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Chapter Text

Harry trudged his way to History of Magic along with Ron and Hermione, already not looking forward to another boring lesson of names and dates that he would never remember. But there was no Binns. No ghost that would drone on until all the students were in a stupor. In his place was a man, his robes clearly well made, black with silver trim around the collar. His hair was black and long, but more elegant than Snape’s.

“Professor Black was introduced at the Welcome Feast. He’s taken over History of Magic for first through fifth years so Professor Binns can work more closely with the NEWT level students.” Hermione supplied before Harry or Ron could ask. “I’m quite excited – he must have a very different perspective than Professor Binns did.”

It was as if the new professor had been listening in to their conversation, a smirk spreading smoothly across his face in a way not dissimilar to Malfoy or Snape. A tiny furl of distrust bloomed in Harry’s stomach, though he did his best to push it down. There was nothing to prove the man was as bad as them. The man’s wand tapped the blackboard.

Regulus Arcturus Black appeared in neat writing followed by a list of course expectations. Grey eyes scanned coolly over the second years briefly before he began speaking. “As a former student of Professor Binns myself, I understand the general impression you would have been given about this subject last year. I understand that many of you don’t care about the actions of wizards and witches from a thousand years ago.” There was something wry in his voice. “However, as we will have to suffer through the next four years together, I’ve only three rules for you. Come to class prepared with any questions you have. Do not talk while I am speaking, that’s what raising your hand is for. If you mention Gilderoy Lockhart, I will automatically deduct five points from your house. Understood?”

Any misgivings Harry had about Professor Black disappeared with the third rule, though he saw Hermione and many of the girls frown at it. There was a brief moment of silence before the professor nodded. “Let’s begin, then.”

The change in attitude around History was astonishing. The night after their first class had Harry searching the staff table for Professor Black, but he wasn’t there. He didn’t remember seeing him any of the other nights either.

“Sometimes teachers prefer to eat in their rooms. I’m not surprised Professor Black would be the type. He’s free to do it.” Percy told him when Harry brought it up. “Now if you’ll excuse me-” And he moved, bee-lining down the row to where Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were huddled together. But besides the enthusiasm for History that was sweeping his year mates and careful avoidance of Gilderoy Lockhart and Colin Creevy that Harry had to take up, not much was different around the castle.

Until, of course, Halloween.

Harry stood, Hermione and Ron flanking him as they all stared at the words written on the wall, shiny red with blood. The sounds of the rest of the student body had fallen from a loud roar of excitement to hushed whispers, eyes on the trio. Malfoy’s voice cut through the crowd, as unpleasant and unwelcome to Harry as always.

“’Enemies of the Heir beware?’ You’ll be next, mudblood.”

Before any of them could react, Professor Black’s voice came from the throng of students, cold and unwavering in a way Harry had never heard from him. He wouldn’t stretch so far as to ever call the young professor warm, but there was something in the man’s voice. Something glaringly missing in it at that moment. “That’s enough, Mr. Malfoy. Twenty points from Slytherin. Now all of you back to your dormitories.”

The effect was immediate – the other students dispersed quickly, whispers growing back into a roar of gossip and speculation. McGonagall stopped the trio before they could vanish into the crowd, taking a moment to address the younger professor. “Thank you, Professor Black, for your defense of my student. Particularly against your own house.”

Black nodded and Harry blinked in surprise. He hadn’t realized his new favorite professor had been a Slytherin. Black’s eyes were trained on Snape, expression closed. “If we do not make it clear that certain behavior is not acceptable, we are destined to make the same mistakes over and over again.” He looked to Dumbledore instead, eyes flickering briefly back to the writing. “If my presence isn’t necessary, I beg my leave. I have papers to grade and the Weasley twins’ require diagnostic spells before I dare touch them.”

“I believe the rest of the staff shall be sufficient, Regulus. Good luck with your grading.”

He inclined his head slightly at the Trio, taking a moment to stare again at the words on the wall, brow furrowed, before he departed.

Rumors began spreading across the school rapidly. Harry wasn’t all that surprised – the entire school had seen the message on the wall. So when Hermione’s hand shot up at the beginning of History of Magic, no one was particularly surprised. Professor Black regarded her for a moment before letting out a soft sigh. “I’ve an idea what you’re going to ask about, Ms. Granger, but go ahead.”

Hermione didn’t hesitate. “I was wondering, I think we were all wondering, about the Chamber of Secrets.” The class nodded and Professor Black sighed again, shaking his head and tapping his wand against the blackboard. Harry nearly grinned and shared a look with Ron as the text was replaced with the words ‘Chamber of Secrets’.

“I expect all of you to take notes and be prepared for this to be on exams in the future.” There was a scramble to gather quills and ink, Black waiting for it to quiet again before beginning. “The legend of the Chamber of Secrets is one shrouded in mystery. It stretches back to the time of the Founders of Hogwarts. There’s little hard evidence regarding the stories of that time so most historians consider it simply an old myth with little truth. Now, who here remembers the names of the four founders?” Hands shot up across the room. The professor nodded, leaning against his desk. “Mr. Thomas.”

Dean answered, “Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin.”

“Well done.” The names spread across the blackboard as he continued to speak. “That is our alliterative list of Founders. They were among the brightest of their age and were willing to put that talent to use instead of hoarding their knowledge as lesser scholars would. They came together despite inherent ideological differences to build this school and teach the generations to come.” He paused there, letting them finish scratching notes. “Those were dangerous times to be of magical descent. The secrecy laws we have today did not exist then. Muggles distrusted magic and were willing to persecute wizard kind for it. The Fat Friar is among those that could attest to that sort of thing, as such, until the founding of Hogwarts, most wizards were only taught by family, most muggleborn being victims of anti-magical sentiment as they lacked the training to protect themselves.”

Seamus’s hand rose. “No offense, Professor, but what’s this got to do with the Chamber of Secrets?”

The professor let out a soft huff of laughter but relented. “Context, Mr. Finnegan, context. There are certain… ideas associated with the founders and their houses that may or may not be entirely accurate. This legend in particular considering the reputation of Slytherin House.”

“The Chamber was Slytherin’s?” It was Lavender Brown’s hand up.

“Quite. The legends say that Salazar Slytherin was against the admittance of muggleborn students. There’s no surviving writing to support it, but it wouldn’t be unheard of at the time. It’s a generally accepted belief in academic circles at the very least, though it tends to be divided on whether that wariness was because he saw them as lesser or if it was fear that they would unwittingly put the rest of the students at risk. This fear reportedly lead to a quarrel between Slytherin and Gryffindor - thought to be the beginning of the feud between the Houses that exists even today.”

He paused, lips quirking into a smile as if remembering something. “But I’ll get to the point you’re all so eager for. Before leaving the school, people believe that Slytherin made a chamber that no other founder knew about and hidden inside was a beast to be controlled only by him or an heir.”

Another hand rose, Neville’s this time. “What- what sort of beast?”

“The legends are unspecific. However, Mr. Longbottom, what creature comes to mind when you think ‘Slytherin’?”

“A… snake, sir.”

“Quite. That would be my personal theory, a snake or something similar to one.” His attention turned back to the board tapping it for a third time. The name of the founders cleared, leaving the words CHAMBER OF SECRETS with quick bullets covering everything he’d lectured on. “Professor Binns would tell you that this is only a legend. That the castle has been searched many times and no Chamber revealed. And perhaps he’s right. It’s just as likely the attack on Halloween was a distasteful assault on Mrs. Norris in ‘the holiday spirit’ by someone who knew the legend.”

Harry couldn’t stop himself, hand raising as the words left him. “What do you believe, professor?”

Grey eyes met Harry’s, something serious crossing his face before it smoothed out. Unreadable. “I believe it’s likely Chamber exists. No witch or wizard alive could claim to know all of Hogwarts’ secrets. Anyone that does is a fool and a liar. It’s why the legend has staying power. Why any legend can last generations.” He glanced around the room. “Any other questions?”

“What do you think, Harry?” Hermione asked. The three of them were huddled together by the fireplace. His head shot up to look at her, startled by the question. He’d been so caught up in everything they’d learned in History that he’d lost track of conversation.

He hesitated. “I think there really is an Heir of Slytherin. I think the Chamber of Secrets is real. That voice I heard in Lockhart’s office was real and it wanted to kill, Hermione. If it’s the monster from the Chamber and someone’s controlling it, Mrs. Norris won’t be the last attacked.”

His friends nodded, Ron with a thoughtful frown. “It could be Malfoy. He didn’t seem all that phased by the whole thing and we know he hates muggleborn. His family’s old enough to reach back to Slytherin too.”

“We could find out.” There was a mix of apprehension and excitement on Hermione’s face as she continued. “We could ask him ourselves.”

“Right, because he’d just tell us. I can see it now. ‘Hey Malfoy, are you the Heir of Slytherin?’ ‘Of course I am, Weasley, death to the muggles’.”

Hermione scowled at him. “He won’t tell us, but he’d tell his friends. Polyjuice potion could let us pose as Slytherins and get the information. It’ll take a while, though.” Annoyance faded to concern. “And we’ll need a teacher to sign off on us getting the book it’s in. No Professor would agree to that.”

Ron grinned and leaned back. “One might.”

Chapter Text

It was about as easy as Harry and Ron had expected to get Lockhart to sign the note, a slightly off-put Hermione leading the charge to the library. Her expression was somber as she read over the recipe to the potion, determination hardening on it after a moment. “It’s dangerous. And complicated. More complicated than anything we’ve ever done in class and some of these ingredients aren’t in the student stores. We have to get them from Snape.”

Harry paled as he read over the potential side effects. Each looked more gruesome and painful than the last. “Maybe we should try something else, Hermione.”

She leveled a stern glare at him, effectively cutting off the rest of his protest. “I can do it. It’s the only way to get the answers from Malfoy. We have to try before a person gets attacked.”

“We could get expelled, Hermione.” Ron whispered furiously, looking around the room. Harry couldn’t blame him. There was a definite sense of danger surrounding the whole affair. “Or die.”

“Only if we get caught and only if I brew it wrong. I won’t.” He wished he had Hermione’s confidence.

Harry caught Ron’s eye for a moment before nodding. “Alright, Hermione. We’ll do it.”

Harry wished he was in pain. Pain would have been better than the jelly arm numbness that Lockhart had inflicted on him. There was quiet between him, Hermione, and Ron as Professor Black escorted them up toward the castle. At least, it was until the man broke the silence.

“That was excellent flying today, particularly with a broken bludger dogging you.” He couldn’t help but look up at the professor in surprise. He got a bland look in return. “I played when I was a student. Seeker. I can recognize talent when I see it.” He looked down at Harry, frowning suddenly as he looked at the flopping arm. “I do not pity the experience you will have tonight, Mr. Potter. Skele-gro is an unpleasant potion, the process even more so.”

Harry stopped walking, causing the others to pause with him. “No offense, Professor, but… Why do you care?”

“Harry!” Hermione’s admonishment fell on deaf ears even as Black smirked.

“I should dock you points for speaking to a teacher like that, but I’ll excuse it for the circumstances.” Harry was certain his surprise showed on his face. “I had my own share of Quidditch related injuries. The prospect of a night in the Hospital Wing would turn any student’s mood sour.” They stepped into the Entrance Hall, Professor Black turning to Ron and Hermione. “I trust you both can get him to the Infirmary in one piece?”

Ron waited until the professor was gone before shaking his head. Harry could practically see the thoughts going through his head – his expression very Hermione-like in the moment. “Anyone else find that really weird?”

“How do you mean?” Hermione asked as they began their trek anew, walking slow. Ron charged on at the encouragement.

“The bloke never shows up for anything outside of his own classes and then he pops up at a Quidditch match that Harry gets attacked at? If this Malfoy thing doesn’t work out, it might be-”

“We can’t just accuse a teacher!” Hermione’s voice went quiet and shrill though Harry could see the doubt in her eyes. “Just because he’s new and a bit odd doesn’t mean he’s the Heir of Slytherin.”

Ron looked as though he was about to speak again but seemed to think better of it as the castle began to fill with noise again – the rest of the school returning from the pitch. “Fine. We’ll talk about it later, if Malfoy ends up not being involved.”

The night was worse than Harry expected. The constant ache of bone rebuilding paired with Ron’s words rattling in his head lead to a sleepless night – he couldn’t see Professor Black hurting people but wasn’t that true of Quirrell? Could they afford to make that mistake again? Dobby’s impromptu visit didn’t help settle him. Not for the first time Harry wondered who Dobby’s master was to have such information.

“Dobby?”

“Yes sir, Mister Harry Potter?”

He hesitated. “If you can’t answer don’t worry but… is your master Professor Black?”

Dobby’s eyes went no wider than they normally were and he didn’t reach for anything to bash himself with and there was warm relief in Harry at that small mercy.

“No sir. Dobby doesn’t serve Mister Black.”

“Thanks, Dobby.” It was something he could tell his friends, at least, even if it didn’t truly help with anything. Certainly not his unease. The dread only grew as another student was brought in, unnaturally still and with Dumbledore as escort. Colin Creevy. Petrified. Resolve settled in him, as annoying as Colin could be, he didn’t deserve to be hurt. He sought out his friends the moment he was released, stonily telling them everything he’d learned. “We have to do it. If we find out, we can tell Dumbledore.”

Malfoy was a dead end. Harry wished he could feel surprised by that. Still, they hadn’t left the Slytherin Common room empty handed, even if Harry hated the direction Malfoy’s information was pointing them.

 “I thought it was Professor Black.” Malfoy had said, lounging as if his chair was a throne. “His family’s old and pure enough for it and there were Blacks at Hogwarts fifty years ago when the mudblood was killed the last time. They said they caught the culprit but Father won’t tell me more, thinks I should stay out of it.”

 The knowledge seemed to trouble Ron almost as much as Harry. “If it’s not Malfoy then it’s got to be Black. Slytherin’s full of a bunch of shady people but most of them aren’t from an old enough bloodline, the others are too stupid. No one’d guess it was a professor, even after last year. You heard him talk in class about the Chamber. Knows a lot, don’t you think?”

 “You knew that he was from an old Pureblood family?” Harry asked, interested.

 “They’re one of the really old families, dark magic types like the Malfoys according to dad. When he heard that one of them was teaching he said to watch out. Apparently they were just as big supporters of You-Know-Who as Mr. Malfoy was.”

 “He doesn’t seem like he would be.” Harry said, playing the voice of reason. It wasn’t a lie, either. Nothing he’d seen of the man the last few months gave any sense of that sort of prejudice. He was far more pleasant than Snape and the whole of Slytherin House as far as Harry was concerned. “You remember how he stood up for Hermione when Malfoy called her… And he hasn’t treated anyone like Snape does. Maybe he’s different from his family.”

 Ron shrugged. “He was a Slytherin.” He said as though that one fact decided it. Maybe it did for him.

 “Maybe there are some that aren’t that bad.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione kept an eye on the professor as classes resumed, but the attacks seemed to have stopped just as abruptly as they began. It was Hermione who finally brought up that point. “There’ve been no attacks. Professor Black hasn’t changed how he’s acted at all, I think you two just can’t help suspecting him.” Hermione crossed her arms, frown tight in a way reminiscent of McGonagall.

“He’s from an old Slytherin family, Hermione!” Ron hissed back, looking around warily for Percy. “One that was big on blood purity. We need to be suspicious of him. Maybe he’s stopped attacking people to throw us off his trail.”

Hermione wasn’t going to be phased and Harry steeled himself for a long argument. “Then why not open the chamber when he was a student? The last time it was opened was fifty years ago. He couldn’t have known he’d get a job here either, could he? It doesn’t make sense.”

Ron was quiet for a moment. “Maybe he didn’t know how to open it or where it was before now. He said it himself, it can be hard to find the ‘truth in legends’ or whatever.”

Her lips pursed, book closing with a final, piercing snap. “I’ll believe it when you have a real argument, Ronald. Just because someone was a pureblood Slytherin doesn’t mean they’re automatically evil.” And then she was gone, heading up to the girl’s dormitories without looking back.

The argument was tabled after that, but the tense atmosphere between Hermione and Ron the next day meant it wasn’t forgotten and he and Ron continued to keep an eye out for suspicious behavior while Hermione spent her spare time in the library.

February and Tom Riddle proved Ron’s suspicions wrong, even if Harry was the only witness to the evidence. He gasped loudly as he was thrust out of the vision, cold dread in his gut. Hagrid. It had been Hagrid. An even stranger culprit than Black but he couldn’t argue what he’d been shown. He couldn’t have meant it, he knew, but he couldn’t argue that Hagrid’s sense of danger was different than the average person. Weren’t Norbert and Fluffy proof of that?

Harry found himself standing outside the History professor’s office without meaning to end up there. Before he could decide to knock or not the door opened. It was the first time Harry had seen the man look genuinely surprised. Professor Black recovered quickly, cool smirk back in place as he looked him over. “Something the matter, Mr. Potter?”

“I had a question about Salazar Slytherin.” Harry said, almost surprised when Black moved to the side to let him in. He entered, taking the offered seat as the words escaped him. “I know when we talked about him in class, you mentioned his thing with snakes.” The professor let out a soft bark of laughter at the phrase. “But did he… have anything to do with spiders? Or anything like spiders?”

Professor Black was quiet for a moment, his brief amusement fading as he considered an answer. “Nothing I recall from the legends, no. And I don’t know of any spider-like creatures that can petrify either, but that’s a question for a competent Defense professor.” Harry was certain it was impossible to miss the distaste in his voice. “It’s out of the scope of Care of Magical Creatures. Normally I’d suggest going to Professor Snape for more information but we both know his opinion of you.”

The frankness had Harry hesitating before replying, eyes shying away from Black to his very tidy office. “Professor Dumbledore said it’s because my dad saved his life.”

“I see.” There was something in his voice that drew Harry’s attention back, a peculiar expression on Black’s face. “That’s one part of the story, I suppose.”

“Did you go to school with them?” It was rare to hear anything about his parents’ school days. “What-”

“That’s unimportant, Mr. Potter.” Harry wanted to disagree, but there was something hard in the Professor’s voice. Final. “Now I’d suggest you go find Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger and stop playing detective. This isn’t a game, people’s lives are at stake and we can’t afford to have twelve year olds going into danger half cocked. Now, have a good day.”

With the admonishment stinging at his pride, Harry left to find Hermione and Ron.

…

There was an air of annoyance in the way Professor Black stood at the front of his classroom, chalkboard devoid of History notes. Instead, written in his precise handwriting was a list of classes available to them. With the attacks growing further and further away as the year continued, class choices became the hottest topic among the second years.

“At the request of the Heads of House,” Professor Black began, voice full of the same irritation. “I will be going over elective courses and how to properly choose the classes you’ll be adding to your curriculum for the next term. Rule one. As tempting as it may be to choose a class to be with a friend, if you wouldn’t pick it by yourself, don’t pick it to be with a friend. You all practically live together as it is. Absence, as it’s said, makes the heart grow fonder.”

A laugh rippled around the room. “Second. Play to your strengths and interests. If you’re good with numbers and maths, try Arithmancy. If languages and curse breaking is something you find compelling, Ancient Runes. Divination isn’t horrible if you’re already interested in Astronomy and Astrology or if you have some level of the Sight. Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies are self-explanatory.”

The lesson seemed to have calmed Neville down some and Harry looked at the courses with a renewed vigor. He and Ron agreed to take Care of Magical Creatures together but where Ron stuck with Divination, Harry signed up for Arithmancy along with Hermione, thinking back to his time in Muggle school. He hadn’t been bad at maths and likely would have been better had he not had the Dursley’s keeping him too busy to really do his course work well. And Hermione’s presence would be a big help, he was sure.

He only wished the peace could last.

Hermione’s petrification was the worst part of it, the smallest part being that it meant only he and Ron were left to continue their fight. It shouldn’t have made the problem seem so much harder, but he could tell that Ron felt the same way. Just like that, the school was full of whispers again, fear renewed on the faces of the students and a pinched, stress look eventually worming it’s way onto all the professors. Well, Harry supposed, almost all the professors. Dumbledore gone and Hagrid being taken away – and, consequently proven innocent to Harry and Ron – were extra blows he had never thought to take into account. Desperation was mounting the longer it took. Knowing they’d had a firsthand account of the death fifty years ago sitting under their nose the whole year didn’t help. What did, and Harry wished Hermione was awake so he could hug her properly, was the clue Hermione had found back when she’d been petrified.

A basilisk. Pipes.

And with Myrtle’s direction, they had a location. They just needed to let the teachers know. It was meant to be simple. Harry tried to keep himself silent as he and Ron hid, listening as the teachers spoke, anxiety high. “A student has been taken to the Chamber.” McGonagall said once all the teachers had arrived. It was impossible to miss the distress and exhaustion on her face. “The Heir of Slytherin left another message under the first one. ‘Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever’.”

“Who?”

“Ginny Weasley.”

It was hard to process anything after that until the somber quiet was shattered by Lockhart. He could hardly even feel the vindictive pleasure filled Harry as he watched the other teachers ganging up on him. One voice was missing, though. Professor Black had stayed quiet through the whole thing other than his one question. Instead, his grey eyes were simply glaring at Lockhart as if fury alone could kill the other man.

Harry didn’t blame him.

Harry hurt. Even with the basilisk venom out of his system, his whole body ached like he’d been hit with twenty bludgers. The last thing he wanted to do was tell the story of what happened, but that’s what he found himself doing – to an audience of Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Black along with Mr, and Mrs. Weasley. It made an odd sight, the carefully prim and proper Professor Black in his black robes and dark hair next to the warm colors of the Weasley clan – though it was stranger to see Mr. Weasley’s normally jovial face tighten when he saw the other man.

It gave Harry an odd sense of deja vu – the reaction almost identical to when they met the Malfoys in Diagon Alley. Except there was no sneering in response, only an even greeting and a quick glance over Ginny as if the professor was assessing if she was hurt. She gave him a tight smile in return. Her eyes met Harry’s and Ron’s before she nodded. Harry spoke, Ron helping the story along.

“It was the diary. It belonged to Tom Riddle.”

“Headmaster, may I?” It was the first words Professor Black said the entire time, seemingly content to listen only. Dumbledore passed it to him and continued to speak as he looked it over, examining the hole the basilisk fang had done to it. When Dumbledore sent the Weasleys to the Hospital Wing and Professor McGonagall to announce the feat, Professor Black followed. He was pale, Harry noticed, watching him hand the diary back to Dumbledore.

The last week of school passed uneventfully and, more excitingly, without any exams. Better were the rumors that spread about Professor Black escorting Mr. Malfoy out of the castle – ranging from a full blown duel to a shouting match between the two purebloods. Lee Jordan, shaking his head, said “I wish. It was pretty boring, actually. Neither of them said anything, but they both looked angry. Reckon Professor could have wiped the floor with Malfoy, though. Would pay to see it.”

Even better, in the end, was the return of Hagrid. For all Harry knew that he’d shortly be returning to the Dursleys, he could do it knowing that, despite everything, his friends were safe, Dobby was free, and the basilisk would hurt no one else.

Chapter Text

“Who’s that next to Professor Black?” Harry asked Ron, staring at the two new faces on either side of the History Professor. On his right and next to Snape was an older, scarred man and on his left, next to Lupin, was a woman who looked like she was only a few years out of Hogwarts.

“Aurors.” Ron swallowed his mouthful of food. “Turns out he’s Sirius Black’s brother. Dementors aren’t allowed on the grounds so the Ministry brought ‘em in to make sure he wasn’t helping him or something. Dad said something like that might happen.”

Harry stared at Ron for a moment before looking up at the professor. He seemed tired. Harry supposed he’d have been tired too if his brother was an escaped convict. “Will they be in our lessons?” Ron shrugged as an answer, going back to his food with gusto.

The answer, as it turned out, was yes. Once the first History of Magic class rolled around for the Third Years, the gossip had already spread across the school. The older Auror had returned to the Ministry, but the younger woman had stayed and was apparently shadowing his classes. Indeed, when they entered Professor Black was sitting at his desk and the woman from the feast – or so Harry assumed, her hair had gone from being a respectable blonde to bright pink – was also present, sat in a chair in the corner. Black stood once the last students settled in, observing them all with his cool grey eyes. “Welcome back. I’m certain you all remember my rules from last term? As Gilderoy Lockhart is no longer a menace to the school, rule three is henceforth ‘there will be no questions about nor discussion of Sirius Black’.”

His mouth set in a scowl as if the mere mention of his brother put a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe it did. Harry knew better than most how bad relatives could be.

“You were all briefly introduced to Aurors Tonks and Moody at the Welcome Feast.” He continued. “Auror Tonks will be a guest in this classroom until the heightened security is no longer necessary. As it is, she will not be a disturbance or distraction to your studies and is being held to my three rules as well. Auror Tonks, anything you wish to say?”

She stood, a smile spreading easily across her face. Harry couldn’t imagine two more different people having to spend time together unless Tonks had been forced into a room with Snape. Actually, he’d pay half his vault to see something like that.

“Wotcher, Third Years. If you see anything suspicious, just let me know and I’ll look into it. I’m here for your protection and Auror Moody will be here regularly as well. Don’t go wandering off on your own. I think that’s about it for me, go on Professor. Teach.” Her smile turned into a grin that wouldn’t be out of place on the face of Fred or George. Rolling his eyes, the professor went straight into their lesson on the witch trials of old.

The normally elusive professor appeared again during their first Defense lesson with Lupin, speaking with Snape in the staff room. However, as Snape left, he stayed to observe, though Harry heard a snort at Lupin’s response to Snape’s snide remarks about Hermione and Neville.

“You’ll be staying, Regulus?”

“It’s bound to be far more interesting than grading. Please, go on.” In fact, the professor perched himself in a chair nearest to the group of students to watch better.

The lesson was far better than anything he’d done at Hogwarts before. He hadn’t expected, however, to be called on quite so early in the class – particularly when his hand wasn’t raised. Unsure, he still took a crack at answering, even with Hermione all but bouncing next to him. “There’s so many of us, it’ll get confused. Right?”

“Well done Harry. I once saw a boggart try to decide whether to become a headless corpse or a flesh eating slug. It got so confused it turned itself into half a slug, not very frightening. What will really finish the boggart is laughter so you’ll want to turn it into something you find funny. The charm is Riddikulus.”

The class repeated him before Lupin called Neville forward, asking him what he feared most. Finally Neville was able to say “Professor Snape.” Another laugh escaped the History Professor as Lupin pressed on what Neville’s grandmother wore. It was obvious he understood where Lupin was going with it. They were all shooed to the back of the room to allow Neville his turn uninhibited. When the spell had been cast on Boggart-Snape, Harry couldn’t stop the raucous laugh that escaped him. It was brilliant. Beyond brilliant. He wouldn’t be able to look at Snape without laughing for at least a week. Even Professor Black had a hand up to his mouth as if trying to hide his own reaction.

From there, Lupin called students one by one, Ron’s spiders going legless and coming to a halt at Harry’s feet. He readied his wand as it changed shape, growing into a figure in billowing robes, the temperature seeming to drop with every passing moment. The sound of his classmates became muted, soft, and his gut churned.

His vision went black, only it wasn’t him passing out. Pristine black robes blocked his view of the dementor-boggart, the temperature returning to normal and sound returning in jarring volume. A long few seconds passed before Professor Black’s voice rang out. “Riddikulus.” Harry looked around the Professor just in time to see the pale, humanoid creature that the boggart had turned into start tap dancing, the class laughing again. Lupin called Neville back out, the boggart regaining its Snape form just in time to be donned once more in his grandmother’s clothes.

From his position, he could see Professor Black’s hands shaking as he returned to his seat, pale but otherwise seemingly fine.

There was a soft pop boggart vanished, the Third Years unable to stop themselves from laughing at the image of Snape once more in Neville’s grandmother’s clothes. Even the Slytherins, it seemed, weren’t immune to the sight.

Harry hesitated as Professor Lupin ended the class, his eyes drawn to the still tense professor. “Harry.” Lupin’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Time for you to head off to your other classes.” He followed Harry’s line of sight, a soft frown playing on the man’s worn features. “He’ll be alright. Go on.” Though his voice remained soft, it allowed for no arguments.

Thusly chastised, Harry left to find Hermione and Ron waiting for him.

“I never thought I’d see Professor Black so shook up.” Ron was saying. “Whatever that thing was, it must have really had him spooked. I could write to Bill, ask if he has any ideas.”

“I suppose.” Hermione agreed somewhat sullenly. “Still, I’d have liked a chance to have gone up against it.”

“What, so we could see you being told you got more than three questions wrong on an exam?” Ron shot back, not unkindly but Harry could see Hermione’s face growing red in frustration. Instead of risking getting involved, he pushed past them and chose to let them sort it out themselves.

Arithmancy was the right choice. It was Harry’s first thought as he met up with Ron and Hermione at lunch, a scowl deep set on Hermione’s face. “She’s a fraud.” Harry started as she all but slammed her bag on the table, Ron following behind her amused. “An absolute fraud.”

“Who?”

“Trelawney.” Ron grinned, dropping into his own seat. “Should have taken Divination with us, Harry. Never seen Hermione so frustrated.” He turned to her. “That’s how it felt putting up with Lockhart all last year.”

She huffed. “At least his books were based in fact, even if he didn’t do it. Honestly, telling Neville that he was going to break his cup made him nervous so he broke his cup. That’s not fortune telling, it’s scare tactics.”

Harry nodded absently, already going back to his starter equations. When Hermione left to grab something from her dormitory, Ron lowered his voice conspiratorially. “She’s just upset because she was told she wasn’t going to make it through the year in that class.”

“What do you think?” The thought of Hermione not being able to muster through a class for the whole term was inconceivable, but Harry had seen her schedule. Something she found ridiculous on the first day was no doubt going to be worse once the work piled on.

Ron shrugged. “Never know with her, do you? But did I mention? She was talking about how much she enjoyed Ancient Runes, but that’s the same time as your Arithmancy class, isn’t it? How in Merlin’s name is she getting to all her classes?”

Harry tapped his dry quill on the table. “Suppose she’s got private lessons? Or she does the work and the readings on her own? She said McGonagall worked it all out for her so it’s got to be something.”

“Yeah suppose. But Harry, mate, you really should have been there. You’d have gotten a kick out of it. She went on an on about ‘inner eye’ and having ‘the gift’ for it. What a nutter.” He dug into his food with gusto. “How anyone could take her seriously is beyond me.” Harry grunted noncommittally, not willing to cast judgment on the teacher he’d never met. Still, he wasn’t going to search her out either.

Chapter Text

Defense Against the Dark Arts quickly became Harry’s favorite subject – a passing comment of Professor Black’s from the year before suddenly resonating with him. This must have been the difference a competent teacher made to a class, much like Professor Black himself had done for History of Magic. It was all fascinating, every creature that Professor Lupin had brought in and taught them about was more interesting than the last. The excitement around the castle grew as the weeks passed, October’s Hogsmeade visit making every Third Year vibrate with excitement.

All except Harry, who didn’t have his form signed, of course. McGonagall was true to herself as ever and had been unwilling to sign his form meaning he had Halloween to himself. Not exactly what he’d planned. He wandered the castle aimlessly when Lupin called to him, curious as to his solitary walk.

The grindylow in his office was just as interesting as any of the other creatures they’d studied so far. “I’ve only got teabags, but I’ve never been interested in seeing things anytime I have a craving for tea.”

Harry gave Lupin a confused frown and the professor’s eyes twinkled. “I’m sorry?”

“Elementary Divination. I’m sure your friends have told you they start out reading the future in their tea leaves?” In fact, Ron had said something of the like, though it made little sense to Harry how soggy lumps of stuff could tell anything about the future. Lupin let out a loud laugh when he said as much. “Yes, I never found the subject all that compelling. I’ve heard that you’re taking Arithmancy, though. That was definitely something I enjoyed at your age.”

It was easy talking about things with Professor Lupin, he was startled to realize. The older man was open in a way he hadn’t experienced. The closest he’d probably ever gotten was with Professor Black but even then, it wasn’t nearly as simple. There was always something being left unsaid. But, then again, the two professors seemed to come from completely different worlds.

“I’ve got a question if you don’t mind me asking, Professor.” Harry said after a brief moment of watching the Grindylow swim in the tank. “At our first lesson, with the Boggart, Professor Black stepped in front of me when it started to take form. Do you know why?”

“Ah. I was wondering if you’d ask about that.” Lupin mused taking a lop sip of his tea. “I cannot tell you his exact reasoning, but I like to think I know well enough to make a guess. He likely feared that it would take the form of Lord Voldemort, as I did. To be honest, Harry, if he hadn’t, I likely would have.” He held up a hand to stop Harry’s protest. “Not because we think you cannot handle yourself, but because the sudden appearance of Voldemort in such a delicate time is… less than ideal.”

And that made sense. Better, it filled a chunk in Harry’s confidence he hadn’t been aware was missing. The recognition hit suddenly: Lupin used Voldemort’s name. His respect for the professor skyrocketed. “I thought of Voldemort at first.” He admitted. “But then I remembered the dementor on the train.”

“That’s very wise, Harry. It implies that your worst fear is fear itself. Very mature.”

As he went to ask Lupin about how to properly deal with dementors, the door opened – admitting Snape of all people. In the professor’s hand was a horrendous looking, smoking potion. Harry listened as the professors spoke, a small seed of worry growing in his gut even as Snape left and Lupin took the plunge to drink from the goblet (despite Harry’s warning of Snape’s ambitions). Such a good day should have told him that something was about to go horribly wrong.

That night Sirius Black attacked the Fat Lady.

All the students were gathered together into the Great Hall that night, Professor Dumbledore moving the tables and summoning sleeping bags for them all. “The professors and I will be sweeping the school. Professor Black will be in charge of you all with the assistance of the Head Boy and Girl and the prefects.”

A funny expression crossed Black’s face and for a moment, Harry was certain he was going to protest. But he sighed instead, apparently resigned to the post. “Very well, Headmaster. Happy hunting.” There was something world weary to the professor’s voice, as he turned to give instructions to the ever-eager Percy Weasley and the Head Girl.

The hours went by slowly but Harry – Ron and Hermione as well – didn’t sleep. They were in good company if the soft whispers and occasional scoldings around them were anything to go by. It was nearly two in the morning when he heard Professor Black speak. “Get some rest, Weasley. You’ll be no good to anyone if you’re falling over yourself later. I can manage a few hours by myself.” There was no protest so Harry had to assume that Percy hadn’t argued, likely tired from taking charge of such a difficult situation.

An hour later, Dumbledore returned. Harry pretended to sleep as footsteps drew nearer. “Well? Did you find him?” It was Black, his voice sharp; angry, he realized.

“No. How are things here, Regulus?”

“As you’d expect. None of the students seem particularly scarred, so there’s a positive. Most of them only just fell asleep despite lights out hours ago.”

Dumbledore chuckled softly. “I’m not surprised. Best to let them sleep, then. Tomorrow they’ll go back to their dormitories and the Gryffindor Common Room will have a new guardian. I’m afraid the Fat Lady is severely disturbed. She wouldn’t let him in without the password and he lost his temper.”

“Yes, that sounds like him.”

Snape joined them then, adding more information to the conversation. Black had escaped. And then the conversation became somewhat strange, like a particularly difficult arithmancy question where he didn’t have all the information needed to solve the equations.

“It is unlikely that he’d be able to get into the castle without assistance, Headmaster. I’ve expressed my concerns about-”

“Yes, Severus, because that makes so much sense. If you’re going to accuse anyone, best to suspect me, don’t you think? Considering my familial relationship to Sirius.” Harry suspected – eyes still closed – that Snape had been about to respond when Professor Black continued. “Besides, this isn’t the place, no matter how you feel. There are ears everywhere.”

Harry waited until the Professors had left before letting out a breath, meeting Ron and Hermione’s eyes.

Professor Black had become somehow more withdrawn, not appearing at meals after the attack on the Fat Lady. There were bags under his eyes when they did see him, though apparent lack of sleep had little effect on his ability to teach. Not that Harry could truly judge anyone on an inability to sleep – not with his own dreams haunted by his mother’s voice following the disastrous Quidditch match and his fall from the sky.

Just as tired seeming as the History professor was Lupin who, somehow, still managed to be cheerful, canceling the homework that Snape had set them to. He’d even agreed to teach Harry to fight the dementors off.

Things only began to get better from there. Then again, Harry thought, captivated by the sight of Hogsmeade around him, the fact that the Weasley twins were willing to pass on their secrets to get him into the village was certainly a boon. After dissuading most of Hermione’s worries, they settled to enjoy their day in the village, heading for a drink at the Three Broomsticks.

Harry found himself being shoved unceremoniously under the table suddenly by Hermione, about to protest when he heard the Minister of Magic talking, a group of people with taking the table nearest to them.

“I still have trouble believing it. Sirius Black was the last I’d have thought would go to the dark side.” Madame Rosmerta said.

Harry listened with rapt attention – a chance for information no one would tell him about the man.

Fudge’s reply was grim. “You don’t even know the worst, Madame. It was never made widely known.”

“There’s worse?”

“You remember when he was in school, Rosmerta. Do you remember his best friend?” McGonagall asked.

“Naturally. You never saw them without each other. Always made me laugh, their double act. Sirius Black and James Potter.”

Harry’s tankard fell at Rosemerta’s words even as McGonagall agreed, not missing a single beat. “Ringleaders of their little gang. Inseparable. I don’t think we’ve had such a pair of troublemakers.”

Hagrid, Flitwick, and Fudge all added their own comments, the Minister revealing to Harry, unknowingly, that the very man trying to kill him had been his father’s best man. That Sirius Black was the reason his parents were dead – after years of friendship, he’d betrayed them.

The conversation died as the door opened again, two pairs of shoes approaching the table the professors, minister, and Rosmerta were at. “I’d say I hope we’re not interrupting, but seeing how the conversation died when Dora and I came in, I expect you’re discussing Sirius.” It was Professor Black, though he wasn’t certain who ‘Dora’ was supposed to be.

“Regulus.” The near growl answered his question – Auror Tonks. He hadn’t realized they were close enough to be on first name basis.

“There’s no need to shy away from the subject on my account, I haven’t spoken to him since he left Hogwarts. We didn’t exactly get on.”

It took a few moments after they sat, but the conversation started again. “You said Black betrayed the Potters.”

“Yes. We believe that he was tired of playing both sides and had the bad luck to openly show his true colors the same moment that his master was defeated.”

“I met him, after.” Hagrid added after a moment. “At their house. I didn’t know he had been their secret keeper, I thought he was just there to check on them. White and shaken, he was. I comforted him! I thought he was upset about Lily and James! And then- then he asked me to give Harry over to him because he’s Harry’s godfather but I said no. Had to take him to his aunt and uncle. Gave in, in the end. Lent me his motorbike because he said he didn’t need it anymore.”

A soft noise from Professor Black was all there was after the story. Harry didn’t think it could get any worse but Fudge continued the tale. “If only we had found him first. Instead it was Peter Pettigrew.”

“Pettigrew?” The history professor asked. It was obvious that he hadn’t heard this part of the tale before, at least not with detail. “Peter Pettigrew tried to stand up to Sirius?”

“Yes. I was as surprised as you were, considering how he had been in school. You hadn’t known?”

“I was in America. Didn’t get those sorts of details while studying the 1926 Obscurial attacks.”

But he went quiet even as the others continued the discussion on Pettigrew and Black. It didn’t matter to Harry anymore – all that mattered was the anger he could feel growing in him. Sirius Black. The man that was trying to kill him. The reason for all of Harry’s misery, the reason he was stuck with the Dursleys instead of with his parents.

He was going to kill him.

Harry made his way back to the common room somehow, avoiding the jubilant Fred and George with their dungbombs, instead heading straight up to his dormitory and the photo album Hagrid had gifted him. The resemblance between the Black brothers was clear – though Sirius came off as taller and happier than the History professor. He couldn’t bear to stare at the photo of the man with his father. Slamming the book shut he tried in vain to sleep until dawn was breaking.

When he finally made his way downstairs, it was to a noticeably worried Ron and Hermione and an otherwise empty common room. His foul mood had faded, however, after their visit to Hagrid – not because of Hagrid himself, but because he felt like his anger over Sirius Black would only get in the way of helping with Buckbeak’s defense.

Chapter Text

Christmas morning started with a wakeup call by Ron, Harry getting up before starting on his pile of presents. He had gotten the usual care package from Mrs. Weasley and as he shifted them, his eyes caught a long, thin package.

It was a Firebolt. Unsigned.

They went over a few possibilities of who could have sent him the Firebolt, Harry quickly shooting down both of Ron’s suggestions before Hermione came in, Crookshanks in her arms.

Her expression fell hearing their ignorance of who sent it.

“I don’t think anyone should ride it.”

Ron’s rude comment was cut off by Crookshanks leaping at Ron, making another attempt at Scabbers. Harry’s sneakoscope added to the chaotic noise in the dormitory. He managed to shove it away into his trunk as Hermione left, leaving the two boys and the incredibly sickly looking rat.

With Hermione and Ron cross with each other, the common room was tense. It was almost a relief that they headed for lunch, the table a single round one instead of the House tables. An airy woman came in just as they had started eating, Ron nudging Harry as she began to spiel on about thirteen people and death.

“That’s Professor Trewlaney, we told you about her, remember? Batty.”

Ron’s whisper was cut off by the doors opening again, Auror Tonks leading a somewhat annoyed looking Professor Black into the room. Dumbledore gave the pair a smile.

“Ah, this is a magnificent day. Good afternoon, Regulus, Nymphadora.”

The auror’s hair went red. “Could you just call me Tonks, Professor?” She complained and Black’s mood seemed to lighten.

McGonagall looked over to Trewlaney, frown tight and annoyed. “There now, there’s fifteen of us. No need to worry about death to the first that rises.”

The meal went on without event – though Harry was sure he’d never get the image of Professor Black with a pink beret out of his head, the indignant look he directed at Tonks making him look younger than he’d ever had in Harry’s memory. But finally it was time. Back in the common room Harry looked over the Firebolt, admiring it’s perfect gloss and neat twigs. At least until Hermione and Professor McGonagall entered. “Miss Granger has told me you’ve received a broomstick. May I?” She took it, examining it. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take this.”

“What? Why?”

“To ensure it hasn’t been cursed. Madame Hooch and Professor Flitwick will want to strip it down.”

“But it’s not cursed!” Harry protested.

“You’ll get it back as soon as we’ve checked it. It will likely only be a few weeks. We cannot risk the fact that it may have been sent by Sirius Black.”

And there the argument ended, McGonagall leaving the common room, Harry’s broomstick in hand. Ron wasted no time turning on Hermione and – though Harry could understand her reasons – Harry didn’t try to stop him. His perfect broom, one of the best gifts he’d ever been given, gone. They hadn’t made up before the term started which made Arithmancy more awkward as he sought out a new partner for pair work in the class.

Hannah Abbot turned out to be his saving grace. She didn’t ask why he was suddenly switching partners but simply shifted to allow him room at her table, her own partner quickly sitting next to Hermione.

Despite his friend troubles, his pending lessons with Professor Lupin managed to keep his spirits up. The first lesson was in the History of Magic classroom, Professor Black lurking in a dark corner of the room. Lupin smiled thinly to the man as they entered, apparently not expecting him to still be there. “You know, Regulus, you can leave Harry and me to this.”

He was simply met with a raised eyebrow. “I could but the last time I left my classroom with unattended Gryffindors, I was finding dungbombs for a week. I believe the Weasley twins and Jordan are trying to ‘liven up’ the NEWT level students’ studies.”

Lupin shrugged, a small smile tugging at his face. “Very well.”

The first attempt when horribly, in Harry’s opinion. He ate the chocolate frog Lupin had handed him as he spoke. “It was worse this time. I could hear both of them, her and Voldemort.” There was a loud thud from Professor Black’s corner followed by low swearing. Lupin, somewhat pale at the admittance, paused for a moment before turning all his attention back to Harry.

At the end of the lesson, Harry had found refuge behind a suit of armor, musing over his parents voices when he was interrupted.

“Mr. Potter come with me.” He nearly choked on his chocolate, staring up at Professor Black. “And that’s not a request. Get up and come on.” He did so, not daring ask the man why. His silence apparently didn’t worry the professor. “Normally I’d ask how you knew that Sirius and your father were friends but after last year I think I’d rather not know. In my opinion, the more you know, the better.” He opened the door to his office, ushering Harry inside.

He only continued once he’d sat down. “Sirius is… was, I suppose, fiercely loyal to those he cared about and there was no one he loved more in his youth than your father. He was Sirius’s brother more than I ever was. Knowing that, I’ve no idea what would have convinced him to join the other side during the war, what power could ever turn that bond sour, though I suppose Sirius had never been without his faults. He was always impulsive, mercurial, and vicious, especially toward his enemies. There were many at Hogwarts with us that would attest to that. But more than any of those, he was brilliant.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Harry asked after a moment.

“Because you need to understand that if you go after him, Potter, you will die. And should he find you and get you alone, you must remember to use your brain and find away to escape, not engage. You’re not immortal.” He let the words hand for a moment. “But that’s all I will say on it. Have a good night, Potter.”

Dismissed, Harry headed back to his dormitory. Professor Black didn’t come to any more of Harry’s Patronus lessons. Auror Tonks, on the other hand, did. Harry wasn’t sure, but he was amost certain he’d caught Lupin’s ears go pink as she offered them both a chocolate after one of Harry’s worse attempts.

“Before I let you do this” Harry said, Professor Black’s words clear in his mind as he spoke, staring down Sirius Black, “if I believe you then what reason would Pettigrew have to betray my parents? If all four of you were as close as you say, why would he get them killed?”

“Because Peter was a coward. Because Lord Voldemort offered him power.” Black snarled.

Lupin gave the man a look before adding in. “Following that logic, Harry, what reason would Sirius have to betray James and Lily?”

“His family.” Ron’s voice was colored with pain, still clutching the pocket containing Scabbers. An odd look passed over Black’s face, half amused. “My dad told me last year to watch out for Professor Black. Said the Black family was as bad as the Malfoys. All Pureblood superiority.”

“True enough.” It was the sanest Black had sounded the entire time though his brow furrowed after a moment. “Wait. Professor Black?”

“Regulus.” Lupin said, bemused as if he still couldn’t believe it. “He’s alive and teaching History of Magic.”

It was as if years of age faded from the convict’s face at that revelation before it shifted into a scowl. “As wonderful as my brother’s continued existence is, we’ve got more important things at hand. I’ve already waited twelve years.”

Scabbers was reluctantly handed over and soon replaced by a grubby looking man, still somehow resembling the rat he had been only moments ago. Peter Pettigrew immediately burst into protests, each excuse for his exile more flimsy than the next.

“If we take him to the castle, we can clear your name. Pettigrew can go to Azkaban like he deserves.”He still couldn’t allow his father’s closest friends to commit murder, not even when he had thought himself prepared to murder Black – Sirius – himself.

He could tell that Lupin and Sirius were reluctant to agree. “But if you transform, we kill you, Peter. That alright, Harry?”

“Yeah.”

Everything went downhill from there.

The elation at the idea that he might have been able to leave the Dursley’s was quashed as the moon revealed the true nature of Professor Lupin’s illness. It was full. In the confusion, Pettigrew managed to get one of the discarded wands, transforming and running off. As he and Hermione went to move Ron and Snape to the castle, there was a doglike yelp.

Sirius.

They took off at a run, finding a now human Sirius and an entire flood of Dementors. Even with his new happy memories, the idea of freedom from the Dursleys wasn’t enough to fight off that many of the creatures. The last thing he saw before everything when dark was a silver creature bounding towards them, banishing the dementors and returning to its caster.

The knowledge that Sirius and Buckbeak were free – on the run, perhaps, but alive – buoyed Harry’s spirits through the next day. He wasn’t entirely certain he understood how his and Hermione’s Time Travel had worked, but the results were what mattered.

Pettigrew had escaped though, and Professor Lupin had already chosen to resign despite Harry’s protests. Lupin smiled thinly, looking over the Marauders Map. Something seemed to occur to him all of a sudden. “Considering what you and I know, Harry, I believe there is someone who still needs to be told the truth about Sirius.”

Harry frowned. “Dumbledore said that no one would believe our story.”

“No one in Magical Law Enforcement, perhaps. But there’s someone here in Hogwarts who will welcome the news that his brother wasn’t a follower of Voldemort.” Lupin muttered a quick “Mischief Managed” before handing the parchment to Harry and striding towards Professor Black’s office. He gave a quick knock before ushering Harry into the room.

Professor Black gave them a bemused and somewhat wary look before addressing the now brunette Auror Tonks. “Tell Andy to send me an owl, Dora. I’d like to see about officially reinstating her inheritance.”

“Will do, cousin. Wotcher Harry, Remus.” She gave them a bright smile before heading to the exit. Lupin gave her a smile, one brighter than Harry remembered seeing in the entire year. It didn’t seem to have escaped the other Professor’s attention. “Lupin.” The tone was warning, his eyes narrowed.

Lupin shook his head. “That’s not why we came, Regulus. We need to talk about Sirius.”

Black sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I know my brother escaped. The minister and Moody were already here to question me. I had no hand in it.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Lupin agreed. “I thought you should know that he was innocent. Framed. Peter Pettigrew was the culprit. He faked his death and was living as a rat for twelve years while Sirius was in Azkaban.”

“And you know this how?” The other man’s voice was skeptical, Harry didn’t blame him.

Harry jumped in. “He was Ron’s rat. He’d cut off his own finger, Scabbers was missing a toe on his paw.”

The professor nodded slowly, as if tying in the new information into a particularly difficult arithmancy problem. “Pettigrew had always been the weak link of the four of you, not untalented, but nowhere near the potential the rest of you had. Any of us at school would have been able to tell the Dark Lord that. From there it would only take the right incentive… And considering they were Animagi-” He snapped back into focus, leaning forward to stare intensely at Lupin. “All three of them. While we were at school. You never told.”

“For the better, it seems.” Lupin looked wholly apologetic. “You believe us then?”

“Clearly.” He barked out a laugh, alarmingly similar to his brother’s. “And to think, mother reinstated him as heir.” Professor Black let the thought die out. “Alright then. Potter, when my brother gets in contact with you, tell him to meet me in London at twelve. He’ll know what it means.”

Harry agreed before something struck him. “Professor, when we were in the shack, Bl- Sirius said something. He was surprised you were alive. Why?”

A frown crossed his face, grey eyes darkening. “That’s not your business, Potter. Go frolic outside as you Gryffindors are wont to.” As Harry went to protest, Black countered. “If you continue asking, I’ll give you a detention to serve the first week of next term. Now, go. Both of you.”

As he and Lupin made their way back towards the Defense classroom, Harry looked up to the werewolf. “Why did Sirius think Professor Black was dead?”

“That’s not my story to tell, Harry. Truthfully, I don’t know the details myself. It was dark times back then, people would disappear and one could never tell if it meant they’d gone into hiding or died. It was easier to assume the worst.” Lupin smiled at him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “But he was correct. You should go and enjoy your last few days here with Ron and Hermione.”

And, somehow with more questions now than answers, Harry went in search of his friends.

Chapter Text

By the time the Fourth Year Gryffindors had their first History of Magic lesson, the initial excitement over the coming Tri-Wizard Tournament had dulled to a low rumble. Harry – while excited over the prospect of the event – was mostly glad that the age restraint meant he’d be safe from the dangerous insanity that the Tournament would bring. Professor Black seemed in somewhat better spirits, though there were still faint traces of last year’s exhaustion clinging to him.

In fact, most of their chatter was over the stunt Professor Moody had pulled with Malfoy the Incredible Bouncing Ferret. The memory made him smile.

“Welcome back. As I’m sure you all expect, I have a new rule as last year’s furor has faded. I will not ban discussion of the tournament” and he glanced around sharply, grey eyes quickly killing any burgeoning chatter at its mention “as long as it is academic in nature. I won’t have gossip in my classroom. Are we all in agreement?” He continued on, giving no time for disagreement either way. “Good. Now if you’ll all send forward your summer assignments, I’d like us to have a discussion about the things you’ve learned writing these papers. And keep your complaints to yourself, you should expect this by now, even being Gryffindors.”

It was comments like that that reminded Harry about the House his professor hailed from. He was the most agreeable Slytherin Harry had met, snide remarks toward their house always more in jest than his least favorite Professor’s were. He couldn’t help but wonder – briefly – if any other Slytherins were like Professor Black. If so, they kept to themselves.

Hermione’s hand – unsurprisingly – shot up. Amusement was clear in Professor Black’s voice as he called to her. “Apologies, Professor, this isn’t about the assignment but I was wondering what you knew of the history of house elf enslavement?”

“Ah.” A look crossed his face that Harry couldn’t place. “That’s a complicated subject, Miss Granger. I’m happy to discuss that with you, but perhaps outside of class times. It would take nearly all term to give that topic the depth it requires.”

It was more interest and validity than Harry or Ron had given her interest in the subject and clearly it was enough to appease her for the moment. She made a vigorous note as other people slowly started to open the discussion part of class.

…

For all Harry had been looking forward to Professor Moody’s class, he left it distinctly uncomfortable. Hermione had just made it, having been spending her free time bouncing between Professor Black’s office and the library. Her interest in house elves had apparently gotten her an independent study project. Instead of dissuading her furor over their treatment, it seemed as though the History professor was encouraging it.

The quiet exasperation he felt toward her single-minded obsession with it all faded as Moody went into his lesson – displaying the three Unforgivable curses with no shame. The logical side of Harry understood the reasons, these were things they’d need to know, but a bigger part of him just felt wrong.

The letter from Sirius that night didn’t help. Even knowing that Professor Black had ways to contact Harry’s godfather – Sirius had told him as much in a letter, briefly complaining about overbearing family once – wasn’t enough to dissuade the discomfort in his gut at the idea of him returning to the place where the most people were hunting for him.

Harry’s anxiety over him didn’t fade even as the weeks began to pass by – classes becoming more difficult to prepare them for the examinations they would have to take in the next school year. Ron complained in the common room. “It’s not like we don’t have all of next year to prepare for them, why do we need to get all this work now?”

“The OWLs are important, Ron. They determine what classes we can sign up for in Sixth Year and what NEWTs we can take. Those lead us to our careers outside of Hogwarts.” Hermione said, busy working on her SPEW items.

“Yeah, but there’s more important things than a test we won’t take for ages! Like the Tri-Wizard Tournament!”

Her work stopped, clear exasperation on her face. “The other schools aren’t even here yet. Might as well get a head start before we have distractions.”

“And spew isn’t a distraction for you?”

“It’s S-P-E-W and no, it isn’t. It’s part of my independent study for Professor Black. He won’t have an issue with it.” Harry wasn’t entirely sure about that, but he knew better than get between a Ron and Hermione argument at this point.

…

He hadn’t thought October would come to an end so quickly, Harry mused, shifting ever so slightly in anticipation as the whole school waited for their guests to appear. He resolved himself to drop by Professor Black’s office to raise his concerns over Hermione’s campaign as he thought back to her earlier tirade about the ‘brainwashing of uneducated slaves’. It would also give him a chance to talk to him about Sirius.

Most of his worries were thrown from his mind as it began as a gigantic black shape appeared over the Forbidden Forest. It quickly turned into a giant carriage pulled by equally large palominos with fiery red eyes. The woman that emerged was giant – at least as tall as Hagrid but somehow giving the impression of being even more massive than his friend.

Madame Maxime’s pupils – all in light silk robes – looked frozen over. They opted to wait in the castle, though Harry couldn’t blame them, considering their lack of cloaks. Before they could get past the size of the massive horses and the terrifying idea of Hagrid’s skrewts getting out and wreaking havoc, changes began to happen in the lake.

A ship was slowly ascending out of the depths, a plank allowing the students of Durmstrang to come to shore. Karkaroff greeted Dumbledore happily, though even as he smiled, there was no warmth in the man’s eyes. His prize student, however, was far more interesting to him – and Ron. Victor Krum.

…

The hope for an uneventful year was clearly too much to ask for, Harry thought to himself dejectedly as he slowly made his way through the Great Hall to the side room. He’d been excited for the Tournament, but he had planned only on watching it, not competing. Everything had been fine - Delacour, Krum, and Diggory. The three champions. And then his name had come out as well. Harry Potter. It didn’t escape him how most of his classmates must have thought he did it. The staff table held no comfort either, McGonagall’s lips pursed in what could either be worry or disappointment.

Professor Black’s entire posture had changed – he’d been casually ignoring the Durmstrang Headmaster in a way somewhat reminiscent to when he was refusing to acknowledge a subject he disliked in class and now had all his attention on Harry. He could feel the gaze boring into him, as if looking for something in particular in Harry’s face. After a moment, the History professor sat back, an inscrutable expression on his face as his fingers rubbed together absentmindedly.

Harry’s gaze slid across the table finding Moody after a brief moment. He could see the human eye trained on him just as the other teachers’ were but the magical eye was staring to the side but at who, Harry couldn’t tell.

Finally at the door to the room holding the other Tri-Wizard champions, Harry steeled himself and entered, ready to face whatever fate awaited him on the other side.

Chapter Text

“I highly doubt Potter put his name in the Goblet of Fire.” Professor Black’s voice cut through the din in the room that Harry and the other Champions had been made to wait in. The whole room turned to the man – none except Moody and Dumbledore appeared to have notice him enter. Harry certainly hadn’t. “We all know the risk this tournament brings. I must agree with Alastor. It’s far more likely that a third party tampered with the Goblet to ensure that he competes in hopes he perishes. And considering that he is here, they’ve succeeded in the first step. We all know that he cannot back out at this point without going back on a powerful magical contract – his choice to join or not.”

Harry stared at him, warmth growing in his chest. The vocal support of this particular teacher was enough to make him feel like he wasn’t alone in all of this. Still, not everyone seemed so open to his words. Crouch had an unpleasant expression on his face like he’d just had to clean up after all of Harry’s Aunt Marge’s dogs and had since the History professor first spoke.

“You would agree with him.” It was Karkaroff that spoke. The words were sharp, but not as sharp as the look in the man’s eyes. “It is not fair.”

“Magic doesn’t believe in fair or unfair, only what is. Something I’ve learned over the years.”

Moody laughed, clearly able to catch whatever it was that Harry was missing from the conversation. “Just last year Hogwarts had dementors stationed at all the entry gates. Threats to Potter’s life are hardly new. Not much of a stretch to use this to kill ‘im, Karkaroff. Go see to your boy now. Things can’t be changed, better for everyone to just accept it.”

The foreign headmaster gestured to Krum – who gave his fellow Champions a short nod – before sweeping out of the room, Karkaroff’s shoulder bumping solidly into Professor Black as he passed. He simply brushed off his black cloak, giving a deep nod as Madame Maxime and Fleur Delacour exited behind them. Dumbledore turned to Harry and Cedric, the twinkle back in his eyes. “I’m certain you both must be ready to head back to your common rooms for the parties that I don’t doubt are already in full swing. You are free to leave us. Regulus, if you would?”

With a sigh, the professor nodded, raising an expectant eyebrow at the two students. They shared an awkward, quiet look before heading out, Black behind them. “I don’t plan on picking sides between you two, don’t make the school choose as well. We want Hogwarts to win. Take out the others before each other.”

A frown crossed Cedric’s handsome face. “Are… you meant to say that, Professor?”

“Definitely not.” A smug smile crossed his face. “But teachers can’t help the Champions. It’s not encouraged, but you’re free to assist each other if you wish. You’ve the free time, considering there’s no quidditch.” And there his voice went mournful, reminding Harry suddenly that he’d played when he was at school.

Cedric bid them farewell, heading down a staircase as Harry and Black went upwards. The expression on the man’s face became serious again. “Something wrong, Professor?” Harry asked.

“People have died in this tournament, Potter. You need to be clever. You and Diggory are just as much allies as you are opponents. Karkaroff and Maxime will share any secret they can with their champion so you mustn’t feel bad should you uncover things. And if this is a ploy to kill you, it means you must be vigilant.” He seemed like he had more to say but shook his head instead. “Sirius would kill me if I allowed for you to die on my watch.” He stopped at a branching corridor, smiling thinly. “My stop. If you wouldn’t mind asking Miss Granger to stop by my office tomorrow at the regular time?”

…

Hermione was subdued the next night when she returned from her meeting. It was even more noticeable with Ron giving him the silent treatment. “Something wrong, Hermione?”

“Professor Black said I was going about my independent study wrong. He thinks I’m compromising my position and alienating people. That I’m not listening to other people’s input.”

“Oh?” Harry asked – not disagreeing with the professor but surprised. Professor Black had seemed supportive of her project from the beginning. “He’s making you give up sp- SPEW?”

She shook her head, fingers tapping on her book. “No. I think he’s got personal interest in it, but he’s said that I should go to the kitchens, talk to the House Elves here to ask them their opinions on things. What they want. Only, I don’t know how to get there. He wouldn’t say.” Hermione paused. “I suppose I’ll have to ask Fred and George.  Also, Professor Black had a message for you.”

Harry frowned. “What was it?”

The question was met with a smile, her voice dropping. “He’s got a way for you to talk to Sirius. Actually talk.”

He could feel his spirits lift immediately, finally a bright spot in the otherwise bleaker and bleaker situation.

It turned out he would need the prospect of seeing Sirius to keep himself sane after the disaster that was the interview and article written by Rita Skeeter. It had ruined any chance Harry could see to mend things with Ron and seemed to embolden the endless gossip and mockery, primarily from his Slytherin classmates.

A note had come, unsigned, but in familiar script with a date and time to report to Professor Black’s office. It was still very dark as he trudged up to the office under his invisibility cloak, mind still buzzing with the thought of the dragons and how to tell Cedric – it would hardly be fair for him to be the only one not knowing. He took off the cloak as soon as he made it to the door, knocking. Professor Black opened it, gesturing Harry in.

He’d only just settled in when the fire began sparking. Sirius’s face appeared in the flames after a moment, looking better than he had when he’d left on Buckbeak. Harry grinned widely at him, happier than he’d been in a while. Harry couldn’t help but unload all his concerns and problems on Sirius, his godfather’s expression grim and, well, serious.

“We can deal with the dragon, Harry, but there’s a bigger concern. Karkaroff.” And there Sirius’s gaze shifted to his brother. Harry couldn’t help but look at him as well.

“Karkaroff was a Death Eater. Alastor was telling me more about his circumstances. He outed others to get himself out of Azkaban. There are others who avoided their fates that way but they’re not exactly well loved by those left behind. Others claimed the Imperius Curse and had the wealth to buy their way out.”

“And some were never caught.” Sirius added, turning back to Harry. “You cannot trust him. Even if it weren’t him, there is someone there that wants you dead. Someone already tried to take Mad-Eye out before he got to Hogwarts. The Death Eaters are growing more active and with where Bertha Jorkins has disappeared… Let’s just say, if someone wanted you dead, this is an excellent way to do it. Regulus-”

Professor Black frowned. “I haven’t heard anything, but then again, I wouldn’t. Lucius has made it clear what he thinks of me. This doesn’t seem Karkaroff’s style, though. It’s too well thought out. He’s a blunt instrument, no precision.”

Harry didn’t know why he would have any sort of contacts – even if that was willful ignorance – but it didn’t sound like there was much he could do right now. Sirius changed the subject. “But when it comes to the dragon, Harry, there’s a simple solution to your problem. Play to your strengths. Have Hermione help you, sometimes a second pair of eyes is what you need.” He paused. “And talk to Ron. Even if he’s being a prat. Pride isn’t better than friendship, believe me. Now head to bed, I’ve got to talk with my brother.”

“Right. Wait, hang on.” Harry stared at the fire in confusion. “Where are you?”

“Family house. Dreadful place, I’ll be happy to get out. Least Kreacher’s not around.”

“He’s here. You know he hates you just as much as you hate him.” There was a note of finality in the professor’s voice. “Go to your dormitory, Mr. Potter.”

Harry nodded, giving Sirius a final goodnight before heading back to the tower.

…

Regulus waited until the door closed behind the fourteen year old to slump into a chair, wholly undignified. “There’s something I’m missing, Sirius. Something right under my nose. Unless Karkaroff has gotten significantly more skilled in deception, this wasn’t him. He knows better than to return to the Dark Lord’s side. He’ll just be killed for his betrayal, quickly if he’s lucky.”

Sirius remained uncharacteristically quiet, for all Regulus could remember. Finally he spoke. “If it’s someone else, then you have to suspect every person involved with the tournament. You need to be just as wary as Harry.”

“I know that. I’ve cheated death once already, I’m not particularly interested in trying again. I take it you’re going to make your way up here?”

“Soon. Buckbeak doesn’t like being cooped up in this house and neither do I.” Sirius paused, eyes earnest. “Take care of yourself, Reg, and look after my godson.”

Regulus only nodded, watching Sirius’s face – and the fire – fade.

Chapter Text

Having survived the Hungarian Horntail, Harry was determined to figure out the secret of the egg. On an even better note, Ron had finally come around and in truth had seemed to miss Harry as much as he’d missed Ron. He was certain he’d caught the smallest twitch of a smile on Professor Black’s face when the three of them sat together again in History of Magic, though that could have been a trick of the light.

One night in December, Hermione intercepted the two of them on their way back into the common room, dragging the two of them through the castle. They came to a head at a large painting of a bowl of fruit. Harry felt his eyebrows raise. “Your independent study?”

“Like Professor Black asked, yes.” Ron glanced between them but didn’t say anything – clearly he’d noticed that Hermione’s SPEW campaign had stalled in November. A moment after the door opened, a squeaky, excited House Elf had attached himself to Harry. It was Dobby. Everything about him seemed the same with the exception of his new and eclectic mess of clothing covering him.

“Dobby works at Hogwarts now, sir. Dobby and Winky!”

He led the trio of students deeper into the kitchen and past many other House Elves. For all of Dobby’s excited exuberance, Winky had none. In fact, she was in a sorry state, sobbing by the fire. It was only once the elves had set them up with tea and snacks that Dobby began his explanation.

When Dobby mentioned asking for pay from Dumbledore there was a loud scoff from one of the other elves – the only one in the standard House Elf attire without a Hogwarts crest. Harry watched as Dobby shot the other a look before continuing on. “Kreacher doesn’t approve of Dobby asking for money. Most don’t. But Dobby knows Kreacher’s master agrees with Dobby because he was with Professor Dumbledore when Dobby came to ask for work. He helped Dobby and Professor Dumbledore decide what was a fair wage.”

“Who’s Kreacher’s master?” Ron asked, leaning forward. The name struck Harry as familiar and it took a second for him to place it.

“Professor Black.” Ron and Hermione turned to him. “When I spoke to Sirius he mentioned being in a family house, said at least Kreacher wasn’t there. Professor Black said he was here. I thought he was talking about a pet.” He tracked the other elf briefly before looking to Hermione. “Did you know he had a House Elf?”

“No.” She was frowning.

“Makes sense though.” Ron took a bite of a biscuit easily. “Most of the old families have at least one. The Malfoys had Dobby, the Blacks have Kreacher. They’re a sign of status. Professor Black’s a better bloke than Mr. Malfoy but he was still a Slytherin, still a Pureblood from a dark family.”

“But… He’s been so supportive of my project.”

A sob from Winky broke through their conversation, drawing attention back to her and Dobby and away from the other, still skulking House Elf.

They didn’t have much of a chance to ask him about it until after the catastrophe that was the Yule Ball – it seemed to Harry that every time they managed to get unity in their group, something would leave them split apart and angry. The worst part of it was that he really wasn’t upset about Hermione and Krum, but the fact that his reunion with Ron was so new he was stuck playing the middle ground. Again. At least it was more familiar territory.

Hermione could ask the professor about Kreacher herself.

Harry still had his egg to worry about. Cedric’s advice had been incomprehensible. The prefect’s bathroom? As if that was anything close to adequate help considering how forthright Harry had been with him about the dragons. To pile on to Harry’s foul mood, Hagrid had been targeted by Rita Skeeter. Hatred for the woman kept him warm even as the grounds remained cold and icy. It was as if the entire magical world was conspiring to make this year the most difficult and frustrating year he’d had yet.

Even Hogsmeade wasn’t safe anymore. The news of Crouch’s potential disappearance was an extra stress that Harry certainly didn’t ask for, Bagman’s offer for help just as unwelcome. Sirius was already in the fire when he got to Professor Black’s office that night. “If I make it through this year without hexing that woman, Sirius, I expect a commendation. I’ve had to resort to going to the Hog’s Head if I want a drink.” He said as he closed the door behind Harry.

Sirius only laughed, turning a smile to Harry. He really was looking better, distance from the dementors and a safe place to rest doing his godfather worlds of help. “How are you, Harry?”

His troubles tumbled out much like the last time they’d spoken, Sirius listening carefully as he did. In fact, he wasn’t the one to interrupt Harry’s story. It was Professor Black as Harry spoke of meeting Bagman in the Three Broomsticks and the help he’d offered to him that the man intervened. “Let me see if I understand, Potter.” There was an amused annoyance in his voice. “You have not figured out your clue for the Second Task and when help was offered by someone in the know, you declined?”

“It was against the rules.” Harry couldn’t stop himself from getting defensive.

“Cheating is part of the tournament. Everyone expects it to happen – particularly when one competitor is at severe disadvantage. Gryffindors. Merlin help me, they’ll be my death.” With a soft huff, the professor walked to his desk and began grading, pointedly ignoring them both.

Harry turned back to Sirius, sitting close to the fire. “Bagman said that Crouch hasn’t been in to work. Been sending Percy Weasley instructions but no one’s actually seen him in a few weeks.” It came out suddenly, a shift in conversation he hadn’t intended to make. “No one’s said he’s missing, though. Just that he’s sick.”

Sirius grew somber at the news. “Could be that he is. But it could also be that things are more dire than we thought. Try not to worry over that for right now, Harry. You need to focus on the Tournament and your own survival. Reg and I are working on a way to get me up there safely so we can talk in person so keep yourself out of trouble until I can be there to back you up. Solve that egg. You need all the time you can get to prepare for whatever death defying stunt you’ll need to do. And Harry.” He only paused for a moment, looking very much like he’d like to reach through the fire to him. “Be safe.”

The next night, Hagrid and Sirius’s words weighing on him, Harry solved the egg’s clue.

His thoughts the next few weeks before the Second Task had Harry’s attention split between his encounter with Moody, Snape, and Filch the night he’d figured out how to hear the clue and actually solving how to survive for an hour under water. He’d sent an owl to Sirius the next day knowing they couldn’t risk two nights of Floo so close together. Hermione and Ron, to their credit, had spent as much time as he did to find the answer.

But to no avail, it seemed. They were still searching the night before the task, desperation driving all of them to irritation. Only ten minutes before the task did the solution reveal itself in the unlikely form of Dobby. The House Elf urged him out of the library, shoving gillyweed into his hand as he did so.

Ron. Ron was in danger. If he didn’t get him out of the lake in time… No. He would. He’d get Ron out safely because Dobby was right, he couldn’t live with himself if his best friend had died because of him. He barely made it, winded, only recognizing Percy’s presence in place of Crouch because the Weasley had spoken to him.

The gillyweed, he learned quickly, was absolutely disgusting. The crowd’s laughter and the iciness of the lake bit at him and then it happened. He couldn’t seem to take a breath as gills formed on his neck. He dove, his feet and hands becoming webbed as the water seemed to warm around him.

He could do it. He could find Ron.

Harry was, it seemed, the first to find them. It was a horrifying sight, Ron, Hermione, Cho, and a small blond girl that resembled Fleur Delacour. He couldn’t leave, not without knowing the others would be safe. Cedric was the next to arrive, taking Cho up to the surface and indicating that the others weren’t far behind. Krum arrived a little after but there was no sign of Fleur. He couldn’t just leave the girl to her fate, not when she hadn’t asked to be down here and in danger. Finally, it was too long. He freed her, driving the girl, Ron, and himself to the surface with great difficulty, doing his best to ignore the merpeople swarming around him as he could feel the gillyweed’s effect diminishing. First his feet, then his hands. And then the gills were gone and he pushed on still, not allowing himself to stop until –

Air. He could breathe. The crowd was screaming around him, the faces of the merpeople around him smiling.

Harry supposed he should have figured that Dumbledore wouldn’t have let the students die in the lake, his face burning somewhat in embarrassment as he and Hermione spoke. He’d have been first if he’d realized. They had to wait as the judges conferred over the Task. Harry was still flustered by the gratitude Fleur had shown to him.

Bagman went through the points, Harry staring in surprise as his score was given – enough to tie him with Cedric. There was no clue this time, nothing for him to solve until a month before the last task. He could, for a while at least, relax.

Chapter Text

The fervor over what happened in the Second Task was an odd relief – instead of flocking Harry more than they normally would, the student body went to Ron and Hermione for their version of events. Ron’s grew more and more fantastical as he told it, at least until Hermione (clearly having enough of it all) pointed out the truth. Sheepishly, Ron returned to the least embellished version. Not everything was perfect, though. Rita Skeeter was still spreading her lies to any who would read them, punctuated with little truths that she should never have known. Snape was still being himself, finding any reason to deride the three of them.

It backfired, though. Harry stayed crouched behind his cauldron, sopping up his spilled armadillo bile as he listened to Karkaroff and Snape. “It has never been this clear. You must have noticed!”

“And why are you coming to me with this?” Snape said sharply, but quietly. “There are others whose classes you could interrupt.”

“Bah.” There was contempt in Karkaroff’s sneer. “He pretends and lies as if he was never involved.”

“We can talk about this later.” Was the response, hissed out. Snape turned his attention back to Harry and – muttering his excuses – Harry made his escape. He had somewhere better to be, after all.

He, Hermione, and Ron made their way through Hogsmeade that afternoon, Sirius waiting in dog form for them. His godfather lead them to a cave on a mountain, finally cresting into safety where Buckbeak the Hippogriff was waiting for them. Sirius was looking worse than when Harry had spoken to him in the fire last. He made no effort to try and hide his worry over Sirius, his godfather’s expression growing darker ever so briefly.

“I’d rather be here in case something happens.” Sirius responded. “Things are getting fishier out there.” And he gestured to the pile of the Daily Prophet in the corner. Headlines about Crouch and his mysterious illness caught Harry’s attention. “And with your last letter, I’m not willing to take any chances. Besides, only you three, Dumbledore, and my brother know I’m an animagus.”

Harry skimmed over the article on Crouch, frowning. “But he can’t be that ill, not if I saw him here on the map. He looked ill the nigh my name came out of the Goblet, but that was months ago.”

“It’s what he gets for sacking his House Elf.” Hermione said coldly. Her talk with Professor Black, it seemed, hadn’t cooled her anger at all over Winky’s state. Sirius turned to her, interest apparently sparked by that particular revelation. It made him wonder how much information his brother was actually giving Sirius about the goings on in the castle.

The story of the World Cup sent Sirius pacing. He started going over the facts as he did, only pausing for clarification as he went, a muttered ‘damnit Regulus’ peppered in every so often for emphasis. They were discussing who was in the top box with them at the Cup when Hermione interrupted.

“Ludo Bagman was there too, remember?”

“Bagman? That’s the one that offered you help with the egg, isn’t it?” Sirius asked. Harry started. He had forgotten mentioning that to his godfather. “Hmm.” It was a spark for a quick debate between Ron and Hermione on whether or not the person who conjured the Dark Mark could have been Bagman or Winky, Sirius finally putting an end to it. “And Crouch sacked her? That makes sense, he wouldn’t want to be associated with the Mark. Hermione’s got a point. You want the measure of a man? Look at how he treats those under him, not equals. What’s interesting are his absences. He goes through the trouble of making his House Elf save him a seat at the World Cup and the trouble of bringing back the Tri-Wizard Tournament, but fails to show up to either? That’s not like him.”

“You know Crouch?”

“Anyone who’s been to Azkaban knows Crouch.” The cool, clipped voice of Professor Black startled them all, Sirius whirling around to glare at his brother. He continued as if he hadn’t noticed. “Anyone with connections in the ministry knows him.”

He looked out of place in the cave, particularly next to Sirius. Where Sirius’s hair was wild and long, a beard beginning to grow haphazardly, the other Black was clean shaven, hair cut and styled as so to be out of his face. Sirius’s robes were worn where Professor Black’s were dark and clean. The resemblance, though, was clearer than ever. The same eyes, though his teacher was shorter.

Sirius sighed and continued talking. “Crouch is the reason I went to Azkaban without trial.” The cave went silent. “He was head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time, one of the top picks for the Minister of Magic position. Powerful and power hungry, Crouch was. Never a Voldemort supporter, but many of the people working against the Dark Side were… Well, you wouldn’t understand. You’re too young.”

“That’s what my dad said.” Ron replied, looking somewhat put out. Harry agreed. How could anyone know they were too young if they wouldn’t tell them anything? “Try us.”

Sirius shared a glance with his brother before nodding. “Alright. So, imagine this. You know there are people dying, disappearing. You know that Voldemort is gaining followers both willingly and unwillingly, that he has magic that can make people do whatever he wants them to do. You’re scared for everyone you’re close to, the Ministry is in disarray, the Statute of Secrecy is at risk while attacks on Muggles continue and grow more bold. That is what it was like, before.”

Harry didn’t want to imagine things that bad but by the grim look on both adults’ face, it had been. Maybe even worse.

“People change under that sort of pressure.” Professor Black’s voice was soft from where he leaned against a cave wall. “You couldn’t know who to trust. Some wore their allegiance like a badge of honor while others hid and waited and struck when you least expected. Pettigrew, for one. And considering the amount of recruitment that was happening secretly within Hogwarts, the tide wasn’t likely to turn.”

“Exactly. Things changed. As the Dark grew bolder, the Ministry began to lower themselves to the Death Eaters’ level. Aurors were allowed to use the Unforgivables, answer violence with violence. A lot of people thought it was right. But there was one thing that stopped old Barty’s chances of getting the Minister position.”

“His son. Barty Crouch Jr. Got caught with a group of known Death Eaters trying to find and return the Dark Lord to power.”

“Was he a Death Eater?” Harry asked.

The Professor nodded. “Yes.” He didn’t say how he knew, and his expression suggested he wouldn’t. “But carry on, Sirius.” Sirius did, telling them about what he little experience he’d had with the younger Crouch in Azkaban. It seemed to weigh on him to talk about those days at all and Harry wished that he could have avoided asking the questions that made his godfather think back on it.

“So Crouch snuck up here to investigate Snape in secret!” Ron said excitedly.

“That’s what doesn’t make sense.” Sirius responded, shaking his head. “He’d be more effective at that by showing up to judge, not leaving your brother the job. He listened as Hermione and Ron debated and only spoke when they asked for his input. “I think you’ve both got good points. Never understood why Dumbledore trusts Snape. Always had a thing for the Dark Arts when we were in school, slimy, greasy git he was.”

“Yes, because you’re not biased at all.” Came his brother’s low drawl, grey eyes cold. “Almost all of us were studying the Dark Arts because to not be at the time was a dangerous thing. Slytherin House was a recruiting ground for the Death Eaters.”

Sirius turned fully to him, a scowl on his face. “You can’t deny his friends, Regulus. Rosier and Wilkes. The Lestranges. Avery.” Ron and Harry joined in, explaining what Harry had heard in Potions. Sirius didn’t speak for a long moment. “I see. Can’t say I know what they meant by that.” He paused again as if waiting for something, but there was no response from Professor Black. The Professor didn’t speak much for the rest of the talk, leaving a little while before Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Seeing the changes to the Quidditch Pitch all but broke Harry’s heart. It was clear that Cedric felt the same way, looking in horror at the hedges that had overtaken the normally perfectly manicured grass as they joined Krum and Fleur. The challenge seemed straightforward enough – a maze with creatures and spells to get through, but at least he and Cedric would get a head start. It meant that he’d have to spend his time practicing anything he could think of.

He followed Krum at the older boy’s request, unknowingly saving Harry from Bagman’s further attempts to cheat Harry to victory. He couldn’t suppress the indignation when Krum asked about Hermione. “There’s nothing between me and Hermione, there never has been! We’re just friends! There’s nothing romantic about it.”

It seemed to abate Krum and their conversation shifted to Quidditch and flying until something moved in the Forest. It was Mr. Crouch, worn and scratched. Exhausted. Muttering to himself. Krum recognized him as well. Harry sprinted to the castle, leaving the other Champion with the man to find Dumbledore, Mr. Crouch’s words ringing in his head. Despite Snape’s attempt at stopping him, Dumbledore came out to Harry and followed as Harry led. He answered Dumbledore’s questions as they went. There was no answer when they reached the Forest, no sign of Crouch but Krum, stunned on the ground where Harry had left him with Mr. Crouch. Hagrid joined them and as Dumbledore was about to send him off to get Karkaroff and Moody, the Defense Professor joined him, Professor Black on his heels, pale.

Moody went into the Forest to look for Mr. Crouch, but Black stayed. He knelt next to Krum, looking him over when Hagrid returned with Karkaroff. The Durmstrang Headmaster went off at Dumbledore, only stopped by Hagrid grabbing him. At Dumbledore’s stern insistence, Hagrid took Harry to the castle. Harry only managed a single glance at the History professor, trying to convey his need to talk to Sirius in a look. Grey eyes met his and he was answered with the briefest of nods before the professor went back to helping Krum to his feet.

“Do you have an infirmary on the boat or should I take him to Madame Pomphrey, Karkaroff?” Harry didn’t hear the answer, but knowing Krum was getting help settled him.

Chapter Text

No answers about Crouch emerged in the next few days, Moody hadn’t found him in the Forest and he didn’t appear on the Marauders Map. Sirius had sent them an owl warning Harry to be careful and stay out of bounds – big words from Sirius, he thought bitterly. To their credit, Ron and Hermione joined him in his practice for the Third Task, looming ever closer. Their practice ended, Ron heading up towards Divination with a grumble while Harry and Hermione made their way to Arithmancy.

Exhaustion was catching up to him even through the lecture – a subject he normally enjoyed reduced to white noise as he slipped into sleep. He jolted out of a nightmare, screaming and clutching his scar. Professor Vector was at his side in an instant, concern etched on the teacher’s face. “Potter! Potter, are you with us?” He could only nod, eyes clenched tight as the pain began to abate. “Granger, take him to the Hospital Wing.”

Harry shook his head. “I can do it. Hermione can stay.” Professor Vector gave in and Harry left, making his way to Dumbledore’s office instead. He was stuck waiting for the Professor and, in curious examination, found himself falling into a basin filled with memories of Dumbledore’s. He left with more questions than answers.

There wasn’t much time to sort out all his feelings on it as they continued prepping for the final task, feeling more confidant than he had before the other two tasks.

The day finally came. Harry spent the morning and afternoon with Bill and Mrs. Weasley, showing them around and listening to Mrs. Weasley’s stories about her time at the school. And then it was time. Harry left to the maze with the rest of the Champions, going over all his new spells in his mind. He only half listened as they announced, looking for the Weasleys and Hermione in the crowd. He found them just before he and Cedric were sent to start.

They ran in at the whistle, separating as soon as they could, unwilling to go through the same path. Soon enough all four champions were inside and the maze grew dark. Using the spell Hermione taught him to find North, he started making his way to the center. For a while he encountered nothing and then – a dementor. A quick patronus revealed it a boggart and so with a simple ridikulus, Harry was past it. Next was a strange mist that had him hesitating, but Fleur screaming made the decision for him. As he ran through it, the world reversed but after a moment he began moving again. The world went back to normal and he began looking for the Beauxbatons champion.

Without fully pushing down his worry over her, Harry continued running, turning back as he found dead ends. The skrewt left him gasping but it was hardly the worst thing he encountered. He heard Krum and Cedric, the Bulgarian Champion using the Cruciatus Curse on the Hufflepuff. With a stunner, Harry took Krum down. After a short conversation, they sent up red sparks for the teachers to collect him and then parted ways.

It was just him and Cedric now.

A new fire under him Harry moved quickly. His path was next blocked by a sphinx. He asked her to move, even though he knew what her answer would be. A riddle. This was Hermione’s strength, not his. But it was the quickest path, he had to at least listen to it. Worst case, he’d leave and find another path.

It took him a little while and asking her to repeat the clues a few times, but he got to the answer and ran forward. Not long after, he could see it. The Tri-Wizard cup. But Cedric was running too. Harry caught sight of something running, something Cedric hadn’t seen. He shouted warning and Cedric threw himself down for safety. The spider – for that was what it was – turned it’s attention from the Hufflepuff to Harry as Harry through curses at it, none working.

Pain. His leg burned with pain as Cedric got the spider to drop him – twelve feet onto the already injured leg. With the spider dispatched by a pair of stunners, Harry tried to stand, finding the injured leg wouldn’t support him.

“Take it.” Harry said. The older boy was closer, less injured. He could see the longing on Cedric’s face, could tell he wanted it. But still Cedric did nothing.

“You take it.” Cedric argued. They began to argue over who deserved to take the Cup, both stubbornly refusing to let the other refuse the glory.

It took a moment for him to realize that neither was going to give and the answer came to him. “Both. We got here together, Hogwarts will still win and we both get our way.” Cedtic supported Harry over to the Cup, both of them reaching for a handle.

And then they were gone.

Cedric was dead.

Murdered.

Harry was alone.

Worse still, Voldemort stood revived. Alive. Wormtail wept as the Dark Wizard examined a brand of the Dark Mark on his arm. He touched it and pain wracked through Harry’s scar as the mark turned black on the whimpering man’s arm. Voldemort spoke, giving Harry his personal history and as the story came to an end, they were no longer alone. Many figures in dark robes and masks had appeared, forming an incomplete circle around them all.

Death Eaters.

Regulus swore under his breath, pain searing under his skin like a branding. He moved without thinking, knowing what the pain meant for him and the Wizarding World as a whole. Something had gone horribly wrong.

Malfoy was speaking. Harry didn’t need to strain himself to hear him. “I have information, my lord.” His voice didn’t rise. “Regulus Black lives.”

“So Wormtail has told me. Under the patronage of Albus Dumbledore.” The crowd hissed quietly and Harry wished he could stop listening. He didn’t want to hear this. “Yes, a member of this family we all believed lost has in fact betrayed us. Turned from the way to glory to be another lapdog of the muggles and traitors. He will be brought back to us or killed.”

It made sense. That was the worst part of the new information. “No.” He couldn’t stop it. It caught Voldemort’s attention, though.

The dead red eyes bore into him. “Yes, yes you would be in his classes, wouldn’t you, young Harry? Fond of him, I can tell. But you didn’t know he was one of mine, once.”

He continued to speak but Harry could hardly focus on his words, trying to reconcile the man he knew with the knowledge that in another world, his professor would be one of these cloaked wizards.

Harry lay on the ground, almost uncomprehending the noise he could hear. Screaming. People were screaming. Dumbledore’s face filled his vision. It was all Harry could do to tell Dumbledore about Voldemort, the crowd catching Fudge’s weak admission of Cedric’s death. He couldn’t process it all. Dumbledore lifted him, coaxing him to his feet and to release Cedric. Professor Black, pale, stood behind him and Harry couldn’t look at him.

Someone was escorting him back to the castle. Finally he understood who had him. Moody. He started telling him what had happened in the graveyard. About Cedric and Voldemort’s revival and the duel. Moody forced him to drink something and with a start, the Defense Against the Dark Arts office came into clear view.

“There’s a Death Eater here, I need to tell Dumbledore!”

“I know who the Death Eater is.” Moody seemed certain.

Harry could hardly believe it. “Karkaroff?”

Moody only laughed. “Karkaroff’s a coward who ran off as soon as the Mark burned on his arm. No, Potter. I’m the one that put your name in the goblet.” No. It couldn’t be. Could it? But the words that came next only confirmed it. “If there’s one thing I hate, it’s Death Eaters that walked free while our Master suffered and needed them most. Death Eaters like Karkaroff and Snape. Like Regulus Black.” And there was something there, something Harry’s panic stricken mind couldn’t quite place as Moody continued, telling him all the steps he’d taken to ensure Harry was in the graveyard.

“You’re mad.” It was all Harry could say and as Moody rose, rage on his face. The four figures in the Foe Glass were getting clearer and, before Moody could do anything, a chorus of “Stupefy” blasted the door open, four jets slamming into him. Dumbledore in the front, McGonagall, Snape, and Black with him.

“Severus, go retrieve your strongest truth potion. Minerva, go to the kitchens and bring back the House Elf named Winky. Regulus,” and Harry still couldn’t look at the man. “There is a large black dog in Hagrid’s pumpkin patch. Bring him to my office and tell him I will be there shortly. All of you return when you’re done.”

The teachers went and Dumbledore took the time to free the real Mad-Eye Moody, pouring the polyjuice potion still within the hip flask. And then they waited. Before any of the teachers could return, the impostor began to change. Harry recognized him. McGonagall, Snape, and Winky all confirmed it, appearing in a rush back to the room. Snape handed over the Veritaserum and Dumbledore forced three drops into the man’s mouth.

The man, now awakened, could no longer lie to them. He spoke, answering Dumbledore’s questions. Harry barely registered Black rejoining them partway through Crouch’s explanation of how his father subdued him. It felt like it went on forever but he knew it wasn’t near as long as it seemed. Finally there was silence. Every bit of information had been revealed.

“Harry, Regulus, come with me. Severus, tell Poppy. We need to get Alastor to the Hospital Wing and then direct Fudge here. Minerva, please keep an eye on him.”

As they went to leave, Barty Crouch Jr. spoke. “He knows you live, Regulus.” Professor Black froze. “He knows you have left him. There will be no forgiveness, Regulus.” Harry finally looked at him. He wasn’t looking at the restrained man, just staring straight ahead, grey eyes hard, fist clenched so tightly around his wand that his knuckles were white. After a long moment – still without looking back – he simply said “Good bye, Barty.” and began walking.

It was a distraught Sirius that met them in Dumbledore’s office. Harry barely listened as Dumbledore recounted what they’d just learned. Fawkes flew to him, comforting him in a way no one had before. The Headmaster’s blue eyes turned to him and Harry knew what was coming, even despite Sirius’s protest. Harry told them everything.

The ritual; showing Dumbledore and Sirius the cut on his arm.

The return of Voldemort.

The assembly of Death Eaters, which seemed to draw a pained sound from his history professor, the man seated alone in a dark corner of the office as if to be fully consumed by the shadows. Sirius looked over to him, but didn’t move from Harry’s side, hand still firmly on his shoulder. Finally the story finished.

“Regulus, if you’ll remain here.” Dumbledore said, standing. The man nodded mutely, on hand clenched tightly around his left forearm, an act Harry now understood. The Dark Mark was hidden there, under the prim black robes Harry was so accustomed to seeing him in. “Sirius, you may stay with Harry for the night if you wish.” And so Sirius did, transforming back into Padfoot before they returned to the halls, making their way to the Hospital Wing.

Harry didn’t see him for the rest of the term. In fact, no one seemed to know where the professor had gone. Unlike Defense Against the Dark Arts which no longer had a teacher, Professor Binns took the classes over, once more sending the class into a bored stupor – a mindlessness Harry welcomed. All they could get out of the ghost was that he had personal business and would return at the start of the next school year.

“Maybe it’s something he’s doing for Dumbledore.” Ron said quietly over lunch. “Like Sirius and Hagrid.” Harry had told him what he’d learned about their professor. Neither Ron nor Hermione seemed able to make sense of it either. He left that year still wondering what exactly the jobs so many people in his life had been given. Wondering and worrying over the future in a world with Voldemort once more among the living, more powerful than he’d been in thirteen years.

Chapter Text

Number 12 Grimmauld Place was not what Harry expected of Sirius’s home. It was dark and oppressive, spots on the entry hall’s walls that were bare of adornment. He could see where there had once been many somethings that had since been removed and couldn’t help but wonder what had been there. Hard to believe that his godfather and History professor had been raised in this place.

Well. Hard to believe Sirius was, at least.

But his godfather’s undeniable agitation gave away the unhappy childhood he’d spent in there – he wondered if he wouldn’t feel the same way if he was forced to return to Privet Drive after years of being free of it and the Dursleys. Now that he could see Sirius and the Weasleys, he felt the slightest tinge of regret for how angry he’d found himself at his friends and even Sirius. It didn’t make the prospect of cleaning any more appealing to Harry, though.

“You shouldn’t look so glum about it, Potter.” He all but shot up out of his chair; he hadn’t heard the history professor enter. “It was far worse when Kreacher and I moved back in a few years ago. I know it isn’t the situation you want, but at least you’re a second wave, not first.” There was still something unreadable in the man’s grey eyes as he sat, putting food on his plate. There was a moment of tense silence that he either didn’t notice or, more probably, ignored. “Speaking of which, Mrs. Weasley, there are still some tomes I have to move that are dangerous for anyone not versed in darker magics. Best to leave the book cases as they are until I can devise a way to secure them. Would hate to see anyone getting trapped in books forever because they couldn’t keep their mischievous noses out of trouble when there are two able bodied Marauders in the house that could be interrogated endlessly.”

Fred and George’s heads – previously pressed together in discussion – zeroed in on Black. “And say we were interested-”

“in said able bodied Marauders?”

Sirius and Remus blanched and without looking up from his meal, Professor Black pointed at them. “Right there.”

“So that’s how-”

“Never could get Lupin-”

“Have to try harder-”

Harry wasn’t certain what exactly the Professor had managed to start, but the tension his entrance caused had been broken. Casual conversation began to fill the room again and Harry found himself enjoying himself for the first time since summer had began. After dessert, he leaned back in his chair until Sirius turned to him. “I’m surprised. I’d have thought the first thing you’d do would be to ask questions about Voldemort.”

The atmosphere in the room shifted immediately, but Harry did his best to ignore it. “I did. But Ron and Hermione said we’re not allowed in the Order-” Professor Black scoffed and Mrs. Weasley sent him a scathing glare.

“Too right. They’re far too young to be in the Order!”

“And since when did people need to be of age to ask questions? Harry’s got the right to know what’s been happening?”

It’s enough to cause a rebellion among the other teenagers, though Mrs. Weasley’s focus was still entirely on Sirius now. All eyes were on the two of them as they argued over whether or not Harry should be told what had been happening. It came to a head with Mrs. Weasley. “He’s not James, Sirius.”

“I’m perfectly aware who he is, thanks, Molly.”

“Enough.” Professor Black’s cool voice broke through their debate. “Potter’s not a member of the Order. He’s not of age. Those are facts. However, they are facts alone without the context of everything he’s experienced.” He continued speaking, not giving anyone a chance to interrupt him. “I was only a year older than Potter when I was officially initiated into the Death Eaters.” Harry could see Sirius grimace, but there was no denying that everyone’s attention was on the otherwise closed off Professor. “This is a war. As we speak and dither, the Dark Lord curries favor and increases his power base. The only solid target we know he has is Harry Potter.” Black was staring at him now. “Potter’s faced him not once, but thrice, even if one was more memory than man. No one has done more to disrupt his plans than Potter and he will always be involved, whether he or anyone here wants him to be. Ignorance is not a tool.” He turned then to look at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. “Your own daughter was influenced by a piece of the Dark Lord when she was only eleven. Your son has proved time and again that he will follow Potter into danger at a word. Do you want to have to bury one of your children because you valued their peace of mind over preparing them to protect themselves against the very real darkness already in their lives?”

It was the longest speech he’d ever heard Professor Black give outside of classes and it seemed he wasn’t finished yet. “That isn’t to say they need to know the minutiae of our work. But they already know the Order of Phoenix exists. They’re already a security risk.”

“You would turn my children into soldiers.” Mrs. Weasley accused.

Professor Black met her gaze unflinchingly, something cold and foreign in his grey eyes that set Harry on edge. It was something he’d seen in the eyes of Lucius Malfoy and Tom Riddle, a detached calculation that Harry had trouble reconciling with the humor and kindness he knew the man was capable of. “Yes, I would. Because soldiers are what we’re going to need. The Death Eaters will train their children to show no mercy. They will learn to have no qualms when it comes to the Unforgivable curses; I certainly never balked in using them when it was the most prudent option.”

“Regulus enough.” There was deep pain in Sirius’s voice, but the expression on the History professor’s expression never changed. “No one will be turning any kids into soldiers, no one’s going to teach them how to use dark magic. We’re going to tell them what they need to know, nothing more, nothing less.” Mrs. Weasley – expression torn somewhere between anger and horror still at the speech they’d all been given – agreed quietly. Professor Black’s expression changed slightly, lips twitching ever so slightly into a smirk as he stood. Sirius squinted, surprise and realization quickly dawning in Harry’s godfather’s face. He laughed for a moment before turning to Harry, waiting for his questions. Even Ginny ended up getting to stay, her mother shaken enough to apparently forget the youngest of their group was there.

Hours later, gathered in Ron and Harry’s room the teenagers met. Hermione paced, gnawing at her lip. “I never thought of it as a war, not really. But Professor Black is right, isn’t he? People are just going to keep dying and disappearing until this is over.” The idea should have been terrifying – it probably was – but Harry had trouble feeling anything beyond his own anger and a deep, exhausted numbness. “Last year was just a taste of what could happen.”

Fred and George were almost uncharacteristically quiet. “We don’t remember the last war, we were only a few years old when it ended.” George started, Fred seamlessly picking up his twin’s thought. “But Bill and Charlie grew up in it. They don’t talk about it much, but they remember mom and dad being scared, of knowing that people were getting hurt.” Another break and switch. “It’ll be bad.”

Harry’s mind filled with Cedric, with his mother. “We’ll be ready. For Cedric. For everyone who’s disappeared and died, we’ll be ready.”