Easter Holidays were behind them and they were rapidly heading toward the end of term exams — if one listened to Hermione. It was still pretty early in April so, according to Ron and Harry, they had plenty of time to worry about revising at a later date. Or, preferably, not worry about exams at all. With the DA betrayed and disbanded, Harry had nothing to occupy his thoughts and Hermione’s nagging about the importance of exams wasn’t enough to distract him from his morose state.

Harry sighed, absently pushing his eggs around his plate. The year was nearly over and so far it was almost as terrible as the one before it. Though it’d be difficult to be worse than Voldemort’s return and the murder of a student, Umbridge was making her best attempt. Harry felt ill at the thought and nudged his plate further from him, abandoning even the appearance of eating. The idea of even swallowing a bite made his stomach turn. He reached up to absently rub at his scar and caught Hermione’s frown across the table. He immediately dropped his hand.

“You should talk to him, Harry,” she said, repeating the same thing she’d been saying for the past week.

Ron looked up from destroying the platter of eggs in front of him, his expression aghast. “Why would he want to do that? He’s finally free of the slimy—”

“Because it’s important, Ron,” Hermione interrupted, making a face at the bits of egg that clung to Ron’s cheeks. She held out a napkin to the redhead. “Harry has to keep…up his grades in potions. It’s our OWL year and these tests are vital for our future classes and they help determine our future careers!”

“I want to play quidditch,” Ron complained, deliberately ignoring the napkin and used his sleeve instead. “I don’t need OWLs to do that!”

“You can’t play quidditch forever, Ron!” Hermione exclaimed, dropping the napkin on top of his plate in order to force him to take it and thumping a heavy History of Magic book onto the table. “You need to have a secondary plan.”

He shrugged, looking supremely unconcerned, and nodded toward Harry. “I’ll just do what Harry’s doing.”

Her lips pressed together — Harry wondered if she was channeling McGonagall — and she demanded, “And what’s that?”

They turned to Harry as one and he snapped upright, holding up his hands. “Don't look at me. I think an Auror might be cool—”

“Auror!” Hermione cut him off loudly. “You need NEWT potions for that and Professor Snape is very exacting with his standards,” she informed them. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully at him and she asked shrewdly, “And how are your potions grades?”

Harry shrugged. Ron’s ears reddened and he snatched up the napkin and tossed it onto the table, grumbling, “Shut up.”

Hermione sniffed, looking mildly offended. “I’ve got a study group in the library tonight—”

“It’s Friday,” Ron interrupted, sounding appalled.

“—you two are welcome to join us if you want,” she finished, ignoring the interruption. “We’re revising herbology and potions.”

Ron’s expression showed exactly what he thought about that and he opened his mouth to give a scorching opinion about studying for anything on Friday, let alone potions, when a great rustle of feathers and beating of wings interrupted what would no doubt have been words that led to a heated lecture on the importance of good study habits, time management, and responsibility. One that both boys sat through several times every term since first year. Harry would bet his Firebolt that he could probably recite it word-for-word, but no one wanted to hear it again.

“Mail’s here,” Ginny said, surprising Harry (he’d not been aware that she was seated next to him). “Finally. Mum promised to send me some shortbread.”

Ron’s attention snapped to his sister. “Mum sends you biscuits? She doesn’t send me biscuits!”

Ginny smirked at him, raising her eyebrows smugly when a heavily ladened Pig landed on her plate and nearly overturned her goblet. Relieving the tiny owl of his burden, she gave a toss of her hair and proclaimed, “I only told Mum how much I miss her homemade biscuits and the ones the house elves make just aren’t the same.”

“I’m writing Mum today,” Ron declared, jealously eyeing the package in his sister’s hands. Ginny pulled it closer to her, tucking it protectively away from her brother’s reach.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she unrolled her copy of the Daily Prophet that one of the many postal owls had dropped on her plate, already scanning the headlines. “You don’t need any more sweets, Ron. I’m surprised your teeth haven’t — holy cricket!”

Harry was leaning closer to Ginny as she unwrapped the box, curious to see what else Mrs. Weasley had sent, when Hermione’s exclamation nearly made him topple into the red-haired girl. Ron almost upset his eggs and pumpkin juice, his exclamation of surprise muffled by a full mouth. Harry righted himself quickly, anxiously demanding, “What? Is it Voldemort?”

"No," she assured, still absorbed in the article, "listen to this." 

Sirius Black: Wrongfully Imprisoned 12 Years, Declared Innocent
In a sudden turn of events, evidence has emerged that brings to light many unanswered questions from that October night in 1981 when You-Know-Who was defeated by young Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Sirius Orion Black, the oldest son of Orion and Walburga Black (for Black Family Biography see page 13), was believed to have been You-Know-Who’s greatest supporter after the deaths of James and Lily Potter on 31 October 1981 and the presumed death of Peter Pettigrew and 12 muggles on 1 November. Black was arrested at the scene and sentenced to life in Azkaban where he remained until the summer of 1993 (see page 8, Sirius Escape).

In a strange series of events that are still unclear at the time of this printing, Peter Pettigrew was discovered in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, alive. Veritaserum was administered, under which Pettigrew confessed to being a Death Eater (his left arm sported the Dark Mark), being the Potter’s Secret Keeper, and betraying them to You-Know-Who. Further questioning revealed that Black has never been a Death Eater and that the curse that killed 12 muggles was cast by Pettigrew himself.

A special assembly of the Wizengamot gathered to discuss these new findings and quickly pardoned Sirius Black. We at the Daily Prophet would like to congratulate Mr. Black on his well-deserved freedom and wish him the best of luck in the years to come.

Pettigrew’s sentence has been deferred until more evidence is gathered.

Remuneration for Mr. Black’s unjust and unlawful imprisonment is not known at this time.

Whispers and exclamations of surprise echoed through the Great Hall. Several students stood from their seats to peer at the Gryffindor table to see if they could see Harry’s reaction to the news, but Harry was just as surprised as everyone else. He snatched up his copy of the newspaper and looked at it in disbelief. The print swam before his eyes as he stared at the small photo of Pettigrew that was embedded in the text. Hermione smoothed out her own copy of the newspaper, beaming across the table at him. “Isn’t that wonderful, Harry?”

Harry nodded mutely, distantly surprised he didn’t feel more excited. His stomach still felt like lead from his last Occlumency lesson with Snape and his feelings were conflicted when he thought about his father and Sirius. Harry glanced toward the Head Table, scanning the professors. Each of them had a newspaper in front of them and were engrossed in the pages. Umbridge was looking even more sour than usual. At the far end, Snape tossed his paper to the side with a snarl and picked up his teacup, lifting it to his lips. He must’ve had a sixth sense because no sooner had Harry looked at him, than those piercing dark eyes snapped to him and narrowed in a murderous glare. Harry swallowed thickly, quickly dropping his eyes back to his newspaper and hunching his shoulders. The heat of shame crawled up the back of his neck.

“Do you think you’ll be able to live with him now?” Ron wondered aloud, reaching for Harry’s paper to look at the article. “I mean, now that the Ministry knows he wasn’t a Death Eater and all, you should be able to live with him. It’d be good to get away from those muggles.”

“I don’t know,” Harry muttered uncomfortably.

Hermione shook out her newspaper. “I’m sure Harry’s situation is more complicated than most people’s.” At Ron’s blank stare, she sighed and lowered her voice. “The blood wards, Ron.”

“Oh.”

Ginny looked between them, her brow furrowed in thought. “Are they really that strong?”

“Dumbledore seems to think so,” Harry said, slouching further in his seat.

“Well,” Hermione said, “I think you’d be safer and better cared for with Sirius inside a Fidelius Charm than at your relatives’ with the blood wards.”

“The Dursleys aren’t that bad,” Harry felt compelled to say. It always felt awkward defending his relatives.

Hermione’s expression tightened, but she returned her attention to the newspaper and said nothing. Ron snorted, flipping through the newspaper to the Quidditch pages. “Mate, they starve you all summer.”

“They starve you?” Ginny asked with disbelief.

“I don’t starve!” he protested. His ears burned.

“Only because Mum sends you food,” Ron argued, finally looking up at his friend. “A whole basket. Every summer.”

Harry folded his arms across his chest and ground out, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Glad to hear it, Mr. Potter,” a voice drawled behind him and Harry cringed, turning to look up at the scowling Potions Master. “Professor McGonagall would like to see you in her office after your last class today.”

“Why?” Harry blurted apprehensively.

“I wasn’t informed,” Snape sneered at him and then swept away, black cloak billowing behind him.

“Git,” Ron and Ginny said together once they were sure the professor couldn’t hear them.

Hermione harrumphed her disapproval and primly folded the newspaper and stowed it in her bag. Her reprimands for respecting the professors went largely ignored so she decided not to press the point this time. Ron’s attention returned to his plate and the Quidditch section of the paper and Ginny grinned shamelessly at her. Nudging Harry’s plate back towards him, Hermonie said, “You need to eat, Harry. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re skipping meals.”

Harry pulled a face. An open box appeared under his nose and rattled enticingly. He followed the arm holding the box to meet Ginny’s brown eyes. She grinned a little. “Have a biscuit, Harry.”

“You can’t have biscuits for breakfast,” Hermione protested.

“Of course you can!” the Weasley siblings chorused.

Ginny jiggled the box again. “What do you say, Harry? Have some shortbread?”

Harry took one with a smile of thanks. Ron’s arm reached across Harry to snag a biscuit from the box, but Ginny yanked it away and quickly sealed it again. “Not for you, Ron!”

“You gave Harry one,” Ron complained.

Ginny sniffed, stowing the box in her bag and rising from the bench. “I can share my biscuits with whomever I please.”

“Why does Harry get one and not me?”

She pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder, saying loftily, “Because Harry’s my favorite.”

Ron gaped at his sister and Hermione looked up from the paper, her eyebrows rising. Color rose in Ginny’s cheeks and she turned away. “Anyway,” she said with forced lightness, “it’s about time for class. Bye.”

She left quickly and Ron rolled his eyes, shifting to scan the table, but the elves had already cleared most of the food from the surface. He wilted a little when he didn’t see anything else to eat within reach and muttered, “Of course you’re her favorite.”

“You’ve had more than enough to eat,” Hermione said. “Besides, Ginny’s right. It’s almost time for class to start so we’d best be off.”

While she gathered up her history book and folded the newspaper, Ron leaned close to Harry and whispered, “Do you think we can convince her to skive off classes today?”

Harry stifled a laugh. “I don’t think Hermione’s ever willingly skipped class.”

They met Hermione at the doors to the Great Hall as Ron opined, “Shame. She could use a break.”

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.* 

Potions class was nearly as miserable as the last one. Since the abrupt ending of his occlumency lessons, potions class had deteriorated further. Somehow, Malfoy and the rest of his cronies discovered Harry’s lessons (not the nature of them, of course) and the cessation of them. Malfoy’s superior smugness and biting mockery increased after the break-up of the DA. 

Harry had expected much the same treatment from Snape, but instead of Snape’s biting criticisms and deriding of Harry’s assignments, the professor ignored everything about him. The dark professor hadn’t even commented on Harry’s near perfect potion. He was bottling a sample to turn in when Malfoy finally spoke, pitching his voice to be heard by the rest of the class, “I see not even private lessons did you any good, Potter. Did Granger do your potion for you?”

The class turned to look and Harry felt Snape’s piercing gaze. Harry clutched the potion vial tightly, ears burning. Ron twisted in his seat to glare at Malfoy, snapping, “Harry doesn’t have to take remedial potions anymore.”

“Oh?” Malfoy scoffed, glee shining on his face. “So it’s true, then? You really were taking remedial potions? Still can’t tell the difference between daucus carota and conium maculatum? Maybe it’s a good thing.”

Ron’s face flushed red and he surged to his feet, the bench scraping loudly across the flagstone floor. “That’s because Snape—”

“— refuses to continue to spoon-feed a deplorable student,” the potions master drawled, coming to stand in front of their table. “Particularly a student who has no desire to put any effort into his studies and shows nothing but belligerent disrespect.” Snape sneered down at them, dark eyes narrowing on the vial in Harry’s hand. “Five points from Gryffindor for disrupting my class and a zero, Potter, for cheating.”

Ron sputtered with indignation, but Hermione clamped a hand on his arm and hissed quietly to hold his tongue. The professor held out his hand and Harry reluctantly surrendered his potion. Snape glanced at the vial and Harry held his breath. He wouldn’t be surprised if Snape dropped the potion or vanished it completely. He’d already given Harry a zero so it wasn’t like the potion sample was necessary for his grade now. Instead, the potions master tucked it into his robes and leveled a dark look on him. “I’m sure the Headmistress will be interested in learning of your disgraceful behavior. Get out of my class, Potter.”

Harry stared. There were still another twenty minutes of class left. “Professor—”

“Get. Out,” Snape hissed.

Harry swallowed back his words of protest, rising stiffly to his feet and gathering his books to shove into his bag. Ron nodded that he’d pack up Harry’s potions supplies when he glanced at the redhead. A quick look at Snape revealed the potions master’s imperious expression shifting toward impatient. Harry quickly averted his eyes, snatched up his book bag, and hurried from the classroom, ignoring Malfoy’s snickers.

The door slammed on his heels and Harry cringed. A few of the seventh year Slytherins turned at the sound and then turned away again with a roll of their eyes. Harry lingered uncertainly outside the potions classroom with the feeling of mortification warring with anger and frustration before he decided he didn’t want to listen to Malfoy’s gloating when the class finally emerged. Turning sharply on his heel, he stalked toward the stairs out of the dungeon. Halfway up the dungeon stairs, the anger faded back into the familiar feeling of guilt. He really did want to say something to Snape, if only to ease the guilt for invading the man’s memories. It really had been an impulse decision and Hermione was always telling him he needed to look before he leapt.

The corridors were mostly empty, and the students he did pass cast him curious looks, but nobody said anything. With his temper over the last few years and the very obvious disdain from both the Ministry and Umbridge, most of the school felt avoidance was the better part of valor. Besides, with the libel printed in the newspapers, most thought he was insane or a desperate attention-seeker anyway.

His steps carried him up the main staircase and through the corridors with no particular destination in mind. Just as he was passing the DADA classroom, someone cleared their throat and he froze in his steps.

“Hem, hem.”

Harry turned slowly. Dolores Umbridge stood in the door of her classroom, her fuzzy, pink cardigan just as sickeningly pink as always, a wide smile stretching her lips. Harry straightened, meeting her narrowed eyes with a flat stare. “Professor.”

If possible, her smile grew wider. “Mr. Potter. Aren’t you supposed to be in class right now?” Harry said nothing so Umbridge continued in a syrupy tone, “Potions; right?”

“I — Professor McGonagall asked me to come to her office,” he grudgingly admitted.

“In the middle of class?” she asked sweetly. “What reason could Professor McGonagall possibly have to interrupt your lessons?”

Harry shrugged, gaining some satisfaction in the annoyance that crossed her toad-like face. Sharp steps turned the corner at the far end of the corridor and McGonagall’s stern expression chilled when she saw them. She came to an abrupt halt next to them, her lips pressed thinly as she looked between Harry and Umbridge. Her chin lifted when she caught Umbridge’s eyes and she turned pointedly away from the shorter woman, addressing Harry, “There you are, Mr. Potter. Professor Snape informed me you were on your way to my office. Come along.”

With that, the transfiguration professor moved to lead the way, but Umbridge shifted, simpering “Hem, hem.”

They paused. Umbridge’s smile was all teeth. “Why is Mr. Potter meeting with you, Professor McGonagall? I believe he’s supposed to be in Professor Snape’s class right now.”

McGonagall’s lips thinned further and she deliberately clasped her hands together. Harry wondered if she did that to prevent herself from drawing her wand on the other woman.

“It is time for Mr. Potter to discuss his plans for the rest of his school and his future career options. Professor Snape was kind enough to release Mr. Potter when he finished his classwork.”

It was clear Umbridge didn’t completely believe McGonagall and her smile slipped from her face. Her bulging eyes narrowed skeptically at Harry. A forced smile returned to her wide lips and she simpered, “Well, Mr. Potter’s future career choice is very important. We’re all very interested in his future achievements.”

“Quite,” McGonagall said tersely. “Come along, Potter.” She turned and took a few steps before she paused to level the toad-like woman a look. “Professor.”

Harry moved to McGonagall’s side, a little surprised when she reached for his arm and guided him briskly down the corridor and into her office. McGonagall closed her office door with a snap and marched across the room to her desk, muttering, “That woman!”

She settled into her desk chair, grumbling for a moment longer while she shifted parchments and books before she subsided with a sigh. Harry stood uncomfortably before the desk and watched McGonagall take a deep breath and finally look up. Her stern features relaxed and she allowed a small smile. “Now, in light of the recent news, Sirius has asked if you would be able to celebrate his pardon this weekend. I am prepared to allow you to spend tonight to Sunday afternoon with Sirius; if you wish.”

Harry felt a rush of excitement even as his stomach swooped with dread. “Really? What about Umbridge?”

Her brows lowered sharply and her lips pursed. “I’m sure you and your friends can come up with some explanation for your absence. With OWLs coming up, I’m sure you’ll be spending a great deal of time in the common room.  Studying.”

Harry laughed. “I can see Sirius? When?”

“We should be able to arrange for you to visit Sirius’ home after supper so Professor Umbridge will be less likely to notice your absence.”

The flush of excitement was fading now and his anxiety was growing. Harry shifted nervously, rubbing his palms against his robes. He’d spent the last weeks thinking about what he was going to do with the new information he had about his dad and godfather. It’d only been the previous night that he’d decided to ask for an explanation. After all, the memories were from Snape and maybe there was another explanation. Maybe he forgot something? Maybe it was altered in some way and only seemed as bad as it did? For some reason, Harry felt that was a futile hope. The potions master never forgot the smallest detail on anything. 

McGonagall looked over her glasses at him, asking, “Is there something troubling you, Mr. Potter?”

Harry quickly shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

She studied him curiously, allowing, “If you’re sure.” She waited until he nodded before dismissing him. “Make sure you pack a bag for the weekend and then meet me by the front doors after your astronomy class. Ensure that you are not seen. By anybody.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

With a final nod from Professor McGonagall, Harry left the transfiguration office and went to meet up with Hermione and Ron.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.* 

The remaining classes for the day seemed to drag by at a snail’s pace. Harry was only able to mention that McGonagall had found him when Umbridge cornered him in the corridor when Snape had thrown him out of class, but he didn’t get a chance to tell them of his weekend plans. Ron had scowled when he told him to wait until they returned to the common room, but Hermione had taken on a thoughtful expression and nodded. 

Finally, charms ended and Flitwick dismissed them. They hurried to the common room, and then up to the fifth year boys’ dormitory when they discovered just how crowded the common room was before Harry finally told his friends his news. Hermione nodded knowingly as if she’d guessed as much earlier.

“McGonagall is letting you leave the school?” Ron asked, flabbergasted. “For the whole weekend?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a small shrug. “Sirius asked to see me.”

“Of course he did,” Hermione agreed, settling on the edge of Harry’s bed while he dug through his trunk and pulled out shirts and trousers. “He’s a free man now and wants to celebrate. And there’s nothing in the school rule book that says parents and guardians can’t remove their child from school at any time for any reason. A weekend away from school is definitely allowed.”

Ron flopped onto his own bed with a gusty sigh. “I wish I could leave school for a weekend.”

Hermione gave him an arch look. “You would want to spend the weekend with your parents?”

“Merlin, no,” Ron groaned. “That’d be a bloody nightmare. Mum would probably have me de-gnoming the garden or something equally boring.”

“De-gnoming isn’t that bad,” Harry said, stuffing his clothing into a rather ratty looking bag and then searching under his bed for socks.

Ron scoffed. “Says you.”

“Chores build character and teach you life skills; like time management,” Hermione said, ignoring Ron’s grunt of disagreement and reaching to pick up one of Harry’s discarded books. “Are you going to talk to Sirius about…you know?”

Harry sat back on his heels, cautiously sniffing the pair of socks he’d found under the bed before he tossed them towards his bag. “I think so.”

Ron propped himself up on his elbows, frowning. “I don’t know why you’re so upset about it, mate. Snape’s a right git and he probably deserved it.”

Harry returned the frown. “It’s not right,” he said. “It’d be like — like attacking Malfoy for no reason.”

Ron snorted. “I’ve got plenty of reasons to —”

“No,” Harry interrupted, mussing his hair. “I can’t explain it.”

Hermione stacked several school books next to Harry’s bag. “Bullying is never something you want to imagine your parents doing.”

“Bullying?” Ron scoffed. “Snape probably gave as good as he got. Probably started it too.”

Harry ferreted out another pair of socks from under the bed and stuffed them into his bag and tied it closed, ignoring the books. “I’m not saying Snape was completely innocent—” Ron rolled his eyes and Harry ignored him, “—but — I don’t know.  You didn’t see it. It was unnecessarily cruel. I don’t want to think of my dad and Sirius acting like that.”

Hermione nodded. “We understand, Harry.”

By the expression on Ron’s face, Harry could tell that the redhead certainly didn’t understand, but he nodded anyway. Harry forced his nervous tension down and smiled. “Thanks, guys.”

Hermione beamed, rising to her feet and smoothing down her robes. “Now, how about we get a head start on our homework before dinner?”

She started down the stairs to the common room, blissfully ignorant of Ron’s mumbled swearing. “Do you think she thinks of anything else except school work?”

“Come on, Ron,” Hermione called back up the stairs, “the OWLs are only weeks away!”

Ron dragged himself to his feet, rolling his eyes and demanding, “Why does she never tell you to do your homework?”

“She does,” Harry told him. “Maybe she’s giving me a pass this weekend.”

“Harry,” Hermione called again, “make sure you bring your potions and herbology books.”

Ron laughed. “Maybe not.”

Harry huffed his own laugh, picking up the books Hermione had stacked earlier and he’d ignored. “Come on. Maybe we can distract her.”

“With what?” Ron demanded as they started down the stairs.

“I don’t know. SPEW?”

“Merlin, don’t get her started on that. I’d almost rather hear her lecture about the properties of potion ingredients.”

Harry grinned. “That’s something. Do you think she’ll immediately know the answer to why brewing potions is magical but brewing tea isn’t? Or making tinctures isn’t potions?”

They entered the common room and immediately found Hermione had set up her study notes at a table in the far corner. Ron and Harry exchanged a glance before they made their way over, Ron muttering, “You might be on to something.”

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.* 

Hermione did manage to get them to do at least some of their homework before dinner, though she expressed disappointment that neither of the boys finished. The dinner hour arrived and they grabbed their astronomy textbooks before heading down to the Great Hall. Dinner passed with inconsequential talk. Ron bemoaned the Inquisitional Squad and Malfoy’s smug face and Hermione again invited them to join her study group in the library. 

Astronomy that night was going to be a short class, which was a relief to Harry since he doubted he would be able to stand the tedium of charting stars and planets. Finally, Professor Sinastra dismissed them for the night. Harry nearly leapt down the tower stairs and Hermione and Ron were quick to follow. It wasn’t too late in the evening, just after nine, but Harry didn’t want to keep McGonagall waiting. 

Once in the Gryffindor Tower, they hurried up the dormitory stairs and Harry grabbed his weekend bag and invisibility cloak. He ignored the stack of books Hermione had again placed by his bag and swung the cloak over his shoulders. “You’ll let me out the portrait door, right?”

Ron nodded. “Of course, mate. I’ll even keep an eye on Dean and Seamus so they don’t go ratting you out to Umbridge.”

“Really, Ron,” Hermione complained, “I don’t think either of them would tell on Harry.”

Ron rolled his eyes but decided against arguing. Neither Dean or Seamus had been on good terms with Harry this year and didn’t hesitate to let him know, but Harry doubted they’d go so far as to report him to Umbridge.

Now hidden beneath the invisibility cloak, Ron and Harry started back down the stairs to the common room to wait for the perfect moment to sneak out the portrait. Hermione, however, paused long enough to scoop up the books Harry had left before she hurried after them, exclaiming, “Harry, your books! How are you going to do your homework if you don’t take them?”

“Lay off,” Ron groused. “Harry’s not going to to be doing homework while hanging out with Sirius.”

The girl looked momentarily offended before a fierce scowl crossed her face and she huffed, “He’s got to keep up with his studies, Ronald. Exams are only two months away.”

“That’s plenty of time,” Ron argued.

“We still have homework,” she shot back. “And waiting until the last minute to revise doesn’t help you actually learn anything.”

In an attempt to divert the escalating argument, Harry plucked his books form her arms and stuffed them into his bag. “Thanks, Hermione. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to finish my homework before I get back. You’ll check my work, yeah?”

“Of course,” she readily agreed. “You’ll write if you have any questions; right?”

“Sirius is there,” Ron grumbled. “He can just ask him. He’s a fully qualified wizard, after all.”

Hermione looked doubtful, but she smiled and leaned forward to give Harry another hug. “Good luck. Take care.”

Ron thumped him on the shoulder when Hermione pulled away. “Yeah. Tell Sirius we said ‘hi.’”

They were fortunate the common room was currently empty, otherwise they would’ve drawn far too much attention. Harry agreed to pass along their greetings and then they pushed the portrait door open and Harry slipped out with a last whispered goodbye. The portrait swung closed behind him and Harry quietly made his way through the nearly deserted corridors to the entrance hall. Professor McGonagall was standing before the house hourglasses, frowning darkly at the shining gems. Gryffindor was far behind the rest of the houses and it was unlikely they would catch up. In fact, Harry thought the House of Gryffindor was simply ignoring the point system for the rest of the year. He’d also overheard Fred and George wondering if they could make the record for the least house points in school history and he had no doubts they were going to attempt it. Or attempt the most house points lost by a single house in a year.

Keeping a wary eye out for the Inquisitional Squad, Umbridge, or even Snape, Harry cautiously approached his head of house and whispered, “I’m here, Professor.”

McGonagall didn’t even flinch with surprise at his sudden words. She nodded and turned to the doors, saying softly, “Follow me and keep close, Potter.”

She’d only taken one step when a throat cleared delicately. “Where are you going, Minerva?”

Umbridge stepped out of the shadows, her bulging eyes squinting suspiciously at the professor. McGonagall bristled, twitching her robes with annoyance. “I don’t believe I am required to divulge what I choose to do during my free time, Dolores.”

“Of course not,” Umbridge demurred, “but I would like to know when my professors are no longer on school grounds. Just a precaution, my dear.”

McGonagall’s lips thinned at the endearment. “There are a few things I require in Hogsmeade and then I was going to stop at the Three Broomsticks for a pint.”

“By yourself?” Umbridge asked, her tone sickly sweet.

Quick steps down the marble stairs interrupted them and Madam Pomfrey rapidly approached, smoothing down pale blue robes and hardly sparing Umbridge a glance as she spoke to McGonagall, “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Minnie. Oh, hello, Dolores, are you joining us for a pint?”

Madam Pomfrey expression was politely inquisitive when she addressed the woman and Harry was moderately impressed with the lack of reaction from McGonagall. Umbridge looked between them before smiling insincerely. “I’m afraid I cannot be spared from my duties here this evening. Have a good time, dears, and be sure to let Mr. Filtch know when you’ve returned so he can lock up.”

McGonagall nodded sharply, glancing at Madam Pomfrey, and then swept out the castle doors. Madam Pomfrey followed quickly and Harry hurried after them, making sure to keep his cloak wrapped tightly around him so Umbridge wouldn’t see his shoes.

McGonagall’s stride was brisk and they were almost to the gates of the grounds before she slowed and released a gusty sigh. Madam Pomfrey checked over her shoulder, moving up next to McGonagall and asking softly, “Minnie?”

“The words I wish I could say to that woman!” McGonagall exclaimed emphatically. “Surely the Headmaster could’ve found someone. Anyone! Another incompetent fool like Gilderoy Lockhart would’ve been better.”

Madam Pomfrey huffed a quiet laugh. “I think even Severus would agree with you.”

They exited the gates, starting down the path to Hogsmeade, and McGonagall stretched out a hand, saying, “Mr. Potter, take my arm. We’re going to Apparate. Do you remember where headquarters is?”

Harry’s hand appeared from beneath his invisibility cloak to take the transfiguration professor’s arm. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Normally we would floo, but Professor Umbridge is monitoring the castle’s network,” she told him with a disapproving sniff. “She believes someone is in communication with the Headmaster and is determined to catch them out.”

“Have you heard from Professor Dumbledore?” Harry asked anxiously.

McGonagall ignored the question, addressing Madam Pomfrey, “I’ll see you at the Three Broomsticks shortly, Poppy. Ready, Potter?”

McGonagall Apparated before Harry could agree. The sudden squeezing, twisting sensation stole his breath and his feet hit the road in front of Grimmauld Place with a jarring thump. Harry could’ve sworn his stomach had been left behind on the road to Hogsmeade. The invisibility cloak rippled around him and he swayed. Only McGonagall’s arm kept him from landing on his face and Harry swallowed back the surging nausea.

Harry recognized the street and the homes in front of them. An old sedan rattled past them without slowing and Harry thought it probably needed to be seen by a mechanic. There was no one else on the street, though McGonagall glanced warily up and down the sidewalks before striding across the street to the house that seemed to pop up out of nowhere between 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place. Harry was hustled inside and the door was firmly closed behind them before McGonagall nodded and he was allowed to remove the cloak.

The entryway was as dark and dreary as Harry remembered it. The heavy draperies that hid Walburga Black were gathering dust again, but thankfully the portrait was silent. It was clear that Kreacher was still neglecting the house and Mrs. Weasley still hadn’t defeated the doxies and dust bunnies that sought refuge in the dim corners and moldering curtains. McGonagall led the way down to the kitchen of the house and Harry followed, stuffing his cloak into his bag and taking care not to disturb Mrs. Black.

There was a marked difference in the atmosphere between the entry and the kitchen and Harry felt himself marginally relax. Mrs. Weasley was at the stove, grumbling over some offense (Harry thought he heard Sirius and Kreacher mentioned several times) while she fussed with the tea kettle and peered into a bubbling pot. When they entered, Mrs. Weasley was just turning to reach for her wand and she caught sight of them. She immediately released the wooden spoon she was holding and greeted them with a bright smile, crossing the kitchen to envelop Harry in a tight hug. “Hello, Harry. Let me look at you.”

He allowed himself to lean into the hug, letting the warm feeling that blossomed in him from the hug push aside the apprehension he felt over Snape’s pensieve memories. She held him out at arms’ length and Harry felt like she was cataloging every blemish he had — real or imagined. With a click of her tongue, she shook her head and lovingly patted his cheek. “You’re too thin, dear. Are you eating? Ginny mentioned that you seemed to lack an appetite recently. Have you been sick?”

“Lay off, Molly,” Sirius suddenly spoke up from the door. “There’s no way to starve at Hogwarts, as you know. The house elves make plenty and Harry knows where the kitchens are.”

Mrs. Weasley let Harry go when he turned and so he didn’t notice her lips pursing with her disapproval. Harry felt several emotions at the same time; a curious combination of dread and anticipation and relief.

“Hey, kiddo,” Sirius said with a grin, “did you hear the good news?”

“Your pardon?” Harry asked, feeling stupid a second later for asking such a ridiculous question.

Sirius threw his head back and laughed, leaping from his seat and seizing him a bear hug. “Of course! This is the best week I’ve had in years!” Sirius released him suddenly and Harry stumbled back on shaking legs. The pardoned man dropped into a chair at the table, the grin still brightening his worn features and his eyes fever bright. “I still would’ve liked to get one good curse on the rat.”

As Harry steadied himself, he heard Mrs. Weasley say, “Thank you for bringing him, Minerva.”

He didn’t hear McGonagall’s response over Sirius’ sudden bark of laughter and then the stern transfiguration professor turned to Harry, saying crisply, “I’ve arranged it with Madam Rosemerta for you to floo to the Three Broomsticks Sunday afternoon no later than two. Either Madam Pomfrey or I will be there to collect you. Make sure you wear your cloak.” She glanced briefly at Sirius before finishing, “Behave yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

A small smile softened her features and she nodded then turned a stern look on Sirius. “That goes for you as well. No trouble. You’ve only just received your pardon.”

“Stop worrying, Minnie,” Sirius laughed with a dismissive wave. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

McGonagall’s face took on a pinched expression. “See that nothing does. It’s not safe for Mr. Potter right now. Don’t forget it, Sirius.”

Harry caught his godfather rolling his eyes and he bit his lip, looking quickly at his professor. McGonagall’s expression tightened, but she said nothing; instead, she nodded at them and bid her farewell to Mrs. Weasley before she disappeared through the floo to the Three Broomsticks. Sirius thumped the table. “So, there’s something you want to talk about? Your letters didn’t seem exactly happy, kiddo. Snivellus treating you all right?”

The cruel nickname made Harry bristle and he straightened, setting his jaw, as he recalled his earlier resolution to talk about his father and godfather’s bullying. Before he could speak, Mrs. Weasley shooed them out of the kitchen. “Go get Harry settled into his room, Sirius. I’ll have some tea sent up soon.”

Harry nodded mutely, his resolve withering. Sirius winked at his godson, shoving back from the table and rising to his feet. “Right. Let’s put your stuff down and we can talk privately.”

They kept quiet in the hall in order to not disturb Mrs. Black and creaked their way up the stairs. The room was just as he remembered it, though a little dustier since Mrs. Weasley didn’t have much help keeping the place clean and Sirius seemed apathetic to the state of his family home and more than once had made an off-hand remark about setting a torch to the whole place.

Sirius crossed the room and dropped onto the bed Ron had used over the summer, watching as Harry stopped by the bed he’d had over the summer and let his bag drop to the quilted coverlet. When Harry didn’t venture to continue the conversation they’d started downstairs, Sirius raised an eyebrow. “You wanted to talk; right?”

“It was nothing,” Harry muttered, inwardly berating himself for being a coward.

Sirius didn’t look convinced but shrugged anyway. “Okay. I was thinking, now that I’m free, we should go out and do something fun. Just the two of us. It’d almost be like Padfoot and Prongs, Part Two!”

“Really?” He felt the excitement bubble up. No one had ever wanted to do anything with him. Except for Ron and Hermione, he corrected himself. “Like what?”

The smile that crossed Sirius’ face could only be described as sly. “You’re fifteen now; right? James and I found this club nearby when we were about your age. The girls weren’t bad looking and some were extremely accommodating, if you know what I mean. I’ve been out of the action for way too long and I’m feeling the itch that needs scratching.”

Harry stared at his godfather in confusion. “A…club?”

“Sure! You know the type; right? It’s a great place to relax and meet some broads. They’re not as stuffy as some of those girls at school,” Sirius said with a laugh. “Lily gave James quite the chase. Of course, she had Snivellus sniffing around her before she knew better.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open as the meaning beneath his godfather’s words registered. “Mum?”

“Yeah, old greasy git Snivellus drooled over your mum for years. It was disgusting. James was worried she’d been plucked before he got his chance, but Lily knew better. Like a Gryffindor girl would let some slimy snake put his hands on her.”

Harry’s lips moved soundlessly until he choked out the first thing his whirling mind could latch onto. “A strip club?”

He must have sounded more horrified than intrigued because Sirius looked at him oddly. “It’s more than a strip club. James and I always had a good time. Last time we were there was just before he died. That was a wild night.”

Harry felt heat flood his cheeks. “I don’t — Dad — Professor Snape was friends with Mum?”

“Friends,” Sirius spat, lip curling in disgust. “Lily learned better and James finally got her in the end. Not that the slimy snake was any competition. James was a real ladies’ man. The girls all loved him. He swore it was the hair. Natural bedroom hair, so he said. What do you think? I bet you’ve got your pick of girls. Fame and the Potter good looks; James would’ve killed to have both. I bet you’ve got some stories already. So, favorites?”

The wink Sirius gave him made his blush flare brighter and the sliver of anger he’d nearly forgotten surged forth and he demanded, “Is that the reason you picked on him? Because he was friends with Mum?”

Sirius looked taken aback. “Who? Snivellus?”

“Don’t call him that!” Harry shouted, a part of him surprised at how upset he was. He didn’t even like the potions master.

“Are you defending him?” Sirius asked with flabbergasted disbelief. “He’s no saint, Harry. He’s a Death Eater. He was bad from the day we met him. He knew all kinds of dark magic even before he got to Hogwarts. It was only a matter of time.”

The dismissive words and feeble justification only served to heighten Harry’s emotions.

“You bullied him. You and Dad! It was wrong.” Harry couldn’t believe the words that were pouring out of his mouth, but he couldn’t seem to stop them. “No wonder he hates me. It wasn’t fair. It was three against one! No one deserves—”

Sirius leapt to his feet and Harry flinched, words drying up. The glare Sirius leveled on him shot a spike of fear through his heart. Sirius had never before given him such a look of disgust and loathing.

“James was a great man,” Sirius shouted.

“He was a bully,” Harry’s voice cracked and he could feel his eyes burn, “and a cheat and for the first time since I learned I was a wizard, I’m ashamed he’s my father.”

Sirius’ face flushed with anger and his hand shot out, seizing Harry painfully around the arm. He shook him roughly, snarling, “Your father died for you. You don’t mean that.”

Memories of his own time at school — before Hogwarts and before he learned he had magic — assaulted him. Times he was alone and cornered in the schoolyard or in the loo. Times his cousin and his gang would kick him around just because he was there and because he was different. Just because he existed. 

“I do. What kind of person can be so cruel and show no remorse? I saw him. He enjoyed attacking Snape. He enjoyed hurting him. And then Mum — did he even care about my mum?” Harry gasped, trying to pull free. “Let go! You’re hurting me!”

Fury flared brighter on Sirius’ face. “You’re not acting like a Potter!”

“I’m glad,” he screamed. “I don’t want to be like my father if my father was like that!”

Sirius’ expression turned ugly and his fist clenched tightly around Harry’s arm. “Then get out of my house. I told James that Lily was only worth a shag or two. After all, she actually liked Snivellus and I’m sure the greasy git would’ve gladly taken James’ sloppy seconds. I knew she was a bitch and I told him she’d ruin him, but no. He married the chit when she told him she was pregnant. James claimed she hadn’t wanted to, but he said no bastard sprog of his would be a leech on his family. A bastard could ruin the family reputation.” 

Sirius bared his teeth in a vicious snarl, twisting Harry’s arm painfully. “I warned him. I know there are ways — muggle ways — of ending a pregnancy, but the bitch refused. And I was right. You — she — you both were the death of him. You might as well have cast the spell yourself.”

Harry could only stare at his godfather, robbed of words. Each sentence, every syllable, was dripping with bitterness and loathing. Sirius dragged him from the room, jerking him down the stairs all the way to the kitchen, and tossed him through the door. Mr. Weasley had arrived at some point while they were upstairs and he turned in surprise when Harry, cheeks flushed and tearstained, stumbled in. Mrs. Weasley quickly stood. “Harry—”

“If you don’t want to be a Potter,” Sirius spoke over the Weasley matriarch, “then you no longer are.”

The Weasleys gasped and Mr. Weasley struggled to his feet with a grimace of pain. “Sirius—”

The floo flared and a dark figure stepped out onto the flagstone hearth. No one paid any attention, their wide eyes riveted on the furious man. Sirius straightened, glaring imperiously down at his godson. “I deny that you are the son of James Potter. You shall no longer be acknowledged as his son and heir. All assistance and privilege from the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black and the Noble House of Potter is revoked henceforth. You are no longer allowed to use the name Potter. So speaketh I, Sirius Orion Black. Get out of my sight.”

The words fell like blows on Harry and left him gasping and nerveless. He staggered into the kitchen table, his vision spinning and stomach heaving, hardly aware of the chaos that erupted around him. A teacup shattered on the flagstone floor and Mrs. Weasley’s shrill voice demanded, “What were you thinking, Sirius! Harry’s your godson!”

“I have no godson,” Sirius snarled, turning from the kitchen without another glance towards the devastated teen. “I want him out of my house before the end of the hour.”

“I didn’t realize you had so little respect for Potter’s brat,” Snape drawled, his dark eyes flicking between his student and his childhood nemesis.

“James and his family are no longer responsible for Lily’s bastard child. You were always sniffing after the bitch, Snivellus, you take her cast-off. I no longer care.”

The kitchen door slammed shut in the stunned silence that followed that pronouncement. Harry groaned, clutching his suddenly throbbing head and curling into himself as he sank to the cold floor. The click of hard-heeled shoes moved across the stones and Harry felt someone kneel by his side. The scent of Dreamless Sleep potion reached him and he knew Snape was the one who placed a hand on his back. He made an odd, grunting noise and then cleared his throat, saying, “Harry.”

Harry looked up, tears blurring his vision even as it tunneled and the edges darkened. Dark eyes examined him closely and then Snape turned to Mrs. Weasley. “What happened?”

“Oh, Severus,” Mrs. Weasley fluttered worriedly, “Sirius has disowned Harry! You heard! What are we going to do?”

Snape scowled, those piercing eyes turning back to examine the teen. Harry felt light-headed and he closed his eyes, letting his head drop to his raised knees. Snape rose to his feet, shaking out his robes. “I will have to speak to the Headmaster, but it is clear he can no longer remain here.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Weasley fretted. “Of course he can’t. How long do you think…”

She trailed off as if uncertain and Harry heard her move around the table, her robes rustling loudly in his ears. His eyes were starting to ache and chills raced down his spine. It felt like he was going to be sick. Snape moved away, closer to the fireplace, saying, “We should have a few hours before the effects take hold—”

He was silenced by Mrs. Weasley’s gasp. She had placed a hand on the top of Harry’s head, only to snatch it back a moment later and kneel hurriedly next to him. “He’s got a fever, Severus.”

Mr. Weasley shuffled around the table, dropping heavily into a nearby chair. “Harry,” he said, “look at me, son.”

It took more strength than Harry realized to lift his head and meet Mr. Weasley’s eyes. Mrs. Weasley gasped, “Severus! He’s bleeding!” 

“Calm down, Molly, it’s just a nose bleed,” Mr. Weasley soothed, though his expression was worried.

Harry raised trembling hands to his nose, flinching when Snape seemed to swoop in out of nowhere. Strong, thin fingers gripped his jaw and tilted his face upward and piercing black eyes narrowed. If it’d been anyone else, any other professor at Hogwarts — well, except for Umbridge — Harry would have thought he looked concerned. With his other hand, Snape snatched Harry’s hand away from the flow of blood, leaning closer and scowling blackly. “Hold still, boy.”

The warmth of a spell passed through him, momentarily pushing aside the encroaching cold that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. Harry’s head was spinning and he was having difficulty keeping up with the activity going on around him. The one thing he knew, without a doubt, was that Sirius didn’t want him and close on the heels of that knowledge was that even his own father hadn’t really wanted him either.

“It’s happening too fast,” Mrs. Weasley said, voice shrill. “It’s not supposed to happen this fast.”

“What’s happening?” Harry slurred, tongue feeling thick and unwieldy. 

“That imbecile,” Snape snarled, his dark eyes flashing. “He should have stayed in that hellhole where he belongs. The world is already too full of idiots for one like that to be running around.”

A sharp crack startled them and Harry’s bag popped into existence, knocking the tea set off the table with a crash. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley jumped in surprise, but Snape merely snatched it off the table and reached for Harry’s arm, noting the boy’s violent flinch. Snape filed that piece of information away to look into later and hauled the teen to his feet. Harry’s knees felt as stable as jelly and he stumbled into the potions professor. It felt like the world was tipping on its axis.

Snape half carried, half dragged him to the fireplace where the professor threw down a fistful of floo powder, called out a destination Harry couldn’t understand, and they disappeared in a rush of green fire.