Back at the school, Potter barely registered saying goodbye to Hector, slipping quietly and unnoticed back to the common room, and from there into the dormitory. The others were asleep, and Ron, as ever, was snoring away, breaking the silence.
Harry climbed onto his bed, thoughtfully hugging the bag Amber had given him, and sank into thought. And there was plenty to think about.
Harry didn't consider himself a complete fool, and he'd understood even during the conversation that he wouldn't be told absolutely everything — he'd long since grown used to that. Which meant he needed to formulate his questions and find someone who'd actually answer them. And since all his questions would concern his parents more than magic, the only real source of information could be Sirius. There wasn't much to choose from among the other adult wizards — Dumbledore rarely says anything concrete, the Weasleys try to shield Harry from any information whatsoever, Professor Lupin… well, Lupin is Lupin.
Having wrestled his questions into some kind of shape in his head, Harry took out the enchanted notebook he used to reach Sirius and quickly wrote that he needed either a meeting or a conversation right now. He didn't have to wait long for a reply — Harry knew perfectly well that people rarely slept at the house on Grimmauld Place these days, what with everyone searching for signs of Voldemort's activity and his followers, and drawing up plans.
Come down to the fireplace in the common room and put up an anti-eavesdropping ward, and preferably a notice-me-not charm too — those words appeared in the notebook, and Harry hurried out of the dormitory, heading down to the empty House common room.
The fire in the grate, as always at this hour, burned low, but Harry knew that was more than enough for a Floo connection. Settling by the fire, he waited for Sirius's face to appear, woven out of tongues of flame.
"What's up, pup? Can't sleep?"
"Hey, Padfoot," Harry smiled. "I've got some urgent questions about my family. I've got hold of a lot of… interesting and dubious information, and I need to find some things out right away."
"Just like James — couldn't sleep when he needed answers to something. Go on, ask, I'll answer if I know."
"What happened to my grandparents?"
"Oh," Sirius's face darkened. "Yeah… those were the days. Euphemia and Fleamont always welcomed me like family. If I ever needed it, I could always crash at theirs. What happened is… they died not long before Lily and James. There was a dragon pox epidemic going round back then, took a lot of the old folk, and they weren't spared either."
"When did you last see them?"
"Let's see…" Sirius thought back. "Dragon pox moves fast. So that'd be… about two weeks before they died. Lily had just asked me to walk her to their house — travelling alone was dangerous back then, you understand — and Jamie was watching you at the time. Yeah, that's right. Lily wanted to borrow some books and a couple of artefacts to protect the house and you, though I don't know the details there. Fleamont happily handed over a dozen or so absolutely ancient tomes, a couple of simple books, probably on safety practices, and the artefacts she needed — small stuff."
"I see…"
"So why the sudden interest? Found out something new?"
"Could they have been the Peverell books?"
"Ha! Look at you, pup, reading books now! Ha-ha-ha," Sirius let out a barking laugh. "James and I spent a whole month and a half in the Hogwarts library, and then in our own family homes too — wherever we were let in, of course — and never found anything concrete. Could be anything."
"Right… What happened to my grandparents' house?"
"That, I honestly don't know, but it was completely looted almost right after they died. If you're after their belongings, there should be something at Gringotts, though getting to it won't be easy. The Potters never kept up especially close ties with the goblins, unlike my barmy family, so it won't be a simple matter to sort out. But I wouldn't expect much."
"So basically nothing's left?"
"There's almost certainly still the small plot of land itself, but you'd have to check with the Ministry for that, and there," Sirius shook his head with a wry smile, "well, you know how it is. Given it's practically been taken over by the Dark Lord, they're just dying to help you out, I'm sure."
Some kind of noise came from the fireplace.
"Right, godson, I've got to run. There's another meeting starting, you know how it is…"
"And as usual, nobody's going to tell me anything, is that it? What's a 'Horcrux'?"
Sirius made a show of an emergency disconnection, and the flames in the grate settled back into their natural, undistorted state.
Harry shuffled back from the fire and, leaning against the sofa, simply stared into the flames.
"No one ever tells me anything that actually matters…" he sighed. "Same as always. So how am I supposed to piece the information together? Maybe there's something in the library? But that's for tomorrow."
. . . . .
Monday — a heavy day. How many times have I walked into the common room of a morning with that exact phrase running through my head — I've lost count.
Following tradition, I waited for the first-years and gathered them all in one spot, out of the way of the older students bustling about — and bustling about they certainly were — and Hannah and I decided to give a short speech.
"Right then, first-years," I began, while Hannah simply stood beside me, smiling sweetly. "Two weeks since term started, and it's flown by, hasn't it?"
"Yeah…" the first-years answered, in various tones.
"Which means from this point on, you're on your own," at my words the group grew visibly anxious, so I hurried to reassure them, "I mean when it comes to getting around the castle."
"Ohh…"
"Well then, tha-a-at's fine…"
"Even so, I'd still strongly recommend not going off wandering the castle alone. The fact that you've learned the main routes — you have learned them, haven't you?"
"Yes!"
"Good lads," I smiled. "The fact that you've learned them doesn't mean you can't still end up lost somewhere you don't recognise. So keep going to lessons together as a group, and if you feel like an adventure, at least do it in threes. And another thing…"
Concentrating, I called out mentally to the Fat Friar. The ghost drifted down through the ceiling almost at once.
"There's no need to shout so, worthy Prefect," the semi-transparent ghost complained, fingering the rosary in his hand, while the students clearly had no idea what "shouting" he meant. "I hear perfectly well when precious students of our own House call for me."
"Sorry," I apologised, "I don't do that very often. Right, everyone, if you ever get lost, call for our esteemed Fat Friar, our House ghost, and he — or any other ghost besides Peeves — will help you find your way out."
"What about Peeves?" asked one of the girls, a shy one who, over the past two weeks, had managed to avoid doing anything wrong or ending up in any dubious situations whatsoever.
"Peeves will help you get even more lost, if anything. He's a nuisance, but he won't cause any real harm either. Still, you're guaranteed about ten unpleasant minutes. I expect you already know that yourselves, though."
"I can't wait to start doing magic!" one of the boys was both indignant and delighted, and thoroughly tangled up in his robes, which reminded me a little of Longbottom, who'd only really started acting and feeling confident in himself sometime last year.
"I already know," I glanced at the boy with a faint smile, "that you've tried out a couple of spells more than once already. Alohomora, for instance, hasn't it?"
The boy hung his head.
"Don't worry about it," I ruffled his hair, which made him puff up like a hamster. "Trying out spells is normal. The important thing is to follow your professors' instructions and not attempt anything beyond your current level of knowledge and skill. First-year charms and spells are fairly simple, but the consequences of a mistake can be dreadful. At the very least, don't practise alone, so there's someone who can call for help."
"Hey," Hannah gave me a feeble slap on the shoulder. "Aren't you supposed to be lecturing them on the rules?"
"If they can handle the load they set for themselves — good on them," I shrugged. "If they can't — that's their own fault. To the Great Hall, for breakfast."
I turned sharply, which sent the skirts of my robe flaring out just like Snape's, and headed for the exit of the common room, with the first-years hurrying after me. Pity they can't appreciate the full theatrical grandeur of a robe billowing dramatically behind you — they've never had lessons from Snape, and as Headmaster, he's rarely seen around anymore.
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