Crashing in Reality
Harry laid on the ground, warm beneath the blanket covering him and overly full from the dinner he had earlier. He stared up at the sky and let his gaze unfocus on the stars twinkling at him while he listened to the stories Sirius shared.
Sirius pointed up at the stars and weaved stories of Gods and Goddesses, love and betrayal, friendship and heartbreak. Harry didn’t know what stories were true, what was a myth, or what was Sirius’s own wild imagination. He didn’t care either, Harry only cared that on the last night of their holiday they were together and alone and peaceful.
Harry had been many things before he went through the veil with Sirius, peaceful had never truly been one of them. There was always a mystery to solve, a monster to find, a wizard to stop. With their knowledge of the future and the successful completion of a few tasks to change the future, Harry only felt peace.
It was a strange concept, one that Harry assumed he would never have known if it weren’t for the moody, complicated, enigmatic wizard beside him.
Sirius told Harry a tale about the star named after him - Harry was sure that the star took Sirius’s name after he was born, wanting the brightest star to mimic the brightest soul. Sirius talked about Chinese mythology and how their Celestial Wolf Star, as they called his star, carried ominous events and disasters.
“They would clear the waters, telling all sailors to never sail beneath the Wolf,” Sirius told him, gently waving his hand in the air to mimic water. “Mothers would hide their children from the influence of the star, sure it would curse them and bring their death. The fangshi would be sought out and begged for assistance when one would catch themselves in the influence of the bright star. To be seen by the Wolf would be to accept a shortened life, cursed and empty.”
“I don’t believe it,” Harry said. He looked up at the sky and could never have been convinced that the brightest star in the sky, the one that dimmed the others in comparison, meant anything bad.
“Myths are stories built on truth,” Sirius said. It sounded like a double-meaning and Harry rolled on his side to see Sirius. Even with shadows covering his face, there wasn’t a single thing sinister about him.
Not Sirius’s long lashes, or soft features that Harry knew would sharpen to a regal appearance. Sirius’s eyes that were often guarded and occasionally sparkled with joy weren’t ominous, and his lips… the lips that Harry knew exactly what they felt like against his own… they weren’t cruel either.
“I think it’s jealousy and fear,” Harry said confidently. “Look at the star, Siri. The other stars are jealous of it, afraid that it’s stealing the show.”
“They aren’t,” Sirius said. He wasn’t looking at Harry, but Harry could tell he knew Harry was watching him. Sirius licked his lips and swallowed loudly. “Some stars - some people really know the star, they know it can be dangerous and it will hurt people.”
There was a warning in that, one Harry could almost understand.
“Yeah?” Harry rolled back on his back and folded one arm under his head, the other was crossed over his chest. He breathed in and thought about all the times people acted as if he were dangerous, all the times he truly had hurt people.
“I’ve hurt people,” Harry said. “I - I took Cedric to that cemetery and I took all my friends to the Ministry. I don’t even know if they all made it, there…” Harry had to blink quickly as a horrible thought made itself known to him. “There might be a place somewhere where Hermione or Ron were killed in the Ministry. And that’s my fault, I didn’t try hard enough at occlumency and I fell for the trap. All I cared about was…”
Sirius.
All Harry had cared about was finding Sirius, saving Sirius, following Sirius.
“You,” Harry admitted quietly, looking at the brightest star in the sky. “I just cared about making sure you were okay.”
It was quiet after that, only the weight of Harry’s admission laced with the underlying meaning crackling in the air between them.
Sirius didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to. He eventually scooted closer until he could stretch his arm beneath Harry’s head. They laid like that, silently watching the stars, and it might have been the best night of Harry’s life.
The return trip to Hogwarts the next day was bittersweet, which in itself was a novelty. Never before had Harry boarded the train with anything less than relief, at a minimum, to be returning to school.
Grimmauld Place had been depressing, stressful, and gloomy when Harry stayed there before. When it was just Harry and Sirius, it became fun and lively, filled with noise and chatter. Adding Dobby had changed the entire house completely and made it feel much more like a home.
Christmas Day had been ridiculous and everything that Harry had secretly ever wanted out of a holiday. Dobby, in his over-excitement to be with ‘the great Harry Potter’, had made turkey and ham and pies and more desserts than they could all eat. Sirius swore he loved the jacket Harry ordered him, the child-sized version of his leather jacket that Harry had seen the first time he stayed at Grimmauld Place.
Sirius, because he was Sirius and over-the-top, had pulled strings and used Harry’s name to reach out to the broomstick creator that would manufacture the Firebolt in a year and a half to ask to purchase any prototypes. Harry had laughed when he opened the broom and told Sirius about how Hermione had believed it was cursed the first time Sirius bought him a Firebolt.
They both received a frankly absurd amount of gifts from their classmates. Small trinkets and candies came for them from what seemed like the majority of Slytherin house and almost every first year in Hogwarts.
Harry was relieved that Sirius had taken care of buying things for everyone, which meant Harry had only purchased Hermione’s gift. He nearly sent Ron something, but he worried that Ron would pitch it in an abundance of caution.
It was the first time in six years that Harry didn’t receive a Weasley Sweater, something he tried very hard to not let bother him. Maybe by the next Christmas he would be on good terms with Ron and his brothers.
After Christmas Day, Sirius decided that they didn’t need to clean anymore. Dobby took that to mean he should clean, something he was too excited for, and Harry firmly told him that it was a time to relax. Dobby had been given one of the many bedrooms in the house and Harry sent in an order for as many pairs of different colored socks as he could order from a single catalog.
When Dobby was able to silence Walburga’s portrait in the foyer, Sirius had taken a trip to muggle London to get Dobby even more socks.
It felt like the holiday had passed too quickly after Boxing Day. When it was just Harry and Sirius lounging around, enjoying the home they had always wanted to share, time flew.
They finally had complete privacy to talk about their plans - about Pettigrew, the diary, Barty Crouch Junior, Voldemort, and Dumbledore. They could talk about their lives before without worrying about being overheard, Sirius could tell Harry stories about his childhood, the events he had attended and the classmates of his that Harry briefly met on Christmas.
Harry was disappointed to leave his home. That was all.
Sirius seemed to be down about it as well. He had become moody and withdrawn when they arrived at King’s Cross and barely spoke to anyone on the ride back to the castle. Their compartment was more full than Harry would have liked with most of the students who had attended the Yule Gala all sitting together.
There was an older girl, a fifth year, that Harry didn’t recognize but who kept dragging him in conversations with the others. Since Sirius was curled on his side, his head on Harry’s lap and silently facing Harry rather than the compartment, Harry didn’t have much of a choice but to talk to the others.
“Cibelle,” the girl reminded Harry when he blanked on her name. She was quite pretty, with large blue eyes framed with dark lashes and wavy brown hair.
“I was disappointed you left so quickly on Yule,” Cibelle said. “We never even got to share a dance.”
Harry knew he was blushing while Blaise and Pansy snickered at him.
“Er… right,” Harry said, thinking of the disastrous Yule Ball in fourth year. “I’m actually not much of a dancer.”
“I’ll teach you!”
Cibelle and Daphne made the same offer at the same time, causing the others to begin laughing while Harry tried to politely turn down both offers.
“You’ll need to know how to dance before the Spring Equinox,” Daphne insisted. “There’s always dancing at the Spring Equinox, it’s soo lovely.”
“If we start practicing now then you won’t be self-conscious at all,” Cibelle added. “Are you free on Friday afternoons? I know you have quidditch, but I wouldn’t mind teaching you if you’re free.”
Harry didn’t have quidditch on Fridays, what he had was no desire to learn how to dance or to attend any further galas or equinoxes or anything involving a dozen death eaters in the same place.
“You have to come to the Spring Equinox!” Draco cried after Harry muttered an excuse about not attending whatever that was.
“It’s a beautiful ritual,” Cibelle said. She reached over and took Harry’s hand where it had been laid lightly on top of Sirius’s head.
“It’s held in a meadow and everything is decorated beautifully,” Cibelle said dreamily, her eyes going slightly unfocused. If she were play-acting to add dramatics to her story, it was done quite well.
“We have Morgana’s Maypole and we all dance with our ribbons, tying our gratitude and love together with our hopes. Everyone shares food and drink from the communal table and then we dance until dawn breaks.”
“If we don’t fall asleep on the ground,” Daphne said in a sing-song voice, looking significantly at Draco.
“I was THREE!” Draco cried indignantly. “I was tired!”
When Harry grinned at the idea of Draco Malfoy ever having been a normal and sleepy toddler, Cibelle took it as some sort of confirmation that he was interested in the event.
“I’ll tell Father you’re coming,” Cibelle said eagerly, smiling so brightly at Harry. “I’m sure he’ll insist on hosting it.”
“Who’s your dad?” Harry asked.
“Corbin Yaxley.”
Of course it was.
Returning to the castle did nothing to ease the sullen mood that Sirius had slipped into. He was still withdrawn and irritable all through dinner while everyone else caught up with one another. There was a lot of gossip at the Slytherin table about the ‘horrid Malfoy elf’, which made Harry grin to himself.
Dobby wasn’t horrid; Dobby was kind, caring. Dobby cared a bit too much sometimes, but it was always with good intentions… probably. Harry was glad that if only one of his plans since running through the veil were executed properly - it had been rescuing Dobby.
Harry, like an utter moron, had thought Sirius was upset about having to return to Hogwarts. Harry honestly had deluded himself into thinking Sirius was happy with their… whatever it was that was between them.
Then Sirius shot a fury filled glare at the Head Table and Harry had to look to see what was pissing him off then. There was Lupin, which was enough to make Harry prickle with annoyance, and beside Lupin sat… Snape.
Since Sirius probably wasn’t wishing death to Lupin with his eyes, Harry assumed the glare was meant for Snape.
“What’s up with Snape now?” Harry asked. While Harry always wished death upon Snape for what he had done - for the memories he got to have, the deaths he caused, the way that he had known he caused Harry to be an orphan and constantly belittled him anyway - Sirius usually burned out more quickly.
“Look where he’s sitting,” Sirius told Harry, loudly. “Right by Remus.”
Harry looked again and tried to remember where Snape usually sat. Harry was fairly sure that Snape was in his typical seat, it was Lupin who had moved. When Harry said that, it only made Sirius angrier.
“Oh, yeah, they’re best mates now,” Sirius muttered darkly. “Going to galas together and sitting together.”
“And drinking together on Halloween,” Harry reminded him. It was the wrong thing to say, but Sirius was starting to irritate Harry.
Who cared who Lupin was friends with? Why did Sirius have to care? Was he jealous? Did he wish that Lupin was still his - his person?
“Thanks, Harry,” Sirius drawled, rolling his eyes and dripping with sarcasm. “That’s real kind of you to remind me of.”
Harry stared at Sirius incredulously for a moment before he grabbed his plate and shook his head at Sirius.
“You’re unbelievable,” Harry said. He knew he sounded like a - a… a ‘jealous housewife’, as Sirius once real kindly called him, but what the hell?
Harry grabbed his plate and stood up, completely done with Sirius pining after Lupin and complaining about him constantly. It was worse than Ron after Hermione went to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum.
Probably because Sirius loved Lupin, he loved him. Sirius would say he loved Harry, and maybe he did, but he was still in love with Lupin.
“Where are you going?” Sirius demanded when Harry turned away from him.
“I’m sitting somewhere else while you pout,” Harry said waspishly. Harry got one step away before Sirius had to make a stupid comment. Sirius always thought he needed the last word in any conversation or argument.
“Like where? You don’t like anyone else, remember?”
Even if it was true, Harry stung with the implication that he couldn’t possibly have other people he could eat dinner with. Harry’s eyes roamed the Slytherin table for a place to sit, momentarily panicked that he’d have nowhere and would look ridiculous taking his own seat back.
Then Cibelle smiled at Harry and waved her hand, scooting down to make space between herself and Marcus Flint for Harry. Harry didn’t particularly want to sit there, but it was better than sitting with Sirius for the moment.
“Thanks,” Harry said politely when he had sat down with the - not older, technically, but certainly bigger - students.
“Of course,” Cibelle said. Harry swore she fluttered her lashes at him. “You’re always welcome to sit with me.”
“Oh. Er… alright,” Harry said awkwardly. “Thanks.”
“What’s Black done now?” Flint grunted, looking down toward Sirius with proper wariness. “Drowned your krup?”
Harry wasn’t going to explain that Sirius was bitter and obsessed with the ex who never trusted him. He chose to shrug instead, also ignoring the implication that Sirius was some sort of git that would drown a krup.
“I heard he’s crazy,” a girl said, one who had a twin sister beside her.
The other twin, the one with the longer hair, sounded thoughtful. “I think he’s nice, Anastasia said that he offered to help her with transfiguration.”
“Anastasia could use all the help she can get,” Cibelle said, somehow making the others laugh. Harry got the feeling they were laughing at Anastasia’s expense, but Harry didn’t know her well enough - or care - to defend her.
Harry mostly stayed quiet while the others talked about students he didn’t know. Cibelle tried to point them out to him on occasion, none of them really stood out though. What did stand out was Sirius, still sitting in his seat and glowering at the Head Table every few seconds.
Harry really hated Remus Lupin.
There was a house meeting that night, apparently Slytherin had them at the start of each term.
Harry stood behind Sirius and listened while Gemma listed their standing in the house cup, their quidditch ranking, and a few other notes. The third floor corridor was back open, surprising Harry.
“What’s that about?” Sirius murmured, turning his head as if he expected Harry would answer.
“Lupin probably,” Harry replied bitterly.
“Lupin? What’s he got to do with it?” Sirius turned to give Harry his attention then.
“Oh, come off it!” Harry snapped. “I was being sarcastic, you moron! Get over him!”
Sirius scoffed. “You’re the one who needs to get over him, Harry. You’re so damned jealous you can’t see straight.”
“Me? You’re the jealous one!” Harry laughed rudely then began imitating Sirius. “‘Why are they sitting together? Why are they talking? Are they together? Harry, do you think they’re friends?’”
Sirius had never looked embarrassed before, but he did then. His cheeks were red and he shoved Harry in the chest, not hard, aggressive though.
“I’m sorry, I forgot you’re the only one allowed to moon after people,” Sirius snapped. “‘I hope Ron talks to me. I miss Ron. If Ron were here…’”
“I bet they’re lovers!” Harry yelled wildly, not caring at all who heard him then. Harry only hoped it hurt Sirius to hear. “I bet they’re shagging, Siri! Who do you think takes the cock, huh? Because I bet it’s—”
“SHUT UP!”
Harry wasn’t just shoved then, he was tackled. There was a crazy look in Sirius’s eyes and it could have been years ago - in a different time and place - as they began fighting. Harry grabbed Sirius by the hair to get a grip on him then Sirius hit Harry in the side.
Sirius tried to hit Harry again, but Harry wasn’t a pureblood who grew up going to galas and rituals. Harry had grown up in Surrey and if Sirius thought he had the upper hand in a physical fight, he was wrong.
“I’M SORRY I DIDN’T JUST MOVE ON IN A MATTER OF MONTHS!” Sirius yelled when Harry flipped them, pinning Sirius down with one hand in his hair and the other on his neck.
“YOU SHOULD HAVE MOVED ON WHEN HE DIDN’T DO A DAMN THING FOR YOU!” Harry yelled. He hissed between his teeth when Sirius craned his neck and bit Harry’s arm. Harry, without thinking much, used his grip on Sirius’s hair to smash his head on the ground.
“WHO SAVED YOU FROM THE DEMENTORS? WHO FOLLOWED YOU IN THE MINISTRY? NOT HIM!”
“THAT’S BECAUSE YOUR BRAIN IS ALL SCREWED UP AND YOU THINK YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH ME!”
Harry had never, ever, punched anyone before. There were many times he wanted to, not once had he done it. Harry did it then. Harry pulled his fist back and punched Sirius in the mouth hard enough that he cut his own knuckles on Sirius’s teeth. Blood spilled from Sirius’s lips, it mixed with the blood from Harry’s knuckles.
“You kissed me,” Harry reminded Sirius, cold and more angry than he had ever been before. “Try and remember that.”
Because Harry was in love with Sirius and it was screwed up. It was wrong and confusing but Harry loved him. And Harry, stupidly, thought Sirius had maybe been in love with him in return.
Sirius kissed him, he held his hand. They slept in the same bed in a house full of empty bedrooms, THEY WERE WATCHING THE STARS TOGETHER!
Everything Sirius said and did was just as screwed up as Harry. For him to throw that back in Harry’s face? That was the most screwed up thing yet.
“And I should be burned for it,” Sirius swore. He turned his head and spat blood on the floor, all the fight leaving his body at once. Harry was still burning with anger and humiliation, regret too.
“You’re going to drag me to hell and I’m going to burn for an eternity,” Sirius said, his eyes burning with whatever flames he described. “You’ve got no idea… you’re screwed up, Harry. I’m a fucking monster.”
Harry knew Sirius believed that. Everything Sirius said was half of a warning. Nobody in the world thought as poorly about Sirius as Sirius did.
And even with his own heart cracking in half under the weight of being the one to be hopelessly and recklessly in love with him, there was nobody - not one damn soul - alive who thought as highly of him as Harry did.
“Then we’ll be screwed up together,” Harry said. He pushed himself off Sirius and then reached down with his still bleeding hand to grab Sirius and pull him to his feet. Sirius, as always, was the one to move toward Harry.
Sirius was always moving first, his body and his words never matching. It was no wonder that Harry spent half his time confused, Sirius was a bloody mystery all on his own.
Harry had never been able to stay out of mysteries. They were hives in his brain that demanded he itch them with all of his attention.
Sirius hugged Harry tightly, his bloodied face dripping on Harry’s shoulder. Harry hugged him back just as tightly.
“I’m going to end up killing Lupin,” Harry whispered, hating that Lupin was always the shadow between them.
Sirius laughed, not joyfully, but mildly hysterical.
“I need time,” Sirius said thickly, clutching Harry like Harry was important to him. “I won’t lose you, but, fuck, Harry, I just need time.”
Time? Harry could do that.
They were eleven after all, they had nothing but time.
And an audience.
Someone whistled, which was as jarring as if they had dumped cold water on Harry’s head. Harry had semi-forgotten about the room full of students when he and Sirius began fighting, but there they all were.
Most of the students had backed clear to the walls and had their wands drawn defensively. A few of them stayed just out of range, including Gemma Fawley.
“I’ll assume that whatever that was is resolved then?” she asked, glaring at them crossly.
Harry looked at Sirius and couldn’t help but lose his anger entirely. Harry was jealous, he was so jealous it was going to make him insane, but that was Harry’s Sirius who met his eyes. It was Harry’s Sirius, not Lupin’s. Lupin might have had him at one point, and Sirius might need time to get over the relationship they had (that sounded terrible to Harry), but Harry had him then.
“Yeah,” Harry said sheepishly, embarrassed by what all everyone else heard. “It’s resolved.”
Hopefully for good, because if Harry even had to think about Remus Lupin again then he was likely to explode.
“Harry? May I speak with you?”
Harry had to take a very deep breath so he didn’t curse Lupin. It was seven thirty in the morning though, Harry couldn’t imagine what Lupin wanted with him.
When Harry felt calm enough that he wasn’t going to pick a fight with Professor on the first day of classes of the new year, he turned in his seat. Lupin wasn’t alone, he stood behind Harry with a solemn expression alongside Professor McGonagall.
“Professor?” Harry looked at McGonagall, who he didn’t dream about watching die (in Harry’s dream, it had been Sirius who killed Lupin, which was proof that it was only a dream) just the night before. “Is everything alright?”
“I think it would be best if you come with us,” McGonagall said, not unkindly. Her eyes passed Harry and Harry swore she looked weepy for a split-second. “Mister Black may accompany you, if you would like.”
Harry grabbed his book bag and stayed two steps behind the professors, sharing bewildered looks with Sirius. Sirius arched a brow and Harry shook his head.
It never happened before, Harry couldn’t begin to guess why it was happening then.
McGonagall led them all to her office and when she opened the door Harry saw more people in the room. One of the women was familiar, Harry had seen her at his trial - Madam Bones. She wasn’t wearing the navy robes of the Wizengamot, but the dark red of the DMLE. Kingsley Shacklebolt was also there, straight faced and professional looking.
Snape was also there, along with Dumbledore. They had been speaking softly with Bones and Shacklebolt until they saw Harry. Then they all focused on Harry, which made Harry panic and instinctively reach for Sirius.
Harry never would have let Sirius join him if he knew that there were going to be aurors and Dumbledore in the room.
“Harry, hello.” Madam Bones broke free from the others and approached Harry with a soft smile and an outstretched hand. “We didn’t get a chance to meet before, I’m Amelia Bones. You know my niece, Susan?”
“Yeah, hi,” Harry said. He shook her hand briefly with his free hand then shrunk back to stand beside Sirius. If they were there to arrest Sirius or interrogate them or whatever they wanted that involved two aurors, the headmaster, and three professors… then Harry wasn’t going to let it happen without a fight.
“What’s going on?” Harry asked McGonagall, the only person in the room he trusted. Mostly trusted. Trusted more than Snape, Lupin, and Dumbledore anyway.
“Harry, why don’t you sit?” McGonagall asked, reminding Harry vividly of when she once offered him a biscuit. It was a different scenario, but still had the same effect of knocking Harry off-kilter with the unexpected kind tone.
Professor McGonagall was strict, fair, stern. Harry respected her greatly, he never associated her with terms such as ‘kind’ though.
“I’m okay,” Harry said nervously, squeezing Sirius’s hand until his knuckles were white. “Er… I’ve got class though, so maybe…?”
“Harry. May I call you Harry?” Shacklebolt took a few steps so he could kneel down and put himself on the same level as Harry. It was disconcerting, realizing how tall Shacklebolt was.
Harry nodded and Shacklebolt reached out to put a hand on Harry’s shoulder.
“I regret to inform you that your relatives were found dead this morning,” Shacklebolt said. “I am deeply sorry for your loss.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. Harry felt a jolt go through him, not grief… more like a hollow feeling of an unexpected blow. Harry blinked and tried to process that information.
The Dursleys.
Dead.
“What?” Harry breathed, trying to make it make sense. The Dursleys didn’t die, they didn’t. Harry had lived through the year before, the exact day. They didn’t die.
“How?” Harry asked, his voice faint despite the absolute silence in the room while everyone watched him receive the news.
“The attack looked magical in nature,” Shacklebolt told him. “I believe it was quick, they didn’t suffer.”
They didn’t suffer, not like Harry had under their care. Harry could see Aunt Petunia’s pinched face, Uncle Vernon’s purple rage, and Dudley’s—
“Dudley?” Harry asked, needing to know. Dudley should be at Smeltings, Harry had no idea when he would have returned to school. Harry knew as little about Dudley’s school as Dudley did his.
They were strangers who had been raised under the same roof.
“Your cousin?” McGonagall asked. “He… I’m terribly sorry, Harry. He was there with them.”
There was no love lost between Harry and Dudley, but Dudley was a child. Dudley was eleven, the same technical age as Harry. In the world Harry was in, Dudley Dursley would never get to grow up to become a man.
“Who did it?” Harry asked suddenly. He looked around at every person in the room, barring Sirius, and held his breath while he waited for an answer.
Cedric Diggory’s death had hurt Harry exponentially more than the death of his relatives, but they had been his family and the attack surely wasn’t a coincidence. Whoever killed Dudley, a child, deserved to be tossed in Azkaban for it.
And Harry had thought since his first encounter with the dementors that nobody deserved Azkaban.
“We don’t know yet,” Bones told Harry. “I promise you that we are investigating though, okay? We will find out who did this, Harry.”
“You can think of no one who might have targeted them?” Shacklebolt asked. “Any ideas you have at all could be helpful.”
“Any quarrels you’ve had? Arguments you didn’t think much of at the time? Maybe even someone watching you in public?” Bones asked.
Harry shook his head. He truly had no ideas. The Dursleys were untouchable, they had been safe for years. Nobody had ever attacked them before, not once.
“At Yule,” Snape said suddenly, looking up at the ceiling instead of Harry, “did you feel threatened or watched at any point?”
Did Harry Potter feel threatened in a room full of death eaters? Yeah, he had. Harry hadn’t been there long enough to feel overly watched though, he had left as quickly as Sirius let him.
“Yule?” Dumbledore asked. Dumbledore looked toward Harry and Harry looked down at the floor, though he could feel Dumbledore’s questioning gaze heavily on him.
“You attended Yule at Malfoy Manor, didn’t you?” Bones asked Harry. “I don’t want to worry you, Harry, but some of those men could be dangerous. Did you feel worried at all then? Did anyone ask about your family or your home?”
“No,” Harry said, honestly on the last part. Harry had been disgusted and disturbed, he never felt threatened. Nobody asked him about his family or his home either. Harry had really only spoken to three people the whole time he had been there.
“When did you last see your family, Harry?” Dumbledore asked.
“I’m sorry,” Sirius spoke up then, loudly and unapologetically. “Is Harry a suspect? Because he’s just received terrible news and now you’re interrogating him? Maybe, just maybe, we give him a minute to process his loss?”
“Yes, of course.” Lupin, of all people, took up Harry’s defense. “Mister Black is right. Amelia, can this conversation wait? Maybe for another day? If Harry himself isn’t being suspected, maybe Severus could accompany him to your office tomorrow?”
And maybe Harry would rather do anything aside from being chaperoned to the ministry by Snape. Harry didn’t speak up though, he was still reeling with questions about the Dursley’s deaths…
Who would kill them? How did they do it? Wasn’t their house protected? Wasn’t that why Harry was forced there year after year?
Who would kill them?
Harry nodded vaguely when he was told that he’d have to go to the Ministry the next day for a meeting with Bones. He nodded again when someone asked if he wanted to return to his dorm.
Harry wanted answers, he didn’t think anyone else would have them though.
Snape was told to take Harry and Sirius to their dorm, they were both being excused from classes for the day. Snape didn’t say a word when he swept out of the room, Harry and Sirius following.
Harry walked in something of a daze, trying to come to term with the news as well as wrack his brain for answers.
The Dursleys were dead.
Voldemort hadn’t been brought back to life yet.
Dudley Dursley had lived to at least sixteen before, then he didn’t see twelve.
Nobody outside of Voldemort would have any — any…
Harry turned his head and there was Sirius. Sirius, who had an entire list of things he wanted to do. A list that said ‘kill Petunia’ at the very top.
Sirius shook his head and Harry believed him.
Nobody outside of Voldemort would have any reason to go after Harry’s relatives.
So who killed the Dursley family?