Spring Equinox
Harry shivered as he stood in the foyer of the house he had grown in.
The once familiar and hated space felt alien to Harry, as different as Harry himself was.
Did the house recognize Harry? Did it remember the things he had done, the things done to him, within it?
The walls, still covered with family photographs that showed a couple and their son, had been witness to over ten years of Harry’s life… or over fifteen… time-travel was strange.
Everything looked the same, it was Harry who was different. Harry, who was so filled with anger that he thought he might burn the house down if he so much as twitched his pinky.
It shouldn’t have happened.
The Dursleys were cruel and cold toward Harry, but to whoever killed them they were innocent. They had done nothing to the witch or wizard who killed them. To any outsider, they were a normal and happy family.
Had Aunt Petunia been on the phone, gossiping with her friends, when she had been killed? Was Uncle Vernon guffawing over the newspaper, loudly explaining how he would have made different choices than whoever had been in the recent headlines? Dudley might have been in front of the telly or upstairs playing a video game. He had probably been ecstatic over the mountain of gifts he would have opened the day before, making plans to brag to his mates about everything he received.
Harry’s breath hitched and he had to blink to clear his vision so he could reach toward the front door and touch the tiny holes in the wood. That had been where Uncle Vernon tried to nail a fruitcake to the door, to stop the post.
Dudley threw up on the very mat Harry’s feet were on after he and Harry were attacked by dementors. The doormat had been pitched the same night, replaced with a new one the next day.
Grief, unexpected grief, weighed heavily on Harry when he was able to make himself travel further in the house. Harry had more memories, more years, within the house than his relatives had.
The staircase, where Harry had seen his ‘rescue team’ the summer before fifth year. Harry had been relieved to see them then angry over how far in the dark he had been kept. The bannister, where Harry had been pinned by Uncle Vernon after blowing up Aunt Marge.
Harry’s eyes landed on the cupboard door when he started to move past it and he reached out to touch the handle for the door. The door could only open from the outside, there was a swinging lock to ensure it couldn’t be opened without an extreme amount of force.
That had been where everything started for Harry, that cupboard. Harry’s earliest memories were of the cupboard’s darkness, the spiders he called his friends, the suffocating fear that one day the house would catch on fire and nobody would remember to let him out.
Harry inhaled deeply and turned the knob so he could slowly open the cupboard. Harry’s cot hadn’t been moved yet, even if he had a bedroom for years in his own memories, the house only knew that he had been moved out over the summer.
Aunt Petunia would make Harry move the cot during the upcoming summer. She would make him scrub the cupboard, wash away any trace of dust or Harry. Then Harry’s trunk would be added to it and the door would gain two extra locks.
It was confusing, looking in the cupboard.
Harry was angry, furiously angry, that someone had killed his relatives. There was also a small and guilty amount of relief that made itself known when he looked in the cupboard… Harry wouldn’t have to go through summers of starvation, of cruel words, of punishments he never earned, and endless chores that he never completed well enough.
“I shouldn't be here,” Harry said thickly. He wiped his face on his sleeve before he pulled his head out of the cupboard. Harry didn’t even have to look for him before Sirius was there, grabbing Harry and holding his pieces together.
“Let’s go,” Sirius said, taking both of Harry’s hands in his and tugging him toward the door. “You don’t need to stay here, love. Let’s go home, yeah?”
Yeah. Home sounded nice.
Dobby would have dinner for them, something ridiculously lavish that he would describe in detail while the three of them ate. Sirius might make up another elaborate story, one that Harry would laugh must have really happened and Sirius would theatrically swear he made up himself. They would find an excuse for Harry to be in Sirius’s room and they would end the night in the same bed, sharing whispered words and warmth.
It sounded nice, it was their daily routine for the last week, but Harry wasn’t done yet.
“Soon,” Harry said. He tried to smile when Sirius stepped up beside him, only their laced hands creating space between them.
“Soon,” Sirius repeated. He waved a hand toward the kitchen doorway ahead of them. “Lead the way, Pup.”
Harry lifted his foot to continue his tour - they planned to look for clues of who killed the Dursley family - of the empty house. Except Harry couldn’t take the step, it was all too much.
“This place is exactly like my parents house, all it needs is a bunch of cursed shite and it’d be a perfect replica.” Sirius pulled Harry to the kitchen, taking the step for him.
Harry trailed his free hand along the wall, focusing on what Sirius said instead of every memory - horrible and otherwise - he had in the house.
Once, and it was such an old memory that Harry wasn’t entirely certain it happened, Dudley had been in the kitchen, building a model airplane. Harry had been watching him sneakily while he watched dishes and saw Dudley drop a piece under the table. When Dudley couldn’t find it, Harry grabbed it for him.
“Thanks,” Dudley whispered loudly. “Here, I’ll put the glue on then you put it on. You’ve got tiny fingers, mine keep breakin’ it.”
That might have been the only good memory Harry had in that kitchen.
“Oi, look!” Sirius pulled Harry to the wall by where the phone was attached and pointed at a stain on the wallpaper. “Is that blood?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Harry touched it and dropped his hand, turning back toward the door and ready to leave the house. There weren’t any clues there, except for the way that it had been neatly done, no signs of a struggle or fight to be seen.
That blood spot? That had been… how old had Harry been? Eight? Nine? It was caused by a frying pan, Harry knew that much.
Why was Harry even there? Guilt? Some lingering responsibility? Harry shouldn’t have ever lived with them, he wished he had never known them.
Whoever killed them didn’t do Harry any favors, they only tainted all of Harry’s resentment toward his relatives with guilt.
“It’s my blood,” Harry told Sirius, forcing everything down until his voice came out flat. “Let’s just go, Siri. This was a mistake.”
The whole thing was a mistake… all of it.
Harry living with them, them being murdered, Harry thinking they would even want him to catch the witch or wizard who did it.
Sirius didn’t argue with Harry, didn’t say anything when Harry took one of the photos of the wall and kept it tucked to his side when they left. They covered themselves with the cloak and Harry thought Sirius was trembling slightly when he apparated them back to London.
It was strange to be in London during the spring. Harry had been there the last two Christmases, but there was something especially gloomy about spring in the part of London where Grimmauld Place sat. It was grey, rainy… it matched Harry’s mood quite perfectly.
Though it no longer matched the feeling inside the old house. Dobby, after being given permission by Harry and Sirius both, had gone wild on the house while they had been at school. Gone were the shadows and cobwebs, there were bright lights and clean walls. The dead elf heads were gone, the hallway was repainted and had mirrors and large photos of candy (Harry wasn’t sure where Dobby had found those at) covering the walls instead.
The foyer was warm and smelled like fresh bread and a spicy soup of some sort when they returned from Little Whining. Sirius hung the invisibility cloak up and Harry excused himself to go tuck the photo of the Dursleys away somewhere.
There was a safe spot in Harry’s trunk, where he kept other trinkets of little monetary value that were irreplaceable. Harry used to keep his photo album, his map, and the letters from his friends and Sirius in the small drawer in the bottom of his trunk. Harry didn’t have the photo album, and since Hagrid hadn’t tried talking to Harry all year, he doubted he would receive it. There was no map to keep stuffed in his trunk, Sirius carried his map on his person. Harry didn’t have letters from his friends or Sirius, Harry didn’t even have Ron as a friend.
All Harry had was the Slytherin-looking locket that Sirius wanted to pitch and the photograph of people who had never liked him.
Harry closed his trunk and sat on it so that he could cover his face with his hands.
Why were those his only mementos of the new life, the second chance, he thought would be so perfect? Harry thought he would save lives, save Cedric and Bertha Jorkins and even the old man, Frank Bryce, from Voldemort. Harry wanted to save lives. Instead, people who hated Harry were the ones who died and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was his fault.
“Harry?”
Harry didn’t move, he just tried to shake off his guilt over the Dursleys and his worries about the upcoming court date while Sirius sat down beside him.
“I know.” Sirius put an arm around Harry and let Harry curl in his side sort of pathetically. “I know.”
“They hated me,” Harry told him. “They honestly hated me, Siri.”
“My brother hated me,” Sirius replied, startling Harry. Sirius had only mentioned his brother twice, Harry got the impression they weren’t very close.
“Yeah?” Harry rested his head on Sirius’s shoulder. “Did it still feel awful when he died?”
“Horrible,” Sirius emphasized. “Like I couldn’t breathe for days. When your dad died, it felt like someone cut the heart from my chest. When Reggie died though? It was like someone took my lungs.”
Harry didn’t feel that way about the Dursleys, he only felt as if that ground that he had been very sure of had suddenly become something different. It was quicksand and Harry’s feet were continuously getting stuck.
“Come on, Pup.” Sirius tapped his fingers on the center of Harry’s back, sending goosebumps up Harry’s spine. “Dobby made dinner. Help me talk him into robbing Lucius, eh?”
The quicksand sticking Harry’s feet was really no match for Sirius when he wanted Harry’s attention. Sirius kept up a constant conversation that had Harry and Dobby both in hysterical tears as he talked through several methods of robbing Lucius Malfoy of Riddle’s diary.
Dobby couldn’t actually break back into Malfoy Manor, as Harry had hoped, without likely getting caught. Dobby volunteered to do so anyway, proudly saying that if he was caught he’d be killed and it would be an honor. Harry had hastily turned that morbid offer down and swore they’d find another way.
Sirius seemed confident that he would be able to get the diary over summer break, though Harry thought they had quite a lot to do over summer. There was a lot riding on their ability to find Pettigrew, figure out what to do about Barty Crouch Junior (Sirius had mentioned moving him to Grimmauld Place and Harry desperately hoped that was a terrible joke), get the diary, and find Voldemort’s wraith in Albania.
It was shaping up to be a busy summer, which made the upcoming court date that much more daunting.
Madam Bones hadn’t been specific, but she said in her letter that there were several families who applied to be Harry’s guardian. They would hold a closed court hearing where the families were able to state their case and Harry would ‘share his opinion’.
Sirius said it wouldn’t matter, but Harry wasn’t as confident. Hadn’t Harry been effectively trapped at his relatives house for years while Sirius had been just as trapped in the very home they were sharing?
The idea of being a perpetual runaway was becoming more appealing to Harry though, especially since Sirius swore that nobody would have the ability to find either of them in Grimmauld Place.
“You’ll see,” Sirius said that night. Harry had shared his concerns again, the court date was only a few days away.
“You pick any family you want and we’ll still spend summers together,” Sirius said. “Don’t pick Dumbledore though, Harry Dumbledore sounds awful.”
Harry laughed at the absurd notion that Dumbledore would try and become his guardian and relaxed in the giant bed they shared.
“You’re the best,” Harry told him, mumbling it a bit tiredly.
Sirius kissed the top of Harry’s head and then left his face against Harry’s head.
“I know,” he whispered. “Go to sleep, we’ve got an Equinox to crash tomorrow.”
Yeah, because God forbid they miss another party for pureblooded nonsense. Even if Harry could admit begrudgingly that it would be a good chance to carefully question guests about the Dursleys, it didn’t mean Harry wanted to go.
Harry thought that Sirius had been pulling his leg when he said he found them pastel colored muggle accessories for the event, but he wasn’t. The day of the Spring Equinox found Harry and Sirius in tan dress trousers, white colored shirts, and ties. Harry had on a white shirt with a lavender tie, Sirius looked better than he should in an identical white shirt and light pink tie.
Sirius finished his look off with a pair of sunglasses that made him look cuter than the roguish appearance Harry was sure he meant to go for.
“There’s no look that isn’t improved with sunglasses,” Sirius said seriously when Harry grinned at his black sunglasses.
“Maybe in a few years,” Harry said graciously, thinking of Sirius as a teenager. It would be a good look then, honestly.
“I’m sick of being eleven.” Sirius sighed and offered Harry his arm for apparation. Harry had a basket of baked goods as a gift for whoever the host was, Harry had forgotten.
“I’m sick of being short,” Harry agreed. It was startling every time he pulled on clothes in such a small size. Robes were robes, but muggle clothes tended to be in children’s sizes and that was just insulting.
Sirius stared at Harry with his eyes too hidden for Harry’s taste for a moment before grinning inexplicably.
“I like you shorter than me,” he announced. “Let’s go!”
Sirius turned on the spot and apparated them away before Harry could wonder why Sirius would like him short. Harry didn’t want to question it though, he still found it hard to believe that Sirius liked him.
Loved him.
Sirius loved him.
It was mind-boggling.
The place where they arrived was not what Harry had expected. It was… it was pretty, actually. Sirius, with the worst timing in history, had made them appear directly in front of a group of ogling adults. Sirius spouted off some nonsense about having ‘a knack for apparation’ while Harry looked around.
There was a beautiful tree in the middle of an open lawn. It was huge and old with fresh green leaves beginning to sprout off it and branches bent and twisted with time. Tied around the tree were dozens of ribbons, all different colored and fluttering with the wind.
Just past the tree were seven or eight white blankets laid on the ground. It looked like everyone was picnicking with plates made up from the tables of food laid out.
If it weren’t a bunch of death eaters and their families, Harry would find the whole scene rather sweet.
“Harry, Sirius!” Cibelle stood up from one of the blankets and carefully danced around the other families to greet them. She looked very pretty with a white dress and yellow flowers braided in her hair.
“Blessed Equinox,” Sirius said with Harry quickly echoing him.
“Thank you,” she said, beaming at them. “Please, add your contributions to the table and you can sit with my family.”
Harry glanced at Cibelle’s family and saw Corbin Yaxley, the death eater, an older girl that looked like Cibelle, then a woman who smiled kindly at Harry.
Why did they have to look so normal? It was disconcerting.
“I think we’ll sit with the Malfoys actually,” Sirius said, returning a friendly wave from Narcissa Malfoy.
The Malfoys also looked normal and maybe even nice in their posh white dress clothes. They were sharing a blanket with Theo Nott and an older man that Harry assumed was Theo’s dad.
Harry didn’t actually want to sit with them, but he didn’t have a lot of options. Every blanket had at least one death eater, Harry might as well be back in a cemetery he felt so self-conscious.
“Don’t let go,” Harry warned Sirius quietly as he gripped his hand tightly. They left the basket with their contribution on a table and Harry turned down any food, only grabbing a drink. Sirius had overfilled his own plate pointedly, but if he thought Harry was going to eat anything from people who had probably killed his relatives then he was wrong.
If Harry didn’t have a potion from Dobby to check his drink for poison then he wouldn’t even drink anything either.
Draco scooted over for them so that Harry and Sirius could sit between him and Theo on the blanket. Theo’s father introduced himself as Lord Nott and Harry managed a nearly polite nod.
Nott seemed scandalized when Harry used the potion to test his drink, though Harry was just relieved that he received a clear puff of smoke, indicating the drink wasn’t poisoned.
“Is that quite necessary?” Nott asked. He had a deep voice, a thick mustache, and Harry hated him on principle. Harry hated him more when Theo seemed to shrink away from him. Harry didn’t like Theo all that much - he was nosy and perceptive and difficult to be around, but Harry could recognize a child afraid of their parent.
“His family was killed,” Narcissa Malfoy said quietly. “I’d say some paranoia is justified.”
“Tragedy,” Lucius said solemnly. “Truly tragic. It’s a shame that the ministry has found no results. I would be pleased to look into the matter, if you would like, Heir Potter.”
Harry had chosen a poor time to choke on his drink. It was just in surprise that the juice he got a goblet of turned out to be wine, though it had the unfortunate side effect of Lucius thinking Harry was shocked at his offer.
“I dare say we are practically family,” Lucius said grandly, smiling at Harry in a creepy way down his nose. “Families should look after each other, should they not?”
Harry didn’t have to answer, since Sirius did it for him.
“It’s wild how many people consider Harry family lately,” Sirius said, perfectly politely. “It’s almost like someone killed his relatives just to claim the Boy-Who-Lived as family.”
Sirius followed that blatant accusation with a bite of some sort of pasta on bread. It was so quiet that everyone at their blanket could hear every crunch of Sirius’s mouthful of food.
Narcissa cleared her throat then reached out to tuck a strand of Sirius’s hair behind his ear.
“I was disappointed that you and Harry didn’t come stay with us,” she said, her voice so warm and motherly. It was strange, seeing all the people who had treated Harry like dirt on their show suddenly behaving like normal families.
It was the same thing all around them, everyone was laughing, sharing food and conversations. The sun shined down on everyone, highlighting their clean clothes and smiles. There were mothers playing with their children, fathers puffing pipes with others.
Harry’s throat tightened and he made himself take another drink to calm down. It was so unfair - how damned happy they all were. They were awful people, most of them. Harry had been fighting for his life while many of them jeered for his death. Even more of them had been dueling to kill in the Department of Mysteries, they had laughed at Harry for falling for the trap and mocked him for caring about the very person sitting beside him.
They were awful, cruel, evil people. And they all looked so normal and happy. They were looking the exact way (maybe not ‘exact’) that the Dursleys strived to appear and Harry was sure that at least one of the men present had killed them. And at least one of them, Harry was sure, would be at the Ministry on Tuesday, arguing their case for why they should be Harry’s guardians.
Harry would, not at all dramatically, rather die than live with any of them. Even sitting with the Malfoy family had Harry itching on the inside; he was restless with agitated energy and no proper target.
Sirius wasn’t aggravated at all, he was talking pleasantly with Narcissa. He was always so comfortable, so confident of himself. It didn’t surprise Harry that Sirius fit in everywhere he went - almost everywhere.
Sirius James was a social chameleon. He could have a room full of first years eating out of the palm of his hand with funny stories and clever ideas. Sirius also fit in seamlessly at rituals, galas, and spring festival parties.
Sirius Orion had seemed like someone who should fit in everywhere, but was shunned instead. Sirius had never been happy in Grimmauld Place, he had been physically ill when he had been living in caves. There was the time that Sirius had been lying low at Lupin’s, a time that Harry tried very hard to never think about, but outside of that…
Sirius James was who Sirius had always been meant to be, Harry was sure of it. Sirius was meant to have loads of people who admired him, who wanted to talk with him, who fought to befriend him.
That didn’t mean that Harry was thrilled to see and hear Sirius so perfectly fitting in and taking control of the conversation considering their audience. Harry also wasn’t thrilled to learn that apparently he had been personally invited to stay with the Malfoys during break through Narcissa.
It was fine. Harry would just… sit there silently and drink the horrible wine and wait for a chance to walk away from the Malfoys.
Theo offered Harry that exact chance not two seconds later.
“Heir Potter, have you had any of the lamb?” Theo turned to peer at Harry through his lashes as he pointed to one of the tables with food on it. Harry could see a large platter of lamb, it was probably more lamb than Harry, Sirius, Theo, and Draco all weighed combined.
“Our elf made it, it’s delicious,” Theo said. “Would you like some?”
Harry didn’t think he would eat anything, but he did want to get away from the Malfoys for a moment. Narcissa was trying to get Sirius to agree to a day for him and Harry to go have tea with her and Harry hoped that Sirius wouldn’t be able to set it up if Harry wasn’t there to agree. Or, more realistically, Sirius wouldn’t set anything up if Harry wasn’t there.
“Alright then, thanks,” Harry said. He shrugged at Sirius and pushed himself up to his feet. “I’ll be back,” he told Sirius.
Sirius looked around them, his head turning to stare in every direction for a second, then nodded and flashed a smile.
“Don’t let anyone assassinate you,” he said glibly. “Some people might see that as an honor, you know. Killing the Boy-Who-Lived and all.”
Harry couldn’t see it, but he sensed Sirius’s wink. It made Theo’s dad look infuriated, which Harry did like.
Theo didn’t.
Theo led Harry toward the food in a very roundabout way, one that took them behind the grand tree for a moment. That was where Theo grabbed Harry’s arm, startling Harry by his sudden intensity.
“Potter, please, please stop with your - your Potter-ness,” Theo begged.
Harry blinked. What exactly was ‘Potterness’ meant to mean?
“You don’t get it, everything might be a laugh to you and Black, but I have to go home with him,” Theo started working himself up, not giving Harry a chance to get a word in edgewise.
“Yeah, it’s really funny to you two to accuse people of poisoning you or killing your family and I’m sorry someone did it, but please stop. Just stop or sit somewhere else. And if you think you need to blind me or cut out my tongue or whatever you want then just do it, okay? Do it because it’s going to hurt a lot less than dealing with my father when we get home if you keep making him mad.”
Harry was so caught off guard by Theo’s plea that he was struck silent when Theo finished ranting. The first thing Harry thought to say might not have been exactly sensitive.
“What the fuck?” Harry blurted out, unintentionally using one of Sirius’s favored swears. “Does your dad hit you?”
Theo blanched and Harry had to grab his arm, momentarily concerned he was going to faint.
“Sit somewhere else,” Theo said, a clear enough answer for Harry. “Please, Potter.”
Harry had no choice but to nod and watch Theo walk away, right back to the man he was very clearly afraid of. Harry watched Theo’s dad from behind the tree and felt his stomach rolling with anger the longer he watched.
How dare he? Theo was a kid, a little kid. Why should he be punished - hurt - because his dad didn’t like Harry’s tone or whatever?
Harry glared at Theo’s dad and wondered what his deal was. Was he just a monster on the inside? Did he think Theo was just some punching bag for him to vent life’s frustrations on?
Maybe he saw Theo as a burden, a reminder of something that he hated or feared. Maybe he thought nobody would ever know or care.
Harry didn't know if he even liked Theo Nott, but he knew that he cared if Theo was being abused. How Harry would stop it, he didn’t know. He would stop it though, he knew that for sure.
The superficial beauty of the day faded for Harry after Theo reminded Harry that it was often the families that looked the most normal that hid the worst secrets. The mother with the boy that Sirius had dueled, did she really look happy or was that a strained smile? Was the man with the bald head and round stomach laughing at a joke the women with the silver eyes and white hair made or was he mocking her?
Were the two men…
Harry shifted back behind the tree, flattening himself out of view. The two men who were talking quietly apart from the others were not overtly sinister, it was Snape. Harry hadn’t recognized him because he was wearing white. The other man was the man with the tan skin that Sirius went to school with, Selwyn.
When Harry carefully stuck his head out again to peek at them, he thought Snape looked extra unhappy while Selwyn seemed amused. Harry was momentarily disappointed that the twins hadn’t yet invented extendable ears before mentally smacking himself in the forehead.
What was the point of carrying around a priceless heirloom if he didn’t use it to eavesdrop on conversations that probably weren’t his business?
Harry quickly pulled his cloak from the extendable pocket he had, thanking his lucky stars again that Dobby took Harry’s safety to a nearly unreasonable degree. It had been Dobby’s idea for Harry to carry his cloak on him and Harry didn’t feel like arguing over it.
It was handy to have, especially since Snape’s conversation wound up being sort of Harry’s business.
Harry got as close as he could, keeping himself well aware that Snape always seemed to have a sixth sense for when Harry was under his cloak. He barely dared to breathe as he positioned himself close to the two men, straining to catch every word.
"I hear you've been quite busy, Selwyn," Snape said, his voice low and careful. "Your talents as a seer must be in high demand."
Selwyn laughed quietly, a sound that was both amused and dismissive.
"Oh, Severus, you flatter me,” he winked. “You know as well as I do that seeing is as much a curse as it is a gift."
Selwyn was a seer? That was interesting. Harry thought most seers were quacks, but it seemed even Professor Trelawney had made two correct predictions in the time Harry knew her.
Snape’s expression remained unreadable, though Harry could sense the intensity behind his dark eyes as he shifted around to see him better.
"I wonder if your sight has offered any insights into recent events,” Snape murmured, his lips barely moving. “Perhaps concerning Potter’s family?"
Harry felt his heart skip a beat. He edged even closer, careful not to make a sound. Was Snape trying to find who killed Harry’s relatives? Why? On Dumbledore’s orders? Voldemort’s? His own curiosity?
Selwyn seemed to have the same questions. He tilted his head and even if he played a careless personality, Harry could see real curiosity in his eyes the way he assessed Snape carefully.
"So direct, Severus. How unlike you,” he said evenly. There was an accent there, not one that Harry recognized. “Why this sudden interest in some dead muggles? Surely you’ve gotten past that hang up over the years?"
"Curiosity," Snape replied smoothly, not missing a beat. "I have a desire to understand what happened to them. And, perhaps, who among our circle may have had a hand in their demise."
“Curiosity indeed.” Selwyn chuckled and shook his head. He had a golden goblet the same as Harry had and he took a sip without looking away from Snape. “Seeing is an imprecise magic, Severus,” Selwyn said. “It’s unwise to reveal things I may or may not know. Especially to those whose loyalties are... ambiguous."
Snape’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice calm. "Ambiguous? I serve the same one you do."
"Do you?" Selwyn's tone was mocking, he had a smirk that clearly caught how vague Snape must have purposefully responded. "I wonder about you, Severus. There are many whispering shadows around you, dark ones. It's hard to see where your true allegiance lies."
Harry could see Snape’s eyebrow tick, just a throb of annoyance. Harry was annoyed too, he wished Selwyn would either be direct or admit he knew nothing.
“I have no time for games, Jacoby,” Snape hissed menacingly. “Did you see anything or not? Do remember what I know about you.”
“Visions are subjective,” Selwyn said, no longer smiling at all. “I might have seen something to solve all the murders. Or I might have seen nothing at all."
Harry wanted to leap out and demand answers himself, but he needed to stay hidden. Snape knew how to interrogate a bloke, Harry remembered.
“Fine,” Snape spat, looking quite sour. "And what of those who applied to become Harry Potter’s guardian? Surely you can reveal that much, if you know it.”
"A list as long as my arm, I’d wager,” Selwyn shrugged uncaringly. He stretched his arm out to emphasize his point. “Everyone wants to be close to the Boy-Who-Lived. But why do you care, Severus? Planning to adopt him yourself?"
Sick.
That was a sick joke. A very sick joke.
It was Snape who had made Harry an orphan in the first place. Harry would sooner kill Snape with his bare hands than be legally tied to him.
Snape's face darkened, and for a moment Harry thought he might lash out. But instead, he took a deep breath and forced a thin smile, which was more unsettling than a fight would have been.
"Just gathering information,” Snape said curtly. “You understand."
"Of course," Selwyn said with a lazy wave of his hand. "But I’ll tell you this: the families who seek him out, they all have their own agendas. Power, prestige, revenge - take your pick. None of the ones who have applied truly care for the boy himself. I sense that the boy will have a difficult time ahead of him.”
Harry felt a chill run down his spine. That was as ominous as it was unsurprising. It should have bothered him to bluntly hear that he was being seen as a political ploy, but it wasn’t really news to him. Harry knew that had been the likely game when he read the letter from Bones. Harry wanted to hear more about it, but Selwyn turned abruptly, signaling an end to the conversation.
“Now, if you'll excuse me, Severus,” Selwyn raised his goblet so Snape could see it from where he was just beyond Snape. “The festivities are calling to me. Perhaps we’ll talk again."
With that, Selwyn walked away, leaving Snape standing alone, looking more frustrated than ever. Harry waited until Snape stalked off in the opposite direction before he slipped away, not toward the tree but away from the group altogether.
So Snape had the same questions that Harry did. Snape also knew more people than Harry did and went directly to a seer to try and divine answers. What information did he actually get? That Harry was going to have a difficult life? Harry didn’t need a seer for that, he had always known it.
Harry lingered just on the fringes of the group while he waited for the ritual to begin. Cibelle talked about dancing and drawing magic from the Earth, which didn’t sound like very precise magic. It took a while, an hour of Harry being wrapped up in his own thoughts and worries and watching Sirius flit around chatting with different people, before Cibelle’s dad stood up and called for everyone’s attention.
“If you will stand,” he said with a raspy voice. Harry had recognized him before he spoke, but it was that rasp that had once mocked Harry’s efforts to live —
“Potter’s playing a game. The Dark Lord always wins!”
What was Harry doing there?
Beneath the momentary flurry of people standing and blankets and tables being cleared away, Harry slipped through the lawn until he was beside Sirius.
“Rosier, Weasley, Malfoy, Longbottom,” Sirius whispered when Harry took his place beside him. Harry tipped his head in a silent show of confusion at the arbitrary list of names.
“Families who submitted their names for the hearing,” Sirius explained. “There might be more, and who knows who made it past the court’s prerequisites. The Malfoys did, Lucius and Narcissa will be there Tuesday.”
The Malfoys. As in Lucius Malfoy.
A death eater.
“What’s he going to do when Voldemort returns? Gift wrap me?” Harry hissed. It had been quietly said, just a panicked concern Harry wanted to share, but the woman with the white hair turned from where she stood a ways in front of them and stared at Harry oddly for a moment.
Harry glared back at her, not knowing or caring who she was. If she heard him then she could say something or shut her mouth. When the woman turned back to listen as Yaxley began a loud prayer, Sirius put his mouth to Harry’s ear to whisper.
“Amelia isn’t a monster, she’ll want it to be a good fit,” Sirius whispered quickly. “Once we know who all is there we can plan better, okay?”
Harry nodded, though he didn’t hold any faith in any court doing what he wanted. The same court that sent Sirius to Azkaban without a trial? The court that tried to have Harry expelled and his wand snapped for defending himself against dementors that one of the Ministry workers had sent after him? That court?
Harry might as well take the dark mark, dye his hair blonde, and start calling Lucius ‘father’.
The prayer given by the tree had ended and Harry moved on autopilot with Sirius to join the others around the tree. Everyone was selecting a ribbon and Harry hesitated for a moment as he reached for one. There were so many different colors, did they have different meanings? Should Harry select one at random? Did it matter?
Sirius had taken the end of a yellow one so Harry was going to choose the same color when a quiet voice startled him.
“I suggest, Potter, that you choose carefully.”
Harry recognized the voice and it was quite nearly the last voice he wanted to hear. Harry pulled his hand away from the yellow ribbon and let his fingers trail in the different colors as he tersely replied.
“I suggest, Snape, that you don’t speak to me when we aren’t at school,” Harry said. It was quiet enough that Sirius, who became distracted by helping Theo snag a blue ribbon, didn’t hear.
“Your ribbon will represent the blessing you wish to ask for,” Snape said, stupidly ignoring Harry’s warning. Everything inside of Harry was screaming to attack him, to place all of his useless anger and frustration on the man who flipped the first domino in the mess Harry was currently in.
Snape may have sensed it, he may have just been attempting to stay away from Harry to an extent. Either way, he remained just out of arms reach as he touched one of each color ribbon.
“Yellow, energy. Green, fertility. Blue, peace. Purple, inspiration. Pink, love.” Snape let them all fall from his fingers except for the purple ribbon. “I dare say a child needs no energy.”
“And I dare say that inspiration would be a dangerous thing in your hands,” Harry spat. He moved further from Snape and closer to Sirius as he resolutely chose pink.
“None of them truly care for the boy himself.”
“Harry? He’s everything. I need him.”
Harry had love, he did. But it didn’t mean there wasn’t a shadow of grief inside of him at the amount of love he could have had in his life if things had been different.
The ritual had been brilliant, if strange. Everyone had actually danced around the tree, weaving and tangling their ribbons together as they began to lace the trunk in the mixed colors. It had taken Harry nearly an hour of moving woodenly, dancing only because the others were, before something he could only describe as magic began to work on him.
Harry had slowly felt the lightening of his anger, his worries, his grief. As his ribbon shortened, he could feel his problems slipping away. It was truly magical and Harry laughed when his body filled with fizzy bubbles, impacting his entire being.
All of Harry’s problems would be packed away neatly for him to pick back up at some point, but it was amazing to just be for a while.
Sirius felt it too, Harry could tell. Sirius had been laughing and moving with graceful and energetic steps as they mixed with the others during the ritual. Sirius was still beaming while he thanked Yaxley for inviting them at the end.
Harry waited by the tree and had his hand flat on the trunk. Everyone had stuck their ribbon ends to the trunk, causing the tree to glow golden in the night. It was beautiful and Harry wanted a minute alone to appreciate it.
Magic could do so many amazing things. It could kill and cause pain, but it was made for rituals and blessings, Harry was sure of it.
“Blessed be the fruits of the tree, the gifts of magic. I ask for a new year with the same blessing of fruit.”
Harry watched as a green ribbon, several shades darker than the light green ones, appeared from the air and began winding its way around the tree. The croaking voice was familiar and it only took Harry a moment to look around and spot the wizard he had met before.
The man hadn’t introduced himself and he seemed a bit mad. He was tall, too thin to be healthy, and had tangled grey hair that fell in clumps around his shoulders. It matched his uncombed dark beard and nearly hid the lifeless snake the man wore around his neck like a necklace.
“Blessed Equinox,” Harry told the man, hoping it was the right sentiment.
The man spotted Harry and his chapped lips twisted in what would have been a smile if it didn’t make him seem twice as unfriendly.
“He’s back again,” the man said, slithering closer to Harry. There really was no better way to describe the way he moved, it reminded Harry of a snake’s slither as he never lifted his feet and made no sound.
“My friend,” Harry explained, gesturing to where Sirius had moved on from thanking Yaxley to sharing goodbyes with the Malfoy family. The Notts were just behind them and Harry narrowed his eyes at Nott, wondering again what he should do about him.
Maybe everyone who was jumping to become Harry’s guardian should worry about the kid who was terrified of his father.
The old man squinted through the night and snorted loudly when he spotted Sirius.
“They all prance about, showing off, think they’re better than the rest,” the man muttered. “I’d skin ‘em all, skin ‘em and have a proper show of sacrifice.”
“You won’t skin him,” Harry frowned. “What’s your name, anyway? Why were you late?”
“Can’t be late to what you’re not invited to, boy,” the man said. “They want me to die, they want me to see my family name buried in the dirt. That’s the joke, boy.”
Harry must not understand his sense of humor, it wasn’t much of a joke.
“Is that why you asked for - er - fruit?” Harry asked awkwardly.
The old man tried to stroke his beard, but his fingers were caught in the tangles.
“Ar,” he said. “Father’d be rollin’ in his grave to see our family die.”
A strange concern, considering the man’s age.
“What about you?” the man asked, suddenly sharp and glaring at Harry. “You asked for love?” he sneered.
Harry didn’t know how the man knew that or why he felt stupid for admitting it, but he nodded a bit shamefacedly.
“My relatives were killed,” Harry said. “My family’s going to… to…”
Harry trailed off at a thought and suddenly considered the mentally unstable and socially shunned man in a new light. There was a solution for them both there, Harry was sure of it.
“What’s your name?” Harry asked him.
“My name?” The man smiled, showing crooked teeth that were yellowed and decayed. “I’m Morfin, ain’t I?”
“Morfin…” Harry touched the green ribbon that Morfin had tied around the tree thoughtfully. “Are you busy on Tuesday? Because if not, I might know how you can save your family name.”
Lucius Malfoy was certainly one option. The crazy old man with the dead snake necklace and dislike of the others in the social circle Harry had been drawn in was a much more interesting option.