"I'm not contagious, Prongs," a voice from the past whispered.

His world rocked, tilted, and turned right side up for the first time in a decade.

"Sirius..." He was in motion before he realized it, and James' legs carried him forward to embrace his friend. Without hesitation, a bony left arm wrapped around him in return, and they hung onto one another as if each was afraid the other would disappear. James was crying, babbling, but he could not care. "Oh my God...Sirius...I'm so sorry. You're alive... I'm so sorry, Sirius. This is all my fault--"

Suddenly, Sirius jerked back. His left hand grasped the side of James' face tightly, and his blue eyes blazed.

"Don't even say it, James Potter," he whispered fiercely. "I made my choice. This is not your fault."

He stared. "But--"

Sirius shook him harder than James would have credited him with the strength to do. "Did you hear me?" he demanded. "I made my choice." His voice lowered once more. "And I'd do it again, if I had to."

"Sirius--" James' mind was whirling, but he knew that Sirius shouldn't be saying that. This was never happening again, not in a lifetime, or even in a thousand lifetimes. It shouldn't have happened in the first place, and he was damned right that it was his fault... Once more, his oldest friend cut him off.

"Just as you would for me. As Remus would. As any of us would do for each other, even Peter." Sirius' hand dropped to his shoulder and squeezed. "I knew the risks, and I'd have died for you--and Lily and Harry--if I had to. So don't argue. It's not going to work. Don't even think about blaming yourself. If you want to blame anyone, blame Voldemort."

Oh, I will, a cold corner his mind promised, but the rest of James just stared at his friend, looked in his eyes. He could see no hatred in Sirius' gaze, no blame. There was only the old fire, blazing out from ten years in the grave and daring him to disagree. Behind the intensity, though, there was something deeper, something darker and haunted and pained, but James could see the strength that had carried Sirius through a decade of hell--and had still left him with a soul afterwards. No matter what had happened, this was still Sirius. His friend was alive.

Finding words was damn near impossible. "Welcome home," he finally whispered. It was so inadequate. "It's good to see you again."

They embraced once more, and Sirius replied, "It's good to be back."

------------

"Hello, Peter."

His voice was softer now; propped up by pillows, Sirius appeared even more thin and pale than James had originally thought him to be. He looked terrible, almost like a stranger, despite the familiar cut of the hair and goatee, but several moments of conversation had proved to James that he was still the same inside. He was terribly scarred--both physically and mentally--but deep inside, the same soul resided. He'd never be unmarked by his experiences in Azkaban, but he would heal in time. So Sirius had said, anyway, and James knew him too well to doubt him.

"Hi, Sirius," Peter whispered.

He and Remus had joined them, now, brining the Marauders together for the first time in over ten years. The gathering brought back memories, so many memories, but while most of those remembrances were good, there was still a chasm separating them. For the first few moments, they were not truly together. At the moment, they were simply four men. There was still a moment of truth to come that would determine if they were still brothers.

Both Remus and James were silent. This decision was not theirs to make; James had already told Sirius what had happened the night before. Quickly, James looked to his friend, but the headmaster's blue eyes were as worried as he imagined his own to be. Remus had accepted Peter's explanation, but he hadn't spent a decade in Voldemort's tender care.

Sirius' eyes were dark and unreadable, but James saw that the hidden pain was swimming closer to the surface now.

"I didn't know you were alive," Peter finally whispered into the silence. "Whatever else I might have been, I couldn't--"

"Shut up, Wormtail." Pain crossed Sirius' face. He let out a shaky breath. "I know that. And I guess I owe you an apology. Or a thank you, even."

"What?"

All three Marauders were staring at their bedridden fellow in confusion. Perhaps Azkaban had affected his wits a little. But Sirius smiled slightly, although the expression seemed out of place, given the monster bruise that still covered the right side of his face.

"You helped me get out of Azkaban, after all."

James' head snapped around to look at Peter, but his shorter friend only stared. "But I didn't..."

"I heard you talking to Malfoy," Sirius explained quietly. "Hearing you made me remember that there was a world outside of Azkaban. It made me stop drowning in the pain and look for opportunities..." He hesitated, and James saw something haunted fill his eyes until Sirius fought it back. "And when I found one, I took it. So I guess, in a backwards way, you helped me out. Even if you didn't mean to."

"I'm sorry," Peter whispered. James knew it was directed at all three of them, but it was Sirius who held up his left hand. His was the right to respond.

"We know, Wormtail." Peter took the offered hand. "What matters is that you made the right choice in the end."

------------

Breakfast started as usual, but it didn't end that way. Bleary eyed and groggy (he and Ron had somehow managed to wake up later than usual), Harry took his usual seat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall without looking around. It was, after all, just a normal beginning to a normal day at Hogwarts. It was Friday, which meant their first class was Transfiguration, and things could have been much, much, worse. At least they weren't third years and starting with Potions. Urgh.

All in all, Harry didn't even get the chance to start wondering about the mysterious animagus they'd found last night before things began to get strange.

"Harry, is that your mum sitting next to Professor Snape?"

Ron's question made Harry look up from his food with surprise. "What?"

"Right there. At the head table--"

"Don't point, Ron!" Hermione hissed from the red head's other side. Ron rolled his eyes, but Harry hardly noticed. Instead, he took out his wand and muttered a cleaning spell for his glasses, which were still sprinkled with pink paint from their last prank. But he wasn't seeing things after all.

"Yeah," he replied with confusion. "I wonder what she's doing here." And it's not like Mum to forget to tell me she's coming to Hogwarts, he added mentally.

"And I wonder why she's sitting next to Snape," Ron added, making Harry sigh.

"They're friends," he explained unhappily.

"What?" Ron exclaimed, just as Hermione gaped.

"You're kidding."

"I wish," Harry replied dryly. "I dunno why, really. Dad and Snape hate each other, but Mum and he were friends at school."

Ron scowled. "But I thought your Mum was a Gryffindor, Harry."

"She is."

"I guess things were different back then," Hermione shrugged, but her clam response only mad Ron frown harder.

"Really, Hermione! He's a Slytherin!"

She shook her head and sighed in exasperation "Ron, does it really take someone who didn't grow up here to realize that the Wizarding World hasn't always been this way?"

"Perhaps if you got your head out of a book often enough to look at the rest of us, you'd realize that the world is that way," Ron retorted. Harry groaned.

"Perhaps if you opened a book more often, you wouldn't get in so much trouble!"

"Trouble? You've gotten nearly as many detentions as I have--"

"Will the two of you be quiet?" Percy Weasley suddenly demanded, leaning in their direction from further down the table. "Some of us have studying to do!"

"Studying, smudying," George snickered as he sat across from them, leaping immediately to his fellow Misfits' defense. "As if an extra five minutes are going to make a difference in your grades, Oh Perfect Prefect Percy."

Percy glared, but Fred neatly overrode his reply by stepping "accidentally" on his foot. "Oh! So sorry! Were those your toes?"

"Yes, those were my toes, you clumsy excuse for a brother," Percy snapped. "If the six of you--" Lee had joined them with the twins "--don't be quiet, I'm going to speak to Professor Fletcher."

Fred rolled his eyes and sat down. "Grow up, Perce."

"Grow up?" Percy echoed. "Who are you to--"

"Hey!" Lee exclaimed. "Is that your father, Harry?"

Heads swiveled and the argument was forgotten. After all, although to Harry, James Potter was just his dad, to everyone else at the table, he was a hero. Even though the Weasleys and Hermione had met him before, they still couldn't help thinking of him as somebody famous, and the Ministry's most senior Auror didn't simply visit Hogwarts on a day trip. However, James Potter had indeed just entered the Great Hall, making Harry's day even stranger. He was preceded by Remus Lupin and followed by another familiar face.

"Who's that?" Ron asked.

"Peter Pettigrew," Harry replied, wondering when exactly Peter had come back into the country. Last he'd known, Peter had been in Norway...but then again, if the mysterious wizard was indeed Sirius Black, Harry could understand his presence.

"The Marauder?" George asked immediately. Harry nodded.

"Wow." Fred's eyebrows rose, and the twins exchanged glances as the three Marauders took seats at the head table.

But Harry was hardly listening. Instead, he was staring at his parents and their old friends, noticing the quiet words exchanged between Peter and Snape. Both men were oddly cordial about whatever they were speaking of, and it made Harry wonder. Remus and his father were also speaking, and he saw Professor Fletcher exchange a nod with his dad as well. His mum, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease among them all, sitting between Peter and Snape with an oddly soft expression, and smiling slightly as the two of them seemed to come to some agreement or another. But it was his father who interested Harry the most; James Potter seemed exhausted, with dark circles ringing his eyes and tousled hair that could only come from missing hours of sleep. However, his hazel eyes were bright and his smile genuine as he spoke to Hogwarts' headmaster, pausing at one point in the conversation to meet Harry's gaze and wink happily.

That did it. Harry glanced at the time, and realized that he could make it--just barely. With a mumbled excuse to his friends about having forgotten his copy of Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Protection, he pushed away from the table and headed back to Gryffindor tower. Once there, he immediately started rummaging around in his trunk, finally uncovering his dad's old invisibility cloak.

If they wouldn't tell him, he'd find out for himself.

------------

The world spun around him, and only a supreme effort made it stop. The last twelve hours had been, to say the least, enlightening. A sense inside him told him that everything had changed. Nothing was the same. Or, perhaps...? Maybe nothing had changed, and everything was the same. Visions of darkness--and of light--of past, present, and future--were haunting him now. Everything was different. Everything had changed.

Albus Dumbledore blinked, and when that did not work, shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. The action helped in part, but as he'd learned so many years ago, the only way to truly escape these visions was to let them pass--but he had not the time to do so. Not now. Too much was changing. Everything was the same. Promises that had not been broken had the ability to warp fate. He blinked again, and in frustration that he rarely betrayed, rose to pace around his office.

He hated the visions.

He wasn't a seer; rather, he was anything but. He had neither the talent nor the inclination for Divination. However, he was different, mostly in ways that none would imagine, and fewer still would understand. And he didn't see the future--or rather, sometimes he did, but he rarely understood it. He only saw images, pieces, and assembled them the best he could. He grasped at straws, and hoped, prayed, to be correct. He'd been wrong too many times, and right far too many as well. Yet in the most important expectation he had been wrong, and Dumbledore was not sure if his world was better or worse off because of it.

But he wasn't a seer. His was a power far older, and much less welcome. Not to mention more powerful--but he tried not to think of that. Dumbledore was not a man who dwelled upon power, except as a means to an end.

As he paced, he thought, and his mind cleared slowly. An end...? Unconsciously, he found his left hand toying with the end of his long beard, and wondered why he kept it so lengthy. Was that because long and flowing silver hair was what people expected from such a venerable old wizard? He'd spent too much of his life conforming to expectations... Then again, they needed him to be ancient and wise. But an end...? Is it truly achievable, after so long? Possibilities swept through his mind, and Dumbledore thought far into the future--but then he considered the past, and a prophecy they had all thought broken. The present beckoned, then, bringing his thoughts to Hogwarts.

And to a man he had thought would break them before.

------------

Unfortunately for Harry, a very familiar figure cut him off on his way to the Hospital Wing. Anxiously, he broke stride, trying to pause in mid-step and make no further noise, but the frown on her face told him that he'd been caught. How did she know? Harry wanted to demand, but he knew better. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe...?

"Take the cloak off, Harry," his mother said sternly.

How did she know? Sighing, he did as he was told, but Lily must have seen the dejected look upon his face. She smiled slightly.

"Your shoes, honey," his mum explained. "You need to be more careful about draping that cloak." Harry scowled. "Besides, I watched you leave the Great Hall."

Harry angrily balled up the cloak in his hand. Fat load of good it had done him this time. "Why doesn't anyone ever tell me anything?" he demanded. "I just want to know what is going on."

Unexpectedly, his mum smiled gently. Usually, Harry wasn't likely to get away with such an attitude, especially with his parents, who, although they loved him, were not about to spoil him. In fact, the opposite was usually true. "All you had to do is ask."

"What?"

"Harry, there are some times when we may judge it best not to tell you things, but your father and I would never keep you away from Sirius. He is your godfather."

"Oh." He swallowed, chastised. It seemed that he'd spent too long breaking the rules to remember that sometimes you only had to ask to get what you wanted.

But his mum only smiled again, squeezing his shoulder. "Come along, Harry. Let's go meet your godfather."

------------

Harry had always experienced the Hospital Wing as a quiet place--it was, after all, Madam Pomfrey's domain, and she ruled with an iron fist when it came to peace and tranquility in her domain. At the moment, however, the place was anything but quiet; Harry's father sat at the bedside, his features full of laughter and his eyes light.

"Do you remember," he was asking, "the time when we charmed the chairs at the Slytherin table to--"

"Send everyone that sat in them flying into the air," Peter finished for him with a grin. "And when they tried to change them back--oh, that was perfect!"

"The rainbow colored hair was a nice touch, I'll admit," Remus added dryly. Then a naughty snicker escaped the headmaster. "Especially on Snape--"

"Oh, but you're forgetting Avery's attempt at revenge," Peter cut in. "I've never seen a prank so botched--"

"Except for your attempt to hex Rodolphus Lestrange in our first year," a quiet voice cut him off, drawing Harry's attention to the man on the bed. He blinked quickly, for although his godfather (it was still odd thinking that his long-lost godfather was alive) was still pale, ragged, and grossly underweight, he looked different. There was something alive in his blue eyes, and the attempt at a smile, no matter how pained it seemed, lit his face into that of a different man. For the first time, Harry recognized the Sirius Black his parents had known.

"That wasn't really a prank, you know," Peter attempted to defend himself as the others laughed; after a moment, he finally gave in and chuckled as well. "And if it hadn't been for you--" He trailed off as Sirius' eyes focused on Harry and his mother.

"Hello, Lily."

"Sirius..." Harry stood back as his mother approached the bed, sitting down on its edge and taking the left hand Sirius offered. Her voice was very soft. "We owe you so much..."

"Don't," his godfather said quietly, cutting her off. "I already had this argument with James over there, and I'm not going to go over it another time. I made my choice, Lily, and I'd do it again."

"But--"

"No." The voice might have been weak, but there was no give in it. Lily must have heard that, because she sighed.

"All right," Harry's mother replied after a moment. "Let me at least say thank you, though."

At first, it looked like Sirius would argue, but after a period of silence, he smiled slightly. "You're welcome, then."

Harry watched his mum smile and lean over to kiss Sirius on the cheek; his father, however, seemed less than pleased. "How is it," James Potter demanded, "that I can argue with him until I'm blue in the face over this, and Lily says fifteen words and gets her way?"

Peter snorted. "Welcome to married life, Prongs."

"I would think you'd be used to that by now," Remus added philosophically.

Lily only smiled innocently at her husband and rose. Harry snickered, but his dad wasn't willing to let it go. He glared at Sirius. "Well?"

"She asked nicer." Something twinkled in Sirius' eyes for a moment, but before Harry could figure out what, his mum was dragging him forward. Her hands fastened on both his shoulders, too, preventing him from hiding away, as he suddenly felt the need to do.

"Sirius," she said, "I want you to meet Harry."

Blue eyes met his own, and Harry tried not to squirm. His dad's best friend was staring at him as if he'd never seen an eleven year old before, silent and...if not shocked, something, then. For his part, Harry had no idea what to do--What do you say to a godfather who's supposed been dead for almost all of your life, anyway? In the long moment of silence, he felt all eyes in the room upon him, and Harry knew he should do or say something, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what. Finally, though, Sirius broke the stillness.

"You grew," he managed.

What in the world should he say to that? Finally, he settled upon a safe: "It's nice to meet you."

"You don't remember me, do you?" Sirius asked quietly.

"Not really," Harry admitted.

"That's all right. I used to baby-sit you when you were little..." He smiled slightly. "You puked all over my robes once, right before I had to go to work...made my day very interesting, that." The adults chuckled.

"What did you do?" Harry asked with interest. He remembered Sirius in a few flashes of memory, but didn't recall ever associating an occupation with his godfather.

The pale man's eyes flickered over to meet James' briefly. "I was an Auror, like your father."

"Oh."

"So you play Quidditch, I hear," Sirius said next, making Harry forget nearly all his discomfort. He grinned.

"Yeah. I'm the Gryffindor Seeker, even though I'm only a first year. Professor Fletcher let me do it because he says I'm a natural."

"I'm not surprised, given your father's talent," Sirius replied with a smile. "And I also hear that you and some friends of yours have managed to get in considerable...trouble here at Hogwarts?"

Harry had to remind himself that Remus was the headmaster before he replied as he wanted to. "We're...ah...continuing a few traditions, yes."

"Oh, God, Sirius--don't encourage them," Remus cut in.

"Why ever not, Moony?" his godfather asked innocently. "Besides, I never recall you needing much encouragement--"

"I'm the headmaster, now, for crying out loud!"

Sirius' eyes glittered. "Oops."

They all laughed, and Harry suddenly realized how much potential fun his godfather could be. Sirius Black didn't hold the record for most detentions in one term for nothing, he supposed, and then... Obviously, Remus realized it, too, because as the others chuckled, he groaned. Finally, though, Lily spoke seriously.

"You realize that as much as we are all enjoying this reunion, we should probably not all be here. All our presences at Hogwarts will undoubtedly give Sirius' location away to Voldemort--"

"He already knows you're here."

The flat voice belonged to Snape, who stood silhouetted in the doorway, his black robes and dark tone of finality making his figure seem even more threatening and evil than usual. As Harry stared, feeling his anger build, Snape continued, "Forgive me for breaking up the charming family gathering, but he does already know."

"How?" Peter asked cautiously.

"Because I told him." The deputy headmaster strode into the room, nodding briefly at the assembled party. No one seemed willing to say anything as an uneasy silence reigned, and Harry spoke before anyone could stop him, full of indignation and anger.

"What?" he demanded. "You told him? That means you're a--"

"Of course I'm a Death Eater," Snape cut him off smoothly, rolling his eyes, and turning to Lily to speak, but Harry returned the favor, and cut him off in turn. All the while, his mind spun, wondering why anyone wasn't doing anything? Hadn't they heard? Fury shaped his words, and he cared not that he spoke to a professor.

"You tra--"

Snape scowled. "Be quiet, you foolish boy," he snapped. "Do not speak of that which you do not understand!"

"Severus!" Harry's mother snapped back.

The deputy headmaster paused. "My apologies, Lily, James." But his eyes were still dark. "Perhaps we could continue this discussion without children in the room?"

"You've already wasted that chance, Severus," Harry's father replied wearily. He suddenly seemed very tired. "It is better that he now know the whole truth, and not just part."

"Ah, but can I trust him not to share with his insufferable little friends?" Snape's dark eyes were centered on Harry, now, and he struggled not to flinch or explode in anger, both of which he felt like doing. However, his father's very tight grip on his shoulder told him that would be a bad idea. What was with Snape? Why did he hate him so much?

"I know how to keep a secret," he shot back.

"Enough." Remus forestalled all replies in a hard voice, and indeed, both of Harry's parents had opened their mouths to speak, as had Snape--although if Lily and James were going to reprimand Harry or the Potions master, Harry would never know. He scowled. He's a Death Eater. He's one of them. He's one of the kind who killed my grandparents before I could ever know them. He's one of the kind who tries to kill my Dad almost every day. But it was Sirius Black who next spoke in a tired and weak voice.

"I suppose you're meant to kill me then."

He seemed oddly unfrightened by that prospect.

Snape shook his head. "No. Not I. But someone will try, certainly."

"How comforting," Sirius replied dryly, but Harry saw worry cross his father's face.

"I could post some Aurors here--"

"No," Sirius said softly. "Why uncover Snape when we don't have to? Hogwarts is safe, and I'm not incompetent, James--just injured."

"Badly enough that I don't want to see you hurt more," Harry's father retorted.

Harry watched their eyes lock. His father and his godfather stared at one another for a long moment, each demanding that the other back down--but he did not see any give in either of them. Blue eyes burned into brown, and finally, he sensed that Sirius was winning, despite the pain and exhaustion in his gaze.

"I've lived this long," Sirius said quietly. "I'm not going to die now because of some two-bit Death Eater." He shot a glance at Snape that was anything but friendly. "No offense."

"None taken," the Death Eater replied dryly. "I've always been a three-bit Death Eater myself."

Several of the adults chuckled, but Harry felt his jaw drop open. Had Snape just made a joke? Impossible. But they weren't angry with him, and they weren't surprised, which meant--

"You're a spy?" Harry blurted out.

"Admirable deduction, Mr. Potter," the deputy headmaster responded sarcastically.

He opened his mouth to respond, but his dad cut him off with another warning squeeze of his shoulders. Then James turned back to Snape. "Thank you, Severus."

"Don't do anything stupid, Black," Snape said to Sirius in reply. "I'd hate to attend your funeral again."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "I sincerely doubt you went in the first place."

"You're right. I didn't." With that, the deputy headmaster strode out as quickly as he'd come, leaving, however, the room with a somewhat lower temperature. After a moment, Lily finally spoke.

"Well, I have to get to work--"

"So do I," Peter said quietly. "Shall we go to the Ministry together?"

"All right," Lily replied. "James...?"

"I'll handle it," Harry's father replied, and somehow he had the feeling that they meant him. Sometimes he felt like a Muggle ping-pong ball being bounced between his two parents. "I will see you later, Sirius, all right?"

"Count on it." The two clasped hands, and then Harry followed his parents and Peter from the room after saying goodbye to his godfather as well. Quickly, his mum and Peter disappeared down the corridor, heading, undoubtedly, for the nearest Floo-connected fireplace. Harry, on the other hand, simply followed his father in the opposite direction, until finally they found themselves in a little-used classroom that Harry had never been in before. His father cast a silencing charm on the room and then turned to him.

"You know why we need to talk, right?"

Harry sighed. "Professor Snape," he replied glumly, waiting for his father's nod. "I'm sorry that I was rude, Dad, I was just so mad..."

But his father surprised him by laughing. "Harry, the world isn't going to end because you exchanged a few harsh words with Snape. In fact, if a Potter and a Snape weren't feeling out of joint with one another, I'd think there was something wrong--but as your father, I do need to tell you to respect your professors accordingly."

"Yes, Dad." At least his father understood. Dad was much easier than Mum for things like this, and Harry knew that he was trying to hide a smile.'

"However, that isn't really what I need to talk to you about," his dad continued. "What I really need, Harry, is your promise that you won't tell anyone, even Ron and Hermione, about Professor Snape being a spy. It could cost him his life."

Harry frowned. "But he's a Death Eater."

"So he is. But he's on our side, and has been for a long time."

All the odd little things were starting to make sense, especially Snape's little midnight journey back before Christmas... "So, does that mean Quirrell is, too?"

"You know I can't tell you that," his dad said after a moment's hesitation. The smile, he noticed, was gone now.

"This is an Order of the Phoenix thing, isn't it?" Harry sighed.

"You're not supposed to know about that, Harry."

"I've got ears, Dad. And eyes," he replied. "I am eleven, you know."

James chuckled and ruffled his hair playfully, making Harry scowl. "So you are. Promise me you will keep the secret?"

"I promise, Dad."