3/14: Black Coat
Title: Black, in the Smothering Dark
Chapter Title: Black Coat 03/14
Words (this chapter): 7,416
Rating (this chapter): R (for language)
Story Info/All Chapters: HERE
Beta’d by littlevlahgirl and amelancholykiss.
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Black, in the Smothering Dark
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Chapter Three
Black Coat
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At breakfast the next morning, when Sirius was pouring his second cup of coffee and trying to figure out what he was going to do about his godson, the letter came. The envelope was stark white and perfectly creased with green ink and a Hogwarts seal, and when the owl landed on the table between him and a bowl of cold oatmeal, the blood in his veins felt a little bit colder.
“Took you long enough,” he muttered to the owl just as Harry stumbled into the kitchen and flopped down sleepily across from him. Harry was staring at the owl with an undisguised look of anger. He didn’t look afraid-didn’t seem to care what Dumbledore obviously had to say or if he would try to drag him back to the Dursleys, but he seemed angry enough about it.
“What’s it say, then?” Harry asked with feigned casualness and a nod of his head to the envelope. Sirius glared at him and did his best to reach around the owl-still holding its leg out-to his oatmeal. “Go on, open it. I’d like to hear what he has to say.”
“Fine,” Sirius mumbled and untied the letter, ripping it open carelessly and tossing the envelope aside. “It says,” he began, skimming the letter, eyes widening every few seconds, “that he hopes that we’ve enjoyed our vacation and here’s your school list.”
Harry gaped. “You’re fucking kidding me,” he exclaimed, ignoring Sirius’ unconcerned chiding of ‘mind your fucking language’. “That’s all Dumbledore says? No explanation? No ‘go back to the Dursleys’? No ‘oh, I forgot to mention, your godfather isn’t actually dead’?”
Sirius shook his head. “Nope. None of that. But he does say you’ll need dress robes this year.”
Harry gaped. “Un-fucking-believable.” He angrily snatched a hot bowl of oatmeal from Fred, and immediately regretted it when he remembered what Fred had to put up with from Ginger. “Sorry, Fred,” he muttered and returned his attention back to his godfather, oblivious to the delighted grinning from the house-elf.
He sighed and changed the subject. “So-we’ve got the rest of the summer and it’s only the second week of July. What’re we gonna do?” he asked as he dug in to his breakfast. Sirius wrinkled his nose as he watched.
“We could start with teaching you proper table manners.”
Harry laughed. “Yeah? Suppose I could use some of those. Which spoon should I use?”
“The one Fred’s holding out for you,” Sirius replied flatly. Harry looked down. Fred was indeed holding out a spoon for him. He looked between the spoon he was currently eating with and the one being offered to him. With a resigned sigh, Harry accepted the spoon and held it up to inspect it.
It was polished silver with a little ‘B’ encircled in thorns on the handle.
“You pure-bloods are so bloody snotty,” he muttered. Sirius laughed.
“You’re pure-blooded, too, and even James knew which piece of cutlery to use.” Harry scowled at his godfather, which earned him another laugh. “Come on, kiddo,” Sirius said with another laugh. “It won’t kill you. Besides, you’ll need it for all of those fancy dinners you’ll get invited to after you save the world.”
With one final scowl, Harry relented, and they spent the rest of the morning practicing how to eat properly-which Harry thought was entirely useless, but watching Sirius acting so proper was entertaining enough for him to play along.
At dinner that night, Harry didn’t even realise that he’d automatically eaten his salad with the correct fork and switched when the main meal came up. Sirius smirked behind his wine glass and decided not to say anything.
-x-
River House had three floors, with the sleeping quarters on the second and the living quarters on the main floor. The elf and servant quarters were on the top floor along with a small owlery and observation tower.
Sirius had picked out a study for himself on the main floor, declaring cheekily that he was Lord of the Manor-even though it was an archaic term-and every lord should have his own study, while Harry, having discovered an extensive, if archaic, library on their second day there, spent most of his time flipping through old books. His gothic-style reading chair was a perfect fit for the room.
The library of River House was fast becoming Harry’s favourite place. It was massive-three stories tall with books stacked on shelves from floor to ceiling and bigger than the entire Dursley residence. The walls-what little could be seen for all the books-were dark wood panelled and the floor was the same sort of smooth black stone that the exterior of the house was made from, and that Harry couldn’t name but was certain was an expensive feature.
There was a spiralling iron staircase right in the middle of the room that wound up from the ground floor to a loft with a reading nook and more books. The third floor was reached by ladder from the second floor and contained-so far as Harry could tell-the darker books, which was ironic because in the early morning, the sun struck the windows and a huge skylight in the ceiling just right to make the room almost unbearably bright.
The first floor was dedicated to transfiguration and potions texts with a corner full of wizarding romance novels-Harry had no idea who included those-while the second floor was charms, hexes and a bit of divinations. But the third floor-the third floor was the best because not only did it house all of the not-quite-illegal-but-certainly-dark-books, it also had a decent-sized section devoted to the Black family history.
It was during one of his daily trips to the library-which Harry had been conducting since they arrived a week prior-that he stumbled across something intriguing. It was stuffed to the back behind a dark potions book written by someone so obviously paranoid that they’d published it only under the initials R.A.B.
Harry pushed the book aside and peered behind it. He could see something glinting in the light of the room and he reached back carefully to retrieve it. There was no telling what kind of hexes the Blacks felt were necessary on their things, so being careful wouldn’t really do much good if it were indeed hexed, but Harry liked to kid himself in those kind of ways.
It was another book-which Harry really didn’t think he should be too surprised about-but it was different because it didn’t look to be bound in paper. When he touched it, his hand didn’t explode, and he figured it was okay to grab it, so he did, pulling it carefully from its hiding place.
Harry sat back and studied the cover, feeling simultaneously more intrigued and more disgusted. It wasn’t bound with paper, no, it was bound with skin. And it glinted in the light as if it had been bronzed at one time. There was no title or writing at all on the cover, so he flipped it open.
Inside, written in a barely decipherable archaic script, it read, ‘For you, my Darling, because even if you are no longer with me, part of you will always be here.’ Harry cringed, wondering who would preserve their dead lover by turning their skin into a book, but he was damnably interested and didn’t put it down.
For hours, Harry read despite himself because it was better than Salinger by bounds-even if it was rather macabre.
It was love letters-a whole collection of them written to a dead man in a painfully helpless voice. Some were hopeful-she seemed to think she could resurrect him. And it was quite possible that she could because there were notes and theories on necromancy interspersed throughout.
When Fred called him down to dinner, Harry wasn’t even a quarter of the way through. Carefully, he closed the book and stuck it in a pocket in his robes for later reading and headed downstairs for dinner.
Sirius was already waiting at the table, dressed in some raggedy muggle blue jeans with his hair tied up in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Harry suddenly realised that he’d been tricked into getting his hair cut when his godfather had totally skipped out on it.
He growled, low in his throat, as he approached the table.
“What’ve you been up to?” he asked casually as he naturally picked up his soup spoon and tentatively tested it. It wasn’t too hot so he continued with less hesitancy.
Sirius grinned at him from across the table. “I was working in the garden,” he said easily.
Harry was not impressed. “A likely story,” he insinuated.
“Right, well, actually Fred was working in the garden and I was digging up everything he planted. We found gnomes,” he added excitedly.
Harry laughed, imagining Padfoot being absolutely irritating and poor Fred being absolutely at the end of his rope. “Did you get rid of the gnomes, then?”
“I ate one,” Sirius admitted sheepishly. “Well-not so much ate it ate it…more like destroyed it ate it.” He shuddered suddenly. “Dreadful tasting creatures-Fred got rid of the rest with a snap of his fingers. He said he sent them to France.”
Harry laughed again. “I didn’t know you had anything against the French.”
“I don’t,” Sirius admitted mock-haughtily. “Fred does.”
They continued eating, Ginger delivering the main course with the sort of elaborate fanfare as only a woman could, until Sirius remembered something.
“Oh!” he said excitedly, remembering to swallow everything in his mouth first-because sometimes he could still hear his mother reprimanding him in his head when he didn’t-“I met our neighbours.”
“We have neighbours?” Harry asked because he couldn’t remember any other homes in the area. They were in a pretty secluded spot, after all.
“Yeah,” Sirius answered. “Xavier and Yasmin Smith. They live on the other side of the crags, and they have a son about your age at Hogwarts.”
Harry mentally ran through a list of all the boys he could think of at Hogwarts. The only Smith he could remember was… “Don’t tell me his name is Zacharias,” he said flatly.
Sirius grinned, nodding his head emphatically. “Yeah, so you know him?”
“Unfortunately,” Harry muttered. “Snotty little bastard.” He remembered Zacharias Smith from the D.A. in fifth year, and that was enough for him.
“Glad you like them,” Sirius said, “because I invited them for dinner tomorrow night.”
Harry moaned pathetically and put his head in his hands, somehow managing to keep his elbows off of the table. “Isn’t that a little…risky? I mean…you are a dead, wanted criminal.”
Sirius waved a dismissive hand. “They already recognized me. Gave me a right fright, but they didn’t seem to care. They thought it was rather funny, actually. Said they weren’t afraid of me because they weren’t Potters or muggles.”
Harry laughed humourlessly. “Wonderful.”
-x-
What Sirius meant when he said that the Smiths lived on the other side of the crags, was that the Smiths lived on the other side of the A720, which was a good twenty kilometres away. Harry didn’t think that made them so much neighbours as it made them people who lived in the same country. A lot of people lived in Surrey, and he didn’t consider a one of them neighbours except for Mrs. Figg, which was why Harry was even more disgruntled that they’d been invited to dinner. He didn’t have a lot of good experience with neighbours.
Sirius had become rather frantic about playing the perfect host. He’d had Ginger running around preparing and changing menus all day while Fred completed the front gardens. Harry supposed it was his upbringing coming to the forefront now that he was back in a family home that he respected, and did his best to stay out of the way.
Unfortunately, Sirius had other plans.
“You’re not wearing that tonight,” he said to Harry sometime after lunch when Harry was sprawled out on a comfortable chaise lounge on the veranda reading some of his muggle literature. Harry raised a lazy eyebrow and stared at his godfather.
“I’ve got some jeans and a jumper I can wear,” he said with a shrug.
Sirius shook his head emphatically. “No, no, no,” he said. “The Smiths were acquaintances of my grandfather. Old house-you can’t wear jeans to dinner when you’re hosting people like them.”
Harry stared at Sirius incredulously. “When did you become Martha Stewart?”
Sirius scrunched his nose in confusion. “Who’s she?”
Harry waved his hand dismissively and sat up straight, dropping his book to the ground in the process. “Are you serious?” he asked incredulously. Sirius started to grin and Harry waved him off again, irritated. “Don’t…that’s a horrible pun. I mean, are you really going to make me dress up all…fancy…just to eat dinner with some old pure-bloods and their snotty son?”
For his credit, Sirius did look at least slightly sheepish. “C’mon, kiddo,” he said pleadingly. “I can’t help it.”
Harry gaped. “You could’ve, you know, not invited them to dinner,” Harry said sarcastically. Sirius looked torn, and Harry almost felt bad about being a brat, but the annoyance he felt at his godfather trying to change him overwhelmed it quickly.
“No,” Sirius said, shaking his head, frustrated. “It would’ve been an incredible faux pas.” He hesitated, and then turned on the puppy-dog eyes, which, admittedly, suited him. “Please, Harry! Do this for me, kiddo. James wouldn’t want me to let you run around dressed like that anyway.”
“Are you manipulating me?” Harry asked suspiciously.
“No,” Sirius answered quickly-too quickly.
“You are,” Harry answered, eyes narrowed, “but I’ll go along with it. I don’t care about the clothes, you know. If you’d wanted me to buy new clothes, you just had to say so. The only reason I never did before was because at the Dursley’s I never had the money, and after that I didn’t want the Dursleys to know I had money. You don’t have to manipulate me into doing it.”
He stood up quickly from his lounge chair and glared at Sirius. “Come on then. Let’s go. If I’m putting up with tailors all afternoon, then you are, too. You look just as bad as I do.”
Sirius whimpered, and followed him, casting a glamour on himself, but leaving Harry alone in case he attacked physically.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered once they were on the gravel drive leading off the manor property and Sirius had caught up with Harry. Harry didn’t answer, but kept walking. He waved at Fred, tending the rose bushes, as they passed, but made no further acknowledgements to either.
“I’m really sorry,” Sirius said again, this time with more emphasis.
Harry shot him another glare. “Don’t be sorry; just don’t try to manipulate me. I’m so bloody tired of being manipulated…be it by you or Dumbledore with that dratted prophecy or Snape and his mind games…” Harry ranted, mostly to himself, but Sirius cringed and winced appropriately.
Sirius waited until Harry had quieted and was only stomping along and breathing heavily before he voiced a concern. “Prophecy?” he questioned hesitantly.
Harry turned to look at him sharply. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything about that,” he muttered.
They walked along for several more minutes, Sirius straining to keep up, when Harry finally threw his arms up in the air and sighed loudly.
“It says I have to defeat the Dark Lord or else he’ll defeat me,” he growled. Sirius’ eyebrows shot up and his eyes grew wide.
“You have to kill or be killed then?” Sirius asked faintly.
Harry shot him another look. “Yes, no, yes…I don’t know,” he said angrily. “Prophecies are tricky. To defeat doesn’t necessarily mean ‘kill’ but,” he shrugged, “It’ll probably come down to that. I don’t know how else he could be defeated, and I’m certainly not going down without a fight.”
Sirius winced and followed meekly after that. He was working through all sorts of scenarios-mostly bad, but some rather humorous because Sirius was naturally an optimistic person-when his godson sighed again.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Harry said, sounding a great deal calmer and certainly more composed.
“Like what?” Sirius asked in relief. They were finally approaching Edinburgh proper and the Burning Man was only a five minute’s walk away. Harry sent him a wicked grin.
“Like what you’re going to get me for my birthday,” he answered casually.
Sirius choked and sputtered for a couple seconds. “Who says I’m getting you anything at all?” he tried to ask innocently, but Harry sent him another grin when he caught the red flush on Sirius’ face that proved his godfather was anything but innocent. “How old are you going to be again? Fifteen?”
Harry smacked his shoulder. “Seventeen!” he answered indignantly. “You know that! I’ll be able to use magic outside of Hogwarts!”
Sirius laughed. “I know, kiddo,” he said. “What do you want then?”
Harry shrugged with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. “I dunno. I want to be taller.”
Sirius laughed again. “You have been growing-nearly as tall as me now. Maybe you just hit your growth spurt late.” Sensing that Harry really didn’t care how tall he was, Sirius bumped him with his shoulder and grinned. “What do you really want?”
“A really big porn collection…”
“Harry!” Sirius laughed, cuffing the back of his head. Harry ducked and grinned at him.
“I guess I want to know things,” Harry finally answered with a shrug. “I felt kind of stupid today for not knowing ‘proper etiquette’,” he said, quoting with his fingers, “even though I think it’s stupid. I mean…my parents were a part of this world and I know almost nothing about it. I know the spells that are taught in school and whatever Ron or Hermione just happen to mention.
“I mean,” Harry continued, “even Ron knows all these cooking and cleaning charms and Hermione knows some pretty cool jinxes.” He shrugged again. “I just kind of want to fit in more. If my parents were both pure-blooded then I don’t want to disappoint them.”
“You aren’t disappointing them,” Sirius said easily.
“I know,” Harry said, hands back in his pockets, “but I want to know the things they knew…the things they would have taught me if they had raised me.”
Sirius nodded and they walked the rest of the way to Eweforic Alley in silence. The Burning Man was packed this time and they had to push their way through to the men’s room, but fortunately, with Harry’s new haircut, his scar was covered and they received no awkward looks.
They had nearly made it to the door marked ‘The Evil’ when a scuffle broke out in front of them and Harry was knocked backwards into Sirius. They tumbled backwards and his glasses fell off his face. The barman ran up and broke it up quickly, but Harry couldn’t find his glasses again, and when Sirius finally located them, they were crushed.
“Damn it,” Harry said, squinting his eyes. Sirius ushered him through to Eweforic Alley and took Harry’s broken glasses from him.
“Reparo,” Sirius said once they were in the safety of the wizarding world. Nothing happened and both Sirius and Harry wrinkled their brows in confusion. Sirius pointed his wand closer and repeated the incantation, thinking that perhaps he just hadn’t spoken the incantation correctly, though he seriously doubted it.
When it didn’t work a second time, Harry looked up at his godfather questioningly-or at least, he thought he was looking at his godfather. He couldn’t be entirely sure. “Why isn’t it working?”
Sirius shrugged. “How many times have you repaired them?” he asked.
“I dunno,” Harry replied. “A lot.”
Sirius laughed. “You can only repair glass so many times before it’s irreparable. You’ll just have to get new ones.”
Harry scowled. “And you just expect me to stumble around blind until then, do you?”
“There used to be a wizarding optometrist in Eweforic Alley. We could see if they’re still around.”
Harry mumbled a petulant ‘fine’ and trotted off after Sirius, but he only made it a few steps before he stumbled over…something…and fell flat on his face. Sirius guffawed loudly and Harry glared at him the best he could. He stumbled again trying to get up, and Sirius finally found a heart and helped him stand.
“Come on, kiddo,” Sirius said with a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be your Seeing Eye dog.”
“You’re not properly trained,” Harry growled, but let himself be lead along anyway. He had no idea where or even in which direction they were going, but he did see a few interesting fuzzy blobs on the way. Fortunately, whether or not Sirius was a trained Seeing Eye dog or not, Harry only ran into one person, and he had a feeling Sirius planned that one anyway. He mumbled a weak ‘sorry’ and allowed himself to be tugged along.
“Aha!” Sirius proclaimed suddenly, jerking to a stop and snickering when Harry walked into him. “This is it. The Magic Eye.”
Harry grumbled and stumbled inside. They were greeted by a receptionist that Harry thought might be a redhead, but couldn’t be entirely sure. Sirius explained the situation because Harry was still pouting, and after some paperwork, they were led back to a private area. A chipper wizard bounced in several minutes later and attacked the situation with the utmost finesse.
“Well then!” he crowed, and Harry winced because he could hear the man, but he couldn’t tell where exactly he was. That was the problem with having three optometrist wizards in front of him due to his shoddy vision. “What seems to be the problem, then?”
“I can’t see,” Harry grumbled at the same time as Sirius said, “The boy can’t see.”
Harry was almost certain that they were both shot a significantly dirty look.
“Right then,” the wizard said cheerfully again. “Have a look at these charts then and tell me what you can see.”
Harry looked. “A big white square with some greyish hieroglyphics.”
The optometrist frowned, but Harry didn’t see that. “What sorts of hieroglyphics?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. Can’t read Egyptian.”
“Hmm,” the wizard said significantly. “Those are actually letters written in the Minister’s English.” He pointed his wand at Harry’s face, and Harry would’ve taken on a defensive stance if he was able to see it, but he wasn’t, so he just sat there. He jumped when he felt something tingling in his eyes. “What can you see now, boy?” the wizard asked.
Harry looked back at the chart. “English hieroglyphics.” The wizard hummed and cast more spells, and finally, a half hour later, Harry was able to read the letters on the chart.
“Dreadful eyesight,” the wizard proclaimed seriously. Harry didn’t see a point in denying that, so he stayed quiet, and fortunately, Sirius did too. “The way I see it-and I do,” he added with a chuckle, “because I’m a wizarding optometrist, you see, you’ve a few options. We’ve got a procedure that would completely correct your vision. It’s complex, but with a high success rate. The only problem with that would be that it takes a week to recover from it.
“Or,” he continued, “we could give you wizarding contacts. They’re similar to muggle contacts, only instead of a synthetic lens fitted over the eye, it’s a temporary spell that creates a magical lens. The spell lasts for six months at which point you would have to return to have it renewed.
“Lastly-we could just fit you for another set of glasses.” The wizard shrugged, and since he hadn’t yet removed the last spell on Harry’s eyes, Harry could see him do it. Harry looked at Sirius.
“I like having glasses.”
“Your choice, kiddo,” Sirius said with a shrug. “Any would be fine with me, only it would be a little difficult for us to work around the permanent procedure right now…that is if you want to be able to see on your birthday, of course.
“If you just like wearing glasses,” the optometrist spoke up, “we’ve got another option. We could fit you for both the contact lenses and the glasses. You could wear your glasses whenever you wanted, and if you ever lost them or broke them, the lenses would adjust accordingly. You would be able to see with or without the glasses.”
Harry and Sirius agreed to that, but the only problem was that Harry’s old glasses were so horribly out of style, that they didn’t even make them anymore-or indeed anything even remotely similar. In the end, Harry accepted a pair of thin wire-framed glasses that were nearly indestructible. They even adjusted in sunlight to act as sunglasses.
So, when Harry could see again, Sirius paid and they headed to the other end of Eweforic Alley, passing the various shops selling everything from ice-cream to coffee to pets to kitchenware, to buy something appropriate for dinner with the Smiths. Harry wasn’t very excited about that.
But he was excited about hearing what Sirius had to say about wizarding wear. He’d always just worn muggle clothes under his robes, but was intrigued to learn that many old wizarding families still dressed in a hodgepodge of styles varying from Elizabethan to Georgian to French Renaissance to-in some rare cases-medieval. And that included the waistcoats, cravats and half-length trousers with leather boots.
Harry didn’t know how he felt about that. Apparently, Sirius was one of those wizards who grew up dressing like that, and when they entered the first clothier and were spotted by a woman in a whale-bone bodice, he became a little scared. Just what exactly had he agreed to when he said he’d allow Sirius to buy him something to wear to dinner?
“I draw the line at codpieces,” he warned Sirius quietly. Sirius snorted and shook his head.
“There’ll be none of those. A lot of this is only worn for formal occasions. Day to day wear for women still includes the skirts and bodices, but men can wear tunics and trousers.”
“What about blue jeans?” Harry asked. He could not see himself running around like a pirate every day.
Sirius shrugged, “You won’t see the Smiths or the Malfoys in blue jeans, but I don’t really care what you wear normally.”
Harry scowled. “Like I want to be like either of them,” but he didn’t get a chance to say anything more because the bodice-clad shopkeeper had grown impatient and bustled over to see to them.
“How are you lads today then?” she asked with a thick Scottish brogue. “What can I do for you?”
“Formal dinner,” Sirius answered promptly, surprising Harry when he dropped into a haughty, almost Malfoy-ish drawl. He furrowed his brows in confusion and wondered if all the old ‘Noble’ houses were able to do this. There was certainly a lot to his godfather that he didn’t know. “With a Scottish noble house.”
The shopkeeper nodded understandingly-even though Harry was still confused-and hurried them over to the fitting area. Harry climbed up onto the stool complacently and sighed. Maybe if she just let his mind wander off, it would be over sooner. No such luck.
He was poked and prodded and even stuck with pins a couple times and it was impossible to forget where he was. In the end, he just watched the shopkeeper lace him up in leather trousers, tunics, waistcoats, cravats, boots and other things that he didn’t even know the name for. Sirius was getting the same treatment, but seemed to be less irritated by it.
“Green-to go with your eyes, I think,” the shopkeeper muttered as she was studying two different frock coats.
Harry looked up. One was blue and one was green, but they both had too much lace for Harry’s taste. “I don’t like either of those.” He nodded towards another frock coat in black with silver buttons up the sleeves, red embroidery along the hems and a minimum of frills on the rest of it. “I like that one.”
Sirius snorted. “Those are different styles. You’re wearing a Georgian-influenced ensemble and the frock coat is Imperial Navy.”
Harry didn’t know the difference, nor did he care, so he just glared.
“It’s just dinner. He can do without the coat, but wrap up the black one for him, anyway if he likes it,” Sirius told the woman. She looked to Harry for confirmation and he nodded because he really did like it. It was kind of interesting and way better than the raggedy old coats he usually wore in autumn.
Sirius had talked him into picking up a couple of new shirts and some black adamantine-toed boots that could not only kick the shit out of someone, but were also silent at all times-not a sound, even running across broken glass or dry leaves. Finally, they were done.
The packages were sent on to the house, but Harry insisted on wearing the new coat and boots home. He wasn’t about to admit it, but he loved them and they looked fetching with his blue jeans. It was late afternoon when they got back, and Sirius immediately ushered Harry up the stairs to change.
Ginger was delirious with preparations and ignored both of them while Fred sent them apologetic looks and offered to iron his hands for the both of them. At seven, everything was ready-including Harry-and he and Sirius were waiting in the antechamber for the arrival of the Smiths.
They flooed in right on time, and a flurry of welcomes and thank yous were passed around the adults as Zacharias studied Harry and Harry studied him right back.
“Smith,” he said flatly.
Zacharias nodded. “Potter.” He raked his eyes down Harry’s form. “You’re looking well.”
Harry snorted. He hadn’t believed it at first, but Sirius was right. The Smiths looked straight out of a fairy-tale with their clothes. Zacharias was dressed similarly, but wasn’t fidgeting in the clothes because he was obviously more comfortable in them. Harry really wished he was wearing robes.
They went to the parlour for pre-dinner drinks and exchanged pleasantries, where Yasmin explained that she worked for the Department of Wizarding Education in the Ministry, until Ginger called them in for dinner at half seven. Sirius was an amazing host and Harry didn’t know how he felt about that.
“So, Harry,” Yasmin Smith spoke up during the salad course. Harry looked up at her and tried to smile, despite how much he didn’t like her son. “Zacharias tells us that you were raised by muggles. How do you find living in the wizarding world different from the muggle world?”
Harry had expected her to ask how he liked muggles in general or how he liked his relatives. He hadn’t expected a genuinely decent question from her and was thrown off guard by it. But he refused to make himself look like a fool by ‘umming’ and ‘erring’ through an answer so he collected his thoughts before he replied.
“Muggles make up for their lack of magic rather well, I think,” he said slowly. She nodded and smiled so he continued. “Instead of candles, they have electricity, which is basically energy. A lot like magic, actually. It’s-somewhat like contained lightning. Muggles use that for a lot of the things wizards just wave a wand for. It’s more complicated, but gets similar results. I suppose, to answer your question, the only difference is that muggles have to work harder to get what we get with a wave of a wand.”
“That’s very interesting, Harry,” Xavier Smith spoke up. “Would you say that muggles are coping with their lack of magic admirably?”
“I would,” Harry agreed nodding. “Actually, the human body-well, at least the muggle human body-works on electricity. All of our senses are powered by internal electricity, so I suppose that’s how they were able to learn to use it in such a way…by studying their bodies, I mean.”
All of the adults looked thoughtful. Finally, Xavier spoke up again. “That’s a very interesting theory. I wonder if it’s the same with wizards-this e-lek-trisity, I mean.”
There was a pregnant silence while the adults mulled over this until Yasmin broke it by complimenting Sirius on the décor of the formal dining room, and Harry sighed in relief, glad that the attention was no longer focused on him.
“What are you taking this year, Potter?” Zacharias asked some time later.
Harry looked up. “Classes, you mean?” Zacharias nodded. “Advanced Transfigurations, Charms, DADA and Potions, and Beginning Arithmancy.”
Zacharias nodded thoughtfully, as if he might actually care. “I’ve got all of those except Potions. I’m taking Divination and History of Magic instead.”
Harry shuddered. “I’m so glad I’m out of those two classes. I wish I could get out of Potions, too, but I need it if I want to become an auror.”
Zacharias chuckled and took a sip of his sparkling water. “So the rumours are true, then? You’re going to be an auror?”
Harry shrugged. “Unless something better comes along.”
After dinner, the adults retreated back into the parlour for even more drinks and Harry was forced to entertain Zacharias further. He hadn’t been acting like such a snot, but Harry still wasn’t happy about it. They went out to the veranda and played a few games of Exploding Snap while Harry tried to think of something to talk about.
He couldn’t. His mind was entirely focused on something else.
-x-
Excerpt from the Journal of a Necromancer, 1st page.
1 January, 845
S,
It has been seven days since your passing.
The others insist that your death remain secret so as not to cause fear. They declared that you have gone out to search for allies in the moors and fens. I try to smile encouragingly when they do so, and wish you luck on your trip. It is difficult.
It is such a frightening time for all of us, and your death will only frighten the young ones more. We spend our nights, as I am sure you remember, hidden away in our beds-sleeping, always, with one eye opened. The muggles are close-we can feel them as we never could before…you. Before any of that happened.
Our magic is the only thing that separates us, so why are we tormented so? A woman from the village-Marilyn Meriwether, you remember her-has a son who should have begun Hogwarts this fall. He will not; he has shown no signs of magic. How will he survive? He knows nothing of muggles and nothing of magic. He’s alone in this world and we fear for him.
Leo mourns you still, though he is stubborn and refuses to admit it so. He remembers the bickering between you, and I think it soothes his soul sometimes. I find him in the kitchens on occasion sipping tea with his hair tangled and flowing about his face as if he has not washed in days. I do not approach him yet, as he roared at the Nag so fiercely when she did that I felt it in my own best interests to give him space. I think he mourns you nearly as much as I do.
And she has not badgered him since.
I, however, Beloved, have spent the last seven days mourning as a proper witch should and refuse to mourn longer. Why should I, when in fact, you will not remain dead? I smile as I write this because I know it true. I will find a way, Beloved. I will-if not for you or me, then for your son, who even now grows in my womb.
You will see him one day soon, and you will know he is yours. He will look just like you, of that I am sure.
Love always,
R
-x-
Later that night, Harry thought. The conversation at dinner with the Smiths had created more questions than answers. He hadn’t even been thinking about what he was saying at the time, but now that he did, he was curious.
Did wizards’ bodies work with electricity or with magic? Hermione had told him once that without their magic, most wizards died. During the reign of Grindelwald, a lot of wizards were executed by stripping them of their magic. It was barbaric, but efficient, Harry thought.
So, if muggles couldn’t live without the electricity in their bodies and wizards couldn’t live without the magic in their bodies, then did that just mean that instead of electricity, wizard bodies were powered on magic? Harry decided to ask the one person who might have looked into such a thing, and called out to Voldemort with his mind.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Voldemort answered thoughtfully. “Honestly, I’ve never even thought of anything like that before. I never had much of a muggle education, so I was unaware that their bodies did indeed work with electricity.”
“Do you suppose,” Harry asked slowly as he sipped his tasteless, texture-less tea, “that magic is really just another form of energy like electricity?”
“Magic is certainly a form of energy,” Voldemort answered in an almost lecturing tone. “The question is, on what wavelength does magic work? How dissimilar is it to electricity?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know, but I was thinking that it might be like blood types.”
Voldemort looked at him, red eyes blinking in confusion. “You know-people have all sorts of different blood types, but it’s not hereditary,” Harry continued. “Sometimes mothers have A+ type blood and their baby will have AB- even though the baby is made with the mother and father’s DNA.” Harry shrugged. “Or some other variation, you know.”
Voldemort was still quiet, so Harry kept talking, not even really thinking about what he was saying, but trying to get all of his ideas out at once. “I mean, what if that’s the reason that squibs are born? What if, instead of having magical energy like their parents, they have electrical energy?”
“If that were the case,” Voldemort said slowly, “I would expect that is the same with mudbloods.” Harry glared. “Muggle-born, then,” Voldemort correctly carelessly.
Harry shrugged. “Maybe.”
“That’s a very interesting theory, Potter.” And Harry snorted because he’d heard that once already that day. “What could we do with this information, supposing it’s correct?” Voldemort mused to himself. Nagini was on his lap and he was stroking her head as he thought.
Harry shrugged again, as he seemed to do that a lot around Voldemort. “I dunno,” he said somewhat sarcastically. “We could adjust energy wavelengths to give squibs magic.”
Voldemort stared at him sharply. “Do you think?”
“No,” Harry answered. “I was being sarcastic. I don’t think it would be possible. It’s just a theory.”
Voldemort hummed noncommittally and changed the subject, although the new one was not much better. “Have you just now hit puberty, Potter?”
“What?!” Harry squawked indignantly.
“Puberty, Potter,” Voldemort said with the patience of a monk. “You look different. I can’t put my finger on what.”
“I got a haircut,” Harry offered hopefully.
Voldemort shook his head. “No, no-that’s not it…although I do like the red. It looks like blood dripping off your hair.” Harry scowled and Voldemort cackled delightedly. “Your face looks a bit different. More defined, I’d say. Sharper.”
Harry scowled. “I hate to disappoint you, but I hit puberty years ago.”
Voldemort gave the equivalent of a shrug. “I believe I’m losing you, Potter,” he nodded towards Harry’s fingers which were indeed beginning to flicker in and out of existence.
“You never had me,” Harry said quietly, right before he faded completely.
-x-
The next morning, Harry received a letter from Snape.
And if that wasn’t not only unheard of, but also unwelcome, the reasoning for the letter was. Snape, on Dumbledore’s orders, was coming for a visit. Harry, eyes wide and jaw hanging to the floor, stared at the letter for several minutes in stunned silence. It was as curt and impolite as usual, but Harry could have handled that if only the last line hadn’t read, ‘Headmaster Dumbledore has asked that I stop by to check on your progress. As much as it pains me, I cannot refuse a direct order, and thus, shall arrive at ten a.m. sharp.’
“I can’t believe this!” Sirius growled, snatching the letter from Harry’s hands to read it for himself. “What right does Dumbledore have to send Snivellus to check up on my parenting skills?”
Harry looked up at the clock on the far wall. It was five minutes until ten. “I don’t know,” he muttered hopelessly, “but he’s going to be here in five minutes.”
Sirius stomped out of the kitchen, growling and muttering to himself along the way. Harry looked up at the clock again-two minutes. How did time go by so quickly? With deliberate slowness, he made his way to the antechamber to receive Snape. Snape was punctual as usual.
“Potter,” he said curtly, dusting himself off from the floo. Harry nodded dumbly.
“Professor.”
Snape shot him a glare. “Where’s your mutt of a godfather?” he asked.
Harry scowled. “He didn’t wish to see you.”
Snape came very close to snorting with laughter. “I assure you, the feeling is mutual.” He looked around the antechamber in distaste and then turned back to Harry. “Are you not going to invite me to sit?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he said, and led Snape to the parlour where he flopped down on the divan and gestured for Snape to sit wherever he liked. Snape chose the armchair directly across from him.
“You didn’t tell me Sirius was alive,” Harry said, trying to keep the accusation from his voice. They still weren’t on great terms, and as Harry didn’t take Occlumency with Snape anymore, they only saw each other in class-which was just fine with both of them.
“Orders,” Snape simply.
Harry, quite sure that Snape would have told him it was none of his business, was thrown. “Why?” he asked instead, feeling lucky.
Snape smiled sardonically-it was truly a gruesome sight-and settled back into his chair. Harry more confused than before, watched him warily. “If you should truly like to know-and I imagine that being a Gryffindor,” he sneered, “you should-then I shall tell you that Headmaster Dumbledore works in mysterious ways.”
“Isn’t God the one who’s supposed to work in mysterious ways?” Harry asked snidely.
“If one believes in God, then who is to say that Albus Dumbledore is not him?” Snape countered with a raised eyebrow. “Certainly, he likes to think of himself as such.”
Before the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries, Harry would have been highly offended at that, but now, he could only manage a weak sneer. But Snape, ever the Slytherin, had still not answered Harry’s question. “Why didn’t Dumbledore want me to know?”
Snape gave the equivalent of a shrug and changed the subject. “I am here to assess whether or not you are safe and happy,” he sneered, “and that you are maintaining your studies.”
Harry noticed the evasion and decided not to press his luck. “I’m happy. I’m pretty sure I’m safe, and there’s a three-story library at my disposal.”
“But are you utilizing it?” Snape queried. Harry nodded, remembering the odd skin-bound book he’d found the week before. “Very well, Potter. I shall give my report to the Headmaster post haste.” He stood and walked over to the parlour window where down below Sirius could be seen in Padfoot form fighting over the body of a gnome with Fred. Harry followed him over and looked out as well.
“Were you aware, Potter,” Snape spoke up quietly, “that the more that is taken from an animal, the more they will fight to keep what they have? Certainly, it’s not merely restricted to animals-humans are the same way. They fight for what is theirs.”
He turned, nodded curtly to Harry, and exited the room. “I shall see myself out,” he called from the hallway; Harry nodded dumbly, still staring down at Sirius in the garden and wondering if Snape was answering his earlier question or just spouting trivia.
-x-
A/N:
1. Magic Eyes are those really awesome posters and calendars that show pictures if you stare at them the right way. They’re made by creating a greyscale 2D picture and then overlaying a very complex algorithmic pattern. To see them, you have to put them up to your nose and focus as if you were staring into the distance. Then you slowly pull your face away and, if you’ve focused correctly, the underlayed picture will appear.
NEXT CHAPTER
Chapter Title: Black Coat 03/14
Words (this chapter): 7,416
Rating (this chapter): R (for language)
Story Info/All Chapters: HERE
Beta’d by littlevlahgirl and amelancholykiss.
-x-
Black, in the Smothering Dark
-x-
Chapter Three
Black Coat
-x-
At breakfast the next morning, when Sirius was pouring his second cup of coffee and trying to figure out what he was going to do about his godson, the letter came. The envelope was stark white and perfectly creased with green ink and a Hogwarts seal, and when the owl landed on the table between him and a bowl of cold oatmeal, the blood in his veins felt a little bit colder.
“Took you long enough,” he muttered to the owl just as Harry stumbled into the kitchen and flopped down sleepily across from him. Harry was staring at the owl with an undisguised look of anger. He didn’t look afraid-didn’t seem to care what Dumbledore obviously had to say or if he would try to drag him back to the Dursleys, but he seemed angry enough about it.
“What’s it say, then?” Harry asked with feigned casualness and a nod of his head to the envelope. Sirius glared at him and did his best to reach around the owl-still holding its leg out-to his oatmeal. “Go on, open it. I’d like to hear what he has to say.”
“Fine,” Sirius mumbled and untied the letter, ripping it open carelessly and tossing the envelope aside. “It says,” he began, skimming the letter, eyes widening every few seconds, “that he hopes that we’ve enjoyed our vacation and here’s your school list.”
Harry gaped. “You’re fucking kidding me,” he exclaimed, ignoring Sirius’ unconcerned chiding of ‘mind your fucking language’. “That’s all Dumbledore says? No explanation? No ‘go back to the Dursleys’? No ‘oh, I forgot to mention, your godfather isn’t actually dead’?”
Sirius shook his head. “Nope. None of that. But he does say you’ll need dress robes this year.”
Harry gaped. “Un-fucking-believable.” He angrily snatched a hot bowl of oatmeal from Fred, and immediately regretted it when he remembered what Fred had to put up with from Ginger. “Sorry, Fred,” he muttered and returned his attention back to his godfather, oblivious to the delighted grinning from the house-elf.
He sighed and changed the subject. “So-we’ve got the rest of the summer and it’s only the second week of July. What’re we gonna do?” he asked as he dug in to his breakfast. Sirius wrinkled his nose as he watched.
“We could start with teaching you proper table manners.”
Harry laughed. “Yeah? Suppose I could use some of those. Which spoon should I use?”
“The one Fred’s holding out for you,” Sirius replied flatly. Harry looked down. Fred was indeed holding out a spoon for him. He looked between the spoon he was currently eating with and the one being offered to him. With a resigned sigh, Harry accepted the spoon and held it up to inspect it.
It was polished silver with a little ‘B’ encircled in thorns on the handle.
“You pure-bloods are so bloody snotty,” he muttered. Sirius laughed.
“You’re pure-blooded, too, and even James knew which piece of cutlery to use.” Harry scowled at his godfather, which earned him another laugh. “Come on, kiddo,” Sirius said with another laugh. “It won’t kill you. Besides, you’ll need it for all of those fancy dinners you’ll get invited to after you save the world.”
With one final scowl, Harry relented, and they spent the rest of the morning practicing how to eat properly-which Harry thought was entirely useless, but watching Sirius acting so proper was entertaining enough for him to play along.
At dinner that night, Harry didn’t even realise that he’d automatically eaten his salad with the correct fork and switched when the main meal came up. Sirius smirked behind his wine glass and decided not to say anything.
-x-
River House had three floors, with the sleeping quarters on the second and the living quarters on the main floor. The elf and servant quarters were on the top floor along with a small owlery and observation tower.
Sirius had picked out a study for himself on the main floor, declaring cheekily that he was Lord of the Manor-even though it was an archaic term-and every lord should have his own study, while Harry, having discovered an extensive, if archaic, library on their second day there, spent most of his time flipping through old books. His gothic-style reading chair was a perfect fit for the room.
The library of River House was fast becoming Harry’s favourite place. It was massive-three stories tall with books stacked on shelves from floor to ceiling and bigger than the entire Dursley residence. The walls-what little could be seen for all the books-were dark wood panelled and the floor was the same sort of smooth black stone that the exterior of the house was made from, and that Harry couldn’t name but was certain was an expensive feature.
There was a spiralling iron staircase right in the middle of the room that wound up from the ground floor to a loft with a reading nook and more books. The third floor was reached by ladder from the second floor and contained-so far as Harry could tell-the darker books, which was ironic because in the early morning, the sun struck the windows and a huge skylight in the ceiling just right to make the room almost unbearably bright.
The first floor was dedicated to transfiguration and potions texts with a corner full of wizarding romance novels-Harry had no idea who included those-while the second floor was charms, hexes and a bit of divinations. But the third floor-the third floor was the best because not only did it house all of the not-quite-illegal-but-certainly-dark-books, it also had a decent-sized section devoted to the Black family history.
It was during one of his daily trips to the library-which Harry had been conducting since they arrived a week prior-that he stumbled across something intriguing. It was stuffed to the back behind a dark potions book written by someone so obviously paranoid that they’d published it only under the initials R.A.B.
Harry pushed the book aside and peered behind it. He could see something glinting in the light of the room and he reached back carefully to retrieve it. There was no telling what kind of hexes the Blacks felt were necessary on their things, so being careful wouldn’t really do much good if it were indeed hexed, but Harry liked to kid himself in those kind of ways.
It was another book-which Harry really didn’t think he should be too surprised about-but it was different because it didn’t look to be bound in paper. When he touched it, his hand didn’t explode, and he figured it was okay to grab it, so he did, pulling it carefully from its hiding place.
Harry sat back and studied the cover, feeling simultaneously more intrigued and more disgusted. It wasn’t bound with paper, no, it was bound with skin. And it glinted in the light as if it had been bronzed at one time. There was no title or writing at all on the cover, so he flipped it open.
Inside, written in a barely decipherable archaic script, it read, ‘For you, my Darling, because even if you are no longer with me, part of you will always be here.’ Harry cringed, wondering who would preserve their dead lover by turning their skin into a book, but he was damnably interested and didn’t put it down.
For hours, Harry read despite himself because it was better than Salinger by bounds-even if it was rather macabre.
It was love letters-a whole collection of them written to a dead man in a painfully helpless voice. Some were hopeful-she seemed to think she could resurrect him. And it was quite possible that she could because there were notes and theories on necromancy interspersed throughout.
When Fred called him down to dinner, Harry wasn’t even a quarter of the way through. Carefully, he closed the book and stuck it in a pocket in his robes for later reading and headed downstairs for dinner.
Sirius was already waiting at the table, dressed in some raggedy muggle blue jeans with his hair tied up in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Harry suddenly realised that he’d been tricked into getting his hair cut when his godfather had totally skipped out on it.
He growled, low in his throat, as he approached the table.
“What’ve you been up to?” he asked casually as he naturally picked up his soup spoon and tentatively tested it. It wasn’t too hot so he continued with less hesitancy.
Sirius grinned at him from across the table. “I was working in the garden,” he said easily.
Harry was not impressed. “A likely story,” he insinuated.
“Right, well, actually Fred was working in the garden and I was digging up everything he planted. We found gnomes,” he added excitedly.
Harry laughed, imagining Padfoot being absolutely irritating and poor Fred being absolutely at the end of his rope. “Did you get rid of the gnomes, then?”
“I ate one,” Sirius admitted sheepishly. “Well-not so much ate it ate it…more like destroyed it ate it.” He shuddered suddenly. “Dreadful tasting creatures-Fred got rid of the rest with a snap of his fingers. He said he sent them to France.”
Harry laughed again. “I didn’t know you had anything against the French.”
“I don’t,” Sirius admitted mock-haughtily. “Fred does.”
They continued eating, Ginger delivering the main course with the sort of elaborate fanfare as only a woman could, until Sirius remembered something.
“Oh!” he said excitedly, remembering to swallow everything in his mouth first-because sometimes he could still hear his mother reprimanding him in his head when he didn’t-“I met our neighbours.”
“We have neighbours?” Harry asked because he couldn’t remember any other homes in the area. They were in a pretty secluded spot, after all.
“Yeah,” Sirius answered. “Xavier and Yasmin Smith. They live on the other side of the crags, and they have a son about your age at Hogwarts.”
Harry mentally ran through a list of all the boys he could think of at Hogwarts. The only Smith he could remember was… “Don’t tell me his name is Zacharias,” he said flatly.
Sirius grinned, nodding his head emphatically. “Yeah, so you know him?”
“Unfortunately,” Harry muttered. “Snotty little bastard.” He remembered Zacharias Smith from the D.A. in fifth year, and that was enough for him.
“Glad you like them,” Sirius said, “because I invited them for dinner tomorrow night.”
Harry moaned pathetically and put his head in his hands, somehow managing to keep his elbows off of the table. “Isn’t that a little…risky? I mean…you are a dead, wanted criminal.”
Sirius waved a dismissive hand. “They already recognized me. Gave me a right fright, but they didn’t seem to care. They thought it was rather funny, actually. Said they weren’t afraid of me because they weren’t Potters or muggles.”
Harry laughed humourlessly. “Wonderful.”
-x-
What Sirius meant when he said that the Smiths lived on the other side of the crags, was that the Smiths lived on the other side of the A720, which was a good twenty kilometres away. Harry didn’t think that made them so much neighbours as it made them people who lived in the same country. A lot of people lived in Surrey, and he didn’t consider a one of them neighbours except for Mrs. Figg, which was why Harry was even more disgruntled that they’d been invited to dinner. He didn’t have a lot of good experience with neighbours.
Sirius had become rather frantic about playing the perfect host. He’d had Ginger running around preparing and changing menus all day while Fred completed the front gardens. Harry supposed it was his upbringing coming to the forefront now that he was back in a family home that he respected, and did his best to stay out of the way.
Unfortunately, Sirius had other plans.
“You’re not wearing that tonight,” he said to Harry sometime after lunch when Harry was sprawled out on a comfortable chaise lounge on the veranda reading some of his muggle literature. Harry raised a lazy eyebrow and stared at his godfather.
“I’ve got some jeans and a jumper I can wear,” he said with a shrug.
Sirius shook his head emphatically. “No, no, no,” he said. “The Smiths were acquaintances of my grandfather. Old house-you can’t wear jeans to dinner when you’re hosting people like them.”
Harry stared at Sirius incredulously. “When did you become Martha Stewart?”
Sirius scrunched his nose in confusion. “Who’s she?”
Harry waved his hand dismissively and sat up straight, dropping his book to the ground in the process. “Are you serious?” he asked incredulously. Sirius started to grin and Harry waved him off again, irritated. “Don’t…that’s a horrible pun. I mean, are you really going to make me dress up all…fancy…just to eat dinner with some old pure-bloods and their snotty son?”
For his credit, Sirius did look at least slightly sheepish. “C’mon, kiddo,” he said pleadingly. “I can’t help it.”
Harry gaped. “You could’ve, you know, not invited them to dinner,” Harry said sarcastically. Sirius looked torn, and Harry almost felt bad about being a brat, but the annoyance he felt at his godfather trying to change him overwhelmed it quickly.
“No,” Sirius said, shaking his head, frustrated. “It would’ve been an incredible faux pas.” He hesitated, and then turned on the puppy-dog eyes, which, admittedly, suited him. “Please, Harry! Do this for me, kiddo. James wouldn’t want me to let you run around dressed like that anyway.”
“Are you manipulating me?” Harry asked suspiciously.
“No,” Sirius answered quickly-too quickly.
“You are,” Harry answered, eyes narrowed, “but I’ll go along with it. I don’t care about the clothes, you know. If you’d wanted me to buy new clothes, you just had to say so. The only reason I never did before was because at the Dursley’s I never had the money, and after that I didn’t want the Dursleys to know I had money. You don’t have to manipulate me into doing it.”
He stood up quickly from his lounge chair and glared at Sirius. “Come on then. Let’s go. If I’m putting up with tailors all afternoon, then you are, too. You look just as bad as I do.”
Sirius whimpered, and followed him, casting a glamour on himself, but leaving Harry alone in case he attacked physically.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered once they were on the gravel drive leading off the manor property and Sirius had caught up with Harry. Harry didn’t answer, but kept walking. He waved at Fred, tending the rose bushes, as they passed, but made no further acknowledgements to either.
“I’m really sorry,” Sirius said again, this time with more emphasis.
Harry shot him another glare. “Don’t be sorry; just don’t try to manipulate me. I’m so bloody tired of being manipulated…be it by you or Dumbledore with that dratted prophecy or Snape and his mind games…” Harry ranted, mostly to himself, but Sirius cringed and winced appropriately.
Sirius waited until Harry had quieted and was only stomping along and breathing heavily before he voiced a concern. “Prophecy?” he questioned hesitantly.
Harry turned to look at him sharply. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything about that,” he muttered.
They walked along for several more minutes, Sirius straining to keep up, when Harry finally threw his arms up in the air and sighed loudly.
“It says I have to defeat the Dark Lord or else he’ll defeat me,” he growled. Sirius’ eyebrows shot up and his eyes grew wide.
“You have to kill or be killed then?” Sirius asked faintly.
Harry shot him another look. “Yes, no, yes…I don’t know,” he said angrily. “Prophecies are tricky. To defeat doesn’t necessarily mean ‘kill’ but,” he shrugged, “It’ll probably come down to that. I don’t know how else he could be defeated, and I’m certainly not going down without a fight.”
Sirius winced and followed meekly after that. He was working through all sorts of scenarios-mostly bad, but some rather humorous because Sirius was naturally an optimistic person-when his godson sighed again.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Harry said, sounding a great deal calmer and certainly more composed.
“Like what?” Sirius asked in relief. They were finally approaching Edinburgh proper and the Burning Man was only a five minute’s walk away. Harry sent him a wicked grin.
“Like what you’re going to get me for my birthday,” he answered casually.
Sirius choked and sputtered for a couple seconds. “Who says I’m getting you anything at all?” he tried to ask innocently, but Harry sent him another grin when he caught the red flush on Sirius’ face that proved his godfather was anything but innocent. “How old are you going to be again? Fifteen?”
Harry smacked his shoulder. “Seventeen!” he answered indignantly. “You know that! I’ll be able to use magic outside of Hogwarts!”
Sirius laughed. “I know, kiddo,” he said. “What do you want then?”
Harry shrugged with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. “I dunno. I want to be taller.”
Sirius laughed again. “You have been growing-nearly as tall as me now. Maybe you just hit your growth spurt late.” Sensing that Harry really didn’t care how tall he was, Sirius bumped him with his shoulder and grinned. “What do you really want?”
“A really big porn collection…”
“Harry!” Sirius laughed, cuffing the back of his head. Harry ducked and grinned at him.
“I guess I want to know things,” Harry finally answered with a shrug. “I felt kind of stupid today for not knowing ‘proper etiquette’,” he said, quoting with his fingers, “even though I think it’s stupid. I mean…my parents were a part of this world and I know almost nothing about it. I know the spells that are taught in school and whatever Ron or Hermione just happen to mention.
“I mean,” Harry continued, “even Ron knows all these cooking and cleaning charms and Hermione knows some pretty cool jinxes.” He shrugged again. “I just kind of want to fit in more. If my parents were both pure-blooded then I don’t want to disappoint them.”
“You aren’t disappointing them,” Sirius said easily.
“I know,” Harry said, hands back in his pockets, “but I want to know the things they knew…the things they would have taught me if they had raised me.”
Sirius nodded and they walked the rest of the way to Eweforic Alley in silence. The Burning Man was packed this time and they had to push their way through to the men’s room, but fortunately, with Harry’s new haircut, his scar was covered and they received no awkward looks.
They had nearly made it to the door marked ‘The Evil’ when a scuffle broke out in front of them and Harry was knocked backwards into Sirius. They tumbled backwards and his glasses fell off his face. The barman ran up and broke it up quickly, but Harry couldn’t find his glasses again, and when Sirius finally located them, they were crushed.
“Damn it,” Harry said, squinting his eyes. Sirius ushered him through to Eweforic Alley and took Harry’s broken glasses from him.
“Reparo,” Sirius said once they were in the safety of the wizarding world. Nothing happened and both Sirius and Harry wrinkled their brows in confusion. Sirius pointed his wand closer and repeated the incantation, thinking that perhaps he just hadn’t spoken the incantation correctly, though he seriously doubted it.
When it didn’t work a second time, Harry looked up at his godfather questioningly-or at least, he thought he was looking at his godfather. He couldn’t be entirely sure. “Why isn’t it working?”
Sirius shrugged. “How many times have you repaired them?” he asked.
“I dunno,” Harry replied. “A lot.”
Sirius laughed. “You can only repair glass so many times before it’s irreparable. You’ll just have to get new ones.”
Harry scowled. “And you just expect me to stumble around blind until then, do you?”
“There used to be a wizarding optometrist in Eweforic Alley. We could see if they’re still around.”
Harry mumbled a petulant ‘fine’ and trotted off after Sirius, but he only made it a few steps before he stumbled over…something…and fell flat on his face. Sirius guffawed loudly and Harry glared at him the best he could. He stumbled again trying to get up, and Sirius finally found a heart and helped him stand.
“Come on, kiddo,” Sirius said with a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be your Seeing Eye dog.”
“You’re not properly trained,” Harry growled, but let himself be lead along anyway. He had no idea where or even in which direction they were going, but he did see a few interesting fuzzy blobs on the way. Fortunately, whether or not Sirius was a trained Seeing Eye dog or not, Harry only ran into one person, and he had a feeling Sirius planned that one anyway. He mumbled a weak ‘sorry’ and allowed himself to be tugged along.
“Aha!” Sirius proclaimed suddenly, jerking to a stop and snickering when Harry walked into him. “This is it. The Magic Eye.”
Harry grumbled and stumbled inside. They were greeted by a receptionist that Harry thought might be a redhead, but couldn’t be entirely sure. Sirius explained the situation because Harry was still pouting, and after some paperwork, they were led back to a private area. A chipper wizard bounced in several minutes later and attacked the situation with the utmost finesse.
“Well then!” he crowed, and Harry winced because he could hear the man, but he couldn’t tell where exactly he was. That was the problem with having three optometrist wizards in front of him due to his shoddy vision. “What seems to be the problem, then?”
“I can’t see,” Harry grumbled at the same time as Sirius said, “The boy can’t see.”
Harry was almost certain that they were both shot a significantly dirty look.
“Right then,” the wizard said cheerfully again. “Have a look at these charts then and tell me what you can see.”
Harry looked. “A big white square with some greyish hieroglyphics.”
The optometrist frowned, but Harry didn’t see that. “What sorts of hieroglyphics?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. Can’t read Egyptian.”
“Hmm,” the wizard said significantly. “Those are actually letters written in the Minister’s English.” He pointed his wand at Harry’s face, and Harry would’ve taken on a defensive stance if he was able to see it, but he wasn’t, so he just sat there. He jumped when he felt something tingling in his eyes. “What can you see now, boy?” the wizard asked.
Harry looked back at the chart. “English hieroglyphics.” The wizard hummed and cast more spells, and finally, a half hour later, Harry was able to read the letters on the chart.
“Dreadful eyesight,” the wizard proclaimed seriously. Harry didn’t see a point in denying that, so he stayed quiet, and fortunately, Sirius did too. “The way I see it-and I do,” he added with a chuckle, “because I’m a wizarding optometrist, you see, you’ve a few options. We’ve got a procedure that would completely correct your vision. It’s complex, but with a high success rate. The only problem with that would be that it takes a week to recover from it.
“Or,” he continued, “we could give you wizarding contacts. They’re similar to muggle contacts, only instead of a synthetic lens fitted over the eye, it’s a temporary spell that creates a magical lens. The spell lasts for six months at which point you would have to return to have it renewed.
“Lastly-we could just fit you for another set of glasses.” The wizard shrugged, and since he hadn’t yet removed the last spell on Harry’s eyes, Harry could see him do it. Harry looked at Sirius.
“I like having glasses.”
“Your choice, kiddo,” Sirius said with a shrug. “Any would be fine with me, only it would be a little difficult for us to work around the permanent procedure right now…that is if you want to be able to see on your birthday, of course.
“If you just like wearing glasses,” the optometrist spoke up, “we’ve got another option. We could fit you for both the contact lenses and the glasses. You could wear your glasses whenever you wanted, and if you ever lost them or broke them, the lenses would adjust accordingly. You would be able to see with or without the glasses.”
Harry and Sirius agreed to that, but the only problem was that Harry’s old glasses were so horribly out of style, that they didn’t even make them anymore-or indeed anything even remotely similar. In the end, Harry accepted a pair of thin wire-framed glasses that were nearly indestructible. They even adjusted in sunlight to act as sunglasses.
So, when Harry could see again, Sirius paid and they headed to the other end of Eweforic Alley, passing the various shops selling everything from ice-cream to coffee to pets to kitchenware, to buy something appropriate for dinner with the Smiths. Harry wasn’t very excited about that.
But he was excited about hearing what Sirius had to say about wizarding wear. He’d always just worn muggle clothes under his robes, but was intrigued to learn that many old wizarding families still dressed in a hodgepodge of styles varying from Elizabethan to Georgian to French Renaissance to-in some rare cases-medieval. And that included the waistcoats, cravats and half-length trousers with leather boots.
Harry didn’t know how he felt about that. Apparently, Sirius was one of those wizards who grew up dressing like that, and when they entered the first clothier and were spotted by a woman in a whale-bone bodice, he became a little scared. Just what exactly had he agreed to when he said he’d allow Sirius to buy him something to wear to dinner?
“I draw the line at codpieces,” he warned Sirius quietly. Sirius snorted and shook his head.
“There’ll be none of those. A lot of this is only worn for formal occasions. Day to day wear for women still includes the skirts and bodices, but men can wear tunics and trousers.”
“What about blue jeans?” Harry asked. He could not see himself running around like a pirate every day.
Sirius shrugged, “You won’t see the Smiths or the Malfoys in blue jeans, but I don’t really care what you wear normally.”
Harry scowled. “Like I want to be like either of them,” but he didn’t get a chance to say anything more because the bodice-clad shopkeeper had grown impatient and bustled over to see to them.
“How are you lads today then?” she asked with a thick Scottish brogue. “What can I do for you?”
“Formal dinner,” Sirius answered promptly, surprising Harry when he dropped into a haughty, almost Malfoy-ish drawl. He furrowed his brows in confusion and wondered if all the old ‘Noble’ houses were able to do this. There was certainly a lot to his godfather that he didn’t know. “With a Scottish noble house.”
The shopkeeper nodded understandingly-even though Harry was still confused-and hurried them over to the fitting area. Harry climbed up onto the stool complacently and sighed. Maybe if she just let his mind wander off, it would be over sooner. No such luck.
He was poked and prodded and even stuck with pins a couple times and it was impossible to forget where he was. In the end, he just watched the shopkeeper lace him up in leather trousers, tunics, waistcoats, cravats, boots and other things that he didn’t even know the name for. Sirius was getting the same treatment, but seemed to be less irritated by it.
“Green-to go with your eyes, I think,” the shopkeeper muttered as she was studying two different frock coats.
Harry looked up. One was blue and one was green, but they both had too much lace for Harry’s taste. “I don’t like either of those.” He nodded towards another frock coat in black with silver buttons up the sleeves, red embroidery along the hems and a minimum of frills on the rest of it. “I like that one.”
Sirius snorted. “Those are different styles. You’re wearing a Georgian-influenced ensemble and the frock coat is Imperial Navy.”
Harry didn’t know the difference, nor did he care, so he just glared.
“It’s just dinner. He can do without the coat, but wrap up the black one for him, anyway if he likes it,” Sirius told the woman. She looked to Harry for confirmation and he nodded because he really did like it. It was kind of interesting and way better than the raggedy old coats he usually wore in autumn.
Sirius had talked him into picking up a couple of new shirts and some black adamantine-toed boots that could not only kick the shit out of someone, but were also silent at all times-not a sound, even running across broken glass or dry leaves. Finally, they were done.
The packages were sent on to the house, but Harry insisted on wearing the new coat and boots home. He wasn’t about to admit it, but he loved them and they looked fetching with his blue jeans. It was late afternoon when they got back, and Sirius immediately ushered Harry up the stairs to change.
Ginger was delirious with preparations and ignored both of them while Fred sent them apologetic looks and offered to iron his hands for the both of them. At seven, everything was ready-including Harry-and he and Sirius were waiting in the antechamber for the arrival of the Smiths.
They flooed in right on time, and a flurry of welcomes and thank yous were passed around the adults as Zacharias studied Harry and Harry studied him right back.
“Smith,” he said flatly.
Zacharias nodded. “Potter.” He raked his eyes down Harry’s form. “You’re looking well.”
Harry snorted. He hadn’t believed it at first, but Sirius was right. The Smiths looked straight out of a fairy-tale with their clothes. Zacharias was dressed similarly, but wasn’t fidgeting in the clothes because he was obviously more comfortable in them. Harry really wished he was wearing robes.
They went to the parlour for pre-dinner drinks and exchanged pleasantries, where Yasmin explained that she worked for the Department of Wizarding Education in the Ministry, until Ginger called them in for dinner at half seven. Sirius was an amazing host and Harry didn’t know how he felt about that.
“So, Harry,” Yasmin Smith spoke up during the salad course. Harry looked up at her and tried to smile, despite how much he didn’t like her son. “Zacharias tells us that you were raised by muggles. How do you find living in the wizarding world different from the muggle world?”
Harry had expected her to ask how he liked muggles in general or how he liked his relatives. He hadn’t expected a genuinely decent question from her and was thrown off guard by it. But he refused to make himself look like a fool by ‘umming’ and ‘erring’ through an answer so he collected his thoughts before he replied.
“Muggles make up for their lack of magic rather well, I think,” he said slowly. She nodded and smiled so he continued. “Instead of candles, they have electricity, which is basically energy. A lot like magic, actually. It’s-somewhat like contained lightning. Muggles use that for a lot of the things wizards just wave a wand for. It’s more complicated, but gets similar results. I suppose, to answer your question, the only difference is that muggles have to work harder to get what we get with a wave of a wand.”
“That’s very interesting, Harry,” Xavier Smith spoke up. “Would you say that muggles are coping with their lack of magic admirably?”
“I would,” Harry agreed nodding. “Actually, the human body-well, at least the muggle human body-works on electricity. All of our senses are powered by internal electricity, so I suppose that’s how they were able to learn to use it in such a way…by studying their bodies, I mean.”
All of the adults looked thoughtful. Finally, Xavier spoke up again. “That’s a very interesting theory. I wonder if it’s the same with wizards-this e-lek-trisity, I mean.”
There was a pregnant silence while the adults mulled over this until Yasmin broke it by complimenting Sirius on the décor of the formal dining room, and Harry sighed in relief, glad that the attention was no longer focused on him.
“What are you taking this year, Potter?” Zacharias asked some time later.
Harry looked up. “Classes, you mean?” Zacharias nodded. “Advanced Transfigurations, Charms, DADA and Potions, and Beginning Arithmancy.”
Zacharias nodded thoughtfully, as if he might actually care. “I’ve got all of those except Potions. I’m taking Divination and History of Magic instead.”
Harry shuddered. “I’m so glad I’m out of those two classes. I wish I could get out of Potions, too, but I need it if I want to become an auror.”
Zacharias chuckled and took a sip of his sparkling water. “So the rumours are true, then? You’re going to be an auror?”
Harry shrugged. “Unless something better comes along.”
After dinner, the adults retreated back into the parlour for even more drinks and Harry was forced to entertain Zacharias further. He hadn’t been acting like such a snot, but Harry still wasn’t happy about it. They went out to the veranda and played a few games of Exploding Snap while Harry tried to think of something to talk about.
He couldn’t. His mind was entirely focused on something else.
-x-
Excerpt from the Journal of a Necromancer, 1st page.
1 January, 845
S,
It has been seven days since your passing.
The others insist that your death remain secret so as not to cause fear. They declared that you have gone out to search for allies in the moors and fens. I try to smile encouragingly when they do so, and wish you luck on your trip. It is difficult.
It is such a frightening time for all of us, and your death will only frighten the young ones more. We spend our nights, as I am sure you remember, hidden away in our beds-sleeping, always, with one eye opened. The muggles are close-we can feel them as we never could before…you. Before any of that happened.
Our magic is the only thing that separates us, so why are we tormented so? A woman from the village-Marilyn Meriwether, you remember her-has a son who should have begun Hogwarts this fall. He will not; he has shown no signs of magic. How will he survive? He knows nothing of muggles and nothing of magic. He’s alone in this world and we fear for him.
Leo mourns you still, though he is stubborn and refuses to admit it so. He remembers the bickering between you, and I think it soothes his soul sometimes. I find him in the kitchens on occasion sipping tea with his hair tangled and flowing about his face as if he has not washed in days. I do not approach him yet, as he roared at the Nag so fiercely when she did that I felt it in my own best interests to give him space. I think he mourns you nearly as much as I do.
And she has not badgered him since.
I, however, Beloved, have spent the last seven days mourning as a proper witch should and refuse to mourn longer. Why should I, when in fact, you will not remain dead? I smile as I write this because I know it true. I will find a way, Beloved. I will-if not for you or me, then for your son, who even now grows in my womb.
You will see him one day soon, and you will know he is yours. He will look just like you, of that I am sure.
Love always,
R
-x-
Later that night, Harry thought. The conversation at dinner with the Smiths had created more questions than answers. He hadn’t even been thinking about what he was saying at the time, but now that he did, he was curious.
Did wizards’ bodies work with electricity or with magic? Hermione had told him once that without their magic, most wizards died. During the reign of Grindelwald, a lot of wizards were executed by stripping them of their magic. It was barbaric, but efficient, Harry thought.
So, if muggles couldn’t live without the electricity in their bodies and wizards couldn’t live without the magic in their bodies, then did that just mean that instead of electricity, wizard bodies were powered on magic? Harry decided to ask the one person who might have looked into such a thing, and called out to Voldemort with his mind.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Voldemort answered thoughtfully. “Honestly, I’ve never even thought of anything like that before. I never had much of a muggle education, so I was unaware that their bodies did indeed work with electricity.”
“Do you suppose,” Harry asked slowly as he sipped his tasteless, texture-less tea, “that magic is really just another form of energy like electricity?”
“Magic is certainly a form of energy,” Voldemort answered in an almost lecturing tone. “The question is, on what wavelength does magic work? How dissimilar is it to electricity?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know, but I was thinking that it might be like blood types.”
Voldemort looked at him, red eyes blinking in confusion. “You know-people have all sorts of different blood types, but it’s not hereditary,” Harry continued. “Sometimes mothers have A+ type blood and their baby will have AB- even though the baby is made with the mother and father’s DNA.” Harry shrugged. “Or some other variation, you know.”
Voldemort was still quiet, so Harry kept talking, not even really thinking about what he was saying, but trying to get all of his ideas out at once. “I mean, what if that’s the reason that squibs are born? What if, instead of having magical energy like their parents, they have electrical energy?”
“If that were the case,” Voldemort said slowly, “I would expect that is the same with mudbloods.” Harry glared. “Muggle-born, then,” Voldemort correctly carelessly.
Harry shrugged. “Maybe.”
“That’s a very interesting theory, Potter.” And Harry snorted because he’d heard that once already that day. “What could we do with this information, supposing it’s correct?” Voldemort mused to himself. Nagini was on his lap and he was stroking her head as he thought.
Harry shrugged again, as he seemed to do that a lot around Voldemort. “I dunno,” he said somewhat sarcastically. “We could adjust energy wavelengths to give squibs magic.”
Voldemort stared at him sharply. “Do you think?”
“No,” Harry answered. “I was being sarcastic. I don’t think it would be possible. It’s just a theory.”
Voldemort hummed noncommittally and changed the subject, although the new one was not much better. “Have you just now hit puberty, Potter?”
“What?!” Harry squawked indignantly.
“Puberty, Potter,” Voldemort said with the patience of a monk. “You look different. I can’t put my finger on what.”
“I got a haircut,” Harry offered hopefully.
Voldemort shook his head. “No, no-that’s not it…although I do like the red. It looks like blood dripping off your hair.” Harry scowled and Voldemort cackled delightedly. “Your face looks a bit different. More defined, I’d say. Sharper.”
Harry scowled. “I hate to disappoint you, but I hit puberty years ago.”
Voldemort gave the equivalent of a shrug. “I believe I’m losing you, Potter,” he nodded towards Harry’s fingers which were indeed beginning to flicker in and out of existence.
“You never had me,” Harry said quietly, right before he faded completely.
-x-
The next morning, Harry received a letter from Snape.
And if that wasn’t not only unheard of, but also unwelcome, the reasoning for the letter was. Snape, on Dumbledore’s orders, was coming for a visit. Harry, eyes wide and jaw hanging to the floor, stared at the letter for several minutes in stunned silence. It was as curt and impolite as usual, but Harry could have handled that if only the last line hadn’t read, ‘Headmaster Dumbledore has asked that I stop by to check on your progress. As much as it pains me, I cannot refuse a direct order, and thus, shall arrive at ten a.m. sharp.’
“I can’t believe this!” Sirius growled, snatching the letter from Harry’s hands to read it for himself. “What right does Dumbledore have to send Snivellus to check up on my parenting skills?”
Harry looked up at the clock on the far wall. It was five minutes until ten. “I don’t know,” he muttered hopelessly, “but he’s going to be here in five minutes.”
Sirius stomped out of the kitchen, growling and muttering to himself along the way. Harry looked up at the clock again-two minutes. How did time go by so quickly? With deliberate slowness, he made his way to the antechamber to receive Snape. Snape was punctual as usual.
“Potter,” he said curtly, dusting himself off from the floo. Harry nodded dumbly.
“Professor.”
Snape shot him a glare. “Where’s your mutt of a godfather?” he asked.
Harry scowled. “He didn’t wish to see you.”
Snape came very close to snorting with laughter. “I assure you, the feeling is mutual.” He looked around the antechamber in distaste and then turned back to Harry. “Are you not going to invite me to sit?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he said, and led Snape to the parlour where he flopped down on the divan and gestured for Snape to sit wherever he liked. Snape chose the armchair directly across from him.
“You didn’t tell me Sirius was alive,” Harry said, trying to keep the accusation from his voice. They still weren’t on great terms, and as Harry didn’t take Occlumency with Snape anymore, they only saw each other in class-which was just fine with both of them.
“Orders,” Snape simply.
Harry, quite sure that Snape would have told him it was none of his business, was thrown. “Why?” he asked instead, feeling lucky.
Snape smiled sardonically-it was truly a gruesome sight-and settled back into his chair. Harry more confused than before, watched him warily. “If you should truly like to know-and I imagine that being a Gryffindor,” he sneered, “you should-then I shall tell you that Headmaster Dumbledore works in mysterious ways.”
“Isn’t God the one who’s supposed to work in mysterious ways?” Harry asked snidely.
“If one believes in God, then who is to say that Albus Dumbledore is not him?” Snape countered with a raised eyebrow. “Certainly, he likes to think of himself as such.”
Before the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries, Harry would have been highly offended at that, but now, he could only manage a weak sneer. But Snape, ever the Slytherin, had still not answered Harry’s question. “Why didn’t Dumbledore want me to know?”
Snape gave the equivalent of a shrug and changed the subject. “I am here to assess whether or not you are safe and happy,” he sneered, “and that you are maintaining your studies.”
Harry noticed the evasion and decided not to press his luck. “I’m happy. I’m pretty sure I’m safe, and there’s a three-story library at my disposal.”
“But are you utilizing it?” Snape queried. Harry nodded, remembering the odd skin-bound book he’d found the week before. “Very well, Potter. I shall give my report to the Headmaster post haste.” He stood and walked over to the parlour window where down below Sirius could be seen in Padfoot form fighting over the body of a gnome with Fred. Harry followed him over and looked out as well.
“Were you aware, Potter,” Snape spoke up quietly, “that the more that is taken from an animal, the more they will fight to keep what they have? Certainly, it’s not merely restricted to animals-humans are the same way. They fight for what is theirs.”
He turned, nodded curtly to Harry, and exited the room. “I shall see myself out,” he called from the hallway; Harry nodded dumbly, still staring down at Sirius in the garden and wondering if Snape was answering his earlier question or just spouting trivia.
-x-
A/N:
1. Magic Eyes are those really awesome posters and calendars that show pictures if you stare at them the right way. They’re made by creating a greyscale 2D picture and then overlaying a very complex algorithmic pattern. To see them, you have to put them up to your nose and focus as if you were staring into the distance. Then you slowly pull your face away and, if you’ve focused correctly, the underlayed picture will appear.
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