Snape sucked in a breath of air through bloody teeth, his face a hair's breadth from the ground, eyes squeezed shut so tight that he couldn't hope to see the cloud of white bridging the distance with each puff of warm air from his lungs.

"Rise, Severus."

Snape obeyed. His legs shook dangerously when he pushed himself off the ground, tripping on his long robe and prompting mad cackles from the Death Eaters gathered in a circle around him. They were enjoying his misery, the spectacle he was making.

Fools. They'll be next soon enough…

"Severus, do you understand now why you are being punished?" Lord Voldemort sat on a high-backed chair, his hands resting delicately on the armrests, right one holding his wand, while his feet were firmly planted on the ground amidst the skulls and bones of small animals, gifts from his new pet: Nagini.

"Yes, my Lord." Snape winced as his voice came out cracked and abused.

Voldemort hummed. His Death Eaters held their breaths.

"Thirteen years I was subjected to the existence of a mere parasite, forced to hang on to the lives of simple beings in order to save my own…but I survived. And I listened. I heard about the wizarding world, what had become of the filthy ministry, what had become of my faithful followers," the lengthy pause that followed had even the strongest of the Death Eaters trembling in their boots. "They rot in Azkaban for their commitment… their loyalty… their bravery… their Lord.

"What's left to greet me upon my return, then?" Voldemort rose from his throne and several Death Eaters stumbled back in fright, only to catch themselves too late. "I see cowards before me. Weak, pathetic deserters who would rather let their comrades be wrongfully imprisoned for following their Master's orders than face Azkaban themselves. I think to myself now, perhaps that is the problem: my Death Eaters fear dementors, the Ministry and Azkaban more than they fear me."

A scream was wrenched through the air. The Death Eaters turned their fearful gazes to Snape but when they saw that he was unharmed, they started searching amongst themselves, until they arrived to the back of the room.

"And I decided that if I were to rectify that, then I would have to take immediate action."

Maverick, a forty-something year-old pureblood, was scooting away from Nagini the way crabs do, hands and feet working together to move him away from the snake, ass dragging on the floor and dirtying his robes. The man was terrified and Snape noted that he already had a bite on his cheek—two round dots carved into his skin that would've been harmless if it weren't for the poison now coursing its way through his veins.

Nagini surged forward and bit the man's ankle, provoking another scream which ended in pleas to Voldemort. Snape watched as Voldemort took in the other wizard's pained cries without a flinch. Their master's red eyes glinted dangerously in the chamber they were all assembled in and Snape could identify the lustful, bloodthirsty flame burning inside the powerful wizard.

They were done playing games. Nagini had bit the man up his legs, her venom violently introduced into his system in quantities that would have him dead within minutes.

But Snape should've known it wouldn't be that easy.

Voldemort drew his wand and some of the Death Eaters in the room drew in relieved sighs, only to choke on them when the spell which hit the snake rippled across her skin and made her grow longer, thicker, stronger. Her body was now as wide as the length of a grown man's shoulders and thrice as long as an average person was tall. She was a beast and she was coming for Maverick.

Nobody moved a muscle when the snake began to coil herself around the wizard. Nobody let out a single sound as the crick-crick-crack-crunch of broken bones and punctured skin began to fill the room. Not a single person dared to remove their gaze from the horrific sight before them for fear that they would be next. As the snake finished breaking Maverick's body (the man long since dead), it unwound herself from him, her skin brushing against his clothes in a gentle, scraping caress, and began by his feet. She opened her jaw wide and swallowed him inch by inch.

Snape heard sputtering and hacking coming from somewhere in the room, but didn't turn to look.

Nagini closed her mouth around Maverick's mutilated head and snaked her forked tongue out to lick across the seam of her lips whilst emitting a satisfied hiss. The animal then coiled itself into a spiral on the ground and rested her head along the length of her body, awaiting her master's next command.

"Very well put, my pet," Voldemort purred and returned to his makeshift throne. "Dimitri, come, switch places with Severus. Let us have a real show this time."

The man in question stumbled to his knees at Voldemort's feet and with a savage jab of his master's wand the nails on his left hand were pulled out by an invisible force one by one.

Voldemort smiled cruelly as his followers screamed at his feet once more.

July 15th, 1995

Mistakes of the Past? Or Folly of the Present?

Harry James Potter, born July 31st 1980, known to many as the vanquisher of first class terrorist 'You-Know-Who' has recently been involved in one of the most shocking and peculiar incidents to have hit our wizarding community since the terrible trials at the dawn of the Second War.

Last year, Mr Potter took part in the Triwizard Tournament as the youngest and only fourth member in the history of the inter-school event. The Triwizard Tournament consists of three tasks set forth by appointed judges and had recently been reinstated by the Ministry of Magic after an extensive revision of the tournament's rulebook to prevent the repetition of the numerous deadly incidents in the past.

In spite of these rigorous measures, Mr Potter succeeded in eluding the tournament's strict underage limit and rose to second place in favour of renowned Quidditch player Viktor Krum (Durmstrang Institute) and stunning beauty, Fleur Delacour (Beauxbatons Academy). However, upon completion of the last task, Mr Potter arrived at Hogwarts clutching the dead body of Cedric Diggory, fellow Hogwarts champion and first place candidate, and an unconscious individual later rumoured to be none other than Peter Pettigrew.

Since this event two weeks ago, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE) has reportedly been exhausting its resources attempting to unravel this mind-gripping mystery. In a brief interview with Auror Olsen O'Donnell, he had the following to say on the matter, "After a series of long and thorough interviews with the suspect and a careful analysis of his person, we have been able to positively confirm that yes, the man is indeed Peter Pettigrew. His mere existence, however, provides us with more questions than answers, which is why Madame Bones [Head of the DMLE] has agreed to the reopening of case JK/54786 in which Pettigrew's death had been instrumental to the prosecution of escaped convict Sirius Orion Black in his involvement in the deaths of James Potter and Lily Evans Potter, alongside twelve Muggles. As for [the death of] Cedric Diggory, we have confirmed that it was not at Pettigrew's hand and we [the DMLE] will continue to investigate it further."

This announcement from the Ministry has provoked a strong response in the public wherein many have begun to question the Ministry's methods and capabilities. Mr Lucius Malfoy, head of the Malfoy family, however, has declared the following, "It is only thanks to the Ministry of Magic's speedy response and sound judgement that I was saved from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's hold thirteen years ago. I have built a life now—I have a child—and I cannot help but fear what this means for other people like myself. Will they begin to blame the victims after they pardon the guilty?"

Mrs Andromeda Tonks offered a different opinion, "He [Sirius Black] is my most beloved cousin and I've always known he wasn't responsible for Lily and James' deaths. They were his family more than the Blacks ever were and he would have rather died than betray them."

Although the mechanics behind Mr Pettigrew's return to the land of the living remain elusive as of now, the implications behind his existence do not and the public is left to question: Was the Ministry wrong in putting Black behind bars? Could there be other innocent men or women serving an undeserved sentence in Azkaban?

And perhaps even more chilling: Could the mistakes of the Ministry years ago mean that we are now walking among freed Death Eaters?

Amanda Lawfayr, Night Oracle correspondent

Transcript from the office of Madame Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Room 27, on June 21, 1995 at 13:00. In attendance: Amelia Bones (interviewer), Kingsley Shacklebolt (primary Auror), Harry James Potter (witness), Remus Lupin (acting advisor/step-in guardian for the underage witness) and Augustus Earhart (transcriber).

BONES: Mr Potter, you are aware why you have been called to the Ministry for this meeting and that everything you say in this room will go on permanent record under case number LV84735 in the ministry archives?

POTTER: Yes.

BONES: And you are also aware that you have not been arrested, you are merely here as a witness and are, at the moment, under no suspicion of wrongdoing barring anything that might be revealed in this interview which could point otherwise?

POTTER: Yes, ma'am.

BONES: Mr Lupin, your position here today is as a stand-in for Headmaster Dumbledore, Mr Potter's legal magical guardian. As Mr Potter is underage, your presence in this room is required by law to protect and represent his best interest. Is this position clear to you?

LUPIN: Yes, Madame Bones.

BONES: Very well. [paper shuffling] Mr Potter, affirming that you are of sound mind and of honest heart, answer the following questions to the best of your ability: How did you manage to leave the school premises?

POTTER: The Triwizard Cup. It was a portkey and I think it was supposed to take the champion back to the stadium, but it didn't work that way for us and we ended up at a graveyard.

KINGSLEY: Why did both you and Mr Diggory end up there?

POTTER: We decided to touch the cup at the same time so that we could both win.

KINGSLEY: Had it always been the plan to have two Hogwarts champions?

POTTER: [snorts] Of course not, I didn't even want to be in the tournament in the first place.

BONES: Once you arrived at this cemetery, were you alone? Could you make out any distinguishing markers which could tell us where it is located?

POTTER: We were alone at first, but then Pettigrew showed up and [pause] he killed Cedric. Then he tied me to an angel's statue. I can't tell you where the cemetery was exactly, but I know it's around where Tom Riddle died.

KINGSLEY: Tom Riddle?

POTTER: I saw the name on the headstone. It's Voldemort's real name as well as his father's… I suppose that means he was named after him.

[Long pause. Duration: 56 seconds]

KINGSLEY: I hope you understand, Mr Potter, that the claim you are making is a very serious one indeed… How did you come into possession of this information?

POTTER: You didn't know? What, did you think Voldemort just sprouted out of the woodwork one day with ready-made plans to conquer the world? [awkward silence] I know who he is because his diary possessed my girlfriend in her first year of school at Hogwarts and I had to destroy it with a Basilisk fang to save her.

[Second long pause. Duration: 23 seconds]

POTTER: You have no idea what goes on in Hogwarts, do you? And yet, you have no problem sending dementors to hang around students when you don't know how to deal with the problem which you created in the first place.

BONES: I… am afraid that this occurred before my term as head of this department began, but rest assured that the matter will be discussed further. As for You-Know-Who's identity, it has been a mystery that no one has been able to crack since he began his terrorist activities in the late 1960s. If your claim turns out to be true— [interruption by Mr Potter]

POTTER: It is true.

BONES: Then this would be revolutionary for the history of magical Great Britain… something I will make sure to look into further. Mr Earhart, make a note of that. In any case, we are getting off topic—Mr Potter, you say that this grave marker belonged to You-Know-Who's father, what happened after that?

POTTER: I—I can't remember too clearly…

LUPIN: Take your time, Harry, and if it gets to be too much, we'll take a break or move on to the next question.

KINGSLEY: Mr Lupin, it would really help— [interruption by Mr Lupin]

LUPIN: As I said, let him take a moment.

POTTER: It's fine, Moony. [clears throat] After he tied me to the statue, he brought out a cauldron with some sort of potion, then dropped a bundle of...I guess Voldemort...into it and conjured a fire underneath. It began to boil and he cut me to take some of my blood, then cut off his own hand and took a bone from Tom Riddle Senior's remains. Everything went into the cauldron and when the ritual was over, Voldemort had risen.

KINGSLEY: Are you claiming to have seen You-Know-Who in the flesh?

POTTER: If you could call it that.

BONES: Might I remind you, Mr Potter, that you are under oath in this room.

POTTER: [speaking louder] I know what I saw and I know it happened. Pettigrew killed Cedric and then used me to build Voldemort a new body. Give Pettigrew some Veritaserum and I'm sure he'll tell you the exact same thing.

KINGSLEY: Due to Pettigrew's…condition, we see ourselves obliged to question everything he says happened that night. Or any night at all.

LUPIN: His condition? I suppose you could call cowardice and stupidity a condition, but since St Mungo's currently doesn't have that under maladies, I can assure you that Pettigrew is as sane as he ever was.

KINGSLEY: He spent twelve years hidden as a rat.

LUPIN: Longer, if you count the years he spent with us at Hogwarts.

BONES: This is not the time for jokes. We need to get back to the purpose of this meeting—Mr Potter, you understand that your statement has gone on official government record and that while it is my intention to keep it sealed for the foreseeable future, this may not be the case for very long once this information is inevitably spread?

POTTER: I know what I saw. Voldemort is back and the sooner people know, the better prepared we can be.

KINGSLEY: Thank you for your time, Mr Potter. We will let you know if we need anything else from you.

BONES: Yes, this matter has been concluded for now, though I strongly suspect that this will not be the last we hear from you, Mr Potter. Mr Lupin.

LUPIN: Good day, Madame Bones. Auror Kingsley.

KINGSLEY: Mr Lupin. Mr Potter.

POTTER: Bye.

[LUPIN and POTTER leave the room]

BONES: That will be all, Mr Earhart, thank you for your time.

Meeting concluded at 13:47.

Hey Harry,

How are you? Haven't heard from you in a while so I thought I'd see how you were doing. How are Moony and Padfoot?

Things at the Burrow are kind of calm for once. Charlie's coming over soon for a couple of weeks so mum and dad are real excited. Mum won't stop cleaning the house, I told her we're not expecting royalty, it's just Charlie for crying out loud! But she won't hear it, so we're all stuck doing whatever chores come to her mind (I'm technically supposed to be cleaning the attic right now).

Have you heard from Hermione? I've only gotten one letter from her and that was before she went off to visit her dear Vicky in his ice cave in Bulgaria. She mentioned something about an ancient castle (because we don't have plenty of those lying around here), but there was a pretty bad storm down there a few days ago, so I guess her and Vicky won't be doing much sightseeing after all.

Now that things have changed and you don't live with your aunt and uncle anymore, do you think you could come visit us at the Burrow (you'll get to play Quidditch with me and see Ginny)? Mum told me to say that you're welcome anytime, but you know that already.

Think about it and get back to me.

Ron

Hey Ron,

It's good to hear from you, mate. Everyone's good around here, going a bit stir-crazy, but nothing new otherwise.

I know we thought it would be easier to see each other this summer, but I got a letter from Dumbledore the other day and he said that about a dozen reporters had to be removed from stalking around Privet Drive. I have no idea how they even found out I used to live in that neighbourhood, but I sure as hell don't want to bring them to the Burrow. The papers are having a field day with all the letters they try to send to me that never make it further than the roof of their offices—not even owls can find this place.

I was called into the ministry a couple of days ago to answer some questions about what happened at the cemetery and then they called me back in again to talk about Black. They even asked Remus to come. We told them what we knew and they didn't seem too happy about it—especially Fudge.

Tell your mum thank you for the invitation, but I won't be able to make it anytime soon. Maybe when things calm down a bit, but enjoy your time with your brother. I know Ginny's real excited to see him and you must be, too.

I'll write again, soon.

Harry

July 31st, 1995

The-Boy-Who-Lived Lives Again

July 31st. Fifteen years to the day, one Harry James Potter came into the world and subsequently saved the wizarding world from a horrifying fate at the hands of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named a mere year later. And now, I'm here to bring to you some electrifying news about our beloved hero.

In a dramatic twist of murder and resurrection, the final task of the Triwizard Tournament has left the British wizarding public with fear in their hearts and more questions in their mind than the answers of the Ministry can satisfy. Five weeks have gone by since the disastrous conclusion to the Tournament and there still remain mysteries which have yet to be solved.

To make matters even more interesting, Harry Potter can be found at the very heart of this little web of intrigue—our very own saviour!—having been the one person who was both present for the murder of young Cedric Diggory and also responsible for the apprehension of Peter Pettigrew. Said apprehension has since led to the reopening of the Sirius Black case and the removal of Black's name from The Most Wanted list at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement which was followed by a statement last week issued by the Minister himself calling Black in for questioning. Arrangements have been made by our very own Head of Department, Amelia Bones, outlining that under the terms of Black's surrender, he is to be kept in a Ministry holding cell until his case has been properly reviewed by the Wizengamot.

It is rumoured that Mr Potter's testimony was of great influence in this decision, but The-Boy-Who-Lived has refused to be interviewed by myself or any other reporter and has only been seen twice in public since the end of term at Hogwarts. Out of these two sightings, both of them occurring at the Ministry, we can positively confirm that Mr Potter has been questioned by Aurors as to his involvement, but records of such interviews have been sealed by the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, which begs the question: Just what kind of information had been deemed too sensitive for the public's eye?

After much urging from you, my loyal readers, and from a place within my heart that demands the truth be known, I have been following this case very closely and have the following to say:

All of us can remember the events of October 31st 1981—we've told the story to our children before they go to bed, we have even written books speculating what exactly happened between a one-year-old magical child and the most powerful Dark wizard of our time. And yet, can anyone truly say, with no doubt in their mind, what happened that night? How is it that a child stood in the way of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and not only survived, but vanquished the Dark wizard in the process?

And what do we truly know about Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, who has now survived two encounters with death at the cost of another's life? Could more than just a miracle have helped young Harry survive nearly fourteen years ago, and once again last month?

In light of recent events, it is these types of questions that plague me at night as I attempt to make sense of the situation. The public deserves to know the truth behind Pettigrew's reappearance, Mr Diggory's untimely death, Mr Potter's involvement, and the likely consequences to the wizarding world that began the night of the last task and are beginning to manifest today in the search for Sirius Black.

Stay tuned, my lovely readers, as this reporter prepares to go above and beyond to uncover the truth behind what is shaping out to be the biggest and most titillating mystery in the history of wizarding Britain.

Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet journalist

He was at the graveyard again. Voldemort had risen from his cauldron and was flying behind Harry. His robes billowed out like a bat's wings as he swooped down over Harry's head, arms stretched out and eyes gleaming a bloody red, making promises of a slow, painful death.

Cedric was running with Harry. Pettigrew hadn't killed him yet, or maybe he had and this was his ghost. But he wasn't transparent and ghostlike-white, he looked normal, could pass as human anyday.

Harry kept running. He jumped over a headstone and came to a stop by the statue of the angel.

Overhead, Voldemort hovered in the air. He observed them with ruby eyes and a cold smile. His lips parted, leaving a large, endless, gaping black hole. A hand reached out of Voldemort's mouth, it grasped at air as it tried to climb out before bracing itself against Voldemort's face and pushing down, bringing itself up. The creature landed at Voldemort's feet, a bundle of grey with sharp edges and cutting corners.

A second hand peered out of Voldemort's mouth and before long there were three dementors, sans cloak, poised at Voldemort's beck and call. They were skeletons covered in grey skin which sagged from their bones to drip in strips of flesh. Inexplicably, Harry still could not see their faces, their cloaks were nowhere to be found, but the area where their head should be was dark and blinding. It was looking directly at the sun without glasses or staring at your own reflection in a broken mirror.

Pettigrew appeared in a billow of dark smoke and threw the Killing Curse at Harry. The ground came up to meet him and he died.

Pettigrew cackled.

Harry was dead, but he could see—he couldn't move—and he saw himself staring at himself. Other Harry began to cry and scream. He screamed and screamed until it became a shrill ringing in their (his?) ears where you couldn't tell anymore what that sound was, just that it hurt to listen to it.

Voldemort still hovered in the air, only his face was no longer his, it was a young boy's—pale skin, thick hair, aristocratic nose: charming—and he was giggling.

The dementors descended on Harry, now rooted next to Cedric's corpse, and they sucked out his soul.

But Harry didn't feel any different because he was Voldemort now and he had finally killed the boy that fashioned himself a hero and he was free…

Harry woke up and vomited over the side of his bed. He groaned as he reached for his glasses on the bedside table then stumbled to the bathroom. After getting himself cleaned up, he briefly considered cleaning the mess he'd made of the floor, but ultimately decided to leave it to Kreacher for once and walked down to the kitchen.

"G'morning."

"Mornin'."

"Yeah."

Remus and Sirius were seated across each other, both reading different sections of the same paper and drinking their cups of tea. Harry sat down with his own cup at the head of the table and picked at a few pieces of toast laid out for breakfast.

"We're going on to four and a half hours, now," commented Sirius. "I call that progress."

"Felt like two. Did I wake you?"

"You wouldn't have if we hadn't put those Alarm Charms in your bedroom," said Remus, turning a page with ink smudged fingers.

"I still think it's ridiculous," grumbled Harry, "there's already one person losing sleep in this house, why do you want there to be more?"

"We've talked about this before and you know what Poppy said the last time you made us call her," said Sirius.

"I didn't make you call—"

"We've already talked about this." Sirius folded his newspaper and turned his grey eyes to look at Harry. "You have night terrors, Harry. Very violent ones. Sometimes you can wake yourself up, other times you can't, and we can't have you choking to death in your sleep because you weren't conscious enough to turn yourself over before throwing up."

"That nearly only happened one time."

"That's still one too many times in my opinion."

"If you would just—"

"No. We're the adults and you're the child. I might not have been around in your life for very long, but even I know that the adult makes the decisions in this relationship and this decision has been made." Sirius' expression cleared, became something softer. "If your only problem with this is that Remus and I are losing a bit of sleep, then consider it us making up for all those nights you should've woken us up in the middle of the night as a toddler. Can we drop this now?"

"Fine." Harry took a sip of his tea to hide the uncomfortable warmth blooming on his cheeks and the fluttery feeling in his gut.

"Hedwig brought some letters for you," said Remus. "I gave her food, water and put her to rest. Your letters are on the counter," he nodded to a small pile of envelopes behind Harry.

"Thanks, I'll look at them later."

Remus nodded at that and they spent the rest of breakfast in silence.

It was nearing eleven o'clock by the time Harry got around to opening his mail. He found several belated birthday cards, two weeks' worth of subscription to the Daily Prophet and a separate letter from Dumbledore. Harry had never been more grateful for his familiar than he was at that very moment. She must have carried the heavy bundle hundreds of kilometres worth of distance just to get them all here at the same time.

The letters from his friends were as cheery as they could make them, considering the circumstances, with promises to give him his gifts the next time they saw him. Ginny's letter exploded all over him as soon as he opened it, showering him in green coloured glitter while it sang a slightly altered version of the poem she'd sent him her first year.

"His eyes are as green as fresh pickled toad,

His hair is as black as a blackboard,

He's finally mine, he's truly divine,

The hero who conquered the Dark Lord."

He marveled at Ginny's ability to make him truly laugh for the first time in weeks from miles away. He pulled out a couple of moving photographs from the remains of the envelope and found captured moments of life at the Burrow. Mrs Weasley singing to herself as she cooked in the kitchen, then catching sight of the photographer and waving; Ron, the twins and Ginny playing Quidditch in the backyard; Ron sitting at the table and looking positively murderous as Percy stood over him and pointed things out (presumably errors) on the piece of parchment he'd been working on; Mr Weasley in his workshop with Ginny, listening to her intently as she held up a stapler for his perusal; Hermione standing in front a snow covered castle, her face barely discernible from beneath her giant scarf. And finally, a picture of just Ginny, sitting with her back against a tree, a forgotten book in her lap and joy on her face as she peered through the paper and looked straight at Harry.

He carefully, reverently, placed the photographs on a bookshelf next to the album Hagrid had given him, but kept the one with just Ginny propped against the lamp on his bedside table. Later, he'd ask Sirius if he wouldn't mind sparing some frames to put the photographs in.

As he opened the letter from Dumbledore, he expected to find a birthday wish to match the others with maybe news from the ministry as to how Sirius' case was going, but what he read instead was something he never would've expected.

"Sirius!" yelled Harry as he ran down the stairs, almost bumping into his godfather as the man rounded a corner.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Dementors. Someone sent dementors to Privet Drive." Harry's mind was spinning.

"What! Are you sure? Dementors aren't allowed outside of Azkaban, that's the only reason the public even tolerates having them around," said Sirius.

"Read for yourself," Harry handed him Dumbledore's letter. "Three dementors had to be removed by Aurors from Privet Drive five days ago. Arabella Figg spotted them loitering around the Dursleys' house and called Dumbledore, but not before they managed to kiss three people on a playground nearby. A playground, Sirius… I don't know who they were, they could've been children!"

"I think it's safe to say that the dementors didn't make their own way to the exact place where you used to live," Sirius' voice was rendered flat under the weight of his anger.

"Have dementors ever escaped from Azkaban before?"

"Why would they? They basically have no reason to. They live with a buffet of criminals to feed off of," Sirius said, "though I suppose it must get tiring, always eating the same thing over and over again. Had they truly escaped, they would've headed to the big cities with plenty of places to hide and thousands of people to suck the happiness from."

"You don't think Voldemort had something to do with this?" asked Harry.

"He'd want to gather his followers around him first, Voldemort has been gone for more than a decade and his Death Eaters are scattered around the country, around the world. Not to mention that he can't hope to do much damage with such few numbers," Sirius seemed to be thinking out loud rather than talking to Harry at this point. "It's been more than a month since his return and he hasn't done anything yet, but that doesn't mean he won't, he's just biding his time, maybe even waiting for the public to do his job for him with the way they're tearing you a new one on the media."

"Please, don't hold back on my account," said Harry dryly.

"Never, pup," Sirius winked, then turned on his heel and walked them into the kitchen, lighting a fire with his wand and placing a kettle full of water to boil. "Only option we have left is that someone sent them specifically to you—whether to simply scare you or kill you, I think the soulless bodies speak for themselves." Sirius next words tumbled clumsily over his tongue as he pushed to get them out, "You haven't—your nightmares and the scar… that hasn't shown you anything, right?"

Harry stared intently at the clock hanging over the doorway. He tried not to let the reminder that he held a piece of that monster inside him rattle him too much. He'd had his time to deal with it and he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't eternally grateful he'd found the guts to spill the secret to Sirius and Remus.

Horcrux. It sounded like a sickness, that hacking cough that feels like you're pulling up pieces of your lungs through your throat every time a fit hits. There probably wasn't a latin term for splitting your soul into pieces through irredeemable acts of pure evil.

"No. Sometimes, I think a few things leak through the," —soul connection? Attempted-murder-bond?— "link, but it's never clear enough to get a good look. Maybe if Dumbledore hadn't taught me better this summer, if I just had the connection open enough to see something… maybe three people wouldn't be dead because of me," muttered Harry.

"Don't be stupid, even if you hadn't lived in Privet Drive then the dementors would've been sent someplace else and maybe even more people would've been kissed. Since you haven't received anything from his side, this is the fault of whichever other bastard sent those monsters after you in the first place."

"I'm more worried about who in the ministry managed to arrange it so that three dementors could escape from Azkaban unnoticed and attack a civilian population," Remus' voice chimed in from where he was leaning against the doorway.

"The ministry?" asked Harry. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to realize that with all the Death Eaters on the Wizengamot and hidden in the government, our list of likely suspects has suddenly become rather long."

Sirius cursed as the kettle started to whistle. He poured them all cups of tea before he said, "Just what we need: a trigger happy ex-Death Eater with a high enough government position to be able to pull this off and a bone to pick with Harry."

"Nothing new then," Harry shrugged.

"This is serious."

"Isn't it always?"

Sirius' lips thinned to a flat line and he said nothing else.

"They didn't get what they wanted this time. We're not gonna find the news on the paper either. The ministry admitting that they can't control one of the most terrifying and dangerous Dark creatures on earth? Please." Remus blew on his tea. "I'm worried they'll take this as encouragement to try again."

"They don't know where I am."

"They know where you'll be nine months out of twelve."

"That's a pretty big window," muttered Sirius.

"You taught me how to do a Patronus third year," Harry pointed out.

"And how many will that defend you against? Nevermind what could happen to every other student I didn't teach the spell to," Remus shook his head and it swung like a pendulum from side to side.

"Dumbledore knows," Harry said, weakly.

"Funnily enough, that might be the only good thing about this entire situation." Sirius sighed, then said, "You're not the only one talking to Dumbledore either. He's been offering advice on this whole trial thing. Making amends, I suppose. He thinks we should give it a couple of weeks 'til they're really desperate and then I should turn myself in."

"What?" The legs of his chair squeaked against the floor as Harry forcibly pushed himself up. "You've been in hiding for a year because they don't just want to send you to Azkaban—oh no!—they want to suck your soul out of your body, and now, you're telling me that you want to willingly hand yourself over to those people?"

Sirius appeared to be smirking. "Exactly what I told him, but Dumbledore is positive that the ministry wasn't lying with that statement they made the other day. He honestly believes this time I'll be given a fair trial and word is that Bones herself will be in charge of it this time."

"Merlin himself could be leading the Wizengamot and he would still need those Death Eaters' votes to set you free," argued Harry. "This is insane! Is it so boring for you, being stuck in this house with us, that you're willing to risk your life just to leave?"

"You know it's not like that—"

"Show me, then! Coz all I can see right now is you lying helpless on the ground while a dementor sucks the soul out of your mouth."

Harry's stomach was filled with hot coals, weighing heavy and burning his stomach from the inside out as the heat moved to his lungs and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't.

"Hey hey hey hey, stay with me, pup. Come on, Harry." Sirius' voice came from the other end of a tunnel, or maybe from underwater, he wasn't sure anymore. "Deep breaths. Here, breathe with me," Sirius grabbed both of Harry's hands and pressed them against his chest so he could feel it rise and fall.

Harry mimicked Sirius' breathing and it helped, but he could still feel the panic bubbling at the surface of his mind, waiting for the right moment when it could reach a boiling point and take over him entirely.

"That's not gonna happen, you hear me? People are questioning the ministry now, they're not running scared out of their minds, ready to crucify anyone who looks at them funny," said Sirius. "I've actually thought this through, Harry, and I know that the way things are right now, I'm as close to useless as I can be. But if I were really free? I could really take care of you and I wouldn't feel like I'm wasting away in this godforsaken hellhole."

"And if it's all a lie? They lock you up, and what then? " challenged Harry.

"Dumbledore swore he'd help me escape this time if anything goes wrong. I'm not going back to Azkaban. I'm not leaving you again." Sirius's hand wrapped around the back of Harry's head and pulled him in for a hug neither knew they needed until they were in each other's arms. "Just think, if this works out, then I'm finally free, for good. I can go out on the street as myself, I can leave this house and we can find someplace else to live, somewhere better. I could really help, not stand by the sidelines and watch as everyone else does something except me." He whispered, "I need this. After all these years, we all do."

Harry closed his eyes, unable to handle the truth behind those simple words. His godfather was heading into a win-all or lose-all situation under the hands of the same people who had stolen thirteen years of his life in the first place.

But if he won…

Remus let out a suspiciously wet cough and said, "We'll be talking about it more once Dumbledore comes by again, we'll have a set plan by the time Sirius needs to make an appearance at the ministry."

Shrugging off Sirius' embrace, Harry announced, "I'm going upstairs."

He marched up the stairs to the topmost room in the house, shutting the door firmly behind him, leaving his forehead pressed against the wood until a hard nudge against his back had him turning around.

"You can't be that mad at me, I was here two days ago."

A huff of warm air beat against his face and then a head of feathers was nestling its way up his chest, knocking the air out of him. The hippogriff beat his hooves against the ground and clicked its beak.

"You're right, I'm sorry," whispered Harry as his hand ran across the top of Buckbeak's head, "it was very rude of me not to show up. In my defence though, when you've gone two days without sleep, you tend to lose track of things. It's a terrible excuse, but what can you do?"

Buckbeak's feathers stood on end, prickling Harry's fingers until the hippogriff bumped Harry's hand away and stood up to his full height. He looked down at Harry with reproachful orange eyes and snapped his beak.

"Hey, I don't need you harping on me, too. I get enough of that in this house and believe me, I'm trying."

Harry pushed around Buckbeak's imposing figure, familiar with the magical creature to the point that he knew he didn't have to worry he'd see it as a sign of disrespect. He made his way over to the floor to ceiling windows Sirius had built in the room and sat down with his legs crossed, facing outside. Buckbeak soon joined him at his side, legs tucked down underneath him and wings folded against his back as they both watched the grey of the sky dissolve into mist which hovered over the rows of houses like an army of ghosts.

"You'd probably agree with him, wouldn't you?" asked Harry, eyes following the neighbour's dog as he strutted around his garden and began digging a hole. "You don't deserve to be stuck here any more than he does, you know. I wish I could let you out to fly, maybe you could visit Hagrid for a while." On cue, Buckbeak's head dropped to his chest and he emitted a small, sad whistle. "I'm sure he misses you, too."

Harry was running his hand through the back of Buckbeak's wing—a privilege the hippogriff only gave to Harry and Sirius, still rather wary of the werewolf in the house—when he spoke again, "You're a lot like him, you know. Sirius, I mean. You're stuck in here, accused of something that wasn't even your fault, and all you want to do is say 'fuck it' and break through that window if it means that you get to fly away for a while." Harry paused, his thoughts now travelling much further than the confines of that house. "I promise you'll get to fly again," he whispered. "Worse comes to worse, we'll just change your name, paint a couple of your feathers, and no one will know the difference."

He imagined Buckbeak's following chirps were the hippogriff's way of agreeing with him.

Harry stayed watching the view out the window with Buckbeak until it got too dark to tell the difference between the sky and the houses below. When the streetlights began to turn on, one by one, Harry rose to his feet, gave a slumbering Buckbeak one last pat on his head, and went to his room.

That night, he dreamt of a full moon casting a silver light on Buckbeak and Sirius' silhouettes as they flew across the night sky, echoes of green lightening and mad cackles creeping in after them.