Harry shifts in bed, pressing his lips together. The crack in his ankle had been a clean break, so he just needs to wait an hour or so for the bones to knit themselves back together; Madam Pomfrey had easily pushed his shoulder back into place, and while it had certainly hurt, Harry had been grateful the bludger hadn't hit him somewhere worse, like his spine or the back of his head.

"Awake, Potter?" comes a voice, and Harry glances towards it.

"Wide awake, sir," Harry replies as Snape glides into the hospital wing. "Madam Pomfrey says I'll be healed up by dinner." Snape gives an incline of his head, and he holds out a newspaper to him as he hovers beside Harry's bed. Frowning, Harry reaches out, taking it, and then he stares at the image that takes up the majority of the page: Pettigrew shakes as he kneels in the photo, cowering as best he can, and then a dementor blocks all view of his face as it leans over him. Pettigrew drops forwards onto the ground as the dementor draws away, eyes open but unseeing, and Harry watches the photo repeat its animation half a dozen times before he glances up to Snape.

"Special evening edition," Snape says dryly, "Just for that." His tone is disparaging as he spits out the words, and Harry gives a slow nod of his head, holding the paper in his hands. It's a disgusting, disturbing sight, the way Pettigrew tumbles forwards again and again, but it fills Harry with a dreadful satisfaction.

"Will Voldemort know?" he asks, and Snape stares down at him, his brow furrowing.

"What do you mean, Potter?" Snape doesn't flinch at the use of Voldemort's name, Harry realizes - most of the teachers twitch slightly, at the very least, but Snape doesn't seem to twitch at anything at all. Does nothing scare the man? Other than being nice, presumably.

"The Dark Mark on his arm... Voldemort's inner circle had them, right, so he could summon them? Pettigrew's not dead, but he's- well, he's empty now. He's gone. Will Voldemort feel that?"

"An interesting query," Snape murmurs, arching an eyebrow as he stares down at Harry, and not for the first time Harry has the same, bizarre inclination that Snape might be able to read minds. The way he stares into Harry's eyes is positively unnerving, and for a few seconds Harry doesn't know what to say, but it's Snape that breaks the quiet, "I don't know, Potter. But Pettigrew's body will expire soon, without his soul to animate it."

"Thanks, Professor," Harry says, "For bringing my paper. You glad?" The question slips from his tongue without his thinking about it, but Snape doesn't necessarily seem angry.

"That Pettigrew received the Kiss?" Snape presses his lips together, letting them thin, but Harry can see that he's thinking about his answer, formulating it. He's just a bizarre and hateful man, but Harry can't help but be curious. "Why should I be glad?"

"He was a mass murderer, a Death Eater," Harry shrugs his shoulders, folding a corner of the Prophet over itself to create a little piece of concertina in the parchment. "Seemed a bit of a bastard, really." Snape lets out a sort of huffing sound that might be a laugh - Snape looks truly awful when he laughs, though, so Harry's almost glad it's not a fully-fledged laugh. Lupin and Sirius' laughs make them seem younger, but Snape's always just makes him look even worse than he usually does.

"What are you doing here?" Sirius is sneering as he swaggers into the Hospital Wing, a package under his arm, and he seems to hope that Snape will flinch back away from him, but he doesn't. Sirius steps right into Snape's space, until they're nose to nose, and says, "Long time no see, Snivellus." Harry had known the both of them disliked each other, but he hadn't really thought about it like this.

"As clever as always, Black," Snape says icily. "One would think with all that time alone with your thoughts you might have had time to formulate a better insult." Harry stares between the two of them, utterly taken aback.

"Shut up, Sirius," Harry says loudly before his godfather can reply, and he stares at Harry, apparently surprised by Harry's interruption. "Cheers, Professor. See you at dinner."

"Assuming you survive that long, Mr Potter. Do try not to be assassinated," Snape replies, and he leaves the room with the same smooth, silent motion he always seems to employ.

"Yes, sir," Harry agrees, and he looks to Sirius. He'd disappeared for a few hours after Harry had been brought up to the infirmary, claiming he had an appointment, but it's obvious he had no issue coming into the castle.

"What was that?" Sirius demands, dropping himself onto the edge of Harry's mattress, and Harry shakes his head.

"I was just about to ask you the same question, Sirius," Harry says, shifting his leg a little to the side so that Sirius has more space. "You can't talk to him like that."

"Why not?" Sirius' tone is almost petulant, and Harry can't honestly believe he's having this conversation.

"Because I'm the thirteen-year-old and you're the thirty-year-old, to begin with," Harry says, and he watches the annoyance and the honest irritation on Sirius' face - Harry had never seen the man sneer before, and it hadn't been a good look. He's glad to see Sirius look well-rested and better than he had done, but he doesn't want to deal with the man bickering with his professors. "He's my head of house, Sirius, you don't have to talk to him like that."

"He's disgusting," Sirius says firmly, crossing his arms over his chest and sprawling back against the footboard of Harry's bed. "Don't trust him, Harry: he was always into all sorts of dark magic at school, constantly tried to get James, me and Remus into trouble."

"I promise not to trust him so long as you calm down when you talk to him," Harry says, and Sirius lets out a loudly dramatic sigh, but then he spreads his hands in an innocent gesture, relenting. Today, Sirius is wearing actual robes in bright, dappled blue: his clothes are as flamboyant as Lockhart's had been, but certainly less... Well. They look less foppish. Instead of big, fluid stretches of fabric designed to accentuate any swirls and turns, Sirius' clothes are closely tailored to his body, tight at the waist and the arms and only going loose at their skirt. "Did Dumbledore say anything to you about the bludgers?"

"Nothing," Sirius answers, "No idea where they came from. They're not from the Hogwarts supplies, but they were enchanted to focus on you, Harry, just like that knight down in the dungeons was." Harry gives a nod of his head, fidgeting uncomfortably. His leg is beginning to tingle and tickle, and he can't quite ignore the feeling. "Any idea who it is?"

"Well, no one's told me they want me dead recently," Harry says, and Sirius looks at him with his eyes focused on Harry's face. Sirius' eyes are a deep blue, and he's let a little stubble grow over his face. "You think it's Voldemort?"

"No," Sirius says firmly, shaking his head, "No, this isn't his style. This is clumsy."

"Glad to know my would-be assassin is an amateur," Harry mutters, and Sirius laughs. His laugh doesn't sound harsh and painful anymore, and Sirius' voice no longer sounds painful to use. His voice isn't especially low, but it's rich and resonant, and he talks well, now that he's had a little more time to recover.

"That's the spirit!" Sirius catches the green-wrapped package he'd brought in with him, sliding it across the mattress: it's a relatively small, square box tied off with a white ribbon, and Harry examines it for a second, feeling its minimal weight. At a nod from Sirius, he undoes the ribbon, setting it aside and pulling the wrapping aside to reveal the box inside: on a little presentation pillow, shining in the evening light, are two keys on a ring. Harry pulls them out, staring at them, and Sirius says, "One for the Black family home at Grimmauld Place, and another for my flat in London. The Ministry never found it, so they just gave me the keys back."

"You have a flat? A Muggle flat?" Harry asks skeptically, and Sirius grins at him.

"I've maybe upgraded some of the Muggle things a bit. It's dusty, of course, and I need to have a bit of a clean-out, but it's all mine. Well. Yours too, of course. I've already asked Dumbledore, but it's all up to you."

"Asked Dumbledore what?" Harry asks, because Sirius has a sort of secret smile on his face as he shifts back and forth on the side of Harry's bed. Harry stares at the keys in his hands, and wonders what the Hell his godfather is- "Oh," Harry says softly. Sirius is offering for Harry to come and live with him. Sirius is offering to take care of him, let Harry stay with him instead of going back to the Dursleys every summer.

"You don't have to," Sirius says urgently, looking uncertain as to what Harry's "oh" had meant. "Obviously, I mean, it's just an offer-" Harry throws himself forwards, wrapping his arms tightly around Sirius' neck, and Sirius laughs as he pats Harry's back. Harry's leg is twinging for the position, but he does his best to ignore it for a few moments.

"Yes," Harry says, "Yes, God, thank you, thank you, Sirius-"

---

Harry has a grin on his face as he makes his way into the great hall, and he settles down in between Draco and Blaise, throwing his arms around both of their shoulders. "Hello," Blaise says pleasantly, leaning into Harry as Draco lets out a garbled protest, but Harry refuses to let the other Slytherin go. Draco groans, glaring at the hand on his shoulder as if it's some sort of disgusting spider. "You're in a good mood."

"I, gentleman, will no longer live with the most boring, irritating and downright awful family in all of Little Whinging," Harry proclaims. "All post ought be forwarded to my new address in Central London, with my dear, ex-convict, not-a-Death-Eater godfather, Sirius Black." Across the table, Theo laughs, and Draco shoves Harry's hand off of his shoulder, elbowing him in the side.

"You're such an idiot, Potter," he says, but Harry's good cheer is obviously infectious, because he smiles too, and Harry leans in, delivering a loud, dramatic kiss to Blaise's cheek. Zabini laughs, pulling himself out from Harry's arm, and he shakes his head.

"Glad to hear your living situation's improving, Potter. Was it really that simple?"

"He had to sign a fair bit of paperwork, but yeah. The Ministry's bending over backwards to do what he wants at the moment." Blaise nods his head, seeming to approve: Harry is already drafting letters in his head, thinking of what he'll ask everyone in his address book about Sirius, and he wants to know everything. Now that Sirius is officially innocent, maybe he'll be able to get a bit more information about him.

"I wonder why," Theodore says wryly, pouring a glass of pumpkin juice for Harry as he shakes his head. "No real trial, didn't realize a man had gotten away, and wrongfully imprisoned in Azkaban for twelve years." Theo lets out a low whistle, giving a small shake of his head, and Harry picks up his glass, taking a small sip. "How did he escape, anyway?"

"He was," Harry says in a low voice, "An unregistered Animagus. Now, of course, he's registered, and he's done more than enough time in Azkaban to make up for his previous crime. He slid out of the bars in dog form, swam out. Apparently they're going to change the jail a bit, add some more enchantments so that people can no longer utilize similar magic."

"Most of the time people aren't sound enough to try escaping," Blaise says, drumming his fingers on the table. "But all security's good security."

"You don't think Azkaban's a bit extreme? I don't see why they need the dementors there. Surely imprisonment would be enough."

"What else are we supposed to do with them?" Draco asks, putting his nose in the air. "Sorry, Potter, would you rather the dementors were hanging around your front garden?"

"What Draco is trying to say," Theo says, kicking the other boy under the table, "Is that we had an agreement with the dementors long ago. We send them our prisoners, and they stay around Azkaban. They're sentient, but they're satisfied with that much." Harry thinks of the dementor that had crowded him against a wall in Hogsmeade that September, at the look of its clammy, rotting hands... They're back in Azkaban now, all of them, but it's not enough, not for Harry.

"We should destroy them all," Harry murmurs. "Wipe them out.

"Send your method to the head of the Aurors," Blaise suggests. "I'm sure they'd love to hear it. It's not like you can kill them."

"Not even with a strong Patronus?" Draco shakes his head.

"They act as shields, standing between you and the dementor: because they're held up by happy thoughts, they're of the right substance to shove a dementor out of the way, but they can no more kill one than a dagger could." Harry frowns, turning the problem over in his head, and Draco says, "Let's change the subject to something a little more cheery. Hogsmeade."

"You mean where he just got attacked by two rogue bludgers?" Blaise asks.

"Without mentioning Potter," Draco amends, and Harry snorts, reaching for some potatoes as food appears on the table.