60.Honesty and Hot Thrills

5th of May 1994, Saturday (Same Day

Sirius Black

The moment he stepped into Dumbledore’s office, Sirius Black straightened up. One look at the headmaster made his grin melt away. It was sobering to see Dumbledore’s face so uncharacteristically solemn.

He had known the old man for most of his life, and he had always looked genial, calm, or amused, never like… this. And then his whole world crumbled the moment the headmaster opened his mouth.

“Moony did what?!” The hot rush of rage in his throat that threatened to erupt was quickly doused. Harry over vengeance. He would not make the same mistake that landed him in Azkaban. “Where is Harry?!”

“I’m afraid I’m not quite certain,” Dumbledore said, stroking his beard.

In the face of Dumbledore’s lack of… anything, Sirius erupted. “Why are you so calm, damn you!”

“I have found that composure and reason help far more in situations like this.” The headmaster gave him a pointed look. “Something that you doubtlessly have ample experience with.”

Sirius stared blankly for a long moment before he sighed and allowed himself to collapse into one of the chairs. Dumbledore was right. He had to think of Estelle. He had to think of Harry.

Deep down, he knew that, but his restless fingers found the gilded armrests, squeezing them. Nothing he did would help the situation, and even so, why was it so hard to sit still?

“What can you tell me, then?” he asked, voice hoarse. “Surely you have an idea of what exactly happened.”

“A shadow of an idea.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled behind those half-circle spectacles of his. “I believe my deputy headmistress is safe, so Harry should be well enough. Even if he was captured by Bellatrix and Greyback, he most certainly escaped, for I encountered a very peculiar cursed flame that took quite the effort to put out.”

“How can some cursed flame be a sign of Harry’s well-being?” Sirius met the old warlock’s gaze without flinching. “Now is not the time for riddles, Dumbledore.”

Dumbledore continued to stroke his beard, giving him one of those infuriating smiles again. “Very well, but let me first raise a question of my own. Why did you think your godson left school in such a hurry? And why would my deputy headmistress be willing to accompany him?”

“Saving Bellatrix’s daughter,” Sirius said icily.

“Precisely. And I think they succeeded.” 

Sirius Black exhaled slowly. Patience, he needed patience when dealing with Albus Dumbledore. “What makes you think so?”

“Well.” The damned twinkle returned twice as strong as before. “Merely a gut feeling.”

“A gut feeling?!” Sirius glared at the headmaster, suppressing the urge to turn into Padfoot and sink his fangs into the man.

“Your godson is dangerous, Sirius,” Dumbledore said, face growing solemn. “I doubt even you can defeat him now. Ever since last year’s Samhain, Mr Potter’s magic and presence have remained… veiled, hidden even from my sharp senses. I suspected that Remus indeed saw Mr Potter was caught in a trap as he left, but Mr Potter turned the tables later with that cursed fire. And while I can’t find Mr Potter’s location, my elves can still reach the deputy headmistress.”

‘This is what I get,’ Sirius thought bitterly. He had been too lax, too careless. Since Harry could indeed best him in a duel by the end of the summer, he thought his godson would need no further help from him. 

“Hogwarts is supposed to be the safest place in the world, Dumbledore,” he said, defeated. “First, Lady Black gets abducted, and then you lose another student and two professors?”

“Neither of those events happened on the castle grounds.” The headmaster’s voice grew colder. “I can hardly control the minds and desires of others. Contrary to what some students might think, Hogwarts is not a prison, and those who wish to leave can do so, within the rules.”

“What about Moony?” Sirius pressed. “Surely he’ll be easier to find?”

“He has swept his office and classroom clean of all traces down to the very hair,” was the regretful reply. “Clearly, he’s planned to leave for a long time, and you know how hard it is to find a skilled wizard who does not wish to be found. Remus did leave a note, though.”

Dumbledore slid a piece of parchment across the desk.

Sirius reluctantly took a glance.

“To the Headmaster,

It grieves me to write this, but I must be honest, perhaps for the first time in a long while, not just with you, but with myself.

Greyback wanted me to get Harry’s head and to spy on the order, to become the traitor I so much loathed, just because I was married to his daughter. I knew it was not right.

But… I do not regret marrying Selene. She is the light in my life, and she has been kinder to me than anyone else, even my own parents. She did not judge me when she found out I killed those three boys that one full moon, and even stopped me from killing myself. You wanted me to spy on the werewolves, once again offering only cold duty and risk to my well-being. That was not right, either. As a married man, I chose my family.

I have spent too long trying to belong to a world that has never wanted me. I know your cause is righteous, professor, but you never truly moved to help werewolves. You have been Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot for decades, wielding considerable influence over the whole Ministry, but werewolves like me are more reviled now than when I was a boy, and I cannot see it taking a turn for the better. Even the glimmer of hope that was the Wolfsbane Potion is dangled just shy of our reach; it is something for werewolves to hope they can get a dose of, yet it is impossible, be it due to the price of ingredients or the difficulty of brewing.

I was forced to rat out Harry’s stunt to guarantee the safety of my son, who Greyback decided to keep under the excuse of “family time”, but I cannot continue to do this any longer. Merlin forgive me, for Sirius certainly won’t, but Liam and Selene are my whole world. 

Consider this my resignation, both from the school and the order.

Remus J. Lupin”

“You…” Sirius choked, glaring at Dumbledore. “Did you know Selene was Greyback’s daughter?”

“I strongly suspected she was a werewolf,” the headmaster said, sagging on his chair. He looked a decade older. “It is why I did not press him to get back to the missions with the werewolves. I mistook his hesitation for fear for his wife and child, and… forget it.”

“What were you thinking, Moony?” Sirius murmured numbly. His friend had lied. He had lost control once and killed children. Or was that also another lie? 

He wanted to punch something, to feel the crunch of flesh and bones underneath his knuckles. No, he wanted to punch someone—Moony. He wanted to go, hunt down the traitor, look him in the eyes, ask him why, and hear his own reasons and excuses with his own ears, not just some empty platitudes in a letter. They were not even addressed to him! 

When had Moony become such a coward? If only he had told him the truth from the start. Sirius could have…

What could he have done?

Hide the murder of three boys? Tell him to abandon his wife and child? To give himself up to the Ministry? To run away?

Sirius Black wanted to scream and roar and rage and howl, but none of those bubbling emotions would help him right now. Estelle had nobody else, just one fool of a father called Sirius Black. 

In the end, disappointment crept into his mind. Disappointment with Moony, and disappointment with himself for not being better. If he’d agreed to return as Arcturus’ heir, wouldn’t he have been able to help Moony?

If he had been more powerful, wouldn’t Harry have come to rely on him instead? Sirius straightened in his chair. He was not the most powerful wizard. He lacked the passion and drive of his younger years and was barely better than a well-trained auror with a wand. 

Perhaps that made him a failure of a godfather and a parent, but that certainly didn’t mean he would give up. 

A knock came from the door. Amelia Bone’s voice followed shortly after it.

“Professor, can I come in?”

“Enter,” Dumbledore said calmly, giving Sirius a knowing look.

Amelia Bones slipped through the door, her flowing black and yellow robes looking rather crumpled.

“How’s Harry?” Sirius asked right away.

“He’s resting at my place.”

Harry Potter

He looked at Juno, her cheeks flushed red and eyes gazing at him with surprising tenderness. Merlin, her lips were sweet in a way Harry could never get enough of, and she was aggressive—far more aggressive in her kisses than Ginny ever was. 

A part of him appreciated the irony of being snogged by Voldemort’s daughter, but… he truly liked her, and not merely as a friend.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said breathlessly. “God, I like you, but I… am a cripple, Juno. Yes, the healer got a few things wrong, but I indeed can’t feel my magic anymore, and it won’t gather in my body no matter how much I will it to. And… without my magic, I’m as good as a squib.”

They were supposed to be just allies, friends and partners in that quest against the Horcruxes, but somewhere along the way, that friendship had grown into something more. 

“I don’t care,” Juno said, stubbornness written all over her face. “If your ability to gather magic can be broken, it can be fixed, too. I will find a way.”

Harry opened his mouth, but no words came out. He couldn’t tell her to let it go—he himself felt like a chunk of himself was missing without magic.

“I’ll probably have to leave Hogwarts,” he whispered, the dull ache in his head returning with full force. “Doubt I can stay in a school of witchcraft and wizardry without magic. The D.A. will fall on your shoulders alone. The Prophet will have a field day with this. I can already imagine the headlines: ‘The-Boy-Who-Broke’. Or perhaps ‘The Boy-Who-Squibbed’.”

“That doesn’t even sound catchy,” Juno said, shaking her head with an exasperated smile. “But it’s precisely the headlines they would probably print.” Then, her face grew deathly serious. “Harry… I think we should tell the headmaster.”

“Why?” he asked, suppressing the urge to decline the idea. Harry’s distrust of Albus Dumbledore was something ingrained in his mind by now. He knew the headmaster certainly didn’t mean him harm, but Harry had never been nor would ever be the number one priority for the old wizard. 

“My magic is dispersed, and I’m facing a trial in less than twenty days,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “While I’m certain I can make the Wizengamot rule in my favour, my good name is in the dirt, and with Voldemort about to return… it’s time to admit that this is out of our league. No matter how talented, we’re just too young to carry the burden between us.”

Harry already knew all that. Even at seventeen, he had felt too young and green and helpless. But that didn’t mean he was willing to let go of all his efforts. Dumbledore had failed once. What was to say he wouldn’t fail again?

“What about the D.A.?” he shot back. “What about all the legwork we did?”

Juno stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. “The connections we made will remain,” she whispered in his ear, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. “I’ll make sure of it. But… we should just let Dumbledore handle some of it. Perhaps the headmaster can help with your predicament. The chance of fixing you alone is worth it.”

“And he’ll want to know everything,” Harry said, rubbing his nose awkwardly. If Dumbledore were to help him, he would have to be honest. To put his trust in Dumbledore again and rely on him as he used to in another lifetime—at least for a while. 

The phoenix Animagus meant explaining his stunt in the Chamber of Secrets, how he knew of the diary… everything.

Juno hesitantly tugged on his sleeve. “If you want to, I can figure out how to spin the whole thing,” she whispered. “Deceiving Dumbledore is hard but not impossible. Yet even then, you should know that lies have a way of crumbling on their own the more you pile them up. Should he discover one lie, any goodwill will disappear faster than you can blink.”

…Perhaps telling Dumbledore wasn’t such a bad thing, after all. A part of Harry was tired of all the deception and the lies, especially with Sirius. God forgive him, but he was tired, too, of living his life on the edge. He had trained so hard, not allowing himself to rest even for a day, and in the end, it wasn’t enough.

No matter how hard he tried, he would never be strong enough. Even with all that training, the power-up potions he took, and Nyx’s incredible help, he was still completely done in by a single ambush.

The only reason he was still alive was sheer luck, and just survival had cost him greatly. 

If Voldemort were in his place, he would have ripped them all apart with ease. But the Dark Lord had half a century of magical training and experience on him, and he couldn’t bridge the gap in just a year or two, no matter how much he tried—

Juno kissed him again, her lips far hungrier and more insistent than before. A jolt of pleasure ran down his spine, and Merlin, it felt right. It felt better than anything else in his life, as if all this time he was meant to be snogging Voldemort’s daughter and only just realised it. There was no shame, no reluctance, just the burning desire that threatened to consume his mind. 

For a long moment, his mind itself came to a screeching halt, but in the end, Harry reluctantly pushed her away. It was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life.

“We shouldn’t,” he said firmly, but not unkindly. “We’re too young for something serious. I like you, but I want this to be something more than some childhood tryst, and we should focus on our problems first.”

The words sounded hollow, similar to the excuse he had given to Ginny in another life. But it did not make them any less true.

“So, just like we’ve done before,” Juno said, giving him a knowing wink. “You are right, Harry. Now is not the time. I am not chasing some quick thrill, and I can wait. But… you’re mine, Harry Potter, and don’t think for a moment that I’m letting you slip away.”

Red-faced, Juno all but ran away, leaving Harry half-stunned and alone in the basement. Or not alone, since the sleeping Rodolphus Lestrange was still tied up. 

Too much had happened in the last twenty-four hours, and Harry just wanted to lie down and rest, to let his thoughts wander about anything and everything. But even though the ache in his head had receded, and his limbs felt overflowing with strength, Harry still couldn’t sense an inkling of magic inside him. 

Just the cold assurance of nothing.

There was no use delaying it. Harry climbed up to Amelia’s living room and made way for the hearth, grabbed a fistful of Floo Powder from the bowl, and reached for his wand to light the fire—

Grimacing and with a handful of dust in his fist, Harry went to find Juno and the house elf. 

Sirius had been very relieved to see him, though his joy quickly drained away once Harry started speaking. It was perfect, in a sense.

“I have something I wish to say,” Harry said, spine ramrod under the gaze of the three of them.

Professor Bones, Sirius, and Dumbledore were all in the headmaster’s office, and all needed to hear what he wanted to say. Even Fawkes was there, gazing at him with caution from his perch. It would be easier to tell the story once and be done with it. Dumbledore even tacitly sent the portraits of the previous headmasters to sleep with a flick of the Death Stick. 

“Your words will remain between the four of us,” he assured firmly.

“I had a dream,” Harry began slowly. “A dream that I was sorted into Gryffindor.”

“That’s not what happened,” Sirius said swiftly. 

“Indeed.” The young wizard grimaced. “But I had that dream the day of my Hogwarts letter. In that dream, a troll attacked on Samhain. Someone was killing unicorns in the Forbidden Forest, and at the end of the year, while the headmaster was away, Hermione, Ron, and I thought someone was trying to steal the philosopher’s stone. We rushed in to stop him…”

Dumbledore’s calm face grew grim.

“In the second year, the Heir of Slytherin had opened the Chamber of Secrets. Someone had written a grim warning in blood on the wall. Students were being petrified, and even ghosts were affected. The school was about to close when a student disappeared…” 

By that point, his throat grew hoarse, but he kept on speaking.

“In the dream, in the summer before third year, Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban and the Ministry sent dementors to guard Hogwarts…”

The next words made the headmaster deathly pale. “In the fourth year, the Triwizard Tournament came to Hogwarts, and my name was picked from the Goblet of Fire… Pettigrew and Cedric’s death… Voldemort’s return…”

“Fifth year, trouble with the Ministry and the visions of the prophecy… battle at the Department of Mysteries and Sirius’s death… sixth year war in full swing… Dumbledore’s end… seventh year and the desperate hunt for Horcruxes… my death and waking up with near perfect recollection of that dream. And then I decided to be cautious… perhaps trust the dream…” 

Pushing away his apprehension, Harry spoke until his tongue grew tired. Surprisingly, all three listened, without even interrupting. The more he talked, the easier it was. It was like a dam had burst open, and once the words started, they wouldn’t stop. He didn’t miss even a thing. 

He told them of what he had done and why. The descent into the Chamber of Secrets and the battle with the basilisk and the failed Animagus ritual. He spoke of the fight in Diagon Alley to save Juno, the Horcruxes, the betrayal in the Breach Forest, the ambush, and his rebirth from the ashes.

Everything that was Harry Potter, every little thought, every action, every idea was laid bare. He only held back a few small matters—Juno’s parentage and ability to speak Parseltongue and the existence of the Elder Wand, for it was not his secret to tell. He also kept quiet about the fact that he had lived in another world and the whole truth of Harrymort’s soul shard.

“That’s it,” Harry said, voice now a rasp. “And now, I supposedly can’t do magic anymore. I feel it, too. It’s not magical exhaustion where I overdrew my magic again, but an outright… void. It’s just not there anymore.” 

Immediately, he felt lighter, free in a way he hadn’t felt since he had been just a careless eleven-year-old boy, walking into the Wizarding World for the first time.

Sirius alternated between pride, self-loathing, and outright hatred—the last aimed at Albus Dumbledore. Amelia Bones looked at him, and her open mouth quivered, as if to say something, but no words came out. 

But Harry’s eyes were on the headmaster.

The twinkle in his eyes had long died off, but there was no judgment, no suspicion, only… regret. The headmaster let out a long, drawn-out sigh, giving him a brittle smile. 

“Oh, my brave, foolish boy,” he said, voice low. “I’m afraid that of all my students, I have failed you the most. But know this—the prophecy was fulfilled in your first year.”

Harry blinked.

“But… but, wouldn’t Voldemort still come after me?”

“No,” was the gentle response. “Unlike the future you dreamed of, you avoided him at all times. Whatever destiny you two shared was severed by your caution, and even Voldemort knows this. He snuck into the Department of Mysteries on Christmas in your first year, hearing the prophecy with his own ears. And yet he did nothing. Not a single move against you, nor the slightest plot to target you for months after. And you… you yourself severed the last connection that bound you in the Chamber of Secrets.” 

Harry remembered, then. Quirrell’s honest words and well-intentioned advice in the first year. Without a doubt, he had been the best Defence teacher; not even Remus or Barty Crouch Jr. from his previous life had come close. 

Had the Dark Lord meant to recruit him instead, just like the very first time?

But now, he had never managed to make the offer, and Harry had never directly proved himself a nuisance to his plans…

A hysterical chuckle slipped from his mouth, glowing into full-blown laughter. He had been so obsessed with what had happened in his first life that he had not even stopped to consider why certain things had happened the way they had.

He continued to laugh, chest shaking with the irony even as the adults stared at him. He just couldn’t help it. A part of it was relief, but the rest was the sheer absurdity of his own stupidity. Harry could have heard those words years ago if he had just come clean to Dumbledore from the beginning.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Sirius looked unsure whether he wanted to hug him, laugh with him, or just cry. 

Harry just nodded wordlessly. He feared he would break down in tears if he spoke. Or perhaps he would just laugh again. The room fell into a heavy silence as the adults digested his words.

“Can Harry’s affliction be fixed, headmaster?” Amelia said, breaking the silence.

“I’m not certain.” Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles, eyeing Harry with exasperation. “It’s not as if there’s a recorded precedent to consult with. Mr Potter has charted a new territory and has met a heavy setback that often comes with such risks. Let’s try this. Serpensortia.”

A plump anaconda twisted from the tip of Dumbledore’s wand, rolling onto the carpet in one big tangle. The dark green head dizzily glanced around in confusion. 

“Where am I?” it hissed out. 

“Can you understand it, Harry?” the headmaster asked patiently.

“Yes,” the young wizard confirmed. “But I don’t think I can talk to it anymore.”

Dumbledore immediately swiped his wand, vanishing the anaconda.

“You haven’t exactly lost your magic, then,” the headmaster said. “Just your ability to gather it. A squib would not have been able to understand Parseltongue. The very language of snakes is sorcery, and the fact that you understand it bodes well. I might have to consult quite a few tomes on the matter, but it will take plenty of time, I’m afraid. Alas, my time has been cut short as of late.”

“Voldemort?” Amelia asked tightly.

“Indeed. I’m rather certain he has returned just this morning.” 

Deathly silence descended in the office. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Harry felt his throat tighten. But this was not his fight, not anymore. 

Dumbledore gave Harry one final glance. “I’m afraid I cannot promise any results, Mr Potter—dark magic, rituals, and death are not my forte. I suspect you will have plenty of free time on your hands, so… I encourage you to explore on your own. After all, you can feel the happenings in your body and magic far better than anyone else can—”

Fawkes trilled, then. 

With a single beat of his wings, he flew, landing on Harry’s shoulder. The phoenix was weightless, and the razor-sharp talons were surprisingly gentle, not even tearing through his shirt.

He trilled again, and then Harry felt something falling on his hair. It was like someone was dripping hot water on his head. Phoenix tears. The heat spread down his neck and spine and crept into his limbs. His whole body grew hot, then, and for just a moment, he dared to hope. 

Any signs of exhaustion melted away, the soreness of his throat evaporated, and he had a surge of strength that felt enough to wrestle down a troll. Harry never felt healthier or stronger. But something was still missing. The rush of magic never returned, and the phantom feeling still ached, leaving him hollow. 

He lifted his gaze to meet the expectant gazes of Sirius, Dumbledore, and Professor Bones and shook his head.

“Enough, Fawkes,” Harry said softly, reaching out to run his fingers through the crimson plumage. The phoenix looked frail now, his feathers darkening to a dull red, as if it had aged decades in a minute. It seemed that even his tears came at a cost.

Fawkes let out a sad trill, shook himself, and a single golden feather from his tail landed on Harry’s knees. Unlike the rest of his feathers, this one was still bright and vibrant. Then, he returned to his perch and burst into flames.

“Alas,” Dumbledore said, sighing. “Your earlier sincerity moved him greatly, Mr Potter. But it seems phoenix tears are not enough. Whatever is wrong with you is not an affliction of the body. But I suggest you keep Fawkes’s gift close. A willingly given phoenix feather is a rare and powerful thing—even Ollivander and other wandmakers have to offer something in return, and the feathers they get would not be half as potent.”

Harry could only nod and shove the feather in his pocket—he felt too disappointed to speak right now. The greater the hope, the bigger the disappointment.

“Can you do anything for Nyx, headmaster?” he asked hopefully.

Dumbledore waved his wand over him and then gave him a sad smile. “I’m afraid the serpent’s conundrum is connected to you, Mr Potter. I cannot drag her out of your skin because she’s become a part of you on a conceptual level, and because of that, I cannot ascertain any specifics. But Nyx is undoubtedly a creature of magic, and those all fare poorly without it.”

Harry’s throat tightened as guilt welled up in him.

Sirius stood up, his face looked like it was carved from stone, and his eyes had darkened.

“We’re leaving, Harry,” he said, voice brooking no disagreement. “Do you wish to say goodbye to your friends?”

His godfather was not happy. Harry never remembered seeing him this serious. 

For a moment, Harry wanted to object. But then, what would a boy without magic do in a school of witchcraft and wizardry? Would he stay here to be pitied by his schoolmates and friends, or perhaps mocked for his loss of magic? 

“Right,” Harry said tightly. “There’s no need for any farewells. I’ll be back once my magic is fixed or not at all.”

Amelia Bones drew him into a surprisingly affectionate hug of her own and ruffled his hair. “Owl me if you require anything, Mr Potter.”

6th of May 1994, Sunday (Next Day)

There had been no shouting, no blaming, no finger-pointing when they returned to Potter House, not even a hand or a wand raised, just silence, as if Sirius Black did not know how to deal with Harry. So he had not dealt with him at all.

“Are you still angry?” Harry asked the next morning. 

He had made a full breakfast, even though he had to wrangle with Dobby in the kitchen for it. The house elf had somehow bonded with Estelle when his connection to Harry had burned up. Before long, his godfather joined him at the table, bringing Estelle and seating her in the baby chair.

The baby gurgled happily at him, eagerly showing him a mouth full of newly grown teeth. Harry stifled a smile—at least someone was happy in this house.

“Never was,” Sirius said blandly, rubbing his eyes. “Just… disappointed in myself. Everything that you described in that vision of yours. I could imagine it happening. Merlin, I could imagine doing all those things in those circumstances. I just thought I was lucky to be free and that Pettigrew was captured, but it had been you from the very beginning. I have no right to complain. Not after leaving you to chase Wormtail.”

“It’s fine. It was nothing more than a bad dream,” Harry murmured. A bad dream of another world that he had lived through.

They ate in silence for a while.

“Hey, Harry.” Sirius’s voice was deceptively light. “How about we move to America? Or perhaps Australia. Somewhere peaceful, boring, and far away from this madness that has taken hold of the Continent and Wizarding Britain. I’ve already started looking for a nice seaside villa.”

“No,” the boy blurted out before he had even thought about it. Smiling sheepishly, he added, “I mean, I wouldn’t mind if we had a place to visit far away during the summer, but I don’t think I want to leave.”

“You know, I hate Moony for what he did,” Sirius said, face darkening. “Merlin, if I saw him right now, I would rip his throat out without thinking twice. But… I understand why he did it. For you and Estelle, I would be willing to throw everything away, right or wrong be damned. I… I just refuse to lose anyone anymore.”

“I can’t escape, Sirius,” Harry said firmly. “It sounds great, to just run away from all of my problems and pretend they don’t exist and leave everything behind without looking back. But if I agree to leave now, why wouldn’t I walk away from the next problem I face? If I can run away once, why wouldn’t I keep running away?” 

And I can’t just forget Juno.

She was facing a trial now, she was helpless and alone, and leaving now would be a betrayal. Sirius reached out, squeezing his shoulder.

“It’s not escape, Harry.” His eyes hardened like stone, and a hint of madness appeared. “It was never your fight, magic or no magic. If Wizarding Britain requires a boy not yet out of school to do the fighting for them, then they deserve to lose.”

“I haven’t given up,” the boy said simply. “It’s fine if we leave for a while, but I haven’t given up, Sirius. I haven’t given up on my magic, and especially not on becoming a great wizard. Err… let’s eat before the food grows cold.”

His godfather merely shook his head and took a bite of the toast. “I’ve missed this,” Sirius murmured, closing his eyes. “It’s better than anything I could ever cook up. Why didn’t you dream of becoming a great chef instead? I’d not have spared any expense, you know.”

Harry chuckled as he wolfed down the bacon with relish, but the previous tension never truly left the room. There was a chasm between him and Sirius, now.

Without magic, he had no choice but to obey his godfather and whatever he decided, but Sirius never really forced his will on him, even now, and Harry loved him more for it.

“Let’s go check out those places abroad you’ve been looking at later,” he said lightly. 

It was an olive branch. He still fully intended to regain his magic and the strength that it gave him to raise his head proudly and face all challenges… but there wasn’t anything wrong with resting. It’s not like he could do much else.

“Truly?” Sirius asked from behind his cup of coffee. “We’ll have to register if we leave—the Ministry has tightened the borders like never before. Soon, the whole of Wizarding Britain will know that you’re gone, and rumours will probably spread that you’re running away, or have fallen onto hard times—”

“Sirius, you’re rambling,” Harry said. “And let them say whatever they want. None of it is true.”

Besides, perhaps they would forget about Harry Potter once they found out he had squibbed himself. 

A knock came from the window. His snowy owl was peering through the glass, blinking at him with golden eyes. 

Harry quickly stood up and opened the window, and Hedwig rushed in, landing on the table and greedily pecking at his serving of bacon, much to the delight of Estelle, who started giggling again. 

“Silver envelope and purple wax?” Sirius said with surprise, eyeing the fancy-looking letter attached to Hedwig’s leg. “That is an official letter for purebloods. Even my own grandfather wouldn’t send stuff like this unless he meant business.”

Harry broke the seal and pulled out the message, the parchment inside the same silver as the envelope. At the very top, BETROTHAL AGREEMENT was written in golden letters. Beneath, there were just the names Juno Bellatrix Black and Harry James Potter, and the rest of the very lengthy roll of parchment was empty.

“This is a betrothal agreement,” he said at last. “But… I’m not sure what exactly it means.”

“Betrothal?” His godfather frowned. “Let me see.”

Without waiting, Sirius snatched the parchment. His eyes widened, and then he roared in laughter. It took him a whole minute to calm down.

“Bella’s daughter is proposing to you,” he said, wheezing. “And she’s letting you set the terms.”

“Letting me set the terms?” Harry mouthed, his mind numb.

“Usually, the party will write out their bottom line and leave space for concessions and further negotiations of terms.” His godfather clicked his tongue. “She hasn’t written a single demand, which means the terms are all yours to set. That lass must be mad to trust you. You can sell her very soul and take her whole fortune with this, and there’s nothing she can do.”

“Wait, why does this sound like some business deal?”

“Because marriage is a business deal, pup,” Sirius said, snorting. “Especially to purebloods. It’s the most important business deal one could make ever. Hell, I’ve seen Muggle divorces—they treat it much the same way, I’d say. Does Bella’s kid know you lost your magic?”

“Yes,” Harry said, eyeing the parchment as if it were a poisonous viper. Truth be told, he felt flattered… but also slightly scared at the prospect. “But marriage… I like Juno, but it’s all a bit far off, don’t you think? I’m still bloody thirteen.”

“That’s why it’s a betrothal agreement, Harry.” Sirius gave him a patient smile. “You can just set a courtship period without any binding clause. Something like ‘Once both parties are of age, they can choose to discard the agreement or proceed with a marriage within a year blah-blah’. I was never really good with the pureblood speak, but you get the idea, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Merlin, my little cousin is better than I imagined—crazier, too. You just killed her mother yesterday, and today, you’re being propositioned for life, even though you don’t have magic anymore. It’s bloody brilliant. She’s bloody brilliant. Completely exceeded my expectations, that one. I’ll have to invite her ‘round!”

And with that, Sirius erupted in laughter. Then, Estelle giggled at them, all too happy to join in the fun, and Harry shook his head in exasperation.

‘Now is not the time,’ Juno had said earlier. And now, she was letting him decide when that time would be. But one thing was for certain: Juno was not looking for a quick thrill or some school years romance. The betrothal agreement was a declaration that she would not give up and that her mind was dead set on him for life.

Harry hesitated for a while, looking at the silvery parchment. He was not sure what to write. But perhaps… having a family of his own one day wouldn’t be too bad.

“Dobby, bring me a quill,” Harry said, voice hoarse.

Ten minutes later, Hedwig flew away with the betrothal agreement.

“Really, Harry?” Sirius asked, after reading over the terms. “You could have asked for anything.”

“Trust goes both ways, Sirius,” Harry said with a wry smile. “If we like each other in five years enough to marry, there’s no harm in it. Even my parents got married at that age, so why make things complicated?”

He had always wanted a happy family of his own. Estelle, as if sensing his mood, eagerly raised her hands at him, and Harry went to pick her up.

The moment Harry touched the little veela, he felt a jolt.

His pocket grew hot against his thigh, right where he had left Fawkes’s feather. A sliver of power rushed back from it into him, and Harry felt… it again.

Magic.

So minuscule, a barely noticeable sliver, nowhere near enough to light his wand, but it was undoubtedly there. With each heartbeat, the tickle of power grew a little. It was not coming from his goddaughter, but trickling in from the air itself. His body was like a dry basin, and the growing sliver was like a widening brook. 

Estelle giggled happily again, and Harry eyed his goddaughter as if seeing her for the first time. 

Harry let her back into her chair in a daze. The small brook of power continued to tickle into himself, if no longer growing. The heat in his pocket drained away.

“What’s wrong?” Sirius asked, frowning. 

“Nothing,” Harry said, feeling lighter. “Everything’s great.”

Harry picked up Estelle again, and surely enough, his pocket heated up again, and the meagre flow of magic slowly started to increase. He did not tell Sirius—it was too early to celebrate. It would take months to regain his power at this rate, but he couldn’t carry Estelle all the time, no matter how much she would love it, and there was no assurance it would lead to his full recovery.

Regardless, every scrap of magic was poured directly into Nyx. His familiar had saved him too many times, and Harry owed her more than words could ever describe.

Author’s Endnote:

Whew, that was a doozy to write. But I’m not too late today. Hurray. 

Starring: Harry is dashing with the birds of all varieties.

I wanted to write a lot more in this chapter, but I don’t think I can do it justice without another 1-2k words. This ending is just the sweet spot.