Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

Chapter 6: Midnight Marauders

Harry’s eyes fly open and he’s searching for the threat before he even consciously thinks about it.

He checks on Hermione first.

She’s asleep.

Despite how he’d had to pry her away from her book for dinner, he knows she’s exhausted. Growing and mending bones is never easy and she’d almost fallen asleep in her pudding. She had been ordered into bed by Ariana after the meal was finished and she hadn’t even argued.

With confirmation that Hermione is safe, he slowly sits up, slides on his glasses and checks out the rest of the room. The shadows stretch over the furniture, crawl up the walls and along the floor. But there’s nothing hiding in them.

A noise travels through the door; voices.

Harry slips out of the bed, grabbing his wand from the bedside table before he pads across the floor in his bare feet. The door isn’t locked. He opens it noiselessly. The corridor is empty but the door to the main infirmary at the end of it is wide open with light spilling out into the corridor.

He blinks and for a moment there’s a grimm in the doorway, looking over its shoulder at Harry. He blinks again and its gone.

He frowns.

He slips out of the room and follows the corridor down to the door. He’s careful as he approaches, keeps himself in the shadows. He peeks around the doorway and into the infirmary.

There’s a gathering around a bed. McGonagall and Dumbledore are at the foot of the bed; Ariana and Pomfrey are on the far side of the bed to Harry but their focus is on the occupant who Harry can’t see. Three men stand on the near side but their backs are to him. They’re wearing dark clothing – not robes. It looks like a combination of dark camouflage jackets and canvas trousers similar to the police SWAT teams. Two have short, dark hair; one has a curly thatch of honey brown hair but it’s closely cut to his head too.

“Is he going to be alright?” asks the honey-brown haired man. The accent is Scottish; it’s not someone who Harry recognises.

Harry keeps quiet and watches.

Ariana finally stops weaving her wand over her patient. “He’ll live but he’ll have a miserable few days of it.”

One of the dark-haired men slaps the other on the shoulder. “Told you, Prongs.”

Prongs.

Harry’s breath catches in his throat; his heart races. His fingers grip his wand tightly. It can’t be…

But it can.

Neither he nor Hermione have talked about it but Harry knows they’ve both wondered who else might be alive in the world in which they’ve found themselves. After all, if Dumbledore and his sister were alive, who else might have survived? He hasn’t allowed himself to hope or worry about it but the names ricochet through his mind now.

Sirius. Remus and Tonks. His parents. Snape.

They’re all possibilities. Maybe more than possibilities if Prongs is a nickname for James Potter in this world.

Prongs drapes an arm over the shoulders of the friend who had slapped him. “You were as worried as I was, Blackfoot.”

Harry freezes. Blackfoot. It’s so similar to Padfoot. Is that Sirius? His mouth goes dry.

The Scot clears his throat. “Thanks, Mam.”

Mam?!

Ariana shoots the man an unimpressed look. “You really should have taken him to Saint Mungo’s, Albert.”

Albert.

OK, so another difference, muses Harry. Maybe there is no Wormtail in the Marauders in this world.

“The healers there aren’t as good as you.” Albert says, adding a sing-song note to his voice.

“And they hate werewolves.” Blackfoot states bluntly. He doesn’t sound like Sirius.

“Besides, you know Remus and he knows you, Mam.” Albert continues. “Better for him to wake up here to Poppy and you than in some nondescript ward in the hospital.”

“Your heart might have been in the right place but this isn’t your personal medical centre, Mister Croaker.” McGonagall retorts. “Try to remember that.”

“Sorry, Aunt Minnie.” All three men say in unison.

McGonagall huffs, shoots the Headmaster a look as though to say ‘you deal with them,’ and leaves the infirmary with a muttered excuse.

“You should get to bed, Poppy. You have the early shift tomorrow.” Ariana says.

Poppy nods.

Harry takes a quick step back, making himself invisible as Poppy walks through and past him. He waits until she’s through a door at the other end of the corridor which must lead to her quarters. Harry sneaks back to his previous position and stops when he realises Dumbledore and the three men are standing in a loose circle close to the door. A brief glance to the curtained off bed provides the reason for their move.

At the new angle, he can see his father…not his father – James Potter. He looks incredibly young. They do look alike; there’s a similarity in their bone structure, the glasses, the messy hair. His eyes slide left hoping to see Sirius…

It’s Wormtail.

Rage bubbles up but Harry suppresses it ruthlessly.

Peter Pettigrew is dead.

And this Peter Pettigrew, standing next to his father – no! Next to James Potter – this Peter Pettigrew is not Wormtail here. He’s the man called Blackfoot.

Harry frowns.

If Remus is the patient, Potter and Pettigrew are standing in front of him with the unknown Albert making up their fourth, where the hell is Sirius?

“What I have noted is that not one of you has explained how Remus came to be shot with a silver arrow.”

Dumbledore’s sharp remonstration has Harry abruptly tuning back into their conversation.

The three men look at each other, silent exchanges which clearly they could read between them.

Albert sighs. “It’s classified, Uncle Albus.”

Dumbledore regards his nephew with a stern glare and Harry is impressed that the man doesn’t just immediately cave under the relentless silent demand for him to talk.

It’s Potter who clears his throat. “Someone’s been hunting unicorns. Moody wanted us to do some reconnaissance on the herd, Professor.”

“Only in our other guises.” Albert chips in.

Harry can almost see how Dumbledore’s eyes sharpen on them.

“What did you witness?” The Headmaster asks.

“Seven in dark cloaks and white masks apparated straight into the middle of the herd.” Pettigrew reports briskly.

“They acted like a pack.” Albert adds. “They worked to cull the weakest, trap it.”

“We were about to intervene before they could kill it when the centaurs attacked.” James lifts his chin as though daring his former Headmaster to say something critical.

“It was chaos.” Albert sighs.

“Which is when Remus got hit with the arrow.” Pettigrew says. “‘Course, it wouldn’t have mattered if he wasn’t a werewolf under his wolf form but…”

“We grabbed him and got out of there before they noticed us.” James says. “Hogwarts is closer than Saint Mungo’s.”

Dumbledore gestures at him. “Do you have any suspicions as to the identity of the seven robed figures?”

“Where was your History of Magic Professor tonight?” asks James.

The disappointed look Dumbledore levels at him is very familiar to Harry. It’s the same one Dumbledore used to give him when he said something against Severus Snape.

“Professor Black has my full trust, James.” Dumbledore says. “You would be wise to lose schoolboy grudges which should have been over long ago.”

Black.

Does Dumbledore mean Sirius?

“Black tried to kill Moony.” James remarks sharply.

Harry barely manages to stifle a cry. He can’t be referring to Sirius he can’t – although he can’t deny that Sirius as a teenager had apparently bullied the hell out of Snape and allowed him to go searching for Remus on the night of a full moon. OK, admittedly if Sirius ran true to form then there was every possibility that he was as much of a prat in this world during his younger years as he had been in Harry’s world.

“Let me aide you in your investigation,” Dumbledore says frigidly, “and tell you Professor Black is abroad in Salem representing Hogwarts at the Magical Institute’s annual conference of academia along with Filius Flitwick. He has been in front of witnesses for the past few hours taking part in a debate on whether muggle subjects and qualifications should be introduced into our own standard curriculum.”

James grimaces.

“It is long past when Remus Lupin should have told you the truth of what occurred between them.” Dumbledore says gravely. “Tell him if he does not, I will. I fear we can no longer afford such misperceptions and misjudgements to continue with what is to come.” He casts a look around the group before sweeping out.

“Damn it, Grizzly, your uncle can still scare the shit out of me.” Pettigrew says.

“Do you have to be so uncouth?” asks Albert with a sigh. He leans back against a side table and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I tell it how it is.” Pettigrew says. “Talking of which…what the hell was he on about?”

James shakes his head. “I don’t know.” He sighs. “You know Remus didn’t ever want to talk about what happened with Black.”

“Well, now I’m thinking that was a mistake.” Albert counters. “I mean, Uncle Albie has always been disappointed about how we treated Black in school, but this was different.”

“Yeah,” Pettigrew notes, “it sounds like Moony might not have told us the full story.”

Harry doesn’t have to look at his – at James to know he doesn’t like that idea.

“Well, we can’t exactly ask him about it now.” James runs a hand through his hair. “One of us needs to report to Moody.”

“I’ll go.” Albert offers. “You stay with Remus.”

James breathes out, his relief evident. “Thanks, Bertie-Bear.”

Pettigrew sniggers at the nickname and Albert whacks the back of his head.

“Oi!” Pettigrew protests.

“You deserved that, Blackfoot.” Albert says serenely.

Pettigrew goes to retaliate but his move to put Albert in a headlock is aborted by Ariana drawing back the curtains around the bed.

James immediately walks over and the other follow him. Harry watches avidly.

“You can stay but don’t wake him.” Ariana says strictly.

James nods. “Thank you.”

Ariana walks away from the bed, pausing only to pat her son’s arm consolingly and kiss his cheek on her way out. Harry dives back into the shadows; his invisibility spell is still active but he really doesn’t want to be found eavesdropping on the infirmary.

Ariana closes the door behind her though and the corridor momentarily falls into darkness before she lights it with a small ball of glowing flames from the palm of her hand as she walks to the other door and leaves Harry in darkness.

He can’t open the infirmary door. He knows it would give him away immediately. He walks quietly back to his room and gets back into bed.

Harry stares up at the ceiling.

It seems unreal to him.

The man who in another life was his father is sitting in a room only a short walk away. He’s keeping a friend company – the same friend who in another world was Harry’s Professor, and later a friend to Harry himself for all Remus was wildly unreliable about staying in touch.

Four men. Four nicknames.

There’s little doubt in Harry’s mind that the four are good friends. This world’s Marauders; Prongs, Blackfoot, Grizzly and Moony.

It sounds wrong.

Messrs., Prongs, Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail.

That resonates with Harry as right, even if Wormtail had been lousy traitor in the end.

Pettigrew.

Is Pettigrew already a Death Eater? The black robed figures with their white masks sound all too familiar. Has his father’s friend already started to betray them or is he loyal here? There’s no way to know for certain.

Harry sighs and tries to make sense of everything logically, in the way Hermione would if she was awake.

He’s tempted for a second to wake her but he knows she needs her sleep.

First things first, Harry tells himself sternly; the men in the infirmary are not much older than Harry himself which gives him a view on timing – he might not even be born. And there’s always the possibility that he might not be born at all. He hadn’t heard any of the men talk about his mother.

He pushes the thought of Lily Evans to one side and returns to his original train of thought.

Four friends. Young men. They were working for Moody and investigating suspicious activity, so likely they were Aurors.

Another difference.

His father had worked for the Ministry in the Department of Mysteries. Sirius had been a part-time mechanic and a part-time barman; playing the role of the rebel rich boy. Remus had struggled and had taken part-time, cash-in-hand work in the muggle world. Pettigrew had taken some low level Ministerial job.

He’d found that out in an unofficial biography of his own life months after the war; months after the ruling.

He can’t assume anything about the men in the infirmary, their loyalties and their history. All of it could be different. Certainly, the presence of Albert Croaker should give him pause as it’s clear Dumbledore has an intact extended family and his nephew has ended up in Gryffindor with James Potter.

Whereas Sirius…had Sirius even been sorted into Gryffindor in this world?

Harry rubs his eyes tiredly.

He can’t assume anything. They’re different.

It’s going to be difficult, Harry surmises, but hopefully he won’t actually have to spend any time with them.

Which brings him onto the other side of what he had heard.

Someone’s hunting unicorns.

He shivers.

Black robed figures in white masks.

In his world, this was the time of the first blood war. Riddle had been rising as a threat for years and had finally made his grab for power. Yet it sounded like the robed figures weren’t usual; that this wasn’t the middle of a war. No. It sounded very much like this was the beginning. And even if it was the beginning of a war, he had no proof it was Riddle.

The Knights of Walpurgis had been a movement Tom Riddle had stolen for himself. Like a cuckoo.

Riddle.

Voldemort.

Merlin but he hoped it isn’t him.

Harry doesn’t think he can bear going through it again.

He closes his eyes.

This isn’t his world.

Hermione will work out how to get them home.

He has to hold onto that.

He slides into an uneasy sleep.

The morning dawns bright and sunny. Their small room is flooded with sunlight and somehow it makes Harry feel better as he gets up and gets ready. After Ariana’s usual check-up with him where she gives him the all-clear and sets an appointment later in the day to cover the treatment for his magic, he eschews pyjamas for clothes stored in his chest – just his usual fare of jeans, jumper and sneakers.

Hermione follows his example after her own badge of good health, and they sit at the table in front of the window for their breakfast. She looks completely recovered; the colour is back in her cheeks and her eyes are alive with her usual spark.

Harry fills Hermione on the night’s events while they eat. Hermione listens patiently to everything.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re right.” She says, gesturing with her cup of tea, “we can’t assume anything. We can’t assume who is on the right side and who’s on the wrong; we don’t even know the sides.”

Harry feels a little lighter with her words. “It was weird seeing them.”

“I can’t imagine.” Hermione admits. “I’m not sure how I’d feel running into this world’s version of my parents.” Sadness flits across her expression before she pushes it away and sips her tea.

“We didn’t really talk about the books last night.” Harry says.

Hermione looks slightly sheepish. “I did kind of fall asleep on you, didn’t I?”

“Eh, interdimensional jetlag.” Harry shrugs and picks up his coffee; he needs the caffeine after his disturbed night. “I think you’re allowed.”

“Well,” Hermione says, “the book was fascinating. There was an entire chapter devoted to Professor Dumbledore. Apparently, Healer Dumbledore was attacked as in our world but as we suspected, she was healed. Her father was given a suspended sentence for attacking the muggle boys who were all obliviated. They moved back to Godric’s Hollow in the aftermath.”

Harry tries to assess what changes that might have prompted. “So, Dumbledore’s family stayed together here.”

“Exactly.” Hermione says. “Not only that but his father, Percival, led a political movement based on protectionism and keeping the wizarding and the muggle worlds separate. He was very successful and became Chief Warlock.”

“Wow.” Harry murmurs.

“It led to a lot of changes. Importantly it changed how muggleborn are viewed here; they’re not even called muggleborn.” Hermione waves the cup, the tea sloshing close to spilling. “As soon as a child is added to the magical register at birth, the Ministry is sent to the home and the parents are relocated to a wizarding enclave as though they’re in a witness protection scheme. The children all attend mandatory primary schools together. Not only that but there’s proper muggle studies mandatory all the way through schooling where everyone is taught how to blend if they are in muggle culture.”

Harry looks at her in disbelief. “They’re just relocating people? I can’t see too many people going for that.”

“They gloss over it but I have a feeling there’s magic used to force compliance.” Hermione admits. “They also have a really close relationship with the muggle government surprisingly. But it’s used to enforce a really strict Statute of Secrecy and to ensure the latest muggle cultural information is available to the wizarding world.” She leans forward excitedly. “They have working televisions, radios, cinemas, cars – everything! If muggles invent something, the wizarding world introduces its variant too.”

Harry’s amused by her enthusiasm. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so excited about technology.”

“Just because I’m hopeless at connecting all the cables on my TV, doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it.” Hermione retorts but her eyes are sparkling.

“You’re just addicted to The West Wing.”

Hermione sniffs. “It’s brilliantly written and you say that like you’re not just as addicted.”

It was a clever show. Jed Bartlett was the man Harry wished he’d had as a father figure; human and not without flaws but ostensibly a good man.

“Anyway, it is the same year here as the one we left.” Hermione says.

“I don’t get that.” Harry take another gulp of coffee.

Hermione shrugs one shoulder. “Me either but I think time must flow differently. Everything happens almost twenty years later than our own history books.” She pushes her hair back behind one ear. “Back to Dumbledore’s history; he did meet Grindelwald, but only briefly according to the book, before he left on a world tour with his friend Elphias Doge. He was in France working with the Flamels when the war broke out.”

“He wasn’t working here?” asks Harry.

“No,” Hermione shakes her head, “he went on to become a war hero. Fought with the French Resistance.” She sets her empty tea-cup down and reaches to grab the tea-pot to pour another. “He didn’t come back to England until a few years after the war and his fight with Grindelwald.”

“Why did he come back?” asks Harry.

“According to the book, because his father fell ill.” Hemione sweetens her tea and stirs it absently. “He was invited to take over as Chief Warlock and did. It’s only when Ariana’s husband Bertie Croaker dies that he comes to the school and that was just over twenty years ago. The book didn’t say why but given your news from last night, she must have just had her son. Presumably Dumbledore wanted to be close to support her.”

Harry nods. “That makes sense.”

“He was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher until Headmaster Dippet retired the year after Professor Dumbledore took up the post, and then he was chosen as the Headmaster.” Hermione sips her tea and frowns. “There was only a short paragraph on his time since becoming Headmaster and mostly to do with his updating the curriculum.”

Harry snags the last triangle of toast and chews on it thoughtfully. “If he wasn’t here during Riddle’s school years…”

Hermione shakes her head. “It’s more than that; Riddle would never have ended up in a muggle orphanage. The Ministry would have retrieved him only hours after he was born.” She sighs. “There was nothing in the book about what happens to orphaned children. I’ll need to borrow something which goes into more detail on the Muggle Act of 1895.”

“Rather you than me.” Harry says, washing down the cold toast with a gulp of his coffee.

“I did do some cross-referencing with their A History of Hogwarts.” Hermione says. “Riddle’s history is not particularly different in what’s recorded; Slytherin, Head Boy. He won an award for Potions three years running. His alumnus entry notes that he was embarking on a traditional world tour. It was last updated the year after his graduation.”

In their world, Riddle had worked for a while in the UK before disappearing abroad and re-emerging as Voldemort.

“What about Hagrid?” asks Harry, because Hagrid’s history as the groundskeeper had been tied to Riddle opening the Chamber of Secrets in their world.

Hermione looks pleased with him as though he’s got the answer to a question she was posing correct. “Hagrid attended Hogwarts at the same time as Riddle but he was suspended at the end of his third year for keeping a dangerous creature in the castle. He had to repeat his third year as he wasn’t allowed to sit the end of year exams. He was hired on as an assistant to the Care of Magical Creatures Professor at the end of his schooling, and took over as the Professor himself last year.”

Harry frowns. “The Chamber of Secrets?”

“It was opened by the looks of things because Myrtle still died in the bathroom.” Hermione confirms. “But A History of Hogwarts had her death down as a suicide.”

“You think Riddle covered up the evidence to distort the reason for her death.” Harry notes.

Hermione raises her tea-cup. “I do.” She moves to a different position, leaning over the table intently. “What about your book?”

“I’m on chapter five.” Harry says. “So far it’s covered how Merlin enacted the veil of secrecy on his death to keep wizarding space safe, the establishment of the Wizengamot and the early days, the founding of Hogwarts, and the impact of the establishment of the Church of England and the Catholic puritan inquisition.”

Hermione’s eyes are wide with interest. “That sounds fascinating. All our history books went on about were the Goblin wars.”

“You can read it after me.” Harry offers generously.

Hermione throws her napkin at him and grins. “OK, so we have some of the lay of the land…”

There’s a knock on the door which interrupts her.

They glance at each other, each of them wary, but Harry turns back to the door and calls for whoever’s on the other side to enter.

It’s McGonagall.

“Professor, this is Hermione.” Harry says, scrambling to his feet.

Hermione stands up much more graciously and offers her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Professor McGonagall.”

“Likewise.” McGonagall says briskly. “You’re looking much better.”

“I feel better.” Hermione admits.

McGonagall nods and turns to Harry. “You’re maintaining the lack of surnames, I see. Is there any particular reason?”

“We’ve established there is a substantial timeline difference between our two worlds.” Hermione replies before Harry can answer. “It’s seems prudent. However, we’re aware that the tradition at Hogwarts is not to use first names, so if some formality is required, perhaps we can use a pseudonym?”

“A good compromise.” McGonagall says, approvingly. “What may we call you?”

“Harry will be Harry Smith and I’ll be Hermione Jones.” Hermione answers.

Harry catches Hermione’s eyes and raises an eyebrow because – really? Smith and Jones?

“It’s classic.” Hermione says.

“If you’d like to follow me, Mister Smith, Miss Jones, the Headmaster is expecting you.” There’s an odd note to her voice but when Harry looks she seems impassive.

Harry and Hermione exchange another look but it’s one of reassurance and agreement. They do need to talk to Dumbledore if they’re going to find their way home.

When Hermione grabs her handbag and reaches for him as they follow McGonagall from their room, Harry doesn’t think twice about sliding his hand into hers and holding on.

Chapter 7: A Ball of Spells

McGonagall leads them out and down the corridor away from the infirmary. She cuts through another corridor and down a set of stairs which weirdly brings them out into the corridor for the Headmaster’s study.

Which it shouldn’t if the castle complied with any kind of logic.

Harry inwardly sighs and puts it down to the castle’s quirks.

“Professor McGonagall for the Headmaster.” She says to the gargoyle.

The staircase begins to move.

Harry blinks at the lack of a password but he assumes if Dumbledore hadn’t adopted his grandfather persona, he also hasn’t got a famed love of muggle sweets to use as his password bible.

They walk up the stairs and McGonagall raps three short times on the door before entering.

“May I present, Mister Harry Smith, and Miss Hermione Jones.” McGonagall says dryly.

Dumbledore looks up from behind his large desk and nods at McGonagall. “Thank you, Minerva.”

Harry barely acknowledges McGonagall leaving, too swept up in the differences between the offices. His Dumbledore’s office had been a veritable definition of the word ‘cluttered’ – knick-knacks, books, odds and sods of different things crammed into the bookshelves and on display tables. Here there is no clutter; the bookshelves are packed with books but there is an order and his desk is clear. Harry’s eyes land on the sleeping phoenix on the stand by the window and his breath catches painfully; Fawkes.

Dumbledore gets up and walks around the desk to usher them into a sitting area near the window. “Tea?”

Hermione accepts before Harry can answer. They sit down on the small two-seater sofa which is angled to the right of the window, Dumbledore taking a comfortable chair opposite them. An elf pops in with the refreshments and Harry accepts a cup of tea he has no intentions of drinking.

“Ariana tells me you are both fully recovered from the trip.” Dumbledore begins. “She also tells me you have some additional treatment to take due to a pre-existing medical condition?” His gaze is directed at Harry.

“Yes,” Harry answers, “ideally we’d stay until the treatment was complete.”

“But if we can get home and it’s something we can learn, we can do that and treat Harry there.” Hermione adds.

Dumbledore nods slowly. “Sensible.” He takes a sip of tea and sets the cup aside to steeple his fingers together. “Jopy tells me Kitsy gave you history books yesterday?”

“Yes, we thought it prudent to understand some of the differences between our worlds.” Hermione says. “Although the year is the same, it’s clear we’re on different temporal paths. The events you are currently experiencing happened approximately twenty years in our past.”

Dumbledore looks surprised. “I see.”

Hermine lifts and drops a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “We can’t be certain events would play out exactly here as in our world as there are clear differences in our history, but we’re wary of revealing too much of our world in case we unduly influence yours.”

Dumbledore regards her seriously for a long moment before he concedes with a small incline of his head. “Harry described you as the brightest witch of your age. I see he was being truthful and not just expressing a boastful opinion as your friend.”

Hermione blushes.

“Have you determined the diverging factor?” asks Dumbledore, fingers stroking his short beard.

“With what we’ve learned, we believe a key factor is the creation of the treatment Harry requires.” Hermione replies bluntly.

Dumbledore raises an eyebrow. “Fascinating.” He takes another sip of his tea. “Have you then considered whether Harry’s need played a part in the eventual destination?”

Harry is taken aback by the question and Hermione immediately shakes her head.

“Harry had no direct contact with the crystal ball which we believed triggered the tunnel between our worlds.” Hermione says crisply. “We’ve determined that it either triggered accidentally, or because it determined I did not have the genealogy to hold the ball, or because it was tied to me specifically.”

Dumbledore’s eyes stay on Hermione. “The ball was a gift?”

“Yes, a birthday present from a friend’s mother.”

Harry puts down the tea. He hasn’t touched it.

“It is unusual for crystal balls to be given outside the family.” Dumbledore notes. “You must have been very close for the gift to have been considered at all.”

Hermione pushes her back behind her ear and nods. “Harry and I were best friends with one of her sons. I dated him for a short period and Harry once dated her daughter. We were considered extended family. Our friend explained that his mother’s crystal ball would go to her daughter, of course, but that she had gifted me one of the spare balls in the attic; until his sister, the family had produced all sons for generations. The ball in question was his paternal grandmother’s.”

“May I see the ball?” asks Dumbledore.

Hermione levitates the Tupperware box out of her handbag and carefully unseals it. She levitates the ball onto the coffee table.

Dumbledore retrieves a pair of glasses from the inner pocket of the robe and examines the ball intently without touching it. “There is fog in the glass.”

“Yes, another of our friends noticed it when I unwrapped the gift. She suggested a spiritual cleanse.” Hermione informs him.

Dumbledore looks up at her. “May I examine it with my wand?”

Hermione nods but her hand seeks Harry’s and he holds it while Dumbledore unholsters his wand. Harry watches carefully as Dumbledore gets up and casts a containment area in the centre of the office.

Hermione and Harry follow him from the sitting area as Dumbledore levitates the ball into the containment area and only then begins to cast his magical scans.

“There are two spells attached to the glass.” Dumbledore murmurs. He flicks his wand and one of them snaps like a hologram to spin above the ball in glowing orange figures.

Hermione breathes in sharply.

Harry cocks his head. He’s read some of Hermione’s arithmancy books so he knows he’s looking at the spell’s formula. He digs through his meagre knowledge and starts to interpret the figures.

“It’s tied to Hermione specifically.” Harry notes out loud.

“Yes, but this is a harmless spell in and of itself.” Dumbledore says in a lecturing tone. “Here: the intent is to show a vision of a specific boy when the ball is activated at midnight.”

“So M…our friend’s mother…” Harry begins.

“Molly Weasley spelled the ball to show a specific individual on the night of Hermione’s birthday.” Dumbledore nods.

Hermione sighs. “I told you.” She mutters to Harry who is frowning at Dumbledore being able to identify the caster.

“It wasn’t an usual practice for mothers to do so when they wanted to determine or influence a certain relationship.” Dumbledore lectures almost absently. “But suffice to say, this is not the spell which caused the interdimensional travel.”

He flicks his wand and it disappears. A second flick and another spell begins to unravel its formula in the air above the crystal ball. There’s lines and lines of it reaching from the high ceiling back to the ball.

“This, I fear, may take us sometime to decipher.” Dumbledore says, his eyes looking up to the top of the formula. He makes a motion and parchment flies from his desk; a second later a quill is transferring the formula onto the parchment.

“At least we know it’s a spell.” Hermione says to Harry. “We should be able to decipher it eventually.”

Harry nods. “How long do you think…”

“I’m not sure, Harry,” Hermione admits, “this looks like a complicated and highly arithmanthic spell. It could take us years to completely understand it.”

“Unfortunately, Hermione is entirely correct.” Dumbledore turns towards them, finally tearing his eyes away from the glowing formula. “It will still take time to understand the formula and to change it to return you from whence you came.”

Harry pushes a hand through his hair. “Right.”

“Let us sit and discuss your options.” Dumbledore ushers them back to the sitting area.

Harry picks up his tea and gulps down the semi-cold liquid. Hermione is sat closely pressed up against him, her touch keeping him grounded.

“Firstly, we need to deal with practicalities; there is the matter of your arrival here and lack of credentials.” Dumbledore says. “I believe we will need to inform the Ministry and have official papers – birth certificates, qualifications, and so on – created for you.”

“That seems sensible.” Hermione replies.

Harry’s less enthused but he recognises that official documentation is probably a good idea.

“Associated with the issue of identification is your remarkable similarity, Harry, to a prominent family line.” Dumbledore says. “Both Professor McGonagall and I noted your resemblance on the day of your arrival; it cannot be denied. It wouldn’t surprise me if Charlus Potter as the current Lord isn’t already feeling some kind of impact to his family magic.”

Harry stiffens and Hermione tenses beside him.

“Family magic?” Harry latches onto the last part.

“Perhaps it works differently in your world.” Dumbledore allows. “Here each family is connected not just through their genealogy but also through their magic. It allows the head of the family to protect them and provides him or her with a way of knowing if there is a problem.” He smiles somewhat sadly. “Unfortunately, it is considered old-fashioned to follow some of the rites these days but the family magic is still very much a vital part of our community.” He regards them intently. “I assume you have no equivalent in your world?”

Harry shakes his head. “There’s…something. Molly keeps a clock which keeps track of each family member.” He frowns. “There’s a tapestry of one family line. I’m…the head of that family too because my godfather entailed the position to me on his death.”

He tries not to think about Teddy. He hasn’t seen the little boy since the day before his ruling. With Teddy’s ever-changing face and hair he can’t visit in the muggle world but even if he could, Andromeda had asked Harry not to visit in the magical world because of the risk his magic posed to the little boy. Harry sends letters and gifts, but he knows nothing compensates for the lack of a physical presence. If he receives the treatment…maybe he can see Teddy again.

“Possibly this is the difference at the root of the divergence.” Hermione says. “If the magical link within a family line is strong, it might have led to someone surviving when they didn’t in our world. One outcome might be that the treatment Harry needs exists here, but there may be others too.”

“I agree.” Dumbledore says, but his eyes return to Harry. “If you are the head of two magical lines in your world, it is entirely possible that both families have felt your arrival in this world.” His gaze moves to Hermione. “I assume that as you were gifted a crystal ball, your own mother was not magical?”

“First generation.” Hermione says. “My parents were both muggles. I’m referred to as muggleborn in our world. I understand that term has fallen out of use here.”

“It has.” Dumbledore says without expanding on it. “Luckily it does mean we don’t have a third family line to consider.”

Harry sighs and gives in to the inevitable to ask for Dumbledore’s advice. He knows he’s only resisting because his Dumbledore had been about manipulation. “What do you suggest?”

“I would suggest we invite both heads here this evening and inform them of what has occurred. They may be prepared to assist with the Ministry which would be most useful.” Dumbledore advises. “I’m also sure they may offer you shelter and sanctuary; family magic is almost a sacred duty here.” He passes a hand over his tea and it begins to steam again. “I don’t believe it would be wise to accept their offers.”

“Why not?” asks Harry.

Dumbledore nods as though he had expected the challenge. “There are things to consider.”

“Such as?” asks Harry bluntly, ignoring Hermione’s chiding look at his tone.

“The matter of your knowledge and your safety.” Dumbledore replies, his eyes meeting Harry’s. “You are correct to be cautious about revealing your world and its history; your place within it. Your knowledge may be used to influence our future in some way. This world is on a precipice. There are difficult times ahead and your knowledge may help or hinder our approach to dealing with what is to come.”

“So you’d prefer that even though we’re telling the heads of Harry’s family lines about our arrival that we don’t go with them and put ourselves at potential risk where our knowledge would be used to subvert or influence events here.” Hermione replies.

“Precisely.” Dumbledore says. “A second consideration is the work to unravel the spell. I would like to make myself available to you, but I have duties and responsibilities to the school which must take precedence the majority of the time.” He holds up his hand when Hermione goes to speak. “I am sure you could on your own do the work, but it is a lot of work and even if you were to take the lead on unravelling this, you may need help at times.” He waves to the containment field where the parchment is still copying the spell.

Hermione concedes with a tilt of her head.

Dumbledore looks at them both. “Finally, whatever resources you may have brought with you, I doubt they are infinite. Having food, lodging, and an income would no doubt be beneficial.”

Harry doesn’t correct Dumbledore’s impression that their resources are minimal. “Income?”

“I would offer you positions on the staff.” Dumbledore says. “As it happens our Arithmancy tutor informed me just before Christmas break that she is with child. She wishes to leave as soon as a replacement could be found.” His eyes land on Hermione. “Am I correct in assuming you have the necessary NEWT qualification to teach the class?”

“Yes.” Hermione says. “But what about Harry?”

“Our flying instructor had an accident before the school year began which unfortunately meant he was unable to take up the position.” Dumbledore says. “The rest of the staff have been covering and will be frankly relieved if the position is filled when they return from the break. I assume from the broom which accompanied your arrival that such a position would be appropriate for you?”

Harry nods. He knows he can teach because of his time with Dumbledore’s Army. He loves flying and Quidditch so neither is an issue for him.

Dumbledore clears his throat. “Your terms and conditions would be the same as any other Professor. No deliberate harm to the children or to other members of staff. A nominal value is deducted from your salary for food and lodging but you would be provided with both. Medical treatment is free to staff members.”

Harry exchanges a quick glance with Hermione. It’s more than they expected and it covers their want to pay rent so…it’s a good deal. He knows Dumbledore has offered it to them to retain some control over them – he’d done the same with Trelawney in their world – but both Hermione and Harry are familiar with Hogwarts and it suits them to stay.

He turns back to Dumbledore. “We accept.”

“Excellent.” Dumbledore says. He sobers and gives a small cough. “There is a small matter we must discuss in respect of these practicalities and your living quarters.”

Harry waits patiently for Dumbledore to expand but the Professor simply regards them evenly.

“We’re best friends, but we’re not romantically involved, Professor.” Hermione replies.

Harry’s head snaps around to look at her; she’s gazing forward, her eyes on Dumbledore but there is a hint of red in her cheeks. That wasn’t what Dumbledore was implying…was it? He looks back at Dumbledore and finds him nodding sagely.

What?

“Ideally, I would prefer to be accommodated close to Harry.” Hermione continues. “Our circumstances…I think we would both be happier to be situated close to one another.”

Harry nods possibly a tad too enthusiastically. “Yes.” He manages to say.

Dumbledore hums and contemplates them for a long moment. “Unfortunately, we’ve already bent the norms in allowing you to recover together in a private room. My sister may have made some erroneous assumptions about the nature of your relationship.”

Hermione looks taken aback but she rallies quicker than Harry. “So, our being roomed together…”

“Is allowed because you were considered to be very much attached; without the benefit of surnames it was assumed you were married with the pearl necklace your wedding jewellery as it was imbued with a number of protections a husband typically makes.” Dumbledore smiles. “Ariana is quite a romantic soul.”

“You don’t have rings?” asks Harry.

“Rings?” repeats Dumbledore, his eyes lighting up with curiosity.

“In our world, a married couple exchange rings at their wedding.” Harry vaguely points to his naked ring finger. “It’s how we know they’re married.”

“How lovely!” Dumbledore exclaims. “Our tradition is the giving of jewellery, typically a bracelet or necklace for the wife, often something more practical for the man. Ariana assumed your glasses as they carry similar protection spells to the necklace.”

Harry risks a glance at Hermione and finds her still staring ahead but her cheeks are flushed.

Harry sighs. “So, Ariana assumed we were married and housed us together. I assume unmarried men and women sleeping under the same roof is not allowed?”

“It is not done,” Dumbledore says, “there is a trend in the muggle world to a more relaxed set of mores but on this the wizarding world will not follow. Magic and intimacy are inevitably intertwined here, especially for witches.”

Harry looks at Hermione. Her chin is set and he can almost see the vein in her forehead throbbing.

“I assume on your world, there is a difference?” asks Dumbledore.

“It is considered acceptable to live together prior to marriage these days.” Harry jumps in before Hermione can get on her soapbox. “It’s accepted that a woman may have as many sexual partners as a man.” Not that he knows anything about that. He works to keep the flush from colouring his cheeks and figures he’s failed given the heat.

“Ah.” Dumbledore looks chagrined.

Harry risks another look at Hermione but she seems to be contemplating setting Dumbledore on fire for being the messenger.

“So,” Harry says brightly, “how do we fix this?”

“Well, you have two options.” Dumbledore replies in the same bright tone. “We either inform the ladies who know of your rooming together of the truth. Ariana, Minerva and Poppy will accept there are differences as they know of the circumstances of your arrival here.”

Harry figures Minerva had already worked it out when Hermione gave them different surnames. McGonagall wasn’t stupid in either reality.

“Or?” prompts Harry when Dumbledore hesitates over speaking the second option.

“Or we allow the assumption to remain.” Dumbledore says. “This would be advantageous to both of you. Miss Granger, Hermione…”

Right, Dumbledore had read Hermione’s real name in the stupid vision spell Molly had done.

“…would receive the protection of the family lines and you would be housed together as a married couple.”

“There are separate living quarters for single professors?” asks Hermione tersely.

Dumbledore gives a nod.

Harry figures the quarters are probably on opposite sides of the castle.

He nudges Hermione. “What do you think?”

She takes a deep breath. “Won’t the family magic know I’m not married to Harry?”

Dumbledore hums thoughtfully. “That could be explained as differences in our worlds. They may wish for you to take part in the usual rite which adds a spouse to the family line.”

Hermione frowns.

“Hermione?” Harry says gently.

Hermione sighs and turns to face him. She looks apologetic and nervous. “I think we should probably keep up the pretence. It gives us a reason for knowing each other already; we’d be able to stay together and…”

He takes hold of her hand and turns to Dumbledore. “We’ll continue with the assumption.”

Dumbledore all but claps his hands. “Splendid. I’ll send word when Lord Potter and…which other family head should I invite?”

“Lord Black.” Harry replies.

Dumbledore’s eyes widen. “Well.” He says. “This will certainly be an interesting meeting.”

He shoos them out of his office in a pleasant but firm way and they end up in the corridor staring at each other in shared shock.

“Let’s get back to the room.” Hermione says. “I want to ask Kitsy to bring us some books on social norms, family magic and traditions.”

Harry nods. They head back the way they came and they’re almost at their room when Ariana appears, bustling down the corridor.

“Ah, Harry,” Ariana says brightly, “I’d like to move up your treatment if that’s alright?”

Harry pushes his glasses up his nose and nods.

“Do you want me to come with you?” asks Hermione.

Harry shakes his head. “Best get started on that reading.”

Hermione looks for a moment as though she’s going to argue but she finally nods and leaves him in the corridor with Ariana.

Ariana ushers him back into a nearby treatment room.

Harry takes a seat on the bed at her urging.

“I’ll just retrieve your potion and be right back.” Ariana promises.

Harry nods and in the next instant, he’s left alone with the door shut and the sound of the ticking clock loud in the empty space.

“DAMN IT, MOONY!”

The shout by James Potter has Harry tense and looking for how he’d heard it. There’s a vent on the wall high up. He figures maybe it came from there and is proven right when a second shout echoes through.

“YOU SLEPT WITH BLACK?!”

What?!

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up

“NO!” Remus shouts back. “I SLEPT WITH NARCISSA!”

There’s a telling silence and Harry wonders if James is as gobsmacked as he is at that news. Of course, in Harry’s mind Remus and Tonks are still very much a couple.

“We met in the alley for a date but we got ambushed by that insane cow, Bellatrix.” Remus continues, his voice still loud enough to carry over to Harry. “She started to…Narcissa was in a bad way and Black was just suddenly…there.”

“He saved you.” James states.

“Yes.” Remus agrees. “He took down his cousin and had her portkeyed somewhere, took Narcissa away to be treated, and then he came back to take me and…”

“I turned up and thought Black had attacked you.” James supplies. “Moony!”

“I couldn’t tell you.” Remus says, his voice lowering enough that Harry has to strain to hear it. “Narcissa was…she wanted to keep us secret. I mean, it wasn’t a grand love affair, Prongs. It was just a bit of fun, rebelliousness on her part, but her parents would have gone mental at the idea of her being with a werewolf and…she’d just been arranged by her parents to Lucius Malfoy. The scandal would have ruined her.”

“You should still have told me the truth!” James’ volume rises again. “Merlin, Moony, you let us plot revenge pranks on him for the final two years we were at Hogwarts! You’ve let me badmouth him because I thought he was guilty of attacking you for years!”

“Cissy told me that Sirius went along with it for her sake.” Remus says. “It was her decision.”

“Did you ever try to change it, Remus?” James asks in a hard tone. “Did you ever talk to Black himself and offer to at least bring your friends into the loop so we would at least stop thinking the worst of him and started to treat him better?”

If Remus replies, Harry can’t hear it.

“My belief that Black attacked you, Remus, has coloured my behaviour towards him; it caused me to advise my father to refuse a rapprochement between our families just last year.” James continues. “Do you have any idea of the dishonour I’ve incurred, my family has incurred, because you kept this quiet?”

“James,” Remus offers, his tone thick and heavy, “he knows the truth of it. He knows and has made no move to tell you. This isn’t all on you.”

“He’s protecting his cousin, Remus.” James responds. “He won’t say anything because his duty to family comes first. Even if he’s wanted to throw it in my face a million times, if he’d actually told me, it would have been a betrayal in the eyes of his family magic. I was someone who he knew, Remus, knew wouldn’t have believed him and who would have used it against him in an effort to prove just how awful he was. That’s on me because I’ve never given an inch where Black is concerned.”

“James…”

“But allowing me to hold that position knowing I did so because of what I believed he had done to you…if you had told me, I could have approached him, apologised and thanked him for saving my brother. I could have approached him.“

There’s silence.

A second later, Ariana is bustling back in and Harry’s too caught up in his own treatment to think about the drama of this world’s Marauders.

Chapter 8: A Romantic History

Harry wakes slowly.

Noise filters in first. The sound of a page being turned in a book, the dry brush of paper against a hand.

The feel of the bed is next; the familiar feel of Hogwarts’ sheets against his skin; the comforting weight of a blanket.

The faint smell of jasmine perfume identifies Hermione before he opens his eyes.

He blinks back the usual blur and reaches for his glasses. They slide into his hand and he puts them on before he shifts and takes in the setting sun; the orange glow lighting up half the room.

“Water?” asks Hermione, already moving to pour him some.

There’s a lingering cherry taste in his mouth and his tongue feels thick. He sips the water gratefully.

“Thank you.” Harry grimaces at the rough tone of his voice, the rasp in his throat.

Hermione sits back down beside the bed and retrieves her book. “You can rest up for a while longer. Professor Dumbledore has arranged for us to eat in his quarters with Lord Black and Lord Potter.”

“Right.” Harry nudges his glasses up so he can rub his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” asks Hermione almost tentatively.

Harry drags a hand through his hair and considers it. His magic feels calmer; it doesn’t crackle under his skin anymore. He can feel it still but rather than waves which battered against the inside of his skin, it feels more like the vibrant ripple of a running stream.

“Good,” Harry admits out loud.

Hermione breathes in sharply, relief flooding her face and loosening the tension he hadn’t realised she had.

“The books say an average treatment for an adult male is six treatments,” Hermione tells him, “It may take longer if the wizard has above average power.”

Harry nods. Ariana had explained as much to him. He had been taken aback by her estimate that he would take twelve treatments. He didn’t think his magic was that powerful. He shook his head as though to clear it.

“Obviously you’ll take more than the six treatments,” Hermione continues, “according to the book, the first treatment is the only one which causes you to sleep. All the others should just be taking the potion.”

Harry blinks at her and he realises she’s read up because she’s worried. “Healer Dumbledore explained it all.”

“She didn’t explain anything to me.” Hermione’s fingers clench white against the book. “You were really out of it, Harry.”

Harry reaches for her hand and he’s thankful she reaches back. “I’m OK.”

“I know,” Hermione admits, “and I know Healer Dumbledore doesn’t mean you any harm, it’s just…”

“You’ve been watching my back since we were eleven, Hermione,” Harry points out dryly. “I know you’ve got my back here too.”

Hermione blushes but her fingers remain tight on his. “Me too,” she says. “I know you have my back, I mean.” Her eyes take on a mischievous glint. “Although for the record I was twelve.”

“You looked out for me on the train,” Harry retorts cheerily, “I distinctly remember being told to change.”

Hermione snorts in response.

Harry simply grins back at her; she gives in and smiles back at him.

Hermione squeezes his hand and lets go of him. She sets her book aside and nervously brushes the front of her top. “Talking of looking out for each other…we should talk about…” she blushes again, “about the whole being married thing.”

“Right.” His mouth is dry again and he reaches for the water. He sips some and places the glass back on the bedside cabinet.

Hermione fidgets with the edge of her sweater. “I just want…that is…”

Harry’s eyebrows rise because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her so tongue-tied.

Hermione suddenly seems to clue in too because she blows out a frustrated breath, gets up and throws up her hands. “This is stupid,” she says as she paces to the end of the bed and back again. “We’re adults. We should be able to have an adult conversation.”

Harry just nods because he knows better than to poke her when she’s in full steam.

Hermione sits down again. “Right.” She sweeps a stray strand of hair back behind an ear and determinedly makes eye-contact with him. “This world has a completely different view of sex, magic and intimacy.” She pushes at her hair again even though it’s fine. “Professor McGonagall came to see me while you were asleep.”

Harry’s eyes widen in alarm.

“Don’t worry, she was fine,” Hermione says quickly. “Professor Dumbledore apparently called her into his office to tell her we were married, but she’d worked out we weren’t…”

Harry isn’t too surprised at that.

“…because she pointed out that I wouldn’t have received a crystal ball on my twenty-first if I wasn’t unmarried,” Hermione continues. “Anyway, she came up with a way to explain that away – apparently crystal balls are a popular gift for newly-wed women here, something about showing them how many babies they’ll have,” she wrinkles her nose, “she convinced the Headmaster to let her talk to me about it all.” She points at the stack of books on the table on the other side of the room. “She also brought me some books.”

“So…”

“So, it’s not a sexism thing,” Hermione explains a touch tersely. “Not all of it anyway.” She makes an angry wave. “I mean, there’s still a double standard where men are expected to be men and come to the marriage bed with experience, but women are meant to be virginal and untouched.”

Hermione sounds disgusted with that and Harry hums his agreement in support.

She sighs. “The muggle world here is pretty much on target for the same historical period in our world, unmarried partners are now accepted there and women are becoming liberated with the introduction of the pill, but unfortunately as Professor McGonagall explained it to me, the magical world does have a good reason not to follow the same path.”

She rubs her forehead and Harry waits patiently for her to continue.

“This family magic thing…” she sits forward, her eyes glowing with intelligence and passion, “all magic here is interconnected. They value the magic as a gift. The family lines are very strict about who is a part of their line because the addition of someone else’s magic has an impact.”

“Sounds a little like the whole pureblood nonsense,” Harry mutters.

“Actually, new magic is considered a boon,” Hermione says. “There was a period of history where wizards would steal muggleborn to raise in their own family lines.”

“I must not have got to that part of the book yet,” Harry says.

“It was outlawed by the Wizengamot in the early eighteen-hundreds,” Hermione comments. “Apparently there was a plot to kidnap the daughter of the King and they realised they were seriously putting their world at risk.”

Harry scratches his scar absently. It looks like the family magic thing had altered a lot of history.

“Anyway,” Hermione says, pulling them back on topic, “Professor McGonagall explained that magic is considered to be a gift of the mother. Women are revered which unfortunately leads to a lot of overprotectiveness on the part of the men.” She crosses her arms tightly over her chest. “Decades of overprotectiveness later and…it’s still the tradition that women don’t risk giving their magic away by being intimate with a lot of men.”

“So not sexism?” repeats Harry.

Hermione sniffs. “Apart from the double standard, mostly no. Women have the vote and are accepted into the workplace here long before our world. They hold some really key positions. Griselda Marchbanks is actually Chief Witch; Professor Dumbledore gave up the position when he became a teacher here. Women here…we’re respected,” She sighs heavily. “But the whole sex before marriage thing? That’s considered to be dishonouring their family magic.”

Which really put into context how much of a scandal the whole Narcissa and Remus thing would have been if it had been made public.

Harry sighs and banishes the thoughts of the discussion he’d heard to the back of his mind.

“So…”

“So, Professor McGonagall thinks we’ve made the right decision,” Hermione says. “To, you know…”

“Stay together?” Harry supplies.

Hermione bites her lip but she nods. “That’s probably a good way to put it.”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t mind if you don’t.” There’s an odd feeling in his chest; a twinge of…something. Possibly an after-effect of his treatment.

“I don’t mind,” Hermione says quickly, another blush brightening her face for a moment.

She shakes that off though and Harry recognises the look on her face as the ‘we need to get serious’ now. She’d worn it just before reeling off her plan for them to go to university.

“We need a backstory,” Hermione says. “How we met, first date, kisses,” she blushes again, “everything.”

He suspects she’s worked it out while he was asleep. “Okay.”

Hermione retrieves her notebook and flips to a section with a frown. “The Professor suggested we keep to the facts as much as possible.”

“Sounds sensible,” Harry says.

“I think we should leave our history the same until the moment we went back to Hogwarts after the war,” Hermione looks down at her notebook. “That would only leave us having to rewrite what happened after the war.”

“If only we could,” Harry jokes.

She offers a brief sad smile before returning to her notebook. “I don’t think we should tell them about the official exile.”

Harry nods. They have no idea how this world would respond to that.

“I think we just say it became apparent your magic had been traumatised by the war and they’d recommended you return to the muggle world and live as much as possible without magic.” Hermione taps her finger against her lips.

“Makes sense.” Harry comments. That had been the advice. Even if it had come in the form of a trial and a banishment ruling.

“Of course, as your best friend, and as a muggleborn, I’m determined to go with you,” Hermione says. “I think we just say…” she blushes again, “we say we got close and…we started to see each other as something more,” She looks over at him. “What do you think?”

Harry thinks he can imagine it all too easily. But Hermione has never looked at him the way she’d looked at Ron. And Harry had never let himself go there because of Ron.

“I think that’s believable,” Harry says when he realises Hermione is waiting impatiently for him to reply.

“Good,” Hermione says, “that leaves us with the details. I thought we could say…”

“What about my nineteenth birthday?” Harry interrupts, startling Hermione into looking at him again.

“Huh?”

“My nineteenth birthday,” Harry says, “we went for the weekend to Brighton, remember? Because you were appalled I hadn’t really been to the seaside before except for Shell Cottage.”

Hermione smiles, affection beaming from her eyes. “You were like a little kid.”

“And at the end of the day, we went for that walk, picked up some fish and chips and ate them out of the wrapping down by the beach,” Harry reminds her.

Hermione nods, still smiling. “It was a lovely day.”

“So, what if we had our first kiss then?” asks Harry.

Hermione’s eyes widen a touch before her smile turns into a grin. “That’s perfect.” She takes a quill out of her handbag and scribbles something out on her notebook. “It’s much better than what I came up with.” She looks up at him with an eyebrow raised in challenge. “What next then?”

“We date,” Harry continues confidently, ignoring the heat on his own cheeks. “We have our coffee dates, go to the cinema, have dinner, meet up with friends…” he shrugs, “what we usually do.”

Except they’ve done all of that as friends.

Hermione is nodding though and writing in her notebook. “Good. That’s good. We don’t even have to make up anything.” Her eyes suddenly gleam with amusement as she looks over at him again. “How did you propose?”

Harry almost swallows his tongue. “Propose?”

“Yes, propose,” Hermione reiterates. She smiles primly, her eyes alive with mischief. It’s a good look on her.

Harry rolls his eyes at her. “Hermione…”

“Oh, come on!” Hermione says, gesturing at him. “You did really well with the getting together.” She looks at him as though to say ‘get on with it.’

Harry swings his legs around and sits on the edge of the bed facing her, thinking hard about what he should say.

“You remember the last night of Uni in June?” Harry says quietly.

Hermione smiles at him affectionately. “Oh God! That truly awful party!”

Harry nods. It really had been truly awful between the loud music and drunk students. Neither he nor Hermione had been comfortable. They’d ended up back at her flat. They’d drank cheap cider; had devoured a giant pizza together. They’d watched the telly, moaned over the nonsense of soap operas, and finally had clambered out onto the roof through the skylight.

Harry drags his mind back to the present. “We’re up on the roof and…and I propose just after midnight.”

“And I accept,” Hermione says softly.

They simply gaze at each other for a long moment.

Harry clears his throat. “We’re engaged so I guess the wedding’s next?”

Hermione nods. She looks down at her notebook. “I have that it was a small wedding at my family church. Just friends and…” her eyes go shiny for a moment before she collects herself, “my parents were there.”

“Of course they were,” Harry says consolingly.

She sniffs and shakes her head. “It’s stupid,” she murmurs. “They hate me.”

Harry slides off the bed and reaches for her. He pulls her out of the chair and into a hug. “It’s their loss, Hermione. You’re brilliant.”

Hermione gives a muffled laugh but she hugs him back tightly.

Eventually she steps back and swipes at her eyes.

Harry hands her a handkerchief and rests back on the bed. She does the same and blows her nose noisily.

“We honeymoon in Brighton and I turn twenty.” Harry nudges her shoulder gently.

Hermione looks at him gratefully. “That sounds good. We marry the day before your birthday; that’s easy to remember.” She takes a deep breath. “So, we’re happily married for all of a month and a half and then…”

“Crystal ball and whammy into another universe.”

Hermione breathes in. “Perfect.”

Harry’s pleased too. It’s a good solid story. His heart twinges as though it skips a beat. He rubs at his chest and grimaces as he finally takes in how sweaty he feels under his clothes.

“I’m going to grab a shower,” he says.

Hermione nods. “Good idea,” she motions at the door, “I’ll take one too. We should probably dress for dinner.”

Harry sighs but she’s right. He heads out and spends a glorious fifteen minutes under the hot spray in the shower. He puts on his glasses as he dries off. He shaves and looks in the mirror, examining his face to see if he’s missed anything.

“You look good, dearie,” the mirror tells him brightly.

Harry smiles back at the mirror and turns to take off his necklace and open the chest. He searches through his belongings pulling out a decent pair of dark grey trousers. He teams it with a shirt Hermione had bought him when they’d had to go to a formal dinner at the university. It was good quality and a deep maroon colour. He fastened the cuffs with another Hermione present from the Christmas before; magical cufflinks with the Potter crest on one and the Black crest on another. He puts on a tie of dark grey, pulls on socks and shiny black leather dress shoes.

He’s dressed except for…

He reaches into the chest and pulls out a dark wool grey wizarding robe in an open style. He shrugs it on and adjusts the fit. He straightens up and looks again in the mirror to deal with his hair.

The mirror tuts at him. “Bit of a mess that.”

Harry can’t deny it. His hair has always been a bit of a mess. He just hopes it looks like a fashionable mess.

He makes another trip into the chest and takes out the box with his ring. There had originally been two; one from his father and one from Sirius. When he’d put them both on they’d merged and the result is a gold band, an onyx setting and an entwined etching in gold and silver of a griffin and snake curled around each other with a ruby eye. He slides the ring onto the ring finger of his left hand where it would be if he was truly married.

He’s about to close when the chest when he stops. He reaches inside and pulls out another small box. He sets it aside, shrinks the chest and reties his necklace, adjusting to hide it under his shirt. He picks up the box and heads back to the room.

Hermione isn’t there but her handbag is missing and he assumes that she’s getting ready. The sun has set and the night sky fills the window. Harry looks out for a moment before he closes the curtains and lights the magical lamp on the cabinet.

He sits in an armchair, putting the box to one side, and picks up his abandoned book. He’s barely read a chapter when Hermione comes back in.

She looks beautiful.

She’s wearing the dress which complements his shirt; a deep maroon knitted dress with a scoop neck and long sleeves which clings to her curves before flaring, falling in soft folds to her ankles. She has matching maroon high heels which look incredibly flimsy. She’s also got a matching dark grey robe over the dress, left open. Her hair is swept up into a complicated braid up-do. She’s wearing the pendant.

Hermione fidgets as she finishes closing the door, setting her handbag onto her bed and Harry realises she’s probably waiting for him to say something.

“You look beautiful,” Harry says sincerely.

Hermione smiles as she brushes a hand down the front of her dress. “Thank you.” She waves at him. “You look good too.”

“I should,” Harry teases, “you bought me the outfit.”

Hermione rolls her eyes and takes the armchair opposite. “We should probably talk a little about the etiquette here.”

Harry doesn’t bother to hide his wince.

“Professor McGonagall says there is a certain decorum expected.” Hermione lectures briskly. “You’ll need to bow your head when greeting a Lord or his heir. It is not expected for you to shake hands unless they offer.”

Harry nods because he knows he’s not getting out of hearing the whole spiel.

It takes another five minutes before Hermione winds down but Harry has paid attention. He knows how to interact with who they’re meeting enough he hopes that he doesn’t let Hermione down.

“Do you really think my…James Potter will be there?” asks Harry.

“Professor McGonagall certainly seemed to assume he would be,” Hermione says. “It would be unusual for a Lord not to have their heir involved in such an important discussion.”

Harry swallows hard.

It’s been one thing to peek at this world’s James Potter, it will be another thing to meet him.

Sirius.

The thought hits him like a thunderbolt. If Lord Potter bring James, it’s likely that Lord Black will expect his own heir to attend and that’s…not Sirius.

Sirius’s father maybe.

Harry almost sighs with relief. He has no idea what he’s going to do if he sees this world’s Sirius. James Potter had been his father and Harry has talked with his ghost but his love for James is childish, rooted in the want of a small boy for his father. But, Sirius…

Sirius had been flesh and blood. He had loved Harry in the all too brief time they’d spent together and Harry feels again the rush of guilt and pain which always accompanies thinking about Sirius. Sirius had died fighting to save Harry, and Harry has never forgiven himself.

He starts as Hermione slides a hand over his and he catches it before she can withdraw.

“Sorry,” he says.

“I know it’s going to be hard on you,” Hermione says. “Seeing them.”

“They’re not the same people,” Harry says.

Hermione simply squeezes his hand.

They sit for another moment before Hermione brushes her thumb across his knuckles and gives a tiny tug.

“It’s almost time; we should make our way to the Headmaster’s office.” Hermione rises but Harry keeps hold of her hand.

“Just a second.”

Hermione stops and frowns at him quizzically. “Harry…”

Harry gets out of his chair and retrieves the box he’d put on the cabinet. He turns back to Hermione and smiles crookedly.

“I know this isn’t our world and our story is just that a story, but…” Harry opens the box. “They don’t wear rings but we do and I thought…I would like you to wear this.”

Hermione gasps and one hand flies to touch her lips as she gazes at the ring he’s revealed. It’s the female equivalent of his own; gold band, black onyx and the Potter griffin curled around a silver snake. It’s more delicate than his; the only difference to denote the smaller and more feminine hand this ring is meant to adorn.

Her eyes fly back up to him. “Harry, I can’t,” she says, her voice rough with emotion. “You should save that for when you find the girl you want to marry.”

Harry catches hold of her hand and squeezes it. “Who deserves it more than you right now? You’re my best friend. You’ve saved my life a dozen times and you’ve always had my back. I want you to have this. It’ll give you the protection of my house and of my wand no matter what’s said tonight.”

Hermione breathes in tremulously. “Harry.” She searches his gaze and she seems to find what she needs there because she gives a nod. “How can I say no, Harry? You’re my best friend too and…” she takes another quick breath. “I accept. I’d be honoured to wear your ring and be a part of your house for as long as you want me there.”

Harry lets go of her hand just enough to retrieve the ring and cast the box aside. She holds her hand out and he slides the ring onto her finger. Harry grins at Hermione and lifts her hand to drop a chaste kiss on the ring.

There’s a rush of magic which rushes over both of them and leaves them breathless.

“Is that usual?” asks Hermione.

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know.” He’s pretty certain Hermione has a stash of books somewhere in her handbag which she’ll interrogate for an answer at some point.

Hermione smiles at Harry. “Come on. We’d better be going.”

“After you, Lady Potter-Black.”

Hermione gives a low chuckle and drops into a curtsey. “Thank you, Lord Potter-Black.”

They’re both laughing as they leave the room.

Chapter 9: Meeting the Families

Somewhere between their room and Dumbledore’s office, Harry’s nerves return threefold and he holds tightly to Hermione’s hand as they make their way up the staircase.

Dumbledore calls for them to enter.

Harry exchanges a quick look with Hermione, takes a deep breath and opens the door.

They step through and Harry blinks with surprise at the almost empty room. Professor McGonagall sits in one chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk. She gets to her feet as Harry closes the door. Harry keeps hold of Hermione’s hand as they walk across the office.

Harry executes a small head bow to Dumbledore and McGonagall along with Hermione. “Headmaster, Professor.”

“Well done, Lord Potter-Black.” Dumbledore says. “I see your time today has been spent wisely.”

McGonagall smiles, her eyes shrewd and knowing as she takes in their joined hands and nerves. “The Headmaster thought you may appreciate a friendly face.”

“Yes, thank you, Professor.” Harry says gratefully. She’s not their McGonagall but she’s helped them enormously.

“Please call me Minerva.” McGonagall offers, adjusting the sleeves on an elegant green robe. “I understand we’re to be colleagues.”

“Thank you,” Harry responds, “and please, it’s Harry and Hermione.”

“Excellent,” Dumbledore declares, “and may I welcome you to use my given name Albus when we’re not engaged in Hogwarts’ business such as this evening.”

Harry nods. “Thank you.” His throat closes up before he can even attempt to get ‘Albus’ out.

Hermione echoes his thanks.

“I have already informed our guests of the reason for the meeting this evening. They are somewhat sceptical but accept that they have felt you in the family magic since your arrival. I believe they probably assumed a magical child had emerged in one of the squib lines.”

Harry suppresses the urge to frown. He’s not sure he likes the family magic keeping tabs on him in some way. Hermione leans into his space momentarily and he takes a deep breath. This isn’t his world and isn’t it a good thing for families if they know there’s always someone keeping watch and making sure no harm comes to them?

Albus rises and taps a bookshelf to his left. It slides back and to the side revealing a corridor. “If you’d like to come through to my quarters; our guests are waiting for us in my parlour.”

Minerva smiles sympathetically at them and leads the way. Harry and Hermione follow her. The corridor is narrow and has several doors which are all closed. Harry assumes they all lead either to parts of Dumbledore’s – Albus’ quarters or other parts of the school.

They’re almost at the end of the corridor when Minerva finally stops in front of a door, raps sharply to give the occupants warning, and opens it. She steps inside and they follow her.

The room is a large circle, suggesting it is part of one of Hogwarts’ many towers. It has large windows almost all the way round but they are covered by heavy damask curtains in a gold colour. The furniture is antique but of good quality; bookshelves fill the spaces under the windows, a portrait of a landscape takes up space above the mantelpiece. The fire below in the hearth is roaring. In front of it, there are three sofas in differing styles, with armchairs dotted between them which mismatch but in an eclectic way which suggests design was considered and not just ignored.

Two of the sofas are each occupied by a man and woman, and Harry’s heart jumps and pounds as he realises James Potter sits in a chair near to one sofa, and Sirius sits in a chair near to another.

The guests rise, setting aside drinks, as they make their way into the room and Albus joins them, closing the door. He sweeps past Harry and Hermione to take control of the gathering.

“Thank you all for joining me.” Albus says. “May I present visitors from another dimension: the Lord and Lady Potter-Black.”

Harry bows his head as Hermione sinks into an elegant curtsey, both of them respectful of the company in front of them. He holds tightly to Hermione’s hand.

“Harry, Hermione; please may I present the Earl and Countess of Gryffindor, and their son, Viscount Potter.” Albus introduces the Potters first and Harry has no doubt that some complicated etiquette rules are in play.

There’s enough family resemblance between Harry and the Earl that it’s clear that their resemblance cannot be a fluke.

The Earl steps forward and offers his hand. “Please call me Charlus, and this is my wife, Dorea.”

Harry shakes his hand firmly. “I’d be honoured. I’m Harry, and this is my…my wife, Hermione.”

“You both look charming, my dear.” Dorea says as he kisses her hand while Charlus does the same with Hermione.

“Thank you.”

“Our son, James,” Charlus gestures for James to step forward and he does, once again offering his hand.

“Pleased to meet you,” James says politely but there is a healthy amount of suspicion in his eyes as they shake hands. Harry’s heart pounds hard in his chest and he can barely breathe.

Albus clears his throat. “May I also present the Earl of Grimmauld, Baron Blackthorn and Lady Regina Black.”

Harry feels slightly intimidated by the Earl’s stern and aristocratic expression. He gets the impression that the Earl rarely gives anything away. It’s a surprise when he’s invited to call him Arcturus.

Harry braces himself again as Arcturus introduces his son and heir: Sirius.

He’s nothing like the Sirius Harry knew. His clothing is neat and expensive; a high-necked long-sleeved black robe, tightly buttoned until the hips where it flares out providing freedom of movement and revealing black trousers and shiny black boots. His hair is tied back in a sleek bun and he has a trim beard. His grey eyes are cautious and wary as he shakes Harry’s hand.

The differences are stark and give Harry room to breathe. It’s so clearly not his Sirius.

It’s Sirius who introduces his sister, Regina. Harry wonders if there is a Regulus at all as he kisses her slim hand.

“I thought it best to get business out of the way before we eat.” Albus says, gesturing for them all to resume their seats. Harry and Hermione sit together on the remaining sofa and Harry is pleased when Minerva sits on the other side of Hermione.

Albus takes an armchair.

Another few minutes pass as refreshments are offered and the group settles.

“Perhaps, Harry, it may be wise to begin with a discussion of how you came into our world?” Albus suggests.

Harry nods, sliding his hand back into Hermione’s. “We were with friends for Hermione’s birthday in Hogsmeade. One of our friends had a present from his mother of a crystal ball. Both Hermione and I grew up in the muggle world so we were unaware of the tradition of seeking the number of children to be born. Hermione stored it in her handbag and we went home which is in the muggle world. On our way there, the ball began to glow and hum, there was a power surge and a…a whirlpool like portal opened in the middle of the road. Hermione was immediately pulled into it and I followed. We landed in the forest.” He gestures vaguely to the outside of the school. “We were injured but when we realised where we were in relation to Hogwarts we were able to make our way here to request help. It was then we realised we were no longer in…in our world.”

He only just resists saying Kansas. He takes a sip of his soda water.

“I’ve examined the crystal ball,” Albus jumps in, “and there is a very tricky spell involved. It may take years for us to decipher and reverse it to enable Harry and Hermione to return home.”

Charlus glances at Arcturus and receives a nod to reply. “We discussed the issue a little while you were retrieving Harry and Hermione. Clearly our family magic recognises you as kin. You’re directly related to the Potter line?”

“In my world, I’m the last of the Potters.” Harry says.

“May I ask why that is?” Charlus prompts. “Is it related to your comment in regards growing up in the muggle world and to the reason why you reside there?”

Harry takes another sip of his water to moisten his dry mouth. “Before I was born there was a series of magical wars. My family lost many in a war which coincided with the muggle Second World War in opposition to a dark wizard called Grindelwald.”

He can see the flicker of reaction before Albus hides his surprise.

“The Albus Dumbledore of our world was able to defeat Grindelwald.” Hermione picks up. “Unfortunately, there was a second magical war in our nineteen-seventies against a dark lord who was the heir of Slytherin Salazar which decimated many of the wizarding populace in Britain.”

“He was defeated temporarily but not before he had killed the remaining members of the House of Potter except for myself and my godfather.” Harry says bluntly. “My godfather was wrongly imprisoned in the fallout, my godmother was injured, and I was placed with my mother’s muggle sister.”

“Extraordinary,” Charlus murmurs.

“It’s horrifying.” Dorea says.

“I agree, cousin,” Arcturus adds. “I assume the same protections between our world and the muggles do not exist in yours?”

“They don’t.” Hermione replies. “We have a Statute of Secrecy but magical children are not approached until they are eleven.”

“Even more horrifying.” Dorea says. “Forgive the bluntness but were you also orphaned, Hermione?”

Hermione shakes her head. “I’m muggleborn although I believe you use the term first generation?”

Charlus turns his assessing gaze on Harry. “So as you say you were both raised within the muggle world. Is that why you live there now?”

Harry looks swiftly at Hermione and she gives him an encouraging smile.

“No, we live there because, well…” Harry sighs. “The dark lord who killed my parents returned during our school years. Our final year was interrupted by a full scale war.” He taps his glass considering how much to say. “There was a prophecy between him and I. He believed it and came after me. I didn’t get much say in it but my friends and I…we were able to defeat him.”

“You defeated him, Harry.” Hermione jumps in.

“And I would have been dead ten times over it wasn’t for you,” Harry counters.

He looks around and realises that the gathering are all watching their interaction with varying expressions from indulged amusement to calculation.

“My magic was traumatised in the final battle. We didn’t realise until we tried to return to school and…” Harry takes a breath, “I was advised to live in the muggle world and keep away from magic as there was no cure.”

“To get here and realise this world is able to help Harry has been a silver lining in this.” Hermione says.

“Hermione and I have been living in the muggle world since.” Harry concludes. “We’re both studying at University.”

“What subject?” asks Minerva before any of the others can direct the conversation away again.

“Harry’s studying law and social science,” Hermione says, “and I’m studying history, politics and international relations with a minor in psychology.”

They all blink at her.

“Hermione’s brilliant.” Harry says, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. “She’s incredibly smart; achieved outstanding in the International Baccalaureate of Magic.”

Hermione blushes but she doesn’t disagree.

Harry looks away from Hermione and back to the group. He finds Dorea and Charlus looking at them both indulgently.

“Young love,” Charlus comments teasingly.

Dorea taps his arm in mock chastisement but inclines her head. “You make a lovely couple.”

It’s Sirius who clears his throat. “Perhaps we should return to discussing what we do now.” He slides James a look clearly expecting some kind of comeback but James simply looks back at him evenly.

Harry notices the by-play but he wonders at it. If their relationship is as fractured as suggested by the overheard conversations Harry has been a party to hearing, he figures neither is very comfortable with the other.

Arcturus clears his throat. “Your place in our family magic is given. It has already accepted you. Albus informed us that there is a limited concept in your own world but the duties and responsibilities of a head of a family were not as extensive as in this one?”

Harry and Hermione nod.

“That’s a fair reflection.” Hermione says.

“Well, perhaps a short overview of what our responsibilities are to you both, hmmm?” Charlus turns to Arcturus who nods.

“The first consideration is shelter and sanctuary.” Arcturus says. “We will need to publicly declare your presence within the Wizengamot and recognise you as part of our houses.”

“That will give you the protection of the family magic and no-one may challenge you on that.” Charlus states. “It will then be a simple matter to obtain official papers.”

“The next Wizengamot will meet on January the second.” Arcturus says. “While that is only five days away we can brief Minister Bagnold and Chief Witch Marchbanks ahead of the session.”

“We should probably present you,” Charlus murmurs. “We do not wish to deny you your rights to your own status.”

Harry resists the urge to say he doesn’t mind because he has a feeling that would be seen as an abrogation of duty and honour here.

“Perhaps the Peverell seat?” suggest Sirius.

Charlus raises his glass to Sirius. “A very good suggestion,” He turns to Harry. “The Peverell seat has a Wizengamot vote and a place within the ranks of the hereditary places. However, it comes with no land or vault as those were all transferred to the Potter line when the last of the Peverells married the Potter heir. It acknowledges our familial status without changing our existing hierarchy.”

“It’s a neat solution.” James comments.

That elicits an actual double-take by Sirius which gives away how rare it must be for James to agree with him on anything.

“And do you have such a neat solution for our family line, Grandson?” asks Arcturus.

Sirius pulls his gaze away from James. “I would propose the Barony of Ravenshold.”

Arcturus nods. “I agree.”

“May we enquire as to the circumstances of the Barony?” Hermione asks.

“It’s similar to the Peverell situation.” Arcturus said. “Elizabeth Ravenshold was the last of her line and married into the Black family centuries ago. Her eldest son is the line through which our family magic has evolved and passed down from generation to generation. Officially just as Charlus could claim the Peverell seat, I could have claimed the Ravenshold. There is no property or wealth associated with the barony, I’m afraid.”

“Which importantly brings us onto the practicalities of shelter.” Dorea jumps in. “I understand you’ve been living here for the past few days since your arrival?”

“Yes,” Harry confirms, “we’ve been receiving treatment in the infirmary.”

“Then we owe a debt.” Charlus says. “I’ll make a donation to the Hogwarts Trust, Headmaster.”

“Ditto,” Arcturus echoes.

Harry clears his throat. “Hermione and I do have some funds with us. We’re happy to cover any cost in regards to our accommodation and treatment here.”

“You won’t win this one, darling. The donations will be nothing but pocket change for each family,” Dorea says. “If you do have resources, keep them for your own use.” She turns her gaze to Hermione. “We will need to outfit you, my dear.”

Hermione winces but nods her agreement. “I would appreciate your guidance.”

“Perhaps you could join us, Regina,” Dorea suggests. “I’m sure Hermione would appreciate a younger perspective.”

“I think this is probably a good moment to remind you of our previous conversation and that I have offered both Harry and Hermione a position here at Hogwarts going forward.” Albus says confidently.

Both families exchange long looks, even Sirius and James glance toward one another.

Charlus is the one who speaks. “We are all agreed, Albus, that we wish Harry and Hermione to be offered all the choices available to them.” He held up a hand when Albus went to speak. “Your intent was good and we appreciate your generosity but this is a matter for family.”

What? Harry wonders if Charlus can just object and step in like that but given everyone in the room bar himself and Hermione are looking as though this is perfectly fine, he guesses so.

Albus regards them all for a long moment. “This is truly a remarkable moment,” He murmurs. “I don’t believe I have ever seen your two families united on a single issue.”

“Except for the importance of family,” Charlus asserts.

“Indeed,” Arcturus echoes.

Charlus turns back to Harry and Hermione. “Please believe we do not wish to deny you the right to take up Albus’s offer if that is truly what you wish to do…” he gestures towards Sirius, “at least one of our number is already on staff here.”

Sirius bows his head a touch.

“But we want you to make that choice in full knowledge of what choices are available to you and to give you agency here.” Charlus finishes.

“Thank you.” Harry says.

He glances at Albus who looks pensive. He knows because he knew his Dumbledore that Albus is not pleased with the turn of events. Harry figures that’s because Albus wants to retain control of them and the situation. Control was at the root of many of his own Dumbledore’s actions and decisions.

“Hermione and I appreciate that your decision is made because you care for us even as newly instated into your family as we are,” Harry begins, “and I can’t deny that Professor Dumbledore’s offer did seem like a gift of a life-jacket this morning when we felt adrift,” He pauses and Hermione catches his eye with an encouraging smile. “There are reasons for us to stay beyond that though, not just the Headmaster’s offer to help us but also because Hogwarts is somewhat familiar to us.”

“We understand,” Dorea jumps in. “If you ultimately decide you wish to take Albus up on his offer, we won’t mind, but we do want to give you some breathing room to consider the offer when, how did you put it, you are not feeling adrift.”

Albus leans forward. “Your family are correct to protect you,” he smiles, “even from my well-meaning offers.” He gestures across the seating area. “What is your plan? I assume you have one?”

Charlus nods.

Harry doesn’t miss the way he glances towards Arcturus and the slight gesture of acceptance the other man made before Charlus looks to his wife to speak again.

“We would like to bring you home for the holidays,” Dorea says firmly. “It will certainly be easier to prepare for the Wizengamot if we were all together. We can explore your options and confirm to the Headmaster your decision on the fourth of January. Hogwarts resumes on the seventh.”

“While you would be staying the majority of the time with Charlus and Dorea,” Arcturus asserts, “we would also invite you to meet the rest of the family and to stay at least a night with myself, Sirius and Regina at the Blackthorn Estate.”

Harry glances towards Hermione and he sees the acceptance in her eyes. They could say no but to do so would be disrespectful, and truthfully Harry is probably keener than he should be to get to know this world’s version of his family. Perhaps it will give him some insight into how his grandparents would have been like if they had survived.

“Thank you,” Hermione replies when he stays silent, “we’d be honoured to accept.”

“The honour is ours.” Charlus says with a warm smile.

Albus claps his hands. “We should eat.”

They’re lead through another door and into a beautiful formal dining room. Harry notices the seating cards and seats Hermione before he seats himself, waiting a second to see if there’s some kind of etiquette involved.

“Hopefully we won’t interrogate you too much that you don’t have time to eat but I’m interested to know how you ended up in the line for the house of Black?” asks Regina softly, as the soup appears before them.

It’s a lovely light creamy mushroom and Harry picks up the appropriate spoon (and wow it seems strange to be thankful to his Aunt Petunia for something).

“My godfather entailed the title to me,” Harry offers. “He died when I was fourteen.”

“Was the matter of his imprisonment resolved then?” Charlus is breaking a bread roll to pieces as he asks the question.

“Unfortunately,not until the night of his death.” Harry’s breath catches in the back of his throat and he can’t look across the table because he’ll see Sirius; not his Sirius but a Sirius, alive and breathing.

Hermione steps in smoothly. “Harry’s godfather escaped from prison in our third year because he saw the person who was responsible for giving away the location of the Potter family on the front page of a newspaper. He remained on the run as the traitor escaped and the Ministry didn’t believe his story. He died at the end of our fifth year protecting Harry, myself and our friends from the followers of the Dark Lord.”

“It sounds like your school years were eventful.” James comments.

Harry manages a nod towards him. “Too eventful really. I would have preferred something a little more boring.”

“How did the two of you meet?” asks Regina, changing the subject smoothly.

Hermione sent her a look of gratitude. “On the train to Hogwarts in our first year. I’m afraid I was a little bossy…”

Harry smiles at her fondly. “She fixed my glasses and told me it was time to get changed.”

“We both ended up in Gryffindor.” Hermione continues, smiling back at him. “He saved me from a troll at Halloween and that was it; we’ve been friends ever since.”

“A troll?” Sirius repeats. “How did a troll get in through the wards?”

“Ah,” Hermione says, “well, it was the Dark Lord. He was attempting to distract everyone while he tried to make off with an important artefact held in the school.”

“Still the wards should have held.” Minerva frowns. “Unless there was permission granted for a troll to cross the wards,” She looks to the head of the table.

Albus smiles at them genially. “I promise not to grant permission to allow a troll through the wards,” He frowns himself. “I cannot think of a single instance where I would give such permission.”

“How did you manage to save Hermione?” Dorea questions.

Harry swallows the mouthful of soup he’d just taken. “Our Head of House called it ‘sheer dumb luck.’”

They all chuckle at that.

“It really was,” Hermione says chagrined, “Harry jumped on its back and our friend Ronald, he actually manged a levitation spell and knocked it out with its own club.”

“So love almost at first sight then?” suggests Regina, who’s clearly taken with the tale of heroism.

“Not really,” Hermione admits, “we were just best friends for a long time. But then Harry ended up needing to go back to the muggle world, and I just knew I needed to be with him,” She smiles as she looks over at Harry, fondness shining from her brown eyes and warming Harry. “He finally got a clue when we went to Brighton for his nineteenth birthday.”

Harry wishes in some ways it was the truth; that he had made a move, kissed her. He wonders what would have happened if he had.

“When did you get married?” asks Dorea, enthralled by their tale.

“July,” Hermione answers. “Just before Harry’s birthday. We went back to Brighton on our honeymoon.”

“You’re young to be married,” James comments.

Harry shrugs lightly. “My parents were married around the same age by all accounts.”

“When you know you know,” Charlus says, casting a fond look in the direction of his wife.

Dorea smiles back at him, delighted.

Minerva smiles too, her gaze almost unfocused as though she’s looking to the past. “I married my late Robert when I was nineteen.”

“She set her cap at him at eleven,” Dorea confides in a loud aside to James.

The table chuckles.

“I hear you’ve been offered the post of Quidditch coach and flying instructor.” James says brightly. “Any good?”

Harry smiles. “I was made Seeker in my first year.”

“He’s a natural flier,” Hermione says. “I hate it.”

Harry settles back and listens as James confides he was Captain of his Quidditch team and how much he loves flying himself. Harry glances over to Sirius and finds him looking at Harry, a considering look in his eye.

Sirius raises his eyebrow a touch as though to acknowledge he’s been caught but he gives the faintest hint of a smile before he returns his attention to their dinner.

Harry relaxes and tunes back in just as Hermione asks about the origin and history of family magic. That’s his Hermione, he thinks fondly, and takes advantage of the answer Charlus is giving to finish his soup.

Chapter 10: Interlude

Sirius loves the Blackthorn Estate.

It’s the primary residence of the Baron of Blackthorn. Forty bedrooms and bathrooms; servants’ quarters; large kitchen; formal dining room; informal dining room; five separate study-rooms and offices; six separate parlours and receiving rooms; a huge library; an organgey and a conservatory; a small and a large ballroom. Acres and acres of land; woodland, parkland, an actual lake and freshwater stream; farmland. There are two hamlets; one village. All of it is plotless and under magical protection. It is a grand old country estate that befits the Black Knight.

It’s the place Sirius calls home.

His first memory is entering Blackthorn as a battered child clinging to his grandfather’s hand and immediately knowing he was loved by the magic lovingly seeped into every brick.

His grandfather has also always preferred Blackthorn to the castle at Tintagel which is actually meant to be the residence of the Earl of Grimmauld. It had, therefore, been somewhat of a surprise that in naming him heir, Sirius had been given the Blackthorn title and the estate, rather than the more typical Viscount Black which came with the elegant townhouse in London where Sirius had spent his first four years. But then, perhaps his grandfather’s decision was in part because he had realised that Sirius’s memories of that house are tainted by pain and misery. He has no desire to ever set foot in the place again.

Of course his grandfather is also a wily old wizard and it hadn’t taken Sirius long to realise the Blackthorn title carried its own vote in the Wizengamot. By actually naming his heir with the more unusual but perfectly valid title, Arcturus had ended up with another proxy vote at his call.

Sirius isn’t too bothered by the political machinations; he’s been trained in them once his grandfather had assumed the responsibility of raising him, and he will one day take his place in the Wizengamot fully. But he and his grandfather have a plan and Sirius knows he’s exactly where he needs to be; at Hogwarts.

Still…he breathes a little easier as he enters the Blackthorn wards and leads the small gathering of Potters and Blacks through to the formal parlour, along with Minerva who Charlus had invited along. Sirius wishes they could have convinced Harry and Hermione to come with them immediately after dinner, but he can’t deny it’s probably for the best that the two families discuss things before Harry and Hermione are with them fully.  Waiting a night and retrieving their newest members in the morning isn’t too long a wait. Sirius is a little surprised that Charlus requested they convene at Blackthorn rather than at the Potter estate but he doesn’t let that show on his face as they settle into the comfortable sofas and chairs.

His grandfather calls for refreshments and the next five minutes are spent with the elves doling out drinks. Charlus, Dorea and his grandfather both go for an aged port, Minerva for her usual Scotch. Regina opts for tea and it amuses Sirius that both he and James choose black coffee.

His grandfather clears his throat and gains the attention of the group. “We have a lot to discuss in terms of this evening’s events but Charlus, you had something you wished to raise?”

“Yes,” Charlus gestures at his son, “James.”

James sets his coffee aside and faces them with a determined stare. “Lord Arcturus, I offer my unreserved apology to you and to your heir. During our time at Hogwarts, there was an incident which occurred which coloured my view of Baron Blackthorn and led me to treat him without the respect our positions should have afforded. I recently became aware that the incident was not his fault, and was actually a service to our family. I am deeply sorry for my past actions and behaviour, not least of all advising my father to ignore the rapprochement you came to us with last year.”

Sirius can’t quite keep his shock out of his expression despite all his training. He has never expected for James to apologise or for Lupin to tell the truth. He wonders what has driven Lupin to inform James after so many years of silence.

“I, of course, accept your apology,” his grandfather says and looks over to Charlus. “Under the circumstances, I would request for our rapprochement to be reconsidered.”

“I agree,” Charlus says. “I think it is time for us to set aside all past conflict. I know Dorea has missed her family and cousins since she married me. We can speak later of the Wizengamot announcement on our rapprochement.” He pauses. “As much as I am disappointed that we came to this point because of misunderstandings and the truth finally being known by all,” his eyes flicker to his son who ducks his head, “I am glad we can come together given the arrival of Harry and Hermione, but we should conclude this discussion before we move on. We owe you a debt of honour and we will make a formal apology.”

Arcturus nods. “As it is my heir who bore the brunt of your heir’s ire all these years, I therefore suggest James and Sirius agree acceptable terms to make amends there.”

It doesn’t hurt their political standing at all if the next Earl of Gryffindor were to owe them a favour, muses Sirius. He nods at his grandfather to acknowledge he will take care of the matter and do the best for the family.

Sirius won’t deny that there’s a tiny sense of satisfaction from seeing James so uncomfortable as Charlus agrees to his grandfather’s suggestion. He allows himself a moment to revel in it because he has endured years of torment; of outright hatred, insults and pranks (although he foiled most of them and had come to consider them a way to keep his instincts fresh by the time he’d left Hogwarts as a student).

James though takes it on the chin like a true Gryffindor and bows his head in acknowledgement before turning to Sirius himself. “Perhaps we can stay back when the rest of our business is concluded?”

“Of course,” Sirius says smoothly.

His grandfather gives a satisfied huff and motions at Charlus. “We shall move on. We all agreed a separate discussion about Harry and Hermione needed to happen outside of the walls of Hogwarts. The floor is yours, Charlus.”

“First things first, thoughts on our two new family members?” asks Charlus.

Dorea sighs. “They seem like a lovely couple who have been through more than most should ever experience at their young age.”

“She’s his strength,” Minerva offers. “He looks to her even when he speaks for them, she is his constant thought. He was distraught when they arrived and she was so injured.”

Regina nods. “But if she is his strength, he is hers. She gains confidence by having him at her side.”

“They are a formidable pair,” his grandfather states with unusual bluntness. “He has the power to carry both the Gryffindor and Grimmauld legacies; she clearly is his partner in all things and she is as smart as a whip.”

“The family magic adores him,” Charlus agrees. “In all honesty, I’m grateful he’s so willing to settle for a simple title while he is with us.”

“As though there is anything simple about the Peverell title,” his grandfather counters.

And that’s true. Peverell carries a certain cachet in their world but Sirius doesn’t think magic would have settled for anything less.

“James, Sirius?” Charlus invites them to comment.

James glances at Sirius and Sirius nods at him. James has rank and he is a guest in their home for all his grandfather is allowing Charlus to effectively lead the discussion.

“He’s clearly been abused,” James says. “His stories…” he shakes his head, “no child should have had to have gone through his experiences. Where in Merlin’s name were the adults in that world?” His hand rubs at his chest in a telling gesture which gives away how much he is affected.

“I can’t say I didn’t think the same thing,” Minerva comments dryly.

“It’s something we should consider as we move forward with them,” Charlus states. “He is used to dealing without family; without the help of a more experienced adult who has his best interests at heart. While he is with us we must provide to him the sanctuary and comfort he did not receive in his home world.”

“And then we send him back,” Dorea sighs. “Something about that just makes my heart break.”

“Let us cross that bridge when we come to it,” Charlus takes her hand. “From the discussion at dinner, breaking the spell may take many years.”

“Albus believes it will take almost seven,” Minerva reports. “But then in his plan, only he and Hermione will actively be working on it.”

“Why wouldn’t we refer the spell to the DOM?” asks Charlus crossly.

“Albus prefers to keep control,” Minerva says. “I am certain had I not pointed out and reminded him that the family magic was bound to have already alerted you to Harry’s arrival that he would have attempted to have kept the origins of their presence here a complete secret.”

“Well, the spell will be referred and we will wait to see if his estimate is confirmed,” Charlus says. “Sirius?”

Sirius considers what he wants to say and what he should say for a long moment. “There is a myth from the time of Arthur…” he can see James visibly restrain himself from jumping in or more likely complaining, “…it is said that Merlin travelled through a crystal cave and found himself in another world. He lived a lifetime there with another Arthur, another Guinevere, another Morgana.”

The others were silent allowing him to tell the tale.

“When he returned to our world, it had been as though not a day had passed,” Sirius says. “And so Merlin lived again and used his knowledge of what had happened in the other world to steer Arthur here; to embody our family magic with an intent to protect and love so it would be the greatest dishonour to act against its wishes and guidance.”

“You believe our pair are from this other world?” asks Dorea quietly.

“Perhaps,” Sirius shrugs lightly, “or they may be from another. But their experiences…they look at us as if we are ghosts…” he pauses and allows himself a small sigh. “He struggles to look at some of us at all.”

“He said Dumbledore was dead in their world and he did tell us he had lost the rest of his family,” Minerva says thoughtfully. “It may very well be that many of us are dead in their world.”

“A sobering thought,” Charlus says. “We should take care to consider that in our interactions. If he is grieving still…he will hurt no matter.”

“I think we should also consider they’re not from our time,” Sirius says. “We’re a similar age but neither James nor I were mentioned in stories as contemporaries. He doesn’t mention his lineage, his parents’ and his godfather’s names were not stated, intentionally I think. He may be from a future generation yet born here.”

“Your reasoning is sound,” his grandfather says and Sirius knows his grandfather has probably had the same thoughts.

“It’s not just that. He talked about the rise of the Dark Lord,” James comments, “although they said it happened in their nineteen-seventies.” He raises his cup at Sirius. “There are rumours here now of the same which also made me wonder about the timeline of our worlds.”

Sirius wonders at just how much James’ attitude has changed with the truth of what had happened with Lupin acknowledged. He focuses back on the discussion. “Rumours?”

James grimaces. “The DOM picked up chatter about Romania about twelve months ago. A part of the countryside had gone dark.”

Dark.

Sirius’ mind whirls. Dark meant that someone had enacted a magical lockdown. Nothing in and nothing out.

“There was an unsubstantiated report that the Romanian vampire clan and a feral werewolf pack was on the inside when it went dark,” James continues. “About eight months ago, local children nearby went missing with their families slaughtered; seven girls of magical lineage.”

“Dear Merlin!” breathes Dorea with horror.

It’s an echo of the horror inside Sirius’ own head. He knows of only two rituals which use female children in that way and both of them are horrifically evil.

“Six months ago the countryside suddenly opened up again,” James says. “The area inside was…desolated. The found the bones of the seven girls in the old ruins of a casting circle.”

“Why hasn’t the Wizengamot been informed of this?” asks Charlus, his eyes glittering with anger.

“The ICW sealed the events under a classified status for a long time,” James tells him. “The DOM didn’t even brief the Auror Corp until three months ago and that was only because seven muggle children were taken and slaughtered at Stonehenge on Halloween.”

“Muggles?” asks Minerva sharply.

“Magical children are too monitored in the UK,” James points out. “The authorities would immediately know of a threat.”

“So this monster preys on muggles who are not well-watched,” Charlus comments with disgust.

“I would repeat Charlus’ previous question; why hasn’t the Wizengamot been informed?” asks his grandfather.

James shrugs. “You’d have to ask Director Bell and the Minister,” he waves a hand. “The reports are no longer classified.”

“I shall make enquiries,” his grandfather replies.

“That’s not the end of it though, is it?” Sirius prompts, his eyes watching James’ expression.

James shakes his head. “Two weeks ago, we had a report of a unicorn being slaughtered in the protected Shire in Cornwall. Moody’s had us performing a surveillance on the herd in Hoggle Forest since.”

“And?” asks Charlus.

“Seven magical people apparated into the forest last night and tried to slaughter one of the unicorns. The centaurs responded to the threat and came to the rescue just before my team and I could intervene ourselves,” James finishes.

“Seven,” his grandfather murmurs.

Charlus sighs. “Arcturus?”

His grandfather shifts his weight before replying. “You remember Riddle?”

“Riddle?” Charlus’s eyebrows rise. “Hard to forget the Head Boy of our year, Arcturus.”

Sirius watches as James’ eyebrows shoot up. Clearly the younger Potter hadn’t realised his father had been at school at the same time as Arcturus. But then perhaps James hadn’t put together the historical scandal of his mother marrying a Potter against the wishes of her family with his parents’ difficulty in conceiving an heir.

Sirius has done the math and knows the conception happened within a month of the previous Earl of Grimmauld’s death. He figures his great-grandfather had done something to curse Dorea and it had been lifted upon death. It’s a huge stain on their family magic. His grandfather has worked tirelessly since to mend fences and their honour, and Sirius is glad that they’re finally able to establish the rapprochement.

“Riddle had a thing about the number seven.”

Charlus sucks in a breath. “Arcturus, you don’t mean to say…”

“He left England after Hogwarts to travel. He might have been Dippet’s favourite but he didn’t get offered the apprenticeship from Dippet he was expecting because the school governors stepped in.”

Sirius stares at his grandfather. “You think he’s this Dark Lord.”

“I think he is a candidate,” his grandfather corrects. “It needs more investigation.”

“Which is why the Aurors are investigating,” James stresses.

“But also why the Wizengamot should be informed,” Charlus corrects James firmly in the same way Sirius’ grandfather had just corrected him.

“Unless there are already members of the Wizengamot compromised,” Sirius points out.

James sends him a quick look filled with gratitude which almost distracts Sirius as his grandfather notes that Sirius’ words have validity and perhaps they need to proceed with care.

“We’ll leave the political machinations to you both,” Dorea tells Charlus and his grandfather. “Let’s talk more about the plan for Harry and Hermione.”

“An excellent idea!” Minerva raises her glass in support.

“Hear, hear,” Regina says. Her face is pale and Sirius makes a mental note to check in on her later.

“Tomorrow, Charlus and I will go to pick them up,” Dorea instructs. There is steel in her voice; a daughter of the House of Black who expects to be obeyed. “We’ll take them back to the Potter estate. We’ll let them settle in.” She pauses and gestures at the two older men. “At some point tomorrow, you and Arcturus should go to the Minister and the Chief Witch; bring them into the loop.” She waits until they both acknowledge the order before moving on. “We’ll all eat dinner together, of course.”

Sirius sighs inwardly while he registers James’ more obvious wince. He doesn’t know what James had planned but he’d promised Frank Longbottom a night out of the house away from the domestic war between his grieving mother and his new wife. It would have to wait. Frank would understand; the Longbottoms know family magic and its duty.

“I propose we go over the plan with them then,” Dorea says.

An elf pops in and refreshes the glasses.

“It may play better with the both of them if we include them in the planning,” Minerva says dryly.

“We can suggest a plan to them,” says Sirius, “and allow them the final decisions.”

Dorea’s eyes flit to his. She has the same silver hue as his; family stamped indelibly on them. “A good suggestion,” she allows.

“What are we suggesting then?” asks Charlus with a hint of mischief in his tone.

“Shopping,” Regina suggests. “They need to be completely outfitted.”

“Health checks with our healers,” Dorea taps her wand and a parchment appears with a quill and begins taking notes. “Ariana and Poppy are wonderful but I’d feel better if Healer Albright takes a look at them too.”

“An introduction to Bagnold and Marchbanks,” James says out loud.

Minerva and Dorea each raise an eyebrow at him and James flushes.

“I mean, Minister Bagnold and Chief Witch Marchbanks,” James hurriedly corrects.

Sirius is beginning to admire his cousin and how she clearly has established her rule within her family.

“Another dinner?” suggests Regina. “They’ll be able to meet them in relative privacy then.”

“We’ll also need to spend some time preparing him for the Wizengamot presentation,” Charlus adds. “We can do that on the same day.”

“New Year’s Eve is the Ministerial ball,” Dorea muses with a frown.

Charlus sighs. “I don’t believe putting them under that kind of scrutiny before the presentation is a good idea.”

“But I don’t want to leave them alone in the house either,” Dorea says.

“So I can stay with them,” James says. “All I had planned was a night out with the lads.”

His grandfather looked pointedly at Sirius.

“I can also make myself available,” Sirius confirms. In all honesty he’s pleased to get out of the ball. He hates the damn things.

Regina’s lips twitch as though she can hear his inner dialogue.

James looks slightly discomfited but Sirius isn’t too worried about that.

“Good,” Dorea murmurs. “They can have a relaxing night at home with the both of you.”

“We’ll bring them here for New Year’s day,” his grandfather suggests. “We can all have lunch together perhaps and you are all invited to stay.” He turns to Minerva. “Including yourself, Minerva, of course.”

“Thank you, Arcturus,” Charlus says, “we will be honoured to attend.”

“But unfortunately, I will have to decline.” Minerva says with genuine regret. “I will be needed at Hogwarts.”

“Oh, come on, Aunt Minnie!” James protests. “You can ask for a day release surely?”

The eyebrow thing happens again and James seems to sink further into his seat.

“Perhaps, I can request a pass,” Minerva allows once she’s enjoyed seeing James squirm for a moment. “If nothing else the Headmaster will see the benefit of having as many moles at the table as he believes he has cultivated.”

Her eyes flit to Sirius and he looks impassively back at her. He has spent too many years forging his relationship with Dumbledore to fall at the hurdle of giving himself away to Minerva.

“Actually,” Minerva says, her eyes glinting with barely hidden amusement, “I believe Sirius and James should take leave and spend the holidays with Harry and Hermione.”

Sirius almost admires her gumption.

“Now that is an excellent idea,” Charlus says.

“WHAT?!”

Sirius has to check for a moment that it was James who uttered the protest and not himself.

His grandfather has a small uptick at the corner of his mouth which gives away how amused he is at the turn of events so it’s not really a surprise when he agrees with Charlus.

Sirius cocks his head toward his grandfather because Merlin knows it’s taken them long enough to get close to Dumbledore but…but Sirius cannot deny he thinks he needs to follow the suggestion. His magic is almost shouting at him.

“I’ll speak with the Headmaster in the morning and make arrangements,” Sirius says.

James’ lips set in a mutinous line but he gives a terse nod. “I’ll clear it with Moody.”

“You’ll stay with us, Sirius, of course,” Dorea invites him with the smoothness she undoubtedly learned from her family before she could write the alphabet.

Sirius bows his head. “I’ll be honoured.”

“Good. Which brings us to January second which will be the Wizengamot,” Dorea says as the quill writes rapidly against the parchment.

“You should spend the next day going over their options,” Minerva suggests. “They’ll need to make a decision on the fourth, and I would suggest if they do decide to return to Hogwarts they’ll need the weekend to plan lessons and prepare.”

“We should also provide some time for fun,” James says.

“You just want to go flying,” his mother retorts.

James grins at her cheekily. “Of course.”

Dorea rolls her eyes at her son but there’s too much fondness in her expression for anyone to be fooled into thinking she’s truly upset with him.

“Well, it’s the beginnings of a good plan,” Dorea taps her wand and the parchment rolls up and disappears.

“Charlus, perhaps we can retire to my office and think about how we can present this to the Minister and Chief Witch,” his grandfather says.

Dorea takes it for the hint it is and stands. “I’ll head home and leave you to it.”

There is a flurry of goodbyes; Minerva follows Dorea, Regina excuses herself to bed. Charlus and his grandfather disappear to the older man’s study and Sirius is left with James.

Sirius calls for his elf for more refreshments. He and James both choose something alcoholic. Sirius offers a cigar but isn’t surprised when James refuses. Sirius doesn’t like the things either and so takes a seat opposite James with only the glass of cognac in his hand.

“What exactly did Remus Lupin tell you?” asks Sirius.

James frowns and swirls the cognac he holds. “That he was involved with Narcissa. Bellatrix attacked them and you intervened. He said you saved them both. You were returning to assist Remus when…when I turned up and misconstrued everything.”

Sirius wonders if Lupin told the whole truth or just enough. “Did he tell you that he did most of the damage to Cissy and claimed Bellatrix had him under a compulsion spell?”

He reads the answer from the shock which glimmers in James’ eyes for a long moment before the other man can regroup.  There’s a tightening in James’ expression; he’s angry but Sirius thinks it’s actually aimed at the right person for once.

“I didn’t have time to verify the claim,” Sirius continues, leaving out that the reason for that was James turning up and attempting to kill him, “and I don’t suppose he informed his healer.”

James shook his head. “He would have been embarrassed,” he admits. “Remus rejects his wolf so it can cause issues.”

“You think that’s why his wolf allowed him to be controlled whereas most werewolves shake off the Imperius and the other control spells without issue,” Sirius challenges almost gently.

“The control thing is why he couldn’t get into the Aurors,” James sighs. “He’s a reluctant werewolf.”

“He was with you when you were watching the unicorn herd,” Sirius comments. It had been all Poppy had been able to talk about; that and the arrival of the inter-dimensional travellers.

“Peter, Bertie and I…we don’t like leaving Remus out, but having him with us that night was a mistake,” James admits. “Our werewolf laws aren’t that restrictive but he still struggles to find work and he won’t take charity or pity. He has a tendency to retreat to the packs when he gets too down about things.”

“His cowardice almost cost you your honour,” Sirius points out bluntly.

James winces but he acknowledges the truth with a bow of his head.

They both sip the cognac.

“Why did he decide to tell you?” asks Sirius.

James sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “He didn’t. Dumbledore told me to stop holding a grudge against you and to demand the truth from Remus. Remus, well…he told me when I pressed him on it.” He sighs and looks over at Sirius. “I assume you told Dumbledore the truth back then?”

Sirius debates his reply for a moment before he shakes his head. “I assume he plucked it out of Cissy’s head. She’s always been pants at Occlumency.”

James blinks at him. “You mean…”

“Dumbledore is a Leglimens,” Sirius confirms, raising his glass. He sips the cognac and appreciates its warm tones before continuing. He needs to be careful. He wants to make James aware of Dumbledore’s flaws without causing any suspicion. “You should protect your mind better.”

James grimaces. “Let’s just say I have something in common with your cousin – words I thought I would never say – and leave it at that.”

“Your heir ring would give you protection,” Sirius points out. He can’t remember ever seeing James with the ring on.

“You’re right,” James sighs. “Maybe I should start wearing it.”

Sirius stamps on the impulse to ask James why he hasn’t been wearing it; it’s really none of his business.

James sighs again. “This is such a mess.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow and doesn’t stop to consider that it probably echoes Dorea’s until James blushes.

“My fault, I know,” James fidgets with his cognac before tossing the whole glass back.

Sirius is impressed he doesn’t choke on the drink. “You didn’t like me before the incident with Lupin. You and your Mischief Makers tormented me from day one.”

“You’re a Black,” James retorts.

“So are you,” Sirius shoots back. The Gryffindor legacy is prime in James’ heritage but he has Black blood too.

James grimaces and sets the empty glass aside, sitting forward. “I found my mother crying once. It wasn’t long before Hogwarts. There was some kind of event and she’d gone and endured a whole day with your family – well, not you but the others. I blamed your family because my mother was crying.”

Sirius doesn’t say anything. He understands – not in regard to his own mother who had been a bitch and he’s still pleased she’s dead and gone – but his grandmother had raised him until she had died. He figures if he had found her crying, he would have happily killed whoever had caused her tears. He’s the same with Regina. If anyone hurt his sister…

“You were the easiest target within reach,” James continues. “I just…I was eleven and someone had hurt my mother and suddenly you were there in front of me.” He breathes in. “That first year was all about my mother.”

“And the rest until Lupin?” asks Sirius curious.

“Ah, well,” James blushes again, “that was because of Evans.”

Sirius blinks. “Evans?”

James shrugs and looks bashful. “I liked her. She wouldn’t give me the time of day, but you were always hanging out together.”

“We were in the same house,” Sirius says dryly.

Truthfully, he and Lily Evans have never been friends, but she has also not treated him unfairly either. At school, Ravenclaw had been suspicious of his Sorting since he was the first Black not to go to Slytherin. Lily had become best friends with his cousin Alice McMillan who had also sorted into Ravenclaw, and that was why they’d ended up spending time together at school. It’s why they had ended up being best man and chief bridesmaid at Alice and Frank’s wedding. They’ve actually ended up working together at Hogwarts where Lily is the Muggle Studies professor.

Lily’s still cool to Sirius though. Probably because Sirius has never pretended to like her friend Severus Snape. The heir to the Prince estate is a socially inept genius with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Earth. The only person Snape seems to like is Lily.

But if Lily is cool to Sirius, she’s positively arctic with James. That might have had something to do with James pulling her metaphorical pigtails all the time they were in school – which in hindsight was obviously James declaring his interest with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop.

“So,” Sirius says, dragging himself back to the conversation at hand, “you hated the Blacks for hurting your mother, you thought I was a rival for the girl you were crushing on, and that’s why you made me enemy number one even before Lupin.”

“That pretty much sums it up,” James murmurs. “Although to be fair, Snape took that prize in our fifth year.”

They both share a look of complete understanding because fifth year had been the year when Snape had been the most obnoxious.

“I am sorry,” James says. It’s quiet and sincere.

Sirius believes James believes it.

James gets to his feet. “What are your terms?”

Sirius taps his cognac glass and places it on the table. He stands and squares his shoulders. “An honest attempt to build a familial relationship.”

James’ gaze narrows at him. “That’s it?”

Sirius nods. “That’s it.”

He doesn’t say he thinks they’re going to need each other; doesn’t mention the prophecy sitting on a shelf in the DOM; doesn’t tell James that war is coming. But maybe James already knows that.

James breathes in sharply. “Agreed.”

They shake on it and there is a flash as their agreement is sealed by magic.

Sirius escorts James to the floo and watches as the other man leaves. He breathes deeply.

Things are changing.

His mind flits to the steady green gaze of a young man not so much younger than himself; the weight of the world in those eyes and the sharp pain of looking at a ghost come to life. He wonders for an instance who he was to Harry to be so loved and so missed.

Sirius shakes off the thought. He needs to sleep. Tomorrow will be a day of dancing with Dumbledore and bringing Harry and Hermione home.

Things are changing, Sirius thinks grimly, and the House of Black will be ready.

Continued in: A Step to the Right: Part 3