When Patterns Are Broken

Harry was too shaken to land on his feet. He fell to the ground in a pile of Weasleys. He didn’t belong there. 

The portkey had deposited them in the Burrow’s living room. Mrs. Weasley turned away from the fireplace to look at them, floo powder trickling through her fingers. 

“Children, someone is on the way to look after you. I’ve just got the message from the headmaster, I’m going to see your father.”

The Weasley children began protesting, but Mrs. Weasley shut them down. 

“I do not have time for this! There is no explanation for why my children would have learned about an attack in London so quickly while hundreds of miles away in Scotland! Your father needs me, now stay here and behave!”

After a moment’s hesitation, Mrs. Weasley picked up their vase of floo powder. Then she was gone in a flash of green fire. 

“We can just apparate!” George shouted at the fireplace.

Ginny was crying while Fred held her. George and Ron moved closer to them, drawn to the locus of their little sister.

Harry stood up, feeling incredibly out of place. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Why were you in Dumbledore’s office?” Ron asked. “McGonagall said you were the one who told him dad was hurt.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Harry said, closing his eyes. He needed to tell them something. He knew they wouldn’t let it go. So he could give them the truth, part of it. “I had a dream about a snake attacking your dad. It felt real, like it was really going to happen. I thought it would be best if I told Dumbledore, just in case.”

Harry looked up at the Weasleys. Fred and George looked skeptical, Ron looked concerned, Ginny confused. He had to sell it. “Sometimes I…" He wrapped his arms around himself, took a deep breath. "When I was trying to pick classes for third year, I thought I’d try out divination to see if it was real. It’s fake in the muggle world, you know? I tried tea leaf reading, and I saw the image of a bird, a pigeon I think. I looked it up and it meant travel, and the next day I was on the Knight Bus.” Harry looked at Ron. “Remember a few weeks ago, when Hedwig showed up with a broken wing? That morning, at breakfast, I saw a wing in my tea cup.”

“Are you a Seer then?” George asked, narrowing his eyes.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know, it doesn’t happen a lot. I’ve never had a dream like that before," he said honestly. "It was horrible.” He covered his mouth, feeling sick. He could still feel what it was like to be Nagini, venom sacs throbbing, fangs sinking into flesh, the taste of Mr. Weasley’s skin, fat, blood, bone… 

“I told you you should’ve taken Divination with me,” Ron said with a weak smile. “Might have helped…”

“I’m going to make tea,” Harry said again.

“Maybe you’ll see something in it,” Fred joked half-heartedly. 

Harry made his way out of the living room and into the kitchen, finding the kettle and the tea and lighting the stove. He looked back into the living room, where the Weasleys hadn’t moved, and sent another patronus to Sirius. 

“Tell him I’m at the Burrow,” he said. Harry didn’t want to give too many details, like how Dumbledore had sent him, how all his things were at school, how he wanted to leave. He didn't know who might be around Sirius when the patronus arrived.

There was a crack outside, and the sound of someone walking through the garden. A long moment passed before they knocked. Harry got his wand out and went over to answer. The house was under Fidelius, he knew it should be an Order member, but he was still very cautious. He slowly opened the door. 

“Sirius,” he said, smiling.

“I just got your bird,” Sirius said, hugging Harry. “I think it’s a crow. Or a raven. I never did learn the difference. Corvus is a popular family name, you know."

“Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny are here,” Harry said, letting him in. “Mrs. Weasley went to St. Mungo’s.”

“Who is it?” One of the twins called. It was hard to tell the difference from voice alone. 

“Sirius,” Harry called back. The kettle started boiling, so Harry finished setting tea out. Sirius shut the door behind him and took a seat. Harry cast a silencing charm at the doorway to the dining room. He needed to talk to Sirius.

“What happened?” Sirius asked, taking a cup. 

“You know,” Harry said, glancing at the door. “Nagini attacked Mr. Weasley. I was Nagini. Dumbledore knew, or suspected, and questioned me for confirmation. He refused to look at me. When he did, I felt his anger.”

Sirius closed his eyes and leaned back. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you. You weren’t occluding?”

“I didn’t have time to meditate before going to bed,” Harry said. “I fell straight asleep after talking with you. I told them,” he added, nodding at the living room, "sometimes I see things. Like See see things. Tea leaf reading, things like that.

“What a day. Fake girlfriends, snake visions, Seer powers…”

“And Dumbledore made me come here,” Harry said, frowning. “I tried to stay at school, but I figured I’d at least be able to see you, and maybe go home for real.”

Sirius nodded, taking a sip. “If anyone has an issue with you spending the holiday with me, that's their problem. We can leave any time.”

“My things—”

“Winky can get them from Dobby, if Dumbledore doesn’t send them along first.”

Harry stared down into his cup. It held no answers for him. “I don’t have my journal. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Sirius reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “Ranog can find you. Fidelius doesn’t work on birds.”

“Why is that?” Harry asked, hoping for a distraction. “Symbolism? I don’t think owls represent fidelity…”

After a while, the Weasley children drifted into the kitchen, settling around the table and drinking the tea Harry had made. Harry moved next to Sirius. At some point Ron got up to make more tea. Harry let his eyes drift closed…

The door swung open and Harry woke up with a snort. He had fallen asleep leaning against Sirius, whose arm was draped across Harry's shoulder.

Mrs. Weasley was back. She still had the vase of floo powder, looking like she didn't know what to do with it.

Her children stirred, eager to get to her. She gave a quivering smile.

"He's going to be alright," she said, voice shaking with exhaustion and relief. "He’s sleeping. We can all go and see him later. Bill’s sitting with him…"

After hugging and comforting her children, Mrs. Weasley rolled up her sleeves and began making breakfast with a vengeance. Half way through cracking eggs she gave a cry and hurried over to Harry, pulling him into a hug. He let himself go limp, felt Mrs. Weasley's tears soak his shirt.

"If it hadn't been for you," she sobbed, "they might not have found him for hours…"

She eventually released him, turning to thank Sirius for watching her children overnight. Harry found a cup of hot tea in his hand, and he drank it slowly. He felt like he was being watched. He had to perform for them. He couldn't think of a question, so he thought about Mr. Weasley. A plate was placed in front of him which he barely noticed as he swirled the dregs and flipped the cup over. After it drained, he looked into the leaves.

"What is it?" Ron asked, moving around the table to look over his shoulder. Sirius watched with mild interest. "It always looks like blobs to me."

Harry privately thought that was because Ron lacked imagination. Hermione did as well. Anyone could do tasseomancy, but it required an open mind, something his two friends had proven time and time again they did not have.

"It's an acorn," Harry said, furrowing his brow. "He's going to have a slow recovery. And a triangle. Several triangles. Unexpected things. Probably when we visit." Harry stood up to wash his cup. "Sometimes the symbols are literal. Sometimes not. You might not know what it means until it happens, or much later."

"That's the nature of divination," Sirius said. "We've had precious few seers in the family. New blood makes new abilities, or brings them back like with Tonks."

Harry made a noise of agreement and sat down, pouring a fresh cup of tea and eating his breakfast.

The rest of the morning went slowly. The others went to their rooms to sleep while Harry sat with Sirius, idly practicing his wandless magic. He was working on summoning things now, thinking it would be useful to call back his wand if he somehow lost it. He raised the stakes by trying it on dishes, Sirius laughing quietly nearby as he caught and repaired any that fell or broke. 

Their trunks arrived during lunch. Harry got dressed, then slipped his shrunken trunk into his pocket. Tonks and Mad-Eye showed up to escort them on the Knight Bus. They paid extra to prioritize their destination.

"There isn't any Seer blood in your family, is there?" Tonks asked after hearing the version of events he told the Weasley children. Harry had no idea what Dumbledore would say or to who, so he stuck with acting ignorant. He didn't want to lie to Tonks, she was family and one of his favorite people, but his connection to Voldemort was a dangerous secret. 

"Not the Potters," he said pointedly. Tonks gave him a knowing look, then turned her head into a crow. Or a raven. Harry didn't know the difference either.

Moody kept glaring at him. 

"He's still mad about the eye," Tonks whispered once she had lips again, eyes sparkling mischievously. The beds slammed against the side of the bus. "He hasn't found a replacement he likes."

"Maybe if he was constantly vigilant he'd still have it," Harry whispered back. Tonks covered her mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter.

The Knight Bus gave all of its passengers whiplash as it slammed to a stop in an alley. Disheveled and nauseated, they disembarked and walked to the main street.

Moody led them to a closed department store with crumbling red brick and depressing, dated displays. Tonks approached a particularly heinous mannequin and announced, "Wotcher…we're here to see Arthur Weasley."

The mannequin nodded, and Tonks stepped through the glass with Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, followed by Fred, George, and Ron, leaving Harry, Sirius, and Moody.

Moody poked Harry in the back.

Harry took a breath and turned around to look coolly at the grizzled old auror. "Next time you do that I'm cutting off that hand."

Moody started growling at him. "You listen here, boy—"

Sirius stepped between them. "No, you listen. Keep your hands off my godson.”

Moody turned his one eye on him. “Try anything, Black, and I’ll put you back in Azkaban myself. Don’t think I don’t know what your family gets up to!”

“You’ve lost your touch,” Sirius said, looking every inch the wealthy pureblood he’d been raised to be. “And your eye. If you touch my godson again you’ll lose your hand as well. Come along, Harry. Let’s go see Arthur.”

They stepped through the glass, like walking through a still waterfall, and into a crowded reception room packed with magical people in various states of poor health. Extra limbs, missing limbs, strange growths, animal parts, emitting liquids, gasses, inhuman noises. Staff in lime green robes walked among them, taking notes on clipboards. Mrs. Weasley waved them over to the queue. Nearby was a portrait of Dilys Derwent, a former Healer at St. Mungo’s and a former headmistress from the 18th century. When she saw Harry looking she winked, then headed out of the portrait. He wondered where the other heads of Hogwarts had their portraits. How many spies did Dumbledore have? Did the patients know the headmaster had eyes on them?

They were directed to the first floor, Creature-Induced Injuries, where Mr. Weasley had a bed. They passed more healers and portraits on the way. Harry was prepared to wait outside the ward with Tonks, Sirius, and Mad-Eye, but Mrs. Weasley pushed him in ahead of her.

It was a small, dingy area with only one window, lit by a cluster of crystal bubbles hovering around the ceiling. There was a portrait of Urquhart Rackharrow, the inventor of the entrail-expelling curse. Harry walked up to him.

“I used it on a giant spider once,” he said.

The portrait cracked a vicious, bloody smile. “Well done, lad.”

“Did you ever use it in the kitchen?”

Harry was pulled away before he got his answer, to where Mr. Weasley laid at the far end of the ward. He was awake, propped up on pillows and reading the Daily Prophet. He explained how his wounds kept bleeding, and the healers were working on an antidote. 

“It’s not that bad,” Mr. Weasley said, “I just have to take a blood replenishing potion every hour. But that fellow,” he said, nodding to a man who stared blankly at the ceiling, “was bitten by a werewolf. No cure at all.”

Mrs. Weasley looked appalled. “In a public ward? Is it safe?”

“It’s two weeks until the full moon…said I knew a werewolf personally who was a very nice man…”

Harry didn’t want to hear it anymore. He walked over to the man.

“Harry!” someone hissed. 

“I’ll tell you what I told him,” the man said in a dull voice. “Keep your mouth shut or I’ll bite you.”

“I think being a werewolf sounds cool. I’d wait the two weeks before biting me, though.”

The man turned to look at him with flat eyes. “Who the hell are you, kid?”

“Harry Potter.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Harry waved him off. “I don’t care. I just wanted to say, one, the werewolf I know is a git, don’t listen to Mr. Weasley. Two, don’t bother with the magical world. Get a muggle job. There’s plenty that don’t care if you need specific days off, and they don’t think werewolves exist so no one will know. Just tell them you need the full moon off for religious reasons.”

“I—”

“And at least you’re only a werewolf once a month. I have to be Harry Potter every day.” Harry gave him a self-deprecating smile. “I hope you feel better soon.”

He walked back to the Weasleys, not caring to interpret their expressions. “Harry, you shouldn’t bother people like that!” 

Harry shrugged. “So what’s going on?”

Mrs. Weasley had a pinched look, but said, “Arthur was just telling us about…what, dear? Something about toilets?”

The twins tried to pump him for information, talking about snakes and You-Know-Who, until Mrs. Weasley strong-armed them back into the corridor. Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Sirius went in. The twins pulled out their Extendable Ears so they could all listen. 

“...So Potter says he saw it all happen?” Mad-Eye said. 

“Yes,” Mrs. Weasley said uneasily. “Dumbledore seems almost to have been waiting for Harry to see something like this…”

“There’s something funny about that Potter kid, we all know that.”

“Dumbledore seems worried about Harry…”

“Course he’s worried, the boy’s seeing things from inside You-Know-Who’s snake… Obviously, Potter doesn’t realize what that means, but if You-Know-Who’s possessing him—”

Harry was livid. He stopped listening. He needed to control his anger before he turned the ward into an inferno. 

Dumbledore had told them. Dumbledore revealed personal information about Harry to someone as cracked as Mad-Eye Moody, but didn’t tell Harry himself. 

He took a breath, willing his racing heart to slow down. 

He looked up and saw the others were staring at him. 

“He’s just mad because I told him to fuck off again,” Harry said, rolling up the Extendable Ear. “He keeps jabbing me to get me to do things, I don’t like it.”

“I guess that was the unexpected thing,” George said, giving Harry a strange look.

“Maybe, or me giving a werewolf career advice.”

“What were you thinking?” Ron asked. 

“That Lupin’s a cunt, our society treats werewolves like shit, and he shouldn’t be a second-class citizen.”

Ginny stared at him with eyes gone saucer wide. 

“I think they’re coming back,” Fred hissed, rolling up his Ear. They quickly backed away from the door.

Sirius came out first, smiling at Harry, looking completely unbothered by the conversation the adults just had. “Ready to go, kid?”

They waited while the Weasleys said their farewells to Mr. Weasley, then left St. Mungo’s to summon the Knight Bus in the alley. They took a rickety ride back to Ottery St. Catchpole, and the Weasleys set off for the Burrow.

“This is where we’ll say goodbye,” Sirius said, standing next to Harry on the hill they’d been dropped off at. 

“But Harry’s staying with us,” Ron said, confused. 

“Come along, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, looking back and forth between them.

“I’m going to spend the holiday with Sirius,” Harry said. He looked up at Sirius and in a lower voice said, “I don’t want to answer any more questions, let’s just go.”

Mad-Eye had a wild look in his eye and started for them, only for Tonks to conveniently trip over nothing and block his path. Sirius took Harry’s arm and apparated them away.

It was the best winter holiday Harry ever had. He got to spend time with Sirius cracking jokes and chasing each other down as a dog and fox in the back garden, Winky chastising them when they punctured some dirigible plums. Kreacher gathered the deflated fruits to make a blancmange.

Winky showed off her hard work in the garden, and had even begun using the potions lab herself to make potions house-elves could use. Walburga regaled them with stories of winters past, when the entire Black family convened. They promised each other they would be able to do that again, one day. 

Kreacher repopulated the house with some of the less hostile cursed items that Harry was trusted enough to deal with or destroy, though the latter was frowned upon. They decorated with holly, and mistletoe for the nargles. Harry tinkered with his tape player, hoping to bring it to school to see how it held up. Ranog appeared with a gift from Theo, and carried away Harry's gift for him. Sirius apparated him to some forest, bringing Kreacher and Winky along. They found a fallen tree and Sirius made them drag it halfway back until he gave up and apparated everyone to the back garden. A space was cleared for it to burn. 

On Yule Harry received the best gifts. A Super Nintendo for him to charm, though Sirius had forgotten a television for it to connect to, which would be another item for Harry to tinker with. Kreacher held to his summer promise and took Harry down into the oubliette, somehow beneath the house yet accessed from under a bookshelf in the library. Winky presented him with a collection of pictures she had secretly taken of all of them, and picture frames she made by herself. Walburga said she'd give him a proper Black family name when he earned it, whatever that meant. The Tonkses sent gifts as well, muggle books and games for the Nintendo, which Harry cherished. The Tonks sent him a model of a Firebolt he could analyze plays with. Umbridge had confiscated his real one, but Harry could just buy another. Or steal it back. He wasn’t sure which he wanted to do yet. 

Theo sent him a journal he had used the Protean Charm on, dense with protective runes. Inside Theo had written he had another present for Harry when they returned to school. Harry blushed, even though he had no idea what Theo meant, and had to slap Sirius' hand away before he touched it and got his arm frozen solid. Harry sent Theo a muggle science fiction series about a planet where people's dreams became reality, spelled to look like a deluxe Slinkhard trilogy. 

As they ate slices of treacle tart and gamely choked down rice pudding, Harry wished things could have always been this good.

Not everyone was happy about Harry spending his holiday with his family. His first ever holiday with his family. It was important to him, and they didn’t care or understand. 

The daily owls sent to Grimmauld Place demonstrated that. Demands were made for Harry to be returned to the Burrow. Hermione had decided not to go skiing with her parents and was staying with the Weasleys. She teamed up with Ron, trying variously to guilt or tempt him. Ginny sent a letter telling him she didn't think he was possessed, having had experience with it herself. Harry didn't need the reassurance, but he appreciated it. Fred and George didn't bother writing other than to thank him for helping save their father, and to suggest they call Moody One-Eye instead of Mad-Eye. Even Dumbledore sent a letter to Sirius, one he wouldn't let Harry read, which he fed to the ashwinders. Mrs. Weasley went so far as to send a Howler, ranting about irresponsibility and Harry not being James and him being as good as her son and needing to be around family.

“What the hell was that about?” Harry asked, watching the letter burn itself out. 

“They don’t trust me with you,” Sirius said dismissively. Harry wasn’t sure how bothered Sirius truly was about that. “All they know about me is how I acted in school, that I was in Azkaban, that I broke out. It’s not the first time they’ve accused me of confusing you with James. Half the time Snape talks about you it’s to compare you to James.” 

Sirius shook his head. “Maybe it’s because I was in Azkaban for so long the memories crystallized for me, but it’s as if they’ve forgotten what James and Lily were really like. You’re not like your parents, and you’re definitely not like James. You didn’t grow up like him, you didn’t even get to know him. You look like him in the same way that every Potter looks like a Potter. If anything, you take after Charlus more than James, and Lily as well.” 

Sirius paused thoughtfully, examining Harry like an interesting specimen. 

“If I had to pick between James and Lily, you’re more like your mother. She wasn’t interested in pranks, or bullying, like James and I. She was loud, passionate, stood up and fought for what she believed was right. She loathed how James and I—and Remus and the other one—acted, and always took the opportunity to let us know how little she thought of us. She was brilliant with charms, like you’re turning out to be. She loved magic, in a way people like me who grew up in it don’t. We take it for granted. It’s always existed, we’ve always had it. Lily saw magic as a gift, a gift she loved beyond all measure. She saw it in everything and everyone.”

Sirius stopped to smile softly at Harry. Harry stared at him, dumbstruck.

“I think that’s right,” Sirius said. “You remind me of Lily.”

Sirius laughed when Harry said they should throw the Weasleys a bone and visit on Christmas. He had gifts to hand over, after all. 

“You don’t have to answer any questions,” Sirius said as he smoothed the shoulders of Harry’s robes. It was the constellation Leo again, Regulus’, and Sirius had a sad look in his eyes but said it suited Harry.

“About the being possessed by Tom Riddle thing?” Harry said, patting useless at his hair. It had started to curl around his ears, which Theo said he thought was adorable, so Harry endured. “I’m just going to keep acting like I don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about.”

“I find it bizarre how they simultaneously underestimate you and expect everything from you,” Sirius said in a carefully calm voice. 

“I stopped trying to understand when I was thirteen,” Harry replied. “Everyone sets impossible, competing standards. The only standards I want to meet are my own.”

“What troubles me is whatever narrative Dumbledore is presenting,” Sirius said. “Why has Dumbledore been expecting you to have visions from Riddle? For how long? How is it even possible? Why does he want us to keep it from you?”

“I think it’s too late for the last one,” Harry said. “I’ll have to pursue it, ask him what’s going on, even if I mislead my friends and act as if I’m the second coming of Cassandra Trelawney.”

“It’s a reasonable explanation,” Sirius said. “As far as you know, the only people who have visions are seers.”

“Riddle is obsessed with immortality,” Harry said. “I don’t even know where to start with that.”

“If you get a chance to raid Dumbledore’s bookshelf, take it,” Sirius said. “He’s got to have some idea, else he wouldn't have expected anything, would he?” He checked the time. “Alright, you’ve got all your presents for them? We’ll apparate from around the corner.”

They left Grimmauld Place and found a nicely deserted alley to depart from. “It’s alright to be outside here?” Harry asked, looking around nervously. He hadn’t forgotten the dementors coming at him in an alley just off Magnolia Crescent. 

“Do you remember the exact words we used?” Sirius said. “The street address, the city, and the country. If they suspect you’re at my home, no one will even know we’re in Britain. They can’t, the magic took that knowledge away. We could be in Barbados for all they know.”

He took Harry’s arm and they arrived in the Burrow’s garden. “Lupin told me that using an illegal portkey was more than our lives were worth,” Harry said. “But Dumbledore made one out of an old kettle in his office.”

“Remus is…” Sirius took a breath. “I think because his existence is essentially illegal, and because some werewolves choose to live outside of our society’s expectations, that he believes if he adheres rigidly to the rule of law it will legitimize him.”

“But that isn’t true,” Harry said. “It’s obviously not.”

“It’s not rational,” Sirius said. “What did Arthur say? That he’s one of the good werewolves? Remus thinks he’ll change hearts and minds if he’s good enough.” He snorted. “This is really putting us in the Christmas mood.”

“We don’t celebrate Christmas. It’s the bastardized holiday of our oppressors.”

“Which oppressors are you going on about this time?” Sirius asked, walking up the garden path. “And did you hear that from Kreacher? Maybe he got it from my mother…”

The door flew open to reveal Molly Weasley, bedecked in Christmas cheer. “Happy Christmas! We’ve been waiting for you two, come in, come in!”

Harry was ushered through the kitchen, where things were flying in preparation for Christmas lunch, and into the living room where a very large tree bowed its crown under the ceiling. It was decorated with live fairies, unethically sourced by one Mundungus “Dung” Fletcher, wreaths and garlands in gold and silver, heaps of snow magicked not to melt.

Harry took his glasses off. 

“Harry,” Sirius chastised. 

He put them back on. 

“Welcome back.”

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, standing up to grapple him into a hug. He tolerated it. He considered it a Christmas gift to her. 

“Merry Chrimbo,” Harry wheezed. 

“Where have you been?” she demanded

“With Sirius,” Harry said. 

Sirius waved. “Happy Christmas, everyone.”

“We’ve been waiting on you to do presents,” Ron said from behind a pile, slapping an adjacent pile with Harry’s name written all over it.

“Oh, right, I’ve got all yours here,” Harry said, passing them around before taking his spot. 

Lupin was awkwardly lurking, so Sirius went to talk to him, leaving the kids under the watchful eye of Mrs.Weasley. Bill was there too, looking as cool as ever.

Harry took a moment to glare at Lupin, who may have hurt Harry by leaving him alone his entire life, but hurt Sirius worse by letting him rot in Azkaban. Harry thought of gifting him a muzzle, but instead he clipped out the job postings from some local muggle papers and handed the packet over. 

He got Mrs. Weasley a gift certificate to the Magical Menagerie, with the suggestion she purchase a jarvey to take care of the gnomes in the garden, though maybe she’d get a younger owl for the family. The twins got some of the ominous honey from the tree in the back garden, Ginny got new self-adjusting seeker gloves, Ron a book on famous keeper plays with pictures one could slow down and analyze, and he got Hermione a book on numerology that had just been released that year. 

Harry’s presents were…

He wasn’t ungrateful, but he felt embarrassed for some of them not knowing him at all, and hurt that they didn’t. 

Lupin gave him a nice book on defense, which looked surprisingly useful. He suspected Sirius had helped Lupin pick it out. From Hermione he got a planner that yelled threats at him, which he would have fun deconstructing. Hagrid sent him a wallet with fangs to which he would do the same. Ron got him a box of Every-Flavor beans, something he hadn’t had since first year. Mrs. Weasley gave him a new jumper she had knitted and mince pies, and Dobby had created a work of abstract art, a piece of staggering genius, a dadaist interpretation of Harry Potter that blew the muse himself away.

“What’s that supposed to be anyway?” Fred asked. “Looks like a gibbon with two black eyes.”

“Dobby knows me well.”

It was sweet of Dobby, and Harry planned to display it in the common room, or use a permanent sticking charm and put it among the Hogwarts portraits.

After lunch, Mundungus showed up with a car and to finish off the trifle. Mad-Eye and Lupin were escorting them to St. Mungo's to visit Mr. Weasley.

Harry gave Mr. Weasley a book on British muggle history, and the new werewolf a book on different muggle careers. Lupin shot him an amused look when he went to talk to the man himself.

"Harry Potter's told me you're a git…"

"Harry does love his little jokes…"

Mrs. Weasley got into a row with Mr. Weasley about having got stitches, so Harry and the others left them to it and explored the rest of St. Mungos.

They came across Gilderoy Lockhart, who had relearned how to sign autographs and kindly offered them a dozen. A healer assumed they were intentional visitors, and she let them into the Janus Thickey ward. 

Harry remembered his tea leaf reading of the week before. He knew who they would find in this ward, and it was too late to turn back.

"Mrs. Longbottom," the healer called out. "Are you leaving already?"

The story of Alice and Frank Longbottom came out, and they were subjected to a display of Mrs. Longbottom's treatment of Neville.

Harry moved away from his gawking, insensitive friends and stood next to Neville as his mother approached. "Hello, Mrs. Longbottom." 

She was a pale reflection of the woman she had been. Prematurely aged, hair white as snow, shuffling listlessly towards her son.

"Nev's a good friend of mine," Harry said. "He helped me with my garden. He's brilliant at herbology. He's got his own talent. I don't take after my parents at all. I think they'd be happy for me."

Neville gave Harry a surprised look, but focused on his mother who was handing him a gum wrapper as a gift. He thanked her and put it in his pocket, ignoring his grandmother's order to throw it away.

"Thanks for saying all that," Neville said before his grandmother took him away.

“I never knew,” said Hermione, who looked tearful. 

“Nor did I,” said Ron rather hoarsely. 

“Nor me,” whispered Ginny.

"I've known for years," Harry said when they looked at him. "I hope none of you betray his confidence. His grandmother's already done a number."

Two short weeks after Christmas, two weeks where Harry could be at home, be with his family, be himself unburdened by the weight of expectations, he was summoned back to the Burrow.

"Professor Snape's in the kitchen, dear," Mrs. Weasley said.

He'd been playing Exploding Snap with Ron and Hermione, waiting. They watched him with concerned faces, but Harry just smiled and walked to the kitchen.

Sirius was already there, sitting across from Snape. There was a letter on the table between them.

"Sit down, Potter."

Sirius put his hand over his face. Harry knew he was struggling not to laugh. He sat down next to Sirius, biting his lip.

“The headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term.”

Harry blinked. "Could you please explain what occlumency is, sir?"

Harry had been dancing around the truth since he had first learned what occlumency was. He avoided outright lies, preferring half-truths and misdirection. He sent a silent thanks to that bookstore he had never found again. Like the Room of Requirement, it had revealed itself in his time of need.

“Occlumency, Potter. The magical defense of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one."

Harry could see Sirius mouthing external penetration and kicked him under the table.

"Why do I have to study occu-whatever?"

"Because the headmaster thinks it's a good idea. You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?"

"Yes, sir. Who will be teaching me?"

"I am."

"Just to clarify, you will be externally penetr—"

"Why can't Dumbledore teach him?" Sirius asked, stomping on Harry's foot.

“I suppose because it is a headmaster’s privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks."

"Oh, I'm sure the headmaster would enjoy—"

Harry was fairly certain his foot would be broken by the end of this conversation.

"If anybody asks, you are taking Remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them."

Harry gave him an incredulous look. "Only because you go out of the way to make it look like I'm bad, and enable your Slytherin students."

Snape stood to leave.

"Wait a moment," Sirius said. "I have some concerns with how these lessons will go. I think we need to define some parameters, and ensure Harry's privacy."

"That is not my concern," Snape said with a sneer. "You can discuss such issues with the headmaster. Surely you've noticed that Potter is very like his father?"

"Not at all," Sirius said, smiling.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "The headmaster indulges Potter's antics. Potter is exceedingly arrogant, criticism simply bounces off him."

Sirius looked perturbed. "You don't know Harry at all, do you?"

"I've had the misfortune of knowing him since he first stepped into my classroom five years ago."

"It is a privilege to know Harry."

"Sirius…"

Sirius shook his head. "Regardless, if I hear you abuse these lessons, Snape, and violate the trust being placed in you, there will be consequences."

Before Snape could respond, Mr. Weasley burst into the room.

"Cured!"

They had a nice dinner to celebrate Mr. Wealey's recovery. Afterwards, Harry's friends pulled him aside to ask him what was going on with Snape.

"Remedial Potions," Harry told them. "I need an O on the O.W.L. to get in the N.E.W.T. class." 

If they found out he'd told them the cover story, he'd just say he was doing what Dumbledore asked. Hermione and Ron loved that excuse.

Since school started the next day Harry spent the night at the Burrow, with Sirius sweet talking his way to sleeping on the couch.

They took the Knight Bus to Hogsmeade, and Harry witnessed the beautiful sight of Tonks getting Stan Shunpike to shut up.

Harry watched his friends drag their trunks through the snow and mud, wondering if Hermione too had forsaken all logic. Since he was magic, Harry's trunk was shrunken in his pocket, and he walked ahead, clearing them a path.

He couldn't wait to see Theo.