Harry Potter and the Brethren Prophecy

With a soft clink, the manacles that bound Sirius fell away and two guards came swiftly forward to lead him into a small antechamber. Mr. Weasley rose and followed, closing the door with a soft thud, leaving the courtroom in a stunned silence.

Harry hadn´t even blinked. He was sure this was all some wonderful, fevered dream, a joyful side effect from a combination of healing charms and total exhaustion. Any moment now he was going to wake up in the hospital. Any second now, the pain would get a bit too excruciating and he'd bob up into a sterile white reality. Around him would flock the crème de la crème of mediwizards to monitor their famous patient´s health and hear him recount his tale of a mass murderer turned godfather turned free man. All these noble heads would nod as they muttered in a sympathetic chorus of how their brave hero, who had withstood the wrath of Voldemort himself, had been brought to tumbling ruin by a lone Death Eater.

Nothing this good ever happened to Harry in real life.

He had no time to reflect on his current reality though as he was suddenly brought out of his trance by a wave of people that descended on him from all angles of the wide room. Molly Weasley was upon him in a tide of red hair and tears of joy. As he was frantically reassuring her that he´d be just fine in no time, Hagrid´s looming figure suddenly appeared over her shoulder and he was swept away in another tight, tear soaked hug. Professor McGonagall and a dour looking Snape were next in line, his head of house wishing him all the best as Snape just scowled and told him he should have been more careful in a bitter, forced tone. It seemed as if the entire courtroom had lined up to express their sympathy as Arabella Figg, Alastor Moody, Amos Diggory and several unknown witches and wizards took their turn patting him on the back and wishing him the best. Everybody passed as a blur and he was only faintly aware of Dumbledore chatting happily with Lupin to his right, both of whom were periodically shooting him cheerful smiles and placing comforting hands upon his slumped shoulders. Harry smiled and nodded at the appropriate moments; however, he was lost in the void between acceptance and utter disbelief. That was, until a familiar redheaded outline began to materialize in Harry´s line of sight.

"Ron?"

"Cor, Harry, you look like hell," he said abruptly before he could catch himself. Harry chuckled despite his friend´s worried expression, which caused Ron to smile.

"Can I ask you a favor?" Harry inquired after the tension had been broken.

Ron grinned and nodded. "Anything."

"Pinch me. Tell me this is all really happening."

Ron´s smile widened as he pulled Harry into a friendly embrace. "I´m glad you´re okay."

"Me too," a small voice spoke from behind them. Hermione stood awkwardly to the side, her sun streaked chocolate coloured hair throwing her pale skin into stark relief against the dreary grey stone background. She wore a look of stunned sympathy, her dark eyes wide as she chewed nervously on her bottom lip. She seemed as if she were about to burst into tears.

"Hermione - " Harry began, but was quickly silenced as she threw her arms around his neck in a fierce hug.

"Don´t you ever scare me like that again, Harry Potter!" She cried into his ear as Harry brought his arms up to encompass her in a loose hug.

"I´m fine Hermione, really..." he said as she gripped him tighter, restricting the oxygen flow to his head.

Ron rolled his eyes as he dislodged Hermione´s fingers from Harry´s scapula. "She´s been like this ever since she came to the Burrow. Don´t get me wrong Harry, I was worried too, but I knew you´d be okay. I mean you wouldn´t die on us or anything."

Harry choked, causing a dubious worried look to fall over Ron´s face as Hermione furrowed her brows with concern and regarded him with questioning sympathy. Perhaps, Harry thought, this would not be the time to relate the tale of his death and resuscitation in St. Mungo´s.

"Yeah, I´m fine. Don´t worry," he said in what he hoped to be a convincing tone. It seemed to have had some effect because Ron quickly launched into an animated speech about all the wizarding news Harry had missed throughout the summer. Occasionally, Hermione would add or correct something he had said, but otherwise she remained quiet, watching Harry intently throughout the duration of the conversation as if seeing him for the first time. Despite this intense scrutiny, Harry felt the happiest he had been in months. Being with his friends made him feel warm and welcome and there was only one other person he wanted to see more...

"Harry?" A raspy voice inquired from behind the group. Ron quieted down as Hermione took hold of his arm, gently pulling him away from the scene.

"We´ll be over here if you need us," she said softly. However, Harry was long past the point of listening. His world had narrowed into the tiny spectrum of a pinprick encompassing only him and his godfather as he turned slowly, looking for the first time at Sirius as a free man. It seemed he had already begun the transition from haggard fugitive to respectable member of society as the more prominent creases that lined his face were already vanishing into the youthful appearance he had been robbed of for so many years. His eyes glittered with unshed tear of joy and the corners of his mouth were turned up into a playful, triumphant smile. Harry was speechless.

"Is everything...?" he attempted.

"Everything´s taken care of, Harry." Sirius interrupted.

"Can I...?"

"Yes, you can come home with me. Arthur says he can get us a house in Hogsmeade. He´s working on the paperwork as we speak and everything should be ready by the end of the week. Until then, Molly has asked for you to go back with her to the Burrow. I´m going to spend the next few days with Remus."

Harry blinked for a few stunned moments and opened and closed his mouth as if trying to form an explanation for something he didn´t understand. Finally, he just smiled. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

Harry sighed as a happy complacent smile lit up his pale face. Despite the black eye and the slight bruising along the left side of his jaw, he looked the happiest he had been in a long time. As Sirius brought him into a tight embrace they seemed a painting of unity and love, each one allowing a few tears of joy to dance lightly down their cheeks.

~~**~~

"I didn´t make this food for you to sit there and stare at, Padfoot."

Sirius looked up and gave Lupin a faint smile. "Sorry, Moony. This is all just so strange."

"What, my cooking? Well, I´m sorry you think your dinner is so odd but it´s just corned beef."

Sirius laughed. "That´s just it! This is the first real meal I´ve sat down to in seventeen years. It´s been too long since I´ve eaten with a napkin, let alone a nice glass of Chianti. It just doesn´t feel right, like something horrible is bound to spring up and everything will go back to the way it was."

"You don´t have to worry about Harry," Lupin said softly, sensing the real reason behind his friend´s disquiet. "He´s safe and he´s strong. You haven´t seen him in awhile, he´s not a scared little boy."

"He never was," Sirius said plainly, "That´s why I´m worried. I don´t want him rushing off, not after what happened." He let out a long sigh as his eyes drifted past Lupin and into the small dusty living room, as if recalling a vivid memory of an event that happened there long ago. "I´ll just feel better when he´s safe with me."

Lupin chuckled slightly, pulling Sirius back to the present to shoot his old friend a confused look. "What´s become of you, Padfoot? You sound just like a responsible adult! Who are you and where have you taken Sirius?"

He shrugged and allowed a tiny ghost of a smile to light up his slightly sallow face. After the arduous amounts of paperwork, liability forms from the Ministry, parchments concerning Harry, and the deeds to what would soon become his and Harry´s new home, Lupin had brought Sirius back to the cozy two-story house he called home when not teaching at Hogwarts. It was plain and welcoming and everything seemed to match its chief inhabitant - sturdy but in need of a new coat of paint.

"I´ve been called many things in my life, Remus, but `responsible adult´ has never been one of them," Sirius said, eyes roving past the sitting room to settle on his old friend´s weary features. "It´s just that I can´t help but think that we´ve been in this situation before, only this time it´s worse. This time it´s the whole damn world that´s been kidnapped, not just one teenage girl. I´m afraid he´ll pull the same stunts he did then..."

"Hermione is his best friend. He did what he had to do to save her."

"He ran off into the Forbidden Forest at night to face an undefeatable evil that has haunted this world since before he was born. His rashness could have cost him his life."

"But it didn´t, Sirius. And if it wasn´t for him, Hermione, not to mention a great deal of others, (insert comma) would be dead."

Sirius scoffed, feeling torn between paternal instinct and the fact that his godson had saved the day more times than he could count and was still alive and well. "I´m just afraid that one day he´ll jump into something he´s not prepared for."

"He won´t. He knows better. He just doesn´t want to see his friends get hurt. I think he really fancies Hermione." Lupin smiled as Sirius promptly spilled his red wine all over his white shirt.

~~**~~

After the trial, Harry had been whisked off to the Burrow where it seemed he was immediately scooped up into the generous loving care of Mrs. Weasley. Day and night, she could be seen rushing vials of healing potion and piles of food to and from his bedside. In fact, Harry woke frequently to find her motherly face hovering nearby. She would smile and nod, ever watchful of her patient´s health, her rosy cheeks like the shoulder of an apple, crinkling at the top with indentations of worry etched next to each eye.

The large house was but a shell of its former self now that all but two of the original Weasley children remained. Percy had long since moved to the city, closer to the Ministry so he could devote his full attention to his work. Fred and George had found a flat in Hogsmeade, above the once vacant store that was soon to become Weasley´s Wizarding Wheezes. Even Arthur spent most of his time away from home, and Harry would only occasionally catch fleeting glimpses of his royal purple Ministry attire as he trudged to and from bed in the mornings and evenings. This left Molly´s loving motherly attentiveness utterly unused as both Ron and Ginny, in the true spirit of teenage rebellion, protested any affection she bestowed on them.

Thanks to all the attention, and the effectiveness of magical healing, Harry was back to his normal self within a couple of days. Within a couple more, Molly even reluctantly agreed to let him out into the warm August sunshine to join Ron in some flying.

Although Harry was still a bit too weak to do any of the more harrowing stunts he enjoyed while playing Seeker, he greeted the air with vigor and enthusiasm, reveling in the sensations he´d been denied for far too long. He had not flown since the beginning of last term and his body eagerly welcomed the crisp air like an old friend, indulging in the exuberant weightlessness of cutting through the morning fog and warm patches of bright sunlight.

Most of Harry´s days started this way, followed by a light lunch, a hearty dinner and then lazy conversation around the fire. Mrs. Weasley usually retired to bed by around nine after Mr. Weasley trudged in from a hard day of work and they both wished Ron, Ginny, Harry and Hermione a fond goodnight.

Tonight was no exception. Mr. Weasley smiled from the landing, looking as if he were about to fall over from exhaustion and gave a little wave to the general vicinity of the crowded sitting room. There came a chorus of `goodnights´ from its occupants and then the slow drag of feet against the hard wood could be deciphered ascending the stairs. Molly, who had developed a sharp worry wrinkle slashed between her eyebrows over the years, furrowed her forehead with disapproval as the wrinkle assiduously lobbied for promotion to a hatchet scar. After giving Harry another dose of healing potion and giving each of the four teens a small goodnight kiss, she, too, retired for the night.

This left them alone in a companionable silence. Harry and Ron lay sprawled out on the floor in front of the fire, thoroughly engaged in a game of wizarding chess. Hermione was perched in a tattered yellow armchair, studiously annotating a copy of `Advanced Arithmancy and Other Complicated Conundrums´ by Professor A.E Frinke. Behind them, Ginny was sitting at the table, reading over a copy of `Teen Witch Weekly´ and humming softly to herself.

"Ha! Checkmate! I win again!" Ron said triumphantly as his knight lanced Harry´s bishop and stuck his tongue out at the captured king for good measure.

Harry frowned. "That´s the fourth game in a row, you´ve got to be cheating." Then lowering his voice and pointing an accusing finger at Ron, he added, "I´ll beat you one day, Ronald Weasley, just you wait and see."

"Like hell you will! That´s about as conceivable as Malfoy waltzing into the great hall in nothing but leather trousers and a "I Love Muggles" badge..."

From behind him, Ginny made a small exclamation and all eyes turned their stare at her.

She blushed as crimson as her hair, "Well, he is rather attractive."

Ron looked at his sister incredulously. "Attractive? Virginia Weasley, for the love of Merlin please tell me you didn´t just say that!"

"What? I´m not saying I´d date the guy, it´s just that he can really pull off those tight summer Quidditch uniforms..."

"Ugh! I do not want to hear this!" Ron said loudly, cupping his hands over his ears. Harry shook his head, pulling himself off the floor to get a cup of tea from the kitchen. Ginny, who was clearly enjoying herself, had dissolved into bales of mirthful giggles.

Hermione, who hadn´t looked up from her book but was clearly stifling giggles of her own added, "Well, he does have the cutest butt in seventh year, despite the fact that he´s an insufferable prat."

"Argh! Not you too!" Ron yelled, shooting shocked, worried glances between his sister and best friend.

"Oh, don´t forget that gorgeous hair! What I wouldn´t give to trail my fingers through that..." Ginny added in a wistful tone.

"Please spare me!" Ron yelled as he jumped from the floor, clamped his hands over his ears and dashed towards the stairs. "I can´t take any more of the `We love Malfoy´ fan club. I can´t believe you two - have you both forgotten what a horrible git he is?"

"Ron´s right," Hermione sobered, then with a hint of a devilish grin, added, "and we also forgot that sexy smirk of his."

"Oh, and that voice!" Ginny added, her hand upon her forehead in a mock swoon.

Ron threw his hands into the air in defeat then stomped noisily up the stairs, muttering angrily to himself as he ascended.

Harry chose this moment to reappear behind Hermione and shoot a puzzled gaze in the direction in which Ron had just vanished. "Where´s he off to?"

"Oh, he´s just angry because Malfoy´s got the nicest butt at Hogwarts." Ginny managed between fits of laughter.

"Really? Malfoy, huh? I always thought I was the owner of that particular title." Harry said, sarcasm very evident in his jovial tone. "Ah, well, you win some, you lose some."

Ginny was still laughing as she wished Harry and Hermione a good night, her giggles fading as she disappeared up the same set of stairs Ron had, leaving the two in a pleasant silence, bathed in the warm light of the dying fire.

After a few moments, the comfortable quiet had dissolved into an awkward stillness as Hermione sat there, picking chips of cracked pink polish off her chewed fingernails and Harry sipped his tea quietly, regarding her with mixtures of concern and sympathy.

There was obviously something wrong with Hermione. She had not been her normal enthusiastic, outspoken, bossy self since they had returned to the Burrow after the trial. Instead, a frightened, mousy girl, shrunken with the weight of the world, had taken her place. The joyful spark that had once rested behind her dark brown eyes now seemed a phantom flicker of its former self and it sprang up only in the sporadic moments of great amusement, usually when Harry was not present. This was one of the reasons Ron hadn´t suspected a thing when Harry had brought up his concerns late one night. Ron sat crossed legged on his bed, sorting through brightly coloured piles of chocolate frog cards when Harry had broached the topic. Ron stopped, furrowed his eyebrows and replied in the negative, telling Harry that not only had he not noticed any changes in Hermione´s demeanor, but that he was worrying for nothing. Harry sighed, recalling Ron´s reputation for being notoriously non-observant and went back to his study of the Quidditch game taking place on one of his best friends many Chudley Cannon posters.

Now, sitting alone with Hermione in the Weasleys´ living room, it was all too apparent that she was uncomfortable. More than that, she looked despondent and utterly alone. Her shoulders sagged forward and her head was bent toward the ground, eyes trained on the weave of dirty red and yellow on the small carpet in front of the fireplace. Her hair, which had gradually morphed from the bushy tangle of her youth into fine waves of golden brown, was dangling loosely from behind her ears, forming a protective wall from the light of the fire and Harry´s bright, inquisitive eyes.

"Perhaps I should be getting some sleep as well, we all have a busy day ahead of us," Hermione said suddenly, hauling herself onto her feet in an attempt at a quick escape. She had no such luck, however.

"´Mione, wait," Harry said, grabbing hold of her arm as she brushed passed him to the stairs. She flinched at the contact but didn´t turn around. "Is there something wrong? You haven´t exactly been acting like yourself lately."

"No."

"No what?"

"Nothing´s wrong. I´m just tired."

"It´s been like this for a while now. Are you sure everything´s all right? Are you angry at me?"

"No."

"No, you´re not angry or no, you´re not sure everything´s all right?"

"Harry, please," she said in a loud whisper, brimming with frustration.

"I´m worried, Hermione. Please talk to me."

"You have bigger things to worry about then me. Get some sleep, Harry, I´m fine." His grip loosened on her arms and she slipped upstairs, her soft stocking footsteps receding softly into the darkness.

Harry sat for a while watching as the last glowing embers flickered and died in the fireplace. When the darkness had completely enveloped him and the only sounds echoing through the empty room were the faint shuffling noises of peaceful slumber, Harry rose quietly and retreated to Ron´s room to lay alone with his thoughts in the blackness.

~~**~~

"Hermione, about last night..."

"It was nothing. Eat your breakfast, don´t worry about me." Hermione responded, cutting off the half-formed sentence before it had a chance to escape Harry´s lips.

The sharp twinkle of morning sunlight shone into the large kitchen, sparkling like sunlight through a jar of strawberry jam. Harry and Hermione sat at the far end of the large oak table with Ron, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley clumped together at the opposite end, talking animatedly about their Hogwarts letters and the supplies they´d be needing for the upcoming term. Harry had taken the opportunity to whisper softly to Hermione, who had been studiously avoiding eye contact since they had come down. He was about to attempt to re-initiate the conversation when Mrs. Weasley hastily stood up and began to clear the dishes.

"Come on now, we don´t want to get caught in the crowds. We have a lot of shopping to do today, dears."

Mrs. Weasley had the kitchen completely spotless by the time the four had returned from gathering their cloaks and moneybags. She was waiting, hands on her hips, in front of the fireplace, a small terra-cotta jar of Floo Powder in her hands. Harry groaned, feeling his stomach give a premature lurch to the dizzying ride that was about to come. Floo Powder was definitely Harry´s least favorite means of getting from place to place. He hated the nauseating, unstable sensations he got from whirling passed the endless lines of blurred fireplaces and the bitter, grimy taste of ash the clung to the roof of his mouth and the backs of his teeth. Not to mention the fact that there was no such thing as `clean´ when you traveled at high speeds through dusty piles of soot and grime.

One by one his friends disappeared into the fire until only Harry and Mrs. Weasley were left. He took a deep breath as Molly placed a bit of the gritty powder into his hand and he stepped into the hearth, sealing his eyes shut and calling out the words `Diagon Alley´ loudly and clearly. All at once, the room swept away beneath his feet as he felt the familiar sensations of being trapped in a cyclone, spinning rapidly in a haze of green flame. An instant later he was tossed out into a back room of the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione, Ginny and Ron standing nearby, futilely brushing bits of soot from their robes and hair.

Harry coughed as Ron helped him from the floor, brushing some dirt from Harry´s shoulders, raising a grey cloud of dust as he went along. Hermione, always neat and efficient, performed a few basic scouring charms to clean the ash from her face and beneath her nails then did the same for Ginny and Ron. When she got to Harry she stopped, folded her hands over her chest and scowled, her foot tapping out an annoyed rhythm on the floorboards.

"You´ve broken your glasses again," she sighed as she placed her wand over the bridge of his nose. "Occulus Reparo." There was a spark and then the cracks and smudges in Harry´s vision disappeared and he could see again.

"Ah, Hermione. What would I do without you?" Harry beamed as Hermione´s scowl deepened.

"Well, you´d be blind for one thing," she said as she cast another scouring charm to clean Harry´s face, "not the mention terribly dirty." Then, taking Harry´s hands in her own, Hermione suddenly froze. The dark grime on his palms morphed before her vision, turning from a dirty gray to a dark scarlet. The subtle muscles in his fingers dissolved and all at once the skin on Harry´s hands seemed drawn and pale, a web of purple vein´s visible under the translucent covering, pulsing infrequently with drying rivers of blood.

Hermione blinked back the vision, turning her head in an anguished attempt to quell her frantic breathing. She knew Harry was staring at her, searching her down turned face for answers she wasn´t able to articulate. Steadying her quaking limbs, she brought her wand back to his hands and performed the final spell and tried to pull away from his grasp. However, by that time, Harry had a tight grip on her wrist and with his free hand he lifted her gaze to his own. Emerald met hazel with wavering scrutiny as Ron looked from Harry to Hermione, trying to discern what was passing between them. From somewhere behind the three, Ginny called out that she was leaving to meet up with some friends. Mrs. Weasley chose that moment to climb in from the fireplace and distracted, Harry let Hermione´s hands slip from his own. The moment was lost.

"Everyone here?" Mrs. Weasley called out happily.

"Ginny just left," Ron answered, still bewildered from the flow of emotion that had passed through the room moments before.

"All right, dear. Then it´s off the Gringotts. We´ll go there together then I´ll leave you three to yourselves, I have some errands of my own to run today. Have you all got your vault keys?"

The three nodded in unison.

"Good, good. Then I´ll meet you all back here when your shopping´s done, say, about six?" Another round of nods. "And Harry, dear, remember you won´t be coming home to the Burrow tonight. Sirius said the house is finished, and he´ll meet you in the Three Broomsticks. You can Floo there when you´ve finished with your shopping." Harry groaned at what would be his mode of transportation but managed a smile. With a nod the room emptied, the three friends following Mrs. Weasley up the narrow lane, all the while, Harry casting Hermione poignant, ignored glances.

~~**~~

Diagon Alley was teeming with anxious young witches and wizards, all being led from one shop to another by their Hogwarts letters, which fluttered and rustled in the bright midday sun like hundreds of pale butterflies. After collecting their money and wishing Mrs. Weasley a fond goodbye, the three started their shopping, quickly pulling up to the Apothecary, eager to get their seventh year potions ingredients checked off their lists. Passing huge barrels of foul smelling ingredients that had been pulled out onto the sidewalk, with signs that read "Slightly used Eye of Newt, 50% off" and "A bit of Everything, One scoop, One Sickle", the three drew a deep breath, rushed into the store and hastily set their lists in front of the man behind the counter.

"Ah, seventh years at Hogwarts I see," the old man said in a lazy slow drawl. "I´ve had many students rush in and out of my store all day. Seems less than last year though." The three nodded frantically, still holding their breath. Hermione urgently gestured at her letter. The man took no heed and continued, stretching out his words with a leisurely far off look in his eyes. "They say trouble is brewing down at that school. Some say it´ll be the first thing lost when war is upon us. You three better take care." Harry, who had neither heard the man, nor particularly cared, was more concerned with fleeing the shop as soon as possible. The stench seemed to be creeping into his pours and his eyes were watering, teary streaks falling down his flushed cheeks. A quick glance in Ron´s direction told him his friend was experiencing similar problems as his face brightened into the colour of a ripe plum.

"Please, sir," he started through clenched teeth, "we´re in a bit of a hurry. If we could just..."

"Ah, hasty, are we? Eager to get your shopping done?" The three once again nodded frantically as the old man began to pull various jars and boxes off the shelves. When he had put the last of the ingredients into a bag and Harry, Ron and Hermione had simultaneously thrown their money onto the counter and ran off into the fresh air of the street.

"Ugh," Ron spat. "Leave it to Snape to find the most foul smelling shop in all of Britain." Harry nodded in agreement and Hermione made a small cluck of disapproval as she started back down the street.

The large display in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies was swamped with eager young wizards, all gazing wistfully at the sparkling new Firebolt model Z, which hovered slightly off its padded velvet display. Upon hearing the exclamations from the excited onlookers, Ron charged forward, pushing his way to the front of the crowd to press his nose against the glass, eyes twinkling as if he had never seen a broom before. Harry soon followed; although he would never part with the Firebolt Sirius had given him in his third year, there was no harm in looking. Eventually, Hermione had to drag the two from the case so they could get on with their shopping and the storeowner could clean the fingerprints and drool off the glass.

Flourish and Blotts was stuffed with as many people as there were books and the queue to pay twisted around the ceiling high shelves and out the door. It was at least an hour before the three were able to leave the store, purchases in hand, to make their way to Madam Malkin´s Robes for All Occasions. The small shop rivaled the crowds in the bookstore as students spilled out of the dressing rooms and magical tape measures and bits of fabric flew in every direction. The three ducked as a pair of scissors flew over their heads and into the hands of a plump, flustered looking woman with salt and pepper hair that tumbled across her neck from a loose bun.

"Potter, Weasley, Granger," she said, pulling a quill and scrap of parchment from her apron as three tape measures started taking their measurements and she took down the numbers. "Grew a bit from last year dear," she muttered absently as she filled in some numbers next to Hermione´s name. "Another half an inch for you too, Ron. Sorry Harry dear, but you´re still a strong 5´8". Just the Hogwarts robes for you then?"

"And dress robes Madam, we´ll all be needing new ones for the Christmas Celebration."

"Not for me, thank you," Hermione said quietly, causing Harry, Ron and Madam Malkin to shoot her quizzical glances. "I´m not planning on going this year."

"Of course, dear. You can always order your robes later if you wish. What colours do you want for yours boys?"

"Anything but maroon!" Ron wailed. Madam Malkin giggled.

"How about a nice royal blue for Ron and forest green for Harry. It will go nicely with your eyes." Hermione nodded in agreement and both boys smiled their consent. Madam Malkin told them their robes would be ready in a couple of hours then shuffled off to measure two girls who had entered the store.

"That´s it then," Hermione said, double checking her list one last time. "What time is it?"

Harry glanced at his wrist where he still wore the watch he had broken in his fourth year. The hands were frozen in the same position they had been for nearly two years now. Hermione often scoffed at him, asking him why he had never gotten it fixed or why he insisted on wearing something that didn´t work properly. He would never answer, perhaps because he didn´t know himself. Instead he would smile and trace over the smooth face of the clock with his finger, she would roll her eyes and the two would continue with whatever they had been doing beforehand. None of that happened this time. Harry stared blankly at his watch and waited in vain for Hermione´s sarcastic comments. She was staring at his watch as well, a forlorn look plastered on her face.

"Herm...?"

"It´s 5:15," Ron said suddenly, breaking the two out of their revelry.

Hermione blinked a couple of times then grinned. "Forty-five minutes then. I think I could use some ice cream."

~~**~~

The three sat at a white painted iron table in front of Florean Fortescue´s, making general small talk between slurps of melting ice cream. It was surprising how much could be said without actually saying anything at all. In fact, the only disruption to the endless flow of words came when the clock above Gringott´s chimed six, the loud chorus of bells breaking through their debate of the potential for the newly discovered calamari flavoured Bertie Bott´s bean.

By the time they arrived back at the Leaky Cauldron, Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were already waiting for them, Ginny just having wished some sixth year girls goodbye. She approached the trio and placed a friendly hand around Harry´s shoulders.

"Excited, Harry?" She said, the trademark Weasley flame coloured hair and light freckles framing the happy glint encased in her eyes.

"Yeah," he responded simply.

"I´m sure you´ll love the house. Fred and George helped Sirius move the furniture in. They say it´s lovely."

He smiled at that. There were no words to describe the level of joy he was feeling at that moment. Ginny returned the grin with a small peck on his cheek and stepped away to let the others say their good-byes.

"Tell Sirius I said hi," Ron said as he clapped him on the back. Hermione, smiled, a bit of the old spark in her eyes shining through and told him she see him on September first.

"You´ll be okay, right?" Harry asked as Hermione pulled out of a brief, loose hug.

"Don´t be silly, Harry. I´m fine. Remember to keep your elbows tucked in and you eyes shut on the trip there. Also, please be careful with your glasses. They are very breakable."

He rolled his eyes. It seemed traces of the old bossy Hermione still lurked under the surface of this new quiet girl. He smiled as Mrs. Weasley handed him some Floo Powder, then stepping into the fireplace, the words `The Three Broomsticks´ could be heard before Harry was swallowed in the warm magic flames.

~~**~~

Harry came to an abrupt halt, choking on a mouthful of grimy ash as he squinted under a thick layer of soot that covered his glasses. As Harry swayed dizzily into the small room, he felt a familiar strong grip on his shoulder to steady him and then a soft low chuckle.

"That´s not funny, you know. I hate Floo Powder," Harry sighed, wiping his forehead with the back of a dirty sleeve and trying in vain to clear his glasses.

"Skurge."

Suddenly the grime dissolved from Harry´s vision and he found himself in the center of a small room, his godfather´s hand still gripping his upper arm. He looked happier then Harry had ever seen him and anxious as a child on Christmas morning. His shoulder length dark hair was tied neatly at the base of his neck in a scarlet ribbon and he wore a crisp new dark brown robe. The yellow tinge that had tainted his skin had vanished since the last time Harry had seen him, as had the darkened circles that rested under his eyes. Sirius now resembled the man in his parents´ wedding photograph, tall and handsome, with eyes that sparkled with mischief and a warm friendly smile.

He pulled Harry into a loose embrace and welcomed him fondly. They slipped from the backroom and out into the street, avoiding the crowd gathered for dinner in the pub. Harry followed Sirius down the near empty lane, taking note of the fact that the few people who were out seemed to hurry out of the way as they approached. Sirius seemed to take no notice of this and Harry decided it would be best if the subject was left unmentioned.

They walked briskly and made small talk about the weather and health, Harry´s eyes darting from left to right in an attempt to take in the sites of his new hometown and memorize every subtle detail. He was sure that even the nastiest Dementor would be quick to retreat from a Patronus born from this happy moment.

Very little had changed about the quiet wizarding village since the last time Harry had seen it. They followed High Street, passing Honeydukes, whose windows sparkled with multitudes of carefully arranged candies, the wrappers shining like precious gems. Zonko´s Joke Shop came next, and directly across the street a half finished sign proclaiming "Weasley´s Wizard Whe -" was hung, bright orange words gleaming against a sunny yellow background.

At last, they came upon a modest two-story house, done in brickwork with thick vines of trailing ivy clinging to the red surface. A small path twisted through an emerald lawn to an eggshell coloured door with silver adornments. Sirius paused for effect, then dramatically swept the door open in a gesture that was both proud and anxious.

When Harry first stepped across the threshold, he inhaled a single, endless breath and thought, "Home," holding its magical essence in his lungs as if he could somehow recover the years he´d lost to his insipid Muggle relatives. A smile bubbled to his lips and he saw the same happen to Sirius and they both inexplicably burst into mirthful laughter.

Once he had regained some semblance of composure, Sirius sighed. "It´s finally over."

For once in his life, Harry believed it.

~~**~~

"This is not over! I can´t believe... Something must be done!" The masked Death Eater in the corner cringed as Lucius Malfoy, apoplectic with rage, sputtered his way through the note from an informant at the Ministry. Caterpillars burst into an exuberant mating dance upon his forehead as he beetled his silver blonde brows together, then sighed and slammed his fist hard against his desk. "Draco, come here!"

As he crumpled the offending note into a free-form origami ball and bellowed for his son´s presence, Lucius appeared on the verge of a massive self-induced migraine. Such fits of petulance were not uncommon for the eminent companion of the Dark Lord, a man with a voice frigid enough to chill the largest of rooms and a reputation for stern, stoic discipline that put him firmly in league with the most vicious pit vipers of the world.

His personality, permeated every inch of his enormous office, rich with the muted gleam of brass, English hardwood and burgundy leather, all of it specifically chosen to be befitting of his incredible wealth and power. Visitors to his quarters swore they felt the ambient temperature drop just from the imposing frost bitten furniture alone.

This nurturing paternal environment made it easier to understand why the junior Malfoy, who was now leaning nonchalantly against the doorjamb, had blossomed into such an anti-social member of the wizarding community. "Yes, Father? Is something the matter?" His slightly nasal voice, genetically engineered for jaded boredom, was laced with just the merest hint of involuntary interest.

"This is the matter," his father groused, tossing the wad of parchment to Draco, who picked it apart with gleaming, carefully manicured fingernails. As his son scanned the note, the elder Malfoy commenced a running commentary, framing his veritable portrait of derision with the thick outline of outraged disdain. "Those Ministry idiots have not only cleared Black´s name but have issued a search warrant for the arrest of Pettigrew. More than that, that incompetent twit Weasley has informed the Muggle authorities. It´s only a matter of time now. The Dark Lord is far too weak to stand up against anything the Ministry and those infuriating Aurors will do to him. What will become of us if something happens to the Dark Lord?" He paused to watch his son´s almost imperceptible twitch at the mention of the word `us´ and his scowl lifted into a tight-lip smirk. "And it couldn´t have come at a more inconvenient time, with you about to take the Dark Mark. Come to think of it, this entire situation is your fault. If you had been a better spy at that school of yours we could have foreseen this coming and prepared. Sometimes I feel as if your loyalties to the family and to your master are wavering."

Draco had since ceased to listen, had since ceased to read the grim words which the untidy scrawl had sliced into the page. He found himself preoccupied instead with the emotional spasms of an existential crisis.

Draco had always prided himself on being an expert judge of character as he had devoted much of his young life to dodging his father´s frequent use of force, implemented to teach lessons in honor and loyalty. By this time, he thought he could read Lucius like an absurdly easy book, memorizing every chapter of its emotional simplistic prose in the healthy spirit of self-preservation. After years of hunting for tricks to slip under Voldemort´s radar, while still keeping ties with the family inheritance, Draco found his father catching on to his clever ploy. It was becoming harder to find excuses to prolong the addition of the inevitable disfiguring scar that would be branded upon his arm when even Crabbe and Goyle had received theirs. Hands that itched to grasp onto a beam of support were closing their white-knuckled grip on nothing but empty air. It was both frightening and frustrating, two emotions which Draco had come to loath.

Turning his angered expression from its examination of the subtle panic written on his son´s face, Lucius refocused his attention elsewhere. "That´ll be all. Leave before I find myself become angry with your incompetence." With his characteristic noblesse oblige, Lucius Malfoy dismissed the young Death Eater, who had been nervously attempting to blend in with the potted plants, no doubt ever mindful of the time-honored tradition of killing the messenger. Bowing as gratefully as if the parting threat had been a benediction, the man made a hasty exit, however had not traveled far before he was called back.

"Wait." Halfway down the hallway leading to the stairs, the Death Eater halted when a voice wrapped around his consciousness with all the clammy pressure of a restraining hand upon his shoulder. Betraying a tense set to his thin lips, which deceived his leisurely pace, Lucius drew several galleons from his cloak as he approached. "You know, it´s always been my philosophy that if you want to know the truth about a situation, you ask the harbinger of the bad news. Your name is Blaine, is it not?" The man nodded slowly, the hood of his cloak retracting to reveal a large blue welt spanning his left temple. Lucius grinned. "What else do you know about Black and Pettigrew?" He casually jingled the coins in his right hand, drawing Blaine´s gaze down to the sparkling metal.

"It´s as the note says, sir." Still leaning against the door, Draco looked on with a disinterested sigh.

Lucius smiled and heaped a bit more money on the pile. Blaine lifted his head to reveal wide eyes that reflected the glint of gold. "Of course, I could mention one thing, but it´s almost inconceivable. You would laugh at me, sir."

Lucius raised the hefty stack to eye level. "Humour me."

"Well . . ." Blaine swallowed hard, the sparkling glint of the coins making his throat go dry. "The Ministry has leads. They say..."

"What do they say?" Lucius interrupted, plucking more gold from his pocket and adding it to the stack.

"They have an idea of where Pettigrew is hiding. Some Muggles spotted him in France while hiking. I´ve also heard them speak of a prophecy... "

Lucius grasped the young man´s hand and pressed the coins into his shaking palm. "What did you hear?"

"The... the brother will defeat the Dark Lord."

~~**~~

According to the archetypal laws of fate and the ancient death sentences for those who bear horrible news, poor Blaine would appear to be consigned to meet a bitter end. Luckily for him, this was not the case and he went on to live a happy and prosperous life.

For a little less than three minutes, that is.

~~**~~

A guard, waiting patiently outside the office, nodded respectfully at Lucius as he pulled out a handful of gold galleons comparable to the one which he´d so recently bestowed upon Blaine and rattled it invitingly, much as he´d wave a tasty sheep beneath the nose of a slavering dragon. "There´s a man downstairs wearing black robes, carrying oh, I´d say, this much money, attempting to leave."

"Yes, sir?"

Lucius didn´t bother to smile this time, "See that he doesn´t. Ever. And his money´s yours."

"Yes, sir!"

Leaving the grinning thug to his grisly mission, Lucius strode briskly down the hall into his office, passing his slightly stunned son on the way. Shutting the door and pulling a parchment and quill from the desk he began to write with a furious energy.

"Draco, we have a problem."

~~**~~

Hogsmeade was quiet, its nocturnal residence seemingly having taken the night off to ensue other, less distracting endeavors. The shops had all drawn their shades, the merchandise tucked safely beneath locking charms and anti theft spells. The people had for the most part gone to bed, save for a few weary souls still sitting in the Three Broomsticks, nursing glasses of warm liquor as Madame Rosmerta wiped down the bar in a soft syncopated melody of cloth against wood.

In the brick house at the end of High Street, Harry slumbered peacefully atop scarlet sheets, his head resting lightly on complimenting golden yellow pillows, laid out to match the over all Gryffindor colour scheme in his new room. Hedwig napped on her perch in the corner, her snowy head tucked under a wing, having found her way from 4 Privet Drive shortly after the Dursleys had become tired of her incessant squawking and had thrown her cage, the bars springing open upon impact, from the second floor window.

Downstairs, Sirius was wearing a trench into the hardwood. He strode the distance of the room, pacing back and forth in a simplistic ballet, the soles of his shoes tapping out a steady background chorus for the stream of thought that flitted through his brain.

They have his wand. They have his broom. I need to bring those back. They let Harry get hurt. They need to learn not to hurt my family.

A man of action, Sirius had concocted three basic plans. Plan A was a simple talking to. He would merely charge in, wave his wand around menacingly and threaten anything that moves. If this didn´t work Plan B included the use of sheer force, but absolutely no magic. If Vernon Dursley still failed to grasp his concept even after being pummeled into a neat little pile, he would be forced to revert to Plan C. This particular plan called for him to transfigure him into a large grapefruit then savagely stomp until nothing but a sticky pink pulp was left. Needless to say, he was partial to Plan C, even though it would give him another life sentence in Azkaban.

Striding out the door and down the street, away from the anti-Apparating wards that cloaked their home, Sirius suddenly stopped and with a determined `pop´ he disappeared, reappearing instantly in front of a plain white house, a single number `4´ posted in cracked black paint next to the door.

Taking a few deep breaths, Sirius squared his shoulders and rose his head high, mentally encouraging himself to face those who hurt his family. He resembled a solider preparing for battle as his eyes were unnaturally dark and he wore an imposing scowl, utter determination written in the straight line of his posture. He knocked forcefully on the door.

"Go away."

He knocked again.

"Do you know what bloody time it is? Whatever you´re selling, we don´t want any. Get the hell away from my door."

Sirius counted slowly backward from ten, concentrated on his breathing and knocked yet again.

"I´m calling the police. I´ll have you thrown in jail for disturbing the peace. This is..." Vernon never got to finish his sentence as quite suddenly his front door burst into a large cloud of grey dust. He stood there, jaw hung slack, hands quivering nervously where they grasped the telephone.

"See what I just did to your door? You´re going to listen to me or I´ll do the same to you."

Vernon nodded dumbly. Dudley and Petunia, having materialized at the top of the stairs after they had heard the commotion, stood with wide eyes, looking pointedly at the gaping hole that used to be the entranceway.

"You - you´re some sort of freak, like him," Vernon spat, unable to withhold the blatant disdain from his voice. "We don´t know where he is. He ran away. Good riddance!"

Sirius narrowed his eyes and raised his wand, aiming directly at Vernon´s pillow like face. He jerked to the side, indicating that perhaps the fat man should take a seat in the sitting room. Vernon obeyed, hands raised to shield his face as he slithered down the hallway. Sirius then turned his attention to the two remaining Dursleys still perched at the top of the stairs.

"Bring down Harry´s things, all of them, he won´t be coming back here. Then, please, join us in the sitting room."

~~**~~

Vernon sat on an old floral patterned armchair, glaring daggers at the tall dark stranger that had broken into his home. When Dudley and Petunia had entered the room, carrying a small trunk and Harry´s broom between them, Sirius shot them a quizzical glance.

"That´s all?"

"We took care of the rest," Vernon spat, scowling harshly. "The boy must have used one of his little tricks on those. We can´t get rid of them. What do you want with this rubbish anyway? Who are you?"

With a few quick spells, Sirius shrunk Harry´s possessions and pocketed them, turning on Vernon to stare the man who had hurt his family in the eye. "My godson´s life is not rubbish, Dursley. He spent seventeen years of his life rotting in this hell you call a home and a trunk and a broomstick are all he has to show for it. He was treated like dirt here, overworked and underfed, locked in a cupboard, friendless, parentless and alone."

Missing the blanched look of horror that swept over his wife´s face, Vernon continued to glare menacingly at Sirius.

"We took him into our home, gave him whatever food and clothing we could spare, and all we asked in return was a little help with the housework, it wasn´t much." Petunia simpered meekly. There was a sickening note in her voice that caused Sirius to pause, even though deep down he knew she was lying.

"All we wanted was a normal life, then he came along, the ungrateful freak!" Vernon started, despite his wife´s quelling glance urging him to keep his mouth shut. However, if any good could be said about the prideful Vernon Dursley, it was that he was not afraid to speak his mind, even if he was too dense to realize he was taunting the metaphorical stampeding bull elephant of Sirius anger. He continued undaunted. "He caused nothing but suffering, like a plague upon our good name. If his good-for-nothing parents had had any sense whatsoever, they would have known how to treat their bastard son and not have gotten themselves killed in the first place! They probably deserved it! I´d bet they´d be happy I attempted to tame their unmanageable boy! I only regret not having used more force!"

Clenching his jaw in anger, Sirius snuffed out the tiny flare of mercy he´d been feeling for the man. "Don´t you ever," he began, enunciating each syllable with a calmness teetering on violence, "talk about my family like that again, you horrible, simple minded piece of filth! You are not worth my time."

All three Dursleys were visibly shaken by Sirius´ resounding verbal rebuttal and they coward next to each other like cornered rats. Feeling strangely relived at the fact that he managed to get his point across without having to move onto Plans B, Sirius turned to exit.

A commemorative Queen Mum collector´s plate suddenly crashed against his turned back. Sighing, it looked as if Sirius had thought too soon, as Vernon Dursley hurled another poorly aimed plate at him that collided with the wall to his left.

"You don´t want to do that." Sirius warned, drawing nearer.

"Get out of my house! No freak is going to tell me what to do! We´ll do whatever we damn well please!" Vernon wailed as his wife and son took refuge behind the kitchen doorway.

Sirius was now mere centimeters away from the pudgy man´s ruddy bloated face. Suddenly Vernon lashed out, swinging his fist with a howl of fury, which Sirius abruptly quelled as he deftly caught his arm in mid flight, griping it tight enough to feel the subtle rush of blood through the network of veins beneath. There was a bestial savagery inherent in the way Sirius brutally wrenched the fat arm up behind his back until the resultant scream was punctuated by the sickening pop of a dislocated shoulder. As his world exploded in a burning red corona of sheer agony, Vernon could only watch while his craven family hid in the shadows and his attacker shook his head in outright disdain.

Sirius spared one final, murderous glance at Vernon, tiny white dots of rage flanking the corners of his mouth. "As of this moment, you are absolved of all your connections with my godson. He is no longer your family and you and your pathetic excuse for a wife and son are never allowed to look at him, much less touch him. If you do, so help me, I will be forced to do a lot more than just break your arm. Do you understand?" Vernon averted his eyes and nodded slowly as did the two other Dursleys. "Good."

With that, Sirius left, muttering ruefully to himself as he passed through the threshold of 4 Privet Drive.

At least he hadn´t had to revert to Plan C.

~~**~~