Harry Potter stared at the large, wooden cabinet in front of him and scowled deeply. As if sensing the boy’s disdain, the cabinet gave a heaving shudder, one of its legs popping off the floor at an angle. It went still again almost immediately, but soft shuffling could still be heard from within. Harry scowled harder.
From Harry’s left, Professor Lupin smiled weakly. “You’ll get it soon enough, Harry,” Lupin started, and somehow Harry scowled even harder, but Lupid plowed on, “Rome wasn’t built in a day, nor did it take Dumbledore a mere week to become the finest wizard in England,” Lupin paused, staring down at Harry, and cracked a brighter grin. “Try again.”
Harry wanted to do just about anything other than try again, but he looked at Lupin’s hopeful expression, and decided that he would try, if only to make his Professor happy.
Harry sucked in a breath and tried to conjure up the happiest memory he possibly could. The Dursley’s had gone on a business trip over the weekend, and Mrs. Figg had taken a holiday in France. Therefore, the Dursley’s had no choice but to leave Harry home alone—with more than a few thinly veiled threats regarding what would happen if he trashed the house in their absence. Harry spent the weekend watching telly and stuffing himself on pantry food that the Dursley’s wouldn’t notice to be missing.
Having his memory firmly planted at the forefront of his mind, Harry nodded at Lupin who whipped open the cabinet doors. Suddenly, Harry felt cold, and tired. His happy memory had shriveled up into a smoking ember. The dementor creeped out of the closet, making that subtle sucking noise that Harry detested.
“Expecto Patronum,” Harry choked out, and something less than a wisp flew out of the end of his wand. The dementor did not even shudder.
Then, the screaming started, and the next thing Harry remembered was Lupin stepping in front of the dementor, which changed into a glowing white orb, and yelling “Riddikulus!”. The orb proceeded to fly around the room like an untied balloon, ultimately fizzing into nothing.
Next, Lupin was helping Harry up from the ground (when had he fallen?) and was pressing a chocolate bar into his hands. Harry tried to refuse, for he had more than had his fill of chocolate, but Lupin insisted that he take it.
Lupin sat Harry in one of his tattered burgundy armchairs and disappeared into his personal quarters. Harry did not pay heed to his absence; all he did was take sullen bites of chocolate, feeling quite sorry for himself.
Then, Lupin reappeared out of his chambers, grunting slightly, and carrying a large box that looked rather heavy. Harry sat up slightly in Lupin's chair, still clutching the chocolate bar, and tried to see what was in the box. Lupin smiled when he saw Harry craning his neck.
“This,” said Lupin, plopping the box in front of Harry, “is a vinyl player.” Lupin sat across from Harry, still smiling.
“Er,” said Harry eloquently, “I know what a vinyl player is, Professor.”
“I want you to have it.”
Harry stared at his professor. “I don't have any discs,” Harry told him, trying to be polite. Why would he need a record player? Lupin must realize that Harry had more important things to do than collect records. For example: not being killed.
Lupin just kept smiling. “There are some in here, see?”
Harry peeked his head over the box and saw that indeed, there were records in there. Large, multicoloured discs were stacked on each side of the record player, and Harry thought that the box might break if anything else was stuffed in there.
Harry stared at Lupin dumbly. “Thank you professor, but I don't really need a record player,” said Harry, because he honestly, truly did not care for nor have need for any records, “I mean, it looks expensive, and you probably spent, like, a lot of money on it and stuff—”
“It was your father’s,” interrupted Lupin, and Harry’s world flipped upside down. “I mean, it was all of ours—all of the Gryffindor boys, during school, but I rather think that James would want you to have it." Lupin glanced down at Harry underneath his shaggy tufts of hair. "Lily and James would play these records when you were a baby, so perhaps they will help jog some, ah, happier memories."
Harry was rendered speechless. There were a plethora of questions he wished to fire at his professor, but all he was able to mutter was a rushed “thank you” before he grabbed the box, and— wow, it was heavy—and ran out of the room. Lupin let him go, smiling at the slammed door in that way he always does.
Harry rushed to his dormitory, practically sprinting through the corridors. Knowing that the records belonged to his father changed the game.
Harry vaguely recalled Professor McGonagall calling out a brisk, “No running in the corridors, Potter!” but he didn't really care, and continued his pace back to his room.
Harry was turning a corner rather quickly when he ran face first into a big, black dog. At first, he startled, believing it to be the grim that had been haunting the shadows around him since the summer, but then the dog sat on its hind legs, wagging its tail lazily. The dog panted slightly, and his tongue protruded from his mouth.
Harry decided that the dog looked too stupid to be his grim, with its protruding tongue and disheveled fur. In a way, the dog reminded him of Ron. Harry smirked at the thought.
Deeming the threat to be thoroughly assessed, Harry continued on to his room. He walked for another minute before he noticed the pitter patter of large paws on the stone floor behind him.
For some reason, the dog was following him.
Harry took a sharp turn, and the dog took a sharp turn with him. Harry sped up his pace, and the dog sped up his pace as well. Although it was overkill on his part, Harry decided to start skipping, and he could’ve sworn that he heard the dog jump up and down from behind him.
Harry stopped in his tracks. “Are you following me?” Harry asked the dog, then immediately felt very stupid for talking to a dog. The dog, having stopped walking once Harry stopped walking, simply stared up at Harry unblinkingly, tongue still protruding from his mouth. Harry scowled for what must’ve been the hundredth time that day. He was trying to set a record, actually.
“Well,” said Harry, glaring down at the dog in a manner that was eerily similar to Professor Snape, “stop following me. I have important things to do, like homework.” All the dog did was sneeze, and Harry somehow felt like the dog was laughing at the notion of Harry considering homework to be something important.
“Okay, well. I’m leaving now. You cant follow me,” said Harry in what he hoped was a tone that left no room for argument, and he turned away and started off, once again, in the direction of his dormitory. He had far more important things to do than stand in the middle of a corridor shouting at a dog.
Plus, he looked really, really stupid doing it.
Harry hoped that Draco Malfoy hadn't spotted him berating the dog. Merlin, he could imagine the headline now; Famous Harry Potter Spotted Shouting at a Stray! Has our Chosen One Finally Fallen Off the Deep End?
The dog, obviously not listening to a word he said, bounded happily behind Harry, tail wagging and panting.
Harry considered stopping and reprimanding the dog again, but he decided that it was a useless endeavor.
Soon, Harry forgot about the dog’s happy presence behind him, and his thoughts drifted back towards the record player in his hands. Somehow, Harry knew that the contents of the box represented something extremely profound and important; he just didn’t know what precisely it signified. Harry hoped that he would find out.
Suddenly, Harry (and the dog) were at the door to the Gryffindor common room. Harry barked out a rushed, “Gobblysmack!” at the Fat Lady, and did not wait for the portrait to swing open completely before he hurried inside, the black dog following shortly behind him.
The common room was full of students; in fact, it might have been the most packed he’d ever seen it. His dormmates were sitting in a corner, avidly engaged in a clearly invigorating and heated game of Gobstones. Ron poked his head up enthusiastically at Harry’s arrival.
“Harry!” Ron exclaimed, face flushed red with excitement. Ron knocked a few stones over as he waved broadly at him, resulting in an angry glare from Seamus and several pointed looks from the rest of the table. “Come look, Seamus almost has Neville beat!” Harry marveled at this for a moment, because Neville was the most exceptional Gobstones player he’s ever met, but he plowed onward.
“Sorry mate, gotta piss!” Harry yelled back, already halfway up the stairs.
“Who’s dog is that?!” Dean shouted at Harry, but Harry ignored him. He'd probably explain later.
Harry shot into his dorm, noticing it to be blessedly empty. He hurriedly set up the record player on his bedside table, which did not take much effort, because although England favored the radio at that point in time, Aunt Petunia always preferred vinyls, and would order Harry to switch discs for her once she tired of an album. Aunt Petunia took a special liking to ABBA, of all bands. Therefore, Harry will forever despise ABBA.
Harry prayed that his father's record collection didn't include any ABBA.
Harry turned to check if the dog was still with him, and he noticed that it was curled up on Harry’s bed, clearly making itself comfortable. Harry glared at the dog, and it barked back happily in response.
“You’ll get hair on my duvet,” Harry said, and the dog rolled on its back as if to say, “so what?”.
Harry tried to forget that the dog was getting dander and fur on his covers and moved to look at the albums Lupin had given him. He shuffled between the large, square packages, stopping to look at each one. "Abbey Road" by The Beatles, "A Night at the Opera" by Queen, and almost every album from David Bowie, like, ever.
Harry picked up "The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars" from David Bowie, and the black dog almost immediately started barking wildly, violently, and almost imploringly.
Harry turned to look at the dog, shocked at this outburst.
“Do you—” Harry paused, well aware that what he was about to ask was ridiculous. Harry cleared his throat and started again, looking directly at the dog. “Do you want me to put this one on?”
The dog barked back as if to say, “Yes, you dolt!”
Without stopping to admire the peculiarity of him having a semi-intelligible conversation with a dog, Harry placed the disc on the record player. He centered the needle, and music began to play.
The dog got very still, and very quiet all of the sudden. Harry stilled as well. He collapsed back on his bed, and the dog slowly crept up next to Harry, laying its large head on his thigh. At that moment, Harry could not find it within himself to push the dog off his leg.
So, Harry and the dog laid there on his bed together, listening to the very same music that Harry’s father listened to in that very same dormitory almost twenty years ago.
Across the castle, Remus Lupin set up his very own record player for the first time since Sirius was sent to Azkaban. Miraculously, he placed the very same album that Harry was listening to, "The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars", on his record player.
Remus sat back in his chair, a melancholy smile dancing upon his scarred face, remembering a time he could never return to and of a people he could never entertain again.
For the first time in thirteen years, Remus let himself remember that godforsaken Sirius Black grin.
In the common room downstairs, a rat by the name of Scabbers hid underneath a worn couch, cowering in fear from the dog he'd smelled upon its entrance to the common room. He knew with certainty that the dog was hunting him, and that it was only a matter of time before he was caught and forced to pay for what he had done.
Suddenly, the rat, whose hearing was far better than any human’s, heard the familiar notes of a familiar song that he had not heard in over thirteen years.
Scabbers cowered a little less forcefully, and for a breath, only a breath, he felt as if he were home.
If anybody were to see Scabbers in his spot underneath the couch, they would remark that that was the healthiest the skinny rat has looked in weeks, for Scabbers had begun the descent into illness near the beginning of the term.
Scabbers, like Remus in his chambers just across the castle, paused and remembered a time he could never return to and of a people he could never entertain again. For the first time in thirteen years, Scabbers felt regret for his cowardice.
Next to Harry Potter, a black dog listened to the notes of a song reminiscent of a time that has long since passed. The dog breathed in deeply, the scent of Harry Potter almost identical to that of Lily Evans and James Potter, and for a moment, the dog could pretend that they weren’t gone.
For a breath, only a breath, the black dog allowed himself to remember the moon.
Unbeknownst to one another, three former best mates listened to the same song from the same album, reminiscent of a time all familiar to them, within the walls of the very same castle. For a moment, the marauders were tethered together again, across space and transcending time, united in their love for song and in long forgotten memories, thirteen years after everything had fallen apart.
If just after twilight, the black dog caught Scabbers' scent and decided not to do anything about it, just that once, then there is only Ziggy Stardust and his Spiders from Mars to thank.
The next day, Harry Potter conjured a fully corporeal Patronus, and the black dog, having departed from Harry’s side, howled mournfully up at the stars.