A Promise Kept - Chapter 30 - Troubles of Youth

Troubles of Youth

“You know as well as I do why he did this,” Sirius grumbled as he held the missive from the Minister aloft. “He’s just trying to throw his damned weight around.”

“He’s testing me. He’s seeing if I will comply or retaliate.”

Sirius nodded as he eyed Harry speculatively.

“And what do you propose should be done about it?”

“If it were up to me, I would kick up a very public stink about it and point out that Fudge has no authority to issue such a warning. That would be the politically correct thing to do.”

“And personally?”

“Personally, I would screw up that piece of parchment ad shove it so far up his arse that he’ll be able to use it to wipe Malfoy’s shit from his lips.”

Sirius snorted before shaking his head.

“Language, Harry,” he chided, though his heart wasn’t in it.

The boy was right, and no matter what Sirius chose to do, he had to do something. He was in agreement with Harry’s sentiment, but he was the Lord Black and overseeing the affairs of the Potter family, well, what ones he was privy to.

As much as he would like to throttle Fudge for his impertinence, he needed to handle the matter a little more diplomatically, well, less violently graphic, at least.

It had been a rather trying month for him whilst he waited for the next gathering of the Wizengamot.

He had no remit to call a meeting for what most would deem to be a trivial, personal matter, so, he’d had to exercise patience and restraint in the interim, but his moment would soon be upon him.

Fudge may have thought he’d gotten away with his little warning. That, however, was not so, and he would once more be reminded that Sirius Black did not take such a slight against his godson kindly.

No, Cornelius would not be allowed to stroke his ego at Harry’s expense, and certainly not at Malfoy’s behest.

Sirius had no doubt that the man was behind the strongly worded letter, but ultimately, it was the Minister that had signed the document with his own hand, a piece of parchment he currently possessed that would soon be proudly placed in the frame Harry had set aside.

The boy saw it as something of a badge of honour, something to proud of, and once more, Sirius found himself in agreement.

James would certainly have gotten a kick out of it.

For now, however, he kept his amusement hidden as he waited for the meeting to begin, and his nostrils flared at the sight of Fudge entering the chambers, flanked by his usual lackeys.

He watched as the Minister settled himself behind his podium and began shuffling a sizeable stack of parchment before he nodded towards Albus to call the meeting to order.

There had been no indication as to what the gathering would pertain to, but evidently, the Minister did have an agenda. Placing the stack of parchment on the podium, he cleared his throat, frowning as Sirius raised his wand to be recognised.

“I was not aware that this was to be an open meeting,” Fudge sighed irritably.

“Oh, it will only take a moment, Minister,” Siris said with a smile as he stood and removed the offending piece of parchment from within his robes. “I merely wish to discuss this with you and hear the thoughts of my peers on the matter.”

Evidently, Fudge had assumed his slight had either been ignored, or heeded with due diligence, and he was certainly taken aback by Sirius’s desire to speak of it publicly.

“Now,” he continued. “I do not need to repeat what the media spent weeks reporting on when it came to the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. My godson’ part in the affair has been mentioned at every possibility. Of course, I am proud of how he conducted himself, as we all should be, but what I did not was Harry to receive this from the Minister of Magic himself, no less. I will not bore you with the entirety of the missive, as it is only the nature of it I wish to discuss. In short, the Minister has seen fit to write to a child, warning him not to attend let alone interfere in the final task of the tournament.”

“Outrageous,” Lord Boot declared. “The Minister has no right or authority to do so. It is a matter for Professors Dumbledore, Maxime, and Karkaroff to make such a call, along with Barty and Ludo.”

“My thoughts exactly, Lord Boot,” Sirius replied with a nod, “and I would like an explanation from the Minister as to why he felt it necessary to send such an intimidating letter to someone yet to reach their majority.”

The majority of the Lords and Ladies murmured their agreement, and Fudge appeared to be rather uncomfortable.

“I thought that in the spirit of the competition, it was best that there would be no more…incidents of outside interference.”

“An interference that saved the life of the daughter of a prominent French politician,” Sirius pointed out. “It has already been substantiated that had she been in the water only another few moments, it would’ve cost Gabrielle Delacour her life. My godson was aware of the danger the girl was in, unlike those overseeing the task, I might add. Let us not pretend that this was an incident based on selfishness, Minister. What you have done is attempt to vilify my godson for acting in good faith and doing the right thing. I would have an apology from you for this. Neither the Houses of Black nor Potter will tolerate such behaviour from an elected official.”

He'd spoken his final words firmly, leaving no room to interpret them as being said in jest or otherwise.

Sirius meant it.

He wanted a formal apology from the Minister, and he would have it.

“The Minister acted as he saw fit…”

“Shut up, Umbridge,” Sirius snapped irritably. “The Minister had no reason to act at all in the matter, and certainly not in such an insulting manner. I expect a written apology by the end of the week.”

He took his seat, and the flustered Cornelius Fudge busied himself with his parchment once more, before clearing his throat.

“Our reason for gathering today is to discuss the implementation of laws governing the ability of humanoid creatures being able to seek and obtain employment within certain establishments, namely, working with members of the public in enclosed spaces…”

Sirius shook his head as his gaze shifted towards the smirking Dolores Umbridge.

Twice in the last two years she had attempted to table such restrictive laws, and it seemed he would need to once again have to dash whatever foolish ambitions the woman was harbouring.

(Break)

He watched in utter fascination as Dumbledore moved from one transfiguration to the next effortlessly, almost as though the man did so in a state of boredom.

Harry had never seen anything like it.

He’d begun with only a wooden sphere, and now, he was turning a fully formed lion into a table and nodded satisfactorily at the polished surface.

He could only shake his head.

Of course, he’d heard of Dumbledore’s prowess, of just how gifted a wizard he was, but to see him do something so easily that most would never be able to achieve with decades of practice was as humbling as it was incredible.

“It’s still a lion,” he chuckled.

“It is but a deception,” Dumbledore acknowledged, his eyes twinkling merrily. “It appears to be a table, but…”

He broke off as he conjured a stick before prodding the table with it.

Briefly, a lion’s head formed from the wood, ripping the tool from the man’s hand quite viciously.

“Transfiguration is exceptional when it comes to the art of deception.”

Harry nodded his agreement.

“As it is with creating shields and other weapons that can be used in a duel.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore acknowledged. “Now, how do you think I was able to transfigure what I was so quickly?”

That was the very question Harry had been pondering as he’d watched him work, and for the most part, he was not ashamed to admit that he was lost. He could chain together transfigurations of his own, but not even close to as quickly or spectacularly as the Hogwarts headmaster.

“Honestly, I do not know.”

Dumbledore chuckled amusedly.

“Forgive me a moment of joy, Harry, but I would be quite astounded if you did know. What I just demonstrated takes mastery of the art, so, it was rather an unfair question. I will, of course, explain it to you. You see, what you see is not exactly what I am doing, not in that moment at least. By the time you have witnessed my creation, I am already creating another five or six steps ahead. Sometimes, I can even manage seven on my better days.”

Harry shook his head.

“I’ve heard of that,” he murmured, “but from what I have read, most masters can only manage three ahead of what they are projecting.”

“Quite true,” Dumbledore acknowledged. “I must ask for your forgiveness again, Harry, whilst I boast. I am not like most masters.”

Harry snorted amusedly.

“No, you’re not,” he agreed. “I didn’t know that was possible. It shows how much I have to learn.”

“The pursuit of knowledge never ends, but when you have lived as long as I, you tend to have picked up a few things along the way.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Harry replied. “Where do you even begin learning that?”

“Well, when I started my mastery, it was one of the things I wished to learn, mostly for the purpose of showing off my skill. As a young man, I cared much more for how I was seen than I do now. I suppose that is another thing that comes with age. Now, the skill itself lies in a combination of what you can do with your wand as much as your mind. You must be able to use both simultaneously for different tasks. That, I’m afraid, Harry, is just the beginning.”

“And not even your greatest of skills.”

Dumbledore’s beard twitched from the smile he sported as he leaned forward.

“Not even close, my dear boy.”

The headmaster nodded as he inspected Harry’s, as though it was a mere demonstration of his skill.

“Excellent,” he praised as he fended off the creature with a wave of his wand, “but I fear that another lesson is in order for you, Harry. Tell me, what weaknesses do using transfigured creatures possess?”

It was difficult to consider the question when the man sent his own offering towards him in the form of three wolves that Harry kept at bay with a conjured wall of fire.

Even so, he knew that Dumbledore would not relent.

If anything, the pressure would only mount.

“Any competent wizard will be able to prevent themselves from being attacked by them,” he answered.

Dumbledore nodded, though Harry knew that was not what the man was looking for.

“True,” he accepted, “but it is so much more than that.”

Harry’s eyes widened as his own two wolves turned and began bounding towards him, joining the other three in their bid to tear him limb from limb.

Dumbledore had taken his own creations and turned them against him; an unexpected move, but not one that surprised Harry.

The man was simply toying with him, and from what he had seen the headmaster was capable of, was doing so with such little effort.

Harry had become accustomed to being humbled by Professor Flitwick during his lessons, had realised that there were levels to magic and certainly duelling, and Albus Dumbledore was the very epitome of that sentiment.

With a flick of his wand, he sent a bolt of lightning towards the creatures, eviscerating them in a spray of gore and magical backlash, eliciting a pair of raised eyebrows from his instructor.

It was not often Harry demonstrated such magic, but times like this when he was facing considerable adversity called for it.

“That was quite the spell, Harry, a dangerous but effective spell that you wielded most excellently,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully.

“But it wasn’t transfiguration.”

“No, but it would be foolish to only rely on one branch of magic, even if my instructions were transfiguration spells only,” the old man chuckled. “Now, would you indulge me with an answer to my question?”

Harry nodded as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

“As you proved, any competent practitioner of transfiguration can turn the creations of another against them.”

“Indeed, so, it is quite dangerous to create something that may be used against you, no?”

He was testing him, and Harry took a moment to consider exactly what it was the man was looking for.

Dumbledore was not so giving when it came to information. He preferred to prompt his students into thinking for themselves. It was quite the revelation for Harry, but he appreciated the approach.

It made him more conscious of his own trail of thought when confronted with a problem.

“Only if you create it in a way that you cannot dispose of it quickly.”

The headmaster beamed at the answer.

“You once again prove that you have as keen a mind as you do a wand,” he praised. “You are quite correct, Harry. It is to your advantage to create something of a lynchpin within your work, a weakness that is not obvious to your foe, but easily exploited by yourself should it be used against you. Now, creating something as spectacular as a wolf is one thing, but creating it purposely with a mistake is another. It goes against every teaching you will receive during your standard education. It is, I’m afraid, a skill you will acquire if you study a mastery.”

“Are you trying to sway my further education, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore chuckled as he shook his head.

“No, I would not take such a liberty, but masters in transfiguration are few and far between. It would not only be quite the feather in your cap, but you would be in a position where you could contribute something much needed to the magical world.”

“Well, I cannot hold a candle to you or Professor McGonagall.”

“Yet. That does not mean that you will not be as able as us, or even surpass us in the future, Harry. You truly have the potential and gift to achieve great things.”

Harry nodded appreciatively, and frowned as a question that had been plaguing him came to mind once more.

Try as he might, he could find answers for himself, and he could safely say he’d never met anyone with such a vast experience as the man before him.

Still, Harry had not forgotten that Albus Dumbledore, as benevolent as he appeared to be, was not so. He was a shrewd politician that had survived the Wizengamot for decades and had not done so because he was a fool.

“Have you heard of any instances where it is possible that one magic can absorb properties of another?”

Dumbledore frowned and leaned back in his chair, tugging his beard thoughtfully.

“There have been a few known trinkets that can achieve such a thing, most deeply unpleasant, and magically parasitic. Dangerous artefacts, Harry.”

“What about people or creatures? Are there any known incidents of a person taking or passing on aspects of their magic?”

Dumbledore hummed.

“Theoretically, I suppose it is possible if it is gifted. Magic as magic is, cannot be forcibly taken by one thing and gifted to another, not in such a way, and certainly not without significant consequence, not that I know of, at least. Why do you ask?”

It was rather concerning to hear his thoughts on the matter, and Harry found he needed an answer. It wasn’t as though what had happened had affected him negatively, not yet.

“Well, since what happened during the summer, my fire spells have changed.”

“Changed?”

Harry nodded as he cast a simple incendio, ending the spell quickly as the white flames spewed from his wand.

“Mrs Delacour used her hair and fire to save my life,” he explained. “The Healers said they found minimal traces of her magic when I was checked over, but that can’t be true if it has affected my fire spells, can it?”

Dumbledore was certainly taken aback by what he had witnessed, and Harry could almost hear the man thinking for several moments before he answered.

“I’m afraid I cannot give you clarity, only my thoughts on what limited knowledge I have. I suspect that, somehow, your own magic absorbed whatever magic Mrs Delacour used to save you. I have never heard of such a thing, Harry, and I would urge you to keep it between yourself and your Healer, who I urge you to discuss the matter with. It is quite the anomaly, but it has not affected you negatively, has it?”

“No, nothing like that. Everything else is just as normal as ever, but the fire spells are different. All of them more intense. I am learning to control it better, but it isn’t easy.”

Dumbledore hummed as he eyed Harry.

“I would like to try something, if you will humour me.”

Without waiting for an answer, he conjured a snake, a large aggressive cobra that reared up, and exposed its fangs.

“NO!”

It lunged towards him, but with a wave of his wand, it fell limp as his spell collided with the creature, and Harry stared at it for a moment before his gaze shifted towards Dumbledore.

“I can assure you, Harry, that the snake itself was not dangerous. I was merely curious to see if you had inherited a particular gift from the Dark Lord. It is safe to say that you did not, which leads me to believe your sudden, rather splendid acquisition of skill with fire, was not the result of an illness or other anomaly due to what happened that Halloween night. You see, I thought it was perhaps possible that Voldemort had somehow changed the very nature of your magic in a way that allowed it to absorb that of others.”

“Is that possible?”

“I would not say impossible, but only because there have been no such instances of it happening. The only other theory I have that might explain what has happened is that night has left something of a mark on your magic, nothing troubling mind, that has given you quite the ability to replicate what you see and feel. Minerva and Filius have both mentioned you have quite the proclivity for doing so, have something of a sensitivity towards ambient magic.”

Harry nodded.

“I’ve always almost been able to see a spell and copy it. It’s as though I can feel exactly how the magic itself works.”

“Quite the gift indeed,” Dumbledore murmured. “Perhaps we can put it to the test, and we will do so during our next session together. Very well done today, Harry.”

He accepted the dismissal and vanished from the transfiguration classroom via the floo network, now wondering if much of the ability to learn magic had indeed somehow come courtesy of the Dark Lord that had murdered his father.

(Break)

“Not again,” she huffed as she blew the feathers away from her chest.

She’d been home for a weeks now, but the problem she now found herself dealing with once again had begun during her stay in the hospital.

Gabrielle had felt different when she had woken from her sleep, a sense of clarity that had been absent these past few years since starting school, but it was not necessarily a welcome change to her psyche.

She remembered when Fleur had begun transforming in her sleep, remembered her mother and father had celebrated the very first, just as they had with Gabrielle.

It was just the beginning of the maturity she was experiencing, in in only a matter of days, it was impossible to ignore the changes.

Already, she had grown almost five inches in height, meaning her clothes no longer fit her, and everything else had followed it quicky.

Her chest was swollen, her back ached, and she no longer resembled a girl that had quite grown with the years that had gone by. If anything, Gabrielle resembled a young woman now, and it was taking some getting used to.

Today’s transformation was not as dramatic as others had been, but she’d grown tired of cleaning up her own feathers.

“Are you awake, Gabrielle?”

“Yes,” she sighed.

Her mother entered and shot her a look of sympathy.

“They will stop soon enough.”

“You’ve been saying that for days.”

“And you have continued to grow,” her mother chuckled. “Your hair is more silver than even mine and Fleur’s.”

Gabrielle rolled her eyes as she vanished the feathers with a wave of her wand, saving one to add to the collection, one from each nightly transformation. There were twenty-six of them now.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Physically, great,” she answered honestly.

It had taken days for her to experience any kind of warmth, but she could feel it now. It was almost as though her blood was boiling in her veins.

“And have you written to Harry?”

“Every day, but I am not ready to see him yet.”

“You are worried.”

Gabrielle shook her head.

“Non, not worried, but I need to get used to this before anyone else gets to see it. I’m different, now.”

“Not so much. You have grown, yes, but they are all still your friends, Gabrielle. I do not think any of this will change that.”

“I don’t either, it’s just, well, I don’t know. Maybe I am a little worried. He could’ve died doing what he did.”

“And you almost did,” her mother pointed out.

“I know, and I will see him, soon, I promise.”

Her mother nodded approvingly before placing a kiss on her cheek.

“Good, now, what would you like for breakfast?”

(Break)

Sabine,

I hope this finds you well.

The horses are thriving in their new stables, and we have three little ones on the way!

I know you miss riding when you are at school, but they are all here waiting for you. Bruce is especially restless. I am taking him out as much as I can, just not as much as you would if you were here.

We have seen the news about the Potter boy, and your father is not so pleased by it. I think he is more irritated that he conducted himself rather poorly after the incident with your brothers.

At least he is no longer plotting anything where the boy or Sirius Black are concerned, not that I am aware of at least, but we both know what he is like with his moods, so, I would not expect his goodwill to last.

For now, it seems that his support of Quodpot is outweighing his stupid grudge, that, and the fact that he is not best pleased with your brothers, neither of whom making any effort to carve a career path of their own.

He spoiled them growing up, just as I warned him not to.

Still no luck finding either a match, but I did overhear your father speaking with Winthrop about your own arrangement. He seems intent on seeing it through.

Anyway, do enjoy the rest of your year.

Love,

Mom

She had hoped her father had reconsidered his decision to marry her off to the Winthrop boy. The very thought of him made her shudder, but it was a problem for another day.

Right now, however. She found herself pondering the boy she was unable to take her eyes off.

She and harry had barely spoken since the night they had been caught by Sid in the very same night they were about to perhaps share a kiss.

Sabine had never felt such a sudden bout of nervousness as she had in that moment. She liked to think of herself as a confident person, as someone certain of what she wanted with the confidence to go for it, but neither she nor Harry had known how to take that step.

For Sabine, she had felt lost, out of her comfort zone, but in the very best way.

It had been as exhilarating as it was nerve-wracking, and every day since, she had cursed the Pukwudgie, and her own reticence.

Still, she didn’t wish for her very first kiss to be a rushed affair that she would rather forget, even if it wouldn’t have been Harry’s first.

She frowned as she pondered the various articles he’d appeared in. Back in December, he had attended a ball with one of the Triwizard champions; a French Veela from a prominent family.

Sabine had never felt inferior when it came to beauty, nor had she every truly considered it. Her name alone was enough to garner any attention she might crave but seeing Harry dance with the older girl that so few could hope to compare to had made her question herself.

Almost worse, but somehow only increasing her desire of him was his foray into the lake upon interfering in the second task of the tournament.

The image of him carrying another Veela girl in his arms whilst his wounds from whatever fight he’d found himself in still bled freely had certainly made quite impression on many.

Sabine remembered being unable to look away from it, just as it was now watching him fly rings around the Thunderbird to score yet another point for his house.

It was only a few moment later that the whistle sounded, signifying the end of the game, and yet another victory for Wampus.

She watched as the players celebrated or offered each other commiserations in the case of the losers, and idly wondered if she would wait for Harry until after he’d showered.

She bit her lower lip in anticipation at the thought.

Her father might well intend for her to be married off to one of the Winthrops, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy what little freedom in life she would be granted.

The only question was, would Harry be so receptive to her after all that had seemingly happened since the last time they had been together in such a way?

Sabine did not know, and as she ultimately decided to follow her friends back towards the castle, she managed to catch his eye and offer him a pressing look, hoping he might take the hint for what it was.

She had her doubts.

For his brilliance on the Quodpot pitch, and with his wand, he remained rather clueless about how to pursue girls or even show that he was interested beyond their brief interactions.

It was frustrating to say the least, but thus far, it had been her to make the effort.

Now, it was Harry’s turn, and she would make that quite clear to him.

(Break)

Although he had just showered, Harry found himself splashing cold water on his face.

Truthfully, he was exhausted.

Between his lessons with McGonagall, Flitwick, Alarie, Dumbledore, and the rest of his full schedule, it was beginning to take its toll on him. None of that even accounted for what had become something of a non-existent social life, or the full summer ahead of him, which he would usually use to recuperate.

Perhaps he had finally reached a point that he was doing too much, and yet, it wasn’t as though he could drop any single thing he was pursuing, not without letting others down, and even himself.

With a shake of his head, he turned off the tap and left the changing room, pausing as he was greeted by the waiting Wendell offering him a cup full of brown liquid.

“Pa says this is what get him through the days.”

“What is it?”

“Cowboy coffee. He picked it up from a rancher in Texas when he was a hand way back when.”

Harry eyed the drink curiously and took a sip, grimacing at the bitter taste.

“That’s bloody awful.”

“I didn’t say it was delicious,” Wendell said with a shrug taking the cup back before having a sip himself, nodding satisfactorily. “It’s good.”

“I think I’ll stick to tea,” Harry snorted.

“How’s that working out for you?”

Harry frowned at Wendell’s concerned expression, and the other boy shook his head.

“The others might not pay so much attention to it, but you’re exhausted. You only scored nine points today, and you look like shit.”

Harry chuckled humourlessly.

“It’s just an off day.”

Wendell shook his head.

“What’s going on, Harry?”

He deflated at the question, caught off guard by it as much as he was his own willingness to speak of all that plagued him, well, most of it.

“Too much, Wendell.”

The other boy folded his arms expectantly, that southern stubbornness and attentiveness once more showing. It was not often Wendell pushed him to speak, but when he did, it was because he was concerned.

With a shrug, he leaned against a nearby tree, grimacing at the after taste of the cowboy coffee.

“Maybe I’m taking on too much.”

“Maybe?”

“Fine, I am taking on too much,” Harry corrected. “I don’t know, it just feels like I’m being pulled in so many directions. Alarie wants me to pursue Charms and Enchanting, and McGonagall and Dumbledore want me to do Transfiguration. I enjoy all of it, I really do, but I just can’t do everything.”

“You can’t do everything that will make everyone else happy,” Wendell responded. “Your problem is, you’re a people-pleaser when it comes to those you care about. You don’t want to disappoint anyone, even if it means you’re suffering. Come on, look at you, Harry. You’re tired. You need to think about what it is you can ease off on.”

Harry nodded, almost as though he needed to hear it from someone else to give him clarity.

“Well, I can’t drop my lessons outside of here. They’re too important.”

“Then you need to think about what you can cut out here. Quodpot…”

“No,” Harry broke in. “It is my escape from everything else.”

“Then what?”

Harry released a deep breath.

“Arithmancy for one,” he chuckled. “I don’t hate it, it’s just not what I was expecting, and I’m just not so good at it. I hate to say it, but creatures doesn’t do much for me either.”

It didn’t.

With the likes of Aurelius and the herd, along with Norbert, learning to care for bowtruckles, and other rather inane creatures was not so interesting.

Wendell chuckled.

“Well, then it is a good job you have me to teach you anything you need to know about creatures. Sorry, I’m useless when it comes to Arithmancy. Why did you take it anyway?”

“My Mum. She’s good at inventing spells, and I don’t know, I just wanted to be like her more.”

Wendell nodded his understanding.

“I get it, but you should only ever want to be you.”

“Just like you and your Pa?”

“That’s different. I want to take over with the creatures thing, and I don’t have thousands of pairs of eyes on me. It can’t be easy being you.”

Harry shrugged.

“I’m used to that, it’s just everything else that comes with it. Sometimes, I just wish I’d not shown off so much when I first came here. I could just have something normal.”

Wendell shook his head.

“But you’re not normal, Harry. Nothing about you is, not since you were a baby, and you should embrace it. Most people will never be as gifted as you, but the world needs the Harry Potters, the Merlins, and even the Grindelwalds. It needs strong men and women to lead from the front, for innovation, for progress, and for safety. Without people like you, those like Grindelwald, Voldemort, and Herpo would be the ones in control of the world. You just got dealt a hand that put you on the opposite side to them, only as an equal.”

“What if that’s not what I want?”

“Then you don’t have to be that, but that’s who you are. Can you imagine a life where you, knowing what you do, hide away from all of the ills and unpleasantness?”

Harry eyed his friend with a frown.

“What if I am just like Voldemort and Grindelwald?”

That was something that had bothered him.

Harry was not ignorant to his own flaws; his terrible temperament when provoked, his ambitiousness, and even his ruthlessness.

Wendell, however, laughed.

“That’s not you, Harry. You’re not the kind of person to want power to see others suffer, or to harm people without reason. You just need to look at the rest of us to see that. You have friends who are children of no-maj’s, what some would call half-breeds, and others like me, who aren’t important in our world. You’re not like them, Harry.”

In some ways he was, he could not deny that, but he harboured no desire for power nor fame. Both had been thrust upon him before he had a say in the matter, but he wasn’t like Tom Riddle in the same way who sought it out at the expense of others.

He nodded appreciatively, and Wendell wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“Come on, I think you could do with some rest. Everything else can wait until you’ve slept.”

“Thanks, Wendell.”

“Thanks, my ass. Someone needs to keep you in line. Just remember, when you get signed by a professional team, I want season tickets, and then you can help me expand my creature empire with an endorsement.”

“It’s like that?”

Wendell grinned.

“Come on, there has to be some benefit of being your friend.”

“I could just sponsor anything you want to do.”

Wendell shook his head.

“No, Pa always said you should never let gold come between friends and family. Just your belief in me to give an endorsement will be enough. Now, what’re you going to do about Sabine?”

Harry frowned at the question.

“I don’t know. We haven’t really spoken since, well, you know…”

“Then don’t you think you should be the one taking the initiative?”

The grin he wore irked Harry, but he knew his friend was right. He’d done nothing, had waited for Sabine to come to him each and every time.

Perhaps Wendell was right, but it wasn’t as though Harry was going to tell him that.

“Shut up, Wendell,” he huffed.

(Break)

He tapped his finger atop the desk in the study, a deep frown marring his features. Sirius could not quite piece together what it was, but something was amiss.

Between the disappearance of Bertha Jorkins, Wormtail’s re-emergence, and the lack of news pertaining to the Dark Lord who was undoubtedly plotting, Sirius could not shift the sense of unease.

Perhaps he was just anticipating the inevitable resuming of the war he’d left behind more than a decade prior, or that unease was a warning.

Never, ever ignore your gut feelings. Your mind and magic will know something is wrong long before it is known.

That was one of the pearls of wisdom his grandfather had taken the time to note down in his diary, and something Sirius would not ignore.

Despite everything seeming to be well, for the most part, he could sense something on the horizon, a storm brewing, and they were merely experiencing the calm before it fell upon them.

“Edward,” he called.

The elf appeared and offered him a bow.

“Lord Black.”

“Any news?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Then forget about Lucius Malfoy, for now. I would like you to find someone else for me.”

“Of course, Lord Black. Who would you have me find?”

“Peter Pettigrew,” Sirius instructed. “I want to know where he is and what he is up to.”

With a nod, Edward vanished, and Sirius consulted the Marauder’s Map.

He’d continued watching it diligently, but from what he could tell, there was nothing amiss, no one on the grounds of the school that shouldn’t be there, and yet, he could not rid himself of the niggling feeling that something was not right, that something was in the works that he remained frustratingly clueless of.