When Patterns Are Broken

Harry was in a staring match with the dog. 

“Give it back."

The dog snarled around a full mouth. Drool leaked over the cover of Controlling the Mind, making Harry’s grip on the book slippery. 

“I just want to do the occlumency exercises,” Harry snarled back. “I swear, sometimes it’s like Snape can read my mind! I don’t want anyone to find out where I’ve been.”

The dog released the book and Harry fell back on his bed. He sat up and wiped the book off. “Gross.”

The dog put a paw on the book and looked into Harry’s eyes. “I’m serious!” A blast of dog breath hit Harry’s face and he recoiled. “Ugh, you’re awful. I don’t understand why you’re so upset about it.”

A heavy paw landed on Harry’s head and was pushed down. “Are you petting me?” The dog pushed down again. “Trying to make me lay down?”

Annoyed, the dog hopped off the bed and brought back the picture of Harry’s father and his friends. The dog pointed at the picture, then at Harry. “My dad…who I look like.” The dog slapped the picture. “It’s spring? They’re in Gryffindor. One of them has a prefect's badge, so they’re in fifth or sixth year?”

“Woof!”

“And I’m in third year…”

The dog pawed at the book again. 

“Are you saying I’m in the wrong year to learn this?”

The dog tossed his head and left the room in a huff. 

Harry opened the book and began reading. A few minutes later the dog returned with Kreacher. 

“Young Master has a book on difficult magics.”

“It’s on occlumency, and legilimency. I wanted to start on occlumency, at least. It seems prudent.” He was a little proud of using that word in a sentence.

“Mind arts are delicate,” Kreacher said. “There is a risk to suppressing thoughts and emotions." He paused, then added, "The Dark Lord was a master occlumens.”

“Is,” Harry corrected absently. “A risk?"

Kreacher watched him patiently.

"He isn’t a stable person," Harry said slowly, "at least not the times I’ve met him. He didn’t think anything about killing a first year girl, or a baby, or setting the basilisk on the school. Twice. You think that’s because he occluded?”

“No, but Kreacher has seen people become cold, detached from emotion, unable to relate to others. Children do not know their own minds, and the risk is higher.”

Harry played with the pages of the book. “Our brains aren’t fully developed." He'd heard that on a BBC program once. "We’re still growing.”

“Young Master wants to hide his mind from others, but shouldn’t hide his mind from himself.”

Apparently satisfied Harry understood, Kreacher left, and the dog jumped on the bed and laid down again. Harry returned to his book. The bulk of it was dedicated to legilimency. It was sort of like mind reading, as an accomplished legilimens could pick up on a person’s current thoughts. To find specific thoughts, the legilimens could induce memories, pushing their own thoughts and emotions into the target’s mind. They could fabricate memories, or add their own, to manipulate the target. Legilimens could even detect lies. Harry shuddered at that, recalling Snape's eerie ability to tell when Harry was lying. Dumbledore's piercing look when he asked if Harry had anything to tell him. 

The easiest practical defense was to avoid eye contact, but the book's introduction implied a master legilimens didn't need eye contact. They didn't even need to say the spell.

The best defense was therefore occlumency. An amateur occlumens let a single thought or feeling consume their mind, to the exclusion of others. This eventually led to clearing the mind of all thoughts, leaving nothing for the legilimens to read. A master occlumens could suppress certain thoughts and memories, leaving only what they wanted the legilimens to find.

“It says I should meditate for at least an hour,” Harry said. The dog shook his head. “Fine. I’ll try fifteen minutes first. Clear my mind? I don’t think I’ve ever had a clear mind. How do you stop thinking?" He kept reading, hoping to find actual instructions. "This recommends different focuses. I could focus on my breathing, a tree, a crystal, a flame...wait a minute, I’ve read about that before.”

Harry went through the books on his side table, finally picking one out. “I think I need a candle for this.”

Harry counted down the days until school started with some trepidation. He’d be leaving Kreacher alone with Walburga, which seemed like a bad idea. He agreed with the dog that it was best if the dog stayed behind; he didn’t want to think what would happen if he was caught smuggling a dog into school. He did look forward to seeing his friends again, but he had heard from neither Hermione nor Ron for almost a month, not since his birthday. He was leery of sending letters to either of them lest he be found out, especially Ron since his father worked for the Ministry. 

The garden was as good as it was going to get for the time being, de-gnomed and with huge chunks ripped out of it. Kreacher had plans to clear it out and preserve any useful cuttings. Harry hovered above it on his broom, the dog running around below. He had his new goggles on, and was going through his paces, practicing his speed, maneuverability, and what he retained from Gryffindor's playbook. The dog would occasionally dig up a stray gnome and toss it in the air, and Harry would dive to catch it. 

Harry spotted Kreacher watching, and flew down to meet him. 

“What’s up?” Harry asked.

“Young Master plays quidditch.”

“I play seeker,” Harry said. “I’ve been on the team since first year.”

Kreacher watched him for a moment, then turned around and stormed inside. Harry went back to flying. 

A while later, Kreacher returned with a small box, and Harry landed in front of him. 

“What’s this?”

Kreacher handed him the box. “Master Regulus was a seeker,” Kreacher said. “Master Regulus’ practice snitch. Professionals use the same kind.”

Harry opened the box, eyes widening. “You’d let me use this?” He took the snitch out and it buzzed him before disappearing. Harry grinned. “I’ll take care of it, I promise.” He carefully handed the box to Kreacher and took off after the snitch. 

“I should have been practicing all summer,” Harry said hours later, limping back to the house. “Wood is going to kill me.” He gently placed the snitch back into the box Kreacher held and thanked him again. The dog was losing his mind after Harry's performance.

“Master Harry is very skilled,” Kreacher said. 

“Thanks. Sometimes I think flying is the only thing I’m good at.”

Walburga’s chunk of wall had been reattached to the entryway, and she watched the procession silently. At least, until Harry passed. 

“You need a haircut,” she declared. 

“Me?” Harry asked. 

“Who else? When was the last time you had one?”

Harry tugged at his hair. “I don’t know. My aunt gave up after a while. It would just grow back overnight, and then they’d shove me in the cupboard.”

Walburga frowned. “We can at least cut it short enough so that it’s not a liability.”

Harry grimaced, recalling the feeling of being dragged by his hair, and having seen it done to himself. “That might be a good idea. If I don’t like it, it’ll grow back."

Time was moving in fits and starts. Harry woke up frantic in the middle of the night, sweating and clutching his arm, a worried dog pacing at his side.

"The basilisk," Harry explained, voice hoarse. He must have been screaming. "I was burning from the inside."

Kreacher appeared with a glass of water and a potion that tasted like mint and lavender. It calmed his nerves, made him able to breathe.

"Kreacher will find enchantments for young Master's bed at school," the elf said gently. "Master Regulus was the same. And Master Sirius," he added. "Master Orion liked his quiet."

"Thank you," Harry said, and the elf vanished. The dog nudged Harry's hand away from his arm, and stared at the large, puckered scar the basilisk had left.

"It's alright, I'm fine now. Fawkes cried on it, remember?"

The dog wasn't very reassured.

"You will write to us," Walburga stated in the morning. "Kreacher cannot apparate inside school grounds as he is not a Hogwarts house-elf, but he can meet you in Hogsmeade as needed."

"I haven't got permission to go to Hogsmeade," Harry said. "My aunt and uncle wouldn't sign the form. I should've just told them it was for something else," he mumbled, annoyed. "I asked the minister himself, and he told me that 'rules are rules.'"

Walburga scoffed at that. "With enough galleons, the rules are whatever you tell him they are."

"The minister takes bribes?" 

Walburga smirked at him. It was the same expression Sirius had in the photos. "Most of the ministry does. How do you think we got our Floo address? We certainly weren't going to use our own!"

The house's connection was blandly named Floo Connection.

"Regardless, what does it matter if you have permission or not? You're a clever child, I'm sure you can get out of the castle if you need to. Of course, in an emergency you could always take your broom."

The day before the train was to leave, Harry was in the garden doing some last minute training. Walburga, her piece of wall once again detached, was propped in a chair and shouting instructions at him and Kreacher. 

“Expelliarmus!”

The spell pushed Kreacher back, and the stick he held flew away. 

“Are you alright?” Harry called out.

“He’s fine!” Walburga shouted. “Make your movements smaller! You need finesse to capture your opponent’s wand! Again!”

“Expelliarmus!”

“Don’t shout your spells! Don’t telegraph your moves!”

Harry lowered his wand, panting. “Should I say spells at all? 'Expelliarmus' is kind of a long word, someone could hit me before I finish saying it.”

Walburga paced in her frame. “At Hogwarts they teach non-verbal magic in sixth year, but like many skills it simply requires practice." She paused and looked at Harry. "You may attempt it with some basic spells first. Lumos and the like. However, you need to be very careful not to exhaust yourself. You need calm, focus, control, and the will. Master the standard method first.”

Harry nodded, and lifted his wand again. 

“Good. Do you recall the basic shield charm?”

“Protego.”

“Cast it.”

A quivering wall materialized in front of Harry, then broke apart. “I’m sorry, if I had more time—”

“It’s fine. If you time it right, even a weak shield can be an effective shield. And if you can’t shield what do you do?”

“Dodge?”

“Precisely. Kreacher, the rocks!”

A maelstrom of pebbles ensued.

When the rocks ran out, and Harry was lying on the ground trying to recover, the dog came charging at him. 

“There’s a wild dog!” Walburga shouted. “What do you do?”

“Good boy! Sit! Heel! Stay!” Harry yelled at him.

“Incorrect!”

Harry shakily raised his wand. “Impedimenta.”

The dog stumbled, but kept running, zooming back and forth so that it was hard for Harry to aim. He needed a wide area attack. He swept his wand in an arc and said, “Incendio.” A short wall of flame rose up. The dog jumped over it, and it sputtered out.

“Oh, come on.” Harry struggled to his feet, and stumbled into a jog. There was no way he could outrun the dog. He needed a larger spell repertoire. He passed by Walburga, who was shaking her head, and Kreacher, who pulled at his ears. Harry slowed down, a new idea forming. 

“Kreacher! Help!”

The dog yelped, and Harry turned around to see him flailing uselessly in the air. 

“Lateral thinking, excellent, though you had a good idea with the fire. Many animals are driven away by it,” Walburga said. The dog continued to kick in the air, apparently enjoying himself.

“Could you let him down, Kreacher? Thanks.”

Once grounded, the dog ran over and butted against Harry. 

“Remember to use your environment,” Walburga said. “Anything can be a weapon, or a shield. A sturdy wall can block a diffindo. A flock of birds could save you from the Killing Curse.”

Harry sat up. “There’s a killing curse?”

Walburga made a strange face. “There are many spells that can kill, but the Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra, causes instantaneous death. It cannot be magically blocked like other curses. You can dodge, you can take cover, or you can die.” She hesitated, then added, “It’s the curse that Riddle used against you. Surviving it is why you’re famous.”

Harry rubbed at his scar. “How did people even find out about that?”

“I’m not sure,” Walburga said. “I imagine someone spread the story. From what I know only you, your parents, and Tom Riddle were there that night. Your scar is unique, but it could have been explained by other means. Perhaps it was due to him personally attacking your family, instead of sending his Death Eaters…”

"Death Eaters?"

"The Dark Lord's followers."

Harry looked at the ground, plucking at a ragged patch of grass.

"Were you one? A Death Eater, I mean."

Walburga sat down on her chair. Harry wasn't sure where she had got it from, probably another portrait.

"Neither my husband nor I were," she finally said. "But we were sympathetic to his cause. Sirius opposed us, and left, as you know. My youngest son, Regulus, took the mark."

"What mark?"

"The Dark Lord's symbol, a snake and skull. He would place the mark on their arms."

Harry thought for a moment, then said, "That's stupid. It would make it easy to find out who was a Death Eater."

"Oh, not everyone was marked," Walburga said, crossing her legs. "Only the most dedicated, or those closest to him. Though no one was really close to Tom Riddle, not even when we were at Hogwarts. At first it was because we all thought he was a mudblood. Even he believed so. He was an orphan, after all, with unknown parentage. Of course, that all changed when he revealed his parseltongue."

"I know what you mean," Harry said, picking at the ground. "Everyone turned on me when they found out I was a parselmouth. All I did was tell a snake to not attack one of my classmates. It sounds like English to me, I didn't know I was speaking another language. It wasn't until later I found out." He sat back. "I bet if I was in Slytherin they wouldn't have minded. They might even have liked me for it."

"You're a parselmouth?" Walburga said, eyebrows raised. "Fascinating."

Harry shrugged, then looked up at her. "So, do you think it was intentional? The whole Boy-Who-Lived thing?” 

For a moment Walburga looked concerned. She cleared her face and said, “How could it not be?”

Harry’s final night at Grimmauld Place was spent in a packing frenzy. Harry had invested in his trunk, planning on carrying everything he owned with him. It was how he had lived his entire life. Everything he owned before Hogwarts could fit in Dudley's old backpack, and he didn't dare leave anything behind at Privet Drive once he left for school. It would have been thrown away.

So there was room in his trunk to bring everything with, but Harry was now in a position where he didn't have to.

The dog wasn't helping, taking out or adding things behind Harry's back. Kreacher brought him Regulus' old robes, still in pristine condition, in dark colors and motifs of ravens and stars. Kreacher had even dug up a heraldic tabard featuring the Black coat-of-arms: a shield with an inverted chevron, with three crows and an arm holding a wand. Harry had seen it on the family tapestry.

"This should be in a museum somewhere," Harry said, scared of even touching it. "Where would I even wear this? Into battle?"

"Yes."

"At least it doesn't say toujours pur. It's not true in my case anyway." Harry handed the tabard back to Kreacher. “Is there a suit of armor we could put this on? It’d be nice decoration, at least.”

“Kreacher will acquire a suit of armor.”

Harry picked up one of the robes, fingers tracing an embroidered crow. It snapped its beak irritably. 

“Do you think people will recognize any of this? Or connect it to the Black family?” One midnight blue robe, the color so deep it was nearly black, had the Leo constellation twinkling bright against an astronomically accurate field of stars. Regulus shone brightest of all. It was beautiful but…

“It isn’t exactly subtle,” Harry said. “Half the family is named after a star.”

“Young Master is a Gryffindor,” Kreacher said, grinning deviously. “A lion. If young Master wears this, Kreacher will not put the family motto on young Master’s trunk. Or school bag.”

“It wouldn’t even make sense if you did,” Harry muttered, handing the robe back. “I could wear it on weekends.”

Kreacher carefully folded the robe and placed it in Harry’s trunk. “Will young Master return for Yule?”

“That’s around Christmas?”

“The winter solstice,” Kreacher said, “is a magically significant day.”

“It’s the shortest day of the year, right? I’ve seen it marked on calendars.”

“There are certain magics reliant on the position of the stars,” Kreacher said. 

“Centaurs use it for divination, I've heard them talking about it. I know muggles like astrology. They’ve got daily horoscopes in the paper. I always thought it was rubbish. Did you know they’ve got a telescope in space? It takes pictures of galaxies and stuff.”

“Kreacher knows nothing of muggle stuff,” the elf said, folding another robe. 

“They’ve even sent people to space. I’ll send you a book on it. They’re really advanced in some ways. Do you think I could use magic to go to space?”

“Young Master has gone off topic,” Kreacher muttered. 

“Sorry.” The dog had a book in his mouth, so Harry took it. “The Seasons? I haven’t read this one yet.” He looked up at Kreacher. “I don’t think I can come back for the holidays. I always stay at Hogwarts, it would be suspicious if I didn’t this year.”

Kreacher’s ears drooped, but he rallied and continued folding robes. Harry was a little concerned by the number of them. 

“I would like to, though,” Harry said. “It would be nice to have a family Christmas. Or Yule.” Harry wasn’t very attached to holidays, having never really celebrated any. If Kreacher wanted to celebrate Yule, he could adapt. 

Astonishingly, Kreacher teared up and threw himself at Harry’s legs. Harry patted his back awkwardly, while the dog watched with conflicted eyes. 

Harry stood by the front door, feeling heavy after the madness that had been breakfast, and anxious about being late to the train after what had happened last year. Hedwig had already left for Scotland. He had his bag, his trunk shrunken inside, his invisibility cloak and second wand near the top just in case. Kreacher had packed him a lunch, too. 

“Are you sure you don’t want Kreacher to apparate you to the platform?” Walburga asked. 

“I’d like to walk,” Harry replied. “It’s only twenty minutes away.” He’d checked the route multiple times on his map to make sure he had it down. 

“The dog will escort you,” Walburga said. The dog gave her a dirty look. 

“I think he was planning to anyway.”

“And you’ve got all your things packed?”

“Yes, grandmother.”

Walburga’s lips twitched. “Very well. I expect a letter as soon as you arrive at Hogwarts.”

Kreacher stood in the hallway, wringing his hands. 

Harry wasn’t very good at saying goodbye. 

“I’ll be off, then.”

And he left Grimmauld Place. 

Sirius kept pace next to Harry as they walked through London. He alternated watching his godson with keeping an eye out for threats. In theory, Harry should be safe in the muggle world, at least from wizards, but there were plenty of muggles with less than savory intentions towards children, and even at thirteen Harry was small. And he hadn’t been safe. Not from Lily’s family. Sirius had believed he was, had held onto that thought, one of the few things the dementors hadn’t taken from him. It was a lie.

Sirius had a lot of time to think over the past few weeks. At first, when he slipped between the bars of his cell and swam to the mainland, he had been driven by thoughts of vengeance. Of betrayal. Of disgust at himself and all the mistakes he had made. Leaving his brother behind. Pushing Remus away. Trusting Peter. And, ultimately, having been abandoned, unworthy of being saved. Azkaban felt like fit punishment, at least in the heat of the moment, when he blamed himself for the deaths of his best friends. He had grown up taking the blame, it was a comfortable role for him. He was brutally dissuaded after his first day of incarceration, the dementors siphoning pieces of his sanity, stripping him and his fellow inmates of everything good, leaving them shaking and screaming on the frigid stone.

James would never have wanted that for him, no matter what. 

The plan had been just to check on Harry, before hunting down the rat. But then he saw a skinny boy, too small for his age, wearing clothes like rags, scared and alone in the middle of the night, and his heart stopped. Harry was obviously, painfully, not safe, not by any definition of the word. He tracked him down to Diagon Alley, watched him shrink into himself, clearly hating the attention his fame forced upon him. He broke into his family’s mausoleum and took Uncle Alphard’s wand out of his cold hands, totally shameless. Alphard would have wanted him to have it anyway. He next found Harry in Godric’s Hollow, once again alone, walking around as if he’d never seen the place before. At the cemetery he was confused by Harry’s words. Had he really never visited his parents’ grave?

Seeing the cottage again, after nearly twelve years, was a punch to the gut. He hadn’t got a look at the damage that night, being more concerned with the bodies of Lily and James cooling on the ground, and Harry’s heartbreaking screams. In the daylight it was nightmarish. The quaint architecture of the cottage, half the roof blasted away, the unshakable sense of absence. He watched Harry climb inside, his nimble movements speaking to past experience that Sirius worried over. What had Harry gone through?

He'd waited on the porch for his godson, and his plans began to change. 

A block from King’s Cross station, Sirius grabbed Harry’s trouser leg and pulled him into a narrow alley crowded with bins. 

“Is this where we say goodbye?” Harry asked. Sirius nodded. Harry spoke the most with him—as a dog—or with his owl, Hedwig. He’d gradually become more expressive with Kreacher, and his mother’s portrait, but was still an unusually contained child. Sirius suspected his muggle family punished him for having emotions, and needs, and most of all magic. That boggart…

Sirius nodded, and Harry knelt down to hug him. A little too hard, and too long, for a regular dog, but Sirius didn’t mind. 

“I’ll miss you,” Harry said quietly. “Will you be okay? I think Kreacher and Mrs. Black would let you stay at Grimmauld Place if you need to. I’d send letters, but, well, you’re a dog.”

Sirius wheezed a laugh at that, and poked Harry with his nose. He had argued with himself over whether to come clean, explain who he was, what he planned. He knew it was dishonest, being a dog most of the time, even if it helped him cope and made it easier to navigate the world. Sirius hoped Harry wouldn’t be too upset when he found out, but for the moment it was more important that Harry feel safe. Harry had a deep distrust, and a well hidden fear, of adults. That, more than anything, Sirius blamed himself for. He should have taken Harry that night and ran.

“I hope I’ll see you again,” Harry said, letting go. “Maybe I’ll come up with a proper name for you.” Then Harry waved goodbye. 

Sirius slunk to the end of the alley, watching Harry’s progress down the street. The station was crowded, as was typical, so he’d be harder to notice. Still, Sirius waited until Harry was safely on the platform. He scanned the crowd for aurors in muggle clothes, or former Death Eaters, anyone really. There was no one he could trust.

Sirius’ vision as a dog wasn’t great. He couldn’t see very far, and most things were kind of greenish. He saw Harry approach someone who looked like a Weasley. Harry had mentioned he was friends with the youngest son, and had stayed with them last summer, so Sirius reckoned he was fine.

Eventually, when waiting became pointless, he made his way back to Grimmauld Place, still cautious, still alert. Few people knew where the Black’s London home was; the family had been intensely paranoid, particularly in recent generations. If people suspected he was after Harry for whatever idiotic reason, he doubted they’d look for him here. 

At the threshold the house’s magic recognized him, and the door swung open at the touch of his paw. He quickly closed it behind him, and he shifted back to being human. 

His mother’s portrait frowned at him, utterly unsurprised. Sirius deflated a bit. 

“You’ve finally decided to show yourself,” she said, her voice as venomous as he recalled. He didn’t mind, he hated her too. But their feud was old, and there was something much more important than the tragedy that was their family. She was dead anyway.

Sirius walked up to her, ignoring Kreacher’s lurking. Sneaky elf.

“We need to talk.”

Harry left the dog behind, hoping he did decide to stay at Grimmauld Place. He’d looked a right mess when Harry first met him, and while he had put on weight and had more lustrous fur, the dog was still much too thin. Harry had seen him have nightmares too, whining and kicking in his sleep. Strangely, he didn’t get startled by loud noises, nor did he seem afraid of people like other feral animals were. Harry wished he knew more about where the dog came from, if anyone was missing him. For all Harry knew, the dog could read. Maybe he’d send letters after all. 

He waited for a break in traffic and hurried across the street. He stepped around two old fashioned cars, both painted dark green, standing out in a way that made him apprehensive. He looked around, spotting two men in matching emerald suits, looking very uncomfortable in their clothing, tipping their hats to a familiar, elder redhead, a sea of red hair behind him. Harry readjusted his bag and walked up to them. 

Someone gasped, and a woman hurried over to him. “Oh, Harry! We’ve been so worried!”

Molly Weasley pulled Harry into a hug, startling him. He could count the people who had hugged him on one hand, and two of those were house-elves. The other two were dead. He tried to relax, holding his breath until he was released. 

“Where have you been?” Mrs. Weasley demanded. “Haven’t you read the papers?”

Harry stared at her, confused. He looked around her to the other Wealeys. Ron was being visibly restrained by the twins. Percy pushed up his glasses and fiddled with his badge. Harry saw that it read Bighead Boy, which he felt was accurate. Hermione looked like she was about to raise her hand, like in class, but she held a shaking basket in which something was furiously yowling. And Ginny stood next to Percy, her face turning a painful shade of red. 

“Molly, dear, let’s not make a fuss.” Mr. Weasley said, placing a hand on her arm. “Harry, good to see you. Let’s head through the barrier first, shall we? We’ve some things to discuss. Let me tell you, running away from—”

A wall of Weasleys blocked them.

“Harry,” Percy said, pushing his way forward and pulling Ginny along with him. He held out his hand, which Harry took. “How nice to see you,” he said, shaking vigorously.

“Hello,” Ginny squeaked. Harry gave her a brief look.

“I hope you’re well?”’ Percy asked, still shaking his hand. “You’ve caused a bit of trouble—”

Fred jammed an elbow into Percy’s side and clapped Harry’s hand. “Splendid to see you, old boy!”

George grabbed the other. “Marvelous. Absolutely spiffing!”

“Dead chuffed,” Fred intoned genially. 

Harry gave them a strained smile. He just wanted to get on the train. 

“That’s enough, boys,” Mr. Weasley said, steering Harry away. “You can catch up later.”

“But, dad—”

“You heard your father, Ronald!”

“But where’s he been?” demanded Hermione. 

Harry looked over his shoulder and tried to smile reassuringly, but they vanished once he was pushed through the barrier. The platform was packed and clouded with steam from the train. Percy and Ginny came through next, and Percy strode over to a Ravenclaw prefect, which made Ginny giggle.

Mr. Weasley led Harry over to a pillar, looking around furtively. The others crowded around Mrs. Weasley while she hovered attentively around them like a hen with her eggs. 

“Now,” Mr. Weasley said, “there’s something I need to tell you. Minister Fudge would prefer I didn’t, but I think you deserve to know the truth.”

Harry’s interest was instantly piqued. “The truth about what?”

Mr. Weasley looked around again, then whispered, “Sirius Black.”

Harry’s eyebrows went up. “What about him? Did you know him?”

Mr. Weasley frowned. “We met a few times, years ago. Molly and I were already out of Hogwarts when he started.” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “That’s not important. You’ve run away, twice now, and you need to understand the severity of the situation.” His voice grew more tense as he spoke. “Sirius Black is after you. He’s been talking to himself, saying ‘he’s at Hogwarts,’ for months. They say he’s mad, same with everyone in Azkaban after a while, but he was clever enough to escape, which is supposed to be impossible. We’re nowhere near catching him.”

Harry nodded. 

“Molly thinks you’ll be safe in Hogwarts, but I say if Black can break out of Azkaban, he can break into Hogwarts.”

“Was he a Death Eater?” Harry asked. He was almost positive Sirius Black wasn’t.  

Mr. Weasley, who was about to say something else, stopped with his mouth open. “He was.”

“Did he have a dark mark?”

“I would assume so.”

“Alright.”

Mr, Weasley cleared his throat. “I’m sure you must be very scared. Black is a dangerous man.”

Harry tried to keep his face blank. “I’m really not. He can’t be worse than Voldemort”—Mr. Weasley flinched—“can he?”

“Arthur!” Mrs. Weasley called. “What are you two doing?”

“I think the train’s about to leave,” Harry said. 

Mr. Weasley turned back to him and quickly said, “I need you to give me your word that you won’t go looking for Black.”

“Why would I go looking for him?” Harry asked. 

“That’s…There’s no time to explain.”

“Could you write a letter?”

“Arthur!”

The train whistled. Doors were slamming shut. 

“Swear that no matter what happens, or what you may hear—”

“Arthur! Quickly!”

The train started to move. Mr. Weasley released him, a constipated look on his face, and Harry ran for the compartment door, grabbing Ron’s hand and pulling himself on. They leaned out of the window, Ron waving at his parents, Harry yelling, “Send me an owl!”

Hermione had her arms crossed, glaring at him. “I can’t believe you blew up your aunt! You could have been expelled!”

Harry winced at her volume. “Nice to see you too, Hermione.”

Ginny looked back and forth between them, eyes wide.

“Where’ve you been?” Ron asked. “You were supposed to be staying at the Leaky. We were going to surprise you.”

“How’d you know I was staying there?”

“Dad,” Ron said. 

“I think we need to talk. In private,” Hermione said stiffly. 

“Go away, Ginny,” Ron snapped. “Find Loony or someone else to bother.” 

“Well, that was nice of you,” Harry said as Ginny stormed away. “Shall we?”

“I bet every compartment’s full,” Ron said, looking around. “Maybe we can kick someone out?”

“Maybe the train could add some more,” Harry said, raising his voice. The train ignored him. “You’d think a magic train would be more accommodating.”

The very last compartment only had one occupant, a sleeping man. Harry sat across from him, studying him. He was young, despite the gray in his light brown hair, and wore an old set of robes with obvious signs of being repaired frequently, like Harry’s old clothes had been. Above him there was a battered case on the luggage rack with his name stamped on. Harry looked at the man again, examining the scars that stood out vividly against his pallid skin. There was something familiar about him that put Harry at ease. He took off his bag and set it next to himself.

“Who’s he?” Ron asked, taking the furthest seat away. 

Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione beat him out. “Professor R.J. Lupin,” she whispered.

“Must be the new defense teacher,” Harry whispered back. “I like the book he picked out. It’s loads better than Lockhart.”

“He looks like one good hex would finish him off,” Ron said indelicately. He turned to Harry. “Are you going to explain yourself?”

Harry looked away from Lupin. “Explain what?”

“Where you’ve been!” Hermione hissed. “Half the Ministry’s been looking for you!”

Harry fought the urge to giggle. If that was true, they weren’t very good at it. “Probably because of Sirius Black. Honestly, if anyone wanted to kill me they’d just have to look up my aunt’s address in the telephone book. It was a good thing I ran away, wasn’t it? And if everyone knew I was staying at the Leaky Cauldron, wouldn’t Black know as well?”

“Sirius Black wants to kill you?” Ron squeaked.

Harry explained what Mr. Weasley had told him. Ron paled, and Hermione looked like she was going to be sick. 

“You’ll have to be really careful if Sirius Black is after you. You can’t go looking for trouble like you usually do.”

“I don’t think Harry’s thick enough to go after a murderer,” Ron said. 

“We did go after Voldemort,” Harry pointed out. “Even if we didn’t know it was him at the time.”

“Honestly, Harry!” She tried to comfort Ron, who was visibly shaking. “They’ll catch him," she said to Ron. "They’ve even got the muggle authorities looking as well.”

Hermione changed the topic to Hogsmeade, while Harry listened in and tried to suss out Lupin. He knew he had seen him somewhere before.

“Are you looking forward to Hogsmeade, Harry? It’d be fun to explore.”

“My permission form wasn’t signed,” Harry said simply. 

Ron spluttered for him, which was touching, but Harry had got over it already. Being excluded was the norm. He could explore the castle. Maybe he’d find the kitchens. 

Hermione let Crookshanks out, who Harry recognized as the Magical Menagerie escapee. The cat was staring at Ron; apparently Scabbers was ill, which didn’t surprise Harry in the least, and Crookshanks was adding to his stress. 

After the trolley witch had left, while Harry was eating a leftover knarl kebab, the realization struck him. The prefect in his dad’s photos. That’s who Lupin was. He wished he had taken a picture with him, he bet the scars would match up, though this older version had a few more. 

As he mulled over what to do with this epiphany, Draco Malfoy and his friends, minions, whatever they were, showed up to bother him. 

Harry watched in distaste as Malfoy needled Ron. 

“You know, Malfoy,” Harry cut in, “you’ve always reminded me of my muggle cousin.”

“Excuse me?” Malfoy sneered. “How dare—”

“Our new teacher’s sitting right here, by the way. Or are you really stupid enough to start a fight in front of a professor?”

Malfoy glared at Harry but left, taking Crabbe and Goyle with him. 

“I’m not putting up with him this year,” Ron declared. “I’ve got a new wand now. You haven’t seen it yet, have you?” he said to Harry, pulling it out and gesturing wildly with it. A spark shot out and hit Crookshank’s tail. The cat hissed and scrambled over to Hermione.

“Ron!” Hermione snapped. Harry nudged her and pointed at Lupin, who only grumbled, still deep asleep. 

As they traveled north it began to rain, growing heavier until it looked like a solid wall of water. The lanterns flickered to life. Harry wanted to read, but his friends kept talking about their vacations, and Hogsmeade, and their families, and other things Harry couldn’t contribute to since he didn’t have them. 

When it was near pitch black outside, the train began to slow.

“Took long enough, I’m starving,” Ron said, while Hermione checked her watch. 

“That’s odd, it’s too early for us to be there,” she said.

“Check the corridor,” Harry said. “Maybe there’s something wrong with the train?”

Ron stuck his head out. “I just see other—”

The train came to a sudden stop, throwing people, cats, rats, and luggage around the compartments. Harry pushed his glasses back on just as the lights went out. His wand was immediately in his hand and he whispered a lumos. The compartment lit with a cool blue light. Amazingly, Lupin was still asleep.

A sudden chill came over Harry. 

“Is there something moving out there?” Ron asked, squinting at the window. Harry wiped away a spot to look through, but all he saw were shifting shadows. He felt his stomach drop, a profound sense of unease permeating him. 

The compartment door slammed open and Neville fell in, crushing Ron to the ground. Then he tried to sit down, and ended up sitting on Crookshanks. Ginny came in and added to the chaos, and by then Lupin was very much not asleep. 

“Quiet!” he said. “Stay where you are, I’ll go see—”

There was a sound at the door. It hadn’t been closed all the way. Thin, decaying fingers curled around the frame. The door began to slide open. Harry held his wand out, and felt all the warmth leave his body. 

“Dementor,” he whispered, pushing himself back, away from it. He knew he had to think of something good, something happy, but he couldn’t. It was impossible. It didn’t exist. He couldn’t even remember the right spell. There was a horrible buzzing in his ears, like the static of a television, growing louder and louder as the world around him dimmed, a darkness his lumos couldn’t penetrate. And then he heard the screams.

He was slapped awake. 

“Was that really necessary,” he slurred, feeling around for his glasses. It took him too long to realize they were on his face. “Where’s my wand?”

He was on the floor of the compartment, apparently having passed out. Ron and Hermione had stricken expressions, and were kneeling protectively around him. Neville and Lupin were watching, which made him more uncomfortable. His two friends helped him back in his seat. He picked up his bag and reached inside. Kreacher had thoughtfully packed him some chocolate frogs. He pulled one out and shoved the whole thing in his mouth, then took out the card. 

“Are you still looking for Agrippa?” He asked, handing it over to Ron. 

“Er, thanks. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, looking for more chocolate. “What the hell were dementors doing here?” 

“Dementors?” Hermione asked. 

“They guard Azkaban,” Harry said, “in exchange for feeding off the prisoners.”

Harry avoided looking at Lupin, who was watching him carefully

“That’s horrible!” Hermione started. 

Lupin snapped a bar of chocolate into pieces, startling them, and passed it around. “Harry had the right idea. The chocolate will help,” he said. “I’ll speak with the driver.”

Harry ate his piece, and after a moment the others followed suit. Ginny was still crying in the corner, and at Hermione’s urging Ron went over to sit with her. 

“What happened? I thought I heard someone screaming.”

“No one screamed, Harry,” Hermione said gently, giving him a concerned look.

“I felt like screaming,” Neville said. “I’ve never felt so cold in my life…”

“You were having a fit or something,” Ron said. 

“A seizure,” Hermione corrected. 

“And I passed out?” His limbs felt weak and shaky. He wanted to go home. “How long was it in here?”

“Not long,” Hermione said. 

“Professor Lupin drove it away after you fell over,” Ron said. 

“He told it Sirius Black wasn’t here, then used a silvery spell on it.”

Harry leaned back, wrung out. It couldn’t have been more than a minute or two. No wonder the prisoners in Azkaban lost their minds. He thought about what he read on dementors, how they took happy memories, or the emotions associated with them. Harry suspected the screaming that he heard was a memory, a bad one, one he wasn’t sure he wanted to remember. 

At least the chocolate helped. 

Lupin came back and said, “We’re about ten minutes from Hogsmeade.”

“And the dementors couldn’t wait?” Harry said. “What were they even doing here?”

“Searching the train for Sirius Black,” Lupin said, sitting down across from him. “Are you alright, Harry?”

Harry was not alright. “Fine. Can you produce a corporeal patronus?”

“A what?” Hermione asked. 

Harry ignored her. Lupin gave him an uncertain smile. “I can. Why do you ask?”

“I was just curious,” Harry said, looking out the window. 

The remainder of the ride was short, and the train deposited them onto a rainy platform. Harry held his bag close, wishing he’d thought to look up a spell for when it rained. He was pleased that his glasses were repelling the rain, and that the lenses didn’t fog up. Nette knew what he was doing. 

He had a moment of shock when he saw what was pulling the supposedly horseless stagecoaches. A pale, dark haired boy who looked vaguely familiar saw him staring at them. 

“Thestrals,” the boy muttered, before walking away. 

“Weird," Harry said, watching one spread its leathery wings.

"What is?" Ron asked.

"Nothing. Let's get out of the rain."

Harry was dismayed to see two dementors flanking the school gates. He held onto his wand in a death grip, whispering expecto patronum to himself, trying to think about something happy. 

Malfoy was thoughtfully there to make things worse. As soon as Harry exited the coach, Malfoy asked, “Is it true what Longbottom said?”

Harry ignored him and started up the stairs. Malfoy shoved Hermione out of the way and ran ahead to block him. “Did you really pass out?”

“No, I didn’t,” Harry said lightly. “Is it true you pissed yourself?”

“You…” Malfoy started, smile twisting into a sour expression. “Don’t lie, you fainted! Scared of dementors, Potty?”

“Is that a wet spot? I’d make fun of your name, but it’s stupid enough on its own.”

“Is there a problem?” Lupin said from behind them.

Malfoy looked the professor up and down, dismissing him. “No…professor.” He smirked at Harry, then walked away. 

Harry had barely got into the hall when he heard his name.

“Potter! Granger!” Professor McGonagall called out. “I’d like a word!”

He and Hermione exchanged looks, followed her to her office and sat down.

“Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead, Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall said. “You’d taken ill on the train?”

“It was a dementor, not an illness,” Harry said. “I feel better now.”

There was a knock on the door, and Madam Pomfrey bustled in. Harry glanced at her, then looked back to Professor McGonagall. “If I’m going to have an examination, I’d rather it be in private.” To the healer he said, “I had plenty of chocolate. I’m not sure what else I’d need.”

“It was a dementor,” Professor McGonagall clarified, watching Harry. 

“If you’ve already had chocolate, bed rest,” Madam Pomfrey said. “We’ll need to stock up on chocolate, Minerva. Dementors, at a school, honestly. If you need me I’ll be back in the hospital wing.” She left, shaking her head. 

“Well,” Professor McGonagall said. “Make sure you see her if you have any other symptoms, Mr. Potter.”

“I will.”

“Now that’s out of the way, I’ll need to talk to you two about your schedules."

"Is everything alright?" Hermione asked. "I thought you approved of it?"

"I did, Miss Granger." McGonagall reached into her drawer and pulled out a cubic wooden box. "Every so often the Ministry loans out one of its artifacts to certain students. Normally a student would not be allowed to take twelve subjects, as the classes overlap and it's simply not possible."

"I thought I'd take them with another house," Harry said.

"You would have, if Miss Granger had not been given permission to use a Time-Turner."

She pulled out the device, explaining how to use it.

"It is paramount you keep this secret," she said. "If your grades slip, you'll no longer have this privilege and you will have to drop classes."

She held their eyes. "Miss Granger, I am placing an immense amount of trust in you. Time travel is incredibly dangerous, even a few hours, even a few minutes. This is to be used for academic purposes only. You’ll be taking Mr. Potter with you for either Arithmancy or Care of Magical Creatures. You two will coordinate, is that understood?”

“Yes, professor.” 

By the time they got to the Great Hall the sorting was already over. Harry learned, to his horror, that dementors would be stationed around the school, and apparently could see through invisibility cloaks, according to Dumbledore’s oddly pointed example. Less horribly, Lupin was announced as the new defense teacher, which had the added benefit of making Snape apoplectic. Hagrid was announced as the new Care of Magical Creatures teacher. 

As he clapped for Hagrid, who was crying giant tears of joy, Harry wondered if cornering him after the first class would be too soon.