A Promise Kept - Chapter 41 - The Spy
The Spy
“Lord Black, I can assure you that we have an exceptional series of protections surrounding and within the school,” Fontaine said confidently.
“And what about detecting an Animagus?”
The man frowned.
“You suspect there is one here.”
“I do.”
“Well, as I am sure you are aware, it is exceedingly difficult to detect them unless you know specifically what it is you are looking for and can perform the spell to force a transformation.”
“A rat. He’s a rat.”
“Then he can blend in just about anywhere. How dangerous is this man?”
Sirius almost chuckled at the question despite finding no humour in the situation.
“On his own, he is nothing but a snivelling coward. He’s devious but is lacking. He does not have the guts to act without knowing he is protected.”
Fontaine frowned.
“I would sooner search every inch of the castle until I find him and hand him over to the aurors.”
“Maybe that is the best idea, but he will flee before anyone gets close, and then we could have a bigger problem. Pettigrew is easily managed compared to any other Voldemort could somehow place within the school. He is a master with the Imperius Curse, so much so that you would never know someone was being controlled until it is too late.”
Fontaine was not pleased by the notion of leaving Pettigrew where he was, and for that matter, neither was Sirius.
“Harry?” Fontaine asked the silent boy.
He shrugged.
“I say we use it to our advantage. He’s been sent to spy on me, so I say my best bet is to play along, just a little, to show him things he will report that are not necessarily true. When he feels as though he has enough, he will leave.”
Sirius was not convinced that was what Harry wished to do at all.
He knew his godson, and although he too could be crafty in his own way, it was not in his nature to let any spy on him; certainly not the man who’d played such a part in the death of his father.
“I will give you until Christmas, Mr Potter,” Fontaine sighed. “I do not like it, but the alternative could be much worse.”
Harry readily agreed to the terms, but Sirius was with Fontaine. He did not like it in the slightest and would prefer to have the rat hunted down and removed from the castle, if he was indeed here.
Wormtail may well have never arrived at Ilvermorny, and could be with Crouch, wherever the man was lurking in any of the fifty states of the country, but Sirius did not believe so.
Although he had no definitive proof, he could think of none better to place within Ilvermorny to spy on Harry.
Not that Peter could do much besides spy.
He would be too cowardly to attempt to directly harm Harry or even kidnap him.
No, Peter was only good as a spy, as the vermin his Animagus form had taken, but that did not mean it rested any easier with Sirius Black.
He’d heard nothing from Harry since that conversation and chose to believe that no news was good news. Not that he took any comfort in his own warring thoughts.
Peter’s presence in America was troubling, but that of Barty Crouch Jr even more so. The man was a deranged lunatic, unhinged by all accounts, and loyal to a fault to the Dark Lord.
Nothing had been seen or heard from him since, not officially, at least, since he’d been sentenced to life in Azkaban by his own father.
Once more, Sirius had been looking into ways of shoring up the defences around the ranch, but truthfully, he’d done all he could. It was safe here, could not be found, not even by Voldemort himself if he was peering through the kitchen window, but where the Dark Lord was concerned, there was always a worry that he would find a way.
It troubled Sirius so, and with each passing day, he found himself fighting the instinct to pull Harry from school, to keep him safely within the walls he protected, but he knee the boy would only resent him for doing so.
He too troubled Sirius.
The older he grew, the more he realised that Harry was not so much like either James or Lily, who had known little of the magical world and how it worked until it was much too late.
Even now, she had not truly lived among magicals on a daily basis outside of Hogwarts.
She had been only nineteen when she and James had gone into hiding and had all but lived such a way since.
James had been raised without adversity, had been spoiled by his doting mother, and had not been prepared for what he would one day face. James had always been given all he’d ever wanted, had not faced the same as Charlus, who had travelled to the continent to fight against Grindelwald when he’d turned seventeen.
He hadn’t spoken much of his experiences, but it had hardened him, made him resemble the Potters of old Sirius had been told tales of.
That was whom Harry reminded him of most.
Harry had dealt with more in his short life than most ever would, and it had hardened him, conditioned him in such a way that he became much less like James and Lily with each year that went by.
Oh, he still joked and pranked, dedicated him to his studies and had a sharp mind, all of which he inherited from his parents, but he was unmistakably different to both.
He was becoming his own man, and soon enough, he would reach his majority when Sirius did not doubt he would make choices that neither he nor Lily would agree with.
What was he to do?
Nothing.
When he came of age in under two years now, Harry would be free to do as he pleased, take up his seat on the Wizengamot, where he would undoubtedly rub many the wrong way, and pursue Voldemort in any way he saw fit.
There was a small part of Sirius that pitied the Death Eaters.
They would be shown no mercy from his godson, and he could only imagine what he would do to the Dark Lord himself if given the opportunity.
Oddly, he did take some comfort from that, as troubling as those thoughts were.
That, however, was where such contentment ended, and for now, it was something for him to worry about in the future.
With it being Halloween, his thoughts had inevitable drifted to what had happened fourteen years prior, and more recently, to the absent Remus.
“Edward?”
The elf appeared and offered him a bow before shaking his head.
“I have been unable to find him.”
“But you found the werewolves.”
“They are still in Bulgaria, waiting for word from the Dark Lord.”
“And Remus isn’t there.”
“No, Lord Black, and Edward cannot locate him.”
“What does that mean?”
“That he is either hiding or…”
He broke off and adopted a nervous expression.
“Or?” Sirius asked worriedly.
“Or Mr Lupin is dead.”
He swallowed deeply.
Sirius would not believe it until he saw it for himself, but he could not ignore the dread that had plagued him these past weeks, the same dread that had spurred him into sending Edward to search for his friend.
“What do you think, Edward?”
“Edward doesn’t know.”
The elf was not speaking what he truly thought, but Sirius could see it in his large eyes. Edward believed that Remus was dead.
“Thank you, Edward,” he murmured as he stood and summoned his cloak.
Sitting here in Grimmauld Place would do him no good, and there was only one other he wished to be this night. It would not improve his mood, but perhaps he would find some guidance in the company of the friend he was certain had fallen.
(Break)
He despised the very thought of Pettigrew being within arm’s reach of him without being able to throttle the snivelling excuse of a man. Outside of Voldemort, there was no one Harry hated more than Peter Pettigrew, and it tormented him to know that he was so close, yet, so far away.
There had been times since arriving back to school that he felt as though he was being watched, but he’d simply put it down to his own paranoia about What Riddle was up to.
Now, however, he knew the truth.
Harry was being watched, but soon enough, the watcher would become the hunted.
“You should be in bed.”
“I should,” Harry agreed as he met the gaze of the unpleasant Pukwudgie.
Sid did not like him, and Harry could not say he was fond of the creature either. Nonetheless, if there was any that could find the rat sneaking around the castle, it was him.
“I need a favour from you, Sid.”
The Pukwudgie scowled at him.
“I keep the castle clean…”
“You do,” Harry broke in. “I have no criticism of you or your work. It is actually your expertise I have need of.”
“Cleaning magic can be found in the library.”
“No, it is your knowledge of the school I need, Sid, and I am willing to return the favour.”
The Pukwudgie eyed him suspiciously.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“For you to find a troublesome rat.”
“A rat you say. I have been chasing a rat.”
“You have?”
“He always manages to escape, but I will get him.”
“Then it does seem we can help each other,” Harry chuckled. “The rat you are chasing is the same rat I am looking for. I will help you catch him, if you let me keep him.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I have a very nasty surprise for the rat.”
Sid’s eyes lit up, and he grinned, baring his yellow teeth hungrily.
“Then I will help you, Harry Potter, but you must promise me the rat will suffer. I hate rats.”
“Sid, you have my word that he will suffer in more ways than you can imagine.”
Harry had not forgotten the agreement he’d made with the reluctant Fontaine and Sirius, but he could not help but agree with the former in his sentiment of Pettigrew having access to Ilvermorny.
It was a stupid idea for the most part, and though he knew his godfather was trying to do what was best for him, he was not seeing the bigger picture.
What was best for Harry was that Wormtail was dead.
He knew that there was nothing more Sirius wanted than to kill the rat, that the man had spent these past years since learning of his betrayal envisioning every possible way he could end the life of his former friend.
Perhaps in another life he would be granted that wish, but not this one.
Harry did not have time to play games, to facilitate plans that would not serve him in any capacity. Pettigrew would die, and he would not feel an ounce of remorse for what he put the man through.
His fingers twitched in anticipation towards his wand, but he curbed the edge to draw it.
It would undoubtedly be quite poetic to kill the man this night, but in lieu of that, there was only one other place he wished to be.
Ensuring he was concealed by his cloak, he activated his portkey and arrived in the village where his first steps on the path he found himself navigating had begun.
That same homely feeling he’d experienced the last time he was here filled him once more, but with it, that sense of wrongness that plagued these lands. Harry was hopeful that when Voldemort was dead, when the wrongs had been righted, that the feeling would fade.
He wasn’t convinced, however, and tonight wasn’t about what may one day be,. It was to visit his father, to celebrate his life, and remind himself of why he was doing what he was outside of the prophecy.
As he had before, he found himself standing in front of the grave belonging to Albus Dumbledore, and noted he’d received many visitors. Flowers had been laid over the past months, some with little cards thanking him for all he’d done for wizarding Britain.
The man had indeed left quite the legacy, and a seemingly insurmountable task for Harry to complete.
“You had no idea just how bad it was, did you?” he murmured. “Well, it was never going to be easy, was it?”
Of course, he received no reply, but somewhere, he could hear Fawkes, his song no longer so mournful. It wasn’t cheerful either, though somewhat content compared to what it had been when he’d first lost his companion.
Harry had not seen the phoenix since he’d last been here, but he would again. Of that, he had no doubt.
Making his way towards where his father, and many Potters before him had been laid to rest, he paused as he came upon a trio of graves, much older than most others here.
It was not the age of them that caught his attention, but a familiar symbol that had been carved into each of the monuments.
“Unbelievable,” he whispered as he ran his fingers over the one belonging to Antioch Peverell.
Almost one thousand years had passed since Antioch had perished, and even for the time, he’d died young. The same could be said for his brother Cadmus, who’d only followed a matter of months later.
The last of the trio had broken the trend and had been more than a century old when he’d died, and Harry idly wondered what had happened to the other two, his mind wandering to the story Albus had taken care to ensure he’d read.
The Three Brothers.
Could it be that the Peverells that rested here were the men of that story?
The dates of each of their deaths would suggest so, and the presence of the symbol Albus himself had drawn in the book could not be merely a coincidence.
Had the headmaster intended him to find these three men?
Harry did not know, but since learning of the prophecy, he no longer believed in coincidence, not when he was so closely linked with fate.
The Peverells.
He would need to look into them, to see what significance they played in his life, and he made a mental note to do so.
Perhaps he would ask Sirius about them, an opportunity that would come sooner rather than later.
He watched for a moment as his godfather approached the grave of his father and rested his hand atop the monument of James Potter. Allowing the man his privacy, he waited for a few moments before approaching and removing his cloak, finding himself staring down the shaft of a wand.
“Nice reflexes,” he praised.
Sirius breathed a sigh of relief.
“I should’ve known you’d be here.”
“As are you.”
Sirius nodded as he lowered his wand.
“With everything going on, it felt like the right place to be. How’re you holding up?”
Harry shrugged in response.
“It feels as though I’m just waiting for everything to go to shit. That’s what’s going to happen, isn’t it?”
Sirius appeared to be choosing his words carefully before he deflated.
“It already is,” he sighed. “Malfoy has all but taken control of the Wizengamot. Thicknesse being nominated as the Chief Warlock is only the beginning. The ICW nominations are next.”
“You knew this would happen. It’s what happened last time, and things aren’t any different this time around,” Harry pointed out. “As long as everyone on our side remains passive, that won’t change. The only way to win is to be as ruthless as our enemies.”
“Did Moody teach you that?”
“No, it is logic, Sirius. I liked Albus, and even respected his outlook on life, but in a time of war it is not realistic. The Order of the Phoenix cannot only function as a group of spies unwilling to do what is necessary to end all of this. It’s like stepping into a boxing ring with one hand tied behind your back.”
“I know, Harry. Your father was just as outspoken, and I agreed with him, but Albus was our leader.”
“He isn’t anymore. Albus might not have wanted to use equal force against the Death Eaters, but he did it once and ended the war with Grindelwald. Ultimately, it comes down to taking lives of bad people to preserve those of the good. Someone has to be willing to do that, or we all might as well just hand ourselves over to Voldemort now and be done with it.”
Sirius chuckled humourlessly.
“You do not have it in you to give up, Harry. That is not who you are.”
“Is that who you are?” Harry returned. “I know you don’t want to hear this, Sirius, but I am going to do whatever it takes to kill him, and any other that becomes necessary. Chances are, it will be more people than I can even comprehend, but I have already made peace with that. I am doing it for him,” he added, pointing to his father’s gravestone, “and for everything else that comes after. I want a life, Sirius. I want a family that is not destroyed by Dark Lords, and I want to live. I am willing to do whatever it takes to make all of this right.”
“So am I, Harry.”
“Then nothing else needs to be said on the matter, for now, at least. I just wanted to come here to see my father. Everything else can wait for tonight.”
Sirius nodded his agreement, and the two of them said nothing whilst they revelled in the piece of the graveyard.
When he was content with being here, Harry took a moment with the grandparents he’d not met.
“She was a Black, wasn’t she?”
“My grandfather’s sister, Dorea,” Sirius said fondly. “She wasn’t like much of the rest of the family, not unless you got on the wrong side of her, and only a damned fool would do that. She would’ve loved you, Harry, and doted on you just as much as she did your father. Charlus… you remind me of him so much.”
“I do?”
“Strong, stubborn, confident. He spoke his mind, had a sharp tongue, and a sharp wand. He was a greatly respected man, just as you will be. I am hoping that when you come of age you will be able to learn more about them from whatever is in your vault. Your family has a rich history…”
“Tied to this place.”
Sirius nodded.
“Charlus used to bring us here at Christmas, and would spend time with the people, ensuring the village was doing well. I don’t remember the story exactly, but the Potters have been a presence here for almost one thousand years.”
“Did they know the Peverells?”
Sirius frowned confusedly.
“Who are they?”
“Just a name that came up,” Harry said dismissively.
His godfather eyed him for a moment.
“Well, if you want any information about anyone here, your best bet would be to visit Bathilda Bagshot.”
“The author of A History of Magic?”
“The very same. She lives here, and her family have been here for generations. If anyone can tell you anything about this place, it is her. I know that Albus often dined with her.”
“Dumbledore’s family are from here too.”
“No, not until quite recently. Albus’s parents moved here more than a century ago.”
“Oh, I thought they’d been here a while. Do you know what happened to his sister?”
Sirius shook his head.
“Only that she died young. Very few know anything about Albus before he became a Professor at Hogwarts except that he was an incredibly talented young man. He ventured off for some years to work with Nicholas Flamel and then returned to Hogwarts. Well, that is all I can tell you about him. He replaced Armando Dippet as Headmaster, and that’s where he stayed.”
Harry nodded his understanding.
He did not doubt that there was much more to the man, and it seemed to him that if he wished to solve the mystery surrounding the Peverells, their entanglement with the entity that was Death, and even understand the man Albus Dumbledore was, there was one place he could get that information.
Bathilda Bagshot.
(Break)
“Macnair has arrived on an abandoned fort not so far from the south coast. He will keep the giants there until you have need of them. Greyback is ready to begin his journey here.”
“No, he is to remain where he is. For now, we are operating quietly. I will arrange for his transportation when the others are free.”
“When do you intend to free them?”
“Soon, Severus,” the Dark Lord said thoughtfully.
He was not certain when, but he intended to keep his plans to himself until it became necessary to reveal them.
“Of course, my lord. Lucius wishes to know who he should support for the ICW vacancy.”
“Is Thicknesse not eligible?”
“He is, my lord, but he is a man without reputation on the continent. His name is not prominent enough, and the ICW can veto any they do not approve of.”
“Then have Lucius nominate himself. He is a man with a reputation, and strong character.”
Truly, he cared little for little outside of Great Britain, nit until it was beneath his heel. Already, he had interests in America; a dangerous country to provoke the ire of.
With thousands of Aurors at their disposal, it would not do well to find himself targeted by them. America was not Britain, after all. Even so, he could not entirely ignore that much of what was to come hinged on one very significant problem that plagued him.
Harry Potter.
Black had played a masterful hand in concealing the boy there, but it would all be for nothing soon enough.
Still, he was concerned that he’d heard little from Barty these past few weeks, and nothing from Wormtail since the beginning of September. Until he returned to provide a report, he was all but blind to Potter and what the damned boy was doing.
Not that he wanted Pettigrew to rush his task.
No, he would return when it was apt to do so and wouldn’t without something of significance to share.
Nonetheless, progress was slower than he would like, and the Dark Lord was beginning to grow impatient. Thus far, almost all had gone to plan, though the revelation that Slughorn had returned to Hogwarts under the protection of the castle certainly irked him.
Time and again, he’d given his former head of house the opportunity to join him, and the man had rebuffed his efforts.
He would receive no such concession again.
Slughorn would die the moment the opportunity came, and the Dark Lord nodded thoughtfully. Perhaps that could be arranged sooner rather than later.
“Send for Lucius, Severus. I would have words with him.”
The man offered a bow before leaving the room, and Lord Voldemort released a deep breath as he drew his wand to simply marvel at holding it in his hand once more.
These past months, he had been re-familiarising himself with his magic, and he was pleased to know that he’d not been weakened over the years without a body.
If anything, he felt renewed, stronger and more powerful than ever, and Britain would see that for themselves when he stepped out of the shadows.
(Break)
“Excellent work, Monsieur Potter,” Madame Alarie praised as she inspected the goblet he’d created. “Self-filling, unbreakable, and completely under your control,” she finished with a curious look.
Harry nodded, and it filled with a clear liquid.
“Just water, but even from this side of your desk…”
He broke off, nodding once more, but the liquid remained the same.
“Veritaserum,” Harry confirmed, “but I can switch it to any brew of my choice, depending on what drink is poured into it. There are several poisons the same colour as wines. There is something unpleasant I can place within it for just about any regular drink you can think of.”
“As genius as it is terrifying,” Madame Alarie murmured as she shook her head. “Well, I think you have proven that, unless you choose to undertake a mastery in Enchanting, there is little else I can teach you. Your progress has been astounding, and your grasp on magic, truly exceptional. I do hope you consider it, Harry. You could have a most fruitful career ahead of you, even if your creations would concern most.”
Harry chuckled as he stood and offered his hand.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Maybe when the time is right, we can work together on some things in the future.”
She quirked an eyebrow at him as she accepted the proffered limb.
“Maybe we can,” she agreed.
Harry took his leave of the woman’s office, not even sure what he’d meant by his final words to her, but he didn’t regret speaking them, even if he wasn’t certain how she’d taken them.
“Idiot,” he muttered, turning sharply as he felt a familiar presence invade his senses.
“I wouldn’t say idiot,” Gabrielle said amusedly, threading her arm through his. “A little ignorant, and maybe dim at times, but not an idiot.”
“Ignorant, and dim?”
She hummed and the corner of her lips twitched.
“Both, but that doesn’t matter. How is everything?”
Harry did not even know how to begin answering that question, and he shrugged.
“From bad to worse, honestly.”
Gabrielle offered him a look of sympathy as they reached the area he’d been permitted to use his portkey.
“Well, if there is anything I can do, you just need to let me know,” she murmured, pressing her lips against his.
It wasn’t a chaste kiss by any means, but she certainly lingered a little too long for it to be considered a polite farewell.
“See you soon, Harry.”
There was something about the way she said his name that he quite liked, and it certainly did not help that her magic was so strongly pushing his thoughts in a direction he’d tried to ignore.
Was it her magic?
Harry didn’t know.
Gabrielle was something of an enigma to him in many ways.
He did not doubt that she valued their friendship, just as he did, but he could not deny that since he’d pulled her from the lake, her behaviour towards him had changed.
She wasn’t so much affectionate as she was physical, almost as they she needed to touch him.
He knew that Sabine would not like it, but then again, he and Sabine were not in a relationship in a traditional sense.
They too were friends, weren’t they?
“Bloody hell,” Harry cursed as he activated his portkey, confused by the way he felt for two different girls, equally as fondly, but also so dissimilarly.
Maybe he should speak with Sirius about it…
He could just imagine how much of a laugh the man would get out of such a conversation, but truthfully, Harry was lost and felt out of his depth.
“Bloody hell,” he repeated to himself.
(Break)
“How is he doing, Alastor?”
“Truthfully?”
“We can’t afford to lie to ourselves, or to him.”
The former Auror chuckled.
“In a sanctioned duel with rules, there aren’t many that could beat him. Hell, there might not be anyone that can keep pace with him. He’s fast, creative, his spells pack more than a punch, and he seems to have an endless supply of the damned things.”
“What about a fight, a real fight?”
Alastor shrugged.
“I haven’t pushed him so far yet, but his instincts are something else, lad. Why don’t you find out for yourself? He could always use fresh training partners.”
It had not escaped Sirius’s notice that Harry was growing restless, that although he was honouring his promise, he was struggling to do so. The worse the war became, the more impatient he would become, and he knew he could not hope to keep Harry out of it forever.
The next best thing was to ensure he was as ready as he could be to face what was coming.
Lily would not agree.
The woman would do her utmost to keep her son away from the inevitable violence, as any mother wishing to protect her son would.
Sirius, however, knew it was impossible.
As much as he wished to protect Harry, he could not do so in such a way. His time was best served preparing the boy and watching his back when he needed it most.
“He’s not here yet?”
“No, he’ll be here soon enough,” Alastor replied, gesturing for him to take a seat.
Sirius did so and frowned as the man hummed.
“You’re oddly cheery.”
Alastor grinned.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a good fight.”
Sirius could only shake his head in response, ignoring the grin of the man with a questionable sanity whilst he waited for the arrival of the godson.
(Break)
“Who are these Weasleys?” Sid asked suspiciously as he inspected the boxes Harry had handed him.
“Oh, they’re a pair of geniuses, maybe evil geniuses, but I’m sure these will help you with our job.”
“Puking Pastilles,” the Pukwudgie murmured. “Diarrhoea Drops?”
“Those are new,” Harry snorted. “With the things I have given you, and these, it won’t take you long to capture the rat.”
Sid bared his teeth in anticipation before walking away, muttering to himself about vermin being loose in the school.
For Harry’s part, he had a lesson to attend to with Alastor Moody, who he was certain had taken leave of his senses between the last war and this one, unless he had always been quite insane.
Not that he was complaining.
The man was more than willing to push Harry, to teach him things no other seemed to want to.
“Unless you’re aiming for the throat or chest, what is the point of a cutting curse? Aye, a wound is good if you’re in a long fight, but kill the bastard any chance you get, Potter. A real enemy will not hesitate to do the same.”
“I’m certain I will be sent to Azkaban with that attitude.”
Moody shrugged.
“Would you rather be dead or in a little trouble? No one is sending you to Azkaban, lad, not when they learn of him being back. They’ll be queuing up to kiss your arse and begging for you to get rid of him.”
He certainly had a way with words, and as Harry arrived in Grimmauld Place to use the fireplace, he could think of no one better to learn from.
Moody had survived decades as an Auror, and even fights against Voldemort himself, well, for the most part.
He certainly bore the scars of his experiences.
“Sirius, what’re you doing here?”
“He’s here to see what you’re made of, Potter. Go on, get ready, and no holding back. Just don’t kill each other.”
“Really?” Harry asked sceptically.
Sirius nodded as he removed his robes and drew his wand, not hesitating to fire a rather nasty searing curse towards him.
Moody laughed gleefully, but Harry saw no humour in the situation.
The spell would not have killed him, but it would’ve been agonising had he not manged to deflect it.
“Well, what’re you waiting for, Potter?” Moody called.
He frowned before looking back towards Sirius, whose expression was one of grim determination.
Harry didn’t know what this was, whether it was a test of sorts, or even what his godfather’s motive was, but he wasn’t playing games, and Harry wouldn’t either.
If Sirius was looking for Harry to prove something, he would get his wish.
With his own wand snapping into action, he fired a plethora of spells towards his godfather and blocked those that were returned. Sirius was certainly not pulling any punches with his offerings, and he was no slouch when it came to defending himself.
He batted aside most sent his way, and Harry was not foolish enough to delve into the Black magic that the man was an expert in.
No, it would be a wasted effort, and as a bludgeoning curse whizzed by, a little too close for comfort, he nodded, realising that he truly did have a fight on his hands.
Flaring his nostrils in irritation, he fought back, gathering the debris from the chuck of wall that had been blown out from behind him, he transfigured them into a pair of wolves, just as Albus had taught him, and sent them forwards.
They wouldn’t last long under his Sirius’s onslaught, but Harry didn’t need them to. He needed just a moment to prepare his next attack, though he was forced to do so whilst moving quickly out of the path of a sickly green curse that tore the door of Moody’s classroom from the hinges.
That would’ve been painful had it connected with him, but Harry could not focus on that.
With a flourish of his wand, a trio of flaming birds burst from the tip of his wand and began circling him protectively. Another distraction for the most part, but more of a misdirection.
Sirius eyed the birds cautiously before he struck next with three spells, only to shield as the birds dived towards him.
One after the other, they splashed harmlessly against the barrier, obscuring the room in smoke.
Harry had not been idle however, and punched through the shield with a blasting curse, charging forward as he did so.
It was Sirius’s groan of pain that led him to the man, and he seized him around the neck as he collapsed to one knee, drawing his dagger and resting the tip of it against his kidney as he stepped behind his godfather.
It was Moody’s applause that put an end to the duel, and he cleared the remaining smoke with a wave of his wand.
“Excellent work, both of you. The Death Eaters won’t enjoy finding themselves facing you. Black, are you alright?”
Sirius nodded and grimaced as he attempted to stand.
“Broken leg,” he huffed.
Moody chuckled.
“Not what you were expecting?”
“No,” Sirius snorted proudly. “He doesn’t fight fair.”
“I’d be damned worried if he did. Go on, get your leg fixed, and you, Potter, get that cut seen to.”
“Cut?”
The wound on his head was not so deep, but it was bleeding quite freely.
“At least my leg isn’t broken,” he sighed.
Moody unleashed a bark of laughter,, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.
“How’re you going to explain that to Madam Pomfrey?” Harry asked as he made his way towards the fireplace.
“Bugger that. Kreacher can fix us up,” Sirius muttered, groaning once more as he conjured a tight bandage around the leg before stepping through the fireplace.
With a shrug, Harry followed and almost tripped over Sirius as he arrived once more in Grimmauld Place.
“Not the best idea,” the man grumbled.
Harry shook his head as he levitated him into one of the chairs of the study.
“Kreacher?” he called.
The elf appeared only a moment later, and Harry gestured towards the injured man.
“Could you fix his leg?”
“Of course, Master Harry.”
With a snap of his fingers, Sirius yelped in pain, and Kreacher vanished immediately after.
“Git,” his godfather muttered.
“He fixed it, didn’t he?”
“He could’ve been gentler, but he seems to like you.”
“Only because I’m not you.”
Sirius scowled at his leg as he undid the bandages.
“You were holding back,” Harry accused.
“At first,” Sirius admitted, “but I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Next time?”
“I never let your father get the better of me.”
Harry laughed as he shook his head.
“What is it?” Sirius asked. “Is it the Wormtail thing”
“No,” Harry denied, “something probably less important, but it’s still bothering me. It’s Gabrielle and Sabine.”
“Girl troubles,” Sirius said a little too gleefully. “Now that I can help with. What’s happened?”
Harry released a deep breath and explained what had been happening with both girls, and when he was done, Sirius held up his hands.
“Listen, Harry, I cannot give you any advice until you decide where either of these situations are going. Sabine is already promised to another, and Gabrielle, well, what does she want?”
“I don’t know,” Harry answered honestly. “I thought at first she was just more, well, physical now, but now I’m not sure.”
“Then you should have a frank conversation with her, but for the love of Merlin, you still have to be honest with Sabine, even if you both know what you have isn’t going anywhere long term. Believe me, you don’t want two angry girls baying for your blood.”
“You know that from experience?”
The man winced, and Harry suspected it had nothing to do with his ailing leg.
“Oh, it is not something you forget.”
Harry nodded appreciatively.
“I suppose I should speak with Gabrielle then,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
Sirius grinned in response as he wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
“If you think this is bad, just wait until you come of age and the contract proposals begin flooding in. I’ve already received a few over the years for you.”
Harry could only curse under his breath in response.
He’d not even considered such a thing. He had enough female problems of his own, and that was without considering anything that might come in the future beyond what he knew awaited him.