When Patterns Are Broken

Sirius had missed out on a third of his life. His twenties had been drained away by the dementors. Two years of freedom were not enough to restore what he lost. James, Lily, Regulus, Harry. Remus. 

Azkaban had taken everything, and kept taking years later. Sleepless nights, nightmares when he slept, the inescapable cold that lingered in his very bones, the surging anger he struggled to hide. Some days he felt barely capable of taking care of himself, of breathing, much less taking care of a teenager. Harry deserved better, he needed better, and Sirius strove to act like the adult he knew he needed to be. The years he would have grown into that adult he would never get back. 

And he was lucky, in so many ways. Though he had hated his family, he had money, a home, a house-elf who would kill and die for them and who was there for Harry when Sirius couldn’t be. He had Andromeda and Ted to talk him through things, offering advice, support, experience. He had the riot that was Tonks. He had people he could trust, in case the worst happened to Harry once again. 

But, above all the things Sirius had missed, it was the entirety of the 80s. 

“Stop your fooling around…”

Harry held the tape player up in triumph. When Sirius had ran off to gather the old crowd—which Harry now knew was the first generation of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore’s geriatric secret society created to oppose Voldemort—he’d reclaimed his old motorcycle from Hagrid, put a muffler on it, and flew it away. He kept it in the owlery and stable—the stablery as they now called it—with Buckbeak, Hedwig, and the melanated barn owl Penumbra, who bit Harry when he called her Penny. 

“Time you straightened right out…”

Sirius had allowed Harry to take the motorcycle apart, so long as he put it back together again. Harry knew, in general, how mechanical things were powered. Not the details of the combustion engine the motorcycle had specifically—there was petrol and an engine with pistons moving up and down that powered the whole thing. For a vehicle like that, one simply needed to charm the pistons to move on their own. Kreacher has dug up an old Shooting Star for Harry to strip the enchantments off of to corroborate his theory. He had happily survived the explosion.

“Better think of your future…”

That sort of mechanical motion applied to the gramophone too, a spell turning the crank so the record could rotate. The tape player differed in that it was powered by batteries, little tubes of metal that created an electrical charge, a charge that powered magnets, creating a magnetic field which spun the motor, a motor which turned the various gears that moved the magnetized tape in the cassette itself from the supply reel to the take-up reel, creating an electrical signal carried through wires into the headphones, where thusly powered the electromagnet rapidly switched polarity, causing the magnets to vibrate and produce sound.

“Else you’ll wind up in jail…”

That was all well and good, but the important part was getting the motor going without battery-powered electricity. And he learned how to do that by observing how the charmed engine made the pistons move in the motorcycle. And knowing how to do that, he could get a fan working. It would have been better to start with a fan. It was a far simpler device, and it was an atrociously hot summer. 

“Rudy! A message to you. Rudy!”

“Sirius, I finished it!”

The singing downstairs stopped as Sirius hurried up to Harry’s bedroom. “You finished your tape player?”

“A prototype,” Harry said, “but it works. I have to reapply the charm every so often.”

“That’s great! We’re going to be misusing all sorts of muggle artifacts.”

"What is Master doing?" Winky asked nervously. 

After learning what Dumbledore had done to Winky, forcing her to watch Barty Crouch drugged with Veritaserum and relive his years of imprisonment under the Imperius Curse, Harry had gone down to the Hogwarts kitchens and offered the drunk elf a new family, if she sobered up. Winky had not been happy at Hogwarts, had been traumatized by how Mr. Crouch had treated his son, by watching Dumbledore interrogate him, and then watching a dementor consume his soul. She was terrified of the castle and its inhabitants. She agreed to leave.

Harry had asked Neville if the elves who worked on his family's gardens and greenhouses would train her. Kreacher was not very interested in gardening himself, and Harry didn't want to push Winky into another kitchen with elves who were happier than she was, elves that hadn't been dismissed by their families. The gardening also kept her away from butterbeer, which Harry had banned from the house entirely, and she was free to visit Dobby if she wanted.

"It's called skanking," Harry said, watching as Sirius punched and kicked to the record playing. "He's about a decade behind in muggle music."

Though confused, Winky accepted this and continued feeding their newly planted venomous tentacula with doxies Kreacher had knocked out of some curtains. After a while, she began nodding along to the two-tone beat.

“Belligerent ghouls run—”

“Scottish!” Harry interjected.

“—schools…spineless swine, cemented minds…”

After a bracing weekend where Sirius had discovered New Wave, he’d found something new to dance to in melancholy. 

“Sir leads the troops, jealous of youth, same old—”

“Robes!”

“—since 1962… ”

Sirius wasn’t in the house much, going somewhere he literally couldn’t tell Harry about, some Fideliused location where Dumbledore’s secret society met up. Sometimes, when waking up after another nightmare about the graveyard, Harry felt the slavish devotion to Dumbledore was as mindless as that with which the Death Eaters regarded Voldemort. 

Sirius told him what was going on, which wasn’t much. The Order of the Phoenix was in a holding pattern, with no overt Death Eater activity to react to. That it was a reactionary group, Harry felt, was part of their problem. The issues in magical Britain weren't limited to Voldemort.

Harry knew that Sirius and Lupin had been recruited straight out of school. Sirius joked that they were child soldiers, but Harry could tell he wasn’t really joking. Harry's parents had been too, as well as Neville’s, all of them paying the price: Harry's parents dead, Neville’s parents trapped in their own minds, likely until they died. He learned about Molly’s brothers, Fabian and Gideon Prewett, and their deaths. He learned about his mother’s best friend, Dorcas Meadowes, and her death. Sirius said Lupin had known her better, but after reading one letter filled with excuses, Harry had burned the rest until he stopped owling. 

Harry did have second thoughts when Sirius told him that Lupin trying to recruit, or at least neutralize, various werewolf groups had sown discord among their friends. Sirius said that it wasn’t because Lupin was a werewolf himself, at least not for him, but that how the Ministry and Dumbledore’s people treated Lupin and werewolves in general…if there was a better choice, he wouldn’t have blamed Lupin for taking it. But Voldemort didn’t care about werewolves or their right to exist, he just cared to use them for his own ends. There were no good options, only less worse ones, for those labeled darkcreatures.

And what did Dumbledore’s school teach? How to kill werewolves. Harry wondered, had Lupin taught that lesson, how it would have gone. 

“I want to go home, I don’t want to stay…”

Harry wrote to Theo daily, and their journals were running out of pages. It was an oversight he was planning to correct, either with an endless journal or one to which pages could be added. Theo was laconic, and it made Harry anxious. He had seen the hunched form of Thaddeus Nott at the graveyard, knew that he had been one of the first named. Harry thought he must have known Tom Riddle in school, perhaps had been one of the original devotees. That put Theo terrifyingly close to Voldemort. He guarded his friendship with Theo closely. He was afraid of what Dumbledore might ask of them if he knew. 

“Give up education as a bad mistake…”

Harry’s summer assignments hadn’t lasted long enough to be much of a distraction, so he studied curses, hexes, jinxes, the ones that would make people suffer, make that suffering linger, the kinds of things Death Eaters wouldn’t scruple to use, things they might turn on Harry and his friends. He studied the counters, worked on improving his basic healing, asked Sirius to set up the poisoned darts in the training hall, studied runes and other passive magics. 

Theo was much better at runes than he was. 

He labored over the book Theo had got him. The title translated to something like Old Magic, but could also be Deep Magic or simply Magic. From what he understood of the introduction, it was about magic before spells were developed, something Harry struggled to wrap his head around. There were potions, of course, and runes, and divination, but he didn’t think the book was about any of those things. 

Harry thought it might be something like wordless magic, so he kept practicing that. He began wandless magic too, casting the most basic spells he knew verbally but without his wand. The slow progress frustrated him, and he wished he hadn't been told magic was done with a wand. He felt trapped in that mentality, and it held him back.

Anger, too, was something he needed to control. Sporadically conjuring fire when he was angry was dangerous to everything around him. He learned that reparo didn't work on things completely destroyed. 

When the album was over, Sirius turned to him and asked, "What do you want to listen to next?"

Sirius was not the only one going through a musical awakening that summer. Dudley and his friends had discovered rap. Petunia absolutely hated it, but Harry liked it. The clever wordplay, the social messages, the 808s. Dudley didn’t seem to understand any of it, finding simple amusement in saying words Petunia wouldn’t allow in the house and acting chavvy in suburban Surrey. It was a surreal display.

Harry knew this because he had been making appearances at Privet Drive every Monday. He brought muggle books to read, things he could easily replace or repair if Dudley got hold of them. He caught Dudley and Piers trying and failing to smoke once, so he had that over them. 

Harry did have to endure Mrs. Figg asking him for tea every time she saw him. He even accepted a few times, since hearing Dumbledore ask Sirius to contact her. Her house still smelled like cabbage, and was filled with pictures of her cats, but his experience with Crookshanks told him that her cats were either part or full kneazle. He knew that she didn’t know that he knew she was somehow connected to the magical world. Given the presence of kneazles and her apparent breeding of them, Harry thought she might be a squib. Much like Filch was a caretaker, it was a relatively mundane job involving magical things. 

He was always glad when Kreacher took him back home. 

The letters from Ron and Hermione had been vague all summer. 

We can’t say much…

We’ve been told not to say anything …

We’re quite busy…

There’s a fair amount going on … 

They were leaving him in the dark, and he didn’t know why. He would have rather them not say they were hiding things, it was cruel to dangle the information in front of him and not give it. Harry knew he hadn’t been as close to Hermione and Ron as he had been through third year. Hermione could be controlling, bossy, pretentious, and invasive. She was smart, of course, and kind, and cared deeply for her friends, but she was also opinionated and it was difficult to get her to see other perspectives. Ron also cared about his friends, was good for a laugh, and was deeply knowledgeable about things he was interested in, such as chess and quidditch. But he, like Hermione, was stuck in his own biases, blind to issues in the wizarding world, casually cruel, petty, and jealous. Harry wondered if they would have been friends had they not met on the train, had Harry not been in Gryffindor, and if Ron didn’t benefit from the social cachet of being self-described best friends with the Boy-Who-Lived. 

Harry thought if he didn't have Sirius, if he had been trapped at Privet Drive after what had happened to him at the graveyard, it would have driven him mad. That and his nightmares, the frequent prickling in his scar, and the visions of corridors and locked doors. 

“From what you’ve described, it’s the Department of Mysteries,” Sirius said. “Dumbledore has people in the Ministry guarding it. He hasn’t told us what’s being guarded,” he added, shaking his head. “Usually only the Unspeakables are allowed down there.”

“What’s in the Department of Mysteries?”

“No one really knows, not even the Unspeakables,” Sirius said. “Parts of it existed well before the Ministry did. Things like the Time-Turner you used, other experimental magics, are studied or created there.”

Harry toyed with the box of Honeydukes chocolates he’d got for his birthday from Hermione and Ron. It was such an impersonal present. It made him feel like they didn’t know him very well. 

“How are they meant to effectively guard something if they don’t know what it is? Are the Unspeakables aware that Tom’s after something there?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius said. “Dumbledore plays his cards close to the chest. Come on, time for your first present.”

Curious, Harry stood to follow him. As they passed the fire in the entrance hall, something flew out of it and hit Harry’s head. Rubbing this minor injury, Harry leaned down and picked the box off the floor. 

“I wonder who that’s from,” Sirius said wryly. “I was wondering why you wanted your boyfriend to have our floo address.”

“He is not my boyfriend,” Harry said, holding the box close. 

“I think you forgot a yet, kid. Save it for later. There’s a reason I let you tell him, I’ll explain in the drawing room.”

Harry noticed Walburga was out of her usual frame, and saw her in the frame they had installed in the drawing room. Kreacher was there too, marking something on the floor. Winky stood, patiently waiting.

“That’s the center of the house,” Sirius said, directing Harry to stand on top of it. “It took a while to find for reasons which will be explained after.”

“There’s a lot of explaining after,” Harry muttered, tucking his gift from Theo away. 

“We both know that things have changed,” Sirius said, walking around Harry in a circle. “The danger to you is immediate. The magics that have protected this house, and our family, are old, but not inviolable.” Sirius stopped and took out his wand. “Which is why we’re placing this house under Fidelius.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Grandmother had mentioned it. I thought we might. Who’s going to be the Secret-Keeper?”

Sirius smiled at him. “You.”

Harry blinked. “Me? Why? I’m the biggest target.”

“Because you’re the one we’re trying to protect,” Sirius said. “If you’re captured, it might already be too late. If you need a safehouse and make it here, no one will be able to find you. They won’t even be able to see the house, much less enter it. Believe me, this has been discussed extensively. Kreacher, me, Ted, one of Ted’s cousins, a random American tourist...”

“But if he takes me again, couldn’t he get the information out of me?”

“As I said, by that point it’s already too late.” Sirius took a breath. “Calling it the Fidelius Charm is as much a misnomer as the Patronus Charm. It’s not strictly a charm, but soul magic. The secret is kept in your very soul. It cannot be taken from you, it can’t be ripped out of your mind like Bertha Jorkins’ obliviated memories. It cannot be forced out of you with Veritaserum. The only way someone can learn is if you voluntarily tell them.” Sirius smiled. “Make sure to tell Kreacher and I once I’ve cast the spell. There is also the fact that it’s believed you live with your muggle relatives, and that the Order has a place under Fidelius you may be taken to.”

“That makes sense,” Harry said. “What do I have to do?”

“Brace yourself. Fidelitas absoluta.”

The spell struck Harry full in the face, which he was not expecting. He wasn’t sure where the soul was kept, or if it was even a thing that could have a tangible location, but the face was not his top choice. Even as his vision was filled with soft blue light, and he welled with the feeling of being safe and protected, his mind burned with the knowledge that The Black Family ancestral home is located at 12 Grimmauld Place, London, United Kingdom.

Harry passed out. 

He was painfully shaken to consciousness. “Harry, you have to tell us!”

“Tell…”

“I don’t know!!”

“The…the Black Family ancestral home is located at 12 Grimmauld Place, London, United Kingdom,” he said, barely forming the words. The shaking stopped. 

He heard something nearby breathing heavily. “I’m sorry, that was a lot of information you were hiding. It was hard to even think that you had to tell us something.”

Harry tried opening his eyes. They were all sprawled out on the drawing room floor, Kreacher crawling towards them. 

“Kreacher forgot his own home! Two hundred years, Kreacher has…”

“I’m sorry, Kreacher,” Sirius said. “We didn’t consider how much information was packed into that sentence." 

“Young Master…”

“I’m okay,” Harry said, failing to push himself upright. He frowned. “I feel heavy. What’s this got to do with the floo?”

“It’s connected to the house,” Sirius said, yawning. “He’ll have forgotten it. 12 Grimmauld Place doesn’t exist anymore, except for those in this room. Looks like we’ll have a kip on the rug.”

Harry laid back down and fell asleep. 

He woke with a start, and in a chair, and in the kitchen. 

“It’s lunch time,” Sirius said, holding onto a cup of coffee for dear life. “Kreacher’s still resting. I don’t know how I made it to the chippy…”

Harry picked up a chip and placed it in the vicinity of his mouth. “Thanks.” 

After he got halfway through his food and felt a little more human, Harry took out the gift Theo had sent. He unfolded the small box and pulled out a golden ring.

“He moves fast,” Sirius said, shakily holding a piece of fish. 

Harry held it up. He knew it had to be runed, but he couldn’t read any. 

His eyes widened. “I think it’s for Hedwig. It’s more of a band, like they put around bird’s legs to identify them.”

“I don’t think I can make it up to the owlery right now,” Sirius said, dropping his fish sadly. 

Hedwig appeared on the table.

“Kreacher!” Sirius said. “You’re supposed to be resting! That means no working.”

Hedwig walked over to Harry, who was seeing how the band opened. He couldn’t slip it over her feet, like a ring. After some pulling, he managed to create a gap just wide enough to go around her. 

“This is for your leg,” Harry said. Hedwig stuck a leg out and he placed the metal band on. Nothing happened. 

“Try pecking it.”

Hedwig pecked it, and turned into a massive golden eagle.

“Holy shit,” Harry said, leaning back. “She’s bigger than me as a fox.”

Hedwig cried out and spread her wings experimentally. Sirius wasn’t fast enough to save his chips. 

“Golden eagles are native to Scotland,” Sirius said, looking her over. “It was a good choice.”

Hedwig pecked her band again and hooted. 

“The original is always best,” Sirius agreed. He shook his head. “I’m still knackered, we’ll have to do your other present tomorrow night when you get back from the Dursleys. It takes some effort to get to.”

Harry nodded distractedly, holding up Hedwig’s leg to examine Theo’s work. “He’s a genius. Think you can turn back again?”

Harry was on his weekly constitutional in Little Whinging. Sirius had told Harry he was being watched by a rotation of Order members, so he needed to put on a show, offer proof of his continued existence at Privet Drive. That none of his watchers seemed fussed by the bedroom window being boarded up and only seeing him once a week on the same day was troubling. How many people believed that his safety inside the Dursley home was less important than his safety out of it?

At the park just off Magnolia Road, Harry found a swing and sat to watch the sunset. It'd be another hour or so until Kreacher arrived. He swung a little, feeling too disquieted to enjoy it now that he was big enough to not be physically kicked off.

Entertainment offered itself in the form of Dudley walking past with his friends. It wasn't much of a gang, as far as Harry could tell. Being a career criminal was far too interesting for the Dursley stock.

The street lights flickered to life and Harry got off the swing, ambling back to Privet Drive. Dudley and his friends were loudly praising each other for shaking down another kid. Harry learned to his delight that Dudley was now Big D.

He caught up to Dudley after his friends had peeled off.

"Hey, Big D."

Dudley looked back. "Oh, it's you."

"Astute observation. Vern's really getting his money's worth at Smeltings."

"Shut it," Dudley said, turning away.

"Or what, you're going to beat me up like Mark Evans? What is he, ten?"

"He was asking for it."

"Dudders, Diddykins, Dinky Diddydums. He's ten."

Dudley's face was going through the same shades his father's did with each of Petunia's nicknames.

"I was reading this book on goblin rebellions," Harry said, not wanting to get into a fist fight. "I think you'd like it. They're from a warrior culture, but—"

"Don't talk about that!" Dudley looked around frantically. For witnesses, presumably.

"Talk about what?"

"You know," he hissed.

"Magic?"

"Shut up!"

"Pretending it doesn't exist won't make it go away, Dudley! It didn't work for Petunia. What's going to happen if one of your kids is a—"

"That won't happen!"

"But if it does," Harry pressed, "are you going to treat your kid the way your parents treated me?"

Dudley backed away, shaking his head. "It won't happen."

"Listen," Harry said. "What that man did to you, the tail? That's illegal in our world. He isn't even allowed to do magic because he was expelled. I know it was scary—"

"Shut up! Stop doing that!"

"Doing what?"

Dudley shuddered, his breath coming out in a mist. That's when Harry noticed it. The warm August evening had been replaced with a starless night. It was dead silent. Harry took out his wand, scanning the area.

"Put that away! I can't…what's happening? I can't see."

"Dudley, shut up. I’m trying to—”

Dudley took a swing at him and Harry leapt away. “You idiot! Something magical is happening and I’m the only one who can defend us!”

Dudley wasn’t listening. He started to run.

“Stop! Dudley, you’re running right for it!”

Harry chased after, his wand lighting up before he could think about it. He saw Dudley stumble and fall, letting out a hoarse cry. Harry nearly fell himself when he saw it. It was impossible. They were in Little Whinging. 

A dementor was gliding towards them, reaching for Dudley where he cowered on the ground. 

“Expecto Patronum!” 

Harry was surprised to see his patronus had changed. It wasn’t a dog anymore, but something small and fast that chased the dementor away. He ran to his cousin and knelt next to him. “It’s gone, let’s get you—”

Harry looked up and saw a second dementor drifting towards them. “What in the fuck…” He directed his patronus at this new dementor, driving it off. “Come on, Big D. You need chocolate to feel better.”

The night had returned to its normal state, but Harry’s head jerked up at another sound. He saw Mrs. Figg in her hair net and tartan carpet slippers, swinging her shopping bag frantically as she hurried towards them. 

“We’re fine, Mrs. Figg,” Harry said, trying to get Dudley up. “In for a penny, in for a pound I suppose. Dormio. Mobilicorpus.” Dudley fell asleep and hovered in the air. 

“I’m going to kill Mundungus Fletcher!” Mrs. Figg said. 

“Why?”

Harry started walking back to Privet Drive, Dudley floating behind him. 

“He left! Left to see someone…”

Harry let Mrs. Figg ramble as he took Dudley home. He guessed Fletcher was the one meant to watch him, though it seemed a rather odd coincidence that dementors showed up just after he’d left. 

“So, are you a squib?” He asked, talking over her. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been around loads of times.”

“Dumbledore’s orders. I was to keep an eye on you…”

Harry nodded along. So she’d been such a terrible host intentionally, kept him segregated from the magical word on the orders of a man who had far too much influence over Harry’s life. 

A drunk man apparated in front of them. He started talking to Mrs. Figg. Harry walked around them just as Mrs. Figg started beating him over the head with a bag of tinned cat food. Mrs. Figg eventually caught up, gave him various warnings, then went home. 

Harry rang the bell at the Dursleys.

“Diddy, about time!”

“We’ve been attacked,” Harry said. “He needs chocolate to feel better.”

Petunia started shrieking, and called for Vernon.

“What happened to my son?” he shouted. 

“I’ve just said we’ve been attacked. I fought the things off, but since Dudley isn’t one of my sort, he’s more affected. Let me set him down somewhere.”

Once they noticed Dudley floating mid air, Petunia and Vernon backed up quickly. Harry guided him into the living room and laid him on a couch.

“What have you done, boy!”

“Nothing,” Harry snapped. “There were magical creatures that attacked us! I broke the law to save Dudley’s life! Now give him some bloody chocolate so he can feel better!”

An owl came in through the window, dropped a packet at Harry’s feet, and flew off again. “See?”

Vernon started ranting about owls, slamming windows shut. “Aunt Petunia, Dudley’s going to be fine. I’ve encountered the same creatures before, several times. They’re gone now.”

Petunia was frantically checking Dudley over while Vernon raged. Harry watched them for a moment, then went upstairs with his packet. 

Kreacher was already in the room when Harry opened the door. “Is young Master ready?” he said, sneering. 

“I don’t think so,” Harry said. “I just chased off two dementors and now the Ministry is saying they’ve received intelligence I performed the Patronus Charm in a muggle area, in front of a muggle. I’ve been expelled and they’re on the way to destroy my wand.” Harry snorted. “I guess I really am transferring to Durmstrang.” He noticed downstairs had got quieter. “I’m going to check on my cousin.”

“Kreacher has no choice but to wait.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” Harry said, leaving the room. Downstairs he was happy to find Dudley awake and being force fed chocolate by his mother.

“Explain what happened,” Vernon demanded.

“They’re called dementors,” Harry said. “They guard our prison. They feed off of happiness, and at worst can take someone’s soul. They had them around the school in third year, so I learned a spell to fight them off.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Petunia said. “I heard that awful boy telling her about them years ago.”

“Severus Snape?”

Petunia looked at him in shock.

An owl slammed into a window. “I’ll get that, shall I?” Harry opened it to a stunned barn owl and removed the scroll.

“It’s from someone I know who works for the government,” Harry said. “I think someone’s coming here to collect me.” He looked up to see Dudley had regained his color. “I’ll be upstairs.”

A third owl came in through the window, rescinding the Ministry's decision of a moment ago and scheduling a disciplinary meeting.

“Oh, instead of expelling me from school, they’re suspending me.” Harry shook his head and walked back upstairs where Kreacher waited. 

“Could you get my things from home?” He asked. “Arthur Weasley sent me a note saying to stay here. Sirius might be able to corroborate it.”

Kreacher nodded and popped off, and immediately came back. 

“Master says they will not be here for three days,” Kreacher said, grabbing Harry and disapparating. 

Three days later, Kreacher deposited Harry in the Dursley’s dark and empty living room. Harry had his bag, his trunk inside, his wand. He’d spent some time during the intervening days thinking how horrible it was to leave a fifteen-year-old who’d just saved himself and his muggle cousin from a freak dementor attack alone with the threat of his wand being destroyed in a household where he would be blamed and punished for the whole thing. 

The front door unlocked, and Harry got behind the couch and held his wand out. A group of people moved into the room, and if Harry hadn’t known they were Order members he would have gladly risked another expulsion. 

“Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone’s eye out,” someone growled. Harry recognized the voice. 

“Call me boy again and I’ll have my owl take the other one as well,” Harry replied, not lowering his wand. 

“It’s alright, Harry. We’ve come to take you away,” another familiar voice said. 

“Given I’ve been kidnapped before, that isn’t as comforting as you think it is, Lupin.”

“Why’re you standing in the dark, Haz? Lumos!”

Harry relaxed his arm. “Wotcher, Tonks.”

“That’s my line!”

Some of the people he didn’t know commented on how he looked like his father, but with his mother’s eyes, as had every other magical person over the age of forty. Harry was pleased to see Moody had an eyepatch without a magical eye that could see through clothing. 

“Are you quite sure it’s him, Lupin?” Moody asked. 

“Harry, what form does your patronus take?”

“Hundreds of people have seen my patronus,” Harry said, not mentioning it had changed somehow. “That’s an awful question.”

Lupin sighed. “What did you say to me when you finished your defense exam?”

“I said ‘it’s dead.’”

“That’s him, Mad-Eye.”

As Moody stumped around for some reason, Lupin went around introducing people. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Tonks who Harry knew, Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle, Emmeline Vance, Sturgis Podmore, and Hestia Jones. Harry doubted he would remember any of their names. 

“So, when are we going, where are we going, how are we getting there?”

“Brooms. You’re too young to apparate—”

“I’m not.”

Lupin shut his eyes and took a breath. “You are too young to apparate, whatever accidental magic you may have done. They’re watching the Floo Network, and it’s more than our life’s worth to set up an unauthorized portkey.”

“I suppose my life doesn’t rate?”

“Remus says you’re a good flier,” Kingsley said.

“He’s excellent,” Lupin said. He was checking his watch. 

“That isn’t going to work with me,” Harry said. 

Not long later they were out in the yard, completely inconspicuous as they mounted brooms. Lupin told him he’d left a letter for his aunt and uncle. Harry didn’t respond. Moody approached him with a raised wand. Harry whipped his out. 

“I need to disillusion you, boy!”

“I told you not to call me that,” Harry said, glaring at him. “Lupin or Tonks can do it.”

Tonks tapped him on the head and cold trickled down his body. It was a spell he had read about but didn’t learn, given he had an invisibility cloak. It would be useful for his friends, though, as they weren’t small enough to all fit under the cloak anymore. It was a rather odd effect, camouflaging him like a chameleon instead of making him transparent. 

Red sparks went off in the air, followed by green sparks. They launched, and of course were seen by a muggle. 

Hours later, they landed on a grassy field. The grass at his feet started smoking, and Harry tried his best to calm down, discreetly grinding the sparks out. Tonks smirked, then tapped him on the head again, removing the disillusionment. The magical kind, at least.

Moody thrust a piece of paper at him. 

The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at the Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole. 

He hadn’t even realized he’d forgotten where Ron lived. 

Harry looked up, thought about the Burrow, and it materialized out of the night air. 

“Cool.” 

Moody jabbed him in the back to hurry him along. Harry turned around.

"Fuck off."

"What did you say to me, boy?"

"I said fuck off."

"Harry, please," Lupin said, "let's get inside, it's been a long night."

"Blame whoever thought of this idea. I'm not going to be prodded around like a sheep."

He started walking, grateful that Tonks had put herself between him and Moody.

"I'm sorry about him," she said.

"It's not your fault. Someone could have apparated me, or got a house-elf like Dobby to, or sent me the address and have me take the Knight Bus, or—"

"I get it," Tonks said. "Believe me, I get it."

Just past the garden, the door flew open and Mrs. Weasley hurried out. "Oh, Harry! It's lovely to see you!"

Mrs. Weasley tried to grab him for a hug but he backed away. She looked hurt, but smiled. He noticed she was looking wan.

"Are you alright? Have you been eating?"

"I'm fine," Harry said. "I just don't want to be touched."

It was something he had talked to Sirius about earlier in summer. He didn't really mind it with Sirius, though it was easier when he was a dog, but Sirius had picked up on his discomfort and told Harry he was allowed to set boundaries with people, or change them. He didn't have to put up with it for the sake of making other people feel better, at the cost of making himself feel worse.

"Well, you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid," Mrs. Weasley said.

The people who had escorted him to the Burrow made their way into the dining room, which someone had expanded. Harry moved to follow them, but was blocked by Mrs. Weasley.

"Order members only, dear. You'll be upstairs in Ron's room. He and Hermione will be able to explain."

As Harry made his way upstairs, he almost wished he'd told everyone he was living with Sirius. He did not want to be sharing a room with Ron. When he got to a landing he was accosted by Hermione, who hugged him. Pig, Ron's owl, was flying overhead.

"Harry!"

"Hermione, get off."

"What?"

"Please let go of me."

"Oh, I'm sorry! I was just so excited! Ron! Harry's here!"

Harry listened to Hermione explain the situation. Dumbledore had made them swear to not tell him anything. Dumbledore was now controlling what his friends were able to say, and the smartest witch of their generation accepted it uncritically.

Ron emerged from his room and beckoned them in. Hedwig, the brilliant bird that she was, had already arrived and settled on Harry's head. He listened as they made excuses, defended Dumbledore, were upset on his behalf. He just wanted to go to bed, in his own bed, at home, instead of playing in this charade.

"Are you worried about the Ministry of Magic hearing?" Hermione asked.

"No. If they expel me I'll go to another school, or self-study for the exams." 

"Harry…"

"Why's Dumbledore so keen on keeping me in the dark? Did either of you bother to ask? Owls aren't the only way to send messages."

Hermione exchanged looks with Ron. "I did ask. He didn't want you to know anything."

"Interesting. I'm sure you two have been having a lovely time here while I was in Little Whinging being attacked by dementors. I'm glad to know my life was put in danger in the pursuit of keeping me ignorant."

"Harry, I'm sorry," Hermione said. "I know I'd be furious if it were me."

"I appreciate that, I suppose. Have you learned anything useful while being here?"

"Fred and George have got these Extendable Ears," Ron said. "We've heard a few things about recruitment and guarding something."

The twins apparated into the room, which went from crowded to claustrophobic, and invited them downstairs to eavesdrop using their new product.

"Oh, hello Harry!" 

Ginny had come in as well. There really wasn't room for it.

"Mum's put an Imperturbable Charm up," she said. "It's no good."

"Let's kidnap one and use polyjuice," Harry said. "Doge looks expendable."

As Sirius told him about the meetings, Harry didn't really need to eavesdrop, but it was fun workshopping. He learned Snape was around, and Harry imagined he was either doing something potions related or spying. Percy was verboten, junior assistant to Fudge. Charlie was recruiting non-British wizards, which Harry couldn't see working given how localized Voldemort had been and currently was. Fudge was slagging off Dumbledore and sacking anyone associated with him. The Daily Prophet was throwing Harry under the bus, which he knew. It was a shame Sirius couldn't get them to sell.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asked. "You seem really…unaffected."

Harry sighed. "When the killings start the Daily Prophet will change its tune. Or maybe it will become a state-controlled propaganda vehicle, or it already is." He scratched his nose, wondering if that was why they weren't selling. "It doesn't matter. I made my statement, I can't force people to believe it."

They were called to dinner, where Harry was happy to see Sirius.

"You okay, kid?" he asked, taking him aside.

"They've got me in Ron's room," he said.

Sirius winced. "Sorry, I don't see a way out of this unless we come clean."

"I don't know how I'm going to get away with training here. Especially with this underage magic hearing."

"For a patronus."

"Right? Lupin tried to check my identity by asking what my patronus was. It changed, by the way. I think it's some kind of bird?"

"Has it?" Sirius asked, eye's lighting up. "I'm sure you'll work it out."

"What?"

They sat down to dinner with the Weasleys and a few Order members, including Tonks, who was doing her level best to break as many things as possible.

"How's your summer been?" Sirius asked.

"Lousy."

Dumbledore had appeared like a burglar in the night to tell the adults Arthur was to take Harry to his hearing and not Sirius. Dumbledore had not bothered to speak to Harry about this, or indeed make his presence known. Harry had spent the past week finding places to hide and read, avoiding Mrs. Weasley’s mission to have everyone clean the house without magic. 

"No," Harry said. "Dumbledore has no right to tell me or Sirius what to do. Sirius is my godfather, and he will take me. If he wants," Harry added.

"Well said, Harry," Sirius said. "Arthur can tag along."

The morning of, Harry was awoken too early so he could get ready. He found an old robe of Regulus' to wear and met Sirius in the Burrow's living room. Arthur tried to talk them into taking toilets to the Ministry, it wasn't entirely clear, but Sirius rejected that and they took the floo.

Once there they discovered Harry's hearing had been changed from a meeting with Amelia Bones to a hearing in Courtroom Ten. The time had been changed as well, so they were in a rush. 

"They're trying me in the room they tried Death Eaters," Harry said. "This is ridiculous."

When they reached the door, Arthur held Sirius back.

"He has to go in alone."

"According to who? He's fifteen!"

"It's fine, Sirius," Harry said. "You know—"

"I know," Sirius said through clenched teeth. He rubbed his face, frustrated. "If anything happens, call for me, okay?"

Harry nodded, then entered the courtroom.

"You're late," a deep voice said.

"No, I'm not." Harry checked his watch.

"That is not the Wizen—yes, you are late."

"You didn't specify the time zone."

"Take your seat."

There was a seat in the center of the room with menacing chains on it. A group of fifty people wearing purple robes sat on benches far above it.

"I'd prefer to stand."

"Take your seat!"

Harry walked to the chair and sat down. The chains rattled at him, but subsided. He saw Fudge sitting in the middle, and Percy at the very end.

Just as Fudge finished his introduction, Dumbledore came in.

"Witness for the defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

"Brian?" Harry asked. 

The trial—because it was certainly not a disciplinary hearing—was a farce. Fudge asked leading questions and talked over Harry. Dumbledore had conjured a tacky armchair for himself and sat next to Harry. The Wizengamot was impressed he could produce a patronus. 

“It doesn’t matter how impressive it is! He did it in plain view of muggles!”

“That muggle is my cousin, who knows about magic, and he was about to be Kissed by a dementor!”

“Dementors?” Madam Bones asked in the ensuing silence.

“Yes, two of them. You’d think I’d conjure a patronus in the middle of Little Whinging for no reason? I’ve got notices before for uses of underage magic. The first one, three years ago, was a house-elf doing magic, which Minister Fudge is fully aware of. The second was a case of accidental magic.”

“Ah, I thought we’d be hearing something like this. Muggles can’t see dementors can they, boy?”

“No, but my aunt, who is a muggle, knows what dementors are and my cousin could describe the effects.”

“It’s just your word—”

“It is not!”

“—and no witnesses…”

“There are witnesses! My cousin, Dudley Dursley, and our neighbor, Mrs. Arabella Figg!”

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “As it so happens, I’ve brought Mrs. Figg with me.”

“Isn’t that convenient,” Harry muttered. Dumbledore didn’t acknowledge him. Dumbledore hadn’t looked at him at all. 

Mrs. Figg gave her testimony, which sounded coached, corroborating Harry’s story in detail, though he was sure she hadn’t seen any of it. She had only shown up when the dementors were gone. So where had she got the information?

“Not a very convincing witness,” Fudge said.

“She described the effects of a dementor attack accurately,” Madam Bones said.

“But dementors in a muggle suburb just happening to come across a wizard?”

“Oh, I don’t think any of us believe the dementors were there by accident,” Dumbledore said. 

“They are under Ministry control!”

“Then why did the Ministry send dementors to that alley?”

A woman who bore a remarkable resemblance to a toad, with a black bow perched on her head, stepped forward. Dolores Jane Umbridge. 

“...it sounded for a teensy moment as though you were suggesting that the Ministry of Magic had ordered an attack on this boy!”

Harry sat back and closed his eyes, tuning out the back and forth. It seemed his presence here wasn’t actually required. 

“Those in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?” Madam Bones said, shattering eardrums. Harry’s eyes popped open.

As soon as Harry was cleared, Dumbledore went away. Harry stopped himself from asking for a recount. No one was paying attention to him, he’d just been a prop. 

Harry exited the courtroom. “Cleared,” he said unenthusiastically. “I’m stuck at Hogwarts.”

Mr. Weasley tried grabbing his shoulders in celebration, but Sirius held him off. 

“How was it?” Sirius asked. 

“A joke. Dumbledore brought Mrs. Figg in and she gave them whatever story he fed her. Most of it was a back and forth between Dumbledore and Fudge.”

“I suspected they were doing this to you as a way of getting to Dumbledore,” Sirius said. “I’m sure Dumbledore did as well.”

“Well, it’s over,” Harry said. “Let’s go home.”

“The Burrow.”

“Oh, right.”

On the way out, they passed by Fudge talking to Lucius Malfoy. 

“Well, well, well,” Malfoy began. Sirius and Harry ignored him and kept walking, leaving Mr. Weasley behind with his eternal rival. 

Back at the Burrow it was…loud.

Ron was yelling about Harry always getting away with things, Hermione was on the verge of fainting, Fred and George chanted about getting off, Mrs. Weasley was in tears. Mr. Weasley had turned up and was talking about Lucius Malfoy. 

Harry went outside with his journal and wrote to Theo. 

Living at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix was astoundingly boring. Mrs. Weasley kept them away from any interesting happenings. Though Sirius regularly passed Harry notes, nothing was really going on. Voldemort was on summer holiday too. Given the recent trial and the revolving door of adults, Harry didn't use his wand at all. He practiced his wandless magic in desperation, trying to levitate things or set them on fire, or just produce a lumos. It was like flexing an unused muscle. He thought about the book from Theo, about a time before wands. Other cultures where wands weren’t common, or fashionable as they seemed to be in Britain. 

Their booklists arrived on the very last day. Harry had been at the Burrow for over three weeks.

Harry was surprised to see Ron was a prefect. He would have picked Dean Thomas. Fred and George didn’t believe it either, nor Hermione. All three seemed to think Harry was a shoe-in, but Harry couldn’t see himself in that role, not with the school turning against him every other week. He wasn’t surprised that Hermione was one. 

Harry struggled not to laugh at how poorly they thought of Ron. But, honestly, Ron? A prefect?

Mrs. Weasley tried to get Harry’s vault key—the one she knew about, at least—to buy his school supplies for him, but Sirius absconded with Harry so they could go on their own. He spotted Theo in Flourish and Blotts, but he was with his father so they didn’t say anything. 

That night they had a celebratory dinner. Ron got a new broom, which Harry thought was sweet of Mrs. Weasley, and they went around the table seeing who had been a prefect. Harry knew Lupin had been, he’d seen the pictures, and neither Tonks nor Sirius had been. Anyone with passing familiarity with either would have known that. 

“Are you disappointed?” Sirius asked Harry. 

“No, I wouldn’t want to be one.”

Sirius chuckled. “You have too little respect for authority.”

“As in none at all?”

Mrs. Weasley was talking to Bill about his hair again. “It would look much better shorter, wouldn’t it, Harry?”

Sirius gave him an evil smile. 

“No, I think it looks cool.”

“Thanks, Harry. See, mum? Harry likes it!”

Sirius elbowed him.

“Don’t even start.”

On the morning of their yearly train ride to school, Harry discovered there would be an attempted escort. It was Mad-Eye’s idea.

“I want to run away and live in the woods,” he said forlornly.

“Sorry, kid, you need at least five N.E.W.T.s for that,” Sirius said. 

“There are newts in the woods…”

Sirius took his arm and apparated him to the station. 

“They tried to feed me some dross that I was too young to apparate,” Harry said as they walked to the platform. “Did we leave a note?”

“I did, else there would’ve been a riot.”

Harry gave Sirius a quick hug and got on the train. People were staring and pointing—the Daily Prophet never did him any favors—as Harry checked compartments. He ran into Neville, who trailed behind him, and finally found a compartment with Luna in it. He pulled the shade on the door down, and locked it. Neville gave him a look, but didn’t say anything. 

“Hello, Harry Potter,” she said while reading an upside-down paper.

“You can just call me Harry,” he said. “Getting a new perspective?”

She smiled, and went back to reading. 

“Guess what I got for my birthday?” Neville asked. 

“What?”

“Mimbulus mimbletonia.”

“Tell me about it.”

Neville explained the plant's defense mechanism, spewing stinksap when attacked, and tried to demonstrate, but Harry put a stop to that. 

“Where are Ron and Hermione?” Neville asked, looking at the locked door.

“They’re prefects,” Harry said. “I think they have a meeting with the others.”

“You’re not a prefect?”

Harry shook his head. “I thought it would be you or Dean. Seamus blows up too many things.”

“Me?”

Hermione and Ron managed to hunt him down and get the door open. Luna had a good time laughing at Ron and his desire to abuse his newfound power. She laughed so hard she lost hold of her Quibbler. Harry had been meaning to check it out and flipped through to find a picture of Sirius standing on a pile of bones.

"Anything good?" Ron asked.

"It's brilliant," Harry said, reading the article.

"Of course not," Hermione said. "Everyone knows the Quibbler's rubbish."

"Excuse me," Luna said firmly, "my father's the editor."

"It's not rubbish," Harry said. He turned to Luna. "Did you have another copy, or do you want this one back?"

Malfoy arrived for his annual visit.

"Do you fancy one of us?" Harry asked. "You do this every year, Draco."

"What? I…no! Don't call me that!"

"Then what is it?"

"I'm a prefect."

"And?"

"And how does it feel to be second best to Weasley?"

Harry frowned at him. "I'm not sure why you think so highly of being a prefect when they give out badges to blood traitors and mudbloods."

The compartment was dead silent.

"Potter," Malfoy managed to say, "I didn't think you had it in you."

"Neither did your mum, but she managed to get pregnant with you."

"Don't talk about my mother!"

Harry stood up and walked to the door. Malfoy struggled to get his wand out as Harry slid it shut and locked it.

"Harry," Hermione said, "how could you?"

"How could I what?" he asked, sitting down again.

"You shouldn't use that word," Neville said.

"Think about how Hermione feels!"

"Sorry," Harry said, rubbing his face. "I don't know what came over me."

Luna looked at him over her Quibbler. She said quietly, "The best way to communicate with someone is to speak in their own language."

Harry gave her a wry smile, then looked out the window. It was going to be a long ride.