“Do not shag that witch.”
November 14
When Harry first saw his godfather sitting in the field where Harry had been flying, he’d been happy.
Confused, but happy.
Then it was wrecked immediately by the first words he said after nearly a month of saying nothing at all.
“Remus told me I needed to apologize.”
Which, yeah. It wasn’t exactly what Harry expected and it bothered him. It bothered him that much more when Dean seemed to begrudgingly invite Sirius (Harry checked his list as soon as he wasn’t being watched by his godfather) back to their house and Sirius didn’t even actually apologize.
It was stilted on the short car ride back to the house. Even with Sirius chasing their car on four legs, Harry could feel the irritation radiating from the front seat.
“Just so we’re clear,” Sam turned in his seat when they pulled in the driveway so he could look at Harry. “I’m not mad at you, but I am going to crash at Bobby’s tonight.”
So Harry figured that Sam was pretty angry about Sirius being there. Harry didn’t blame him, it had came to blows last time Sirius was there.
Dean didn’t seem angry. He didn’t seem particularly pleased, Harry thought he was quite a bit frostier toward Sirius than he had been last time, but he wasn’t yelling.
Harry didn’t have much to say to Sirius, truthfully. Sirius talked about the tournament while Harry busied himself with helping Dean make dinner (Dean didn’t typically want Harry’s help, but Harry was grateful he let him help then as Harry didn’t have much to say to his godfather. Or, rather, Harry had too many things to say.).
Sirius asked if Harry was scared, he said no.
Sirius said that Lupin told him about Harry’s plan, Harry hummed.
“He said he found a shirt of your dad’s? James’s lucky quidditch shirt?”
The knife Harry was using to cut potatoes slipped and he nicked the tip of his finger with it. Dean, who had been watching Harry rather closely, sighed and immediately went for their small box of medical supplies above the sink.
Harry hardly noticed the injury, he only forced himself to release the knife so that he could turn and stare Sirius down… seriously.
“You can’t have it back,” Harry said with heat in his tone. Sirius pulled his head back and his eyes widened some, but Harry didn’t give him time to argue.
“It belonged to my dad and you’ve already got years of memories with him while I have nothing,” Harry said. “I don’t have those memories or stories and I don’t know what makes that shirt lucky or why you had it and you can’t have it back.”
“Harry, I… I wasn’t going to ask for it back,” Sirius said rather slowly. Dean grabbed Harry’s wrist and Harry unfurled his fist, silently showing him the finger he had cut.
Sirius watched Dean apply pressure to the wound for a few seconds before he wrapped a tan bandaid around Harry’s finger. As soon as Dean finished, when Harry went back to chopping the potatoes with more force than was strictly necessary, Sirius spoke up, more hesitantly than before.
“I might have some more things of your dad’s,” Sirius said. “We - we were the same size, so we shared a lot of clothes.”
“That’s really great,” Harry breathed angrily. It was really excellent of Sirius to show up just to tell Harry how apparently he didn’t want the one shirt back because he had loads of others. That was really, bloody, perfect.
When Harry saw that his hands were shaking so badly that he was risking cutting off an entire finger, he slammed the knife on the cutting board.
“I’m sorry,” Harry told Dean. “I’ll - I’ll cook tomorrow or something.”
Harry didn’t shoulder Sirius, who had been leaning against the small wall that divided the kitchen from the dining room. Harry did edge around quickly and then made his way to the front door to get some air.
It didn’t even make any sense. Harry just felt so angry with Sirius when he had been missing him fiercely and wishing they could talk before Sirius showed up. Did Harry really need an apology? Was that something he was going to let stand between him and maybe one day having that close relationship that he wanted so badly with Sirius?
It was Sam and Dean’s fault that Harry was angry, Harry realized. Harry walked out in the yard and picked up one of the fist-sized rocks he had made a tiny niffler with. Harry looked at the rock and it clicked that Harry, who had maybe heard two apologies in his entire life before meeting his brothers, had gotten used to the way Sam and Dean were.
They were always apologizing after they had a spat. Sam apologized for driving Sirius off before, Dean apologized for the fist fight he and Sam had on their shapeshifter case. They didn’t often apologize to each other, but they did to Harry.
And it made Harry expect one from Sirius.
Which, Harry threw the rock as hard as he could and winced when a quiet thud meant it hit the garage (Harry was also a bit pleased though because that had been an excellent throw), was probably a Harry-issue and not a Sirius-issue.
Maybe.
Harry still thought it had been rather heartless of Sirius to make Harry think he would always answer his mirror and then he just stopped. What if Sirius had been hurt? How would Harry have known? What if Harry had been hurt, physically and not just his feelings?
Maybe it was a Harry-and-Sirius-Issue.
Harry sat outside for a while, throwing and scattering the rocks he had painstakingly gathered before. After he threw them all over the lawn, he sighed and started gathering them back up. Not only did Harry need them to keep practicing for the task that was rapidly approaching, but he didn’t think that their neighbor would appreciate running one of them over with his mower.
Once the rocks were collected and it was properly dark out, Harry sat down on the porch steps and wondered if Sirius left. Harry might have missed the crack while he had been throwing rocks. Could Harry blame Sirius if he did leave again? When Harry had been the one to storm out of the house in a fit?
He shouldn’t, though he probably would.
When the door opened and the light from inside the house washed over Harry, he carefully didn’t move. It wasn’t Dean, Dean wouldn’t hesitate with the door open.
So Sirius didn’t leave, that was good.
A nasty part of Harry’s mind said ‘surprising’ instead of good, but Harry didn’t acknowledge that mean part of himself.
“Can I sit with you?” Sirius asked. He cleared his throat. “It’s Sirius.”
Harry turned a scoff into a cough and nodded while he gestured to the space beside him on the steps. Sirius shut the door behind him, leaving them in the dark, and then sat beside Harry with his knees folded upward as Harry’s were.
“I wasn’t bragging,” Sirius said, rather arbitrarily it seemed to Harry.
“Alright then,” Harry said mildly.
Sirius huffed and Harry was sure he was grinning.
“When I said that I probably had more of your dad’s clothes, I wasn’t bragging,” Sirius explained. “I meant… you know, if all goes well next week, I could go through things, find them for you. Even if it doesn’t… well… we’ll come to that, I suppose.”
Oh.
Harry felt an embarrassed heat on his cheeks and neck for thinking that Sirius had actually just been bragging.
“I could see why you might have thought that I was bragging though, I’ve been a right bugger lately,” Sirius went on when Harry didn’t say anything. “I - it’s not an excuse, because plenty of times I know where I am, but- but sometimes I lose chunks of time. I’ll be on Remus‘s sofa and then I wake up… outside, usually. It’s…” Sirius shivered beside Harry and got voice dropped a few octaves. “It’s terrifying, sometimes.”
If Sirius were only trying to play on Harry’s sympathies, he truly couldn’t have found a better way to do it. Who knew better than Harry how it felt to have holes in his mind, taking thoughts and dangling them just out of reach?
Sirius had suffered, Harry knew that. Harry spent one day in a painful paradise; Sirius spent twelve years locked in his worst memories. There wasn’t any comparison. It was only…
“You always answered, even when you didn’t know where you were or who I was… then you stopped,” Harry muttered to his knees, feeling like a baby. It was a stupid thing to worry about when Sirius had much worse problems.
If Harry didn’t tell Sirius though, he’d always be thinking it. It would fester inside, creating a wound that would throb when Harry tried to talk to Sirius. Even if it made Harry sound like a petulant child, at least it was out there so Sirius knew.
Sirius seemed a bit childlike himself though as he wrapped his arms around his legs and mumbled something Harry couldn’t catch to them. It was only when Harry asked him what he said that Sirius sighed loudly.
“I broke the mirror,” Sirius said, his voice hitching. “I was mad and throwing shite everywhere and - and I broke it. When I fixed it… I… I didn’t know if you’d want me to talk or not.”
Harry’s stomach did a flip to hear Sirius confirm that he was angry about the last time he’d been at their house. Harry knew he had been upset, it shouldn’t have been a surprise.
Harry didn’t want to choose between his brothers and his godfather, but that was what he had done. It never felt good being the person who wasn’t chosen.
“I wasn’t trying to choose them over you,” Harry said, silently begging Sirius to believe him. “I didn’t want… er… that tall one… to be unhappy since this is his home too.”
Sirius turned to meet Harry’s eyes for a few uncomfortable seconds. Harry didn’t look away, since he was being nothing but truthful, and Sirius eventually snorted.
“You call Sam ‘that tall one’ when you can’t think of his name?” Sirius asked, slowly grinning. “What’s Dean?”
“The older one,” Harry admitted sheepishly. It wasn’t a perfect system, but most of the people Harry talked to knew what he meant.
“Am I the crazy one?”
“No.” Harry grinned back, only a little shy. “You’re my godfather.”
Sirius’s grin slipped and Harry was alarmed that his eyes began to get suspiciously shiny in the dark. Harry hastily looked away, trying to be polite, which would be when Sirius started sniffling and cursing.
“Bloody Remus!” he cried suddenly. “You’ve got no idea how terrible it is so live with someone so damned emotionally healthy! It’s all the time ‘talk about it, Pads’. ‘Don’t let it get bottled up, Pads’. It’s a right nightmare!”
“Sam’s like that,” Harry offered. “I think he tricks me into talking about my feelings while we run. It sort of makes it twice as terrible.”
The upside was that Harry liked spending time with Sam. It was just enough of a benefit that Harry didn’t complain too much about the ever-extending distance they ran every morning.
“Remus is the worst about it,” Sirius said. “I tell him my feelings are angry and he twists it around until I realize that I just hate myself.”
“What?” Harry’s head jerked up in surprise. That wasn’t on. Sirius shouldn’t hate himself and it was sick of - of Remus (that wasn’t what Harry called him, he was sure of it) to say he should.
Sirius was solemn though and even if his eyes had watered up, he wasn’t actually crying. He did bob his head enthusiastically when he saw that Harry was upset on his behalf.
“We had a row when I showed up at his place,” Sirius said. “I told him I was mad because - because I just make everything worse, and he, ahem.” Sirius flicked his loose hair back and tilted his chin so he looked down his nose at Harry. “‘Are you angry with Sam for not liking you or are you angry with yourself for making it worse? You do this, you know.’”
Harry blinked uncertainly. For one, Harry didn’t think that Remus had that much of a deep voice, but he was used to his friend’s rather spot-on impersonations and supposed not everyone had a knack for voices. For another, Harry didn’t understand why Remus would have said that to Sirius.
“You weren’t… angry with me?” Harry asked. Harry thought he was. That had been why he didn’t want to talk and why he still had yet to say the one simple word.
“With you?” Sirius was the one to blink at Harry with his eyebrows furled downward, causing a crease to line his forehead. “You thought I was angry with you? Because I bungled things with your brothers?”
“Er… yeah,” Harry said. “I, you know… I said maybe you should leave?”
“I hit your brother,” Sirius said bluntly. “Trust me, Pup, I was well aware that I needed to leave.”
“Oh.” Harry didn’t expect that. So if Sirius wasn’t angry with him, that just left…
“What did Remus say that you know you do?” Harry asked. He scrunched his nose at the unfamiliar way he used Remus’s name. “And what’s his other name? I don’t call him Remus?”
“Lupin, but you should call him Moony,” Sirius said. Harry would not do that, but he did nod appreciatively at being given Lupin’s name back.
“And… I don’t know. I sort of… make things worse, usually. I find out someone doesn’t like me and I - I pick at it until they positively hate me. Don’t ask me why, you’d have to ask Remus. That berk probably has a book of reasons and examples.”
Harry didn’t understand that at all, truthfully, so he might ask Lupin about it when he saw him next. When Harry knew people didn’t like him (with the exceptions of his old potions professor and the blonde pointy bloke) it made him want to make them like him, not hate him. It didn’t usually work, it never had with his relatives, but Harry’s brothers and their neighbor liked Harry.
So sometimes it worked.
“Maybe you should think about people not liking you as them-issues,” Harry told Sirius. “When my brothers are bickering, I decide it’s a them issue and then I don’t have to get involved.”
Sirius huffed, but there was a quirk in the corner of his lips when he reached over to pat Harry on the shoulder.
“Remus has gotten to you too, I see,” he said jokingly.
It was Sam, actually, but Harry didn’t say so.
With the knowledge that Sirius had never been angry with Harry, it was much more comfortable sitting outside with Sirius. They were quiet for quite some time, but it wasn’t awkward. It was just… peaceful.
Harry had tilted his head over to lean it on Sirius’s shoulder and tried to not think about the other-Sirius. That Sirius wasn’t a hurting and imperfect person, but he wasn’t real either. That Sirius probably wouldn’t have broken Harry’s friend’s leg, but he also wouldn’t have offered Harry a home or risked his freedom multiple times to see Harry.
“I missed you,” Harry quietly told his Sirius.
Sirius wrapped an arm behind Harry in a loose hold.
“I missed you,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with me, I wish I was better.”
It wasn’t a perfect apology, Sirius wasn’t perfect.
Harry found that he didn’t much mind.
At least he was real.
The two of them went inside after a bit more time and found Dean had left dinner on the table, though he wasn’t in the living room or dining room. Harry assumed he went to bed, since they had all been up early.
Harry and Sirius helped themselves to food and struggled to find something to discuss. Harry didn’t want to talk about the tournament, Sirius didn’t want to talk about his upcoming trial.
In the end, Sirius found the perfect topic.
“James’s shirt wasn’t actually lucky, you know, he only said that because he was wearing it the first time Lily kissed him.”
“Really?” Harry asked, eager to hear about that. Not his parents kissing, but the story about the shirt.
“Yeah.” Sirius grinned and his eyes crinkled in the corners. “Then every time he knew he’d get good news, he put the shirt on. The day we knew we’d get our NEWT results, James put it on and said it brought him top scores.”
“My dad got top scores?” Harry didn’t know why that was surprising, his dad had clearly been quite clever. Harry just thought it was more like how his friend’s twin brothers were clever and not necessarily test-clever.
“Oh, your dad was a right swot in our seventh year,” Sirius said. “And it was entirely your mum’s fault. Suddenly, James needed to ‘grow up’ and ‘think about his future’.”
Harry laughed at Sirius’s air quotes, even if it wasn’t actually funny. James didn’t get to grow up, he didn’t get a future.
“Do you think… do you think they would have had more kids if - I mean… did they want more kids?” Harry asked. Lupin said they did, but Sirius had been much closer with Harry’s dad it seemed.
“They wanted three kids,” Sirius said, making Harry’s chest ache. “Lily only had one sister so she thought if they had three then… hm… hold on, how did she say it…?”
Harry poked at the food on his plate while he watched Sirius and waited. It took him a few minutes, but Sirius eventually snapped his fingers.
“She thought if she had three kids then even if two of them didn’t get along they’d each have someone else to be friends with.”
One son, two daughters.
That had been Harry’s mum’s dream too.
“I told them ‘Why stop at three? Why not have at least seven?’” Sirius chuckled and Harry forced a grin. “Your dad wouldn’t do it unless I said I’d have seven kids too, so we could play each other on holidays. But I only ever needed one kid.”
Sirius looked so earnest that it eased some of the tightness in Harry’s chest.
Harry laid in bed for quite a while, kept awake both by Sirius’s snores from where he made a bed on Harry’s floor (Harry told him he could have his bed, but Sirius refused) and with his own thoughts.
It made sense, having three kids. Harry had two brothers and when they were fighting with each other or Harry was in a tiff with one of them, they still had the other one to talk to.
Which was why Harry very quietly slipped his boots on and snuck out of his silent home so he could pad his way across the lawn to… Harry checked his note… Bobby’s house where Sam would be.
Harry saw a light on in the living room so, instead of risking finding himself at the wrong end of Bobby’s shotgun, Harry knocked on the front door. There was silence for a few seconds and then the sound of locks being opened.
“Harry?” Sam was the one to answer and he automatically looked past Harry. “What’s going on?”
Harry didn’t know how to explain what led him to go find Sam. He didn’t like Sam staying somewhere else though without Harry or Dean around.
But since Harry wasn’t sure how to say that without sounding a bit unstable, he didn’t bother trying.
“You know my friend? The one that’s a girl?” Harry edged past Sam and let himself inside. “We - er… we kissed last weekend. What do you think that means?”
The living room looked rather cozy, honestly. Sam had books and notebooks spread everywhere, but also loads of blankets and pillows scattered about, as if he kept changing where he read at. It made Harry think of his old common room and so Harry picked a pile of blankets to make himself comfortable at on the floor and watched Sam watch him.
“I could have asked Sirius, but I’d rather ask my brother,” Harry said slowly, carefully, silently asking Sam to see what he couldn’t say.
Harry didn’t want to choose, but if he ever had to…
It took Sam a moment, but then he smiled widely at Harry and moved to plop down on the floor across from him.
“It might mean something different to both of you, or, more likely, it meant the same thing…”
Harry didn’t particularly need advice from Sam about his friend, he figured he would just follow her lead on it. They hadn’t been any different walking back that night after they kissed, though they did hold hands instead of having their arms linked so it was a bit different. Harry only wanted to let Sam know that if Harry ever had to choose… he’d always choose to not leave his brother alone.
Three kids was sort of the perfect number of kids.
*****
Sirius left early on Friday after he admitted that nobody knew he was sneaking to talk to Harry. When Harry pointedly reminded him that he could have called on the mirrors, Sirius apologized again.
Sort of.
“I figured I was a wanker enough to merit an in person apology,” Sirius said. He tried to smile and stay casual, but Harry saw the tightness in his eyes. “Plus I might only have a few days left of freedom. Who knows how it’ll play out on Tuesday?”
Harry impulsively grabbed Sirius for a hug, rather hating the fear Harry had that must have been amplified by a thousand in Sirius.
“I’ll be there,” Harry swore. “I, er… I might need someone to write down the important names for me, but I’ll be there. You won’t go back to prison.”
He couldn’t.
Sirius hugged Harry back and held him tightly. There was a tremble in Sirius’s shoulders, but his voice was steady.
“Yeah, probably not,” Sirius said, holding his fear for Harry’s sake. “You don’t worry about me though, alright? You focus on that task. Remus told me you’re doing really… he said you’re brilliant, Pup.”
“I’ll be fine,” Harry said, pushing down his concerns about the dragon. Harry was dramatic, according to his brother, and probably wouldn’t actually die even if he lost his mind completely. It was Sirius who had to face a trial the next week.
“Do you want me to send Remus for you on Tuesday?” Sirius offered. “I’m going with Albus and my cousin, Andromeda, she’s going to represent me.”
“Er… my brother’s bringing me,” Harry said. “He has clearance, or something.”
Harry didn’t really understand when his brother had told him about his new job title. Except Harry knew that he made it so both of his brothers could travel to a magical place that wasn’t specifically warded against them.
That had been surprising because Harry didn’t know they were ever not allowed to do that. It made Harry think that if he was just Harry that maybe he couldn’t have taken his brothers to the many magical places they had visited.
“Okay.” Sirius released Harry and it was bittersweet. “Call me and tell me how your lessons go this weekend?”
“Yeah, I will,” Harry said. “Stay safe, alright? It’s only a few more days.”
“You too, Harry.”
Harry watched and waited until Sirius was gone before he sat down on the porch with a sigh. Harry fished his notes from his pocket age aimed his wand at the pile of rocks.
“Petraniffla Mutatio!”
If nothing else, Harry would always have a niffler if he wanted one.
And, when Dean must have given him the all clear, Harry had Sam who was all smiles when he joined him in the yard.
It was better to have a Sam than a niffler, Harry had a bad habit of making half a dozen of them and then losing them when it came time to reverse them back to rocks. Sam was much more difficult to lose, impossible even, much like Dean.
Too early on Saturday, Harry and Dean had to set off to the village. Sam chose to stay home that time, saying he had a few jobs lined up. Dean had gotten growly over that until Sam swore that Bobby would go with him.
“You think he’s lying?” Harry asked Dean.
“To my face? That’s not Sam’s style,” Dean said. He yawned then and looked just as tired as Harry was - the time differences were easier to deal with when they were only going once a month. “Let’s get this show on the road, kid.”
It wasn’t much of a show that day. Harry was meant to meet with his professor and spend the day on their usual lessons then do tournament prep the next day, but his professor changed their plans.
“This is marvelous work!” Professor Dumbledore cried after they got set up and Harry performed the transfiguration for him. The niffler Harry made then was half Harry’s size, which made Harry think that the egg must be rather large.
“I thought we would need to dedicate all day to practice!” Dumbledore said, beaming at Harry’s work. “You’ve been practicing, I can tell.”
“Yes, sir,” Harry said, rather proud of himself. “Almost nonstop.”
“Well this changes everything,” Dumbledore said. “I believe, if you’re amenable, of course, that if you have your written work prepared we could go over that and then only meet with Remus briefly in the morning.”
“Oh! I- yes.” Harry did have his written assignments, even if they weren’t quite perfect… Harry did have a rather lot happen in the month since being given them. “Sir, I haven’t really - I mean I wanted to practice, it’s just that—”
“That you were hospitalized immediately after our last class date and have had difficulty memorizing the incantations since then?” Dumbledore asked knowingly. “That’s of no matter, Harry. We’ll go over what you do have and perhaps add an extra date next month to meet.”
“Thank you,” Harry said gratefully. He fetched his written work from his bag that also had his boots from Sam and a pair of jeans that - not Remus… Harry really wished people would use his other name more often - had told him to bring that weekend.
“Your handwriting is much improved, I thank you,” Dumbledore said after they sat down together to go over what Harry did have finished. “Ah, Divination… I do wish you had taken runes, it’s much more interesting. But no matter, let’s see…”
Harry was rather pleased both with Dumbledore saying that he thought Harry was clearly grasping the concepts he wrote about and how quickly they finished up. The students would be released to go to the village (which Professor Dumbledore helpfully told Harry was called Hogsmeade and Harry added that to his list) soon which meant Harry could spend all day with his friends.
And Dean, he thought. But Dean had apparently made other plans.
Harry took his bag of school-related things up to the room that was always open for him on the weekends and when he returned to the dining room of the pub he pulled up short.
There was Dean, sitting at a table, smirking at the pretty witch with the pink-hair that was laughing about something. Harry narrowed his eyes and wondered if that was a Dean-Issue or if Harry should say something…
Say something, probably.
If only because his other brother wasn’t there to say anything himself.
“Wotcher!” The witch smiled at Harry when he walked over to where she was sitting. “Do you want a drink? I was just telling your brother that you won me quite the betting pool when your name appeared on a list of witnesses for Sirius Black’s trial.”
Harry didn’t understand that, exactly, but he scowled anyway.
“No, thank you,” Harry said coolly. He looked to Dean and raised an eyebrow. “Can I talk to you? In private?”
“Sure.” Dean winked at the witch as he slid out of the booth. “Family business, I’ll be back.”
The witch waved them off merrily, but Harry didn’t feel much like returning the friendly gesture. Harry instead led Dean across the pub and out the door. There were a few students outside, not many yet, so Harry had a minute before he would go find his friends.
“Don’t flirt with her,” Harry told Dean severely. “Our brother fancies her.”
Dean stuck his hands in his pockets and looked bored.
“I figured that when she showed up looking for Sam,” Dean drawled. “I’m not trying to get in her pants, dude.”
“You’re not?” Harry asked. “Then why did you wink at her?”
“I’m naturally charismatic,” Dean said. He winked at Harry. “See? Doesn’t mean I’m hitting on you either.”
“Oh.” Harry’s momentary indignation on Sam’s behalf deflated. He felt sort of badly for accusing Dean, actually. “I’m sorry. Could you maybe talk Sam up to her? She’s an auror, so they’d have loads in common.”
“I can lead a horse to water, but I can’t make Sam screw it,” Dean said. He looked past Harry for a moment while Harry sputtered. “Speaking of screwing… do we need to have a talk?”
Harry looked over his shoulder for what prompted that horrifying thought and saw his friend walking down the sidewalk toward him with a smile.
“Er… no,” Harry told Dean hastily. Harry patted his hair down and smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt. “Do I look alright? And what’s her name?”
“Here.” Dean adjusted the collar of Harry’s jacket and then ruffled the hair that Harry just patted down. “There you go. It’s Hermione. Go get ‘er, Tiger.”
“Do not shag that witch,” Harry hissed as he started to back away from Dean. It was a warning for Sam’s sake, and a mistake.
“Don’t shag who?” Dean yelled loudly, his eyes glittering with amusement. “No, man, I don’t care if you shag your girlfriend, just wear a condom!”
Dean’s yell caught the attention of pretty everyone who was close enough to hear it. Multiple people stopped in their tracks just to send a curious glance toward them, then Harry heard giggles. Harry knew he was red in the face, which was embarrassing.
Dean was embarrassing.
Harry flipped him off before he turned to make sure that Hermione, who definitely heard him, knew Harry hadn’t said that.
“Harry, hi,” Hermione smiled despite the dark blush staining her face. “It’s Hermione Granger.”
Harry grabbed her wrist and pulled her off to the side of the sidewalk where the people who stopped to giggle wouldn’t get more of a spectacle.
“I did not ask Dean about shagging you,” Harry said in a rushed whisper. He was flustered and embarrassed and still wasn’t sure what one kiss meant. “I told him not to shag the witch in the pub because Sam fancies her, I think. That was all. Dean just - he just says things.”
Harry considered that and then had the horrible idea that Hermione might misunderstand him.
“Not that I wouldn’t shag you,” he said quickly. “I only mean that I didnt ask him about it. Wait, that sounds bad too… Why would we do that? Why is shag such a strange word? I don’t care if dragons are attracted to purity, you’re my friend and even if kissing was brilliant, that doesn’t mean… Wow, is it hot out today?”
Hermione let out a very startled laugh that had to be at least half as horrified by what Harry said as he was.
“I didn’t expect you would be finished for a few more hours,” Hermione said slowly. “I only came to check if your very mortifying brother wanted to get lunch with me and my friends, I was worried he might be lonely. Of course, I thought it would be Sam. But since it seems like you’re finished for the day and we are not going to ‘shag’…”
Hermione looked down and slowly reached out for Harry’s hand, which he easily gave her. They linked their fingers together and that was good.
That meant that even if Harry was an idiot who needed to learn how to not speak so much and even if Harry’s brother was the most embarrassing person to exist, Hermione didn’t care.
“Do you want to get lunch with me and my friends?” Hermione asked after they exchanged familiar smiles.
“I do,” Harry said. He glared over his shoulder, but Dean was already back inside the pub. “And Dean does not want to have lunch with us.”
Because if he was going to wink at that witch and shout embarrassing things in the middle of public places then he could eat lunch by himself.
Even if Harry desperately wished he had joined them later after Harry discovered Hermione’s friends were all girls.
Giggly, chatty, girls who wore ‘TEAM HARRY’ badges on their chests and wanted to talk about Harry’s travels and his brothers and the tournament.
Hermione had helpfully introduced everyone by their name, which nobody found strange so Harry thought Hermione might have explained already about his memory. There was Pansy Parkinson, who smiled at Harry for the first time in his life. There was Lavender Brown, who Harry had always been friendly with. There was also Susan Bones, a girl in their year from the yellow house. Susan had a badge that said ‘TEAM CEDRIC’ and she had explained the badges when Harry blinked bemusedly at it.
“Everyone in Hogwarts is picking a side,” Susan said after Harry and Hermione sat at their table in the Three Broomsticks. “I know you’re Hermione’s boyfriend, but Cedric is my housemate so really I have to support him.”
“Oh,” Harry said eloquently. That made sense, except for none of it made much sense at all so Harry had a headache. And if he thought that was bad, it only got much worse.
Because lunch with four girls was not as fun as Harry might have once thought it was. They asked too many questions, their sparkly eyeshadow was distracting, and Harry thought that they might actually be a different species.
Harry might have made an excuse and left the group altogether - “No, I will not show you my tattoo, Lavender.” “No, I don’t think my brothers are ‘scrumptious’, Pansy.” “No, I’m not planning on filing charges against Hogwarts for putting me in their tournament, Susan.” - except the girls kept calling him Hermione’s boyfriend and it seemed like a boyfriend should stick around for one meal.
One.
Harry had never been so grateful to have quit school as he was during the lunch that never seemed to end. By the time Harry paid for everyone (apparently earning ‘brownie points’, though Harry was just trying to be polite), he was ready to practically flee the pub with Hermione.
“Sorry about them, they mean well,” Hermione said as soon as they were outside, alone, and Harry could breathe. “Lavender thinks that if they call you my boyfriend that - um… well that you will be. It’s some silly thing she read.”
“Is that what I am?” Harry asked her. Their hands were entwined and they had another few hours before they could meet up with Harry’s other friend (who, Susan had informed Harry smartly, was ‘quite busy obliterating the other students in the Hogwarts Chess Club Tournament’) and Harry thought they might walk toward the shack again.
It would be quiet, Harry wouldn’t have to see any more badges, except for Hermione’s which didn’t really bother him. And, best of all, there wouldn’t be any giggly girls around.
Just Hermione, who didn’t giggle all that much.
Hermione ducked her head, though if it was from the wind or because of Harry’s frank question, he wasn’t sure.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Are you?”
Harry shrugged and considered it.
“I might be dead next weekend,” he told her. “So it might be the shortest relationship ever if so.”
“Oh, Harry.” Hermione lifted her head and seemed genuinely distressed. “You can’t get the spell?”
“No, I did!” Harry said. “I mean… I still don’t know what the professor’s other part of the plan is, so I might not get through the task anyway. But I have the spell figured out.”
“Thank goodness,” Hermione sighed. “I’m sure that the other part of Professor Dumbledore’s plan can’t be too complicated, not if he hasn’t told you yet.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Harry lied.
Professor Dumbledore was the same bloke who set up a bunch of obstacles to protect a stone that he probably could have kept in his pocket though. Harry thought Professor Dumbledore liked things to be complicated; maybe he had been alive so long that he was bored? Harry didn’t know. He only knew that if the magic he needed for the second part wasn’t simple then there was a good chance Harry wouldn’t learn it in time.
Harry and Hermione did walk to the shack, they didn’t break in that time and instead sat on the wooden fence that surrounded it. Harry, mostly just being playful, saw a yellow flower that hadn’t caved to the cold and the frost yet and picked it.
“For you,” he grinned, presenting it to Hermione.
“Why thank you,” Hermione said with her own grin. She carefully placed the flower in her coat pocket before leaning on Harry’s side.
“I wouldn’t mind,” she said a few minutes later. When Harry made a questioning noise, not sure what she wouldn’t mind, she clarified.
“Um… if we were dating. I wouldn’t mind.”
“Yeah?” Harry asked, choking on the word when his heart skipped a beat. Harry wouldn’t mind either… not if it meant they were still best friends.
Girlfriend still said friend though.
“Yeah.” Hermione looked at Harry through her lashes and there was a light in her eyes that made Harry think of Hermione at the end of their first year.
“You look like you passed all your exams with 101’s again,” Harry said.
“I never got a 101,” Hermione laughed. “It was 112%, thank you.”
“My mistake,” Harry chuckled.
“You know…” Hermione was thoughtful with her head peacefully laying on Harry’s shoulder. “You might be worth a 100 on a test.”
Harry was going to tell her that was the nicest thing that anyone had ever said to him—
“But really nothing was worth that 112. I set the bar, Harry.”
Harry expected that, really. He didn’t expect anything else from her. Maybe Harry wouldn’t like her as much if she said something different.
With their Harry-and-Hermione-Issue sorted, the two of them spent their time waiting for Ron just as they usually would have. Harry showed off his nifflers, Hermione gave him a list of all the spells they were learning in their fourth year and what they did - which was daunting and thoughtful. Hermione also gave Harry the invisible ear she made for him and they laughed quite a bit as they ran around the woods around the shack to test the distance.
Harry told Hermione about his godfather’s visit, they talked about the trial that was approaching. It was nice, normal. It meant that even if their relationship had shifted some, they didn’t.
If there were a few attempts made by Harry to flirt (Dean made it look so easy), or a couple of kisses that were just as brilliant as the first one, well… that was new, excellent, and didn’t change anything else.
Ron, proving he truly was the best mate a bloke could have, didn’t say anything out of the ordinary when Harry and Hermione caught up with him that afternoon. He noticed their hands, raised an eyebrow at Harry, then grinned at Harry’s happy shrug.
“Some blokes have all the luck,” Ron said as he took up Harry’s other side and slung his arm around his shoulders. “Youngest champion, first of the Gryffindor boys to have a tattoo- Oi! Wait! That reminds me! Seamus wanted me to ask you about getting a muggle tattoo…”
All in all, Harry rather had a pretty perfect day.
Which would be why his professor popped Harry’s peaceful bubble the next morning.
Dean was still in bed when Harry made his way downstairs to the room he was meant to meet… Dumbledore and Lupin. Harry didn’t know if Dean would remember that Harry had double classes that day or not, so he left a note in their room just in case.
Harry might have woken him up if Dean hadn’t spent the entire night before taking the mickey out of Harry about Hermione.
Hermione was not Dean’s ‘future little sister’, they were fourteen. Actually, Hermione was fifteen. But that was neither here nor there.
The point was, if Dean wanted to be woken for things then he shouldn’t be so embarrassing.
“Good morning, Harry.” Lupin greeted Harry when he shuffled in the room they used. “Remus Lupin,” he said politely, though Harry had already checked his list.
“Morning,” Harry said. He swung his bag over his shoulder to pull out the jeans and boots that Lupin had asked for. “Thank you, for this,” Harry said as he passed them over.
“Think nothing of it,” Lupin said. He laid Harry’s clothes on the table and began charming them. “I heard you had a visitor this week?”
“Yeah,” Harry said. “Oh, that reminds me, he said that you told him that he’s angry with himself because he - er… he makes people hate him?”
Lupin sighed in a long-suffering sort of way and held a finger up. Harry figured that meant he would answer Harry’s question, only after he finished what he was doing. Sure enough, when Harry’s clothes were determined to be fireproof, Lupin sat down and actually rolled his eyes.
It was a rather juvenile gesture from him.
“Padfoot would twist that,” Lupin said drily. “I’ve known him a very long time, Harry. I am as fond of him as I’ve ever been of a person. Padfoot was my first magical friend, truly my best friend.”
Harry thought of his first friend and nodded as he took the seat across from Lupin.
“So why’d you tell him he makes people hate him?” Harry asked. Maybe Harry wasn’t remembering the conversation precisely, but that had been the gist of it.
“I told him that he has a tendency to turn dislike into hate by his own antics,” Lupin corrected Harry patiently, like they were in class. “Padfoot is the type of person to inspire strong reactions, you see. Even when we were children, either a classmate would adore him or Padfoot would go out of his way to make them despise him.”
That… that actually was what Harry’s godfather said. Even so, Harry was interested in hearing more about him so he propped his chin on his hand and watched Lupin intently.
“Why would he want people to hate him though?” Harry asked. “Why not try and make them like him?”
“I imagine that there’s many reasons for that, none of which are mine to share,” Lupin said, kind but firm.
Harry could appreciate that level of loyalty when it came to his godfather, so he didn’t push.
“Do you think the trial’s going to go okay?” Harry asked in a near whisper instead. It was bugging him that Lupin wasn’t using his godfather’s actual name, but he figured it was being done in an abundance of caution.
Harry banked on his fame, as annoying as it could be, to avoid being questioned when he told that reporter about his godfather, Lupin didn’t have that thin sort of protection.
“I believe that Albus would not let him walk into a situation where he would face anything other than an opportunity to share the truth,” Lupin said. It wasn’t much of an answer, really. Because, as Harry had learned personally, there were some things that even Dumbledore couldn’t control.
“Ah, Remus, it warms my heart to be so vehemently believed in!”
Harry jolted in his seat as Dumbledore snuck silently in the room behind him. Dumbledore was smiling rather mischievously, as if he knew that he nearly gave Harry a heart attack.
“Good morning, Harry!” Dumbledore said brightly. “Professor Dumbledore here. I’ve heard through the always-reliable chain of Hogwarts gossip that a congratulations is in order?”
Harry glanced at Lupin, but Lupin seemed as mystified as he was.
“For what, sir?”
“Did you and Miss Granger not… what do the children call it? Ah, begin to go steady?” Dumbledore peered at Harry expectantly over the rim of his glasses.
“Ah.” Harry avoided looking at Lupin’s slow smirk of amusement. “Er… thank you… sir.”
Dumbledore winked and Harry quickly changed the subject away from his personal life.
(Though there was a part of Harry that wondered how much ‘gossip’ the professors listened to at school…? Surely they couldn’t be that involved in the students private lives?)
“Lupin charmed my trousers and boots, so all that’s left is to go over the second part of our plan, right, sir?” Harry asked.
“Did Miss Granger find a way to communicate with you during the task?” Dumbledore asked, all business.
“Yes, sir.”
“Remus, you’re confident in your charms?”
“Yes,” Lupin said.
“And as Harry has mastered the transfiguration he’ll be using, then… yes…” Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I suppose all that’s left is to tell you the second part of my plan for your success in the first task.”
Harry waited and was immediately disappointed.
“My plan for your success involves not telling you the second part of our plan,” Dumbledore told him. “Since it seems as if everything else is covered, I believe we can adjourn!”
Harry’s jaw dropped and he was so startled that he didn’t even manage to say anything before Dumbledore walked right back out the door.
“Did he just…?”
Lupin jumped from his seat and clapped Harry on the shoulder before chasing Dumbledore out the door.
“I’ll speak with him,” Lupin called back to Harry. “Try to not worry, I’m sure there’s a reason for the way Albus has clearly—”
Lost his mind?
Decided he hated Harry?
Wanted to see Harry humiliate himself before getting killed by a dragon?!
“He’s senile,” Harry breathed to himself once he was alone in the room. “Positively barking mad.”
And if Harry was confused and, honestly, rather annoyed by that- it was nothing to how his brothers reacted when Harry told them.
Dean was furious, all the more so when Lupin never returned to explain anything to them before they had to return home.
Sam beat them home and when Dean yelled at him what Harry had told him, Sam seemed as shocked as Harry.
“He swore to me - he… that bastard!” Sam swore. He shoved his laptop away from where he worked at the table and aggressively snatched a notepad. As Sam started writing, he snarled comments absently. “And, of course, I can’t just call him… no… but I can send a letter…”
Harry apologized to his owl for the trip she was going to have to make, but she didn’t seem upset by the job.
“We’ll come up with a plan,” Sam swore after Harry’s owl flew off with Sam’s letter.
“I could—”
“Wooden broomstick. Fire breathing dragon.”
Harry deflated at Sam’s logic and nodded.
“Hey! Good news though, Sammy.” Dean poked his head out of the kitchen where he had been rummaging for food. “Our baby brother has his first ever girlfriend!”
“Which isn’t going to matter if she’s going to watch me die in a few days,” Harry said glumly. Harry had began to really think it would be okay- he thought surely with all the help he had, there was no way that he wouldn’t at least get past the dragon.
If Dumbledore wasn’t going to give Harry time to prepare - maybe he thought Harry had done so well with the niffler that Harry could handle himself? maybe he didn’t want Harry to actually cheat anymore? Harry couldn’t really fathom what had happened since they were a team up until then - Harry had no chance.
“I’m going outside,” Harry told his brothers.
Maybe if Harry made enough nifflers then they would be a distraction to the dragon and fetch the egg. It made Harry feel badly when he started back up in the lawn and the nifflers looked at him with their big black eyes and wagged their weird little tails, but… if Harry had to choose between sacrificing a rock-niffler or being eaten by a dragon in front of an audience…
“Damn you for being so cute,” Harry muttered as he pet the overeager niffler that had its paws on Harry’s knee. “How am I supposed to feed you to a dragon now?”
The niffler made a whining sound and Harry sighed.
Harry had six days left of being fully-limbed and alive. He hoped that he was still worth a hundred on a test when he only had one arm or half a leg or something.