A Promise Kept - Chapter 8 - A Father’s Legacy

A Father’s Legacy

Christmas had come and gone a little too quickly for Sirius’s liking, as had the time between the last gathering of the Wizengamot and the one that was now, much to his relief, coming to an end.

As ever, little had been achieved.

For the most part, the meetings consisted of the members blowing hot air at one another, rarely reaching a consensus on any proposed legislation, and when they did, they argued even over the most mundane of things.

The Wizengamot was ineffectual at best, though those that had sat on it since before the war had told him it used to be different.

The rifts still remained and would do so until the entire body was replaced by the next generation, or so Sirius hoped.

Under Fudge, who was influenced by the likes of Malfoy a little too much as far as Sirius was concerned, the tension would remain, and there was always a whiff of potential, outright hostility.

“Sirius, I was hoping I might have a word.”

Sirius frowned at the Chief Warlock.

Albus appeared to be deeply troubled, much more stressed than usual, and appearing older than the Lord Black had ever seen him seem.

“Here or…”

“Hogwarts,” Albus insisted. “What needs to be discussed cannot be done so here.”

Sirius suddenly felt himself filled with a sense of trepidation, and he glanced around the room at the remaining members before following the man from the chambers.

Neither spoke as they made their way through the Ministry of Magic, and Albus merely offered him a nod before vanishing through one of the dozens of fireplaces in the atrium.

After waiting only a moment, Sirius stepped through and appeared in an office he had not found himself in for more years than he cared to count.

If he remembered correctly, it was when James had blown up McGonagall’s prized biscuit tin, and all four of the Marauders had been brought here under suspicion.

Reminiscing on simpler times, however, was not why Sirius was here, and as Albus took a seat behind his desk, he stroked the plumage of his phoenix, his expression only becoming more troubled with each passing moment.

“The Dark Lord is not dead.”

Sirius immediately felt a sudden, heavy way settle onto his chest, and his first thought was of Harry and Lily.

“Explain,” he murmured, his fingers twitching towards his wand protectively.

Albus deflated as he shook his head.

“Our now former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor came across him, or what remains of him. What happened, I do not know, but I came to learn that Quirinus Quirrell has allowed himself to play host to those remains. Whether it is possession or something more sinister remains to be seen, but he is dangerous, Sirius. More dangerous than I had anticipated.”

“Where is he now?” Sirius asked, not even knowing where to begin digesting what he’d learned.

He did not doubt Albus’s words.

The man could be considered shrewd when he needed to be, but he was not a liar and certainly would not do so about something so deeply disturbing and important.

“I do not know. Until recently, I was watching over something of great importance, something the Dark Lord wished to obtain for himself, but he failed in doing so, and when I confront Quirinus, quite the violent confrontation took place. Much to my regret, I underestimated him, and he managed to flee. I merely wished to tell you so that you may take appropriate measures to ensure Harry’s safety.”

“Harry is safe, but I will check over our protections. Do you think he will look for him?”

“It is hard to say, but for now, I do not believe so. The Dark Lord will eventually do so, but only when he can of his own volition. He had no intention of confronting me but was forced into it. I suspect he will do his utmost to hide until he is in a position of power or is occupying his own body.”

Sirius could only shake his head.

“How is he still alive?”

“The same could be asked of young Harry,” Albus pointed out, “but I expect there was a magical intervention of sorts the night he came for him. I will look into the matter with the utmost urgency in a bid to discover what that was and how the Dark lord yet lives as he is.”

Sirius rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Both he and Lily had harboured their suspicions over the years as to what had happened, and the woman had trawled through every book she could get her hands on for an explanation.

Sirius had done so with the volumes in the Black Library but had come up with nothing that would explain it.

Perhaps there was something he had read but had not been able to make the needed connection, but thus far, there was nothing to offer an explanation, and not even a brilliant wizard like Albus could offer any insight.

“This will be devastating for them,” he murmured, “but I cannot keep it from them. If there is anything I can do…”

Albus nodded appreciatively as he reached into his desk and removed a wrapped package.

“I attempted to send this to Harry for Christmas,” he explained. “I borrowed it from James before the Potters went into hiding. I think it is high time it was returned to them.”

Sirius accepted the package, and he immediately knew what it was.

“James’s cloak,” he whispered.

He’d searched every inch of the house in Godric’s Hollow for the garment, to no avail, and he had suspected James had simply placed it in the family vault.

“You are familiar with it?”

Sirius dragged a hand through his hair, chuckling as a myriad of memories came to the forefront of his mind.

“You could say that,” he murmured amusedly. “I don’t suppose it is much good now, but Harry will appreciate it all the same.”

“On the contrary, it is as useful now as it has ever been,” Albus replied, his eyes alight with mirth. “It is an incredible and invaluable object, Sirius.”

“An invisibility cloak that doesn’t fade.”

“Indeed,” Albus confirmed. “I expect it will serve Harry well and certainly protect him if and when he needs it most.”

His tone was dismissive, and Sirius knew he would get nothing else out of the man on the matter.

“I am sorry, Sirius. Please tell Lily I did all I could to stop him. I expect she will be displeased, but she will come to understand why my efforts were ultimately for nothing.”

With only a nod in response, Sirius took his leave of the office, pondering what he’d just learned.

Lily would be terrified, but it was not a truth that could be kept from her.

Over the years, she had spoken about what would happen if Voldemort was not truly dead, if Harry spent his life being hunted by the man that had murdered his father, and what the boy would do when he was old enough to make his own decisions pertaining to it.

Sirius already knew, and again, he felt the same weight of trepidation rest heavily upon him.

Harry was a kind and considerate boy for the most part, but there was a temperament to him that so few had seen, an anger he kept at bay, and that vengeful side that would never allow him to hide from Voldemort forever.

No, Sirius had an idea of what the future held, and for the most part it was a rather bleak outlook should Harry pursue the man that had caused him and his mother so much pain and anguish.

(Break)

Being away from school had given Harry time not only to spend with his mother, Sirius, and the griffins, to truly reflect on how his life had changed. Up until he had boarded the carriage to Ilvermorny, he’d been mostly sheltered from the outside world, kept hidden from his enemies, and evidently, admirers.

Harry had been warned that he had both, that he would need to learn who was who, those that would wish him harm, those that would use to them to their own ends, and those that simply wanted to gawp at him for a while.

Fortunately, he didn’t seem to have met any of those, not yet, at least.

When those that learned who he was had gotten over the surprise, they’d become quite normal, had allowed him his space when he wanted it, but not excluded him from anything either.

But as Sirius had pointed out, this was not Britain.

It would be different when he eventually ventured back home, but for now, he was content with being at school, where he felt he was thriving. Much to his joy, he seemed to be a natural with his wand, and practical magic seemed to come rather easily to him, much easier than it did his peers.

Perhaps it was attributable to how hard he worked each day, or maybe it was that he just had a natural affinity for it. Regardless, Harry intended to continue working hard to push himself as far as he could, and beyond any limits he found himself up against.

His mother would expect nothing less of him, and Harry did not doubt that he would find himself facing adversity in the future.

He needed to be prepared for that in every way; politically, magically, and mentally.

“You’re concentrating hard for someone being on their way to the castle,” Marisa spoke, breaking into his thoughts.

Harry shrugged.

“I was just thinking about what we will be doing during classes.”

The girl rolled her eyes at him and shook her head.

“Haven’t you learned everything there is to for the year?”

“I might have.”

“So, it doesn’t matter then.”

Harry chuckled as he held up a placating hand.

He had worked his way through the syllabus, and even the second year one in Charms, Transfiguration, and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and was already considering what electives he’d take during his third year so that he might get ahead in those.

Having discussed it with Sirius, the education at Ilvermorny seemed to be very similar to that of Hogwarts, with a few notable differences. Xylomancy was taught alongside Divination, which Harry had no intention of pursuing, but he would certainly put himself forward for Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and perhaps even creature care.

Beyond that, the school encouraged the students to investigate their own talents, to seek further assistance from an able professor when needed; so long as what they were doing did not break any laws.

Harry was already a practitioner of the Mind Arts, a frowned upon but not illegal subject, but the same could not be said of the other things that interested him.

He could not deny that he wasn’t drawn to the study of the Dark Arts, but Ilvermorny offered little to no guidance on the subject.

Given Grindelwald’s impact here some decades prior, the laws surrounding the practice had only tightened, and he knew he would get no education on it at school.

Very few schools did offer it, only Durmstrang, and the reputation of that school was poor at best for the most.

Even so, it wasn’t as though he was going to be advertising his interest in the study.

It was something he would have to pursue off his own back and better understand why it was he felt so drawn to them. Perhaps it was because of what had happened to him as a babe, or maybe it was merely a curiosity he needed to satiate.

Regardless, it was not something he would ignore, even if his mother would undoubtedly be against him obtaining such knowledge.

Harry, however, knew it could prove to be most useful, if only to save his life from those that considered him an enemy.

Although he did not remember or truly experience it, he’d heard and learned of the war that had ravaged Britain, and he would not fall victim to anything in the horror stories he knew of.

No, that would not be his fate, nor would it be to suffer the same end as his father.

“Is it me, or did it just get really cold in here?” Isabelle asked, shivering as she looked out of the window.

“It must just be a chill,” Marisa said dismissively. “It is January and we are climbing up a mountain.”

“It is colder than when we left,” Wendell grumbled. “Anything interesting happen over the holidays?”

“I went to visit my grandmother back home,” Marisa said with a smile.

“Ma died a few years ago,” Wendell sighed, “but Pa was with us until this morning. Pops had to make him stay for the holidays. He just sat on the porch drinking beer, shooting at things that weren’t really there.”

“Isabelle?” Harry asked.

“I went to a Christmas ball at my Aunt and Uncle’s house. You kind of came up,” she added apologetically.

“I did?”

Isabelle nodded.

“My cousin, Gabrielle, saw the necklace you gave me, and I told her it came from you after you taught me to fly. Sorry, Harry.”

He waved her off dismissively.

“It’s fine. It’s no secret I’m here,” he pointed out.

“No, but I spent the rest of the evening being teased by my family, and Gabrielle…well…”

“Well, what?”

Isabelle released a deep breath as she removed an envelope from within her robes.

“Asked if I would give you a letter.”

Harry frowned as he took it, scowling at Wendell who snorted amusedly.

“Look at you, Harry. Your first piece of fan mail. Shall we get it framed for you?”

There was no malice or envy in his tone. He was merely taking a small amount of joy in Harry’s discomfort.

“Shut up, Wendell,” he huffed. “Your cousin isn’t some weird old lady, is she?”

“No, Gabrielle is our age. She’s at Beauxbatons for her first year, but she is…”

“She’s what?” Harry pressed.

“Just read the letter, Harry,” Isabelle requested. “Gabrielle is a sweet girl. She just doesn’t have many friends. I don’t think she has any anymore.”

He looked towards the others who offered no explanation before he opened the letter to find himself gazing upon a neat, refined scrawl. Catching an odd yet inviting scent wafting from the parchment, he quirked an eyebrow at Isabelle before shaking himself of the heady feeling that gripped him.

Dear Harry Potter,

I wanted to thank you for teaching my cousin Isabelle how to fly. It was something she was terrified of before going to school, but she says you really helped her.

She is watching me write this letter and is nervous that I will say something to embarrass, so, I’m just going to keep writing a little while longer to make her think I might just be writing something embarrassing.

I wouldn’t do it, but there is no harm in making her think it.

Anyway, thank you, and maybe one day we will get to meet each other.

Isabelle says that you are really kind, but sometimes too quiet.

I think I’m like that too.

Gabrielle Delacour

He chuckled amusedly as he folded up the parchment and placed it in his pocket. Eliciting a questioning look from Isabelle, who had been watching him expectantly.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well what? The letter was addressed to me, wasn’t it?”

Isabelle muttered something under her breath in her native tongue, and Harry shook his head amusedly.

“She didn’t write anything embarrassing, I can promise you that. What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked Wendell.

The boys’ eyes were glazed over, and he was fixed on the empty envelope Harry was still holding.

“Wendell!”

“What?”

“Are you drooling?”

The boy was startled by Marisa nudging him with her shoulder, and he appeared to be confused a moment, his gaze flitting back towards the envelope.

Harry frowned, and as he looked at it himself, he too felt something odd once more.

“Gabrielle is a Veela,” Isabelle explained quietly. “It’s her magic you can feel on the parchment.”

“Ah,” Harry said in realisation. “That explains why she doesn’t have so many friends. I don’t suppose even the French are so welcoming.”

“No,” Isabelle sighed. “It’s always been hard for them, but Fleur gets the worst of it. She’s Gabrielle’s older sister, a fourth year at Beauxbatons.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

“What is a Veela?” Marisa asked curiously.

“Human for the most part,” Harry explained, “but are considered a creature because of the magic they possess and their ability to turn into a birdlike creature that throws fire. Well, that’s my understanding of it. They’re not well thought of in most places because they also have the ability to ensnare most men with their magic, and they’re mostly beautiful, which doesn’t help them.”

“Well, you know a lot about them,” Wendell pointed out.

“My godfather has spoken of them,” Harry said with a shrug. “I looked it up, but I only know what I’ve read in a book. I’ve never met one, so I can’t say for myself what they’re like.”

“Like people,” Isabelle said firmly. “There’s good and bad ones, but my aunt and cousins aren’t like those ones.”

“I didn’t think they were,” Harry offered comfortingly.

Isabelle nodded.

“I couldn’t say no to her when she asked if she could write.”

“It’s fine,” Harry assured her. “I will make sure I write back to her. I’m sure she has some stories to tell about you.”

Isabelle narrowed her eyes at him as he grinned, but before she could chide him, the carriage came to a stop, and Harry stepped out quickly, only to run into a boy he’d been avoiding for some weeks now.

“Potter,” Jack Adams greeted him.

He was the captain of the Quodpot team for the house, and though he had left Harry be when he’d opted not to attend the trials, it had been quite clear he’d wished to approach him since.

“Will you just hear me out?” the older boy requested.

Harry could only be grateful that he was being polite, and he nodded.

Jack Adams was a burly sixteen-year-old, with little neck to show for his thick shoulder muscles. His eyebrows were oddly thin, and his nose quite misshapen from how many times it had evidently been broken.

“Train with us,” Adams urged. “You do not have to play if you don’t want to, but someone with your talent would be wasted. I saw you flying that day. It’s like you were born on the back of a broom. Just having the team trying to catch you would improve us considerably. At least think about it.”

“I will,” Harry promised.

Adams offered him an appreciative nod before leaving to rejoin his own friends.

“Do you know how many first years get to play on the house team?” Olivia asked, looping her arm through his as they made their way towards the arch where Professor Fontaine and the heads of houses were waiting for them.

Harry shrugged.

“I have no idea.”

“None,” Olivia informed him. “First years are never chosen.”

“I wasn’t chosen,” Harry pointed out.

“Only because you didn’t go to the trials. Adams and the others were waiting for you.”

Harry released a deep breath.

“I’m just not sure I’m interested.”

“Have you ever played?”

“No.”

“Then you should at least give it a try. You’re a brilliant flier, Harry, and you could make a tonne of gold from playing Quodpot if it works out.”

It was Isabelle laughing that caused Olivia to frown, but the French girl offered the other a look of apology for doing so.

“Sorry, but you do realise that Harry has more gold than he will ever be able to spend.”

“He does?”

“I do?”

Isabelle rolled her eyes.

“Sleakeazy’s alone must make you a considerable sum each year. It was one of your ancestors that invented it.”

“It was?”

“I use that!” a wide-eyed Olivia revealed. “Almost every girl I know uses it!”

Isabelle nodded.

“He will also be the Lord Potter, and if he does become the Lord Black, there won’t be many families richer than him.”

“I never thought of that,” Harry murmured.

“All I’m saying is that gold isn’t something you will ever have to worry about.”

“Well, you should still try Quodpot. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

She said nothing else on the matter and Harry shifted his focus to Isabelle.

“How do you know all of those things about me? I didn’t even know them.”

“You’re a public figure, Harry,” the girl reminded him. “When what happened to you did, there wasn’t very much that was kept so secret. Sorry, I thought you of all people would know.”

Harry shook his head.

“I barely left the ranch until I came here. You and everyone else probably know more about me than I do.”

“Didn’t your mother tell you anything?”

“She’s a muggleborn and I don’t think she knows much about the Potters. She and my father were only married for a few years before, well, you know.”

Isabelle gave his hand a squeeze.

“I didn’t mean to sound nosy, but maybe you should try to speak to someone who does know more. That’s your family, Harry.”

She was right.

Although his mother and Sirius had both shared stories over the years when they were able to, Harry realised that neither had told him much about his magical family.

He knew that his mother had a sister, that both of her parents had died some years prior, but little to nothing about the Potters.

Sirius had mentioned his grandparents, Charlus and Dorea, had spoken of his years living with them, but in all, it added up to very little.

Perhaps he should ask the man about them, and even his mother with what little she would likely know.

That, however, was something for another day, perhaps during the summer. For now, he knew he needed to continue focusing on his schooling, and maybe, just maybe, he might acquiesce and attend a training session with the Quodpot team.

What was the worst that could happen?

(Break)

She could only sit with her head in her hands as she mulled the news over.

For the most part, Lily Potter had lived in fear that the Dark Lord would indeed return, and hearing the news that Sirius had just broken to her, she was living it once more.

She was terrified for her son, for what was inevitably coming for him, and as she managed to look up at the man charged with being his godfather, Sirius Black nodded.

“I will send a letter to Fontaine,” he assured her, “and I will visit the school to speak with Harry, quietly. I think Albus is right. The Dark Lord will do nothing until he is in a position of power and certainty, but that doesn’t mean we should be lax. I’m going to arrange for some additional security for the ranch.”

“What security?”

“I’m not sure, but whatever will make this place safer.”

Lily nodded as she gazed out of the window.

There had always been a vulnerability about her, and she knew she had grown to be especially protective over Harry. Even now, she wanted nothing more than to fetch him from school and bring him home where she could keep a close eye on him.

Not that the boy would comply.

Harry was enjoying his time at Ilvermorny, and despite her instinct to protect him, Lily could not take that away from him.

“He will be safe,” Sirius vowed. “I’ll send the letter now.”

He left the room to do so, and though she knew she was quite safe here, Lily Potter felt herself filled with a trepidation that had plagued these last years, only now, it was considerably worse, more burdensome, and more troubling than ever before.

(Break)

He was already regretting agreeing to attend the house-training session, but Harry would not be seen as someone to go back on his word, so at four pm, whilst it was still mercifully light, though for not much longer, he entered the Quodpot stadium where Jack Adams was waiting for him.

The older boy offered Harry was he expected was a rare smile as he approached and handed him a broom.

“I have my own.”

Adams shook his head.

“We all use school brooms to ensure this remains a game of skill rather than who can afford the fastest broom.”

Harry nodded approvingly.

“I like that.”

Adams clapped him on the shoulder and led him to where around a dozen and a half other members of the house were gathered, all of them at least in their third year of schooling, and certainly broader than him.

Perhaps in passing, Harry had spoken to some of them, but he knew none of their names.

“Alright, as you can see, Potter has finally agreed to join us for some training. That does not mean he will be playing, but for those of you that have not seen him fly, you will see why having him here will be good for us, even if it is only for these sessions. Now, get yourselves warmed up.”

He gave a sharp, shrill blow of the whistle hanging around his neck, and the members of the team took to the sky, flying laps around the stadium to ready themselves.

“You’ve never played, have you?”

Harry shook his head.

“No, never even seen a game.”

Adams chuckled as he shook his head.

“Well, it’s not such a complicated game. As you can see, either side of the pitch is a pot. The aim is to get the ball into it before it explodes. It requires teamwork to do so, Potter, but if you’re quick enough, and a good enough flier, there’s nothing stopping displays of individual brilliance.”

Harry nodded and followed Adams to the centre of the pitch where he picked up a round ball of a similar size to a muggle football, or soccer as the natives tended to call it.

“This is called the Quod. If you are holding this when it explodes, you are out of the game. It is sporadic but getting it into the pot will neutralise it, for a while, at least. The game is over if all players on a team are eliminated, or the timer runs out. The game is played in two halves of forty minutes, so, no weeklong games you sometimes get in Quidditch. It’s a physical game, Potter. The other team will try to unseat you, and it’s not unusual for fights to breakout. It’s just part of the game, and the fans love it. That doesn’t happen here so often. We like to keep it at least a little friendly. Any questions?”

Harry shook his head.

It seemed to be straightforward enough.

“Good, then get yourself warmed up, and we will begin.”

With a nod, Harry took to the sky, revelling in the sense of freedom flying always brought him. Up here, it was as though he could leave everything else behind, even if it was only for a while whilst he lost himself in something he’d never truly had to try at.

He remembered the concern of his mother when Sirius had presented him with his first real broom when he’d been five years; a Comet 200. It had been marketed as an excellent beginner’s model, and it had been, but any broom would’ve been too much for his mother.

He remembered the first time he’d kicked off from the ground, how he’d instinctively known how to handle it, what h could and couldn’t do, and just how exhilarating it would be to climb as high as it would allow.

Harry smiled at the memory of his mother frantically screaming and waving her arms for him to descend, how Sirius had been torn between chastising him and praising him for his talent.

His godfather had chosen the latter, and his mother had eventually gotten used to his escapades atop the various brooms he’d owned since.

It wasn’t until he’d flown in front of his peers that he realised just how good he might truly be, and as Adams beckoned him over, Harry joined the rest of the members of the team, now quite looking forward to seeing if his talent would translate into something sporting.

“We are going to play nine each side, and I will referee. Potter, I want you to play offense for your team, and remember, keep the Quod moving. You’ll pick it up as we go along.”

Harry nodded and joined the eight others Adams gestured to.

“We will be playing defence,” one of the larger boys explained. “We like to keep the nimbler players going forward. That will be the five of you,” he added, pointing to Harry and the remining three players that were only just a slighter build than the others.

“Are all Quodpot players huge?” Harry asked.

The boy laughed heartily.

“No, but having some muscle behind you certainly helps. You’ll learn that for yourself. Let’s go!”

Before Harry could ask any other questions, the rest of the team took to the sky in an unfamiliar formation, and he filled the only gap amongst them, his grip tightening on the handle of his broom as Adams hurled the Quod into the air.

Immediately, Harry was taken aback as he was surrounded by sudden blurs of players going and back and forth, passing the Quod between themselves, and intercepting much quicker than he’d anticipated.

With a shake of his head, he threw himself into the mix, somehow catching an errant pass before bursting forward, weaving in and out of the opposing players.

Before he could either make a shot or pass however, something ploughed into him, and Harry found himself skidding across the ground with the wind knocked out of him.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard a whistle, and whilst he fought to breathe again, he was quickly surrounded.

“Christ, Jennings, that was a bit harsh.”

“He’s got to learn.”

“Are you good, Potter?”

Harry nodded as he sat up, wincing at the discomfort thrumming through him.

“I’m good,” he wheezed, pushing himself to his feet, waving off those trying to help him.

If this was how it was to be, so be it.

Now he knew what it was he was up against, he would pull no punches either, and as he spotted one of the grinning players, evidently the boy that had crashed into him, he nodded as he mounted his broom once more.

Harry was no stranger to physical sports, and though he’d been caught off guard, he was determined that it wouldn’t happen again.

Beneath the surface, his anger was simmering, but on the outside, he appeared as calm as ever.

Nonetheless, when the match resumed, he had eyes only for Jennings, and he stuck close by, waiting for his moment to strike.

It came quicker than he anticipated, and as he followed the trajectory of the Quod towards Jennings’ waiting hand, he burst forward just as the boy did.

A loud snapping sounded as Harry rammed his elbow into Jennings’s face, and the older boy fell off his broom.

He hit the ground below with a dull thud, where remained motionless for a few moments before a groan escaped him.

“Hell, look at the state of his nose,” Adams sighed, though he appeared to be rather pleased.

“My arm,” Jennings groaned. “It’s broken.”

“Get him to the medical wing,” Adams instructed two of the other players.

The rest of the team watched as Jennings was helped to his feet and escorted from the stadium.

“Well, I can’t say you didn’t learn quick,” Adams snorted. “Nice work, Potter. You have to give as good as you get out here, and you did that. Still, it would be better for you to get some meat on them bones. That will come with age, if you choose to keep training with us.”

Harry nodded.

“I think I will,” he decided.

Despite the unexpected physicality of the sport, he’d quite enjoyed his brief introduction to Quodpot.

“Good, then I will see you at six am.”

“Six am?”

Adams nodded as he grinned almost evilly.

“If you’re going to train with us, you will complete all aspects of training. Six am is physical before breakfast. Don’t be late. That will do for today. We don’t need any more injuries. Go on, enjoy the early finish.”

The rest of the team didn’t need telling twice and hurriedly left the same whilst Harry began to wonder if he’d made a mistake in agreeing to continue the training.

“Six am,” he grumbled, shaking his head as he followed the others, pausing as he caught sight of the approaching Professor Clarke.

“Come with me, Potter,” she said gravely.

Harry did so, his thoughts shifting to whether he had done something to find himself in trouble.

Had Jennings told her of what had happened on the pitch?

Harry didn’t know, but the woman was unusually sombre and silent as she led him through the halls of the castle.

(Break)

“How can we expect him to take it?” Professor Fontaine asked worriedly.

Sirius had only briefly met the man once before to discuss Harry’s placement of the school, to get an understanding of how much his education could potentially be interrupted because of who he was.

Sirius shook his head.

“Not well,” he murmured. “He won’t show it much, but he will be worried, just not for himself.”

“Not for himself?”

“No, for his mother,” Sirius sighed. “Harry is frighteningly protective of Lily. He understands what responsibilities he will one day have, and he cannot wait until he can accept his Lordship, not for the power or access to his wealth mind, but so he can feel as though it is him truly responsible for Lily’s safety.”

“He is quite a remarkable boy. He is already proving that he is talented.”

“Both James and Lily were.”

“No, Lord Black, Harry is not just talented in using magic but understands it beyond what someone his age should. It is something we will discuss with you and his mother in more depth, but from what I have heard and seen, Harry will be an exceptional wizard, beyond what most could ever hope to be, should he continue impressing the way he is.”

“Really?” Sirius asked.

Fontaine nodded sagely.

“I was an Auror for several decades before I came here to teach, and in all my time, I can say that I have never met one with such potential. My colleagues who teach him agree, and some of them have been here longer than I have been alive. He has true potential.”

Sirius snorted humourlessly.

“I suppose he will have to prove to be, won’t he?”

“Indeed,” Fontaine said darkly, turning towards the door to his office as it opened.

“What happened to you?” Sirius asked, spotting Harry’s dishevelled appearance.

His clothing had been muddied and he even had a bruise on his cheek.

“Quodpot,” he said dismissively.

“Your mother will not like that,” Sirius sighed.

“It is not as though Mr Potter came off worse,” Professor Clarke sighed. “Jennings has a broken nose and arm. He passed me whilst I was on the way to fetch Harry.”

“Good work, Potter,” Professor Fontaine praised. “You must be able to hold your own if you’re going to play.”

“I’m just training with the team. Adams asked me to.”

Fontaine nodded appreciatively before shaking his head.

“That is not why you are here. Lord Black?”

Sirius released a deep breath.

“There was an incident at Hogwarts, Harry, involving Voldemort.”

Harry’s expression immediately darkened, but what caught Sirius’s attention was that the boy did not seem surprised.

“What happened?”

Sirius shook his head.

“It seems as though he has coerced one of the professors into helping him, but he has been discovered by Professor Dumbledore. The professor fled, Harry, so you must be extra vigilant.”

The boy nodded, his expression darkening.

Oddly, and perhaps naively, it wasn’t fear Sirius saw within his godson, but an anger boiling beneath the surface.

“You are quite safe here, Mr Potter,” Fontaine spoke. “I will be monitoring the security of the school closely and will have everything at my disposal in use to ensure nothing can go amiss, but I too would urge you to be vigilant and careful.”

Harry nodded.

“I will be,” he promised.

Sirius believed him.

At the very least, Harry would not do something stupid like run away to look for him.

Not yet, at least.

“Good, now, you can walk me to the gate. I have something else to discuss with you. Family business.”

Professor Fontaine nodded his understanding, and Sirius wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulder, leading him from the office and towards the foyer of the school.

“You didn’t seem surprised by the news.”

“Were you?”

“I cannot say I was,” Sirius murmured.

“How is Mum?”

“As you’d expect. She is worried about you, Harry, but I am doing all I can. There will be additional security in place by the time you return for the summer. I expect you will quite enjoy it, but I am saying nothing, for now,” he added with a grin. “Anyway, this is what I wished to discuss with you.”

He removed the wrapped package from withing his robes and handed it to the boy, who eyed it curiously.

“I thought this had either been lost or your father had placed it in the family vault, but it seems he lent it to Dumbledore, who tried to send it to you, but has been unable to, which is a good thing. If Dumbledore could not find a way to reach you, then our security measures are working. Anyway, open it.”

Harry did so and allowed the silvery fabric to pass through his fingers.

“It’s cold,” he murmured.

“It is?”

Harry nodded before smiling.

“This is an invisibility cloak.”

Sirius beamed as the countless memories of using it came to the forefront of his mind.

“Not just any invisibility cloak. According to Dumbledore, this is a special cloak, a priceless family heirloom. For you, I expect it will be a tool of great amusement and landing yourself in trouble, but it is also another way of keeping you safe. Use it if you need to, Harry. Not even Voldemort will be able to find you.”

The boy nodded.

“This was my father’s?”

“His most prized possession until you were born.”

Harry smiled warmly as he pocketed the cloak.

“Thanks, Sirius.”

The man ruffled the boys’ hair.

“You’re welcome. Now, you’d best get back to your common room and write to your mother.”

“I will,” Harry assured him, pausing after only walking a few steps away from him. “I’m going to kill him one day, Sirius. When I’m ready.”

He meant it.

These were not showy words of a boy trying to show that he was braver than he needed to be. They were a solemn vow of one that had pondered it for some time, that meant every syllable he’d spoken.

Sirius offered no reply, and Harry did not wait for one, but once more, the Lord Black felt himself filled with that same fearful trepidation he’d lived throughout the war, only now, it was somehow much worse.