Harry Potter and the Divided Four

By Tvillinger

Chapter One -- Midsummer Dream

You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago - the precise date is uncertain - by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age.

Professor Binns

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

"Salazar! Give it up!"

"Ah, I see you've all gathered against me. Three against one isn't extremely fair, now is it Godric?"

"Please, Salazar. Stop the killings. Stop fighting against us, against the world-"

"I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be clever, Rowena. You should know better than to ask me that. At least, with you three gathered together, it'll be easier to kill you."

"Don't make me fight you, Salazar. We were friends, remember?"

"All I remember is Godric, flying his banner high over the school, dirtying the school by allowing mudbloods to enter in. All I remember are the three of you, teaming up against me even before the school's construction began."

Godric Gryffindor pulled out his sword, the silver metal glinting in the sun. "So be it," he muttered darkly, and rushed Salazar. Helga Hufflepuff whispered charms and spells, putting up a protective shield over the three generals and thoughtlessly healing any of her men within distance. Rowena Ravenclaw shot Helga a look of gratitude than closed her eyes, concentrating her draining energy to curse the enemy creatures that stood in her way. Godric would take care of Slytherin but the army was still fighting.

A black dragon, its sleek body nearly blocking out the sky, flew over and roared, releasing a flame of destructive black fire before landing in the midst of the fight, killing its allies and enemies alike. Its tail swished out, knocking over the dozens of dwarves making their way toward it and it drew its head back, ready to flame more. An answering roar drew the black's attention as another dragon, white and easily as big as the black, flew into view, its claws reaching out. The black snarled and flew back into the air, leaving the many bodies behind to rot in the sun, and the two dragons met high in the sky, their air battle echoing many miles away.

Pegasi with elven riders skimmed the area the black dragon had rested, picking out the dead and wounded and dragging those that could be helped back to the medic camps. One Pegasus dropped down to lift a screaming witch when a hissing sound filled the air. Its rider jumped back onto its back, looking at the area in a panic. "Basilisk!" he screamed in warning as dozens of the huge serpents slid into view. The Pegasi bucked in panic, flying away and leaving the fallen to their own devices. The elf that had screamed the warning was knocked off his ride, falling to the ground. He rushed to his feet, looking for something, some weapon to use.

"Don't look at them," Rowena whispered, suddenly at his side. She had her eyes closed and the elf imitated her, shaking with fear. The hisses drowned out any other sound and he could almost see the split tongue shooting out between its teeth, tasting the air for the scent of an enemy to eat.

"Relashio!" Bolts of hot energy flew from her fingertips, striking the enemy she sensed by hearing alone. The hissing began growls of pain and fury. "Impedimenta!" Rowena dared to open her eyes, smiling tightly to find that all of the Basilisk had been killed by her energy or were unconscious. "Quick, find me a sword!"

The elf scrambled to his feet, and then started looking among the dead for a sword. "I'm sorry," he apologized to the silent faces looking back at him, "but we need this more than you do."

"Can you do a controlling spell?" she asked when he returned with a bloody bastard sword. He nodded and she pointed to the still Basilisk bodies. "Cut off each head. Don't leave even one--don't step in their blood. Go quickly, before the stunning spell wears off."

He nodded again and set out to do what she'd asked.

Rowena looked up to the hilltop she'd apparated from, a distance away. Slytherin and Gryffindor were slashing and dodging each other's swords and Helga was apparating and disapparating all across the battlefield, healing the severely wounded and setting up shields for their army. One moment, she was healing a lame Unicorn, avoiding its kicking heels, and the next she faced down an army of rushing goblins, setting up a shield that the goblins bounced off of while a dozen witches got away.

Rowena took a deep breath. Helga shouldn't be out there, in the midst of the fighting. She was better with healing than anything else. Only Godric was any sort of general.

"Lady Rowena!" a hawk screamed from the sky. "Please, the dragon needs you."

Rowena nodded and apparated.

"Godric, you seem…tired." Slytherin smiled lazily mid-stroke, wielding his sword as though it weighed nothing. His breathing was slow and steady, not showing any strains of the battle "Let me put you out of your misery."

Gryffindor, meanwhile, had began to huff and sweat ran down his forehead. "I fight with my men, not resting on the sidelines and watching the battle like it were some sport." His blonde hair was dirty, mixing blood, sweat, and dirt together.

Salazar laughed, body relaxed in the heat of the battle, clean and free of any blood. "What a stupid idea. You may die, out there."

"I didn't know you'd care," Godric huffed. His sword came up high, going for a shoulder. Slytherin raised his own to block the attack but Godric grit his teeth and pressed his attack. Both strained, now, trying to toss the other's sword aside. For the first time, a flash of doubt appeared on Slytherin's face, gone as soon as it appeared.

Then it cracked.

Slytherin fell to the ground, grunting, and then stared in disbelief as the two halves of his sword clanged to the floor beside him. Godric's chest heaved and his eyes were beginning to droop with exhaustion. Slytherin frowned. "Well, are you going to kill me now?"

Godric stared a moment and wearily dragged himself to his feet. His raised his sword high again, taking a second to stare Slytherin in the eye. "Forgive me, I only do as I must."

"You think I'll forgive you for killing me?" Slytherin snarled and leapt to his feet. His hand pulled from his robe a darkly glazed dagger, and he tackled Godric. The dagger flashed in the sky and everyone paused, turning to stare.

Godric's eyes went wide and he choked slightly as the dagger slid up to the hilt in his side, the black metal setting his insides on fire. It felt like a cold creature was invading his body, setting off a round of pain.

Slytherin stood back up triumphantly, brushing off the dirt from his robes when the two women apparated to Godric side with crying eyes. "Godric!"

"Helga, please heal him-"

"You won't be able to," Slytherin remarked unkindly. "That dagger is an instant death wound. Too bad for Gryffindor."

"Bastard," Helga hissed, trying to heal the leader anyway.

The armies of light were staring at each other in disbelief. Someone sounded a retreat and the entire force was lifting itself from the area. The armies of Slytherin were beside themselves, hissing and snarling out growls of success, snipping at the retreating enemy's heels.

From high overhead, a pitch of music sounded and even the two dragons, who had not stopped their battle, looked down to see the phoenix flying through the clouds towards its master.

Godric lifted his head, trying to lift a hand as well in greeting to his phoenix, only a dozen years old. The phoenix landed beside the group and cocked its head, trying to understand the gravity of the situation.

Slytherin laughed. "Not even the tears of a phoenix can save you now, Gryffindor," he taunted and his words proved true, as the phoenix's tears did nothing but wet Godric's face. Helga renewed her shields against Slytherin's new attacks but she couldn't hold them forever.

"Rowena, the curse…"

Rowena shook her head. "It requires too much, Godric," she replied with weariness in her words. "We've failed."

"Use the phoenix," Helga whispered. The phoenix tipped its head towards her, in agreement. "Godric, what's it say?"

The phoenix let out a few pearly pitches and Godric, face gone white, answered, "It agrees…"

"You have to do it," Rowena urged. "Only you can talk to phoenixes, only to you will they answer."

"Rowena, he's dying," Helga shook her head. "It's too straining. He'll never be able to stand it."

"It's the only way." Rowena helped Godric to his feet, throwing the dagger to the floor in disgust. The phoenix flew to his shoulder, sharp talons ripping through the cloth but not touching skin.

"You think he can curse me?" Slytherin asked but his voice showed the strains of having to control his dark minions. Not even the dead bodies of his most loyal followers, sacrificed to give him more power, had been able to help him.

"What would you say if I said 'yes'?" Helga shot back. She supported Godric's other side, face mirroring her misgivings.

"I'd call you a fool for trusting a dead man."

"You must say the words," Rowena whispered, "and focus. Don't worry about the future; just say the words"

"And it'll all be over," Helga added fervently. The phoenix swayed from side to side, as if it were being drained.

Godric took a deep breath and mouthed the words, breath giving them sound. And Helga was right. It was all over.

And the words were: "Harry Potter, get downstairs!"

He opened his eyes. Those weren't the words that defeated Slytherin, were they?"

Aunt Petunia's voice echoed up the small stairway again: "I said get downstairs, boy, and make your cousin breakfast!"

He blinked his eyes as the dream went away to the back of his mind to be remembered later. Slowly, with the tiredness of one who hadn't had a good sleep in awhile, Harry pulled from his bed and changed from Dudley's too-big pajamas into Dudley's too-big shirt and pants. The jeans had once been too big for Harry to wear but that was before he shrunk them to his size. Aunt Petunia had nearly had a fit when she saw what he'd done: "Dudley sacrifices his clothing so that you can wear it, you unappreciative brat. And all you can do is, is." At that point, her face went red and she'd stalked away.

Harry trudged downstairs, stomach growling at the smell of bacon. Already, Uncle Vernon sat at the table, reading his newspaper and drinking some coffee. He glared at Harry and yelled, "Brush your hair!"

Absently running a hand through his wild black hair, Harry shrugged and went to work cooking up a "light" breakfast for his enormous cousin; a tower of pancakes, a dozen pieces of bacon, sticky syrup and greasy butter. There was also toast and eggs waiting to be eaten, at least for everyone except Harry. Seconds later, heavy footsteps pounded at the stairs and dust fell from the ceiling as Dudley came downstairs.

Uncle Vernon put his newspaper down to smile gruffly at his son, remarking on how much weight the boy lost. Petunia was taking a napkin and dipping it at her eyes, sniffling and agreeing with her husband, adding that "her boy had changed so much, he was like a new man."

Harry rolled his eyes. Dudley was still Dudley, just a bit more and not any less.

Vernon had gone to the school and had a talk with the principal just over a week ago and since then, there had been no more requests for Dudley to go on a diet. Instead, Aunt Petunia had agreed to sew his uniforms herself which was harder than she'd ever though. The diet restrictions were lifted from the house, excluding Harry who really hadn't noticed a change in his food either way.

Harry finished cleaning up the kitchen and sneaked past his aunt and uncle, still goggling over his cousin, and went back to his room. Hedwig screeched a hello from her cage, picking through her feathers. The owl was the only reminder Harry had of school and the wizarding world at large. All his school things were locked in the tiny space beneath the stairs, including his wand and robes.

Hedwig was also very good at waking Harry up at night, when the nightmares became took much to handle.

He went to his bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling and thinking over the dream again. That was the founders, to be sure, and they seemed to be really going at it. He shivered, recalling the body-filled battle scenes and the many creatures he saw. Elves? Dragons? Pegasi? Was that a real battle or just another nightmare in disguise?

"I wish Hermione was here," Harry sighed. "She could figure this out."

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"Boy! Open up, boy! I know you're in here!" Pounding followed and the doorknob rustled as Vernon's beefy figure threw itself at the wooden door. "Come on, boy." He tried the door again but it was still locked. Cursing, he kicked the door and looked down the stairs. "Petunia, where's the key for this door?"

"It locks from the outside, Vernon," Petunia answered from her place in front of the TV, knitting while she watched a talk show: stupid husbands and how to solve them. Lesson one: be nice. Lesson two: cook good food. Lesson three: poison that food and claim the insurance money that came with the funeral. Lesson four: pick another stupid husband…

"Oh." Vernon's face went red and he turned back to the beaten-up door. Beneath his hand, like he's been told, was the small lock. The knob had been nearly squashed beneath Vernon's massive hands and only working with his brain could he figure out a way to unlock the broken thing.

The door creaked and opened, showing Vernon into the smallest bedroom of the house. It had been emptied and completely searched while Harry had been away, searched until Petunia had found the floor panel that could be pulled away. Harry had been unpleasantly surprised to find that his hiding place was discovered and filled with cement. The room was emptied of anything else Harry might be able to use as a place to put his…magic…stuff. All that was left now was the squeaky bed, the owl stand, and a small basket of clothing too small to fit Dudley anymore. As he walked in, Vernon scowled at the snow-white owl and then looked to Harry.

"Why didn't you tell me the door locks from the outside?" he asked angrily, so that the words came out like a dull roar.

"I did," Harry replied indifferently, sitting on his bed and stroking his owl through the cage bars. "You didn't hear me."

"Hm." Vernon looked around the near-empty room, looking for something to yell at Harry for and his eyes rested on the owl. "Dudley's been having problems sleeping at night, since your room is right next to his. Its that owl of yours." His eyes seemed to glint with malice. "You got one day to get rid of it."

"But-"

"Don't talk back to me!" Vernon yelled, face red again. Harry fell into a resentful silence. Smiling at his win, Vernon continued in his gruff voice. "An' I'll be coming home tonight, to check if its still here. If it is, I'll get rid of it."

"You can't-"

"I said shut up!" Spit was flying off his bottom lip and he lifted a hand to wipe the spit off. "That bird's enough of a pest, smelling up the room. You can smell it from the kitchen. Be glad I don't just get rid of it right not."

"Hedwig doesn't smell," Harry muttered, "that's Dudley. And if you did get rid of it, everyone would wonder where it came from and you'd have to say it was my pet. Then everyone would think you're weird, and you won't let that happen."

Vernon was already out the door, not close enough to hear Harry's words but he saw the small boy's lips moving and could put two and two together; the boy was talking when Vernon told him not to. "You say something, boy?" Vernon bellowed.

Harry winced then, dejectedly, shook his head.

Nodding Vernon headed out again. He saw from the corner of his eye Harry stroking the bird listlessly and smiled his beefy grin again. "Bout time that kid learned to listen," he mumbled to himself as he walked downstairs. "Always got all this mag- stuff going on. Who knows what's been in his brain." He shuddered at the image of his sister, bloating up like a balloon and floating to the ceiling of the kitchen just two years before.

Walking into the kitchen, he picked up the paper and stared at the front page a second before shrugged. Something about American politics. Like people in England needed to know anything about the rest of the world. He didn't live in America; why should he be worried about it? Satisfied with himself, the chunky man sipped the remainder of his coffee and looked around the kitchen cupboards for some scrap leftover from breakfast.

Nothing. Dudley had already eaten everything. Vernon chuckled to himself, thinking about how big his boy was growing. It seemed only like yesterday when the boy had come out of the hospital, weak and all shriveled up like some pink prune. He knew it was up to him to get his boy in shape so he and Petunia had spent the last few years stuffing their boy and filling him with whatever he could eat. Now he was nice and strong, just like his father. Any rightful girl with a good mind would like Dudley.

If only the boy was considerate enough to leave something for his dad.

Vernon grunted with annoyance and thought about getting Harry to come down and cook something for him. Thinking of Harry brought back memories of James and Lily, especially the wedding and more recently the funeral.

Vernon never did like James; no man could be as happy and carefree as that man had been. Vernon suspected that there was something with that James fellow from the start. When the two met, instead of the normal handshake, the black-haired man, barely out of his teens, had stepped up and hugged his brother-in-law. Then there were all the times when James would just smile and laugh for no reason.

Then there was Lily. She and Petunia were supposed to be sisters but the two couldn't be more different. Where Petunia was pale and long like a skinny reed, Lily wasn't as tall was as thin but was full of life. Even her hair was a vibrant shade of red, a red that deepened with age. She wasn't pale like Petunia but more tanned. And she certainly didn't care about what others were doing or what they thought about her. That was the biggest difference between the two sisters.

He never hated her, now that he thought about it. Maybe it was because the girl was his sister-in-law, but then again, Harry was his nephew and there were times…Maybe it was because it just wasn't gentleman-like to hate a lady, but he wasn't really that much of a gentleman. Vernon thought about it and then just gave it up, not caring either way simply because the two were already dead and nothing he though would change that.

The wedding had been a disaster from the start. All kinds of mysterious and weird things were going on, like cake just appearing and things flying around the place. The decorations were very nice, Vernon admitted to himself, but they just appeared, like the cake, and didn't seem to be connected to anything. How is a wedding supposed to be when pictures of James as a child are floating around and waving at everybody? When short little creatures are walking around, almost unseen if you're not looking for them, cleaning up and refilling the tables of food? As far as Vernon knew, he and Petunia was the only normal people there, and it didn't help matters when three young men took enjoyment out of torturing them, calling them "muggles" and doing all sorts of tricks until James told them to stop.

The funeral was much better, in Vernon's opinion. Everyone was quiet, sad, and normal. It could have been a regular funeral, had everyone present not been dressed up in robes and doing simple things, like lowering the casket and getting a tombstone, with magic. The marble tombstone had just appeared, just like the writing on it had appeared. If the choice had been up to Vernon, he and his family wouldn't have gone but with the newest addition to the "family," Harry Potter, it was only custom that they go.

Funny, Vernon thought now, reflecting on everything. Harry probably didn't even know where his parents were buried.

Harry certainly looked like his parents. When he was a little child, showing up on the front door, neither he nor Petunia had to read the mysterious letter to know who kid it was. With that wild black hair, thick even as a babe, there was no doubt as to who the father was and those stunning green eyes could only belong to one person. Petunia had argued with him for almost a week before they decided to keep the little bugger. It was only because Dudley likes having him around, likes having someone he can hit and kick.

His stomach growled, yanking him to the present.

"There's some bacon in the microwave," Petunia called out. "And some toast."

"Mm. Thanks." Vernon stood and made his way to the microwave, swallowing the bacon strips and chewing down the toast. He thought back to the recent episode in Harry's room. The boy was still trouble and it was only the second week of summer, with five more to go.

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Harry sat on his bed for many minutes after Vernon's departure. He waited for the near-half hour before he could hear Vernon's car backing out of the garage and then for another thirty minutes before the front door slammed shut, signaling Petunia's leaving to go spy on her neighbors.

After another minute of waiting to be sure she wasn't coming back, Harry raced to his door and slammed against it a few times, hoping against hope that Vernon's morning blunder broke the door knob enough for him to break the door open now. It worked. A few slams against the door and it gave way like a wounded puppy.

Hedwig started hooting angrily, demanding to be let free. "Shh!" Harry whispered, bringing a finger to hold before his lips. "Quiet. I'll let you out in a minute." Hedwig calmed down but still glared at him.

He crept downstairs, looking for some scrap piece of paper and something to write with. Finding some old newspaper, over a month old, in the garbage and a pen that barely worked, (everything else was locked in Vernon's study desk) Harry went back upstairs to his room, pulling the door shut behind him so that nothing appeared suspicious.

Harry leaned down with his back against the door and glared at the paper in his hands. "Great, Harry. Now what are you going to do?"

The front door opened again and he groaned. "I should've grabbed some food!" Shaking his head, he heard Petunia walking through the house before turning the TV on. "Oh well. I'll have to wait until tonight, I guess."

Hedwig was flapping her wings impatiently and Harry reluctantly walked to her cage, unlocking it. She flew by, nipping his ear before going to settle in the windowsill. Harry sighed.

"What do I write? Oh, hey Sirius. How are you? Me? I'm fine--except for dreams where I can see the Founders fighting wars with each other with all sorts of weird creatures and magic spells that I can't seem to hear. That's besides my other nightmares, of course. Nightmares where Cedric comes and haunts me, where Wormtail laughs at me because you finally get caught, and where Voldemort takes over the school Anything else that I can think of?" Hedwig hooted.

"Well, there's always the part where my uncle's locked my up again and that they're for all purposes starving me. Honestly, I think that if they knew about Voldemort, they'd send me right over. Anything to get rid of me. Why couldn't I've just gone over to the Weasleys'?" He ended with burying his head in his hands, stomach growling quietly.

Hedwig cocked her head to the side, listening to her young and trouble owner's insane rants for a time. She lifted one wing and began to prune her feathers, keeping one yellow eye on Harry. When he fell silent, she put her wing down, let out a soft hoot, and flew to his shoulder, giving him the divine privilege of being her newest bird stand. She gave a few more soft, sympathetic hoots but nothing drew his attention. Getting impatient, Hedwig leaned over and gave his ear a solid tug.

"Ow!" She flew off as his arms came up, shooing her away and protecting his tender earlobe. "That hurt, Hedwig! Are you in on it, too? Trying to make my life miserable? Well, that's just great. Get in line with the rest of them."

Hedwig watched him with strangely knowing eyes, hooting indignantly before scooting back to her windowsill. Harry rubbed his ear, glaring at his owl but found that it did nothing. She just went back to her feathers.

Harry rolled his eyes and looked over the newspaper before him, thinking over what he should write. Sirius was definitely out of the question; if he heard that Harry was locked up in the smallest bedroom, he'd come rushing in to save him and be caught in the process. Hermione was off, visiting Viktor wherever he was. So that just left…

Dear Ron,

How are things going at the Burrow? I got your owl last week, about Ginny going on a student exchange program in America. I'm excited for her. Tell your family hi for me.

The reason I didn't write back was because my uncle put up more bars in my bedroom window and locked me inside. I've just found a way to get outside today, so don't be mad at me or anything.

Has Hermione written to you? I think she sent an owl to me but because of the bars, it didn't get through. Have Fred and George opened that joke shop yet?

I need you to take care of Hedwig for me. Vernon threatened to "take care" of her if she wasn't gone by tonight. Oh, and could you owl Sirius? I haven't, yet, because I only have one sheet of paper and if I owled him, he'd come to my house and get caught. Just tell him I'm alright but that I can't watch Hedwig this summer, alright?

Thanks a lot,

Harry.

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"Ron, Hermione's going to be here any second! Get downstairs right now!"

"Just a second, Mum. I'm almost done packing-"

"Almost done? You were suppose to finish yesterday!"

Percy calmly sipped his morning juice, sitting in the middle of the yelled conversation but ignoring it altogether. His attention was fixed on the Prophet, scanning the headlines for any signs of You-Know-Who's "return." Unlike the rest of his family, who'd believed Harry instantly, Percy was more inclined to look at the facts before making an opinion. Besides, it wasn't like he was the only one having a hard time believing You-Know-Who had returned. The wizarding community was split in half, some believing and some not.

Cornelious Fudge wasn't helping Harry either; anything that might have been interpreted as an attack was put aside, like the wizarding village that had been nearly decimated just last week. Fudge explained to the worried community that it wasn't You-Know-Who that was attacking them; it was the dark creatures. When he found out what a success that was, blaming dark creatures became a campaign slogan for him and his popularity, according to the Prophet was skyrocketing.

Which was very bad news for the un-wizard kind. Lynches and assaults on werewolves and vampires were becoming frequent; the giants were being hounded; even harmless creatures, like pixies, were being hurt.

Percy took it all in stride, not really siding against the Ministry but far from encouraging it.

A white owl pounded at a window. Mum stick her head in. "Percy, can you get that?"

Rolling his eyes, Percy stood, shook off the toast crumbs from his robes, and walked to the window. The owl he identified immediately: Hedwig, Harry Potter's owl. Hedwig blinked her yellow eyes and stuck out her foot. At first, Percy thought some scrap of trash had attached itself to her leg but, after a moment, he saw the handwriting filling the empty spaces of the torn newspaper.

"Dear Ron…"

"It's for Ron, mum," Percy yelled.

His mother stuck her head into the kitchen again, face red with agitation. "Well, just leave it on the table. Ron's busy right now. Imagine! He had all this time and only now decides to take a shower…"

Shrugging, Percy put Hedwig in the owl cage next to the hyperactive Pig, his brother's owl given to him from some unknown source. Percy had been afraid at first that Ron had stolen the owl but neither of his parents seemed to care where he got it from, just as long as he didn't kill Hermes with all the letters going back and forth between him and his friends. Hedwig seemed to raise an eyebrow in disdain at the younger owl and made her perch on the opposite end. Absently, Percy gave the owl a piece of bread that she gobbled up hungrily.

"Is Harry too busy to feed you?" Percy muttered, filling a bowl full of bread bits that Hedwig attacked in her hunger.

Ron's letter lay, barely open on the table beside him. Percy's hand would occasionally touch it when he was reaching for his juice until the lower part of the newspaper fell open. One word seemed to stick out from all the rest:

"…Sirius…"

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"It's not like I'm not worried about him, you know. I am, just as worried as you are. But it does no good wasting the hours just sitting there moping. Get up and do something," Remus half-pleaded, staring at his old friend with something like desperation.

Sirius rebelliously flicked a piece of dirt at his friend, glaring out the window. All he could see was the wide-open spaces. Wide-open spaces that were beginning to get on his nerves. "Like what? You picked a very boring house. There's no one around for miles." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his pale face flushed a bright red color. "Um…"

Remus fixed him with a disbelieving look. "…Has being in Azkaban made you stupid?" he asked after a moment, eyes telling Sirius that only a stupid person wouldn't get the reason why Remus chose his house so far away from civilization.

"Alright, that was a stupid point. I know why your house is so far away, so stop looking at me like that." Sirius sighed and went back to looking out the window. His hair was washed back to the near-silky condition it'd always been. His eyes weren't as sunken as before and his skin had achieved a miracle-like color renewal. And the few weeks spent at Lupin's had him so stuffed, his belly didn't even growl anymore. Sirius absently rubbed his stomach, still flat from thirteen starving years, amazed at the absence of the growling that had become a second companion to him.

"Well, are you going to get up?" Remus' voice was like a jumpstart to reality. Sirius found himself face to face with his old friend, felt Remus' hands gripping his shoulders in a last-ditch effort to pull Sirius from his misery. "If your not, I'll just curse you to clean up. I've never had a house elf before, and you'll be a good substitute."

This time, he managed to chuckle. "Taking lessons from me now? I remember doing that to you in our third year."

"Don't think I've forgotten," Remus warned, shaking a finger. "And I swore to get you back."

"You seem to be a little slow."

"Hey, it's only taken me fifteen or so years, right? That's not too bad, considering…" Remus' smile turned into a worried frown as Sirius' face paled. "Oh, Sirius. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. Everything reminds me…" His voice trailed off

"Hmm, well, the others will be here by tomorrow. And we're a little low on food." Remus shoved his hands into his pockets, pulling out the rather pathetic collection of coins hidden within them. He was counting them out as he looked up and said, "You don't mind if I step out and grab some 'rations,' now do you?" The smile hidden in his words was not lost on Sirius.

"Go ahead." And even Sirius could hear the weary, worn-down tone in his voice. It wasn't his fault; Harry hadn't written anything since the end of school, and even though he barely knew the boy, Sirius had grown use to the fluffy owls and little notes Harry sent with them. He watched Remus out of the corner of his eyes, shaking his head in sad defeat, and sat up straighter, suddenly wearing a faint smile. "As long as you don't forget the chocolate frogs."

Remus' head jerked up. "Excuse me?"

Sirius couldn't help laughing at his friend's reaction. "Chocolate frogs. Little buggers that like to hop around before you eat them." His laughter grew at the wide-eyed Lupin. "It's just been awhile since I actually had to catch my food. So don't forget them."

"Who can forget those things?" Remus retorted, smiling broadly at the return of Sirius' humor. He pulled on a light cloak, dusting off the small dust balls that were collected at the bottom. He made it to the door when Sirius, catching onto his old humor, yelled out:

"And the Every-flavor Jelly Beans!"

"Uh huh," Remus grunted, looking around for his wand. "You still like those? I thought you swore never to eat another one after that…incident during our seventh year."

"Did I?" Sirius scratched his head comically. "I don't seem to remember exactly what flavor that particular bean was-"

"I think it was gas, or oil, or something like that."

"And you had to remind me?" Sirius asked, sounding exasperated. "I nearly threw up, swallowing that junk."

"Which is what the bean was-"

"You know what? You're right. Scratch the jelly beans. But you'll have to get me some Caramel Crunchies!"

Remus shook his head and mouthed the words 'crunchies?' "Which ones? The ones for kids or for teens?"

"Get the kids. I always liked to see my candy turn into mythical creatures."

"As opposed to the teens?" Remus asked, leaning against the open door frame.

"Hey! Who wants to eat something that acts like one of those popular boy bands? I'll never understand the attraction between girls and teenage boys making a living singing bad love songs." Sirius actually managed to sound outrage at the very suggestion.

Remus snorted. "I remember you having a certain crush on Miranda Millaw during our second year at Hogwarts."

"That was different," Sirius replied indifferently.

"Right. Of course it was."

"See, she was singing good love songs," Sirius continued, now standing to emphasize his point.

"And the fact that she stripped down to almost nothing during her shows…"

"Nothing to do with it!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

"I remember the first time you brought in a poster of hers.." Remus shook his head with Peter nearly choked when she began to dance. James thought it was funny as hell."

A taunt tension suddenly appeared in the room and Sirius closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep, calming breath. "…It'd been better if he had died, Remus. If he hadn't been so lucky on our adventures-"

"No talk like that here, Sirius," Remus interrupted firmly. "I'm not going to let you drown in depressive memories." They both went silent as Sirius struggled to collect himself. Remus shook his dusty robes once more. "Now, that'll be the jelly beans, chocolate frogs, and caramel crunchies. That it?"

"If it's not, I can always yell at you from a distance," Sirius smiled, leaning back against the windowsill.

"That'll be the day. Picture the headlines: 'Sirius Black captured on trip to candy shop. Swears he only wanted another jelly bean.'".

"Then you'll see my dashing face on every Prophet from here to America."

"You forget," Remus countered, "I already saw your 'dashing' face before on every newspaper and I really don't think I need to go through the trauma of seeing it again. It isn't really as 'dashing' as you like to think it is."

"Go on and get me my sweets and I may forgive you that little comment."

"Or you may just blow the house up having a tantrum so that when I come back, all I've have left is a burning blanket and a few leaves for a pillow."

"That sounds like a promising idea, now."

"Only if you enjoy the idea of me eating all your candy on the way back, hitting you upside the head with the empty bags, and turning you in for the reward money so that I can do it all over again."

"There's a reward for finding me?"

"Oh no, I think your head just got bigger," Remus groaned.

"Ah! Go and get me my food."

"Say please."

"No."

"Well, fine then." Remus started walking out, leaving the door wide open behind him for the single word he knew would be said.

He didn't get very far when Sirius called out from inside the small house:

"Remus…"

"Yes?" he replied, slowly turning around.

"Please?"