Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

Chapter 1: Knights of Avalon

Oxford is cold in January.

Harry smiles, remembering the last January he’d been in Oxford and the way the snow had covered the colleges turning them into Christmas card settings. 

It’s not quite as picturesque as his memory.  The streets are dark grey, damp from the wash of rain overnight.  The sky is a pale grey, the sun hidden behind the substantive mass of clouds. 

Hermione’s hand tightens in his as they walk through the crowds along the street to the Radcliffe Camera, the library which hosts one of the best collections of History books in England.

Harry has only been there once before to collect Hermione for lunch since the social sciences library is elsewhere and, as a student of Social Care, that was where he spent most of his time.  Mostly he remembers how quiet it had been inside the Radcliffe Camera and how he’d felt like a loud clomping elephant as he’d made his way across the floor.

The crisp morning air makes him shiver.  He’s glad of the warm wool peacoat his grandmother had insisted on buying him. He’s dressed for the cold in heavy denim blue jeans, a thick navy-blue jumper over a long-sleeved white Henley.  His emergency miniaturised trunk hangs around his neck on a leather cord underneath a thick maroon scarf around his neck, and he’d wore the matching beanie hat because it is freezing.  The beanie is stamped with the Avalon coat of arms.  Sturdy brown leather boots and gloves complete the outfit.   

Harry keeps a tight hold on the leash of the large black grim keeping pace on his right as they dart around groups of oblivious tourists who block the pavement.  He checks on Hermione who smiles at him sensing his regard and he smiles back.

She is in a more feminine version of his outfit with a crisp white blouse instead of the Henley under her sweater.  The old hideous yellow scarf their Molly had knitted for her is wrapped warmly around her neck.  She has a leather satchel slung across her body.  Harry knows it contains her bottomless handbag.  The outfit is topped off with a stylish black beret, also stamped with the Avalon coat of arms, and knee-high flat black boots which lace up.

Harry shakes his head.

The past two days feel surreal…

In truth, the past week and a half since they’ve been pulled into a different world has felt surreal.

Back on their world, Harry had been banished to the muggle world after he had been diagnosed with chaotic magic and Hermione had found herself constrained by a new muggleborn legislation.  They had settled into a life of Oxford University students, filling their days with lectures and essays. 

They had been ripped from that existence and into another universe thanks to ancient magic imbued in a crystal ball given to Hermione. 

They live now in the presence of people long dead in their own world, with everything different because of the existence of family magic.  Arthur and Merlin had created to bond magicals together in the hopes it would prevent the fall of Camelot.  In the end it had only delayed it.

Harry’s still getting used to the family magic, used to the feeling of being bonded with family.

Family that had long since died on his own world. 

His paternal grandparents have welcomed in as a long-lost grandson.  He’s met versions of James and Lily, who aren’t married, who hadn’t fallen in love like his own parents, and were only just becoming friends. 

More heartbreakingly in some respects, he has another version of his beloved godfather, Sirius Black, in his life.  And with Sirius comes Sirius’ sister Regina, and his grandfather Arcturus.  It feels overwhelmingly painful and joyful in equal measure.

He and Hermione had just begun adjusting to the world they now found themselves within when the crazy events at the Wizengamot had happened. 

Harry had stepped on the Round Table to take part in an old traditional test which would assess his fitness to be a voting member.  He had left the Table tasked with a mission to protect the world from an upcoming war, proclaimed, along with Hermione, a Knight of Avalon by the spirit of King Arthur Pendragon himself.

Godric tugs on his leash, pulling Harry’s attention to him. 

The grim is a gift to Harry from Merlin delivered by Arthur’s spirit.  Godric is not impressed at being leashed but the law is the law.  Harry shoots a smile at his new familiar.  He can’t bear the idea of being parted from him.  He’s not Padfoot or the reincarnation of his actual godfather, Godric is his.  Their bond had formed immediately as soon as he had been gifted to Harry.

Hermione has left her own familiar, Crookshanks, behind at Potter Hall, snoozing away at the bottom of their bed.  Hermione believes that the kneazle is Crookshanks and Harry hasn’t argued otherwise – he trusts her to know.  Presumably, whatever magic Merlin did to bring them into a different universe was capable of snatching up Crookshanks at the same time.

And again, the surrealism of their situation catches up with Harry and makes his breath hitch.

It is a mad, mad thing.

The uproar in the immediate aftermath of their visit to the Wizengamot has made Harry grateful for the protection of both the Potter and Black families.

Straight after the session, his grandfather, Charlus, the Earl of Gryffindor, had asserted his authority and swept Harry and Hermione away from the Ministry.  They’d been sequestered at Potter Hall since, but Harry has determinedly insisted on his and Hermione getting a day alone as they’d originally planned.

Of course, their original plan had been to simply enjoy their first real date with each other whereas they’ve bent to the need to independently find out more about their new roles.

Hermione tugs him, and they turn onto the path leading to the Camera. 

His relationship with Hermione is another aspect of the surrealism for Harry.

Back on their world, he’d never really allowed himself to think of Hermione as a prospective girlfriend, mostly since he had thought she didn’t see him as a prospective boyfriend.  That belief combined with the on-again off-again relationship Hermione had been embroiled in with their best friend Ron, and Harry’s own failed relationship with Ginny, had meant that Harry had subconsciously put the idea of him and Hermione away.

This world had dragged the idea of Hermione as his girlfriend into the open and made it a reality.

In many ways their getting together has all the hallmarks of a cheesy romance film, Harry muses.  This world’s social norms are very different from their own.  Harry’s pendant gift to Hermione and her gift of new eyeglasses for him had been taken as tokens of affection between a married couple.  They’d decided to remain ‘married’ when the misunderstanding of their relationship had been explained to them by Albus Dumbledore – alive and well in this reality, and still Headmaster of Hogwarts. 

To consolidate their story, Harry had decided to wear his Lordship ring as a wedding ring, and he’d gifted Hermione the Ladyship equivalent to do the same.  He isn’t certain but he thinks that when he placed the ring on Hermione’s finger the family magic had decreed that they were married.  Hermione is shown as his wife on the Black Family tapestry, and he’s relieved she has the protection of himself and his family.

Harry thinks fondly about their made-up romantic backstory of falling in love as friends, kissing on a beach in Brighton, and marrying in a small church surrounded by friends and family. 

Faking it had led to a real first kiss at the turn of the New Year.  They had realised that night that they were both interested in more than just friendship; that maybe they had the possibility for more than friendship.

Friendship first, Harry muses, always friendship first, but they are building something more together and Harry likes that.  He’s surprisingly optimistic, but maybe it’s because there is already love and a good foundation.

They slow to a stop just before the door.  There is a handy ‘don’t walk on the grass’ sign which he loops Godric’s leash around and ties it.  It gives Godric some movement, but it will keep him constrained.  Hermione surreptitiously conjures up a bowl of water while Harry pulls out a chew toy.

“We won’t be long,” he promises as he pats Godric’s head.

Hermione slips her hand back in his as they complete the short walk up the pathway, up a few steps, through the door and into the building.

There is the same solemn hush that Harry remembers, and it has Harry immediately feeling like once again he is a noisy elephant.

Hermione leans into him.  “Right, so I’ll go find the history section like we planned, and you take myths and legends.  I’ll come find you.”  She drops a soft kiss on his lips, and she’s gone before he can say anything.

Truthfully, the plan is Hermione’s.

She’s determined to find out as much as she can from neutral sources about the whole Knights of Avalon notion.  He can’t say he blames her.  He’s come to appreciate his family (he shies away from the word love – he’s only known them a short time), but he’s wary of trusting any information about their situation.

He heads up the stairs, following the signs to the mythology section of the library.  It doesn’t take him long to find a section on Arthurian mythology, but it’s surprisingly limited to a shelf in a section on British myths right at the back wall.

He checks it out anyway.

His eyes roam over the titles and he settles on a book titled ‘The Knights Called to Arms.’ He picks it up and the shelf shimmers before a doorway reveals itself.  He casts a look around to check that there isn’t a muggle – non-magical, he reminds himself of his new world’s term – and is relieved to find himself alone.

The magic is similar, he realises to the entryway to Diagon Alley.  If he’d been paying attention, he would have sensed the familiar magical tingle.

Harry sighs and steps through the doorway into a large wizarding library. 

He wonders where he even starts as he surveys row upon row of books.

“May I help you, Lord Peverell?”

Harry startles at the voice behind him and spins around to find a familiar figure. 

He blinks. 

The elderly form of his retired neighbour is different to the man Harry remembers.  He’s wearing a beige cardigan, with a name badge pinned on the lapel, over a buttoned-up white shirt with a tartan tie teamed with plain black trousers and shiny leather shoes.  But it’s the same wild white hair that curls around his ruddy face and wide blue eyes.

“Mister Higgins?” asks Harry tentatively.

“That’s me,” Higgins confirms in a soft Scottish brogue.  “I assume Maisie redirected you here to our wizarding library from the front desk, Sir Harry?”

“Actually, I picked up,” Harry raises the book he’s still holding.

Higgins glances at the title.  “Ah, researching your new position I take it?”

Harry hides his grimace and nods.  “My wife and I were hoping to find a book on the Knights of Avalon?”

Higgins smiles and gestures behind him.  “Follow me.”

Harry follows after Higgins who is walking with the same spritely energy that Harry remembers him having in his own world.  They stop at a large section signed ‘The Reign of King Arthur.’  There were multiple shelving units, all of them stacked with books.

Harry hides his grimace.  He’s not unaware of the irony that less than five minutes before he was decrying a lack of books, but…

Higgins smiles again as though he can read Harry’s mind and ushers him down an aisle.  They stop in front of a small shelf. 

“These are all the books written specifically about the Knights of Avalon,” Higgins says.  He plucks three books from the tidy row.  “These are the definitive guides.”

Harry breathes a sigh of relief as he takes the short stack.  “Thank you, Mister Higgins.”

“I am entirely at your service, Sir Harry,” Higgins replies.  He taps the books as his eyes twinkle.  “You’ll read all about that, I’m sure.”  He motions to the right.  “There’s a very comfortable reading nook just over by the window.  I’ll be at the desk by the door.”

Harry nods as Higgins takes his leave.  He bites his bottom lip thoughtfully as he wanders over to the nook that Higgins has suggested.

There are two large green armchairs next to the window.  Harry peeks out and sees the front of the building.  He can see the small form of Godric lying down, ignoring the odd passing person. 

Harry sits down in one of the armchairs, sets down the two larger books and opens the one Higgins had chosen first.

It’s an academic commentary on a first-person account found in an old church in Wales.  Ser Allan had been a Knight of Avalon in the time of Arthur. 

Harry skips over the chapters on the discovery and authentication of the document.

“Ser Allan begins his account with why Arthur created the Knights of Avalon, a different Order to the Knights of the Round Table, but no less important to Arthur’s reign.”

Harry frowns.

“The Order of the Round Table governed Avalon from Camelot, but the Knights of Avalon were the King’s appointed Chosen; they were his warriors, and peacekeepers. They were sent out into Avalon itself to maintain order among the citizens and the still fantastical magical beasts that roamed freely.  They are the reality of the chivalrous Knights upon which later romantic myths and legends would emerge.”

Harry taps the page.  He can feel the truth of that resonate with something deep inside him.  It makes sense, Harry muses.  There had to have been some kind of law and order in Avalon. 

“All the Knights were personally appointed by the King and usually tasked with a specific mission.  Ser Allan reveals his own mission was to find various magical artefacts that had wandered into the mortal world and return them to the Temple of Avalon for safe keeping.”

Harry’s eyes widen a little.  Apparently, Ser Allan had been Camelot’s version of Arthur Weasley, tracking down anything that had been magically altered and which could reveal their presence to muggles.  He smiles widely at the thought. 

He misses Ron.

Even if their friendship had changed after Harry’s banishment (and Harry thinks the fact that Hermione had joined him in the muggle world had probably been part of that), Harry’s soft spot for his first friend has never diminished.

The part of his magic which sings with his family bonds twinges a little and he realises that Hermione has entered the wizarding library and is making her way through the stacks.  He continues reading, certain she’ll find him.

It only takes a few minutes before she’s plopping down beside him with a pile of books significantly larger than his own.

“This is amazing!” Hermione says in a loud whisper.  “There’s no library like this back in our world!”

“Are you sure?” Harry teases.  “Maybe you just didn’t find it.”

Hermione shoots him a chiding look.  Her obvious affection warms him.  He holds out his hand and hers slides into his.

“This is nice,” Hermione says quietly.  “It feels like forever since the two of us have had any time alone together.”

Harry nods.  His family have kept them both close.  Not that they really need to be physically in the same location to know how they are.  Harry is still getting used to the pull of the family magic which connects him to his newfound relatives, but if he focuses, he knows he’ll sense his grandfather contemplative in a meeting with his political allies, Arcturus with his; his grandmother, Dorea, gleefully shopping with Regina in Paris. 

He can sense that James is back at work as an Auror given the magic resonates with his sense of focus, and Lily is feeling mostly amused.  It doesn’t surprise him; she was planning a day with her pregnant best friend, Alice Longbottom. 

Sirius is harder to sense.  The counterpart to his godfather had gone back to Hogwarts to prepare for the new school term and the ambient magic of the wards there and sheer number of students means the family magic lies fallow unless something serious occurs. 

Harry and Hermione will head to Hogwarts themselves the next day.

“You’re thinking about Hogwarts again, aren’t you?” Hermione says softly.

Harry sighs and rubs his chin.  “Are we doing the right thing going to work for Dumbledore with everything so up in the air about this Knight business?”

“Professor Dumbledore, Harry, and…” Hermione grimaces.  “Maybe not.”  She holds up a hand.  “Let’s get these books checked out and we can talk somewhere a bit more appropriate.”

Harry nods.  He helps her carry a portion of the books she has, and they head to the front desk.

“Sir Harry, Lady Hermione,” Higgins nods and gets to his feet as they approach. 

Harry’s eyes stray to the occupied dog bed tucked by the desk.  He stoops to pat the black Highland terrier’s head gently.  It’s good to see that Higgins still has his faithful dog in this world too.

“An interesting but well-rounded collection, Lady Hermione,” Higgins says as he carefully taps each book.  An entry appears in the large open ledger that takes up half the desk. 

“Thank you,” Hermione says, her eyes widening a little at the use of her title. “I’ve always believed in getting a wide range of sources.”

“As a librarian, I heartily approve,” Higgins says with a smile.

Harry puts his own small stack on the desk. 

“No need to check those, Sir Harry,” Higgins says, “they are on loan to the University from the Black library.”

Harry and Hermione exchange a quick glance at that news.

They gather the books and Hermione spells them into her satchel. 

“If I can be of any further help, please do come back,” Higgins says.

“Thank you,” Harry gives a small nod in goodbye.

They leave the library and Harry retrieves an excited Godric.  The grim’s tail wags enthusiastically as he greets them.

Hermione steers them back through the Oxford streets and in short order they’re sat at their usual table in the coffee shop they’d frequented daily in another world.  Godric sits under their table happily chewing on a treat as they pour strong mugs of tea and contemplate the baked goods they’ve selected.

Hermione sets up a privacy bubble.  “What do you want to talk about first?”

Harry sighs and rubs his hand through his hair.  There’s some kind of magical property on the beanie which means his hair isn’t sweaty, but he imagines it’s probably still a mess given Hermione’s eyes flicker up and widen a touch before she gets very interested in her tea.

Harry pulls over the plate with his chocolate cake and takes a bite, thinking about his answer.  “I miss Ron.”

Hermione looks at him with clear surprise.

Harry shakes his head.  “That isn’t what I meant to say.”

“I don’t know why not,” Hermione reaches over and takes his hand.  “I miss him too.” Her eyes soften.  “I miss all our friends.”

“It’s just…” Harry rubs his thumb over her knuckles.  “I guess coming here today, it’s reminded me of home.”

“I know what you mean,” Hermione murmurs.  “If we ignore the grim at your feet, this could be another typical day for us at Uni.”

“Which made me think of options,” Harry admits.  He reluctantly squeezes her hand and lets her go so she can eat her scone and drink her tea.  He picks up his own and takes a fortifying sip.

Hermione regards him over the rim of her mug.  “You’re having second thoughts about going back to Hogwarts.”

“I don’t trust Dumbledore,” Harry says bluntly.

Hermione nods.  “Me either.”

“Then why are we going back again?” asks Harry pointedly.

Hermione chews her scone as she thinks about her answer, and he takes advantage of the lull to eat another forkful of cake.

“Better the devil we know?” Hermione sighs and shakes her head.  “He wasn’t happy about the whole Wizengamot thing.”

“Neither were we,” comments Harry dryly.  He raises his hands as if in surrender.  “I know we talked over going back yesterday after Professor McGonagall asked us to at least serve a term as they were struggling to find alternatives, and we agreed, but…”

“But,” agrees Hermione.  She fidgets a little with her scarf.  “I don’t trust Professor Dumbledore.  He’s different to our Albus Dumbledore and given how badly ours used you, I don’t trust this one very much at all.  But Hogwarts is familiar and with everything else I think we could do with some familiar.”

Harry nods.  “It’s just I realised in the library…”

“This is familiar too,” Hermione concludes sadly.

Harry leans back in his chair.  “A part of me wishes we could just come here for real, study and have the lives we were planning back home.” He grimaces.  “But I accepted the King’s call.”

Hermione reaches back over the table again and he takes her hand gratefully. “I don’t blame you for us being here, Harry.  It’s not your fault Arthur Pendragon and his meddling wizard picked you to help keep this world safe.”

“They shouldn’t have involved you,” Harry says quietly, his eyes intent on hers.  “You were almost killed.”

“I would have followed you here if they’d left me on our world,” Hermione points out with wry humour making her lips twitch into a smile.

He raises their hands and kisses her palm in a silent thank you for her friendship and love. She blushes prettily in response.

“I’m glad I’m here with you,” Hermione repeats, fingers tangling with his.  “I don’t want to be anywhere else especially not when you’re facing another fight.”

Harry winces.  “I don’t even know where to start with that.”

“Probably with old Tom,” Hermione sighs.  “In our world, this is when he made his move.”

The timeline differences between the two worlds still have Harry’s head spinning.  The year is supposedly the same as the one they’d left behind, but his parents are only just in their twenties and Voldemort’s first push for power is beginning to take root.

“Except,” Harry says, his mind drifting back to the insane moments he’d spent with King Arthur’s spirit, “Arthur said it wasn’t just Tom, that he and Merlin knew there was another Big Bad, they just couldn’t see its face.”

Hermione’s lips twist in disgust at the vagueness.  “Honestly, we just don’t know enough about this world to know anything.  How did they think bringing in complete strangers was going to help?”

“Objectivity?  Fresh eyes?” Harry suggests.

Hermione reluctantly pulls her hand away from his and taps the table.  “The books may help.  We need to get a good understanding of the way magic works here, what the history already is.  We need time to get used to this world.”

“Which is why you want to go back to Hogwarts,” Harry realises out loud.

“Hogwarts has the best collection of magical literature,” Hermione says briskly before she deflates a little.  “And yes, I’d like to take advantage of sitting in one place we know well and which is protected to get that research under our belts.” She waves her hand.  “I know your grandparents would prefer we stay at Potter Hall, but I think if we do, we’ll end up spending all of our time at the Ministry.  Your families can’t protect us forever.”

Harry nods.  It’s a fair point.

“Besides, can you honestly say that you’d be comfortable being that far away from Lily?” Hermione asks pointedly picking up her tea.

Harry slumps back in his chair.  “No,” he admits. 

His own mother’s protective magic combined with the family magic has made his connection with this Lily very sensitive.  Lily is uncomfortable when she cannot be near him, and she has to return to Hogwarts and her apprenticeship.

“Besides, going back to Hogwarts means you can talk to Sirius properly and put your fears about his intentions to rest,” Hermione says.

He shoots a disgruntled look at her, but she simply raises an eyebrow in response.

“You can’t tell me you’re not worried,” Hermione says.

“He was the one who suggested the titles, and the one to propose I do the old Wizengamot test of standing on the Round Table,” Harry replies.  He really doesn’t want to question Sirius’ intentions.  But this Sirius isn’t his Sirius, and Sirius had seemed personally satisfied by the proclamation of them as Knights.

“Didn’t Charlus ask Arcturus outright?” asks Hermione.

Harry nods.  “Arcturus says Sirius had an inkling Arthur would appear because that has happened before as a matter of historical record, but he didn’t know that the whole Knights of Avalon thing would happen.”

His mind drifts to the stack of books they’ve got to read before he pulls himself back, picking up his own tea and draining it.

“I just don’t like that he disappeared after we left the Wizengamot and before we could talk to him ourselves,” he admits.

Hermione nods.  “I think Arcturus knows he mis-stepped sending Sirius back to Hogwarts so quickly to get eyes on Professor Dumbledore.  Apart from Lily, he was the only one not protesting at the idea of us going back.  I think he’s hoping if we do, we can clear the air with Sirius.”

“Let’s hope,” Harry says.  He really hopes Sirius is on their side.      

“So we are going back?” Hermione checks.

Harry nods.  “You’re right about Lily and staying safe somewhere while we get our feet under us independently from the family.”  He glances around.  “I just…”

“Maybe we can plan to come back to Uni after this fight, whatever this fight is, is over?” suggests Hermione. 

Harry rubs his chin and nods.  “That’s not a bad idea.  I think I’d like us to finish our studies and get a place of our own.”

Hermione smiles.  “Maybe I can look at some part-time study too so we don’t get too far behind.” She pushes her finished plate to one side.  “I hate to say it, but I think it’s prudent to plan.  Who knows?  They may banish us here too once you’ve saved them.”

Harry sets his mug down, stands up and offers his hand.  “Come on.  Let’s get out of here.”

She takes his hand and lets him pull her to her feet.

They’re smiling as they hurriedly drag on their coats and Harry takes hold of Godric’s leash firmly as he pulls Hermione close and apparates them out of the café.

They land in a deserted corner of Brighton’s beach. 

Godric barks excitedly.  Harry lets him off the leash and the grim bounds away to chase the swells and snuffle into the sand.

Hermione presses close to him, grinning.  “I thought we said it was going to be too cold to come to the seaside?”

“Bugger it,” Harry says, grinning back.  “Fancy doing our fake first date for real?”

“Fish and chips and you?  Sounds perfect,” Hermione says.

Their gazes catch and hold and they’re kissing, soft and sweet and…

Hermione’s right, Harry thinks happily, pushing all thoughts of Knights and quests from his mind.

It’s Hermione and it’s him and it’s absolutely perfect.

Chapter 2: The Black Knight

Sirius is at the breakfast table.

Harry almost pauses in the doorway as he catches sight of the wizard.  He’s been conflicted about Sirius even without the question that buzzes most prominently in his head – namely, why had Sirius suggested Harry step onto the Round Table?

Sirius is the embodiment of everything that his own godfather never had the chance to become; a respected Professor of History, Baron Blackthorn, Heir to the House of the Black, and most importantly, a beloved grandson and brother. 

But, Harry reminds himself, they had spoken about Harry’s relationship with the Sirius of his world, and he had been getting closer to this world’s Sirius before Arcturus had sent him off to spy on Dumbledore.  He shouldn’t shy away from another conversation with Sirius about his motives at the Wizengamot.

He heads to the table and slides into the chair which has become his during his stay at Potter Hall.  Godric follows him and lies down at his feet.

At the head of the table, Harry’s grandfather, Charlus, gives a nod from behind the global broadsheet, The Wizarding World.  “Good morning, Harry.”

“Morning, Grandfather,” Harry replies warmly.

Dorea, his grandmother, enters before Harry can say anything to Sirius.  She greets Harry with a kiss to his cheek, welcomes Sirius and sits.

“Is Hermione on her way down, Harry?” asks Dorea.

“She’s just finishing getting dressed.” He smiles remembering their date the day before.

It had been perfect. 

Fish and chips on the beach, walking hand in hand down the sands with Godric racing ahead to splash in the waves.  The memory of the kisses they’d shared make his blood heat a little even though he and Hermione are agreed to take their physical relationship at a slow pace.

“Lily said you were on a date when I arrived yesterday,” Sirius comments, drawing Harry’s attention back to the table.

Harry looks up into friendly silver eyes and wonders at his own doubts about the wizard across from him. “We wanted to spend some time just the two of us before we get to Hogwarts.”

“Good idea,” Sirius confirms, smiling, “it can get hectic especially once the students are back. We Professors don’t really get a lot of personal time.” He picks up his cup of coffee.  “Of course, you’ll have shared quarters at least.”

Harry nods.  He wonders if he should leave the uncertainty about Sirius unquestioned, but he’s always been the reckless type.  “May we speak after breakfast?  I’ve been wanting to ask you about what happened at the Wizengamot.”

Charlus snorts behind his newspaper.

“I’d be happy to answer any questions,” Sirius assures him.  “Regina mentioned that you were concerned, and both Charlus and Grandfather thought you might need to speak to me before we get too immersed back into the school.  It’s why I’m here.”

Harry smiles at him tremulously.  It’s hopeful that Sirius is quick to agree to answer his questions, that he’s returned to do just that.  And, Harry thinks, probably best for them to speak before they’re under the watchful eye of Headmaster Dumbledore.

From what Harry had observed during the time he and Hermione had stayed recovering at Hogwarts just after their arrival, this Dumbledore lacks the eccentricities of his own Albus Dumbledore, but he’s just as clever and probably just as much of a control freak trying to place all the pieces on the board into the position that he wants them in.  Harry thinks he’s probably thrilled that he and Hermione have acquiesced to delivering on their commitment to become Professors, something they had agreed to do before Charlus and Arcturus had swept in to support them as a matter of family honour.

Harry looks up briefly as Lily joins them.  She sends Harry a warm smile.  “Good morning, you and Hermione were out late.”

“We went to jazz club to finish the night out,” Harry says. 

“Ah, good?” Lily asks as she places the napkin on her lap.

“It was truly terrible,” Hermione says walking in.  She greets everyone cheerfully before she kisses Harry’s cheek and sits down next to him.  “But we got to dance which was hilarious.”

“I hate dancing,” Harry comments. He’d never gotten over his aversion after the awful Triwizard Yule Ball.  Dancing in the Oxford clubs and student bars hadn’t changed his mind about it all either.  He just wasn’t meant for dancing. 

“We should probably add dancing lessons to our schedule,” Hermione notes with a grin.  “I read that there are Ministry, Wizengamot and social balls.  I’m sure we’ll be expected to dance.”

“You will be,” Dorea confirms, her own mirth evident in how her eyes are all but laughing at Harry.  “I’ll source you a good teacher, but while you’re at Hogwarts, I’m sure Lily and Sirius will definitely help you out.”

“Oh, no, not me,” Lily says, “I probably need some lessons myself.  It’s not like Hogwarts provides any classes on that type of thing.”

“I thought the primary school education for all magicals would cover cultural norms?” asks Hermione, leaning forward with interest.  She’s fascinated by the way magical children are brought into the wizarding enclaves much, much earlier on this world. 

Harry has some concerns over the methods the Ministry uses to enforce that, but having been raised in the muggle world until he was eleven, he can see how earlier introduction might help to better integrate first generation magicals with the rest of the wizarding world.

Their breakfast pops into place in front of them.

Harry happily dives into the creamy porridge with stewed apples.  It tastes of cinnamon and sugar.  He’s comforted by the food.  He’ll miss the Potter elves when he goes to Hogwarts, although the food there was equally good.

He should probably look at getting more exercise to counteract all the lovely treats, Harry muses, although he guesses that his new role as the Flying Instructor is going to get him some flight time on his broom at least. 

The porridge is followed by scrambled eggs and toast with crispy bacon.

Definitely, he needs more exercise.  He sneaks some of the bacon to Godric.

Hermione places her napkin down on the table before her portion of eggs is delivered, letting the elves know she’s had enough with just the porridge.  She reaches for the teapot and pours herself a generous cup as she continues her debate with Lily on when a culture class would be best for a first generation magical.

Harry sends Sirius a look of sympathy as he’s dragged into the discussion by Lily.

“I’m not certain that my view is relevant,” Sirius demurely deflects.  “I was raised from birth with the traditions so I’m not exactly qualified…”

“Oh, please,” Lily rolls her eyes at him, “you must have some kind of opinion on when it would be best to introduce those from a non-magical background into wizarding world cultural norms!”

Sirius caves under her fierce expression.  “As early as possible would be best.  I think my grandmother insisted that I start dance lessons as soon as I was in their custody.”

“Melania was always right about these things,” Dorea confirms, her tone thick with wistful reminiscence.  “I started James when he was four.”  She hums.  “I shall have to investigate the primary school curriculum.”

Hermione beams triumphantly.

Lily grins.  “I can see having you on staff is going to be tremendous fun.”

Dorea smiles and picks up her tea.  “Perhaps you should join Harry and Hermione in their lessons with Sirius,” she says, “I’m sure Minerva will agree to help.”

Sirius lifts his own cup in a silent toast.  “If she has time, I’m certain she’ll help, but if not, then I’m sure Reg would come to the castle to help us.”  He frowns.  “Albus leaves more and more of the administration work to Minerva these days.”

“Our Dumbledore pretty much left it to Professor McGonagall to run the place,” Harry comments.

“He was also Chief Warlock and the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards as well as Headmaster in our world,” Hermione says, reaching for the teapot again.

Charlus harrumphs.  “I really don’t know how your world just accepted one wizard occupying so many positions of power!”

“He was very revered for defeating Grindelwald,” Hermione says dryly. 

“He defeated him here, too,” Dorea says, “but perhaps we are more cautious about giving one wizard so many accolades.”

“Our wizarding world lacks common sense,” Hermione agrees cheerfully.

Harry smiles and lays his own napkin down before the house elves provide even more food.

Sirius carefully does the same and clears his throat.  “Shall we head to the library and discuss everything there?”

Harry nods.  “If we can be excused, Grandfather, Grandmother?” 

The titles still feel a touch uncomfortable, but Charlus and Dorea have encouraged him to call them such and he can’t deny them the request after all the love and care they’ve shown Hermione and himself.  Harry had agreed when they’d met Lily to try and treat his doppelganger family as a twin situation – same genetics, but recognition that they were very different people.  In some ways, Harry muses, it’s like being adopted by distant family. 

“Of course,” Charlus says.  “I’ll be in my study when you’re ready to head to Hogwarts.”

Harry nods because he’s already lost the argument that he and Hermione can see themselves to Hogwarts without the rest of the family.  At least Arcturus and Regina are busy with a prior social engagement, James is at work, and Sirius and Lily are Professors themselves.

Hermione slides out of her chair. 

They loosely hold hands as they lead the way to the Potter library.  Sirius follows, Godric keeping pace beside him.

Harry loves the room almost as much as Hermione.  They’ve spent many an hour curled up on a corner of it with drinks and books, trying to learn as much as they can about their new world. 

He avoids the nook on the upstairs level opposite the picture of the sleeping Ignotus Peverell keeping guard over the Deathly Hallows.  One day, he believes he’ll have to return to gather the Hallows which are magically contained in the picture, but that’s for the future.

Hermione tugs him over to their favourite spot – a window seat with a great view of the gardens.  Sirius snags a nearby chair to sit in front of them as they get comfortable.  Godric lies down on the floor by Harry. Crookshanks wanders in and jumps up and sits on Hermione’s lap surveying Sirius as though he is also sitting in judgement of the wizard.

“I apologise on behalf of my grandfather and myself that we made the decision for me to return to Hogwarts so quickly after the Wizengamot,” Sirius said sombrely.  He catches Harry’s gaze and holds it.  “We felt that we needed eyes on Dumbledore sooner rather than later given his objections to you holding a Wizengamot seat and his unhappiness at your appointment as Knights of Avalon.” He pauses.  “But we should have waited at least until you had had the opportunity to ask me questions about what happened and why I suggested the path of you stepping onto the Round Table.”

Harry can see he’s sincerely apologetic.  He figures it was more Arcturus’ decision than Sirius’ but he accepts the apology. 

“Was it worth it?” asks Hermione.  “Did you learn anything more about Dumbledore’s attitude from returning so quickly?”

Sirius inclines his head, his gaze switching to her.  “Yes, he came to my quarters that same night.” He smiles a touch sardonically.  “He wanted to know why I suggested the Round Table and why I’d supported you assuming a place in our Wizengamot.”

“And what was your answer to him?” probes Hermione, one eyebrow arching inquisitively.

“On the question of why I supported your place in the Wizengamot, I repeated what I said when I gave my reasons in the session, which is also handily what I actually believe – that you shouldn’t lose what you are entitled to by birth and circumstance just because of ending up in a different world,” Sirius said firmly.  “It’s a matter of family honour and our promise of no harm to ensure that you are not disadvantaged in such a way.  If that wasn’t right, the family magic wouldn’t have been insistent that your position was recognised.”

Harry nods.  He’d had a long session with Charlus ahead of the Wizengamot where the older man had explained it all to him.  He didn’t entirely agree, but the more entrenched he became in their family magic himself, the more he’d come to appreciate that some things were a magical imperative that would be an anathema for his family to ignore.

“In respect of the Round Table I told Dumbledore that my only reasoning was that I was attempting an acceptable compromise to magic since there were so many objections to you having a vote,” Sirius says bluntly. “I told him that I fully believed that nothing would happen.”

“But that’s not true,” Hermione states briskly, “because you knew something would happen.”

Harry’s gaze sharpens on Sirius because this is the question that he’s wanted to ask since it all happened and he’d had a moment to catch his breath.

Sirius nods and leans forward.  “I had every confidence that the spirit of our King would appear and confirm you to your rightful place.” He smiles.  “I am the Professor of History.”

“You’ve researched the historical tales and so you were confident that the accounts of the spirit of Arthur appearing were true,” Hermione deduces.

“And the insistence in the family magic to confer the titles and position on me made you confident magically that Arthur would appear,” Harry deduces out loud.  He breathes out sharply.  It makes some kind of sense, he supposes.

“All of which is true,” Sirius says.  “However, I have another calling at play, one which I would never divulge to Dumbledore, and one which may only be confided to those I closely trust before circumstances make it more widely known.”

Harry feels like he freezes in place.  Hermione is also still beside him in her own shock.

“What?” asks Harry faintly.

Sirius carefully lifts his hand and another ring shimmers into place beside his Heir ring.  The black onyx has the crest of a Knight of Avalon. 

“This is the ring of the Black Knight, the first Knight of Avalon.  It’s a Black heirloom, but rarely does magic confirm it on a Black heir.  It came to me during my Heir ceremony and shocked the magic out of my Grandfather.” His lips twist. “Our King came to me in my dreams that same night.”

Heir ceremonies were typically held between the Head of House and the presumptive Heir, Harry remembers from his lessons with Charlus.  They were a private affair where the Heir would magically vow to protect the House and its legacy and, in return, receive the Heir ring formally to wear. 

“The book I was reading yesterday said Knights of Avalon were personally appointed by the King and given specific missions within the Kingdom,” Harry says, his heart is beating a little faster.  On some level he thinks he knows what Sirius will say.

“Indeed,” Sirius says, “and the mission of the Black Knight was and always has been to protect and aid the King’s Knights, his Chosen.”

Something resonates deep in Harry’s magic, a recognition and an acknowledgement.

“The Black Knight is considered a myth on our world,” Hermione says.  She chews on her lip thoughtfully.  “A popular view is that they are the opposite of the White Knight, they come not to rescue, but to deliver death and destruction.”  She shrugs.  “Some people assume that a knight was so called in historical accounts simply because they had black skin and authors wanted to create a racial bias.”

Sirius’ expression brightens with interest.  “Fascinating.”

“What’s the history here?” prompts Harry, rubbing his chest a touch. 

“The House of Black descends from the Duke of Cornwall, Gorlois,” Sirius replies, sliding into a teaching tone Harry figures he uses with his students.  “Arthur’s half-brother, Cador, was given the title after Uther killed the Duke when his affair with the Duchess, Igraine, was uncovered.  As you know Arthur was illegitimate and only became a legitimate King when he drew the ancient sword of Britannica from the stone.”

“I remember reading about that in a history on Merlin,” Harry murmurs.  “Merlin was ordered by Uther to help him hide the affair, and he only did so because he’d had a vision of Arthur and of Camelot.”

“That’s the tale,” Sirius agrees.  “Cador was a baby when Gorlois was killed, and he was magical with a powerful gift of Sight.  Merlin took him to the Temple of Avalon and his sister, Vivien, the Lady of the Lake raised him.  When Arthur came to power, Cador vowed eternal loyalty to Arthur and fought beside Arthur to unite Albion.  He became one of the original Knights of the Round Table.”

“Until he became a Knight of Avalon?” Harry guesses.

Sirius nods.  “When family magic was created, Cador had a powerful vision, he went to Arthur and Merlin.  He had Seen a powerful threat far into the future, a formless Evil which would destroy magic and unravel the spell Merlin would create to bring about the return of the King and Camelot.”

“Arthur said Merlin saw each threat ahead of them, including this great Evil.  He said that it was because of this one they needed a protector,” Harry murmurs.  “That’s why they brought us here.” 

Hermione sighs.  “I really hate Divination.”

“When Cador confided what he had seen, Arthur tasked Cador and Cador’s line with providing all due aid and protection to their chosen protectors to defeat the threat to Avalon,” Sirius concludes.  “Cador was given the ring and the title of the Black Knight, the first Knight of Avalon.  Other Knights were appointed, and the Black Knight often came to their aid in their missions as each Knight is gifted with Cador’s Sight and can see when help is needed.”

“I assume that the title and ring are magically bestowed rather than being purely hereditary?” Hermione asks.

“We have only recorded three other Knights beyond Cador himself,” Sirius says.  “The first was his grandson who helped Galahad to free Merlin from his sister’s sorcery in time to save Arthur and take him into the safety of Avalon after Arthur was fatally injured in an accident.”  He clears his throat.  “The second, Cadyn Black, was said to have aided the Hogwarts’ founders in establishing the school.  He donated the land and Black Lake to the school’s trust.  The third was the first Sirius Black.”

Harry’s magic felt another thrum of recognition.  “The Founders were Knights of Avalon.”

“Yes,” Sirius says, “but accounts of how they were tasked remain murky.  We know they didn’t get it from stepping onto the Round Table because the Wizengamot records would definitely have recorded such an event.” He grimaces.  “I know that there would have been more objections to my suggestion for you to step onto it, if anyone had known it was a possibility.”

“Did you suspect that we would become Knights of Avalon, the King’s chosen protectors before we met?” asks Harry bluntly.

“I suspected when I found out about your arrival,” Sirius says without hesitation.  “I have often wondered if the events in Cador’s vision would come in my lifetime because I received the ring.  Your arrival was so other-worldly it seemed bizarre to think that you wouldn’t be, but until the Wizengamot and the King’s own proclamation of you as Knights, I couldn’t know for certain.”

Harry spots that Sirius is keeping something back because his own Sirius had the same tell.  “And?” he prompts brusquely.

Sirius winces and sighs.  “Regina is also a Seer.  She inherited the ability through our Grandmother’s line.  She had a vision of you, Harry, soon after you arrived, standing between light and dark, a witch from Guinevere’s maternal bloodline beside you.”

Hermione shifts at that unexpected news.  “Really?”

Sirius nods.  “We haven’t had time to investigate your family history though so I can’t validate that, Hermione, but Regina is never wrong in her visions.  There are also other prophecies held at the Department of Mysteries.”  He waves a hand at them.  “Regardless of Regina or those, again, I couldn’t know until you actually became Knights.”  He sighs again.  “We’ve also all been busy with just dealing with your arrival here and the politics of it all, with getting you safe and welcomed as our family magic insisted, that there’s been little time to even think about the possibility.”  He raises his hands as though in surrender.  “I know I was focused more on securing your position here on this world rather than contemplating that you could be chosen.  Not an excuse, but a reason for why I haven’t said anything until now.”

Harry exchanges a quick look with Hermione.  They can both hear Sirius’ sincerity.  Hermione’s gaze is understanding.  She knows better than anyone how much Harry wants to trust this Sirius because he loved their own so much.

He turns back to the waiting wizard.  “I understand your position, but I don’t like that so much was kept from us.” He gestures.  “We had enough of Dumbledore manipulating events on our world, choosing what information to share with us and keeping us in the dark supposedly ‘for our own good,’ but more accurately to his benefit.  I won’t have the same happen here with people meant to be our allies.”

Sirius holds both of his hands up in surrender.  “I understand and I promise that from here on out, your mission is my mission, and we are full partners in that endeavour.”

“Then we stand together,” Harry says unprompted and…

A bright joyful rush of Magic swirls around them.

It leaves all three of them breathless and staring at each other in shock.

“Well, I guess Magic approves,” Sirius murmurs with satisfaction.

Hermione coughs.  “Before we leave the library, why are you spying on Dumbledore?”

It’s a good question, Harry thinks, shooting her a look of pride.   

Sirius looks abashed.  “Ah, well, that’s rather a long story.” 

Both Harry and Hermione let him gather his thoughts into order.

“What have you learned so far about Albus Dumbledore and his family here?” asks Sirius.

Hermione shoots Sirius an irritated look before she replies.  “Some of his early history is the same as ours, but their story diverges with the attack on Ariana.  In our world, his father was imprisoned and Ariana’s magic permanently damaged; here his father was given a suspended sentence, Ariana was healed, and his father went onto become Chief Warlock.  Percival Dumbledore spearheaded the Magical Protectionist movement which led to the muggleborns and their families being brought to wizarding enclaves as soon as they were identified by the magical registry.”

Sirius nods.

“Albus Dumbledore attended Hogwarts, became Head Boy, and left on a European tour.  He apprenticed with the Flamels and became part of the French resistance in the Second World War.  He defeated Grindelwald.  He returned to England after his father became ill and took over as Chief Warlock until he moved to Hogwarts to better support his sister,” Hermione continues. “He was the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor until he became Headmaster upon Headmaster Dippet’s retirement.  He’s been Headmaster ever since.”

“A concise but accurate summary,” Sirius confirms.  “I’d certainly give you an Exceeds Expectations if this was a test.”

“I’d like to know what I missed to get an Outstanding,” Hermione says dryly.

Sirius smiles but it fades as he takes a breath.  “Dumbledore originally attempted to hold onto the Chief Warlock position when he accepted his teaching position at Hogwarts.  There was a terrible political kerfuffle at the time which left a lot of his rivals and his allies questioning why he was so intent on holding onto power.”  He taps his finger against the chair arm.  “It begins there with him seemingly making a grab for power.”

Hermione nods slowly.  “Your Dumbledore spent more time abroad than ours.  He was a Professor and a Headmaster first, the other positions followed as his reputation grew.  People here are more inclined to question him, I think.”

“Perhaps,” Sirius notes, “or perhaps people were already unhappy that he’d essentially ridden the coattails of his father’s death to gain such a powerful position in the first place.”

Hermione cocks her head thoughtfully as she strokes a hand over Crookshanks ginger-striped body.  “Did he take over his father’s political movement as well?”

Sirius smiles.  “He did, and he did retain leadership of that.”

“And that’s why you’re spying on him,” Harry realises.  “Because he’s leading this Magical Protectionism political movement.”

“Once he was denied his place at the Wizengamot, Dumbledore used and still uses the school to foster minions and political allies amongst the younger set,” Sirius says.  “Remus Lupin is a good example of that.  Dumbledore plays on the fact that he allowed a talented magical werewolf attend Hogwarts to keep Lupin loyal to him.  James would be another example, although his deference to Dumbledore is also tied up with his friendship with Bertie.”

“And I guess the way he’s entangled Lily and Snape into agreements and apprenticeships which are to his benefit are other examples,” Harry muses.

“In hindsight, our Dumbledore was very much the same,” Hermione says crisply.  “He’s just much more subtle about his networking than Professor Slughorn.”

“Yes,” Sirius points at her, “that’s a very good comparison.”  He sighs.  “In the middle of my fourth year, Dumbledore took over teaching History mid-year when the previous Professor abruptly decided to stop haunting the castle.  I was the top student in History and Dumbledore began to favour me.  He’d give me access to the Restricted session or loan me a book from his personal library.”

“He was cultivating you,” Harry says with a touch of disgust at Dumbledore’s actions.  He’s grateful that he’s started wearing his Lordship ring as it will give him some mental protection against Dumbledore’s Legilimency.  He rather doubts that Sirius or Arcturus would tell him as much with his mind unprotected to Dumbledore’s rummaging.

“My grandparents immediately suspected as much,” Sirius says.  “The Black bloc in the Wizengamot is very strong.  Dumbledore knows it is to his political advantage to have us in his camp.”

“So you allowed him to cultivate you in order to have an inside man,” Hermione says.

Sirius nods.  “He thinks my grandfather and I have a loving but somewhat fractious relationship about my decision to enter teaching rather than joining him in running the Black estates,” he says, “we’ve encouraged him to think that.”  He pauses and sighs.  “Just after my grandmother died, Dumbledore finally invited me to join his political group, the Order of the Phoenix.”

Harry’s eyes widen.  “We had an Order of the Phoenix.  They were a vigilante group who fought against Voldemort.”

“The Dark Lord who waged war on you?” Sirius checks.

“Yes,” Harry says.

“Dumbledore’s Order here is a political movement,” Sirius says seriously.  “On the surface, it’s very much about protection from the muggle world.”

“And under the surface?” questions Hermione intently.

“We’re really not sure beyond rumours.  There’s a lot of smoke and mirrors,” Sirius notes.  “Some say that it’s only advocating for more protectionism,” he lifts his hands and mimes quotation marks, “’for the greater good’ to protect us all, magicals and non-magicals.”

There’s a part of Harry which is duly horrified, but there is another part of him which is not surprised at all.  He can see the same mixed feelings cascading through Hermione when she turns to him with a worried frown.  She turns back to Sirius.

“That was the mantra of Grindelwald’s movement in our world.  Was it here?” Hermione muses out loud. 

Sirius shakes his head.  “I’ve never heard it in the context of Grindelwald, only Dumbledore.”

“If you’re a member now, have you discovered more?” asks Harry.

“So far, I’ve very little to report,” Sirius admits, somewhat sheepishly, “most of the meetings are boring re-runs of Dumbledore’s public propaganda spouted at his like-minded minions.  But…” he sighs.  “I think there’s more going on and he just doesn’t trust me enough yet.” He gestures at them.  “It’ll be interesting to see if he tries to bring you in on it.”

Harry grimaces.  He wonders if Dumbledore’s ‘Greater Good’ is the Evil he’s meant to face; his Dumbledore’s ‘Greater Good’ had been a challenge to Harry’s own chances of survival.

Hermione nudges him with a sad smile.  “Still OK with us going to Hogwarts?”

He’d like to say no and for them to walk away, but Hermione is right that they need the time at the school to get their bearings on the whole Knights thing, and simply being a part of this new world.  Harry offers what he hopes is a nonchalant shrug. 

“Well,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose, “it’s not like we didn’t already know what a manipulative bastard Dumbledore is.”

Chapter 3: Return to Hogwarts

“And these are your family quarters,” Minerva taps the door in front of them in the basement of Gryffindor tower and leads the way through when it opens. 

Harry holds Hermione’s hand as they traverse a hallway, Godric pads happily along next to them, but Crookshanks is growling in the pet carrier Hermione carries.  They are followed by Lily and Sirius, and behind them Dorea and Charlus.  They had all been corralled by Minerva as soon as the car had arrived at Hogwarts. 

They pass through an archway and into a common room with comfortable seating, a dining table to the right and a roaring fire in front of them; above the stone mantel is a picture of a sleeping Godric Gryffindor.  The right side of the room is wall to wall glass doors which Harry can see leads into a private underground courtyard that was somehow filled with sunlight.  To the left there was a door and a staircase leading upwards.

Minerva pointed at the door.  “This leads to the office of the Professor of Arithmancy, Hermione.  It’s your personal study and there is another door through which students enter which is located on the third floor teaching corridor.”

Hermione nods briskly.  She crouches down, sets the carrier on the floor, and lets Crookshanks loose.

Minerva motions to the right.  “Through the courtyard is a passageway to the Flying Instructor’s Office, Harry.  Students enter through the Quidditch Players’ Hall.  You will have dominion over the Hall, the locker rooms, equipment store, and the pitch, of course.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose.  Their Hogwarts had never had such a set-up.  He assumed Madame Hooch had had an office, but he’s forgotten if he ever knew where it was located.  Their equipment store had been a box beside the pitch and players had changed in their own Houses’ dormitories before heading out to the pitch.

Charlus nods approvingly.  “This looks very cosy.”

“I assume all the food is provided for by the Hogwarts’ elves?” checks Dorea.

Minerva nods.  “Albus expects staff to attend dinner in the Great Hall during the week, but Professors who do not have a Head of House responsibility may take breakfast in their quarters.  Indeed, you are both free to request any other meal to be served here.”  She smiles at them.  “Guests outside of the castle are allowed to visit, although I warn you Albus discourages the practice during term-time, and you will need to let me know so I can record them in the visitor’s book for the wards.”

Hermione smiles back at her.  “I assume we can invite other members of staff whenever we wish outside the usual expectations?”

“You can indeed,” Minerva nods approvingly, her short grey bob hardly moving with the movement.  “Let us go up as there are a couple of surprises.”

They all troop up and stop in a large circular landing with three doors, each with a plaque with engraved names.

“Oh my,” Lily murmurs as she touches the plaque of the door nearest to her.  The bronze plaque shimmers with her name, Lily Evans.

Minerva’s eyes twinkle with amusement at Lily’s surprise.  “The Headmaster has agreed given your family magic has bonded you very tightly to Harry and with you continued discomfort that you should occupy family quarters with him and Hermione.”  She motions for Lily to enter.  “The house elves moved your belongings from your room in the single staff quarters this morning.  The suite also comes with a door to your current office as Professor of Muggle Studies, your own bathroom, and a small sitting room for your own use.”

Lily smiles at the Deputy Headmistress.  “Thank you, Minerva.  This is a wonderful surprise.”

“I’ve been moved too?” asks Sirius, pointing at the door next to him on the other side of the landing.

“Yes,” Minerva says.  “Similarly, the Headmaster feels that if Lily is to be accommodated into family quarters, you should also be given the same consideration.”

Sirius nods his agreement.  “I’m happy to accept the relocation if Harry and Hermione don’t mind it.”  He looks over to Harry and Hermione.  “I realise you may have expected some privacy as a married couple rather than having family quite so close.”

Lily’s face falls a touch at the remark.  “I never even thought…”

Minerva holds her hand up to cut her protest short and turns expectantly to Harry to make a final decision.  “I’m certain that the Headmaster’s decision was only meant with good intentions, and admittedly, I thought it was a good idea myself which is why I went along with it.” She sighs. “But I cannot say Sirius does not have a point.”

“He does,” Charlus agrees, “but I know I would be comforted knowing that you were all housed together.”

Harry glances at Hermione to get her view.

Hermione frowns at Minerva.  “I’d be happy to have both Lily and Sirius close, but I seem to remember there is caution over allowing unmarried people of the opposite genders living in close proximity to each other?  I don’t want either Lily or Sirius’ reputation to be undermined because of their living circumstances.”

And that was a good point, Harry muses.  He hadn’t even considered that.

“Typically, that would be true,” Minerva agrees, “but it is well known that neither Lily nor Sirius have pursued a closer relationship than friendship with each other in all their years of knowing one another, and as a married couple with the Ministry paperwork to prove it, you are appropriate chaperones.”

Until it comes out that Dumbledore and Minerva knew that Harry and Hermione were not married when they originally arrived, Harry thinks.  While the Ministry paperwork does give them some cover, he and Hermione should really clue Dumbledore and Minerva into the magical truth of their relationship sooner rather than later, he determines. 

“Then it will be lovely to have them near,” Hermione says.

Harry nods and looks over at Sirius.  “We each have our own suite here if we need privacy or time away from each other.  We’d be happy to have you close.” 

The conversation after breakfast had done a lot to mitigate Harry’s worry about Sirius’ motivations.

Sirius smiles.  “Then I am delighted to accept the change in accommodation.”

“While Lily and Sirius acquaint themselves with their new abodes, let me show you your rooms, Harry, Hermione,” Minerva says briskly.  She taps the door which is in the middle with the plaque that bears their name.  She enters with every expectation that they will follow.

Harry ushers Hermione in ahead of him. 

It is a suite of rooms similar to those they have Potter House.

They walk into a spacious sitting room with walls of bookshelves.  There’s a set of French doors leading to a private inner courtyard, packed with verdant green plants.  In the centre sits a wrought iron table and chairs.

“The Floo is in the common room only,” Minerva says pointing at the hearth.  “This is for warmth.” 

Harry smiles at the fireguard which sports a Gryffindor crest. 

Minerva gazes at the bookshelves.  “I took the liberty of stocking your shelves with some books from the Hogwarts library, but I’m certain Charlus and Arcturus wouldn’t mind if you wanted to bring over some from the Potter and Black libraries.” 

The door at the back of the room leads them to a large bathroom.  One side had two sinks set in a sideboard with vanity mirrors on the wall.  The opposite side has a large claw tub bath and a stand-alone shower. 

There is another door at the back leading into the bedroom.  There are large wardrobes on one side, a dressing table for Hermione, and a comfortable double bed, decked out in Gryffindor red and gold bedding flanked by two bedside tables with reading lights.

“This looks very comfortable,” Dorea says approvingly.

“Thank you, Minerva,” Harry says, “this is fantastic.”

“It’s wonderful,” Hermione says.

Minerva smiles at them warmly.  “I want you to feel welcome here.  Perhaps,” she teases, “we might be able to convince you to stay on for the long term.”

Harry admires her tenacity.

“Ariana would like to see you first thing tomorrow, Harry,” Minerva says.  “Healer Albright sent her the latest update on the treatment plan for your chaotic magic.”

Harry unconsciously touches the slim bracelet which helps steady his magic.  There are a number of treatments left to cure his condition, but he already feels so much better.   

Minerva places a hand on Hermione’s arm.  “I’ll leave you to settle in.  There’s a staff meeting before lunch, just ask an elf to show you where we’ll be, and the Headmaster has asked to meet with you after that.  All staff are expected in the Great Hall for dinner since the students returned this morning.”

She barely waits for the flurry of hastily said ‘thank yous’ before she leaves Harry and Hermione with Dorea and Charlus.

“We’ll be heading off too,” Dorea says, hugging Hermione.  “It’s comforting to know you’ll have Lily and Sirius so close.”  She moves to hug Harry next.

Harry leans into the hug.  “Thank you for everything.”

“You don’t need to thank us,” Charlus says giving Harry a hug of his own as Dorea steps back.  “Remember you can call us any time and we will come.”  He eased away and patted Harry’s upper arms.  “I’ve swept the rooms.  There are no surveillance devices I can detect.”

“We’ll have you over for dinner at a weekend as soon as we’re settled in,” Hermione promises as she hugs Charlus herself.

“We look forward to that,” Dorea says and tugs Charlus from the room.

Harry walks them out and down to the common room.  When he returns to the bedroom, Hermione is in the middle of directing the house elves where to store their clothes.  She’s never fully reconciled with the idea of house elves being bonded to a wizarding family, but she’d stepped back from the idea of them being enslaved when she’d thoroughly researched the matter after the war.

Harry nudges her and they step away from the working house elves into the sitting room, closing the bathroom door to give them some privacy.  “I think we need to tell Dumbledore and Minerva we are married.”

“I agree,” Hermione says, huffing out a breath of relief.  “I like Lily and Sirius living close to us, but I don’t want the Headmaster being able to use it against us.”

Harry pushes his glasses up his nose.  “I think the same.”

“We’ll tell him when we meet with him later,” Hermione says.  She narrows her gaze.  “You are comfortable with Lily and Sirius being in quarters with us, aren’t you?”

Harry nods.  “I’m really pleased Lily is close.”

“And Sirius?” Hermione pushes, her gaze meeting his fully. 

“It’ll help us work through things,” Harry says bluntly.  “I accept all of everything he told this morning, but I don’t like that we were left so completely in the dark.”

Hermione nods slowly.  “I think he’s sincere for what it’s worth.”  She sighs.  “We have so much to catch-up on with this world.”

“Including lesson plans,” Harry quips.  “I think we should probably leave the elves to sort out our unpacking and head to our offices.”

“Good idea,” Hermione says fervently.  Her eyes widening.  “I should grab my prep folder.  Professor Spelling told me in her letter that she had left all the lesson plans and student notes in her desk.”   

Harry isn’t surprised when Hermione hurries to gather her large binder of notes and hustles them both out of their suite.

They part ways in the common room with Harry heading one way and Hermione another.

Godric joins him and Harry is glad of the grim’s company as he walks through the basement courtyard with bemusement.  The ceiling is enchanted to reflect the sky outside and the grey winter clouds of a Scottish winter make the area feel cold.

He shivers and walks swiftly to the door on the far side. 

His office is tiny.

It’s not the broom cupboard of his childhood, but it’s reminiscent in size to the box room he’d occupied at the Dursleys once they moved him into Dudley’s second bedroom.  It feels small with himself and Godric standing in what feels like the only available floor space.

A large desk overflowing with paper takes up a lot of the room with a large filing cabinet beyond it.  The desk chair and a visitor’s chair take up the rest.

The wall to his right has a painting of a Quidditch match in play. He spends a moment admiring it.  A small display cabinet holds past Hogwarts awards for Quidditch played against other schools.  He wonders what happened to stop the school league.

He moves through the office and out onto a very small landing in the Quidditch Player’s Hall.  A second door across the landing leads into a changing room complete with shower and toilet.  There is a wooden staircase leading the way down. 

Tall windows make him realise that he’s in a completely different building from the castle.  From the view, he’s guessing that it’s situated close to the pitch.  Once again, he’s reminded that Hogwarts is a magical castle and that the layout and the way someone traverses between one room and another doesn’t make any kind of logical sense.

Still, his mind wrestles with walking through a basement courtyard in the main castle and into a door that leads into the top floor of another building altogether.

He shakes himself out of trying to figure it out.  It’s probably a mix of arithmancy and runes, Harry muses as he heads down the staircase, slowing as he hears voices before they disappear behind a door slamming shut.

The staircase ends in what is clearly the entryway to the Hall, outside a door labelled ‘Equipment Store.’  Harry peeks in and isn’t surprised to find a long room filled end to end with brooms with a large cupboard to his left which he figures holds the rest of the Quidditch stuff – bludgers, bats, spare gloves, and the all-important snitch. 

He backs out and closes the door.  The door beside it is labelled ‘Gym.’

He glances at the main external door behind him which is open, a brisk winter breeze creating a cold draught. 

A brief wave of his hand sends a wandless spell which has the door closing.  He suppresses the urge to stay in front of the wall to his left which is covered in framed photos of past Quidditch teams and opens the last door to his right.

He finds himself in a corridor with four doors, two on the left, two on the right, and an external door right at the end of the corridor leading outside.  Harry figures that will be the door they use to enter the pitch on game days.

He’s not surprised that each door in the corridor has a crest of a Hogwarts’ House.  He peeks into the closest to his right, Hufflepuff, and nods as it leads into a tiny space with a girls’ door to the left, a boys’ to the right, and one for the Captain in the middle.  He goes into the boys’ changing room and finds it a nice airy space with wooden benches, and yellow lockers. 

He wanders in further and finds a door leading to the gym space. 

The gym is a large space which reminds him of his old primary school assembly hall.  Godric bounds around it happily as Harry takes in the climbing walls, weights and mats. 

There are other doors leading he guesses to other changing rooms, and another external door out to the pitch. 

He heads back into the Hufflepuff boys’ changing room and finds a shower room and toilets tucked away at the back.

He leaves and peeks into the door labelled for the Captain.  They get a private changing room, bathroom and a small office.  The Hufflepuff one has a bookshelf crammed with books on Quidditch tactics and gameplay.  Harry wonders if each office gets the same.

All in all, he’s deeply envious that he didn’t have the same when he was a Quidditch Captain.

He finally leaves the Hufflepuff space and pauses outside the opposite door which leads to Gryffindor.  Godric huffs and sniffs at the floor.  There is definitely someone, likely a student, talking in one of the rooms beyond the door; he can hear a faint murmur.

Theoretically, he’s known that he’ll inevitably encounter students since he has to teach them.  In reality, nerves storm his belly.  He straightens his shoulders.  He’s going to be interacting with all the students at some point, he might as well get it over and done with.

He opens the outer door and immediately notes the voices are behind the boys’ door.  He enters without a courtesy knock.

The two red-haired boys in the changing room whirl around to face him with wide-eyes in their familiar freckled faces.

For a second Harry can’t speak.

A young Bill and Charlie Weasley stare back at him.

Bill recovers first, stepping up in front of his tiny brother as though to hide him, his gaze goes warily to Godric and back to Harry.  “Sorry, sir, I know we’re not usually allowed to bring other people in, but I was just showing my brother the Hall before school starts again.”

“I’m Mister Potter, the new Flying Instructor,” Harry belatedly introduces himself.  “I assume you’re Weasleys.”

“Yes, sir,” Bill says politely.  “I’m Bill, and this is my brother Charlie.”

Charlie grins up at Harry.  “I beat Bill in a game of Wizarding snap at New Year and this was my prize.”

“Well, I would hate to get in the way of a prize,” Harry says amused.  “Besides, I’m happy to provide motivation for a future player.”  He points at Charlie.  “First year?”  It’s a reasonable guess, Harry thinks, since Bill is having to show Charlie the Hall so Charlie can’t be a player himself.

Charlie nods.  “I want to be Seeker.”

“I’m sure you’ll make a great Seeker,” Harry says.  He looks over at Bill.  “Third year?”

Bill nods.  “I’m the Gryffindor Keeper.”

Harry smiles.  “Well, don’t show Charlie anywhere you are not supposed to go, and please close the doors behind you.  We don’t want the Hall getting cold.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Bill says, relief chasing its way over his expressive face.

Harry nods sharply and steps back towards the door. 

“Sir!” Charlie calls out.  “Is it true that you’re from another world?”

Bill facepalms and Harry almost chuckles at the sight.

“Only our Great-Aunt Muriel says it’s a load of codswallop, but Mum said Albus Dumbledore himself told her it was true, and she’s believes him!”

Harry swallows the urge to laugh at Charlie’s bubbling enthusiasm.  It was good to have confirmation though that Molly and the Weasleys were just as much Dumbledore’s supporters as they had been in his world.

“It’s true,” Harry answers Charlie, “the Ministry investigated and the Wizengamot kindly confirmed we have a place here since it’s going to be a while before anyone works out how to get us home.”

Bill’s keen gaze landed on him.  “The Prophet said you’d been confirmed by the spirit of King Arthur himself as a Knight of Avalon.  Dad says it was the talk of the Ministry.”

“The spirit of King Arthur did appoint me as a Knight,” Harry says simply and holds a hand up when Bill opens his mouth to ask another question.  “I’d best get back to my prep.  Don’t spend too long on your tour.  I’ll see you boys at dinner.”

Bill’s face flickers with disappointment.  “Yes, sir.”

Harry leaves them, closing the door behind him as he steps back into the communal corridor.  He’s suddenly missing Ron again so much his heart aches.

He heads to the Equipment Store.

He’s in the middle of his broom examination – there’s a stack to his left of those in good repair, and a stack to the right of those which are not, with still a larger stack still to be tackled, when a house elf pops in beside him wearing a clean Hogwarts’ uniform.

“Instructor Potter, sir,” the house elf’s ears waggle, “Professor Potter is sending Ely to tells you that it be time to be returning and getting ready for the staff meeting.”

Harry blinks and pushes his glasses up his nose.  He frowns at the dust on his fingers.  “Right.”

He waves his wand and the brooms fly to their places on the shelves.  According to the timetable Minerva had provided him with, his first class isn’t until the afternoon of the next day so he’ll have time to finish his inspection.

He heads back up the stairs at a gallop, Godric bounding up beside him, and through his office, out into the courtyard and back into his quarters.

Lily and Sirius look up from where they’re playing a game of cards on the dining table as Godric simply heads to the hearth and plonks down in front of it.

Harry waves a greeting at them and hurries up the stairs to his and Hermione’s suite. 

Hermione is reading in the sitting room, already dressed in a smart grey dress teamed with her black Professor robes.  She gets up to greet him with a kiss and wrinkles her nose at the dust that covers him.  “I laid out some clothes for you.”

“You’re a marvel,” Harry dips his head to kiss her again.  “Oh, I met a couple of students, remind me to tell you later!”

He speeds off to take a quick shower.  He dries himself off with a spell that leaves his skin tingling and pulls on the clean clothes he finds on their bed. 

He adds a Gryffindor red tie to the grey pants and white shirt before he pulls on the black Professor robes over the top.  He assesses himself in the mirror, and he can say that he does look kind of Professor-ish.

He grimaces.

“You look very smart, dearie,” the mirror assures him.

“Thank you,” Harry says.

He’s back in the sitting room in less than ten minutes.  Hermione smirks at his tie and loops her arm around his as they head back downstairs.

Lily and Sirius guide them through Hogwarts towards the Headmaster’s office, but they veer off just before down a side-corridor with only one door.  They’re ushered inside a large room dominated by a long table with a lot of staff already sitting around it gossiping away to each other.

Lily squeezes Harry’s arm and moves to sit by Filius Flitwick, her mentor.  Although she’s a Professor in her own right, she’s apprenticed to Filius and it’s clear he’s saved her a seat.

Sirius nudges them into chairs further down the table and they sit down together – Sirius beside a Professor Harry doesn’t recognise, Hermione beside Sirius, and Harry beside Hermione.

Across the table from him, Hagrid gives him a wide grin and offers his large hand across the table.  “Pleased ta meet ya!  I’m Hagrid, the ‘elp to Professor Stabling.”

Harry smiles back at Hagrid.  “Harry, I’m the new Flying Instructor.  This is my wife, Hermione, she’s the new Arithmancy Professor.”

Hagrid looks about to say something else but a door opens beyond the other end of the table and Dumbledore strides in.

Harry is struck once again at the differences between his Dumbledore and this world’s incarnation.  Dumbledore is neatly groomed with greying red-brown hair.  He wears a starched white shirt, Hogwarts tie, and a traditional waistcoat which matches his sharply pressed trousers, all under the usual Professor robes.  There is no sign of bright colours or any eccentricity at all.

Dumbledore stands at the top of the table and the staff quietens to listen to him.  “Thank you,” he says dryly, “welcome back to the Spring term of this school year.”  He looks sharply around the table.  “We have some new faces, so we’ll do a quick round robin of introductions.  Please stand briefly, and simply state your name and your subject.”  He motions to Minerva on his right.  “If you can start, please, Minerva.”

“Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor House and the Professor of Transfiguration,” Minerva lists off briskly.

Harry listens as a younger Pomona Sprout introduces herself, followed by Flitwick and Lily.

“Horace Slughorn,” the very rotund man lurches out of his chair.  He has a terrible, terrible combover of the sparse remaining hair on his head.  His eyes land on Harry with greedy delight.  “Head of Slytherin and Professor of Potions.” He waves a hand.  “You probably already know me from such publications such as…”

“Horace!” Dumbledore interjects firmly.  “Name and position only.”  He nods at the professor beside Slughorn.

“Professor Sara Wood,” the Scottish accent is very thick and Harry wonders if she’s related to Oliver in some way.  With her brown hair, brown eyes and tanned skin, she reminds Harry of a brown sparrow, unremarkable and plain, although he feels slightly cruel to think so.  “Astronomy, taking over from Professor Jacobs who had an unfortunate accident at Christmas.”

“Is that what we’re calling pretending to be Santa, falling off his roof and breaking his neck?” asks a stern looking wizard across the table, a few places up from Harry.

“If we could stick to the introductions, please,” Dumbledore states firmly.  He motions at the wizard next to Wood, sitting in between her and Hagrid.

The burly grey-haired wizard grins good-naturedly at the rest of the table.  “Stan Stabling, Professor of Magical Creatures, uh, Care thereof.”

Hagrid reintroduces himself to the rest of the table cheerfully and Harry realises he’s next.

“Harry Potter,” he states clearly as he gets to his feet, “the new Flying Instructor.”

Hermione smiles at him before she turns back to the table.  “Hermione Potter, I’m the new Arithmancy Professor.”

Sirius announces himself as the Professor of History.

Beside him, an elderly witch introduces herself as the Divination Professor, Angela Glass.   

The wizard who questioned Wood is next.  Harry can see he’s tall and lithe; dark-haired with sharp cheekbones and piercing blue eyes.

“Kevin Locke,” he states, “Defence Against the Dark Arts, I’m an Auror assigned by the Ministry and taking over from Professor Appleton who was murdered by unknown assailants at New Year in Knockturn Alley.”  He looks suspiciously around the staff as though one of them is suspected of murdering the Professor.

Harry doesn’t believe in coincidences.  Riddle’s reign of terror had started in his world with unexplained deaths and disappearances.  He feels Hermione tense beside him with the same realisation.  They’ll have to make some discreet enquires.  Perhaps James can help them as he’s a working Auror, Harry muses.

Next to Locke, Poppy and Ariana introduce themselves before the final person stands up tentatively.  It’s an old wizard with white fluffy hair and chameleon eyes.

“Professor Ambrosius Wilde,” he says in a Welsh lilt, “Professor of Runes and Magical Craft.” He motions with a wrinkled brown-spotted hand.  “Taking over from Professor Finn who is now teaching at Durmstang.”

He sits down.

“Madame Pince, the librarian is not here as she has some urgent tasks in the library.  Argus Filch, our Caretaker, is keeping an eye on the school while we meet, and my apprentice Severus Snape is currently abroad, completing a project with Nicholas Flamel and will not return until the first Hogsmeade weekend,” Dumbledore says.  “Please make yourselves known to them, if you haven’t already done so.”  He looks around the table and catches Harry’s gaze briefly.  “I’d like to thank you all for teaching here at Hogwarts, especially those of you who have stepped in to fill the breach left by others.”  He sits down.  “We have a number of items to cover…”

Agendas appear in front of them in a pop of magic.

Harry’s heart sinks at the list of twenty itemised points.  He hopes his dismay is not as obvious as Hagrid’s; the half-giant looks completely forlorn.

He’s less surprised when Hermione pulls out a quill and parchment to make notes.  That’s his Hermione, he thinks fondly.  And watches a little disconcerted when Lily and Sirius do the same.

“First on the agenda are the changes to the timetable,” Dumbledore begins.   

Harry sits back and gets comfortable.  He has a feeling that it’s going to be a long time before they see lunch.

Chapter 4: Old Rivalries

Harry surveys the Third-Year class that had just arrived on the pitch and represses the urge to sigh as the Gryffindors glare at the Slytherins, and the Slytherins sneer back at the Gryffindors even more than usual.  Clearly something has happened just before they came to their lesson.

Harry has been the Flying Instructor for a whole month and he had barely needed any of that time to realise that the rift between Gryffindor and Slytherin is just as prevalent and just as damaging in this Hogwarts, as it had been during his own schooling at a completely different version.

Similarly, Dumbledore does absolutely nothing to encourage inter-school unity beyond talk about it.  Perhaps his actions don’t fan the flames either, he isn’t as blatant in his favouritism as Harry’s Albus, but his inaction is shown in small ways, like the lack of oversight on the House points system which is happily abused by Slughorn.  It leaves the other Professors to either follow suit in favouring a House or not give out points to Slytherins themselves to balance the books.

Harry is scrupulously fair in awarding points, and he knows Hermione is the same, for all they love Gryffindor.   

He takes out his wand and transfigures the grass turning the damp turf into a very large dry tarp.  It isn’t the best transfiguration ever – the tarp remains the dull green-brown of the winter pitch in colour – but it is sufficient for his purposes.

He sits down.  “Everyone, take a seat.”

“Sir?” mutters Sylvestre Malfoy, a second cousin of Lucius who Harry isn’t show exists back on his world.  He reminds Harry a little of Draco.  There is less of ‘my father’ in Sylvestre’s taunting, but the arrogance and entitlement of someone with wealth and privilege is the same. 

“Sit, Mister Malfoy,” Harry says firmly.

The Gryffindors drop to the ground with their brooms laid down beside them, whether owned or borrowed from Harry’s newly reinvigorated school store.  The Slytherins are slower but eventually they’re all sitting.

“What is the number one rule in my lesson?” asks Harry.

Hands shoot up.

He picks on Geraldine Greengrass, Daphne’s aunt.  She’s as pretty as Daphne was back in his school days.  She has a porcelain complexion, dark hair and stunning sapphire blue eyes.   She’s also one of the Slytherin’s best Quidditch players, a Chaser.

“Safety first,” Geraldine states firmly.

“Point to Slytherin,” Harry says.  “What are you risking when you fly angry?”  He points at Gregory Cook, one of Bill’s friends.  He’s a good-looking muggleborn lad with a mop of dirty blond hair and green eyes.

“That you fly dangerously because you’re not thinking,” Gregory sighs.

“Point to Gryffindor,” Harry confirms. 

He’s pleased to see his students are beginning to look sheepish, realisation dawning across their young faces.

“Now, who would like to tell me why you all turned up glaring at each other?” asks Harry.

The children, for they all are children still, dart nervous glances at each other before staring at the ground.  It’s the unspoken rule of the schoolyard, Harry muses; nobody wants to snitch.

Bill sets his jaw in a familiar way.  “There was an incident in Potions.”

Harry nods encouragingly.

“Someone,” his eyes remain on Harry rather than shifting to the accused which speaks to Bill’s strength of character for him and allows him to speak about the incident without exactly snitching, maintaining his honour as a student peer, “threw frogspawn into Allie’s cauldron.  We were making Vanishing Potion and where Allie was in the process, the frogspawn could have caused an explosion.”

Allie being Alison MacMillan, Alice’s cousin.  Bill and Gregory are best friends with Allie in much the same way Ron and Harry are with Hermione.

“You caught it, didn’t you?” mutters Josephine Smith. 

Zach’s oldest cousin is as much as an arse as he is, Harry thinks looking at the blonde Slytherin princess.  

“Slughorn accused Bill of trying to prank Allie!  He gave him a detention and took points from Gryffindor when we protested!” explodes a furious looking Harriet Foreman.  Harriet is the closest to Hermione in personality.  First generation, smart as a whip and very much a loner.  “You Slytherin lot all just went along with it because you’re self-centred lying bunch of twats!”

“Language, Miss Foreman,” Harry says automatically.  He sighs and pushes his glasses up his nose. 

He really should take a point, but he won’t because it’s clear that Gryffindor has already been treated unfairly.

“Who threw the frogspawn?” asks Harry sharply.

He lets his gaze roam over the Slytherins.  Josephine and Sylvestre both look mulish, arms folded tightly across their chests.  The other Slytherins have their gazes pinned to the ground until Donald Parkinson darts a look over at Sylvestre’s best friend, Tim Crabbe, before he drops his gaze again. 

Tim is not a good student in any subject except Care for Magical Creatures where he seems to have a knack with animals according to Stabling.  The likelihood is that even if Tim threw the frogspawn, it wouldn’t have been his idea, and Harry figures he had no idea it would cause an explosion.  Sylvestre, on the other hand, is adept at Potions.

Harry sighs.  “How many points did Professor Slughorn take from Gryffindor?”

Sylvestre’s gaze snaps to him in alarm. 

“Fifty points because of the severity of what might have happened,” Allie says bitterly.

“Here’s the deal,” Harry says to the Slytherins, “one of you confesses or I will take a hundred points from Slytherin.”

“You can’t do that!” proclaims Josephine, horrified.

“I think you’ll find I can,” Harry says firmly.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, it was Tim!” Geraldine snaps. 

“Geraldine!” Josephine protests loudly.

“Stow it, Smith!” Geraldine says.  “I earn most of the points outside of Potions for our year.  I’m not letting Tim’s idiocy wipe out all of those points!”

“Have you ever heard of House loyalty?” snarls Sylvestre, glaring at her. 

Geraldine sniffs.  “Does that mean you’d prefer to be in Hufflepuff?”

Sylvestre scowls.

“Mister Crabbe,” Harry interjects, “why did you not act honourably and inform Professor Slughorn that he was mistaken in accusing Mister Weasley?”

“Because Syl told me not to,” mumbles Tim, a gormless look on his round face.

Syl puffs up indignantly, but the flush on his cheeks gives away his guilt.

“Tell me, Mister Malfoy,” Harry says quietly, catching and holding the boy’s gaze, “how does acting dishonourably reflect on your House?”  He waits until Sylvestre looks down before he sweeps his gaze around the Slytherin group.  “Your House is capable of great wizardry, but dishonesty and cheap bullying tricks do not speak to cunning and ambition.  That none of you were honourable enough to admit that it wasn’t Mister Weasley to Professor Slughorn reflects badly on you all.  I am disappointed in your behaviour.”

The majority of them look shamefaced, Harry notes with satisfaction.

The Gryffindors look vindicated.

Harry turns to them.  “Where did you all go wrong in this matter?”

For a second, they look affronted.

Bill clears his throat.  “We should have kept our heads with the Professor.  We were all yelling so badly, he just wouldn’t listen to any of us in the end.”

“Courage isn’t who can shout the loudest,” Harry agrees.  He clears his throat.  “I will speak with Professor Slughorn on the matter of the detention, Mister Weasley.”

And Bill really doesn’t know the sacrifice he’s making with that offer.  Slughorn’s interest in befriending the Knights of Avalon hasn’t waned in the past month.

“Forty points to Gryffindor to adjust the unfair points deduction.”  Harry glances across to the Slytherins.  “Ten points from Slytherin for allowing Professor Slughorn to believe a lie and,” he stresses as Geraldine’s fury flashes across her face, “and five points to Geraldine and Slytherin for telling the truth.”   

The class looks semi-satisfied and chastised across the board.

Well.

Sylvestre looks mulish still and Josephine is glaring at Geraldine, but he can’t win them all.

Harry stands up.  “We will adjourn to the gym and have a lesson in broom maintenance.”

The groans come from both Slytherin and Gryffindor.

He herds them back to the gym, ignoring their grumbles, and feels relieved that the shared horror of broom maintenance means that there is less tension between the two groups.

The lesson is his last for the day and his Friday night beckons.  He shoos the chattering students out of the Hall.

Bill lingers behind, Allie and Gregory hovering just outside the door. 

Bill bites his lip.  “You’ll really speak with Professor Slughorn, Mister Potter?”

“I will,” Harry confirms.  “Now, go on.  Go enjoy your weekend with your friends.”

Bill grins at him and hurries out.

Harry takes some time to make a round of the Hall, tidying up and checking everything is as it should be.  He heads to his office with a sense of relief.

There’s a lot more work than he had assumed when Dumbledore first offered the job to him.  The Flying Instructor oversees flying lessons First through Fifth-Year (he wonders when his Hogwarts had decided to just have the lessons in First), as well as providing objective coaching to all four of the House Quidditch teams in regular practice sessions.  His first time refereeing a match will happen in mid-February and he’s nervous.  He only hopes he remembers not to catch the snitch himself.

He locks up his office and heads back into the family quarters.

Hermione is curled up on the sitting room sofa with a large book, Crookshanks on her lap.  He heads over to her and drops a kiss on her lips.  He settles beside her, wrapping an arm around her.

“Good book?” asks Harry.

“Regina sent it,” Hermione says.  “She’s been scouring the library at Tintagel for more information, and this was hidden away.”  She raises the cover. 

“‘Tales of the Knights of Avalon,’” Harry reads aloud.  “Any good?”

“It only substantiates what we’ve been able to find out in the last month from our other sources,” Hermione says with a frown.  “Appointment as a Knight of Avalon was rare and there was always a specific mission given.  It confirms the other account that we found where Merlin often gifted a magical item to a Knight to aid them on their mission.  The first story I read was of the Knight Beddle, the Green Knight, who was given magical armour so he could kill a sprite controlled by a Dark wizard.  It suggests that any gifts Merlin gives have importance.”

Harry sighs.  He guesses thinking that the gifts of Godric and Crookshanks are more in line with Merlin giving them emotional support animals to help them deal with the mental and emotional disconnect of being in an entirely new world is wishful thinking.  “Something to keep in mind.”

“I don’t think we’re going to learn anything more of value about being Knights of Avalon,” Hermione declares in the same way she had once declared that they were finished with revision ahead of exams.  “We’ve read every book across every library we have access to and the sum of our information hasn’t increased a whit in the last couple of weeks.”

Harry agrees.  “We should probably turn our attention to figuring out the mission we’ve been given, especially now we’re settled into classes.”

“I can’t believe that we’re at the first Hogsmeade weekend,” Hermione comments with a sigh, setting the book aside and snuggling into Harry.

“Me either,” Harry admits.  “Where’s Lily and Sirius?”

“Sirius sent word he gave a couple of Hufflepuffs a detention for cheating so won’t be back before dinner, and as for Lily…apparently Severus Snape arrived back in the castle early,” Hermione sighs.  “Lily went off to meet with him ahead of dinner.  She wants us to have lunch with them at The Three Broomsticks tomorrow since none of us are chaperoning.”

Harry wrinkles his face in disgust in a way that he never would in front of Lily herself.  “Joy.”

Hermione hums and shifts back to look at him.  “Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you about meeting this Severus Snape?”

“Want to?” Harry shakes his head.  “But I probably should anyway, right?”

Hermione smiles sadly at him. 

Their hands clasp loosely and she entwines their fingers gently. 

“I know why I’m cautious about meeting him,” Hermione says.  “I mean, I don’t have your history with our Professor Snape, apart from him generally being unpleasant to me, but I’m not looking forward to meeting his counterpart with everything Sirius and James have said.”

“Lily likes him,” Harry points out, surprised that’s she’s put so much weight on Sirius’ and James’ depiction of Snape.

Hermione smiles.  “She’s his friend – his only friend, by all accounts.  She’s very biased in his favour.  She’s still dropping hints about inviting him to the family meals on Sundays.”  She shrugs.  “James admits they haven’t had much interaction since Hogwarts, but that at school, Severus was deeply unpleasant to everyone except Lily.  He outright called him a bully.” She bites her lip.  “Sirius is more measured, but he has said that Snape has remained very possessive over Lily’s time and attention.  I guess I see red flags waving and I can’t unsee them.”

Harry rubs his thumb across her knuckles.  “I’m trying not to have an opinion until we meet him.”

“Wise,” Hermione says, raising her eyebrows a touch.

Harry shrugs.  “Our Snape was a bully and a grade-one arsehole.” He grimaces.  “After the war, when I spoke up to confirm that Snape had been acting against Voldemort all along, I didn’t expect for a lot of people to then excuse everything he did, for everyone to try to make me accept the narrative of Snape the Brave Hero.”

He’s grateful when Hermione waits patiently for him to continue.   

“He loved my mother,” Harry concedes, “and he turned spy on Voldemort because he targeted her, then killed her.  He loved her until the last moment he drew breath.”

“But?” prompts Hermione gently.

“But he hated me,” Harry says bluntly.  “He never forgave me for being James Potter’s son. He bullied and demeaned me, even as he worked to keep me safe from Voldemort until the time came for me to die, and to excuse his behaviour as a pretence to keep his cover is a lie.”

Hermione squeezes his hand in comfort. 

Harry takes a deep breath.  “There is a lot that I’m angry with our Dumbledore about, but making Snape, a man who hated me, no, loathed me and didn’t hide the fact ever, try to teach me Occlumency by breaking into mind repeatedly?  And then be the instrument of telling me I needed to die?  That is something that I can never forgive.”

Hermione cuddles closer and Harry leans into her warmth, letting it ease his remembered fury.

“I really wish we didn’t have to deal with this Snape,” Harry admits.  “I don’t expect he’ll view me any differently than ours did since he hates James and is clearly possessive with Lily.”

“We’ll have to hope for the best,” Hermione says diplomatically.

“This weekend is really going to suck,” Harry muses out loud, snuggling closer to his wife.  He goes onto explain his need to speak to Slughorn after dinner.

Hermione looks more amused at his predicament than sympathetic.  “Poor Bill.”

“Poor Bill?  Poor me!” Harry proclaims.  “I’m the one who’s going to have to talk to Slughorn.”

“We’ll suggest meeting him for a drink in his quarters, and I can pretend a headache to leave when we’re done,” Hermione says briskly.  “It’ll be fine.”

“You’ll come with me?” asks Harry, relieved.

“Of course,” Hermione says simply, raising her head from his shoulder to meet his happy gaze.  “Where you go, I go, right?”

“You’re the best wife,” Harry says and kisses her as she laughs.

Their relationship is progressing, slowly and steadily.  They are not lovers, but they love each other, and Harry knows when Hermione is ready to take that final physical step with him, she’ll let him know.  He has a plan for taking them back to Bournemouth for a weekend away when she does.  He loves Hogwarts, but he really would rather not make love to his wife for the first time within walls where Dumbledore holds the wards.

Harry thinks on their first night back at Hogwarts when they had told Dumbledore that they were married for real and not just because they were pretending in order to satisfy the social norms of a different world from their own.  Dumbledore had offered them congratulations, but the flicker of anger at losing something to hold over their heads had come and gone in the Headmaster’s eyes.

Hermione dashes off a note to Slughorn and sends it with an elf who comes back with a flowery response which tells them the Potions Professor will be delighted to host them after dinner.

They cuddle, content with sitting in silence and being together until they need to head down to the hall for dinner.  They leave Godric and Crookshanks snoozing in front of the fire as Dumbledore doesn’t allow pets in the hall. 

Harry and Hermione enter arm in arm and Harry hears a few coos from the younger Hufflepuffs as they pass the table on the way to the staff table.  The older ones simply sigh wistfully.

Harry’s lips twitch and he suppresses the chuckle that he wants to make.  Hermione shoots him a look which tells him she knows exactly what he’s thinking.  He grins at her.  Unsurprisingly, Hermione has a gaggle of young schoolgirls who now want to be just like Professor Potter, but he’s also aware that he has gathered a new set of fans, and that a lot of young people find their story of world displacement and Knights of Avalon altogether too romantic.

Dumbledore nods a greeting to them as they approach.  Slughorn beams at them.

Harry sits Hermione before he takes his own chair.  They’ve opted for seats down on the right of the Headmaster, facing the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables.  Lily always sits with Filius opposite Ravenclaw, but Sirius hurriedly sits down beside Hermione on one side and Hagrid is on Harry’s right at the end of the table.

Harry has been thrilled to make friends with the half-giant. 

“How was the detention?” Hermione asks Sirius cheerfully as the dishes start appearing across the tables.

Sirius huffs and reaches for the platter of steak.  “Why they thought they could get away with submitting the same essay I do not know!” 

Harry turns to Hagrid who, Harry notes with concern, is looking slightly downcast.  “How was your day?”

“Not a good one to tell ya the truth of it, Harry,” Hagrid says shaking his head.  “Someone attacked the unicorn herd last night.”

Harry stills at the news. 

Before Harry and Hermione had gone to stay with his family, Harry had overheard James talking with Dumbledore about a group of masked wizards in black robes attacking the herd, before the centaurs had seen them off.

“Were any hurt?” asks Hermione quietly.

“They’re missing a foal,” Hagrid says, his brown eyes swimming with his upset.  He takes out an overlarge hanky from a pocket and blows his nose loudly.  “It’s a terrible thing!”

Harry, Hermione and Sirius all exchange worried glances. 

“Aurors came and spoke with the centaurs, but there’s no leads to who took the poor wee creature,” Hagrid continues.  His brow lowers.  “Nobody takes a unicorn foal with good intentions.”

“I’m sure the Aurors will do all they can to find the foal and the people who took them,” Harry assures Hagrid.

“When we had people targeting the unicorns,” Hermione says quietly, “it was to keep a dark wizard alive by drinking the blood.”

Harry’s mind flits to the memory of Voldemort’s shade in Quirrell’s body drinking unicorn blood.  He shudders and he’s suddenly less enthused about the roast beef on his plate.  He forces himself to continuing eating anyway.

“We don’t know what this dark wizard might do with a unicorn foal,” Harry points out.  “We don’t really know what happened to him after he went abroad or if it is him that’s behind the attacks.”  

“I’ll contact James after dinner,” Sirius offers in a low voice, “he may be able to tell us more about the investigation.”

“Aurors are keeping a patrol on the forest, they say,” Hagrid sighs.  “Centaurs aren’t happy about that.”

In Harry’s experience, the centaurs are rarely happy about anything that encroaches on their space.

Hermione clears her throat and asks Hagrid about the kneazle that’s taken up residence in the Thestral stable.  Crookshanks has been paying regular visits and Hermione questions Hagrid like a high society matron worried about the virtue of her only child.

Sirius and Harry glance across at each other, laughter in their eyes.

Harry focuses on eating and enjoying his wife quiz a flustered Hagrid about the intentions of a kneazle.  He lets his gaze roam around the hall.

The Ravenclaw table is the quietest.  Quite a few of the students sit with books open, reading while they eat.  There’s a fierce debate among the oldest students at one end of the table, but that’s nothing unusual.

The Slytherins are engaged with each other; each clique jostling to keep and improve their position in the hierarchy.  The Third Years are quieter than normal, and the loss of points has clearly been noted by the other Slytherin Years.

The Hufflepuff table is a loud riot of gossip and chatter in comparison, but the Gryffindors remain the most rambunctious. 

Harry wonders if his own table was really that loud.

Dinner comes to an end.

Dumbledore disappears immediately.

Hagrid excuses himself to head out to feed the animals.

Sirius stands with Harry and Hermione.  “I don’t know about you, but I could do with a quiet evening with a glass of wine and a good book.”

“It sounds delightful,” Hermione says with a moue of disappointment.  “Unfortunately, Harry and I have to speak with Horace.” She motions towards the Potions Professor who is waddling their way.  “There’s an unfair detention we need to sort out.”

“Rather you than me,” Sirius quips.  “I’ll see you back at our quarters.” He scarpers before Slughorn reaches them.

Harry greets him with a terse smile.  “Professor Slughorn.”  

“Horace, my dear boy,” Horace smiles at him.  “We are colleagues, are we not?”

Hermione loops her arm into Harry’s and smiles back at the professor.  “Of course, and we’re obviously Harry and Hermione in return, Horace.”  She lets Horace puff up with pleasure before she gestures for him to lead the way.  “Shall we?”

Harry is thrilled when Hermione engages Horace during their walk to his quarters in a discussion about the development of a hair colouring potion that she’d read about in a Potions magazine.     

They reach the Slytherin dungeons.

Harry is surprised when they bypass where their world’s Snape had been quartered and instead head to an unremarkable door beside a painting of an early Hogwarts. 

Horace leads them into a spacious suite not unlike their own. 

A large sitting area takes up their immediate surroundings.  Multiple individual chairs flank a black marble hearth with a smouldering fire, and there are small occasional tables dotted around to provide somewhere for people to place drinks.  It isn’t decorated in green and silver like the Slytherin common room, but rather with an emphasis on expensive comfort; opulence is the key word, Harry muses. 

The back wall has closed doors which Harry assumes leads to Horace’s bedroom, bathroom and office, perhaps even a private potions lab.

The walls either side of the fire are filled ceiling to floor with books.  Hermione immediately drifts over to them and Horace smiles indulgently.  

“Please, please sit, relax!  Drinks?” He points at the drinks’ cabinet to their right.

A few minutes later, Harry finds himself sitting in the most comfortable chair he’s ever sat on in his life, Hermione in the chair beside him, both of them with glasses of deep red elf wine that tastes delicious.

“To new friendships,” Horace proposes the toast.

Harry raises his glass and repeats it politely.  He sips his wine.  It’s wonderful.

“Now, before we talk of other things, your note mentioned you wished to talk to me about a detention I gave today?” Horace says briskly.  “As I only gave one to Mister Weasley, I assume this is about that incident?”

“It is,” Harry confirms.  He tells Horace of his own lesson and the confessions of the Slytherins.  “Usually, I would not interfere, but I feel you needed all the information I discovered if only to understand that Mister Weasley had no intention of adding frogspawn into a volatile mixture.”

Horace purses his fat lips.  “No, no, I thank you for bringing this to my attention, dear Harry.  I did think it was most out of character for Mister Weasley.  Bill is a bright lad and more like Arthur than his mother in nature.  Now, Molly Prewitt!  Oh, but she had a temper on her!  Very unwise in a potions lab.”

Hermione coughs to hide her laugh.

“I rescind the detention,” Horace declares.  “It is unfair for the boy to miss out on his weekend because of a prank played by others.”  He calls one of the Hogwarts house elves to deliver the news to Bill.

Harry relaxes a touch.  He’s achieved his aim and he’s content that the discussion didn’t devolve into a fight.

Horace huffs as the house elf pops away.  “I will have to discuss this matter with Mister Crabbe since he was the actual culprit.” His face fell.  “He’s a simple boy.  I rather doubt he has the smarts to realise what might have happened.”

“He’s easily led,” Harry says.  “Might I suggest a word from his Head of House about not blindly following the lead of others might also be wise?”

“Indeed,” Horace raises his glass, “although I fear such a word will fall on deaf ears. Unfortunately, Mister Malfoy holds a great deal of influence with Mister Crabbe.  Of course, the families are close.”  His sharp eyes narrow on them.  “It is good to see our new Knights of Avalon devoutly believe in fairness.”

Harry tilts his head.  “Have there been Knights who have not?”

“Well, the Black Knight tends to tip the scales to whatever is needed rather than respect the notion of fairness,” Horace says, “although I’m sure our own Professor Black will know more about than I. The mantle of the Black Knight does sit with his Noble House.”

Harry wonders if Horace is seeking to seed distrust on behalf of Dumbledore or trying to wedge himself in, envious of their closeness to Sirius.  Harry has long forgiven the other wizard for keeping them in the dark about the Black Knight and the Sight gifts of the House of Black.  Sirius has become his closest friend and confidante outside of Hermione; closer still than James who as an Auror spends much less time with them.

“I see you have an extensive library here,” Hermione says.  “Do you have any books on Knights of Avalon?”

“I’m afraid only copies of those I’m certain you will have already read from Hogwarts’ own collection,” Horace says with visible dismay.  “However, I do want to take this opportunity to say if there is any way that I can assist you on the mission our King has placed upon you, please do call upon me.  Every wizard has a duty to give you aid.”

Definitely trying to wedge himself in, Harry thinks, somewhat amused by the attempt.

“Thank you, Horace,” Harry says, as diplomatically as he can, “we will keep your offer in mind.”

They all sip the wine.

“Well, now that we’re done with business, may I ask for your opinion on the latest article from Madame Gaultier on her experiments with plastic cauldrons, Horace?” asks Hermione, sweetly.

Horace brightens, gives a mock shudder, and launches into a well-articulated rant on the terrible effect of plastics on traditional potions.

Harry sits back content to listen.

Hermione excuses them soon after they finish their drinks, mentioning her tiredness after a long week.  They head back to their quarters and find Sirius half-asleep on the sofa in the common room.

“You’re back,” Sirius yawns.  “How did it go with Horace?”

“He rescinded Bill’s detention,” Harry says, dropping down into the chair next to him.  Hermione perches on the arm and leans against him.

“Do you have any idea why he might want to put a wedge between you and I?” asks Harry bluntly.

Sirius’ eyebrows shoot up his face as his silver eyes widen.  “Really?”  He shakes his head.  “He’s usually pretty obsequious with me.  Interesting.”

“I take it he hasn’t turned up at one of your Order meetings?” asks Harry.

Sirius shakes his head again.  “He could be part of it and not attend.  Honestly, if it wasn’t for Molly’s cooking, I’m not sure anyone would be turning up.  It’s a lot of words not going anywhere.”     

Hermione hums.  “Horace could just be angling to become a trusted friend to Knights of Avalon.”

“Maybe,” Sirius agrees, “he’s Dippet’s man really.  He and Dumbledore have never been very close.  Respectful, but not close.”

Harry nods.  He frowns a little.  “Lily back yet?”

“She’s having an early night,” Sirius says.  He pauses, hesitating before ploughing on.  “She was a little upset.  I don’t think the meeting with Severus went well.”

“I can understand that,” Harry says dryly.  “It can’t be easy to understand that your dearest friend in another world married your schoolboy rival and had a baby son with them that has suddenly appeared out of nowhere.”

“Severus has always been an arse,” Sirius says with the bluntness that Harry associates more with his own Sirius than Professor Sirius Black.  “She’s asked me to come along to the lunch tomorrow.”

“I’d be glad to have you along,” Harry admits.

“Then I’ll be there,” Sirius says. 

And suddenly Harry isn’t dreading the next day, even if he’s a little alarmed to realise just how much he really was dreading it before Sirius’ acceptance of Lily’s invitation.  It doesn’t matter if Severus Snape hates him, Harry tells himself; it hadn’t mattered in the end in his own world, and it will not matter in this one.

Chapter 5: Interlude

Sirius walks slowly alongside Harry and Hermione on the main path to Hogsmeade, Godric, loping alongside Harry, looks pleased as punch to be outside of the castle grounds. 

The couple are walking hand in hand which is causing the students hurrying past to take very funny double-takes, some in romantic awe and some in scandalised horror.  He wonders when it will stop being a novelty to them.  Having married Professors is new for their generation. 

For his own part, he’s been envious of the pair’s love for each other since he met them and that hasn’t changed.  Not that he’s going to admit it out loud in his sister’s hearing again.  After he’d alluded to his feelings at New Year, Regina had spent the next week dropping hints about Kathryn Hobson being a lovely young woman in search of a beau.

Sirius huffs.  He’s known since he put on his heir ring that he was destined to be the Black Knight.  He’s never thought to bring a partner into that. 

Partner.

He’s never told anyone he prefers men to women, although he’s attracted to both.  He knows he has a duty ahead of him as heir to provide an heir of his own. 

He glances over to Harry and Hermione.

The couple have become steadfast friends to him.  Real friends.  It’s not that his friendships before their arrival were not real, because he considers his relationship with his cousin Alice and her husband Frank to be a real friendship, but he’s aware that Alice and Frank have other closer friends than himself – Lily being one of them.  He’s never had a friendship with the depth of the one that he shares with Harry and Hermione.

They are true confidantes.

He’s shared more about the weight of being the Black Knight with them than he has with anyone including his grandfather.

Regina and he have always been close too, he considers.  He’s never felt lonely because they’ve always had each other.  But he cannot deny that he’s always felt the responsibility of his position as Reg’s older brother.  He enjoys the fact that Harry and Hermione need his protection less in that regard, and if he’s truthful, they are in need of his protection less and less as they get familiar with the world and their position within it.  They’re both very capable, very powerful magical Knights.

Hermione’s intelligence is as sharp as his own.  Her ability to absorb information and to analyse it is outstanding.

And Harry, Harry is a powerhouse. 

There is only one more treatment before his magical chaos is completely settled, but Sirius can already feel the strength of Harry’s magic flowing like a deep and endless river inside him.  The Black family magic revels at Harry’s presence.

Sirius is honoured to have them as his friends.  He thinks they’re also happy with the deepening friendship between them.  He hopes so.  He knows that he can’t replace the friends that they’ve lost, but he hopes their new friendship gives them comfort.

Harry certainly looks at him less as though he’s seeing a ghost and with much more genuine fondness for Sirius himself which delights Sirius no end, not least because he’s never wanted to cause Harry harm by reminding him of a Sirius he’d loved and lost.

A brisk winter breeze has Sirius huddling in his woollen coat.  He wishes he’d remembered to bring a scarf.  Hermione is wearing a terrible yellow one which Harry has confided holds sentimental value for her.  Harry has a Gryffindor scarf around his neck.  He seems unconcerned at showing his House colours.     

They’re all walking rather slowly, Sirius thinks amused.  None of them are looking forward to the lunch with Snape.  He doesn’t think Lily is actually looking forward to the lunch with Snape.  Snape had been an arse about everything, Lily had reported when she’d stormed into the family quarters the night before.

She’d admitted that his letters since she’d written to tell him of Harry had been terse, but not unusually so.  (Which makes Sirius think that Snape is typically an arse to his own closest friend, it’s just never really made itself more apparent to Lily until now when her magic is pressing her to protect Harry).

Sirius has some sympathy with Snape about James Potter.  They’d both been the target of the Mischief Makers – the little band of friends that James had gathered around him.  They’d been a terror all through Sirius’ schooling and after an unfortunate incident with Lupin, they’d gotten worse in the final years.  Some days he can allow that their constant targeting of him, whether through pranks, snide comments or, on the rare occasion an outright attack, had honed his reflexes and his situational awareness.

But he’d set aside his own issues with James because his family had needed the rapprochement with the Potters.  His great-grandfather’s cursing of Dorea Potter because she’d eschewed the match that he’d made for her in favour of Charlus had been a stain on their honour.  When Charlus had finally agreed to the rapprochement following Harry’s arrival, and James had apologised after Lupin had confessed that Sirius hadn’t been the one to attack him, it had given them a clean slate. 

He and James are slowly forming their own relationship as cousins.  They get along surprisingly well, and Sirius can imagine a world where he’d Sorted into the same House as James and they’d become friends.  He likes James.  And James isn’t the same immature jealous schoolboy he’d been at Hogwarts.  He’s a talented Auror; smart; handsome…

Exactly Sirius’ type.

Sirius smiles wryly.

He’s absolutely certain that James’ type is not Sirius, but rather a lovely redhead by the name of Lily.

James is still smitten with her.  Or perhaps, Sirius muses, it’s fairer to say that James has been re-smitten with her since they’ve remade their acquaintance with the advent of Harry into their lives.

He’s not certain that he would have handled a long-lost son from another world with as much grace and aplomb as James and Lily.  He knows that Harry himself has embraced his wife’s suggestion of treating the situation the same as though Harry’s family are twins of his own blood relations.  James, on the other hand, has insisted on his relationship with Harry being considered as one of cousins since the age difference between them is only a few years.

Sirius thinks James is acting more and more fatherly towards Harry without even realising it though.  Lily is very motherly towards him.  He’s noticed at the family Sundays that have been instituted since Harry and Hermione joined the Hogwarts’ staff that the shared experience is drawing Lily and James towards one another – whether they’re willing to admit it or not.

A problem for another day, muses Sirius.

His gaze flits to Hermione.

He wonders whether Charlus and Dorea had made any progress in tracking down the Grangers and seeing whether the Hermione of this world has been born.  Hermione has never mentioned her family so he suspects not, but he is aware that the Potters had asked her if she wanted to make contact with her family.

Their steps slow as The Three Broomsticks comes into view. 

Hermione sighs.  “’Once more into the breach, dear friends.’”

Harry kisses the side of her head.  “Right,” he says grimly, “let’s do this.”

Sirius falls in behind them.

The pub is already bustling with the older students, and he can see Hagrid tucked away at the back talking with a grizzled old man that looks like he’s been sleeping on the street.  He frowns.  The Care of Magical Creatures Assistant will befriend anyone.

Harry spots Lily first in a back booth.  For a second there’s a weird grimace on both Harry and Hermione’s faces before they seem to shake it off.  Harry leads the way, weaving through the masses with ease.

They pause by the table as Lily jumps up to greet them all with a hug and a kiss.  She slides back into the booth section next to Severus and waves at them all to take the seats she’s saved.

Harry sits Hermione politely in the best wooden chair by Lily and takes the seat next to her.  Sirius slides into the remaining chair between Harry and a glowering Snape.

Dumbledore’s apprentice is dressed in his usual all-black motif; black trousers and tunic under a buttoned high-necked robe.  His long black hair is slicked back into a low ponytail which does nothing to soften the harsh plains of his angular sallow face and hooked nose.  Ariana had fixed Snape’s crooked teeth in their Fourth Year after an unfortunate trip on the stairs, but his appearance remains ghastly to Sirius’ eye.

“This is Severus Snape, heir to the Noble House of Prince,” Lily introduces her friend in a cheery voice that is as forced as her smile.  “Severus, this is Lord and Lady Peverell, Baron and Baroness Ravenshold, otherwise known as Harry and Hermione.  You know Sirius.”

Sirius nods at Snape who glares back at him.

Harry clears his throat.  “Lily has spoken a great deal about you.  It’s an honour to meet the person she considers a dear friend.”

Snape sneers.  “I rather doubt that.”

“Severus…” Lily begins.

Harry shakes his head a touch at her and raises his eyebrows inquisitively.  “May I ask why?”

“I doubt any spawn of James Potter would consider it an honour to meet me,” Snape retorts angrily.

“I’m not my father,” Harry says politely, but with a hard edge to his voice, “and since I’m not of this world, I’m neither the son nor the spawn of the James Potter you know.”

“You…” Snape begins.

Sirius rolls his eyes and cuts him off.  “Harry, why don’t you and Hermione go order some food and drinks for us?”

Harry shoots Sirius a look, but he nods.  “Does everyone know what they’re having?”

There’s a brief respite of hostility from Severus as he gives his order.  Harry and Hermione head to the bar once they have everyone’s and Sirius waits until they are out of earshot before turning to Severus.

“What the fuck are you playing at, Snape?” asks Sirius bluntly.

Snape bristles. “I don’t answer to you, Black.”

Sirius smiles sharply and Snape’s eyes widen as he takes in the protectiveness that Sirius is allowing to show in his face.

“Harry is part of the Black family magic,” Sirius says firmly.  “He’s under our protection and the protection of the House of Potter, which I will remind you is led by Charlus not James.  I don’t know what bug has crawled up your arse about this situation – I’m guessing it is something to do with your unwillingness to share Lily’s time and attention with anyone else on Earth, let alone a young man who her magic recognises as her son – but whatever irritation you have, I suggest you drop the hostility and make an effort to genuinely make Harry and Hermione’s acquaintance before my family magic demands I curse you.”  He holds Snape’s furious eyes with his own.  “Do you understand me?”

It says something about Lily’s feelings about Snape’s behaviour that she doesn’t automatically jump to his defence as she would have normally done.

“I understand,” Snape snaps tersely.  He looks guardedly to the bar where Harry and Hermione are chatting with Rosmerta.  “You are convinced that he’s not a charlatan?  That he is truly the son of a Lily Evans from another world?”

Lily huffs and folds her arms crossly over her chest.  “I have told you repeatedly, Severus, that I can feel that he’s my son, not to mention I have told you everything about how he arrived in this world and how the Ministry is helping to solve the spell that brought him here!  I don’t appreciate the lack of trust in my word!”

Snape seems to finally get that he’s annoyed her, because his face rearranges itself from its resting arsehole face to a slightly conciliatory expression.  “My only concern is that you, Lily.  His advent to this world put you in hospital!”

“He had no choice in how he came into this world,” Lily states firmly.  “That was the work of King Arthur and Merlin,” she holds up a hand, “I was at the Wizengamot and saw the spirit of Arthur myself, Severus.”  She sighs heavily. “Please make an effort to get along with him and Hermione.  They’re both lovely and they will be a part of my life.”

“Until they return to whence they came and break your heart in leaving,” Snape says brusquely. “Surely it would be better for you to remain at a distance?”

Sirius hides his own reaction behind his impeccable Black public mask of indifference, but he can’t deny that Snape’s concern, as poorly presented and worded as it is, is a valid concern.  He’s wondered himself at how much it is going to hurt when Harry and Hermione inevitably leave them.

“Even if my magic wasn’t screaming at me to be close to him,” Lily retorts, “I would never give up whatever time I have with him nor Hermione while they’re here.”

Sirius nods in agreement.

“Then I will tolerate them for your sake,” Snape says.

Sirius rolls his eyes.  “How generous of you, Snape.”

Harry and Hermione arrive back, preventing Snape from making any other comment.  They hand out drinks before retaking their seats.

“Perhaps we can start over?” Lily suggests, pointedly looking at Snape.

Snape arches one eyebrow and sniffs.  He lifts his drink, a dark ale.  “Thank you for the drink,” he says dryly.

Harry nods.  “I appreciate that this is an unusual situation, but I hope that we can find common ground in our want to make Lily’s life happy and comfortable.” 

There’s a quality to the words that makes Sirius believe that Hermione has coached him in what to say rather than Harry himself coming up with it.

“She is my only concern,” Snape allows.

“Then we’re agreed,” Harry says.  He turns to Lily.  “I didn’t get the chance yesterday to ask how your class on the trip to the moon landing went?”

“Wonderfully!” Lily’s demeanour brightens with the question.  She launches into an account of how her Fifth Years had all been sceptical until she’d shown them the film of the moon landing. 

Hermione asks her a follow-up question and they’re occupied with the discussion until their food arrives.

Somehow between the four of them they manage to keep the topics to general discussions and non-controversial debates while they eat.

They’re almost at the end, meals finished with drinks down to their dregs, and Sirius has a small amount of hope that they might remain civil for the whole event when Snape speaks again.

“Lily has informed me that you were proclaimed Knights of Avalon,” Snape says.  “An unusual appointment without a designated mission.”

Lily sets her glass down and glares at Snape.  “Severus, I told you that Harry and Hermione’s mission is not our business unless they request assistance.”

“But there is a mission?” Snape asks slyly.

Harry regards Snape with a measured look.  “Did Lily tell you that I knew your counterpart back on my world?”

Snape stills.  His long fingers clench on his mug of ale.  “She did.” He glances towards Lily briefly.  “She had no further details than that.”

“No,” Harry says, “I thought it best not to burden her with the knowledge of what an arse my Snape acted.”

Snape flushes bright red.

“He and my mother were childhood friends,” Harry says, “they grew up together and she was thrilled to find someone who was able to tell her about magic.  They sat together on the train but at the Sorting, my mother went to Gryffindor and Severus Snape went to Slytherin, as had every member of the House of Prince before him.”

“We made a pact,” Lily interjects, “didn’t we, Severus?”

Snape nods slowly.

“There was a very intense rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin,” Hermione picks up the story, “stoked further by the tensions from a Dark wizard rising.”  Her brown eyes are solemn and pinned to Snape’s face.  “Slytherin, led by the purebloods in that House, sneered at the muggleborn in the school, called them mudbloods.  Friendships with any muggleborn was very much discouraged within Slytherin.”          

“For a while, my mother and Snape continued their friendship, just kept it to their muggle homes during the holidays and out of sight when at Hogwarts, but tensions got worse,” Harry continues.  “My father had three friends in Gryffindor, they styled themselves as the Marauders, pranksters.  But as the Slytherin started to attack students in the corridors and the staff did very little, their pranking began to be retaliatory and as violent; they were bullies.”

Snape huffs.  “It seems James Potter is the same in every world.”

“In their Fifth Year, my mother tried to help Snape after an attack from the Marauders and he snapped in his anger and humiliation and called her a mudblood,” Harry says in a hard tone.  “It was the final straw for my mother who ended their friendship.”

Sirius isn’t surprised by the twin looks of horror on Lily’s and Snape’s faces. 

“My father lost his mother at the beginning of the Seventh Year,” Harry says, “it made him grow up and he and my mother started dating.  That was the final straw for Snape who in his anger sought out the dark wizard and swore his fealty to him.”

“I see,” Snape murmurs, looking down at the table.

“Our wizarding world went to war soon after,” Hermione says, “the Dark Lord was terrible, many people died.  James and Lily married and fought on the side of the Light.  Unfortunately, Dumbledore in interviewing a Divination Professor in a pub, heard a prophecy foretelling of a champion who could defeat the Dark Lord.  The young Severus Snape overheard part of it and ran to tell his master.”

Snape flinches.

“When he realised that he had placed a target on my mother, he was horrified,” Harry says almost gently.  “He hated that she had married my father, but Snape still loved her.  He went to Albus Dumbledore and begged him to protect her.  Dumbledore manipulated him into being a spy.  But it wasn’t enough.  I was barely over a year old when the Dark Lord attacked my family, and both my parents were killed defending my life.”

Snape gasps.

Lily is pale.  She’s heard the story before, Sirius muses, but there is something about this retelling which is rawer and more brutal than the words Harry has used before.

“And still, Dumbledore would not release Snape, he made him vow to keep me safe,” Harry continues. “He hated me.  He hated protecting the son of the schoolboy rival he loathed.  He hated that I lived and my mother did not.” He holds Snape’s gaze.  “But for all that, he did keep me safe.  He played spy again when the Dark Lord returned.  He did Dumbledore’s bidding right to the end.  He used his last breath to tell me that everything he had done, he had done because of the love he still held for my mother.”

“Oh, Harry!” Lily murmurs reaching out her hand.

Harry catches hold of it and squeezes it gently. 

“Why tell me this?” Snape asks in a growl.

Harry gives Lily a reassuring glance before turning his gaze back to Snape.  “Because Lily loves you, and it would hurt her to lose you.”

“And it would be wise to learn from our Snape’s mistakes,” Hermione says briskly.  “He ended up the slave of two masters, hating his life, bereft of friendship.  I would be wary of anyone promising you whatever you desire for the price of spying.” 

Sirius suppresses the smile at the clever way she’s called Snape out, because it is clear that he was fishing.  Dumbledore probably, Sirius thinks, but perhaps the counterpart dark wizard of Harry’s life is already courting Snape too.

Hermione stands up.  “It was interesting to meet you.  Harry, I’d like to visit the shops before we return to Hogwarts.”

Harry nods.  He lets go of Lily’s hand.  “We’ll see you back at the castle, Lily.”

Sirius refrains from leaving with them.  He figures they can do with some time to get their equilibrium back.  He pins Snape with a knowing look.

Snape sighs and lifts his hand from the table.  “Albus wants to know their mission.”

“Severus!” Lily sighs and shakes her head.

“He feels that the Black and Potter families have made the pair mistrust him in a way they did not when they first arrived,” Snape says.

“I think they have their own reasons for keeping Albus at a distance,” Sirius says.  He downs the last of his own drink and sets the glass down with a small thump on the table.  “There’s a war brewing, Snape.  Loyalties are going to be tested.  You need to consider where your loyalties lie.”

“He’s my mentor,” Snape protests.

“And if you had to choose between Lily or him?” Sirius says pointedly.  “Knights of Avalon are appointed for the good of the world.  If Albus wants to help, I’m sure his counsel would be welcomed if he was upfront about it.” 

Or at least, Harry and Hermione would be grateful to have his manipulations out in the open rather than the Headmaster trying to manoeuvre behind closed doors.

Lily nods.  “I definitely don’t want you to use our relationship to do Albus’ bidding to spy on Harry and Hermione because he feels excluded.”  She puts her hand on Snape’s arm.  “But I don’t want to lose our friendship the way Harry’s mother and her Severus did.”

“I don’t want that either,” Snape says quietly.

“Then perhaps you have some thinking to do about how we keep that friendship because my family magic demands I help him, Severus,” Lily says.  “There is no choice to be made because in every way that matters to magic, he is my son as much as he was hers.”

Snape quails under her fierce look.  “I know how demanding family magic can be, I just…” he lifts his hand, “why did it have to be Potter?”

Lily pats his shoulder.  “I’m under the protection of the Houses of Black and Potter, Severus.  James has already apologised to me and I’m certain, given the chance, he’ll apologise to you.”

Snape slumped back in the booth; misery was written all over him.  Sirius had no sympathy for him.

“I have to get back,” Sirius says politely.  “I have marking I want to get completed.”

Lily stands up and gathers her coat.  “I’ll walk back with you.” She dips down to buss Snape’s cheek.  “I do love you, Sev.”

Snape grimaces but nods.  “I will always be your friend, Lily.”

Lily smiles tightly and Sirius escorts her to the door.  They walk back in silence.  Sirius can see Lily is lost in thought and he is mulling over the fact that Dumbledore is already trying to sway Snape into spying.  He wonders what other similarities exist between their world and Harry’s. 

The couple have stuck with their original plan to provide the big picture without the details – a wizarding war, but not the named individual who was the dark wizard; Harry as a prophesied child, but not the details of the prophecy.  He wonders how long they’ll be able to sustain their boundary – if they can even sustain the boundary with the pull of their magic to their duties as Knights of Avalon.  The night before had been the first time he’d heard about their own dark wizard attacking a unicorn herd.

Lily sighs as they reach the door of the family quarters.  “Do you think there is any hope of Sev doing the right thing?”

Sirius winces at the question and doesn’t hide it.  “I think he loves you, and I think he’s heard what will happen if he loses you.  Maybe that will be enough to deter him from cutting off his nose to spite his face.”

Lily nods unhappily and taps her wand on the door to give them entry.

Crookshanks pads over to rub his head against her legs and she stoops to pick him up.  The cat purrs happily in her arms.

“I always wanted a cat,” Lily muses.

Sirius is about to reply when the Floo flares.

James’ head appears in the flames.  “Hello, Knight Pad!”

Lily rolls her eyes and kneels down in front of the hearth.  “We don’t call it that!”

“You should!” James protests.  “I got Sirius’ note.  Can I come through?”

Sirius waves him through and Lily scuttles out of the way, losing her furry friend in the process.

James enters and vanishes the Floo powder in a graceful way.  “Are Harry and Hermione about?”

“They went shopping after lunch,” Sirius informs him.  “If you’re here with news about the unicorns, we should probably wait on them.”

“What’s this about the unicorns?” asks Lily, frowning.

Sirius realises that Lily probably hadn’t heard.  She’d been at the other end of the table from Hagrid and had retired early when they’d gotten back to their quarters after dinner.  He’s just finished explaining it to her when Harry and Hermione return.

It takes a few minutes to get everything sorted, but the four of them are soon sat in the common room with warm drinks of hot chocolate and some biscuits.

Sirius notes with hidden amusement how James and Lily have gravitated to one sofa, Harry and Hermione to another.  He’s happily ensconced in the most comfortable chair in the room.

Godric sleeps stretched out in front of the fire, Crookshanks curled up beside him.

James clears his throat.  “Right, so the unicorn situation…”

“I still can’t believe someone would take a unicorn foal!” Lily says.  She blushes.  “Sorry, James, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

James waves away her apologies and offers a smile.  “I’d be happy to never speak of this.” He sighs and sips his chocolate.  “I must ask that you are all discreet about this – the information is part of an ongoing investigation.”

“Just before Christmas, we had a report of a unicorn being slaughtered in a herd down in Cornwall,” James says.  “Moody’s had the Aurors doing surveillance off and on with the herd in Hoggle Forest ever since.”

“There was an attack the second night after we arrived at Hogwarts,” Harry says, his eyes distant as though he’s looking back into the past.  “I woke up and you were in the infirmary with Remus.”

James blinks and nods slowly.  “That’s right.  Bertie, Pete and I were keeping watch and had invited Remus along.” He takes another sip.  “Seven masked people apparated into the middle of the herd.  We were about to intervene when the centaurs arrived to defend the herd, then Remus got attacked…”

“I remember you telling us about Charlus and my grandfather about it at our family meeting,” Sirius says.  “Didn’t Charlus think that Tom Riddle might be behind the attack?”

And Harry outright flinches.

The room falls silently.

“Harry?” asks James, setting his cup down and leaning forward to look at the boy who was his image save for Lily’s green eyes. “Was Riddle the Dark wizard who started the war in your world?”

Harry’s lips flatten and Hermione’s hand slips into his.

Sirius shifts drawing their attention.  “I know you both have had your reservations about telling us too much and affecting things here, but…” he holds Harry’s gaze firmly.  “I think it’s time, don’t you?”

Harry and Hermione turn to each other, seeking a decision which they make in a single look. 

Harry nods and pushes his glasses up his nose.  “Yes,” he says grimly, “it’s time.”

Continued in: A Jump to the Left: Part 2