25: Secrets of Vipers

Harry

Before he left, Harry ordered Kreacher to watch Sirius’ alcohol intake and make sure someone kept an eye on him. Vanessa and Hazel were moving in the next day but Harry had to keep up appearances and that meant going back to school for the leaving feast.

 He braced himself before Flooing back to Snape’s office.

“Your father is dead,” Snape observed as soon as Harry stepped out of the fire.

“Astute."

Snape examined him. “Will Lord Black face charges?”

“No,” Harry said. “The Minister kindly issued a blanket pardon for all acts committed in an effort to protect against the Death Eaters. Which includes accidental friendly fire.”

“Most convenient of him,” Snape said.

Harry smiled without humor. Vanessa and Hazel had finessed that one out of the Minister, thanks to some evidence Theo provided about Umbridge’s misdemeanors. If it got out what Fudge had authorized, he’d be political toast and he knew it, so he was all too happy to accommodate the saviors of the Ministry.

“No punishment shall be issued to any students who broke curfew and left school grounds,” Snape added.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said.

Snape waved him on.

The Slytherins were heading up to the Great Hall for the leaving feast. Harry melted easily back into the moving students.

Hestia latched onto his elbow in the entrance hall. “Harry,” she hissed. “We need to meet after dinner.” 

“Yes,” he said. “I wrote the journals ten minutes ago.”

“Did Black really…” She trailed off.

Harry nodded shortly.

“Circe,” Hestia said. She looked him over, and so did Flora, who appeared out of the crowd at her twin’s elbow.

“You’re all right?” Flora said brusquely.

“Yes. Your cousin…?” Harry said delicately.

Hestia’s lips thinned. Flora shook her head, just slightly.

Harry considered, and then molded his face into an expression of sympathy. “I imagine they’ll be out soon enough,” he said, very softly.

The Carrows agreed without saying a word and slipped back into the crowd, rejoining their friends. 

Theo’s first words when Harry sat down at the table were “Did you see the Prophet this morning?”

“No,” Harry said. He’d gotten back to Grimmauld Place, forced a sleep potion down Sirius’ throat, and then collapsed into his own bed for most of the day. At four he woke up to Kreacher bearing four letters from Snape demanding Harry’s return to school. He’d taken an hour and a half to get himself presentable, take care of Sirius, communicate with Vanessa via the journals he’d given Sirius, and get back to school.

Theo and Daphne looked grim. “It’s bad,” Theo said. “Open war all day.”

“They listed the captured Death Eaters,” Pansy said.

There was a hitch in her voice and Harry looked at her. She was sitting next to him and therefore facing the rest of the Hall, so her back was rigidly straight and her face expressionless. Only if you knew her very, very well would you see the worry tucked into the corners of her eyes and lips.

Harry very cautiously wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Pansy leaned into him with a barely perceptible tilt. “Mum,” she whispered.

“Father’s fine,” Theo said. He was cutting his pork cutlets with excessively controlled movements.

“Malfoy’s in Azkaban,” Blaise said in a near-whisper.

Harry glanced up the table. Draco sat in a space to himself on Pansy’s other side; this explained why he was eating his food like someone had turned him into a wind-up toy and staring at nothing.

It didn’t take much work to figure who else had lost a family member to Azkaban the previous night. Alex Rowle wasn’t eating at all; he and Evalyn were holding each other up while Ginny and Romilda and Astoria glared everyone away. Natalie’s back was to the Great Hall and tears shone on her cheeks. Daphne informed Harry in a cold, perfectly flat voice that Alex’s father had died the previous night, his aunt had been recaptured, and his uncle hadn’t been able to get word to anyone. Evalyn’s uncle was back in prison, along with Rodolphus Lestrange and a handful of lower-level Death Eaters.

The mood in the room was tense and hostile. Harry had never sat through a Leaving Feast this somber. The Gryffindors, in particular, were glaring daggers at the Slytherin table.

With one notable exception. Jules hadn’t looked up from his plate once the whole meal and even from here Harry could see the way his shoulders were braced to bear the weight of pointed glares and whispers. Heir Potter was now Lord Potter; the Boy Who Lived was not crazy but a savior. And a grieving son.

“Oi,” Blaise said. “Harry, tone it down a little.”

Harry blinked and looked away from Jules and found his entire section of the table looking at him uneasily.

“You were glaring,” Pansy said.

“Oops,” Harry said, serving himself chicken salad. “Eriss?”

“Safe, in our room,” Theo said. “I think she’s eager to see you, although it’s kind of hard to tell given that, you know, she can’t actually talk back to me.” 

There was probably a way to transfer Parseltongue to someone, or give them the ability. It most likely used blood magic. Harry made a note to point Luna in that direction the next time he saw her. Theo would probably be happy to help out, especially since he was clever enough to guess he’d probably be one of the people Harry’d be willing to share it with. Having more Parselmouths would be a good thing in the long run if they could spin it.

But that was a problem for another day.

Theo went on with his emotionless, factual report. “Neville, Hermione, and Daphne are in St. Mungo’s. They’ll recover within a day or two. Hermione’s parents were absolutely irate, but Daphne’s stepped in and calmed them down. I think Confunding Charms might have been involved.”

“Figures,” Draco spat. “Muggles. As if they could understand her.”

Everyone carefully avoided eye contact with each other for a few seconds.

“Anyway,” Theo went on, “several of the DA lot ended up in hospital too. They don’t know what curse Dolohov used on Patil—apparently if she hadn’t silenced him first, made him cast it nonverbally, she’d have died.”

“They don’t know?” Harry said. “I learned that one months ago.”

Blaise snorted. “Yes, but you had an unconventional education this year.”

Speaking of Barty… “How’s Neville?” Harry said.

“Some broken bones and a concussion, they’re keeping him overnight to make sure they didn’t miss any brain damage,” Theo said. “Brains are tricky things, apparently. Oh, and Weasley got attacked by those brain things in the tank, look.”

Harry leaned to the side and could just make out heavy bandages winding their way up and down Ron Weasley’s forearms. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” he said. “Luna and Justin?”

“Fine.”

He nodded. They were both sitting at their House tables and Justin had already waved at him, but it was good to have confirmation.

“…Sirius?” 

“Upset,” Harry said. “Unhurt. Kreacher’s watching him. Vanessa and Hazel are moving in tomorrow. We can tag-team him.”

“Who all is staying with you this summer?” Blaise said.

Harry ticked off a mental list. “Justin, for some of it.” Because the Malfoys are out went unsaid. “Graham. Veronica. Rio Ingram. Dylan Worple. Yvette Mirren might come, I’m not sure yet.”

“Halfway home for kids with shitty families,” Pansy said. “I like it.”

“Sirius’ parents are probably cringing,” Harry said.

“Speaking of parents,” Blaise said delicately.

Everyone’s attention focused on Harry, even Slytherins on the periphery of his group who’d overheard and were trying to be subtle about their eavesdropping. He sipped his pumpkin juice. “James became not my parent quite a while before he died.”

“Still…” Blaise said.

Harry shook his head. “Still nothing.”

His tone was flat and hard. The others took the hint and changed the subject.

Across the Great Hall, Jules looked up and finally met Harry’s eyes. It was the first time Harry could remember not being able to read his brother at all.

Pansy

There was a list of people she kept in her head. Kind of like Theo’s—he’d asked her about it, once. Lists. People. The difference was Theo’s list was for revenge, while Pansy kept a list of people whose presence in her life she would actually miss should they no longer be in it. It helped her prioritize. If it came down to spending time with someone on her list or someone else, it was easy to say no to the someone else.

Her list was short. Her mum was one of the top three people on it.

“Pans?”

She looked up and didn’t wipe her eyes. “Harry.”

Harry slid the door to her compartment shut. “You okay? It took me fifteen minutes to get that lock spell down.”

“Don’t know when to take a fucking hint, do you,” Pansy said, but the banter was weak. Ever so slightly shaky. Daphne could’ve locked him out completely.

She wasn’t Daphne.

“I can go.” Harry hesitated. “If you want.”

Pansy mutely shook her head.

Harry sat down next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Blaise might’ve tried to talk. Neville definitely would have. Theo or Daphne would’ve said something snippy and sarcastic meant to turn her sadness into an emotion they could understand. She knew Harry didn’t understand this either, not really. He wouldn’t try to talk. She was just grateful he was here.

Of all people, Harry would never turn this on her, because his trust issues meant he knew she could and would wreck him right back if he did. Mutually assured destruction.

Pansy could work with that.

“She’ll be back,” Harry said softly. “He’ll get them out.”

“I know,” Pansy said. She looked up at him. Lethal green eyes and a face more interesting than handsome, familiar after these five years. “I know.”

Then she kissed him.

It was an impulse. A stupid one. She knew that even as she did it, but she needed to do something, needed something to distract herself.

And for just a second, Harry responded. Shifted toward her the slightest bit. Pansy felt his lips part under her open mouth—

He shut his eyes and rested his free hand on her shoulder. “Pansy.”

“What?” She was crying still, just a little, hating herself for it. Hating him a little. “I know—don’t fucking tell me you don’t want to, Harry, you’re into girls—”

“I don’t want to,” he said, and it was even and not cold or cruel, which was as close to gentle as he ever got. “Not with you.”

Pansy looked pointedly down at his groin. Robes weren’t enough to hide the evidence.

Harry shifted in his seat. “It’s biology, Pans. You’re—upset. Looking for a distraction.”

“So what?” she spat, shifting to face him. Anger was better than sadness and worry. Anger was fuel. “I don’t think being distracted right now would be a bad thing.”

“No, but—” Harry made a frustrated noise and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “We’ll regret this. In an hour or a day or—I don’t have a lot of friends, Pansy, and I almost fucked up Daphne and me, I don’t want to risk that with you. This isn’t a good time to be making—these kinds of decisions. For either of us.”

“I know all that, I just…” she said, hating how her voice sounded weak and broken. It was how she imagined Mum’s voice sounding when she got out—

Pansy shut her eyes.

“Pansy, you’re gorgeous, but—”

She snorted without looking at him. “I’m a nine on a bad day, and fucking well aware of that. You don’t need to reassure me. I am not having a self-esteem crisis here.”

“Okay,” he said, “good, because I—I’m sorry, I don’t want to… hurt you.”

Pansy rubbed her eyes and then glared halfheartedly at the mascara streaks on her hand. “This would be easier if you’d been a jerk.”

“It’s not too late,” Harry said. “If you want me to be an asshole, that is.”

“Doesn’t count if it’s fake,” she said.

She could hear his cautious smile. “The decent reaction could’ve been faked. Ever think of that? Maybe I’m just hoping for permission to stop resisting the asshole instinct.”

“I know you, I know it’s real,” Pansy said, a little miserably. Harry was attractive for sure, and one of her best friends, but she didn’t know if it was love or a crush or just that she wanted comfort and he was one of even fewer people who wouldn’t throw her vulnerability back at her and—fuck. Just fuck.

  Harry sighed. “You’re a good kisser. If that helps.”

“Are you going to keep telling me things I already knew?” Pansy said, mustering a shadow of her normal mean grin.

“It’s a bit difficult to say things you don’t know. Gossip queen.”

She’d known that, too.

Pansy drew her knees up to her chest and leaned into the arm Harry never took away from her shoulders. He tightened his grip and shifted a little bit. Probably—she glanced sideways in her peripheral vision, and confirmed her guess. A very small part of her was viciously satisfied that she’d had that effect even though she knew it was kind of unfair of her.

“I’m guessing you’d rather I didn’t tell the others about this,” Harry said after a few minutes.

“Yeah, let’s not,” Pansy said. “And if you do I will tell them about the time you tripped down the Charms staircase and Filch had to drag you out of a tangling tapestry last year, and if you think Theo and Justin will ever let you live that down you need to get to know your friends better.”

Harry laughed silently. She could feel his shoulders shaking. “That was unsubtle by your standards.”

“What can I say,” she muttered, “I’m a little off my game.”

Harry

He caught a glimpse of a familiar figure on the platform.

“Hey, Graham,” Harry said, not looking away from the silhouette, “why don’t you take the others through the Floo? Call Kreacher and have him make you a snack or something. Leave Sirius alone. I’ll be right there.”

“Sure thing,” Graham said, shepherding Rio Ingram, Veronica Butler, and Dylan Worple toward the Floo connections. Their Viper rings glinted in the June sunlight, even through the steam that always covered Platform 9¾.

Harry cast a Notice-Me-Not on himself and slid through the crowds with ease. Eriss hung off his shoulder.

Barty was lurking behind the rentable lockers when Harry caught up to him. “Hell of a fight,” he said.

Harry nodded. “I was glad to see you weren’t caught again.”

“’Cause Veritaserum might make me spill about our little arrangement?” Barty said, teeth gleaming as he smiled.

“For the same reason I saved your ass from Moody,” Harry said.

Barty nodded slowly. “I owe you.”

“Master and apprentice,” Harry said. “I looked it up. Part of the arrangement is watching each other’s back.”

“I still owe you.”

Harry wasn’t about to turn that down, so he just nodded again.

“How’s Sirius?”

“Not well,” Harry said. “I mean… when I left yesterday, he was steadily working his way through the liquor cabinet. I told our house-elf to cut him off after two bottles of firewhiskey.”

“Good idea.” Barty shifted his weight. “Bellatrix… asked me to tell you that you aren’t a total disgrace to the house of Black.”

“I’m honored,” Harry said.

Barty smirked. “Okay, no need for quite that much sarcasm, you wouldn’t want it to drip on the floor. Who knows if that stuff stains.”

“It’d make my point if it did,” Harry said. “Which is I don’t much care what Bellatrix Lestrange thinks of me.”

“Of course not, but I told her I’d pass the message along and everyone’s lives are easier if no one breaks promises to Bellatrix. Oh, and speaking of promises—” Barty laid a hand lightly on his wand. “I hereby release Hadrian Sirius Black from any and all oaths he swore to me regarding his apprenticeship and its secrecy. So mote it be.”

Harry stared at him.

“We should be able to trust each other enough for that, at this point,” Barty drawled.

“You are… not a Slytherin,” Harry managed.

Barty just snorted.

After another few seconds, Harry took a deep breath and touched his wand. “I release Bartemius Caspar Crouch from any and all oaths he swore to me regarding my apprenticeship and its secrecy. So mote it be.”

It was one of very few times Harry had ever seen Barty look surprised. “What,” he said, releasing his wand, “weren’t expecting that to be reciprocal?”

“You are a Slytherin,” Barty pointed out.

Harry shrugged. Trust went two ways and he found himself liking Barty, against his own better judgment. Didn’t mean he had to admit it.

Barty examined his expression. “I won’t use it against you.”

They both knew Harry wouldn’t trust that promise right away, but he found himself hoping Barty would keep it.

It was like the early days with Sirius all over again. Shocked and suspicious that he actually wanted to trust an adult.

“Here.” Barty shook off the odd moment and held out a plain brown envelope, stuffed full.

“What’s this?” Harry said, not taking it.

“Evidence.”

There was only one thing Harry could think of. His eyes snapped up to Barty’s. His mentor was as serious as Harry had ever seen him, and as stable.

Harry took the envelope.

“Let me know what you think,” Barty said, nodding at it. “That wasn’t easy, you know.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Harry said, sliding the envelope into one of his many expanded pockets. “Don’t get caught this summer. I’d hate to have to think about your ass stuck in Azkaban.”

“Don’t worry,” Barty said darkly, “I’m not intending to go back.

Harry arrived in the kitchen a few minutes later, and found his four strays happily stuffing their faces with peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches at the scarred kitchen table. Kreacher was lurking in the corner, watching happily as the kids tore into their food.

“Sirius?” Harry asked quietly.

“Master Sirius is in his room,” the elf said.

Harry flicked his wand so the kids wouldn’t hear this question. “How much did he drink?”

“Master Sirius is not complaining when Kreacher locked the alcohol away, as Master Harry is saying,” Kreacher said, half-bowing. “Master Sirius is sleeping.”

“Thanks,” Harry said with a sigh. He took down his short-lived privacy spell, told the kids to find him on the second floor to sort out their rooms in a few minutes, and started climbing the stairs. His legs felt weirdly heavy.

Harry gently pushed open the door to Sirius’ room. “Sirius?”

“Hey.”

The lights were out. Sirius was sitting on the floor staring blankly up and out the windows at the blue sky, leaning back on his bed.

Harry eased himself to the floor about a foot away.

“Is it stupid that I miss him,” Sirius said finally.

“No.” Jules’ face swam behind Harry’s eyes and he pushed it away. This wasn’t the time for his issues. “Not stupid at all.”

“I guess…” Sirius picked at the carpet. “It felt like there was still a chance, you know? As long as he was alive… my brother was still in there somewhere. No matter how much he’d changed. But now…”

Harry nodded. Now there was no hope of that at all. Not that Harry had thought there was one even when James was alive, but he was in a different situation. Sirius at least had good memories of James.

“The kids are here,” he said after a while. “Did I tell you who all…”

“I forgot.” Sirius seemed to take some interest in this, at least, dragging his eyes down from the window to somewhere near Harry’s feet.

“Dylan Worple. Hufflepuff third year, halfblood, lives with his Muggle mother. She took the kid when she found out her husband was a wizard and doesn’t like magic much.  Rio Ingram, Muggle-born and second-year Slytherin. He won’t tell me what exactly is going on at his house but his parents won’t or can’t afford Hogwarts.”

Sirius started nodding slowly. “Well, we’ll take care of that in August, he doesn’t have to worry about that pathetic scholarship fund for school supplies.”

Harry grinned. “I figured you’d say as much. And Veronica, you remember her?”

“Duh.”

“Right. Her and Graham.” Harry glanced at his watch. “Veronica’s parents want to meet you before she spends the summer here, but if you’re not up for it…”

Sirius took a slightly shaky breath. “I’d rather not… right now.”

“Done. I’ll ask Vanessa or Hazel to play your wife,” Harry said with a smirk.

“Oh Merlin,” Sirius said. “Please don’t die.”

“I’ll do my best.” Harry studied him a minute longer, then cautiously leaned over and offered him a hug. It was kind of awkward thanks to their position on the floor but Sirius clung to him tightly.

He counted four breaths before Sirius sat up again. “Jules?”

“What’s done is done,” Harry said in as flat a tone as he could muster.

Sirius pointed at him. “No, see, I had a blood brother too, one I fought with. It’s not that easy to just what’s done is done your way out of it.”

Harry allowed himself a short, frustrated huff. A very large part of him wanted to be either flippant or cold and shut this conversation down right this second, but Sirius deserved more sincerity than that. “Can we not talk about this?”

“Not right now if you really don’t want to,” Sirius said, stumbling a little over his words. “And, I mean, I won’t be hurt if you don’t want to talk about it with me. But you should with… someone. Theo? Neville? Someone.”

“I’ll… think about it,” Harry said. It was a white lie that wouldn’t hurt anyone. He had thought about talking to someone, as soon as Sirius brought it up, and his immediate reaction had been a full internal recoil. Not happening. He’d haul Theo off to a dueling hall at the first chance he got and really let loose and burn it off that way. It was healthier than bottling everything up, at least. 

Part of him hated Jules for still loving James, after everything. Part of him knew Jules had been a traumatized and grieving child; that part still clung to stupid hope. Maybe now that James was gone, maybe—

“Okay.” Sirius tilted his head back against the edge of his mattress and closed his eyes. “Okay.”

“Why don’t you go down to the garage and work on your bike or something?” Harry suggested. “Does it use gasoline fuel still?”

Sirius snorted. “Nah, I got rid of that first thing once I got it back from Hagrid. Sixteen-year-old-me liked the smell but it’s a pain to keep refilling. Engine still runs, though.”

“For the noise,” Harry guessed.

“Yep. I guess… I could go for a ride,” Sirius said. “Want to come?”

He did, badly, but there were things to do. “No thanks, not today,” Harry said. “We have the whole summer, right? And that way you can have some time to yourself with it.”

“Good point.” Sirius levered himself to his feet and offered Harry a hand up. He already looked marginally less morose. “Tell the kids hi for me, okay? I’ll have dinner with you guys, I just… that’s a lot right now.”

Harry shoved him lightly toward the door. “Of course. Now get going, or we’ll have to drag the mind healers back in.” They’d warned him that predisposition for depressive mood swings was one symptom of prolonged dementor exposure, and Sirius would be more prone than most given the unprecedented time he’d spent with uncontained dementors. Harry was under healers’ orders to keep an eye on him and Sirius had been told to keep active and entertained so the healers didn’t have to come back or put him back on the potions.

“Right, I’m going, I’m going,” Sirius said, already speed-walking down the hall. Therapy sessions involved too much sitting still for his preference. Harry had known that particular stick would get him moving quickly.

He quickly shook off his worries about Sirius. There was no sense worrying, not when Sirius was heading out for a flight and that would almost definitely help him. Harry could reassess when he came back but for now that was handled and he had other things to do. They ran through his head on a loop as he trotted back down to his room and started digging out parchment and ink and a quill. He had to send Alekta to Vanessa to ask her to come by this evening for dinner with Veronica’s parents, go to Gringotts and get some Muggle money, head out somewhere and find Muggle clothes for him and Graham since they didn’t have any, then get back in time for dinner… Then after today, there would be the inevitable public relations nightmare since Jules wouldn’t just let Sirius killing James go unnoticed, Voldemort on the return, the Order—and his friends to visit in the hospital, which he should actually do today, but first he needed to figure out St. Mungo’s visiting hours and make sure he could get there on time after he and Graham and Vanessa had dinner with Veronica’s parents or else he’d have to go tomorrow—

“Harry?”

He cursed internally when he saw Veronica, Graham, and Rio in his open doorway. Should’ve closed that, idiot. “What’s up?”

“Er… does it matter which rooms they take?” Graham said. “I figured I’d be using the same one from Yule break…”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry said. “Just let me—here you go, girl, straight to Vanessa, okay?”

Alekta nipped his ear before vanishing out the open window in a flurry of wings. Harry stoppered his inkwell and turned back to the kids. “All right, yeah, let’s get you settled. I’m afraid the boys are going to have to share,” he said. “Veronica, you can take the third room on this floor, or go up on the fifth, down the hall from Sirius.”

“Graham’s in this one?” she said, nodding at the room next to Harry’s.

“Yeah,” Graham said. “Dylan, want to room with me or Rio?”

Dylan glanced at Rio. The Slytherin first year was tiny and didn’t talk much, but he stood close to the Hufflepuff’s side. “Rio, what’s your preference?”

“Room with you,” Rio said.

“Okay, you guys can take the third bedroom up on the fourth floor,” Harry said. “Graham, mind showing Veronica her room while I take them up?”

“Sure,” Graham said.

“My parents are coming at six,” Veronica said.

Harry checked his watch; that was a solid three hours away. “That works. Graham, don’t take too long; I need you to come shopping with me so we have Muggle clothes for tonight.”

Graham made a face.

“They’re not that bad, get over it,” Veronica said, elbowing him.

“This way,” Harry said, leading Dylan and Rio up the stairs. He didn’t know either of them quite as well as Veronica and Graham, since Dylan was in a different House and Rio was four years younger. They were Vipers, though, so he’d spent time around them in meetings. Rio was quiet and underhanded and liked to fight dirty. His favorite subject was Transfiguration and he routinely lost marks in History for handing in assignments Binns labeled "creative writing". Dylan was a stereotypical Hufflepuff, smiling and helpful and friendly, but with an edge to him that came from being the bullied kid most of his life. In him it had created a strong aversion to letting anyone else be bullied. Veronica had taken Rio under her wing in Slytherin, but something about Dylan set Rio more at ease.

Dylan glanced down the third-floor hallway. “What’s down there?”

“Master bed and bath, and the study,” Harry said. “I’ve taken over the study. Sirius’ friends Vanessa and Hazel are going to live in the master this summer while they’re looking for a house of their own.”

“I thought…” Rio trailed off.

Guessing where he’d been going, Harry bit back a sigh. “Yes, they’re married, and yes they’re both women. We have different laws than the Muggles.”

“It took some getting used to for me, too,” Dylan said quietly. This would probably be better coming from him so Harry let him handle it as they climbed up to the fifth floor. “The magical community accepted same-sex marriage centuries before most western Muggle countries. We had a smaller population and we couldn’t afford to cast out even that many people. Plus we don’t have Muggle religions.”

“Huh.” Rio frowned at his feet.

“Work on that subtlety,” Dylan said with a grin, looping one arm around Rio’s shoulders. “Lord Black’s friends might not appreciate it. It’s okay, you didn’t grow up in this world.”

“Neither did we,” Harry said, “to be fair, but I was pretty happy to get away from all things Muggle by the time I was eleven.”

“I mean, so am I,” Rio muttered.

Not for the first time, Harry wondered what exactly was going on in that kid’s household. Veronica had told him Rio wouldn’t talk about it to anyone, but she convinced him it was bad. Apparently he lived with his grandparents and they were really fanatic Catholics. Which rarely went well for magical kids.

“Just think about it,” Harry said.

“What’s that room?” Dylan said, pointing at the first door on the fourth floor.

“Sirius’ brother’s room,” Harry said, barely glancing at the R.A.B. plaque on the door. “He died in the war. We don’t go in there.”

Dylan and Rio nodded.

“This is Sirius’ room,” Harry said, pointing at the middle door, “also off-limits. And this is you guys.” He opened the third door and led the way in.

Kreacher had set it up. The room was bigger on the inside than it should be, like all the bedrooms in the house, with two twin beds, two desks, two bookshelves, and two wardrobes. There was a place for each boy’s trunk at the foot of his bed and a perch for owls in the window. Harry made a note to buy each boy a pet of his choice at the end of the summer when they were school shopping. Rio’s grandparents, according to Veronica, had also refused to fund his Hogwarts trip.

Actually, Harry was a bit surprised they’d even let him go, based on what he’d heard.

A question for later.

“Everything look good?” he asked.

“Great,” Dylan said, wandering over to the window and looking down. It was magicked, since this room technically just faced the next house in the row, not a street. The view was of the front of Grimmauld Place so you could see the drab square and anyone coming to the front door. Harry’s room did the same, a view he appreciated. “Did the Blacks really always live here?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“Well.” Dylan shrugged. “It’s just, I’ve heard lots of stories about them. The Blacks were a big family, and… uh… rich.”

“Snobby,” Harry said drily. “You can say it.”

Dylan blushed. “Yeah, maybe… kinda snobby, sure. Just like the older generations, though.”

“No, not really,” Harry said, getting a surprised sharp laugh from Rio, who immediately swallowed it and sat down. “Sirius is still very attached to the finer things in life. He might try to pretend otherwise. Don’t let him. And no, this isn’t the only Black property, we have… some others.” We. It still felt like a novelty to say that, still felt new and precious. He wondered if that we would ever come without thinking about it. “It’s just… Sirius has some bad memories in the others, and they’re also way too big for so few people to live there. Although if we keep adopting you lot in the summers, we might have to take over the Riasmoore manor. Hm.”

“Riasmoore?” Dylan said, eyes wide. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“I think we had loose plans for a summer visit anyway,” Harry said. “I can arrange for that.” It would bind the Vipers tighter to one another if they did casual activities outside of school, and it would be an excellent opportunity to go visit Black Manor and get a sense of the place. Perhaps he could purchase more house-elves, if there were none left alive in the manor.

Actually.

Harry told the boys to unpack and explore the house as they liked, with instructions to stay out of Sirius’ and Regulus’ rooms, the master suite, and the third floor study. “You can go in the library but be careful. Some of the books bite, literally,” he said. “Or will melt your eyes out of your skull. I am not exaggerating.”

Rio and Dylan’s wide eyes convinced him he’d got the point across, so Harry grinned at them and left them to their unpacking.

He went down one floor and locked himself in his study. “Kreacher!”

The house-elf appeared with a crack. “Yes, Master Harry?”

“Are there still house-elves living in the other Black properties?” Harry said. He’d always assumed when the Blacks permanently moved here, they’d have brought all their elves with them, but it was possible he’d been overhasty.

Kreacher’s eyes widened. “Kreacher does not know.”

“If there are any, or if they’re still alive?” Harry said.

“Kreacher does not know if the Black Castle elves is alive,” Kreacher admitted. “Black Manor, Cotswold House, and Polaris House is not having elves since Mistress moved here.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Might they still be alive?”

“They is not needing much food,” Kreacher said. “Black Castle is having gardens for food. There is being pigs and cows before, maybe still.”

“Go look,” Harry said. “If any of the elves has gone crazy being locked up there this whole time, to the point of possibly being a danger to me or Sirius or anyone else in this house, immobilize them before you bring them back.”

Kreacher looked scandalized. “They is Black elves, they is not a danger to a Black!”

“We have two Muggle-borns living in the house right now,” Harry said patiently. “And they’ve been locked up for who knows how long. I’ve seen elves disobey their masters’ commands if they wanted it badly enough.”

“Kreacher is being careful,” Kreacher said unhappily. “Kreacher is doing as Master Harry says.”

“Thank you,” Harry said.

“Master Harry is a strange Master,” Kreacher muttered, but not like it was a bad thing.

“Why, ‘cause I say thank you?” Harry said. “Yes, I’d imagine that’s a departure from a deranged madwoman slinging Cruciatus curses and tacking house-elf heads on the wall.”

Kreacher looked rather like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite remember how. Did house-elves smile? Did they have the same facial expressions humans did naturally, or did they learn them? Harry had read something once about microexpressions being natural to all humans, including a culture that had had no contact with the outside world in generations before a few psychologists convinced them to let their pictures be taken for the study, but house-elves weren’t humans. There was no reason to assume they expressed emotions the same way.

“Oh, just—do it tonight,” Harry added. “I have other things to deal with. Um—after Veronica’s parents leave. Speaking of which, can you prepare something delicious but that could plausibly be cooked without magic?”

“Muggles in the House of Black,” Kreacher grumbled. “Vile filth…”

“It has to happen,” Harry said firmly. “I promise it’s not going to be a habit. And you’re to stay out of sight while they’re here. I won’t force you to serve them.”

 “Thank you, Master Harry,” Kreacher croaked, bowing low. “Kreacher is making good food for the Muggles.”

His absolute disgust lingered in the room even after he’d vanished, presumably back to the kitchen or whatever he’d been doing before Harry summoned him.

Harry slumped against his desk and rubbed his temples.

Eriss sent a wash of concern and affection at him through the bond, even though she was off hunting somewhere. Harry floated in it for a second and then returned the sentiment, straightening. He had things to do.

“Graham,” he called, taking the steps down to the second floor two at a time. “You ready?”

Graham came out of Veronica’s room with an unhappy expression. “Why can’t we just transfigure robes? We wear trousers and shirts underneath, short-sleeved like the Muggles, too…”

“It doesn’t look the same,” Harry said firmly, beckoning. “Trust me on this. Veronica, want to come?”

“Shopping with two boys?” she said. “Definitely not. I will be here, unpacking and happily not watching you stumble around in the shoe department.”

“Your lack of faith is hurtful,” Harry informed her. “All right, Graham, let’s go.”

Taking Graham out to a Muggle shopping mall was so painful it became funny. He was pale and tense on the Underground, cringed every time he got on an escalator, flinched the first time they approached sliding doors, and jumped about three feet in the air when one of the little mall security cart things turned a corner and hummed past them, beeping imperiously. Every person who walked by got a wary side-eye. “Their clothes are so weird,” Graham said.

“Just different,” Harry said, striding through the mall. He’d adopted the kind of posture and movement that made people unconsciously clear out of his way despite the fact that he was wearing Dudley’s castoffs, which were both hideous and worn-out. Graham wore the shorts and shirt that most wizards put on under light summer robes, but the cuts and length and fabric were all different enough to stand out here among Muggle textiles. The pair of them were getting some weird looks. Harry didn’t care.

Graham squinted at a woman’s handbag. “Was that leopard skin?”

“Fake,” Harry said.

“…why? It’s really… obnoxious. Can’t she just keep stuff in her pockets?”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “Witches don’t carry purses because they can expand their pockets on the inside. Most Muggle clothes don’t have big enough pockets, they don’t have expansion charms.”

“Oh. Duh.” A child shrieked and jumped down a short set of stairs so her Skechers lit up with brightly-colored flashing lights. Graham stared at them over his shoulder.

Harry thought he should get an Oscar for the fact that he hadn’t started laughing yet. Veronica really should’ve come; she would think this was hilarious.

“Here we go,” he said, picking a department store he remembered Petunia sighing over. One of Uncle Vernon’s work acquaintances had come to dinner one time and spent two hours passive-aggressively sighing over the clothes from this store because she knew Petunia couldn’t afford them. If they were getting Muggle clothes, they were getting the best, even for semi-casual wear.

Graham looked around with wide eyes. “It’s huge. Why are there so many clothes?”

“Takes longer to manufacture clothes the Muggle way,” Harry said absently, scanning the signs overhead for the men’s section. Graham was old enough to wear small sizes from the men’s section, and he knew enough about Muggle fashion to know the classier options came from adult clothing lines. “We can keep some samples out, people pick what they want, the tailors spend a couple hours whipping up the whole order. Muggles have to make more of it beforehand.”

“Weird,” Graham muttered. He caught Harry’s look and grinned. “Yeah, yeah, it’s just different. I like our way better.”

“So do I,” Harry said, leading Graham up to a wall of jeans. Only then did he realize he’d made a bit of a mistake: he had no idea what size either of them was, or how Muggle clothing measurements even worked.

Shit.

One of the attendants approached them, evidently drawn to Harry’s aimless pause with a retail worker’s sixth sense or something. “May I help you?” she said with a bit of distaste. 

“I’m afraid I neglected to check on either of our clothing sizes before we came,” Harry said with a rueful, charming grin. She was giving him a vaguely pitying up-and-down that took in his barely-fitting old clothes. “My aunt usually does the shopping for us, but she… can’t today.”

It was a careful hesitation, coupled with grief and a distracted slide of the eyes. The store attendant pursed her lips. Pity, sympathy, and irritation touched her face even though she was trying to hide it—poor woman wouldn’t last ten minutes in Slytherin. “There’s more options for teenagers if you perhaps went down a floor, on the other side of the atrium,” she suggested. “Maybe at Primark.”

“I’d prefer to stay here,” Harry said with a thin smile. “If you could just help us work out our sizing for trousers?”

“If you’re quite sure that this is the best store…”

“I am,” Harry said.

She heaved a sigh and told them to wait while she went and got a measuring tape.

Graham frowned now that she was gone. “That was rather rude.”

“It’s not unreasonable for her to assume we can’t afford this place, dressed like we are,” Harry said. He could guess at shirt sizes, and held up a plain green button-down to Graham’s torso to check. It looked about right so he held it out with an impatient twitch. Graham took it and flicked experimentally at the buttons.

The shop attendant came back with a tape measure and even more skepticism, but she confirmed their trouser sizes. Harry made Graham pick out one pair of jeans, two button-down shirts, a Muggle-style belt, and a pair of expensive brand-name Muggle sneakers of the sort that you could wear with jeans to look faux-casual but still dressy because they were brand-name and expensive. He got more or less the same thing, plus a pair of dark gray slacks and a pair of dress shoes. It wouldn’t hurt to have decently-fitting Muggle clothes, and he might as well deal with it while they were here.

The skeptical looks turned to suspicion when Harry paid in cash. It was kind of a lot of money, he thought, although he did not have any frame of reference for how much Muggle clothes cost. More than a set of semiformal robes, at least, for each Muggle outfit, but they were getting shoes, too, so who knew.

“I think they thought we stole the money,” Graham said once they’d left. 

Harry shifted the bag of clothes to his other hand. “I don’t think I care.”

Graham looked over his shoulder. “There’s some guy in a uniform hustling into the shop.”

“Of course there is,” Harry said with a sigh. “They must’ve called mall security. Let’s go.”

“Is that not what we’re doing?”

“Let’s go faster,” Harry clarified, accelerating to a light speed walk. They had no way to contact Sirius and Graham had no Muggle identity and they weren’t technically allowed to do magic. This figured.

Mall security was shoving through the crowds in a hurry when they got out onto the sidewalk, but Harry managed to drag Graham across the street and down to the Underground before they could come out. Mall cops didn’t have power outside the mall anyway, not unless they had evidence of a crime, which they couldn’t because Harry and Graham hadn’t committed one. It was still a relief to get out of sight.

“Okay,” Graham said, once they’d gone back inside Grimmauld Place and shared a moment in the entrance hall during which both of them made eye contact and silently acknowledged their infinite relief at being back on magical ground. “I have to put this on now?”

“Yes,” Harry said firmly. “Veronica’s parents are going to arrive in fifteen minutes. You can figure the clothes out all right on your own, I assume?”

Graham looked at him, Slytherin mask almost but not quite hiding his superficial irritation. “I’m not an idiot.”

 “No, of course not,” Harry said. “If you come down with your jeans on backwards, I am going to laugh.”

Graham disappeared into his room to change. Harry took half as much time doing so, thanks to the fact that he already knew how Muggle clothes worked even if he’d been studiously avoiding them as much as possible for the last five years, and happily lit the last of Dudley’s old clothes on fire. He could feel Eriss enjoying his satisfaction from a distance even though she didn’t know exactly what had caused it.

Raised voices from down the hall made him poke his head out of his room, where he discovered Veronica laughing hysterically and Graham scowling in his doorway wearing only jeans.

“He had to ask if the buttons go on the front or back of the shirt,” Veronica said through her laughter.

“Oh, screw you,” Graham muttered, vanishing into his room again.

Harry winked at Veronica. “Best come down with me to greet your parents. And hopefully Vanessa.”

“Is she not here yet?” Veronica said, falling in with him on the way down the stairs.

“I’m here!” a female voice hollered from the entrance hall. “And so are your Muggle guests, Hadrian, so get downstairs!”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “I think that's a yes.”

“Observant,” Veronica said.

“I regret the day you learned sarcasm.”

Veronica beamed at him and trotted down the rest of the stairs.

“Well met,” he heard Vanessa say, following at a more even pace. “Veronica Butler, I presume.”

“Well met,” Veronica said. “Ms. Tate?”

“Call me Vanessa,” Vanessa said. “Since we’re all going to be living here this summer. One big happy family.”

“Happy might be a bit of a misnomer,” Harry said, jumping down the last three steps into the entrance hall. He smiled with sincere good humor at the woman who’d helped free him of James, Dumbledore, and the Dursleys, and also helped put Sirius’ broken pieces back together. “It’s good to see you, Vanessa.”

“And you.” She eyed him up and down. “Muggle clothes suit you.”

“You, too,” Harry said with a cutting smile. Neither of them had meant it as a compliment, although she did look elegant and, as far as he could tell, totally normal in a plain dark blue dress. He wouldn’t ask, but he suspected it was a nod to Hazel’s Ravenclaw heritage.

“What’s the story?” Vanessa said. “I’m Sirius’ wife? Really?”

“Yes,” Harry said, eyeing her. She didn’t seem to have any objection to playing this role. Not that he’d be able to see it if she did, because she was a Slytherin and an adult and a lawyer to boot, and he disliked overestimating himself.

“I’m flattered that you asked me.” Vanessa waggled her left hand at them. “Perfect that I already have a ring.”

Harry blinked for a second. “You guys are engaged?”

“As of two days ago,” Vanessa said, with a sphinxlike smile that couldn’t quite disguise how glowingly happy she was.

For just a second, Harry wondered if he was even capable of feeling that happy about another person. “Congratulations,” he said, and meant it.

“That’s wonderful!” Veronica said. “I can’t wait to see your dress. Dresses!” Her eyes got really wide. “Are you both wearing wedding dresses? Do we wear wedding dresses or white robes or what? You can have twice as much fun picking out beautiful wedding clothes since you’re both women, that is the best thing—”

Vanessa burst out laughing. “We wear very fancy wedding robes, and there’s no set color,” she said. “Although most people avoid black or blue.”

“I still want white, I think,” Veronica said, suddenly nervous. “I just think it’s pretty. Are you allowed white?”

“Of course, but don’t be worrying about a wedding yet,” Vanessa said. “You’re what, thirteen?”

“I know, but still,” Veronica said.

“There are books on magical wedding traditions,” Harry said. “We can go look for them in Flourish and Blotts later this week if you want.”

Veronica grinned. “That’d be fun.”

“You can take the boys, and terrorize them,” Vanessa said.

Veronica’s grin widened.

Harry realized, too late, that Vanessa would be an absolutely terrifying role model for Veronica this summer. It would not surprise him at all if the clever rising third year ended up Vanessa’s protégé. He could see her as a lawyer.

“So, story,” Vanessa prompted.

“Right. You and Sirius are Graham’s and my parents, all by the last name Black,” Harry said. “I’m a prefect, for instant legitimacy. Graham is Veronica’s good friend from school.”

“I haven’t told them much about my school friends,” Veronica explained, shifting her feet a bit. “It’ll hold up.”

Vanessa nodded, all business. “I was always the more maternal between Hazel and myself.”

Harry and Veronica both blinked at her.

“What?” Vanessa said.

“…never mind,” Harry said.

The doorbell rang.

“Veronica, go make Graham hurry up,” Harry said. “Use stinging hexes if you have to.”

Her grin said she’d be all too happy to do that.

Vanessa was almost to the doorway as Veronica bolted up the stairs. Harry took a moment to be very, very glad they’d redone the entrance hall with lighter-colored wallpaper and varnish for the old, worn floorboards, and also temporarily moved the tripping troll’s foot umbrella stand into a cupboard. He checked it over one more time to make sure he hadn’t missed stunning any of the remaining portraits, and jogged over to join Vanessa just as she opened the door.

“Hi!” she said, beaming and completely transformed into a beautiful young mother. “Vanessa Black, so lovely to meet you.” 

Veronica’s parents introduced themselves as Ryan and Lila Butler as Vanessa ushered them into the entrance hall. Neither of them was particularly tall; Ryan Butler had a lean frame and mild bearing while Lila Butler was built stockier and carried herself with the air of a tank despite her cheerful smile. Mrs. Butler handed over a bottle of good Muggle wine, over which Vanessa made all the appropriate exclamations, and then after she led them into the living room, it was Harry’s turn.

“My oldest, Hadrian,” Vanessa said, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. Her engagement ring that they could assume was a wedding ring glinted in the light of the smaller but still ornate living room chandelier.

“Harry, please,” he said, shaking hands with first Mrs. and then Mr. Butler, smiling with practiced, polished charm. He could see them both melt a little. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Butler, Mr. Butler.”

“You as well, and call us Lila and Ryan, please,” Mrs. Butler said warmly. “Veronica’s told us how helpful you were with her adjustment to… your school.”

“It can certainly be difficult for students not raised to it,” Harry said with an easy shrug. “I grew up spending a lot of my time in the nonmagical world, so I know better than most how to help.”

“She implied that you have a position as student leadership of some kind,” Ryan said, his voice smooth and easygoing.

An unofficial one, much better that way. “I’m a prefect in our House. Veronica’s explained the Hogwarts Houses, I’m sure?”

“Just that there’s four of them, based loosely on personality?” Lila said. “We know she’s in Slytherin, and very proud of it.”

Harry grinned. “As she should be. It’s… more based on what traits you value than what traits your personality actually embodies, I suppose. Slytherin is the house of cleverness, resourcefulness, drive.”

“Oh, just say ambition,” Lila said, tossing her hair. “I so detest how people simply assume there’s negative connotations to being ambitious.”

Vanessa’s eyebrows drifted upward for a brief second. “Ambition is indeed one of Slytherin House’s main traits,” she said. “Very prescient of you. Many of us find that irritating, as well.”

“You’re a Slytherin also?” Ryan said.

“And as proud of it as your daughter,” Vanessa said with a smile as polished as Harry’s. “We tend to rephrase it to avoid using the word ambition.”

“I understand why,” Lila said. “It’s silly, though. Without ambition, nothing would ever get done! I’m where I am because of ambition.”

“There aren’t many female pilots,” Ryan explained.

“I’m the only female captain in our airline,” Lila said. “Ambition, drive, call it what you will. I tried to teach Veronica that.”

“Successfully,” Veronica said, coming into the room with a grin and Graham in her wake. She headed straight for her parents, who stood up off the couch to hug her. She sat down next to her father, who wrapped an arm around her shoulder for another brief half-hug. Harry envied the ease with which he reached out and Veronica leaned into him.

Lila smiled fondly at her daughter. “I can see.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow at Graham. “You must be the Graham we’ve heard so much about.”

“Yes, sir,” Graham said, straight-backed and awkward.

Vanessa and Lila laughed in unison. “My youngest,” Vanessa said, by way of introduction.

“No need for the formality, I don’t bite,” Ryan said with a grin. Graham relaxed a tiny fraction.

“Veronica informs me you’re both pilots,” Vanessa said, waving her wand with a delicate motion that conjured glasses of champagne on the table for the adults and Harry. Lila and Ryan looked startled and unsettled, although they both tucked it away quickly and reached out for their glasses. “Where do you fly most frequently?”

The small talk flowed on Vanessa’s easy charm, Harry’s polished perfect-role-model-student façade, and Veronica’s cheerful interjections. Graham stayed mostly quiet. He had a wary eye on Veronica’s parents. Harry could understand his unwillingness to just trust that somebody’s parents were good people.

Lila and Ryan seemed a little uneasy with too much talk of magic so Vanessa and Harry, by unspoken agreement, steered conversation in the direction of their careers and travels. Both of them liked traveling a lot and did a lot of it in their off time. “Our house—we live up in Stratford—it’s empty quite often, now that Veronica’s at school nine months out of the year,” Lila said with a laugh. “We were actually thinking about moving someplace smaller.”

“You were?” Veronica said, then looked like she wished she could take the words back.

“Oh, have we not mentioned it?” Lila said.

“It’s just a thought, sweetheart,” Ryan assured her. “Nothing immediate.”

Veronica shrugged. “Okay.”

Vanessa checked her watch. “Shall we head in for dinner now?”

“That sounds lovely,” Lila said.

“Right this way,” Harry said grandly, leading them through to the formal dining room. Kreacher had already laid out their gently steaming dishes on the table—two kinds of salad, chicken in white wine sauce, rosemary bread, empty glasses of wine and two bottles, one of which was the Butlers’ gift. He and Vanessa both avoided the seat at the head of the table that should’ve been Sirius’ and sat down across from each other to either side of it. Graham and then Veronica sat to Harry’s right, Lila and Ryan to Vanessa’s left. It was briefly and suddenly a little awkward as Harry and the Butlers simultaneously realized he’d reflexively placed himself above them. As Heir Black, he would sit at Sirius’ right hand at any gathering of magicals in this room, like Theo had sat to Lord Nott’s right last Yule. The Butlers weren’t magic.

They took it in stride and started serving themselves dinner. “This all looks delicious,” Ryan said.

“Would you mind giving me the recipe for this spinach salad?” Lila asked Vanessa.

“Ask Harry,” Vanessa said with a light laugh. “I’m not much of a cook.”

Lila and Ryan blinked at him. “Did you prepare this whole dinner?” Lila said with some surprise.

“I had help,” Harry said, grinning at Vanessa. “Mum was kind enough to do things like preheat the oven, wrap the bread in foil, and chop vegetables. I do a lot of the cooking.”

“Impressive,” Ryan said. He didn’t seem to think this was weird, the way Vernon would have. Harry chalked another point in the Butlers’ favor. They seemed quite happy to give Veronica thirty miles of free leash as long as she seemed to be responsible about it, but they were by no means bad parents, or bad people. Just maybe a little distant. Then again, his frame of reference for Muggle parents was the Dursleys and their friends.

“How do you get by when Harry’s at school?” Lila asked Vanessa.

“Sirius and I manage,” Vanessa said.

“And by manage she means buy lots of takeout,” Graham said, to a round of laughter.

“Where is Sirius tonight?” Ryan said.

Vanessa looked at Harry to say, you handle this.

“There was a… recent death on his side of the family,” Harry said slowly, lowering a half-raised fork of chicken back to his plate. “He’s… a bit estranged from his parents, and it’s no one I’ve ever met, but he wanted to be there to make the funeral arrangements.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Lila said.

Harry tried to look reassuring. “You’re perfectly all right.”

“He did wish he could stay,” Vanessa said. “Family and all that.”

“I understand completely,” Ryan said. “Haven’t spoken to my mother or siblings in years, but my great-uncle on that side passed a few years ago, and it wouldn’t have been right to skip out on them. My condolences.”

“Thank you,” Vanessa said gracefully.

For a beat, no one seemed quite sure what to say.

“Harry, you mentioned earlier that you’re a prefect,” Lila said, serving more of the spinach salad she liked so much. “What does that entail, precisely?”

“I act as a sort of… mentor,” Harry said, keeping his smugness very firmly internal. “To the students of our House who might need it. Veronica, for example, helping her adjust from a nonmagical childhood. I lead a study group that’s very well-attended; we even have students from a few other Houses who got dragged along by their friends. Prefects’ official duties are things like patrolling the halls after curfew and handing out mild disciplinary action should it be necessary.”

“Sounds like a lot of responsibility,” Ryan said.

Harry thought about late nights in the Chamber with Theo, Hermione, Justin, Neville, Pansy, and Daphne, designing lesson plans and discussing each Viper’s strengths and weaknesses. Keeping Draco in line and checking names off the list of students who’d taken the Slytherin bullying too far and power struggles with his House mates and the fact that he still had to deal with Seaton’s behavior from the end of the year. “It can be, but it’s worth it,” he said. “It means a lot to me to make sure everyone in my House has a support network.”

To his right, Graham looked down at his plate. It might look like he was very carefully balancing a few chickpeas on his fork if you didn’t know better. Harry did, and saw the smirking amusement Graham was trying to hide.

“Well, I think it’s admirable,” Lila said. She winked at Veronica, who immediately blushed bright red.

“Thank you,” said Harry, pretending not to notice the byplay. He knew perfectly well girls found him attractive, including Veronica, who was old enough to notice boys and had just confirmed it for him. It was funny. He hoped Graham would tease her about it later.

“Have you given any thought to what you might do after school, Harry?” Ryan said. “I’m afraid we don’t know that much about jobs for your sort.”

Harry had to curb the urge to say something snide about how, yes, we do in fact have opportunities for a career for your daughter, thanks for at least trying to be subtle about it. The uncharitable urge was in large part due to his poor word choice. Your sort had been Vernon and Petunia’s term, and although Ryan said it with a sort of self-deprecating good humor at his lack of a better term instead of soaked in vitriol, it still brought up bad memories. “I’m going to go into potions research, I think. We have options for further study, called Masteries, in various subjects, and potions is like… chemistry, with some maths and pharmacology thrown in.”

“Science then,” Ryan said approvingly.

“So research?” Lila pressed.

“Sort of. Potions Masters work closely with Healers,” Harry said. “One thing I’ve been working on lately is an improved Blood-Replenishing Potion to bring people back from extreme blood loss. It can be quite lucrative, if you’re successful. And our family’s closely involved in politics, so I expect someday I’ll take up that mantle from Dad, but not for a good while.”

“Politics,” Lila said, eyebrows raised. “That I can see, actually. More than the scientist thing. You’re too socially adept to be a scientist.”

Everyone laughed at this, while Veronica and Graham traded knowing ankle nudges under the table that Harry caught in his peripheral vision.

“And you’re a lawyer, right?” Ryan asked, leaning around Lila to look at Vanessa.

“Yes,” Vanessa said serenely, sipping her red wine. It was almost the exact same shade as her lipstick. “I’m not sure quite how it works in nonmagical education, but I spent five years after Hogwarts working at various law firms and in the Ministry of Magic before going on to get my Law Mastery, which is a four-year course of study. I did mine in Berlin but there’s plenty of programs to choose from. I believe lots of new Law Masters are going to Washington nowadays.”

“Do you work for a firm or independently?” Ryan said.

Vanessa did not look even slightly smug as she said, “I’m a junior partner at a London firm at the moment. In fact, one of Harry’s friends is the senior partner’s daughter.”

“Daphne Greengrass,” Harry supplied. “We dated briefly last year. Fortunately, she hasn’t held it against me.”

More laughter. Vanessa shot Harry an appreciative wink from across the table when the Butlers weren’t looking for defusing a moment that might have possibly gotten awkward.

“That’s wonderful,” Lila said, reappraising Vanessa. Harry could see Vanessa had won her over with that whether Lila realized it or not. “You’re very young to have done so well.”

“Wizards and witches age a bit slower,” Vanessa said with a wink.

Both Butlers looked slightly startled. “Do they,” Ryan said. “You, I mean. How… much slower?”

“Not too much,” Graham said with fake obliviousness. “Mum just ages well in general.”

“He’s a flatterer,” Lila said with evident delight while Ryan snorted into his wine. Vanessa pretended to be slightly flustered.

Harry knew the magicals were all working hard to keep them in the dark, but the Butlers still seemed hilariously unaware of all the pretending going on at this table.

“Is there career counseling of some kind at your school?” Ryan asked Harry.

“Yes, of course,” Harry said. “I just had the first round of it this year, in fact. Each House has one of the faculty assigned to act as its Head, the children’s de facto advocates and guardians while they’re at school. It’s a bit archaic, but the arrangement is basically that they stand in as the advisor and counselor in our parents’ stead while we’re at school. Professor Snape, that’s Slytherin’s Head, is a famous Potions Master and the Potions professor. He sits down with all the fifth years for a mandatory private meeting about careers and counseling, but he’s available any time for such discussions.”

“Especially for going into third year and picking our elective classes,” Graham said. “That’s not a mandatory meeting but it’s available.”

“What electives did you choose?” Lila asked him. “I know Veronica’s in something to do with animals and… Runes?”

Veronica made a face. “The other options were Divination, which isn’t worth thinking about, and Arithmancy, which is far too much maths for my taste.” Harry laughed quietly.

“I picked Ancient Runes and Arithmancy,” Graham said. “I’m thinking about becoming a warder or spellcrafter.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “New aspirations, little bro?”

For half a second, Graham was thrown, before he remembered they were pretending to be brothers. Harry checked the Butlers in his peripheral vision. They didn’t seem to have noticed. Then again, they had no reason to suspect anyone’s interpersonal relationships were anything other than they’d been told. “I dunno, it just seems interesting.”

“It’s a good choice,” Harry said.

Vanessa smiled at him across the table. “That’s great to hear, Graham, I can arrange for you to talk to some of my friends who work in those fields.”

“I was going to ask, Mum,” he said, hitting the annoyed-preteen-son tone perfectly. Lila, Ryan, and Vanessa laughed the universal conspiratorial aren’t-they-amusing laugh of parents when their children are being silly. Harry had never thought he’d hear Vanessa aim something so condescending in his general direction.

“I was thinking I might like to shadow Vanessa sometime this summer,” Veronica said suddenly. “Or one of her contacts, whoever would let me. It seems kind of interesting and I’d like to learn more about magical law.”

Her parents’ eyes lit up in unison.

Predictable, Harry thought. But good move on Veronica’s part. He’d have to congratulate her, later, on how well she’d handled the whole evening.

“I’d be happy to set you up with something,” Vanessa said, bestowing warm approval on Veronica, and by extension, the Butlers. “A good friend of mine, Hazel Laurens, works as a freelance consultant for my firm. I could introduce you.”

Graham choked on his food. Harry palmed his wand and cast a quick silent spell to clear his throat before anyone noticed.

Good friend, Graham mouthed up at Harry while all three Butlers were busy exclaiming over how wonderful an opportunity that was and how grateful they were.

Harry winked at him.

After another few minutes of banal small talk, Ryan sighed and sat back. “This was a great dinner, thanks so much for hosting us.”

“It was our pleasure!” Vanessa said. “I’ve been hoping to meet you for a while, Harry and Graham always have such great stories about Veronica and it’s always been a delight to have her over.”

“You’re sure it’s no trouble to have her for the summer?” Lila said, a bit anxiously. Harry could see she was completely comfortable with them as people, but genuinely didn’t want to impose. “I know having three kids can be a lot…”

“It’s no problem at all,” Vanessa reassured her. “We often have plenty of kids over.”

“We have ways to travel instantaneously between houses,” Harry said. “Magical kids spend more time at friends’ houses when they’re young than Muggles, because transportation isn’t an issue. We’ll have plenty of other friends over this summer, and spend time at other friends’ houses.”

Lila laughed. “Must be easier for you to get some rest when they’re young, in that case.”

“It is,” Vanessa said. “Of course, the cost is often having five or six to look after instead of two when they are home.”

There was another round of conspiratorial parental laughter, after which Harry kicked Graham in the ankle, their predetermined cue, and he politely asked to be excused because they’d just traveled home from school that morning and it had been a long day and he was pretty tired. “Of course, dear,” Vanessa said, and he and Veronica stood up from the table. Veronica’s parents necessarily stood up also, to hug her goodbye, and Vanessa and Harry neatly maneuvered the whole party into the living room and then left the Butlers there to say their goodbyes in private.

They waited in the entrance hall. “So, big brother, how’d it go,” Graham said with a grin.

“You’re a decent little brother,” Harry said solemnly. “I can probably put up with you. Probably.”

“I have decided that I do not want children,” Vanessa said. “Not if I have to do that every time one of them makes a friend.”

“I think it would be a bit different,” Harry said. “Given that you wouldn’t be pretending and the kids in question would actually be yours.”

She snickered and brushed a bit of nonexistent dust off her shoulder.

The Butlers finished their goodbyes less than two minutes later, and after a bustle of coats and purses and more formal goodbyes and more gratitude for dinner and hosting Veronica, they vanished out the door in a flurry of good humor.

“Right,” Vanessa said. “I’m going to go unpack, Hazel will get here tomorrow, does anyone else need me to act responsible tonight?”

“I’ve got it,” Harry said without thinking.

“I leave the children in your capable hands then, Heir Black,” Vanessa said.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Did Sirius tell you to make fun of me?”

“Yes,” she said without missing a beat. “You said the master’s on the third floor?”

“Second door on your left,” he said.

Vanessa vanished into the kitchen for a few seconds and came back out levitating her trunk in front of her. “Night, kids.”

“Goodnight,” they chorused as she started up the stairs.

Harry eyed Graham and Veronica. “You guys can entertain yourselves, right? Graham, go… show them the library or something, if anyone doesn’t want to go to bed yet.”

“Is there not a curfew or whatever?” Veronica said.

“If you stay up late and end up tired and crabby, that’s your fault,” Harry said. “You’re responsible people and I’m not your parent. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Night, big brother,” Graham said with a snort.

“Night, little bro,” Harry joked. Then he recognized something a little forced about Graham’s flippancy and watched while pretending not to while Graham and Veronica set off up the stairs in companionable silence. Graham, who had a brother, and other siblings, all of whom had turned out awful. Graham, who was marooned and family-less as Harry had been when he first arrived at this house, but who had had family to lose. Graham, who might have taken something serious from this evening’s ruse.

Just… fuck.

Harry could deal with that later. For now he had house-elf logistics to sort out and Sirius to wait up for.

Kreacher showed up in his study with four elves in tow, all of them stooped, lurking, and vaguely unhinged. Their names were Parkin, Hemp, Tripsy, and Sparrow. Harry ordered them to go to Black Manor in Riasmoore and begin cleaning it up and getting it fit for human habitation in large part so they’d have something to do. Being around a Black heir, and having things to do, seemed to reenergize the four of them in the five minutes he spent talking to them.

“Does it help them?” he asked Kreacher, once the other four Black elves vanished. “Having orders from a family member?”

“It is helping,” Kreacher croaked. “We is getting energy from orders and tasks.” He cocked his head and Harry couldn’t quite place his expression, but guess it to be something along the lines of a thoughtful frown. “We is… healthier, we is happy when we is having things to do. Elf magics must be used.”

“Well, that’s good,” Harry said. “I might ask Hermione if she wants to loan us Winky, since for now I don’t think Winky has much to do.”

“It is helping, Kreacher thinks,” Kreacher said.

Harry added writing Hermione a note to his to-do list. “You can go.”

Kreacher bowed and disappeared with a crack.

Harry allowed himself a few hours in the living room, reading a Muggle fiction novel. It was a spy thriller, cliched and low reading level but engaging, and getting lost in Mitch Rapp’s struggles was a relief.

Sirius came back about one in the morning, windswept and in a much better mood. He hugged Harry, who ignored both the discomfort and the smell of engine grease, and took the stairs up to his room three at a time. Harry crept up and spied on him with a one-way transparency spell on the door long enough to make sure Sirius was actually going to bed, and doing okay. Only then did he go back down to his room and collapse into his own bed.

Traveling the Muggle way to St. Mungo’s was annoying, and resulted in Daphne teasing Harry for his Muggle clothes once he got up to her room. “Why don’t they just get a Floo?” he complained, propping his legs up on the bedside table. It felt weird to be wearing jeans again after so long in just robes and the thin, lightweight trousers or shorts worn underneath them.

“They do,” Daphne said. “You just have to apply to have your home fireplace attached to the St. Mungo’s Floo network so they don’t get creepos wandering in at any hour.”

“I’ll have to do that soon, then. Or just learn Apparition.”

“It’s illegal until you’re seventeen,” Daphne said.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re joking, right?”

“Duh,” she said, laughing, and then wincing. “Ow.”

“How are you doing?” Harry said, leaning in towards the hospital bed. She looked irritable more than anything else lying there, but the bandages on her stomach and left leg were impossible to miss.

“Fine,” Daphne said, swatting his shoulder. Harry saw the pain she hid at the movement, and didn’t call her on it. “I took some curses. They had to tear out of my stomach—I don’t have an appendix anymore. Hurt like a bitch.”

“Anesthetic spells or potions?” Harry said, frowning.

Daphne shook her head. “They were worried it’d interfere with the healing spells, so I agreed to skip them.”

“You’re a little terrifying,” he said.

She smiled.

“When can you go home?”

“Two more days.” Daphne picked at the edge of her stomach bandage. She was wearing a sports bra and cotton drawstring shorts, since apparently the hospital gown was annoying and she refused to wear it. Harry very carefully kept his eyes from lingering on her stomach. They were friends, and comfortable around each other again, and he wasn’t about to fuck that up. “Hermione’s out the day after me, assuming no complications. She’s coming home with us. Have you seen her yet?”

“Next stop,” Harry said. “Who else has come to visit?”

“Theo and Blaise came by last night, and Pansy dropped through with her uncle,” Daphne said. Harry nodded; he’d known about those visits. “And my parents and Astoria, obviously. Father spent last night here but I made him go home and get a shower and change of clothes.”

Something in her voice made Harry hesitate to ask about her mother. “How’s Astoria doing?”

“She and Romilda held the younger Vipers together after… everything,” Daphne said. “She’s all right. Worried, obviously, and she said she wished she could’ve helped. Glad I’m all right.”

“I should hope,” Harry said, swallowing a joke about how it was for the best because Astoria seemed to have no interest in being the Greengrass heir.

Daphne looked away from him and up at the ceiling. “I’ve never seen Mother cry until yesterday,” she said, very softly.

Harry didn’t quite know what to say. He considered for a second and then reached out and covered her hand with his.

Daphne squeezed his fingers tightly and let go, already freezing over again. Her vulnerability disappeared in seconds. “Sirius?”

“Holding up,” Harry said. “Vanessa moved in last night and Hazel is arriving today, that will help. Plus he’s got the kids to distract him.”

“That’ll be a fun summer,” Daphne said, lips twisting. “Four kids to look after? How was hosting the Muggles last night?”

“Fine. Vanessa plays a shockingly good mother, given that she doesn’t have kids yet,” Harry said, grinning. “We charmed the socks off Veronica’s parents.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t difficult,” Daphne said with a faint sneer but no real feeling behind it.

“They seemed decent,” Harry said. “There’s certainly worse parents.”

“There’s always worse parents, because people are terrible.”

He snorted. “Can’t argue there. Vanessa recommended these, by the way,” he added, pulling out a roll of glossy fashion magazines. (Just because he was wearing jeans didn’t mean he couldn’t put expansion charms on his pockets.)

Daphne’s eyes gleamed. “She’s wonderful. They already confiscated the ones Pansy brought me. Apparently I’m not allowed to exert my eyes reading.”

“Wait, if you’re not supposed to…” he said, tugging the stack back.

Daphne scowled at him. “Don’t make me get creative when they give my wand back, Black.”

“Promise you won’t spend too much time, then,” Harry said. “I don’t want to be responsible if you end up needing glasses or something.”

“Fine, I promise,” she said grouchily. “Hand them over.”

He did, grinning as Daphne promptly stuffed all but one underneath her mattress. “Cast a concealing charm,” she said, “they took my wand away because apparently Mother and Father think I might try to hex the nurses.”

Harry flicked his wand and murmured an incantation. He had been focusing on silent casting for battle spells and non-combat magic by priority, and this particular charm was low on the priority list. “They’re not wrong.”

“I know, which makes it even more irritating. I don’t like being predictable.” Daphne snapped open the magazine she’d kept with a sharp movement. “I’ll pick something out for Astoria from here, to surprise her.”

“I’m sure she would appreciate it,” Harry said.

Daphne nodded absently.

He sat for another half an hour, working his way through some papers for the Black properties in Riasmoore. Sirius wanted nothing to do with the financial parts of being Lord Black, and he’d put it all in the hands of their accounts manager at Gringotts. Garkul was undoubtedly handling it fine, but Harry wanted to at least know what was going on, which meant studying pages on pages of financial information about the rent paid from farmers and craftsmen in Riasmoore. The Blacks owned most of the town and most of the surrounding farmland, and some of the family business or farms had been renting the same land from the Blacks for generations. There was a lot to go through.

When Daphne’s timer chimed, she sighed and set the magazine aside. “Time to take my potions,” she grumbled, as a tray of potions vials appeared automatically next to her bed. “These things taste awful, and I’ll sleep for hours.”

“Guess that’s my cue,” Harry said, shuffling his papers back into a pile and sliding them into his pocket.

Daphne nodded absently, and then looked up as he made to leave. “Oh—wait. When you go see Hermione—her parents… she was pretty upset last night.

“What’s wrong?” Harry said.

“She’ll tell you if she wants,” Daphne said, swirling the first potion around in its flask. “Just don’t press her. It’s a sensitive subject at the moment.”

“Okay,” Harry said. Interesting.

Daphne shooed him out the door. Harry wandered down the hallway and charmed a nurse. The man helpfully gave him directions to Hermione’s room and told him it would be unlocked.

Hermione couldn’t talk. Whatever curse she’d gotten hit with had completely vanished her voice box. He did get a smile, though, as soon as he pushed open the door to her hospital room, and she held up a book titled The Development of Shoelace Spells.

“I’m guessing it’s not actually about shoelaces,” he said.

Hermione shook her head with a grin, turning the book so he could see complicated runic arrays taking up the pages. Harry squinted at them. “Sacrifice runes. Okay. Theo’s bringing you some interesting material.”

Her grin widened.

“Have you had visitors?” he said. “Pansy and Theo and Blaise, I’m guessing.”

Also something, she mouthed.

“Also who?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and fumbled around in the bedcovers until she found her wand.

Harry’s eyes widened when he saw the name she spelled in the air with a silent pyrologos. “Draco?”

She nodded.

“He was allowed?”

Gave permission, she wrote in the air.

“…how was that?”

She shrugged and mouthed, fine.

“Good,” Harry said. “Nice to know Mission Impossible: Reform Draco is actually getting somewhere.”

Hermione laughed, which was just a series of huffing noises since she was not currently in possession of a larynx. You scare him, she wrote.

Harry snorted. “Good.”

Hermione kicked him in the hip.

“Ow,” Harry complained, and flopped dramatically across a chair, mostly to amuse her. It worked. Hermione silent-laughed again.

Mentally, he thought over the list of visitors, and realized who was missing. This might be what Daphne meant. “Your parents?” he said carefully.

Her expression shuttered a bit, and she shook her head.

Harry frowned slightly. “Does St. Mungo’s not allow Muggles? Because Sirius and I can probably get you an exception—”

Hermione shook her head again and raised her wand. They know I’m ok. Didn’t ask to come.

Oh. Harry made his expression approximate sympathy.

Hermione shrugged, opened her mouth, looked annoyed when she remembered she didn’t have a voice, and started writing in the air again. It’s fine. Greengrasses came—v helpful.

“They’ve let you see Daph, right?” he said.

Hermione grinned and nodded.

“Try not to terrorize the nurses too much,” he said. “And why’ve they let you keep your wand? Less of a flight risk?”

Her grin widened and she nodded again. Thought Daph might hex someone, she wrote.

Harry nodded. “They’re not wrong.”

This earned him more silent laughter. Harry watched her carefully and couldn’t pick up on too much emotional turmoil, so she had either gotten a lot better at masking her emotions or she’d already vented to Daphne last night. Probably the latter. Hermione was a venter, even when all she had to communicate was the written word.

Harry got to Neville’s room last, already running through a to-do list for the rest of the day in his head. He and Theo and Blaise were going over to Blaise’s mum’s London house for the afternoon, to go through some very expensive wine Blaise had procured from somewhere. Harry had to get a rough idea of the young Vipers’ plans for the day, check on Sirius, and make sure Hazel and Vanessa were settling in well before he could leave.

“Harry,” Neville said, as Harry stepped into his room. He was already sitting up, working on something in a notebook on his lap, although not their connected notebooks.

“Hey, Nev, you’re looking good,” Harry said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “What’s that you’re working on?”

“An independent project for the summer,” Neville said. “I might get extra credit from Sprout for this in the fall. Transfiguring dirt to create optimal growing conditions in a greenhouse.”

Harry leaned over and looked at the notebook upside-down. It wasn’t anything he had studied much, but what he could understand—mostly the transfiguration principles—was interesting. “Sounds like a good summer project.”

“Yeah.” Neville closed the notebook rather abruptly.

Something was off here, which wasn’t good given the conversation Harry wanted to have with him. “How are you feeling?” he said.

“Fine.” Neville fiddled with his sheets. They’d given him actual clothes, at least. “I’m leaving this afternoon.”

“That’s great,” Harry said. He took a deep breath. “Neville, I… have to talk to you about something.”

“Good, ‘cause I need to talk to you,” Neville said.

He looked angry.

“…about what?” Harry said slowly. The only thing he could think was—but no, the people who knew wouldn’t be stupid enough to tell Neville.

“Put up a sound ward.”

Harry resisted the urge to shift his weight. “Neville—”

“Put up a ward, Harry.” Neville was—implacable, contained in a way Harry had never seen him. Or at least never had aimed at himself. It was more unnerving than he cared to admit, and after a second, he nodded and drew his wand, casting one of the strongest anti-eavesdropping spells he knew. It was illegal because there was no known counter beyond brute force, which was a pain in the ass for Aurors.

James had gotten it outlawed.

For a long minute, Neville just kind of looked at him. Harry had dealt with more awkward or intense scrutiny than this, so he sat perfectly still and he knew his face would give nothing away, but inside, his stomach was churning. He could outwait Neville any day of the week, but—

It was so much harder to have someone mad at him when he actually cared what they thought. When he would lose something if he couldn’t fix this.

“I saw you,” Neville said at last. “I saw you conjure a Death Eater mask, Harry, and put it on, and take out Alastor Moody.”

Oh fuck. Harry nodded, very slowly.

“And I saw the Death Eater you saved,” Neville said. His voice was mostly even, but it began to shake as he went on. “I cast amplius auri, I heard what you were saying—I know who your tutor was.”

“I can’t confirm that,” Harry said carefully. “I’m under oath.”

Neville snorted. “Oh yeah, your bloody oath. I’m fucking well aware of your oath, thanks. I’ll just say it then, huh?”

Harry was silent. There was nothing he could say.

“Bartemius Crouch Junior,” Neville spat. “Also known as one of the people who was there when my parents were—were tortured into insanity. I thought you were going to kill him, you know. I thought you were getting Moody out of the way so you could do it yourself. And then you—it turns out you’ve been working with him.”

The revulsion on his face cut Harry like a knife straight to the spine.

“He stood by,” Neville went on, “and watched my parents go under Crucio until they went mad. That’s who you agreed to work with. That’s who you’re—friends with. I heard how you two talked to each other—you like him.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Harry said.

Neville’s face twisted in an awful smile. “So you just weren’t going to tell me, is that it?”

“Not when the knowledge would cause you pain, no,” Harry said.

“Did you even think of this when Snape told you who it was?” Neville said. “Did you even stop and consider how your friend might react?”

He had. Harry met Neville’s accusatory gaze head-on and refused to feel guilty. He owed Neville honesty, right now, but he did not owe him guilt. Harry stood by his decision. “It was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up,” he said.

Neville shook his head in disgust. “So you did think of it, and you just didn't care. I—do you even realize why I’m angry?” he demanded. “You were so fucking power-hungry and selfish and self-centered you just went ahead and did what you wanted, never mind what the people around you would think! Merlin, Harry, I know you had a fucked-up childhood and you’ve got your own issues to deal with, but this—stop fucking staring at me and react already you bloody shit canoe!”

The icy bite of Harry’s own anger was starting to overtake his extremities but he ignored it. If he gave in and said something cutting in return, he’d only make the situation worse, and regret it later. “I have never pretended to be anything other than selfish and ambitious,” he said evenly. “Not with you. What do you want me to say, Neville? That I regret my decision? I don’t.”

“You bastard,” Neville snarled. He looked gutted, vulnerable, furious and lost at the same time. Harry couldn’t imagine ever allowing it to show, if he felt like that. “You—just—Merlin. Sorry would be nice.”

Harry’s lips tightened briefly. The one thing Neville asked for was the one thing—the one thing—Harry didn’t think he was prepared to give.

He should. Harry knew that much. But nausea churned in his stomach at the thought of saying those two words.

“I don’t want to lie to you,” he said instead.

Neville stared at him incredulously. “Lie to me?”

“I don’t take pleasure from lying to my—to people I care about,” Harry said, trying and failing to not sound a bit stiff. Claiming Neville as a friend right now would probably not go over well. “If I were to apologize, it would be insincere.”

Because he didn’t mean it. Because insincere apologies were the only kind he could make himself offer.

Neville shook his head. “Get out.”

Harry reacted. Just a little. He couldn’t stop himself, knew his eyes had widened and a little bit of pain showed on his face.

“Go. I don’t want to look at you right now,” Neville said.

Harry stood up. Every movement felt very precise, as if his muscles had been taken over by very complicated mechanics. He reached into one pocket and pulled out the package of evidence Barty had given him. “I haven’t looked through this,” he said, and his voice came out as even as a metronome, as toneless as an automated recording. “It’s your family business. You have a right to know, but I recommend doing what you can to verify the authenticity of whatever is in this envelope.” Gently, he put it on the bed between Neville’s feet.

Neville didn’t move. “I said get out.”

Carefully hiding any and all emotions, Harry obeyed. Then he paused at the door, looked over his shoulder. “The Vipers’ secrets,” he said.

Neville laughed, helplessly, humorlessly. “And here I thought you couldn’t be any more awful. Unlike you, I know better than to betray my friends’ trust,” he spat. “Just don’t expect me to talk to you. Get the fuck out.”

Harry did.

He stepped out of the Floo at Grimmauld Place still in a state of carefully controlled numbness. Veronica, Graham, Dylan, and Rio were in the kitchen, eating an early lunch. He checked in and learned that they were going to go over to Vasily Sitch’s house and go flying. Upstairs, Sirius, Vanessa, and Hazel were touring the house; they told him they were going to a magical zoo in Berlin with their friend Ian for the afternoon. “We’ll keep him distracted,” Hazel murmured when Sirius was distracted. Harry thanked her without hearing the words he said.

Then he took the Floo over to the Zabini townhouse.

Theo was already there, lounging in one of the couches in their living room, when Harry popped out of the fire. “Blaise is down in the cellar,” he said as soon as he saw Harry. “Did you know they have an entire basement full of just alcohol? It’s amazing.”

“Good,” Harry said, lowering himself into a couch across from Theo. “I could use a few drinks right now.”

Theo squinted at him. “What happened?”

Harry glanced at the door leading down to the cellar. “I’d rather not tell it twice. Short version is Neville found out.”

“Oh shit,” Theo said. “How?”

“I told you I stepped in to help Barty with Moody,” Harry said. Theo nodded. “Neville saw. I thought he was unconscious.”

Theo let out a long breath. “Shit.”

Blaise walked in with four bottles of wine. “You uncultured pricks better appreciate this, because each of these cost over fifty galle—what’s going on?”

Harry held out a hand and beckoned. Blaise let go of one of the bottles, and Harry floated it over to himself while conjuring a wine glass with his wand hand. “Neville found out about his tutor,” Theo supplied.

“Oof,” Blaise said, pouring himself wine. He considered Harry’s expression, added another inch to his glass, and passed the first bottle over to Theo. “If we’re getting shitfaced, can we do it up in my room? Mum will be annoyed if we spill on the furniture down here.”

“Let’s go,” Theo said, collecting the bottles, “and then you can tell us how this went down.”

All three of them piled onto Blaise’s king-sized bed and charmed the bottles and glasses against spilling. Harry drank a glass before he relayed his conversation with Neville in a monotone voice, staring at the wall.

“Neville’s got a spine now,” Blaise observed, sipping his wine. “Fascinating.”

Harry tapped his wineglass. “Yeah.”

“Are you sorry?” Theo said, watching him closely.

“I'm sorry I hurt him,” Harry said. “But I wouldn’t have made a different decision.”

“He’s a Gryffindor,” Theo said. “He doesn’t want power like you do. Like we do.”

“He’ll come around,” Blaise said, nudging Harry’s foot with his own. “It’s Neville, mate, he’s forgiving.”

Theo snorted. “Stupid character trait, if you ask me.”

“No one did,” Blaise said waspishly. Theo poked him in the ribs.

Harry finished his second glass of wine. “We’ll see, I guess.”

“This is depressing, let’s do something else,” Theo said. “Gobstones. Drink every time you get sprayed.”

Blaise raised his perfectly manicured eyebrows. “Good thing we picked wine instead of something stronger.”

“Good thing,” Theo said, with a thin, cutting smile.

Harry put the conversation with Neville out of his mind. It was the beginning of the summer, he was fifteen, and he could take an afternoon to have fun with his two best friends. Later he would get back to everything he had to do, but for today, he was just a teenager.

Remus

For most of his life he’d loathed his wolf side, but there’d usually been at least a few silver linings, among them much better senses than most wizards. This was the first time Remus found himself cursing that as well. Sitting in James’ study, his nose and his ears could do nothing but tell him, over and over, about how horribly fucking empty it was.

All he could smell was books, paper, smoke from the hearth, James’ stale scent. All he could hear was the awful emptiness of the room and the mocking crackle of the fire. He could almost delude himself for just a second that James was just in the other room, two seconds from joining him, two steps from turning the knob, two breaths from calling out a cheerful hello—

There was nothing. There would be nothing. Forever, every day, every minute, no more James. Remus slumped farther into his usual armchair and closed his eyes and let the knowledge wash relentlessly over him. James was gone. The best of the Marauders.

He only realized he was crying when he sat up and tears splashed on his hands.

The Floo whooshed. Remus looked up and it took him a few seconds to process who had stepped out. “Andromeda.”

“Remus,” she said softly. “How are you holding up?”

“I…” Remus swallowed. “I’m… how are you so put together?”

Andromeda glanced at her reflection in the night-darkened window. She wore a pressed pair of Muggle slacks and a dark gray shirt that did some kind of slumpy thing around the neckline and Remus didn’t understand how she looked so elegant and polished. It was like nothing was wrong.

“Slytherin thing,” Andromeda said, settling herself into Ethan’s usual chair. Neither of them looked at the worn red-and-brown chair James loved so much. “I can’t quite bring myself to appear in front of anyone other than Ted looking anything but put together.”

“You lot are so fucked up,” Remus muttered.

She shrugged. “Peter, Sirius… you. Gryffindors don’t seem much better.”

Remus meant to laugh but the sound was more like barking than amusement even to his ears. “Fair point.”

“Mm.” Andromeda peered a bit closer at him. “Have you been drinking?”

“No,” Remus said.

Andromeda snorted. “You’re a shit liar.”

Remus considered how he might respond to that and settled on a shrug.

“So’s Ted,” she said. “And, I believe, Nymphadora, though she’ll hardly admit to it in front of her parents.”

“I wouldn’t have,” Remus said, because he couldn’t exactly tell her he’d been drinking with Tonks until about an hour before. For the whole afternoon, neither of them had said more words than it took to order more firewhiskey from an obscure pub in Riasmoore, but her companionship had… helped… a little.

“Nor would I,” Andromeda said, “although my parents would’ve just advised me to stick to Muggles if I wanted any drunken curse practice.”

“Charming.”

“You have no idea.” She tilted her head back and looked around James’ study, the books and papers and the chair shoved back like he’d just gotten up in a hurry. “It’s like he’ll walk in any second.”

“Was just thinking the same,” Remus said miserably.

Andromeda glanced at the door. “Where’s Jules?”

“Somewhere in the house.” Remus waved a hand at the door. This was the point where he’d normally shut her out, had in fact done so to several other Order members, but the alcohol and the time spent with Andromeda in the last few months kept him going. “He’s pissed at me for holding him back. Thinks he’d have been able to reach Black in time if I hadn’t, or some such.”

“And gotten in massive legal trouble for killing him,” Andromeda said. “That’s if he succeeded. Sirius is a skilled duelist.”

“He was fucked up,” Remus said. The split-second glimpse he’d gotten of Sirius’ face in the chaos confirmed that. “I think Jules—might have actually done it.”

“Mm. Perhaps it was a good thing, then, that Hadrian managed to interfere.”

Remus tried not to think about what James had done to Harry. Accidentally, unintentionally, thoughtlessly, but the damage was still done, and it had caused so many problems. Thinking on one of the things he and James had never resolved would just leave him bitter and he’d rather remember his best friend positively. Plus, he had to—“I’m not in the mood for your word games, ‘Dromeda, just spit it out.”

“What mood,” she asked drily, “a sober one?”

Remus glowered.

“Fine. From the sound of it, the twins had quite a falling-out.”

“You’re fishing.”

She shrugged gracefully, unrepentantly.

“Yeah,” Remus allowed, exhaling. “Yeah, it was… Jules regrets how nasty he got… said some things about Harry deserving what the Muggles did to him, shit like that.”

Andromeda’s eyes widened. “Merlin.”

“Mhm.” Remus sort of wished for more alcohol. He was rapidly sobering up and the grief was getting stronger by the minute but it would help no one if he let himself slip into an alcoholic stupor so he didn’t even look in the direction of James’ hidden liquor cabinet. “I’m sure you’re delighted.”

“I…” Andromeda sighed. “I’m not disappointed… you know I see Hadrian as a risk not worth taking.”

Remus nodded. “I can’t disagree with you anymore. It’s… whether or not he framed Ethan, he still… What Jules said? About their duel? Harry was using Dark magic. Jules wouldn’t outright say it but I know… the signs, the spells. Sulfur—he mentioned that one. There’s only a couple curses I know of that produce a sulfurous smell and they’re all Dark. It’s probably a moot point because I don’t think he’ll be forgiving Jules anytime soon…”

“Oh, almost certainly not,” Andromeda said. “I know his kind. Hadrian’s. He doesn’t have a forgiving or merciful bone in his body.”

“I’ll try to steer Jules away,” Remus said dully.

“I’m truly sorry that it took something like this to change your mind. I considered James to be one of my closest friends, and I never would’ve wished harm on him,” Andromeda said softly. She looked vulnerable and human for the first time. Remus knew that instinct. Sirius had had a similar one, although he hid behind an arrogant, capricious persona, while Andromeda retreated to cool, elegant impassivity. The Blacks raised their children with very specific skill sets. Andromeda could easily be faking this, Remus knew, but he didn’t think so. Nor could he bring himself to care if he might be wrong.

A few more minutes of silence and Andromeda rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m making arrangements for the funeral. It’ll be held June eleventh. I understand if you choose not to come, but James would appreciate you speaking, if you can. I’ll owl you details.”

Remus nodded stiffly, glad she was dealing with all that.

“And, Remus? You’re welcome at Ted’s and my home at any time. And I mean that literally. You know the Floo; the wards will let you in. You can simply sleep in the guest room or prepare food if you arrive when we’re not home. Grief can… it can help to get out of your own home.”

“Who have you ever grieved?” Remus snarled, and regretted his brief lapse instantly, when Andromeda’s expression shuttered.

“I have grieved for the sisters I lost in school,” she said, standing, “and for Regulus, who I couldn’t save from his Dark path, and the friends I lost in the last war. I’ve also grieved Sirius once. If Jules has his way, I am bracing myself to do so again. Don’t talk to me about grief, Remus Lupin.”

Seconds later, the Floo painted green light on the insides of his eyelids.

Remus sat and counted his breaths. Each one was another beat of life in a world missing a Marauder.

Jules tried to kill Sirius, who killed James, who put Sirius in Azkaban for turning Dark after Peter got Lily killed. Remus spoke in a broken whisper to an empty room.

“What’s happened to us, James?”

Theo

Shoes clicked on polished floor. Theo listened to the echoes around their upstairs hallway as he walked. Gaps where priceless paintings and tapestries used to hang on the walls before their side lost the last war glared at him, as usual. He ignored them and pushed open the door to his father’s study.

“Father,” Theo said, bowing crisply. “You wished to see me?”

“I did.” Father examined him carefully from behind his desk. “There’s someone who wishes to speak with you.”

Theo raised his eyebrows. It was probably Narcissa, trying to build bridges that would help Draco now that Lucius was in Azkaban and consequentially trashing their family’s reputation. “I’m sure,” he said. “I’m an interesting person.”

“None of your cheek for this,” Father said sternly. “It will not be appreciated.”

Even more likely Narcissa. She’d never been charmed by Theo’s sarcastic sense of humor.

“You may wait,” Father said. “I will return shortly with our guest.”

Theo shrugged and draped himself over his usual chair next to Father’s desk, arranging his expression into absolute boredom. Father sighed through his nose and left the room.

He’d been gone long enough that Theo was just starting to get irritated when the door snapped open again. Theo looked up, fully prepared to be his most delightfully sarcastic self and watch Narcissa Malfoy get politely irritated—

But it was not Narcissa Malfoy who followed Father back into the study.

Theo slid instantly out of his chair and dropped to one knee on the floor, head bowed. “My Lord.”

“Such a well-trained son, Calvis,” the Dark Lord said, his voice cold and amused.

“Theodore is as good an Heir as I could wish for,” Father replied. He touched Theo’s shoulder, and Theo took it as a cue to rise, though he kept his eyes respectfully lowered.

The Dark Lord laughed. It sent chills down Theo’s spine. “No need for such rigid deference, Theodore. My, Black has you on a leash.”

Theo lifted his head and dared meet the Dark Lord’s eyes, working as hard as he ever had to keep his expression under control. “I am on no one’s leash, my Lord.”

“Not even your… friend’s?” the Dark Lord asked delicately.

Father’s eyes, heavy and unreadable, rested on Theo.

“Friendship is not a leash,” Theo said, with the kind of razor-sharp politeness he’d learned from Narcissa Malfoy as a child. He would not defy the Dark Lord, and he would not lie.

The Dark Lord nodded slowly. He looked mostly normal—perhaps a bit paler than average, perhaps a bit taller, but otherwise he had the exact appearance of a fit, handsome man, with the ageless quality of powerful wizards and witches. Dark hair perfectly combed, dark green robes perfectly fitted. The most overtly frightening thing about him was his red eyes, but there was something else—a subtle miasma of power that he wore like a cloak.

Father offered the Dark Lord his seat behind the desk, and the Dark Lord accepted it as though it was his due. Which it was, as Father’s liege lord. Theo waited until Father nodded at his usual seat to slowly sink down into it. Father conjured another chair and sat on the other end of the desk, so he and Theo were flanking the Dark Lord to his right and left.

“You wished to see me, my Lord?” Theo said.

“I did, yes.” The Dark Lord examined him and the weight of his power increased in the air, whispering to submit, to obey, because Theo could not win this fight. It choked his lungs like smog. 

Because Theo was not a fool, he bowed his head. "What can I do for you, my Lord?" 

“Tell me," the Dark Lord said, "about Hadrian Sirius Black.”