Disclaimer: This story contains characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, Inc. and AOL/Time Warner, Inc., and may incorporate characters, locations and things created and/or owned by other third parties including but not Random House, Penguin Putnam, Inc., Ballantine Books, and a lot of other people. This story also contains lines inspired the WB series Gilmore Girls. They are the property of Amy Sherman-Palladino and I make no claim to them. No permission has been given and since no money is being made here, no infringement is intended.

Chapter 5: Scholarships and Social Standings

Abigail Gellstern liked to think of herself as a proper woman. She knew the importance of precision and valued a concentrated, polished effort. Her pristine suit jacket and pencil skirt were always pressed with perfect pelts. Her office was decorated tastefully without the slightest bit of embarrassing, cartoon-ish decals of apples or pencils. Her class lists were neatly cataloged in folders to her right, and her monogrammed pens were neatly placed in a holder to her left. She sighed inwardly at having the extraordinary bad fortune not to be right-handed and not having parents with the sense to force her to change. Therefore she had spent her life making up for that bit of commonality about her by becoming incredibly well-bred in all other areas. A dedication to order and presentation, she believed, was the crux of any moral person's upbringing and therefore instilled in every crevice of her prized school.

However, she did not have any control over her students' parents, a fact which she lamented as she looked over the tops of her spectacles at the father of her newest charge.

Though he was tall, kept decent posture, and his features were aristocratic, after he had removed his coat, upon her insistence instead of out of good manners, his dress was disappointing to say the least. While even the parents of most unsuitable applicants attempted to squeeze their ill-mannered frames into suits and tasteless dresses, this man—whose son had been awarded a full scholarship nonetheless—had the audacity to appear before her in blue jeans and a t-shirt. It took a remarkable amount of control on her part not to turn her nose up in disgust.

"Dry-cleaning," apologized Sirius weakly.

Harry resisted the urge to duck behind his godfather as his new headmistress's hawkish eyes shifted to him. He was certain that she was mentally trying to set his disorderly hair on fire.

"I see," she replied pompously. "Well, I shall not detain you further from your work." The word slid off of her tongue with the greatest distaste.

"Oh, er, thank you," said Sirius, feeling more awkward by the moment. He turned to Harry, smiling a little. "Good luck, pup. Have a great first day, all right?"

Harry nodded while a part of his mind pleaded for Sirius not to leave so soon.

Sirius reached forward to hug the boy but the Headmistress's icy stare upon made him stop. He suddenly remembered that public displays of affection were frowned upon by most people of Gellstern's generation. Instead, he gave Harry's shoulder a comforting squeeze while a part of his mind shouted for him not to leave his baby alone with this critical woman.

Gellstern cleared her throat slightly.

Sirius let go and was gone, leaving Harry to the mercy of the Headmistress.

"Well," began Gellstern as she resumed sitting in the high-backed leather chair behind her gleaming desk, "take a seat, Mr. Black."

Harry nodded, slipping into one of the chairs in front of the desk. He remembered to keep his hands at his sides and to look to the woman in the eye.

Gellstern peered down at her file about the boy. "Harry James Black," she said slowly, emphasizing the surname. "I see here that you were adopted shortly before your second birthday. Your actual surname is Potter."

"Yes," said Harry promptly, his voice thankfully not sounding nervous.

"By a Mr. Sirius Black," she continued as if she had not heard him. "What were your previous relations to Mr. Black if you don't mind me asking?"

"He's my godfather," said Harry carefully. "He's also distantly related to my biological father. He and my parents met at secondary school and became very good friends."

"Ah," said Gellstern. "Now, you live in Dale, correct?"

"Yes, but I was born in Godric's Hollow and lived with Sirius in London for a bit too."

"London?"

"Yes," said Harry, feeling like he had a bit more control over the situation now. "Sirius was living in London when my parents died so he took me in and we lived there until I was about five. Then we moved to Dale."

"I see," said Gellstern in the same condescending tone as she ran a finger along a small stack of papers. She picked on up and looked it over. "According to your teachers at Dale Primary, you are an attentive, well-spoken, and enthusiastic student. Not a lot of extracurricular activities though. No football leagues, no attending of summer camps, no art classes . . . no reception at all, in fact."

"Oh," said Harry, breaking eye-contact. He did not think that saying that he was the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's errand boy during the summers would go over well. "Well, living in a Dale is sort of an extracurricular activity. I can play football though, and . . . as for nursery school, Sirius had already taught me how to read and write by the time I was four so it seemed unnecessary."

"You call your father by his first name," Gellstern noted. It was a most unusual habit for children. "Any reason?"

Harry blinked at the non-sequitor. "Sometimes I call him "Siri"." Brilliant Black, absolutely cor of you there. Quick, say something smart before she tosses you out! "And, er, Scout and Jem called Atticus by his first name."

The Headmistress blinked before saying briskly. "Well then, Harry, I think you best be off to your homeroom."

"Thank you," said Harry, hurriedly getting to his feet but the Headmistress cleared her throat.

"Before you go, let me give you a bit of advice."

Harry sat back down.

"Now, I understand that you were in the top forum at Dale," said Gellstern, "but Brilhante is a very different place. In fact, I expect it to be a very different type of environment altogether. Now, you may succeed and if so you will have an illustrious future ahead of you. Or you may fail . . . which is perfectly acceptable. Failure is a part of life, child."

Harry nodded.

"But it is not tolerated at this institution," said the woman pointedly. "As a scholarship student, failure is not even a possibility for you, Mr. Black. Do I make myself quite clear?"

"Yes, Headmistress," said Harry.

"You will be in three-forty-seven, Mrs. Ganti's room," said Gellstern as she gestured to the door.

Harry nodded, thanked her, and exited as quickly as possible.

Room 347 was located on the third floor in the right-hand corridor and upon entering; Harry received his first surprise of the day. Unlike at Dale Primary where children would be bunched up in groups, recounting summer adventures, every child was already sitting quietly in his or her pre-assigned, name-tag bearing seat. Everyone was sitting silently and looked as though they had been attacked by an over-zealous iron. (Harry briefly wondered if wrinkles were against the rules at this school.) There was a glimmer of life when he entered. At least a dozen pairs of eyes shifted, examining him thoroughly.

Ducking his head a bit, Harry spied his seat immediately. Having a last name beginning with "B" often resulted in him being in the front row and here was no different. Hooking his book bag on the back of the plastic seat, he slipped into the chair and folded his hands on desktop.

About a minute passed before Harry glanced furtively to one side. His nearest neighbor was a slip of a girl with strawberry blonde hair that had been neatly plaited. She sat ramrod straight and her book bag was a nauseating shade of pale pink. Her name tag was out of his line of sight though. He leaned forward a bit but her attention shifted to him and his gaze promptly went the other way.

The door opened again and a boy with nut brown hair strutted into the room. He was not terribly tall but definitely taller than Harry. He was very angular with high cheekbones and an upturned nose. It did not take a second glance for one to realize that this boy came from money. His uniform was clearly new and seemed to be even cleaner than everyone else's as well as his leather book bag and the watch on his wrist. It was gold, glinting in the sunlight. He took a seat in the middle of the second row, and the boy behind him automatically straightened his sweater while offering a hopeful smile. The boy merely turned away as if he could not be bothered with such a person.

Shaking his head slightly, Harry looked back to the front of the room. The teacher had yet to arrive but the chalkboard already had her name written upon it in precise script: Mrs. M. Ganti.

It was funny how primary school teachers always insisted that their first names remained a mystery, thought Harry. All the Trainers always wrote out their full names, and most of Sirius's students alternated between calling him Trainer Black and by his given name. Sirius had told him how it was usually the same with Muggle university professors as well. When Harry had inquired further, Sirius had explained how he had taken a class or two at Cambridge to fulfill a requirement for his Auror training. Sirius hardly ever went into detail on matters concerning Harry's parents, but this admission did explain why his godfather had an oversized hooded Cambridge sweatshirt that had become Harry's over the years.

Speaking of Sirius, Harry wondered what his godfather was up to at this very moment. Probably changing into some practical clothes, he thought with a mental snicker. He was not planning on letting his godfather forget his interesting outfit for a long time.

Harry was shaken out of his thoughts as the door opened again, and a shrill bell signaled the start of homeroom. A woman of average height with dark hair and skin entered. She was dressed in a neat grey blouse and skirt, and carried several folders in the crook of one arm.

"Good morning," she greeted them, her accent had an Indian tinge to it but her voice was crisp. She gave the class a once over before adding, "Well, you at least look better than last term's lot."

There was smattering of giggling but it died quickly.

"Well then, let's get to the essentials, shall we?" she continued. "I am, in case you haven't guess, Mrs. Ganti and I will be presiding over your homeroom for the year. Also, I may have some of you for Advanced Sciences if you survive till fifth year. For now, however, I will be passing out your schedules and then we will have a little getting-to-know-you session." With that said, Ganti handed each person in the front a small stack of folders and instructed them to find their name and pass the rest back.

"You will find an emergency contact information sheet, kindly fill that out," said Ganti, taking her place in front of the room again. "Any incorrect information will result in you ending up here on a snow day. Next you'll find your schedule and along with your school calendar. Lastly, there's an index card that I'd you to fill out with your name, birthday, favorite subject, and favorite extracurricular. Oh, and one interesting thing you did over your summer holidays. When you're done with that, please pass them and the information sheets forward."

There was a brief scratching of pens and shuffling of paper as the paperwork was filled out and handed in.

"All right then," said Ganti, putting the information sheets down on the desk and shuffling the index cards. "Now, for these. Let me see, Huntington, Oliver."

"Present," replied a posh voice and Harry twisted in his seat to see the brown-haired boy standing.

Ganti nodded. "Why don't you tell the class your birthday and what you did this summer, Oliver?"

"My birthday is March twenty-first. This summer I visited Spain and Portugal with my mother and father," said Oliver in an almost bored tone.

"On holiday?"

"No, my father was presiding over a business deal and my mother and I were allowed to accompany him," said Oliver.

"Ah, and what does your father do?"

"My father," said Oliver, his voice practically dripping with pride, "is Clovis Huntington and is C. E. O. of Huntington Electronics."

"And your mother?"

"She assists him with planning business functions."

"Very well," said Ganti, re-shuffling the index cards. She repeating this process of questioning several more times, always asking the same questions—birthday, summer activities, parents' occupations and martial status, and if one had any siblings.

"I think we have time for one more before the bell," said Ganti after Micheles, Morgan sat back down. "Let's see . . . ah, Black, Harry."

With a bit of a start, Harry quickly stood.

"You're new to Brilhante, aren't you Mr. Black?" asked Ganti.

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry, nodding slightly.

"Where did you previously attend?" she asked.

"Dale Primary," replied Harry.

"Ah," said Ganti, her brow creasing slightly as if trying to remember whether or not she knew of that town. "Well, you know the pattern by now."

"Er, yes," said Harry, smiling a bit. "My birthday's July thirty-first and this summer I went to see the Arsenal vs. Chelsea match where Chelsea beat Arsenal two-to-one."

"Did your father go with you? Or any of your brothers or sisters?" asked Ganti.

"Er, no, I don't have any siblings," said Harry. "My godfather and my cousin came though."

"Ah, that's nice," said Ganti, smiling. "And your parents, Harry? What do they do?"

Harry felt his stomach clench for some reason. "Er," he faltered, "my . . . my godfather works for the government."

Ganti was frowning now. "That's very nice, Harry, but I asked about your parents."

Harry was quite sure that everyone was staring at him like he had seven heads, and he wished with all his might that the bell would ring.

Ganti inclined her head, her brows knitting together.

Harry shifted uneasily as words began to tumble out his mouth, "My parents . . . well, they don't do anything really . . . they're . . ."

Ganti's frown deepened as if she was beginning to consider him touched.

"They're not alive," managed Harry at last, realizing just how awful those words sounded. "I've lived with my godfather since I was a baby."

"Oh," said Ganti, not even blinking. "Well, what did they do while they were alive?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted.

"Oh," said Ganti again but this time it sounded almost disapproving. "Well, tell us about your godfather then. Is he married?"

"No," said Harry, now wishing that if the bell wouldn't ring then could the earth just swallow him whole. "It's just him and I."

"Ah," said Ganti, still frowning at Harry. "That is quite interesting, Mr. Black. It seems you have a very special home life . . . a different one but special nonetheless."

Harry nodded, feeling faintly sick now that Ganti had just uttered the two least desirable words in the English language: "different" and "special." At least if she would let him sit back down everyone would just stop staring at him.

As Ganti was reaching for her stack of index cards, the bell rang.

"Right then, we will continue this tomorrow," said Ganti. "I hope you have an enjoyable first day."

There was a flurry movement as everyone gathered their bags and filed out. Many of them continued to stare at Harry as they passed. Harry tried to disappear into the group but Ganti called to him.

"Mr. Black, a moment please."

Harry hung back. How much more humiliation was this woman going to put him through?

"Yes, Mrs. Ganti?" he said, approaching her desk.

"I was wondering if it would be possible for me to speak with your godfather soon," she said.

"Er," Harry hesitated. "Why?"

"I would just like to," Ganti replied evasively. "Perhaps tomorrow? Before homeroom?"

"I'll have to ask," said Harry, knowing full well that Sirius probably would not be able to do that. "He has to be at work by seven-forty five."

"I am perfectly willing to arrive early. Seven, tomorrow then?"

Harry bit his bottom lip as her dark eyes seemed to be boring a hole into him. "All . . . alright," he agreed. "I will tell him."

"Lovely," said Ganti. "Have a nice day, Mr. Black."

"Thank you," Harry said before leaving as quickly as poss. As he hurried down the corridor to his mathematics classroom, he wondered if the day could get any worse.

8888

In a different part of London, Sirius Black was leaning over the polished wooden counter at the Ministry Café and holding his head in his hands.

"Coffee?" asked Sue softly.

"Injected into my veins," grumbled the Auror.

"Rough morning?"

"Leo started a new school," mumbled Sirius, running a hand through his thick hair. "It's one of those pompous, prestigious places where backhander politics take place at bake sales."

"Not really your sort of thing then?" ventured the barmaid.

"Yes and no," sighed Sirius. "I mean, I'm really proud of him for getting in there but I don't know."

Sue smiled, handing him a steaming cup.

"I do know that I made a brilliant first impression," muttered Sirius before taking a sip.

Sue chuckled. "What did you do? Chat up the secretary?"

"No," muttered Sirius, "I showed up in motorcycle boots, ripped up jeans, and a t-shirt."

"What?" said Sue, leaning over the counter to see that Sirius was now dressed in his typical slacks and button-down shirt.

"This," Sirius gestured to himself, "happened after I picked up my dry cleaning."

"Oh."

"Exactly," said Sirius. "This morning I looked like something out of Easy Rider instead of someone who is put-together and responsible."

"Well," said Sue, going back to her coffee machine, "I wasn't aware that you were either of those things."

"Ha ha . . ." Sirius's sarcastic laughter died as the mirror behind the bar reflected someone that he had not intended to see today. To make matters worse, that person's image was growing larger.

"Sirius," said Orion crisply, "I was told that I would find you down here."

"It's where they keep the coffee," replied Sirius, swiveling on the stool to face his father.

"So I see," said Orion, waving his wand over the empty seat next to his son to remove the dust and whatever else was there. He then sat down, clearing his throat.

"Hello," said Sue brightly, "what can I—"

"Earl Grey with lemon," ordered Orion.

Sue glanced sideways at Sirius before going off to brew the tea.

"What brings you here, Orion?" asked Sirius, suspicious.

"I had some business to attend to," said Orion.

"Oh, what sort of business?" inquired Sirius. As the head of one the oldest pureblood families, Orion kept a hand various political and business ventures, and his son had come to regard his presence at the Ministry as a marker for change.

Orion ignored his question, responding with, "I see your shadow is missing today."

"He's at school," Sirius replied.

"First day?"

"Yes," replied Sirius, wondering where his father was going with this line of conversation.

"When does he finish?" asked Orion as his tea floated to him on a tray.

"At three."

"Are you collecting him?"

"Er, yes," frowned Sirius. "Today at least."

"Only today?" Orion said, stirring the tea. "How else will he be getting home?"

"He'll be taking the bus," said Sirius.

Orion looked up sharply. "The Muggle bus?"

Sirius nodded. "He has a school pass so—"

"Aren't you aware of the types of people that ride those things?" said Orion sharply. "The type of filth What if the boy is propositioned?"

"That's not allowed during school hours," said Sirius briskly, digging a sickle out of his back pocket and flipping it onto the countertop. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

He started to get up but Orion caught him by the upper arm.

"Sirius, wait just a moment," said Orion, practically forcing the taller man back down. "Now, I know that his school is only a few blocks from Grimmauld Place. If you would like, Leo is more than welcome to remain there until you are able to collect him."

Sirius frowned. "Are you seriously offering to look after an eight-year old for two hours almost every day?"

"Well, yes," said Orion. "It would save you a lot of worry, wouldn't it?"

"Were you visited by three spirits last night or something?" asked Sirius, narrowing his eyes.

"I don't believe so," said Orion, blinking at his son. "I am simply offering. After all, the boy is practically my grand—"

"That is quite unnecessary," interrupted Sirius with a scowl. "He will be fine on the bus. Now, I really must be going. I will see you on Friday."

With that, Sirius wrenched his arm free of Orion's grip and headed for the lift. As he stepped into it, he glanced behind him at Orion who was still sipping his tea. He could not help but wonder for what felt like the thousandth time why the bloody hell did Orion suddenly care so much about them.

8888

The day needed to be over, thought Harry as he shuffled down the second floor corridor. So far he had accumulated about a hundred pages of reading, already had had two tests announced, and honestly couldn't make hide or hair out of Box-and-Whisker plots.

Next was History though. Harry had always liked History. It was simply a story with very sparsely drawn characters. Stories he understood. Nothing could ever trip him up in History. Yes, this class would be just—

Suddenly the tiled floor was rushing up to meet him as he threw out his hands to stop himself. Papers went flying; his glasses sailed off of his face and went skittering away.

There was a burst of laughter above him as Harry pushed himself up into a sitting position. He felt around for his glasses, shaking his head. Finding them, Harry shoved the glasses onto his nose and looked up in time to see a trio of boys swaggering away. One glance at the leather book bag and he knew who had tripped him.

"Thanks," grumbled Harry, gathering his papers up as the bell rang. He managed to scoop everything up in his arms and dash into the classroom just as the teacher was calling roll.

"Black, Harry?" the teacher asked, turning to him. Her appearance reminded Harry strongly of a disturbed vulture—sharp, short-tempered, and calculating.

"Yes ma'am," said Harry, stepping forward.

The teacher regarded him for a moment, her eyes lingering on the mess of papers in his arms. Her eyes then flicked up to his unruly hair then back down to his black-rimmed glasses and not tightly tucked shirt.

"Right there," she said, indicating the seat just to the right of her desk. "You look like you need to be kept an eye on."

Harry moved to his seat, shocked. Had this teacher just insinuated that he was a trouble-maker? He? Harry? Good grief.

The boy slumped in the seat as he watched the rest of his class have their seats assigned. He could not help but cringe as Huntington, Oliver was seated diagonally across from him.

From the piqued expression plastered across Huntington's face as he strode by, Harry gathered that he wasn't pleased with the teacher's decision either.

When the teacher had finished, she introduced herself as Ms. Ness and began outlining the term the children had ahead of them. Over the course of the year, she would be focusing on Western history dating from Ancient Greece to the beginnings of the Enlightenment.

"Unlike some teachers, I will not be checking your notebooks to see if you are keeping up with the work. I expect it of you and any lack of attention will be on your own head," said Ness, standing in front of her desk. "I am your teacher, not your nanny, so kindly keep your problem outside of my classroom. Any signs of trouble-making will be dealt with severely. Do not test me because you will regret it." She cast a look to certain students, Harry included. "As for my grading policies, your marks will be based on monthly tests and bi-weekly quizzes. Throughout of the term you will also be expected to write a paper of intelligent content for me. On occasion, I will present what I like to call challenge questions to the class and those who are daring enough to answer them and answer them well will be justly rewarded. That being said," she reached behind herself, picked up a small brown book from the desk, and opened it to a marked page, "who can supply me with any historical context for this verse:

"The lion and the unicorn were fighting for the crown

the lion beat the unicorn all around the town.

Some gave them white bread, some gave them brown,

Some gave them plum cake and drummed them out of town."

At the very first line, Harry knew precisely what it was—he had been read the verse no less than twenty times—and his hand shot into the air. However he was not called upon because a pompous voice spoke up:

"It's by Lewis Carroll, and it's about the Royal Coat of Arms."

"Proceed, Mr. Huntington," said Ness, nodding to the boy.

"It can be found in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," said Huntington. "He was referring to the Lion and a Unicorn on the UK's Royal Coat of Arms. The Lion is England and the Unicorn is Scotland."

Ness favored the boy with a thin smile. "You have earned yourself a bonus point, Mr. Huntington, for an almost entirely correct answer." She turned her attention to the rest of the class. "Can anyone expand upon Mr. Huntington's analysis? Mr. Black, you have something to add?"

"Yes," said Harry, putting his hand down. "Lewis wasn't only referring to England and Scotland as countries. He was also referring to King James the First and how when he took the English throne in 1603, he was already the King James the Sixth of Scotland. By ascending both thrones, James actually united England and Scotland hence the United Kingdom. Oh, and it's not found in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, it's actually in Through the Looking-Glass."

Ness's smile broadened. "Excellent, Mr. Black," she said. "You have earned yourself two bonus points for a completely correct answer."

Harry smiled, sneaking a glance over at Huntington. The boy's pale, proper face was now twisted into a scowl.

The bell rang a minute later, and the usual bolting for the door occurred. Harry joined the fray this time, relieved not to be called aside for a formal welcome to the school or any inquiries into his personal life this time. He had barely left the room when a voice rang out:

"Black."

Harry stopped short. He turned around to see who had called his name but immediately whirled back to his previous direction.

"Stop," ordered Huntington as he caught up to Harry. He stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "Didn't you hear me, I said stop."

"I don't take orders," said Harry, clutching his textbook to his chest.

"You have no idea what you're dealing with, do you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Huntington, Oliver," he replied. "You're in practically every class with me and my homeroom. Your dad's in electronics, and by the way you strut around here I take it he's probably a big deal, right?"

"Right," said Huntington, his lip curling upwards. "I bet you think you're awfully clever, don't you? After what you pulled in there, I mean."

"I answered a question," said Harry simply. "Just because you cou—"

"You're new so I will let it slide this time," interrupted Huntington, stepping forward. He was a bit taller than Harry and chose to exploit the fact. "But keep this in mind: my parents are on more than ten committees including the Board of Governors, and Gellstern comes to my family's house regularly for tea. So if you want to get through here with your face in tact, do not get in my way."

Harry was sorely tempted to point out that Huntington had gotten physically in his way, but decided against it. He nodded instead.

"Good," said Huntington, stepping away. He turned but remembered to add over his shoulder, "See you around, fatherless freak."

8888

Twirling his key ring around his index finger idly, Sirius leaned against the side of the Jeep. He was waiting for Harry to emerge from the stone buildings of Brilhante. The bell was due to ring in less than a minute and he silently ticked off the seconds.

Thirty.

Twenty.

Ten.

The peal of the bell echoed across the grounds and the doors were flung open by a wave of hunter green and grey that descended upon the courtyard. Some rushed towards buses, other towards cars. Sirius scanned the crowd for the familiar shock of jet-black hair.

A flash of red and Sirius saw him. With two thick textbooks in his arms and his shirt tails already un-tucked, Harry was trying to battle his way through the crowd to his godfather. Once he was finally free, the boy raced the rest of the distance, dropping the books and bag in order to fling himself into the waiting arms.

"Hey," said Sirius, a little surprised at such an enthusiastic greeting. He had dropped to one knee so that he could hug Harry properly but when he pulled away to look him in the eye, his godson's grip tightened around his neck.

"Okay, good now," said Harry after a moment, letting go slightly.

"How was your day?" Sirius asked.

"This morning was the high point," muttered Harry.

"Oh," said his godfather, leaning back. "What happened?"

"Let's just say that I seriously considered shoving my finger in a light socket," said Harry. He turned, going to collect the abandoned textbooks as Sirius reached for the book bag.

"Whoa," he grunted, yanking the bag up. "What do you have in here?"

"My homework," said Harry.

"For the month?"

"For the night," corrected the boy as he scrambled into the passenger side of the Jeep.

Sirius chucked the bag into the back before climbing into the driver's seat. "Do they expect you to become brilliant all in one day?"

"They expect a lot of things," grumbled Harry.

"Like?" Sirius prompted as the car started.

"Like," said Harry, figuring that it was best to get the worst bits out of the way, "one of the teacher's thinks that I'm a trouble-maker."

Sirius snorted. "Wonder where she got that from."

"Sirius," groaned the boy.

"Well, I'm sure she'll realize that you are a little angel soon enough," conceded Sirius. "Unless she already knows that you're a horrible morning person and is reading further into that."

"Ha, ha," said Harry, not amused. "Oh, and then there's my homeroom teacher."

"Very strict?"

"Er, not exactly," said Harry, shifting uncomfortably. He waited until they were at a stop light before adding, "But she wants to meet with you first thing tomorrow morning."

"What?!" Sirius exclaimed. "Harry, what could you have possibly done in—"

"I didn't do anything," Harry said, his eyes widening at the accusation. "She made us all do this stupid ice breaker thing and she asked about everyone's parents."

"Oh," said Sirius, his tone instantly softening. "And this happened first thing?"

"And when I tried to explain how I lived with you, she wouldn't let it drop so I had to tell her about my parents," continued Harry. "She tried to get me to tell her how they died but I claimed that I didn't know because how am I supposed to explain that a murdering lunatic killed them and I have a scar on my forehead because he couldn't kill me and—"

"Easy, pup," said Sirius, reaching over to put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You did the right thing."

"Thanks," said Harry after taking a breath. "So finally, after playing dumb a bit, she finally laid off but . . ." His stomach clenched painfully as Huntington's insult came surging back to him. He looked away from Sirius.

"But?"

Harry shifted uneasily, trying to will away the pain.

"Harry?"

The boy glanced up at his godfather, muttering, "She called us "special" and "different."

Sirius winched. Even when he was young, using words like those to describe anyone's family was akin to placing a target on their backs and letting the rest of the class have a field day.

"Then after completely humiliating me, she asked if you would speak with her tomorrow. She didn't say why but just kept pushing the idea."

"I can take a guess or two at her motives," Sirius said, gripping the steering wheel a little more tightly. The teacher probably wanted to make sure that he was not an alcoholic or a madman like the rest of the world who thought that the act of a single man raising a child would only ever be committed with ulterior motives in mind.

"You will go and speak with her, won't you?" asked Harry.

His godfather nodded. "Of course I will. We'll get this whole matter sorted out, don't worry."

For the first time all day, Harry truly smiled. He relaxed back into the seat, having complete faith in Sirius's abilities to right all the wrongs in his world. He began to doze.

"Anything even mildly good happen today?" ventured Sirius after a bit of comfortable silence.

Harry's eyelids fluttered. "Oh, yeah," he said, straightening. "I think I really impressed my History teacher."

"Really?"

"Yeah, she asked if anyone knew the significance of a verse and it turned out to be "The Lion and the Unicorn."

Sirius laughed. He had read Harry Through the Looking-Glass so many times over the years that he was certain that both of them could recite more than half of it from memory.

"I raised my hand but she couldn't call on me because this utter pain called Oliver Huntington spoke up. She didn't even call him on it because his parents are this huge deal, I guess, but all he could come up with was the Coat of Arms. He even thought that the poem was in Wonderland."

"Harry," Sirius said in slightly warning tone. When it came to literature, he knew that his godson had a tendency to act like a bit of a know-it-all, and that sort of behavior rarely won over friends.

"Oh, sorry," said Harry, catching the hint. "But he is really stuck up so he deserved it. He walks around school like he owns the place and expects everyone to bow down to him or something."

"Even so," said Sirius, "it's best if you mind yourself for a bit. Make a good impression and all that."

"I will," sighed Harry. "But this was the teacher who thought that I was a trouble-maker at first and now, after I explained all about James the First, I think she likes me."

"Well, that's good," said his godfather though the man did not sound completely pleased with the boy.

"How was your day?" asked Harry, changing the subject.

It was Sirius's turn to groan. "Orion showed up at the Ministry."

"What? Why?"

"Well," said Sirius who was still trying to personally wrap his mind around the encounter, "he wanted to know how you would be getting home from school."

"Bus," supplied Harry.

"Right but when I told him, he became very concerned and offered to look after you at Grimmauld Place until I finished work."

"What?" gasped Harry, his eyebrows shooting upwards. "Two hours, everyday, avoiding Kreacher and that portrait? What was Orion thinking?"

"I haven't the foggiest," said Sirius.

"Plus, you can Apparate to work now so there's no reason to take the Jeep. If you had to bring me home everyday, we'd be spending a fortune on petrol."

"Right," agreed Sirius, smiling. Sometimes Harry's common sense really did surprise him.

"Unless Orion's suddenly willing to pay for that too," grinned Harry. "It'll be like having a credit card."

Sirius chuckled, taking a playful swipe at his godson. "Quiet you or I'll call Orion tonight and agree to the whole "Watch Harry" thing."

"No!" laughed Harry and as he did so the ache in the pit of his stomach intensified.

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Putting down the grading quill, Sirius rubbed his eyes with both hands, massaging the exhaustion out of them. He then stretched his arms over his head as he leaned back in the wooden chair. A small yawn escaped his lips. He glanced lazily over at the stove clock, its green digits blinking the late hour. After taking a sip of coffee, which had grown cold by now, he got to his feet. He rotated his neck, hearing it crack from being bent over in the same position for the past several hours.

Doing so caused him to notice the small pile of dishes in the sink and he sighed. Now that he had acknowledged their presence they would have to be washed.

Grudgingly, he turned on the faucet and soaped up a sponge. Sometimes it was frustrating to think that once upon a time he could just wave his wand and any and all food residue would be scrubbed away for him. Of course, the last time he had been able to do that had been seven years ago and now his hands were quite accustomed to dishwater.

If only it could be next week and Harry's turn to do the washing up, he mused with a bit of a smile. Sirius would admit that he had acquired a wide range of domestic skills over the years but he would also add that he did not enjoy all of them. Scrapping plates definitely was one of them . . . probably because he used to do so a million times a day when he worked as a waiter.

While rinsing the last cup, Sirius glanced across the room at the adjacent bedroom door. A sliver of light still could be seen along the bottom of it. Shaking his head, he turned off the water, left the cup on the draining board, and went to remind Harry that it was far past his bedtime.

Opening the door, Sirius found the reminder to be unnecessary. Harry was already curled underneath covers, his head half resting on his pillow and on his History textbook, and very much asleep.

"What am I going to do with you, pup?" muttered Sirius to himself as he crossed the room.

Gently, he lifted the sleeping boy's head with one hand, and slipping the book away with the other. After returning Harry's head to it pillow, he laid bulky textbook face down on the nightstand so that it would not lose its place. He then removed the boy's glasses which had slipped to the very tip of his nose. For the amount of times that Harry had fallen asleep with his glasses on it was miracle that they had never been squashed.

As he wiped away a smudge on one of the lenses with the edge of his t-shirt, Sirius's thoughts flittered back to when they had arrived home. Harry had immediately retreated to his room to begin his homework but when it came time for dinner, the boy had remained uncharacteristically quiet. Every time he smiled at something funny Sirius said it had seemed strained. At the time Sirius had figured that Harry was probably just tired from school and nervous about tomorrow's meeting with the homeroom teacher.

But now, as he watched the boy sleep, he wondered if his assumptions had been correct. Something did not feel quite right to Sirius. Still, if anything had gone very wrong Harry would have told him, wouldn't he? Shaking his head again, he reached forward to brush away the fringe from his godson's eyes when the boy rolled over, an arm flinging out against something.

"Harry," he whispered, leaning over his godson.

Creases had formed in the boy's forehead as he buried the right side of his face into the white linen pillowcase. Sirius laid the back of his hand against the boy's upturned cheek, rubbing it carefully. After a moment, Harry's face relaxed and he remained asleep.

Sirius felt his heartbeat returning to normal. He did not even realize that it had sped up in the first place.

"Get a grip on yourself, Padfoot," he mumbled, letting his hand fall away from the boy's face. "Sweet dreams, pup," he whispered before reaching over and turning out the bedside lamp.

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A/N: Okay, guys, so this chapter was nice and long, and continued to lay a lot of groundwork. I'm curious to know what you thought of the last bit, actually. I wasn't sure how I wanted to end this chapter, and that bit sort of came out. I hope it works.

Also, I know Harry may have come off as a bit of a know-it-all here than he does in canon but he was raised in a very different environment here. He was exposed to a lot literature at a very early age thanks to Sirius. Now, I know most people characterize Sirius as never having picked up a book in his life but to be honest, I always thought that as sort of ridiculous. Sirius is, by and large, an escapist and growing up in a stifling household like Grimmauld Place would have probably led him to rely on books as a way out of his current situation. He employs the same sort of tactics while he is raising Harry, if it helps the boy think less about the problems in his life by having him escape in literature then by all means he will hence why Harry's a bit of a literature buff.

Okay, justification over! As always, reviews are much appreciated, and once I figure out how to reply properly to them, replies will be forthcoming.

Love ya lots and thanks again for reading!