DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns any recognizable Harry Potter reference, not me.
A/N: This piece of fiction has been written since Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenixwas released back in 2003. Yes, it's been pounded out and revised with the release of each subsequent book after that, in a desperate attempt to stay up to date with Rowling accurate information. However, it has been written free of "spoiler leads" (information spoiling the surprise of Deathly Hallows in any way). Therefore, I feel compelled to remind readers that all plot development is based on my own theorized logic, how I THINK the story may go. Until July 21st, 2007, I can guarantee that I will have no knowledge whatsoever on how closely MY VERSION will parallel J.K. Rowling's. And once the book is released, I also promise that my story plotline will not change.
In saying this, please do not write me later: (a. accusing me of following the story too closely so as to be guilty of plagiarism, (b. pointing out the differences of my version from the Cannon, (c. telling me that my theories are wrong and why—I don't care if you are right, because I will have already figured it out upon reading the book for myself.
Paranoid? Yes, very. In 5 months this disclaimer will seem silly, foolish, even. But given how close we are to the release date, I'm gonna cover my ass.
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The night was unseasonably cool for a British June at 12 Grimmauld Place. So much so, that it bordered on being down right chilly. Unfortunately, unseasonably as it was, the chill was no longer considered uncommon--not since last year. And certainly not since Dumbledore had died. In fact the gloomy fog that accompanied the chill seemed to be getting thicker as the number of Dementors grew like fungi since the great wizard's death.
The inside of 12 Grimmauld, while admittedly drier, was not much better. No matter how many warming charms Molly Weasley had cast on the house, or how many fireplaces had been lit, the place still carried a perpetual draft. A popular theory held that the chill was left over residue from most of the previous inhabitants' stone cold hearts.
Remus J. Lupin pondered this as he sat in the parlor, facing one of the many fireplaces from a ratty wingback chair. The chair had been earmarked as Siruis' when he'd been alive. And with a tea tray next on the small table next to the chair and a bottle of Ogden's cheapest, Remus could almost imagine his friend's familiar presence coming down the hall. A small smirk came to him as he allowed the equally familiar anticipation of being caught in Sirius' chair to well up in him.
But Sirius would not be coming down the hall anymore. There would be no more "being caught" in the wingback, especially as Remus himself seemed to have taken it over as of late.
Actually, hardly anyone was left in the house at this point. The rest of the Order—save Molly and Mad-Eye—had already taken their leave nearly an hour ago, following the emergency meeting Minerva had called the day after Dumbledore's memorial.
It had been important that every member of the Order attended the meeting of course. After all, with the head of the Order of the Phoenix gone, the remaining members had to decide the next course of action—naming Dumbledore's replacement. And as expected, that had not gone smoothly.
Mundungus had nominated himself and suggested that he take up residence at 12 Grimmauld. He was immediately shot down.
Molly had supported Moody, while both her sons had suggested McGonagall.
Minerva in turn, asked Aberforth of his opinion, given his immediate relation to Albus.
Unsurprisingly, Aberforth expressed extreme disinterest in taking his brother's post. He offered it instead as a joint position to Moody and Minerva. A very Dumbledore-like solution.
They voted on this of course, and found that nearly everyone was agreeable to this choice (Mundungus albeit grudgingly).
Once that issue had been resolved, Minerva reported that she was going to ask the Hogwarts Board of Governors to decide on the fate of the school, and that she wished for Harry to report to the next Order meeting.
The heavy footfalls of Mad-Eye broke Remus out of the memory. He wasn't surprised that the ex-Auror was still around, but had not expected the man to claim the old rocker across the fireplace.
"Molly's got a bed made up for ya on the second floor and a plate on the stove," Moody told him.
Remus looked at the tea set next to him. Really, the woman did too much. "That's very kind of her, though she shouldn't've gone through the trouble."
Moody grunted.
They sat in companionable silence for a moment before Mad-Eye spoke again. "So, your cover's been blown with the wolves…"
"Yes," Remus agreed.
"So, now what?"
"I'm at the Order's disposal," Remus replied. But, with his secrets of being a werewolf and working against Fenrir, respectively blown, Remus wasn't sure just where he could go or what he could do for the Order anymore. His spy work had depended on blending in with the others he was with.
Moody scoffed. "What about Nymphadora?"
"What about her?" Remus found himself saying a bit defensively.
The magical eye settled on him in a stern manner. "Even a blind man can see that she fancies you," Moody insisted gruffly.
Remus rolled his eyes. Good Lord, not Mad-Eye too. Merlin, wasn't it enough that Molly was always on him about it? "Alastor, you and I both know that I am too old and too poor for her," he sighed. "I don't even have a place of my own to stay in."
"She's got a flat of her own," Moody pointed out. "And there's been bigger age differences than yours. 'Least ya know she's not after yer money."
The bottle of Ogden's was becoming a very large temptation at this point….
"Why are you even encouraging this?" Remus sighed in a very resigned tone.
Mad-Eye leaned forward in a conspirital manner. "She was bad enough when she pined after ya, with all that slip shoddy wandwork and daydreamin'." He waved a hand to emphasize his point and pulled himself out of the rocker. "She's even more useless when she mopes," he insisted with finality. "Good night."
"Good night, Moody." Remus watched the older wizard leave before staring back at the fireplace with a head full of new thoughts to ponder.
He woke with a start several hours later, unsure why. It took a second to realize that he was still in the wingback; apparently he'd never made it to bed. He must have dozed off—for how long, he didn't know, but he couldn't remember even being remotely tired.
Perhaps the amount of firewhiskey he'd used to lace his tea had something to do with it.
The fire had died down, leaving the room dark and a good deal cooler. With a small sigh, Remus roused himself from the chair and grabbed a poker to stir up the embers.
"Moony."
Remus whirled around, poker in hand.
In the faint light from the streetlamps outside, Remus could pick out a large form in front of him.
"Still jumpy," a familiar voice chided fondly.
"Sirius?"
The form of Sirius Black gained a more substance and became rather translucent. He appeared tired, but clean, just as he had before he'd died. "This takes a lot of concentration," he joked, indicating to his corporal form and dropped into his beloved wingback. "Been sitting in my seat, eh?" he accused with a grin.
Remus dropped the poker. "You can feel warmth?"
"Actually, Molly's tea party gave it away," Sirius said as he stared at the tea tray. He gave the firewhiskey bottle a particularly wistful look.
"Are you….back?" Remus asked, taking the rocker.
"No," the spirit told him as he turned his attention towards his old friend. "But, with Dumbledore dead, I had to see how things were going."
"Poorly," Remus replied. "How did you know…?"
"We met him on the other side. Me, Prongs'n'Lils…. well, Dorcus was there, too."
"Harry says Snape killed him," Remus told him.
"Yeah," Sirius agreed bitterly. "Dumbledore says he told the bastard to 'save' the Malfoy brat."
Remus blinked. "You don't mean Snape was acting on Dumbledore's order?" he asked incredulously.
"Well, Dumbledore's not telling us a whole lot about anything, so I dunno," Sirius admitted as he chewed on a thumbnail.
"He's still keeping secrets?" Remus asked tiredly. "What's he got left to hide? He's dead."
"Probably worried we'll go back 'n' haunt the Snivells," Sirius guessed with a shrug. "Can't say I blame him. How's Harry?"
"Well, you were right about Ginny…"
Sirius grinned in response.
"But, it seems they broke it off. He seems to think that by doing so, he's keeping her from harm."
"Sweet Circe, the boy's an idiot," the spirit sighed, hiding his face in a hand. "Surely he can't be that thick!"
"Considering his father, I can't say I'm too surprised."
Sirius snorted in amusement and looked up with a lopsided grin. "You'll just have to get them back together, then. Let him know he's being daft."
"Me?!" Remus cried, looking bewildered. "Sirius, they're just teenagers, not star-crossed lovers. And, I'm not getting involved again. If you'll recall, the last time I tried to help fix a Potter's relationship, I got decked by a jealous ex!"
Sirius broke into a guilty grin. "Oh yeah…. sorry, 'bout that."
"That was your fault?!"
"Well, how else were they gonna get back together if I couldn't make him jealous? All I said was that you two looked kinda cute in a nerdy way."
Remus glared at him. "Thanks."
"You can't still be mad about that."
"I had to spend the next week dodging the 'James Potter glare of death' and several hexes! I'm not likely to forget that week if I tried." Especially considering the close call he'd had when James had threatened to beat him to death with a solid silver spoon ever he ever caught them 'cozying up together' again.
"Well, it worked for the best dinnit?"
Remus gave him that.
They lapsed into a silence that gave the werewolf a sense of déjà vu.
"It hurt, you know…" Sirius finally spoke as he stared intently into the empty fireplace. "To think my best friends thought I'd betrayed them…." He lifted his eyes to meet Remus'.
"It hurt to think you did," Remus replied. "When Harry found out that Snape reported to Voldemort about the prophecy and then pretended to feel sorry to get on Dumbledore's good side….. he's out for blood, now."
"Good!" Sirius spat, standing suddenly and pacing. "How much lower can that slimeball get? It's not like it wasn't bad enough when we found out Wormface betrayed us…" He huffed and flopped back down in the wingback.
A bird chirped in the distance and both Maurders turned to the window to catch a glimpse of the predawn light.
"I have to go…" Sirius sighed as he rose again.
Remus followed suite. "Are you going to visit Harry?"
Sirius turned a dejected gaze on him. "I can't. The dead can't interfere with living Destined Ones. Not even I can break that Rule." He sighed and placed a spectral hand on Remus' shoulder. "Take care of him, Moony."
Remus nodded. "You know I will."
"See ya, Moony," Sirius bade as he began fading.
"See you, Padfoot," Remus replied softly.
Sirius faded completely from view just as the first sliver of sunlight traveled across the floor.
Sighing, Remus reclaimed the wingback and took comfort in the cold spot left behind.
The returning trip to number four Privet Drive had been filled with tension for Harry ever since he'd boarded the Hogwarts Express the day after Dumbledore's funeral.
The students had been instructed to stay in their compartments (which had led to a slightly overcrowded compartment in Harry's case) under the watchful eye of patrolling teachers. Platform 9 ¾ at King's Cross had been filled with anxious parents and Aurors, the air thick with apprehension and relief.
Even things with Uncle Vernon had been slightly off.
"I guess ol' Lord Holymole hasn't killed you yet," he greeted with a nasty smile.
"Not yet," Harry monotonously agreed. "He got Professor Dumbledore instead."
Uncle Vernon fell into an uneasy silence after that.
Harry went directly to his room when they reached number four and lay on his bed in contemplation until dark.
No one had even called him down to dinner.
Not that he'd wanted to eat with the Dursleys. He didn't want to have to put up with the smirks and snide comments Uncle Vernon and (probably) Dudley would be sure to toss. No, he'd wait until they were all in bed before sneaking downstairs for some leftovers. If there was any thing left over. Dudley's hellish diet still reigned supreme in the house.
Harry glanced at the clock. The digital numbers suggested that he wouldn't have much longer to wait. In fact, he could hear Dudley waddling up the stairs now, every few steps punctuated by a cough.
Sick, then. No wonder he was going to bed early. He probably wouldn't even feel like playing videogames on his computer tonight.
If Dudley was that bad off, then Uncle Vernon wouldn't be far behind. Aunt Petunia would be shooing him to bed early as well, in an attempt to keep her husband from contracting anything. She'd follow shortly behind him, after a second scrub down of the kitchen and a sanitizing wipe down of all the downstairs doorknobs and the stair banister, just in case.
Uncle Vernon came up ten minutes later, grumbling to himself as he visited the loo. Moments later, the bathroom door opened and the door to the master bedroom opened and closed.
Harry's stomach gave a small gurgle and he found himself relieved when Aunt Petunia could be coming upstairs sooner than he'd anticipated. He waited for her to pass by his room and was befuddled when she appeared to have stopped in front of his door. He sat up from his bed and glanced at the crack under the door.
The shadow certainly indicated that Aunt Petunia was standing right outside. But, for what reason?
Before Harry could guess, the door opened to reveal his aunt, standing there in her housecoat.
There was an awkward silence for a moment, in which they both stared at each other, Aunt Petunia from the hallway and Harry from his bed.
Harry almost invited her in, just to break the tension, then realized that she had given him no sign that she even wanted to be welcomed in.
Therefore, it surprised him when his aunt cautiously glanced down the hallway as if to see if she was being watched, before crossing the threshold to his room with trepidation.
Harry watched the whole thing with a mixture of mild amusement and wariness as his aunt closed the door behind her.
There was another moment of awkward silence as Aunt Petunia peered around the room in the dark.
"What?" Harry finally asked, becoming agitated.
"You're leaving soon?" she asked in a sort of hopeful tone.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, slightly irritated. "There's a wedding I'm invited to in a week; I'm leaving in a few days."
Petunia's only response was to sit at the edge of Harry's bed and stare out the window, lost in thought. When she finally spoke, Harry had to lean forward to hear her.
"Your mother and I never really got along very well," she admitted quietly. "Even before we found out she was…."
"A witch," Harry inserted firmly.
Aunt Petunia closed her eyes and gave a little shudder at his response. "Lily never wanted to play with dolls or pretend house in the garden," she told him. "She wanted to climb trees with the neighbours' boys and play with science kits."
His mother had been a tomboy. A revelation to Harry.
"She wanted to be a veterinarian when she grew up," Aunt Petunia continued. "She brought all sorts of ghastly strays home." She gave a humourless laugh. "Thank God I was allergic and our parents never let her keep them."
So, that was why Dudley had never been allowed a dog. Even though he had thrown a number of tantrums, the dog had been the only thing (within reason) that Harry could remember the Dursleys had ever denied their son. It also cleared up the mystery of Aunt Petunia's rotten moods when Aunt Marge would visit.
"I don't think she ever resented me for that, though," she said thoughtfully, before scowling. "Not when she got that horrid toad instead."
For a moment, Harry could see the young girl his aunt had once been, making the same face she was now—caught somewhere between sticking her tongue out and grimacing.
When she faced him again, she sighed heavily. "There is so much of Lily in you."
Harry just stared at her. Whether she realized it or not, of all the words his aunt had ever spoken to him, those were the nicest.
"Is that why you hate me then?" he found himself asking. "Because I'm like my mum? Did you hate her too?"
A look of righteous indignation crossed Aunt Petunia's face and she drew herself upright. "Lily was a fr--" she stopped at the dark look Harry was giving her. "I hated that my family wasn't normal, and I hated how our parents were proud of that. But, I never hated my sister." She blinked away the suspicious wetness in her eyes.
"She wrote me while we were both pregnant. We hadn't spoken since she graduated and she wanted to see me again. She sounded so happy. She hoped our children could be born in the same hospital we were."
"Did you ever go to meet her?" Harry questioned.
Aunt Petunia shook her head. "No. I never even wrote back."
"Why not?" Harry forced himself to ask.
She swallowed and looked him in the eye. The wetness had gathered again. "I just wanted a normal family," she answered thickly.
Harry leaned back in disgust.
Her own sister….
Aunt Petunia quietly gathered herself before she spoke again. "I heard from her one more time, that last September and she told me what she was going to do." She scoffed. "She told me to stay safe, as if I was the one hanging around those--" she stopped herself once again and gazed up at Harry, then pulled a square parchment envelope out of her pocket and laid it on the bed, next to her.
She rose before Harry could even reach for it. "Be sure to pack everything you want to keep," she ordered in her normal voice as she crossed the room. "I'm burning the remains." She left then, closing the door behind her.
Harry waited until he heard her open and close the door to the master bedroom before he reached for the envelope.
It was addressed to his aunt in a feminine handwriting and had already been opened once. A piece of very thick cardstock slid out easily.
'James and Lily Potter are pleased to announce the birth of their son!' the top read. Below was a coloured moving photo of his parents holding him up and waving with huge smiles. Under the picture was the caption 'Harry James Potter--July 31, 1980'.
And, at the very bottom was the same feminine handwriting that was on the envelope.
'Congratulations to you as well! Here's to two healthy boys! Love always, Lily.'
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