mybutcheredtongue

[mybutcheredtongue]

the stars and the universe love you

[mybutcheredtongue]

Hi,

First of all, did you also write other ff before this one? And second, since you ACTUALLY got me hooked into writing one myself - would you do me the honors of reading the very first part before it's posted? I need someone's opinion on it, I guess. Only to get a rough feeling whether to someone else it's rubbish or acceptable. But it'll still take weeks, I'm still at a point where I fill an ObsidianVault with an enormous amount of snippets, like a racoon on meth. ❤️

hi hi omg! This was my first fic i’ve written — but I will say that i’ve always had a passion for writing ever since i was little and many days were spent writing different stories haha.

and oh my god YES i would love to read your work!! This is actually such an honour there’s nothing i would love more. I can so relate to the little snippets part because SO much of this fic was based on little scenes I had thought of and then having to write the story around it and fit those little bits into it. Thank you so much for thinking of me to read it!! 💗

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO (see full series list here)

EPILOGUE

Summer, 2017

Sunlight streams in through the windows of your home, gently warming the skin of your arm as you wait for the kettle to boil. Sounds of laughter and chatting floats through the air from the garden through the open window. 

You catch your reflection in the window. The roots of your hair are grey and your forehead is wrinkled. It’s no secret that you’ve faced more than enough hardships in life, and it shows in the faint bags beneath your eyes and the wrinkles in your hands. 

But you’ve also had a lifetime of happy memories. It’s obvious from the smile lines around your mouth and the rosiness of your cheeks.

On the wall is a frame full of new photos. Tonks and Remus’s son, Teddy, when he was just a newborn baby. You find it hard to believe he’s nineteen this year. Another, of you and Minerva standing proudly beside Hermione on her graduation day from Hogwarts. She was the only one to go back to school after the war, while Harry and Ron went on to start their Auror training. You were so unbelievably proud of her that day. 

Photos of all your favourite grandkids that aren’t technically your grandkids: Albus, James, and Lily Potter, and Rose and Hugo Weasley. Albus and Rose are starting at Hogwarts together in September, while James is going into third year. Lily and Hugo are only nine. 

There’s a picture of you cuddling up to Dubh, too. You miss your little best friend more and more every day. She was with you from the day she was a tiny kitten to when she passed away. 

A burst of laughter from the garden brings you back to the task at hand, and you fill up mugs of tea before carefully carrying them outside. At the table, Sirius is mid-story, leaning forward conspiratorially as your aforementioned ‘grandkids’ listen intently. 

“ — and I remember it like it was yesterday. I said, ‘you can do better than that!’, and I barely even had time to think before Bellatrix had said the spell and this big bright flash of light was coming towards me. I thought I was going to die at that moment, I really did. But then I was miraculously saved by someone else — a certain woman had stunned me and threw me across the room, nearly broke all my bones, not sure which would’ve been worse —”

“Oh, stop,” you say with an eye roll, setting cups down in front of your guests. “You deserved a few broken bones for being that stupid.”

You sit down beside Sirius and he laughs, patting your knee with good humour. 

“Yeah, you’d be right about that,” he agrees, nodding. You raise your eyebrows and he grins. “Come on, don’t give me that look, I’m telling them all the best stories about you. It is your birthday, after all.”

You hum, shaking your head in amusement. “I won’t complain.”

“Did you break any bones, Sirius?” James asks curiously, and you snort. 

“No, he didn’t,” you answer with a laugh. “He landed in a pile of sand and was perfectly fine.”

Remus smiles. “Forever dramatic.”

Life has been good, you would say. After the war, you stepped down from teaching and spent some much needed time with Sirius at home, catching up on all the years you were apart. You miss being at Hogwarts and teaching, but you’ve found other ways to keep yourself busy. You campaigned to improve the conditions prisoners have to live in at Azkaban, because you don’t want anyone else to have to suffer as much as Sirius did in there, no matter what they’ve done. They don’t use Dementors there anymore either, and instead have actual prison guards working there. 

You and Sirius babysit the kids when their parents are busy, and of course you spend half the evening of most days looking through your telescope. At the beginning of every month you write an article for The Quibbler about what to expect in the night sky, which Xenophilius Lovegood publishes with delight. 

Minerva has gone on to be the headmistress of Hogwarts, and you’re glad to say you’re still the best of friends. You receive near-weekly letters about what’s been going on and all the kids she has had to reprimand or fights she has had to break up. 

Since Teddy has finished school, Remus has gone back to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts again. He returns home to his family at the weekend, often coming to yours for a visit. Tonks is still an Auror, and has even moved on to taking trainees under her wing just like Moody did for you. 

Hermione works at the Ministry now, and has even been hinted at as the next Minister of Magic in a few years’ time.  

Even Neville Longbottom went back to Hogwarts! He’s now the Herbology professor there. Alice and Frank are still in St. Mungo’s, but there’s recently been a surge in funded research for long-term victims of the Cruciatus Curse and you’re holding out hope that something will work for them. 

Ginny went on to become a professional Quidditch player for the Holyhead Harpies. You and Sirius went to every one of her matches before she retired and became the sports correspondent for the Daily Prophet. 

As Sirius continues his endless supply of stories about you, and the sun starts to set on the horizon, you feel blissfully at peace, surrounded by all the people you love most in the world. You wouldn’t change a thing. 

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→ all kinds of interaction greatly appreciated! ♡

The end! I just want to take a minute to give the biggest thank yous out to everyone who stopped to read this, and for all the incredible support and kindness I've received. When I posted this fic for the first time, I was genuinely shocked at the overwhelming kindness and all the lovely things people had to say about my work. Everyone has been so patient and understanding. I might sound like a broken record but every single nice comment absolutely made my day and couldn't make me happier. Ultimately, this was a story about love. Of course, the love the reader has for Sirius, but also what she has for everyone else in her life. I wanted to write a story that doesn't just solely focus on the main pairing, but also takes time to show the other strong relationships in her life and how good friendships and support systems can make even the hardest times better. It's taken me over a year to finish this story, which is crazy because it was only 32 chapters long...but I am really proud of it and am so happy I posted it. From the bottom of my heart, thank you thank you thank you! I love you all.

The biggest kisses to my taglist loves for keeping up with this story and for all the love they've sent my way!

@mothraantics @wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @devoid-swanky @carpe000diem @mooonyxoxo @navs-bhat

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[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE (see full series list here)

1996

MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN 

MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS ‘RALLYING POINT’ FOR OLD DEATH EATERS

The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban. 

Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals. 

‘We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Sirius Black escaped,’ said Fudge last night. ‘Nor do we think the two breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person ever to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think these individuals, including Black’s cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, likely have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals, and we beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached.

Your fist curls around the edges of the paper, and you slam it down on the table in front of you. Minerva raises her eyebrows, unaware of what was on the paper.

“They’re blaming the breakout on Sirius,” you say angrily, sliding the front page across to her so she can read. “They’d find a broken pipe at the Ministry and fucking blame it on him.”

Her eyes skim through the article, tutting as she reaches the end. “I have grown weary of expecting any cohesive thoughts from that man. The power has blinded him.”

“How did he get elected in the first place?” you wonder aloud, aggressively cutting into your toast. “I think I’d remember being stupid enough to vote for him.”

“That’s because we didn’t vote for him,” Minerva responds bitterly. “The Ministry saved us that burden.”

You scoff. “All this and yet some people still believe every little thing the Ministry tells us.”

Your life at Hogwarts has become increasingly harder to enjoy with Umbridge around. She seems hell-bent on firing someone within in the next while, but she can’t seem to decide between you, Hagrid, or Trelawney. 

She’s taken to sitting in and inspecting nearly every class you have, which first of all, where does she find the time? And it also means you have to devote every second to teaching Astronomy, and you don’t get to give the students a chance to relax after their Christmas break or chat to them about the holidays. Every time the thought crosses your mind, you remember the spiteful woman sitting prim and proper in the back of the room ready to pounce the moment you step out of line. 

It leads you to spending a lot of time remembering the good times, thinking of things to help you through this tough time. 

You remember your sixteenth birthday in the summer. Alice, Lily, and the boys came to your house for the day and you and Lily decided to teach everyone how to ride a bicycle, the two of you being the only ones who knew how. James and Remus were useless, their long legs doing them no absolutely no favours. Alice was too scared to take her foot off the ground, remaining stationary the whole time and repeatedly declaring she was ‘about to go’, but never moving. Sirius was surprisingly good at keeping his balance. You suspect it was his formal upbringing and his perfect posture. Peter was able to get going, but was extremely wobbly and got in your way, sending you crashing into a low wall and flying over it. Your limbs ached but you couldn’t stop the raucous laughter erupting from you, distracting you from the bruises you gained. 

Umbridge’s latest addition to the hallways, classrooms, and house noticeboards, is this: 

BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS: 

Any student found in possession of the magazine ‘The Quibbler’ will be expelled.

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-Seven. 

Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor 

Harry gives an interview for The Quibbler two days before the signs go up. An exclusive telling of exactly what happened on the night Voldemort came back, the night of Cedric Diggory’s death. He spares no details…and you must say you feel proud of him when you read it. Finally, someone allows him to share his side of the story, the truthful side, revealing that everything the Daily Prophet has been spewing is utter bullshit. 

Though you are outraged when you first read Umbridge’s newest order, you soon realise that she couldn’t have done anything better for Harry. If being a teacher has taught you anything — hell, if being a student taught you anything — it’s that the moment you ban something at Hogwarts, it only makes the idea more appealing to students. One evening after class, as you’re cleaning up the classroom you notice someone has left that edition of The Quibbler on their seat behind them, and you can’t help the grin on your face when you spot it. 

And then, Umbridge does exactly what you expect her to do during this crazy power trip she’s been on. 

It’s dinnertime, and you’ve just finished your meal. With a sigh, you push your chair back from the table and stand up as Minerva does the same. Together, you make your way down past the tables at a leisurely pace, chatting amicably. 

“Oh, you know, I always wanted to go there. And I had all those summers completely free to myself and I never went…well, I suppose, I’d have to bring Dubh with me. I’d be awfully lonely without her —”

A loud, high-pitched wail coming from the Entrance Hall makes you stop, and you raise an eyebrow at Minerva, looking out the open doors into the Entrance Hall. There’s no one there, so you shrugging and continue on. Some of the first-years are probably messing down the hall. 

“But then I’d love to go to Vienna, I’ve heard it’s absolutely beautiful —”

Another string of wails from the Entrance Hall interrupts you, and this time several of the students have heard it too, multiple heads turning in the direction of the hall. You watch as Umbridge walks into view, a very dishevelled-looking Professor Trelawney stumbling after her, carrying a bottle of sherry in one hand and her wand in the other. Two large trunks follow along in the air behind her.

Some students stand up to get a better view of the commotion and you and Minerva push your way through the crowds to the Entrance Hall, where Trelawney has discarded her trunks on the floor beside her. She looks terrible. Her hair is sticking up on end and her glasses are completely askew, her cheeks rosy and her eyes puffy. She points a trembling finger at Umbridge. 

“No!” she shrieks. “NO! This cannot be happening…it cannot…I refuse to accept it!”

“You didn’t realise this was coming?” Umbridge says in her high voice, sounding callously amused. “Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow’s weather, you must surely have realised that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable that you would be sacked?” 

Jeez. She really is firing Trelawney. Sure, most of the time she has no clue what she’s talking about and you consider Divination to be somewhat of an unnecessary school subject, but that doesn’t mean she should be fired. You glance over at the crowd of spectators that has quickly formed and see Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil tearfully watching on. Umbridge should feel horrible for making those girls say goodbye to their favourite teacher.

“You c-can’t!” Trelawney howls, tears streaming down her face. “You c-can’t sack me! I’ve b-been here sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my h-home!”

“It was your home,” Umbridge says coldly. You don’t miss the way her lips tug upwards slightly, clearly enjoying the sight of Professor Trelawney sinking to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. “until an hour ago, when the Minister for Magic countersigned your Order of Dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this Hall. You are embarrassing us.”

Trelawney shudders and wails, rocking back and forth on her knees, her breathing shaky. 

“I can’t watch,” Minerva says beside you, before she breaks from the crowd and moves to Trelawney’s side, producing a large handkerchief from inside her robes.

“There, there, Sybill,” Minerva says soothingly. “Calm down…blow your nose on this…it’s not as bad as you think, now…you are not going to have to leave Hogwarts…”

“Oh, really, Professor McGonagall?” Umbridge says venomously, taking a few steps forward. “And your authority for that statement is…?”

“That would be mine.”

The oak front doors to the castle grounds swings open and students scuttle out of the way as Dumbledore appears in the entrance. What he had been doing out in the grounds you can’t say, but he wastes no time in striding forward towards Trelawney. 

“Yours, Professor Dumbledore?” Umbridge laughs unpleasantly. “I’m afraid you do not understand the position.” She pulls a scroll out from within her robes. “I have here an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister for Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation and sack any teacher she — that is to say, I — feel is not performing to the standards required by the Ministry of Magic I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her.”

To your surprise, Dumbledore smiles. “You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid that the power to do that still resides with the Headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts.”

Professor Trelawney shudders, hiccuping loudly. “No — no, I’ll g-go, Dumbledore! I sh-shall leave Hogwarts and s-seek my fortune elsewhere —”

“No,” Dumbledore says sharply. “It is my wish that you remain, Sybill.”

He turns to Minerva. “Might I ask you to escort Sybill back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?”

She nods. “Of course. Up you get, Sybill…”

You move forward to grab onto one of her arms and together, you and Minerva hoist Trelawney up the stairs. Professor Flitwick comes scurrying after you, pointing his wand at the woman’s trunks and saying, “Locomotor trunks!” and sending her luggage flying into the air to bob up the stairs behind you. You glance back over your shoulder at Umbridge, standing stock still and glaring daggers at Dumbledore, and smirk to yourself. 

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

“Good work today guys! Get started on those essays now and if you have any questions about it over the week come and find me,” you say, returning to your seat behind your desk as your students start to pack up their things and leave the tower. You smile to yourself, having enjoyed this lesson because of the noticeable lack of a certain pink-clad woman sitting in the back. It’s so blissful without her. 

“Professor?” 

You look up into the face of one of your students and smile. “Yes?”

She hands you a parchment note. “Um, Professor Umbridge asked me to give this to you.”

You take the note, furrowing your brows as your eyes skim down through it. 

Please join me in my office tonight at 9pm. 

Signed, 

Dolores Umbridge, High Inquisitor

She wants to see you in her office? 

“Thanks, Layla, have a good night…” the girl nods and hurries out of the class, leaving you to stare at the note in confusion. 

Why would she want to see you? Fuck, she hasn’t got something on you, has she? Your heart starts to pump nervously as you look at your watch: 8:45. You stand up from your desk and start making your way down the stairs, heading for Professor Umbridge’s classroom, feeling sick to your stomach. Your hand clasps firmly around the handle of your wand in your pocket as you knock on the door. 

“Enter,” comes from inside the office. You open the door and what you’re met with inside is…well, honestly it’s an assault on the senses. It’s covered head-to-toe in pink. Pink tiles line the walls, lace curtains are draped over the windows, a circular pink rug sits on the floor. The far wall, behind the desk, displays a collection of decorative plates with kittens on them, and though usually you would delight at the sight of adorable kittens…something about these sets your teeth on edge. 

And of course, sitting prim and proper at her desk, is Dolores Umbridge, a cup of freshly made tea and a teapot in front of her.

“Professor Umbridge,” you say, keeping your eyes on her as you shut the door behind you. “You wanted to see me?” 

She smiles at you, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yes, I did. Please, sit.” She motions to the chair opposite her. 

Warily, you move forward and seat yourself in the chair, one hand still on your wand. 

“We never get the chance to chat, do we?” Umbridge says sweetly, picking up a white china teapot and pushing a teacup in front of you. She smiles. “Tea?”

Your eyes flick between the cup and the teapot. 

“No, thank you.”

“Oh, really, I insist.” She pushes the cup further towards you, and starts filling it up against your wishes. 

You grit your teeth, “I’m not thirsty.”

Umbridge giggles weirdly, tapping the cup with her finger. “What is a chat without something to drink? Why, I’ve heard you love tea! You’ll share a cup with Professor McGonagall but not me? Why is that?”

You don’t say anything. 

“I’m only trying to get to know you better, dear.”

You barely conceal your derisive scoff. “Bit late for that now, don’t you think?”

She giggles again. “Such fire! I suppose I can see what Mr Black seen in you.”

You glare back into her beady little eyes, resisting the urge to throw the god-foresaken teacup in her face. What is she getting at here? “Why did you summon me, Dolores?”

She smiles. “I am trying to build a good rapport with my colleagues. After all, I suspect there may be a few more noticeable changes to staff in the coming weeks…come, dear, drink up. You look parched.”

“I told you, I’m not thirsty,” you spit, not removing your eyes from hers. 

“Don’t forget that I am your superior, Professor,” she says, her voice dangerously sweet. “Now, drink up.”

With a scowl, you take the teacup and raise it to your lips and instantly you can smell it — Veritaserum. It’s faint, just a hair from imperceptible, but you know it’s there. You tilt the cup but keep your lips screwed tightly shut, then set the cup back down on the desk in front of you. 

Umbridge smiles triumphantly, clasping her hands together on the table and leaning forward towards you. “Very good…now, where is Sirius Black?” 

“I don’t know.”

Her eye twitches and she pushes your cup towards you encouragingly. “Drink up, dear.”

“I did.”

Your heart thumps in your chest erratically and you push yourself to just relax. Play your cards right and you’ll be completely fine. Just fine. 

She studies you for a second, the room completely silent. What you wouldn’t give to punch her in that stuffy face of hers and really give her a piece of your mind —

“Don’t test me. You’ve refused to drink the tea I so kindly prepared for you, which leads me to suspect you have something to hide. Have you something to hide, Professor?”

You suck your teeth. “Forgive me for not jumping at the chance to drink your truth serum, Dolores.”

Her sweet facade drops and she glares back at you. “Because you do know where he’s hiding?” 

“Because I don’t want you poking around in my business,” you hiss. “If I had something to hide, you best believe I’d have a good reason for it.” You fold your arms and lean back in your chair. “You can’t force me to do anything.”

She hums petulantly. “If you wish to continue living and working here at Hogwarts, I suggest you do what I tell you and drink.”

“No.”

A vein bulges in her neck and a long shaky breath breezes out through her flared nostrils. “The Minister has always been suspicious of you and it seems like he is correct. Oh, he’ll be just delighted to give you some Veritaserum himself. We’d finally be rid of that abhorrent murderer.”

The reaction you have is second-nature, the words flying out of your mouth before you can even think about it. “He’s innocent!”

“We’ll see about that.”

You glare at her, your blood boiling in your veins. “Do you really think if I did know where Sirius was I’d be here? Do you think I’d rather be here with you instead of with my husband?” 

She shrugs. “Guilt makes some people do odd things.”

Your hand curls into a fist at your side. “Fine! You know what? I’ll drink it. I’ll show you that I mean every single word I say. I haven’t seen Sirius since the night he was put in prison.”

She stares back at you as your chest heaves, breathing heavily. You’re bluffing, of course. You hold her gaze for as long as she scrutinises you. She taps her finger against the desk before a smile slowly spreads across her face. 

“Be my guest."

You grab the handle of the teacup so hard you think it’s going to shatter in your hand. As you raise it to your lips, your heart pounds so much you think it might burst out of your chest. You look over the rim of the cup at Umbridge, who is watching you excitedly, smirking in satisfaction. 

Time to test your theory. 

You gulp down the tea, tasting that familiar subtle twang of Veritaserum as it travels down your throat. You take a deep breath and slam the cup down on the desk again, glaring at her. 

“Go on. Ask.”

Umbridge smiles and the words leave her mouth in an instant. “Where is Sirius Black?”

You can physically feel the words bubbling in your throat and you force them down, willing yourself to maintain control of your body and your speech. You know exactly who you are, and no one gets to control you. Over the past years you feel like you’ve lost part of your fire, your spunk, and it’s about time you got it back. You are far more than just Sirius Black’s wife, far more than just Harry Potter’s godmother. 

“I…don’t…know.”

Risk-taking is exhilarating. And you’ve never gotten such a good reward as the look on Dolores Umbridge’s face when she realises that her truth serum has just painted you as innocent. Her jaw drops instantly and she stares at you, shocked, before she lurches forward and snatches the teacup from the desk. She raises it high to her eyes, inspecting the empty inside in open-mouthed shock. 

“Happy now?”

Umbridge repeatedly opens and closes her mouth, attempting to form a sentence but nothing comes out. She continues to hold the cup in a white-knuckled grip as she whips her head back to you. 

“Did you help Sirius Black to escape Azkaban?” 

Well, that’s easy. You don’t even have to lie about this one. “No.”

The vein in her neck bulges again and her face goes red with anger. “Have you spoken to Sirius Black since his escape?”

You keep your face as neutral as possible, swallowing the strong bodily urge to say yes. “No. No, I have not."

She breathes heavily, glaring at you across the desk. “But you — you have! I know you have! I saw him — I saw him in the fire!”

You shrug. “Must be imagining things.”

“No, NO, I SAW HIM — “

You stand up from your chair, pushing it into the desk as you over her a tight-lipped smile. “Well, thanks for the interrogation. Goodnight.”

“Hold on —”

You leave, shutting the door closed behind you before she can get another word in. You stop outside the door, listening to Umbridge raging. You hear a loud crash and the sound of china shattering and let out the biggest sigh of relief of your life. 

Oh my god. You just lied while on Veritaserum. Holy shit, you just resisted Veritaserum. You’ve just proven that you can actually resist the effects of truth serum. Hey, you could probably win some award for that. 

Well, maybe if what you lied about wasn’t harbouring a wanted man…but look, it’s the small things in life.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You don’t know what it is these days, but something is making you extremely weary in the evenings. Perhaps it’s just the stress of Umbridge waiting around every corner for you, or the clawing feeling in your chest you feel when your mind drifts to Sirius cooped up in Grimmauld Place. One evening you turn in especially early, eager to rid yourself of the fatigue. Sleep comes easily, but not peacefully. You dream of a dark stormy night, filled with flashes of light and anguished screams. You wake with a jolt, a layer of cold sweat coating your body, breathing heavily. Dubh sleeps soundly in her bed. You glance at the clock: 9pm. You know well that if you try to go back to sleep you’ll only fall back into that same nightmare, so you shakily pull yourself out of bed and slip into your shoes and throw a jumper over your head, making your way up to the astronomy tower to calm down. 

When you close the tower door behind you, you think for a second before locking it. As much as you love your students and understand they might want to use the tower, all the astronomy exams are over and you can’t be disturbed right now. 

When you reach the railing, you sit down and let your legs dangle over the ledge, swinging aimlessly in the air as you gaze up at the sky. It’s just past sunset, and the last blotches of sunlight are fading from the sky as the sun disappears beneath the horizon. You wait patiently as the night’s first stars start appearing, twinkling gently. It’s a clear night, beautiful and serene. You’ve never really been all that spiritual, but a part of you believes that when you die you’ll join those clusters, become another sparkling light in the night sky for people to admire. It would be nice, you think. 

You hear a ruckus coming from down below, somewhere inside the school. Filch must’ve caught students out of bed. It’s not an unusual occurrence on nights like these. 

You start counting stars idly and before long you drift into a soft, dreamless sleep. It’s amazing. 

And then your sleep is interrupted, again. 

Loud shouts echo through the forbidden forest, and you briefly hear what seems to be the crack of a tree falling down. Silence, for a moment, as you strain to hear more, and then a high-pitched scream shakes the leaves of the trees, so high that you’re sure if there was any glass in that forest it would surely shatter. Confused and curious, nervous that somebody might be in trouble, you quickly hurry down the stairs and unlock the tower door at the bottom. You find blast marks on the wall beside it, clearly someone had tried to open it. A chill slithers down your spine as you hurry along the corridor, rounding the corner and nearly crashing headlong into Snape. 

“Severus! Merlin, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” you gasp, chest heaving. 

He surveys you for a second. “Potter was just caught attempting to make contact with someone through Professor Umbridge’s fireplace.”

You immediately draw back, confused. “W…what?”

“He then told me that ‘he has Padfoot in the place where it is hidden’.”

You stare at him, growing more and more baffled by the second. You’ve barely had any time to process it. “He has him in the place where it is hidden?” 

Snape nods, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

You lower your voice, despite the fact that you’re the only ones in the corridor. “Harry thinks Sirius is in the Department of Mysteries?”

“Apparently. I then saw Potter and his usual cohort leading Dolores Umbridge into the Forbidden Forest.”

Your heart thumps as you rack your brains for something to do, something to say. “How would he know Sirius is there?”

Snape blinks at you, clear that he thinks this is a waste of his time. “A vision from the Dark Lord’s mind, I would imagine.”

You chew on your lip. “When did you see them go to the forest?” 

“Approximately one hour ago.”

You stop, look right at Snape. “Phineas Black’s portrait, he has one in the house as well as the office…”

He doesn’t answer you, and a silent understanding passes between you before you both take off at top speed up to the headmaster’s office. 

After giving the password to the gargoyles, you burst into the empty office and immediately seek out Phineas Nigellus Black, sleeping soundly in his portrait. Dumbledore isn’t here, of course. He ran from the school only recently, after Harry’s Defense Association was discovered by Umbridge and Dumbledore took the consequences. 

“Mr Black!” 

Phineas awakes with a start, his eyes snapping open and fixing you with a confused look.

“Is there a need for such noise?”

You nod fervently. “I need you to go to your portrait in Grimmauld Place. Look for Sirius. Please.”

Phineas breathes in, as though this is a immense inconvenience to him, and walks out of frame. You chew on the inside of your cheek, breathing out through your nose. You feel Snape’s presence behind you, watching the portrait frame with equal impatience. 

After a minute, he pokes his head back into frame. “He is there.” You breathe a sigh of relief. “Along with Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt and a Miss…” He disappears for a second before returning. “...Tonks.”

“Please deliver a message for me.” You say, before you give Phineas a brief summary of everything that has happened. 

“Black must remain at Headquarters,” Snape adds slowly. “Dumbledore will arrive there shortly and someone must be there to tell him what has transpired.”

You nod in agreement, and Phineas Black once again moves out of frame. You wait with bated breath, the air still and tense. Finally, he returns. 

“They are on their way to aid Harry Potter as we speak.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Perfect. We’ve no time to lose. Thank you, Mr Black.”

He nods wordlessly, settling back into his chair and allowing his eyes to close. 

“I’m going to the Ministry,” you say firmly to Snape. You wait, half-expecting him to go against you, but he doesn’t. 

“I will search the forest for Potter.”

You nod, then race out the door to follow your godson. You make a beeline for the broom shed — if you can’t disapparate out of Hogwarts, you’ll have to use the next best thing. You hop onto a Cleansweep Seven, and start to ascend into the air. Once you think you’ve gotten far enough away from the school grounds, you touch down to the ground and drop the broom at your feet. You’ll have to buy Madam Hooch a replacement for this one, you think as you visualize the cold tiles of the Ministry of Magic and the familiar lurch of apparation tugs your navel. 

You stumble into a wall, knocking your head against a candle holder painfully. You groan as you orientate yourself, taking in your surroundings. Dark tiled corridor, impossible to know where because everywhere in the Ministry looks the exact same. You head towards the door at the end anyway, wrenching it open, only to find yourself in yet another corridor, although this one has a distinct difference: A Death Eater is standing at the end of it. 

You see them, they see you, and there’s a split second before wands explode. 

“Stupefy!” 

“Protego!” 

You defend as best you can against the Death Eater’s advances. You eye the candle holders on the wall, the flames from the candles burning brightly and use it to your advantage. You protect against their spells until you find an opening and instantly aim your wand at the candle, yelling, “Confringo!” 

Upon impact, the candle explodes, and knocks the Death Eater right off their feet.

“Immobulus!” 

The Death Eater snaps into a rigid state, their body flat on the ground. You wipe sweat off your brow, and continue on, stepping over their immobile body. You’ll come back for them later. 

You push open the door at the end of the corridor, and finally find yourself in a room. It’s full of an assortment of strange-looking plants, some in glass cases with hazard stickers on the surface. Well, this is certainly Department of Mysteries territory. You look into one of the cases, which houses what seems to be a big green flytrap that oozes a luminous purple liquid. You shudder. Gross. 

The door at the other end of the room suddenly bursts open and you whip around and point your wand at the door warily. 

“Stupefy!” 

A bolt of light streaks towards you and you dive out of the way of it, the spell knocking into the leg of one of the tables, splintering the wood. You look up and your attacker, about to retaliate, only to see that it’s Tonks. 

She raises her wand again and you thrust your hands out. “Tonks, no, it’s me!” 

“Diff –”

“TONKS!”

Another spell blasts towards you and you roll out of it’s way, panting with exertion. The spell explodes into one of the glass cases, sending glass tumbling to the floor. 

“Wait, wait —”

You hear Remus’ familiar voice call your name. “Is that you?” 

You warily stand up from the floor, dusting your hands off on your trousers. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Tonks says sheepishly as she recognises you, wincing. 

You sigh. “No harm done. Somehow.”

You move over to them, embracing them both in turn. “Find Harry yet?”

Remus shakes his head. “No…not yet.”

Running footsteps come from the corridor behind Remus, and Sirius, Moody, and Kingsley join you in the room. 

Sirius immediately runs to you, hugging you tightly. “What — what are you doing here?” 

You stare back at him, shocked that he’s here. “I could ask you the same thing! You were supposed to stay back at the house!”

He frowns, agitation passing briefly over his face. “You think I’d just stay there while Harry’s in danger? You didn’t stay behind at the school, did you?”

“W – well, no, but —”

“Guys,” Remus butts in, giving the two of you an exasperated look. “Talk about it later. We’ve got bigger things at hand right now.”

You nod, shaking your head at yourself. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right.” You gently put your hand on Sirius’s arm, smiling at him. “Let’s go save our godson.”

He gives you a small smile, nodding. “Let’s go.”

Your group searches the rooms and endless corridors before finally, the sound of shouting draws your attention and you burst through another door, finding a large circular room with a pit in the middle and a large archway standing in the centre of it, and a group of Death Eaters holding your students captive. 

You sprint in, Tonks fires a stunning spell instantly at one of the Death Eaters — one with noticeably long, platinum blond hair: Lucius Malfoy. You barely have time to feel your blood boil when a flash of light hurtles towards you and you throw yourself out of the way. You stumble down steps towards the pit where everyone else is, levelling yourself with the nearest Death Eater and starting to duel them. 

“Stupefy!” 

“Protego!”

“Impedimenta!” 

“Expulso!”

“Diffindo!”

Someone flies through the air at your opponent and makes them stumble — you seize the opportunity to stun them, and they fall to the floor with a loud thump. You quickly realise what had hit your opponent was actually another Death Eater, sent barrelling through the air by Kingsley, who is already engaged in combat with another. 

Sirius and a Death Eater dance past you, duelling so fast their wands are a blur. Another saunters towards you, though this one you recognise in an instant. The long, unruly black hair and sunken eyes, the look of madness in her face…Bellatrix Lestrange. 

You start to seethe. After what she did to Alice and Frank…you’ve been waiting for the chance to sink your teeth into her for years. 

Her wand whips at you in ferocious speed, and you counter each spell with increased difficulty. She laughs madly as you fight her advances, calling upon every spell you’ve ever learned. 

Over Bellatrix’s shoulder, you see Harry pull a limping Neville to his feet with the prophecy held tightly in his hand to keep it from being smashed. That’s what they’re all here for, the prophecy. They don’t care about you and the rest of the Order. If you can just keep Bellatrix occupied while Harry makes his escape…

The force of one of Bellatrix’s spells sends you stumbling back over a large crater in the stone floor, and you tumble to your knees in front of her. She squeals excitedly and your heart practically jumps out of your throat as you roll away as quick as possible, but it’s not quick enough. Your leg takes whatever nasty spell she shot at you and a sharp, white-hot pain jumps from your leg to your brain. You let out a pained shriek. 

Bellatrix lets out a shrill giggle, bearing down upon you with her wand, and right as she’s about to strike something catches her eye over your head — and she exclaims gleefully and bounds away from you, firing a spell at whoever is there. You turn your head to what she was looking at and see her now engaged in a fierce duel with Sirius. Your heart leaps into your throat and you try to stand. Your leg instantly crumples beneath you and you sink to the floor, the pain is unbearable. 

Remus rushes to your side, putting his arm under your shoulder. “Come on, come on, can you stand?” 

The pain burns against your leg and you bite into your hand to stop yourself from screaming in agony. “I can’t, Remus, I - I can’t —” you sob, delirious with pain. 

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

With his help, you slowly limp your way out of the battle zone, though when you look at it from the sides it’s almost devoid of Death Eaters, save for Bellatrix. The only ones still fighting are her and Sirius. 

“What — what happened —”

“Dumbledore.”

You look around, searching for the man in question, seeing him running down the stone steps after Death Eaters as they scrabble to get away from him. He’s too fast, he pulls them back effortlessly as though they are as light as feathers —

Sirius ducks Bellatrix’s jet of red light and laughs at her. “Come on, you can do better than that —”

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” 

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

>>read the final chapter here!

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hello hello! I'm really really sorry about the delay in this chapter, but it's finally out now! There is one chapter left, oh my god! I'll do a proper thank you at the end of that one, so stay tuned! As always, I love you all so much and appreciate the support more than you could ever know <3

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[mybutcheredtongue]

i stayed up until 6am last night reading your Sirius series I am genuinely obsessed 😭😭 thank you for writing it!!!

omg thank you so so much for reading!!! im so happy you like it 💗

hope you get a good night’s sleep tonight to make up for it 😭

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER THIRTY (see full series list here)

warning: bit of an emotional start, sorry

October 31st, 1981

“Hey, love, are you feeling any better?”

After a lot of straining and groaning, you manage to turn your head just enough on the pillow to be able to take in the person who’s just entered the room: Sirius, your husband — and for the past two days, your servant, practically.

You sniffle, one of your nostrils completely blocked, giving a wry smile. “Not at all.” Your voice comes out raspy and it grates against the back of your throat. “I don't know what I did to deserve this but fuck I am never doing it again.”

He chuckles softly, gently stroking your hair out of your face. “Look on the bright side. At least you're not in St Mungo’s.”

“Not yet.” You blink lethargically at him, fighting the urge to drift off to sleep, sighing. “Have we gotten any trick-or-treaters?”

He raises an eyebrow, chuckling. “What are you on about?”

You raise a hand lazily, waving it about in front of him in strange explanation. “It’s a Muggle thing…kids dress up and come to the door…give them sweets…”

Sirius listens while you babble incomprehensibly about Halloween and Muggles, and places a cold wet cloth on your forehead, relieving the immense heat emanating from your skin. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“We don't have any pain relief left,” he says gently, as if he’s worried talking too loud will irritate your body even more. “I’ll pop out and get you some in a little bit.”

You shake your head vigorously, alarm bells going off in your head. “No, no, stay here. Don't leave tonight…have a bad feeling…”

“Probably because you’re sick,” he answers with an amused smile, placing a fresh box of tissues on your bedside table. “I won't be long.”

But you really do have a bad feeling, and you know it's not from the illness. You have a sinking feeling in your stomach of worry, a sense that something bad will happen tonight. You want him to stay by your side just in case.

“No, stay, Sirius, please,” you say weakly, your body betraying your brain as your eyelids get heavier and you have to fight to keep them open. “Please, don't go…something bad will happen.”

He continues stroking your hair soothingly, wiping the cloth across your forehead. “Nothing bad will happen, I promise. I’ll be back before you know it.”

You grab his arm with what little strength you have, your body aching with the movement. “Please, please don't go. I’m being serious, stay here, please…”

He stands up, tugging the covers closer to your body. “Get your rest, love. You’ll feel better when I have your medicine.”

You open your mouth to say more, but this time the words don't come out. You bring a hand to your throat, feeling it burn each time you try to say anything.

“Sirius…”

But he's gone. He's left the room and soon, as your eyelids finally shut over your eyes, you can hear the revving of his motorbike outside and the sound of him driving off into the night.

Bright light when you’re jolted awake by someone shaking you vigorously tells you it’s morning. Your eyes snap open, feeling extremely disoriented, and peer up at the unfamiliar face above you.

“Come on, get up now…”

“Huh…?” You blink, bringing a hand to your eyes and rubbing them, your head pounding. When you open them again, Barty Crouch is wide-eyed, staring back at you. In a mixture of sickness and shock, you let out a string of rattly coughs and he jerks away from you, wrinkling his nose. “Mr Crouch?”

“Get up.”

With effort, you manage to sit up against the headboard and take in your surroundings. You realise that what you had taken for the morning sun streaming in through the windows is actually just the lights in your bedroom, making you squint. Crouch isn’t the only one here — there’s about six other official-looking people — a few other Aurors you recognise from the Ministry.

What the fuck is going on? Are you dying? What was in that medicine Sirius got you?

“Mr Crouch what — what are you doing here?”

“You didn’t hear what happened, then.” He looks back at his co-workers, and they start muttering to each other conspiratorially. Can’t they just leave? Can’t they see you need rest right now? This must be a dream because if it were real Sirius would keep them out of your room.

“You’re going to have to come with us.”

“What?”

Crouch leans to say something to another man, and you manage to catch the end of his sentence: “ — no state to answer questions, we’ll have to take her in.”

You groan, reaching for the water on your nightstand and gulping the glass down. You feel sick, and you don’t know if it’s from anxiety or your flu.

“Where’s…where’s Sirius?” you say, craning your neck to look past the people in case he’s hidden behind them.

Crouch bites his lip and exchanges a glance with the workers, another set of mutterings passing around the group.

“Just…come with us, and we’ll explain everything. We’ll get you a potion for your illness.”

You look around at all the sets of eyes staring at you. One man standing near the back is glaring at you as if you’ve just killed someone.

“No, where is he?” You pull back the covers and feebly swing your legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. “Where the fuck is Sirius?”

The man who’s been glaring at you steps forward from the back of the group to speak to Crouch, though he makes no effort to hide his words. “Stop being so nice, Crouch. Let’s get this over with.”

Crouch looks down at you, frowning, as he takes in your appearance: dishevelled and in your pyjamas, nose and eyes red.

“You’ll need to get dressed.”

You stare around at them, shaking your head. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“You’ll find out. Get ready.”

“Tell me what’s going on or I’m not going anywhere.”

Crouch hisses in frustration but before he can get another word out, the angry man steps forward and produces his wand. “This isn’t a fucking tea party, Barty. Stupefy.”

When you wake, you're sitting in a chair. Blinking rapidly, you take in your surroundings: Crouch’s office. He sits across from you, hands folded in front of him as he stares at you.

“You're awake.”

You groan, your limbs stiff and sore. “Fuck — barely.”

Crouch sighs and looks behind you, and when you turn around you notice Moody standing behind you, leaning on his staff with a grim expression.

“Sir?”

Crouch pushes a tall glass of water towards you across the desk. “Have a drink.”

Your heart is pounding — what is going on? Have you done something wrong? Oh god, what about that paperwork you forgot to file last week? It was a complete accident, you just lost track of time —

“Go on.”

Nervously, you pull the glass towards your lips and gulp it down, grateful for how it soothes your throat. Oddly, you don't feel sick anymore — your headache is gone, your nose is clear and you don't feel the urge to cough and sneeze every ten seconds. They must have given you a potion while you were out. How long were you out?

Crouch waits while you drink and doesn't speak until you've finished every last drop. Then he clears his throat. “Last night, James and Lily Potter were murdered by He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.”

The monotone way he says it makes you feel like you've heard him wrong.

“What?”

“They were betrayed by their Secret-Keeper. By Sirius Black.”

You don't say anything. You can't say anything. James and Lily are dead? This can't be happening. This is just a nightmare, right? It's a horrible, terrible nightmare. There is no way that in the real world, your best friends are dead. There is no way that in reality, your best friends are dead and your husband is the reason why. Sirius would never do that, you know he would never do that — he wouldn’t even tell you anything about where they were hiding, he would never compromise their safety like that —

“Sirius Black killed Peter Pettigrew and twelve muggles in one blast.”

Wake up, wake up. This is just a nightmare. Your brain is just playing a cruel trick on you — maybe it was the medicine…yeah, that sounds about right. Potions and medicine always make your brain act funny —

“You got all that?”

“No, I – I don’t underst—”

“Harry Potter survived. No one knows how. He destroyed the Dark Lord. They are calling him ‘The Boy Who Lived’.”

This is all too much for you. You don’t understand — what does he mean James and Lily are dead? And — and Sirius is the reason why? And how could Harry survive, he’s barely a year old — it can’t be real. How could they be dead? And where is Sirius? You need to see him, you need to talk to him, you just need him right now —

Slowly, you look over your shoulder at Moody, still standing silently against his staff.

Your lip trembles and when you speak it's barely audible. “Tell me I’m dreaming. Please, please, please tell me this is a fucking dream.”

His magical eye swivels and stares back at you, studying your face. It feels like he’s analysing your face, like the answer is written on your cheeks as plain as day. There are dark, ashy bags under his eyes. His lip is cracked and split on one side, crusty with dried blood. Did he sleep at all last night? Probably not — Moody never sleeps. But this looks different, not the usual after-effects of his insomnia — it’s worse than that.

He shakes his head and your stomach lurches.

This is happening.

Crouch’s expression remains the same. “I have no tolerance for Death Eaters or anyone who aids a Death Eater in any shape or form, Mrs Black, so I am going to waste no time playing nice. Are you, or have you ever been, a part of the Dark Lord’s following?”

“No.”

The answer comes out of you before you can think — you barely even register the question in your head before your mouth is blurting out the word — oddly monotone for your current state: trembling from head to toe, trying your best not to vomit, eyes stinging.

“Did you know of your husband’s involvement with the Dark Lord?”

“No.”

Again, you don’t even realise what he’s asking when the word falls out of your mouth. It’s like you have no control over what you’re saying at all.

“What — what the fuck — “

“Did you ever cover for Sirius when he was spying for the Dark Lord?”

“No.” You stop, hissing in frustration. “No, no — Sirius, he — he wasn’t a Death Eater, he isn’t a Death Eater, he would never — “

“He is,” Crouch says. “Whether you knew it or not, he has been working with the Dark Lord for quite some time now.”

You shake your head, unable to stop yourself from crying. “N-no, no…Sirius was James’s best friend, they were like b-brothers — he would never sell them out like that —”

“Then how did the Dark Lord find out where the Potters were hiding?” Crouch says sharply. “No one knew that information but Sirius. No one was able to reveal that information but him —”

“No,” you sob. “No, no, no, no, no —”

“The sooner you accept it, the sooner you can move on.” Though his words might seem sympathetic and comforting to some, he says them with little to no sympathy whatsoever.

“There must be a mistake,” you sniffle, skin burning from the tears streaming down your cheeks. “That’s not what happened, Sirius, he — he was just gone to the shop —”

A hand comes to rest on your shoulder. “There were witnesses. They saw him kill Pettigrew and those Muggles.”

You shake your head, sobbing. “No, no, no, no, no! T-that’s not what happened, that can’t be what h-happened —”

“Have you ever acted on orders given to you by the Dark Lord, or any of his followers?”

“No.”

Your hand flies to your throat instinctively, as if there’s something wrapped around it that you want to release, and you stare back at Crouch, the light on his desk pulsing in the corner of your eye. Your eyes wander to your empty glass on the desk.

“Did you — d-did you give me fuck — fucking truth serum?”

A vein bulges in his neck, his lip twitching. “Of course I did. Did you expect me to just take everything you say as truth? You’re married to a Death Eater.”

A million different emotions are coursing through you. You feel like getting sick. “Sirius isn’t a Death Eater, he isn’t — and I’ll p-prove it to you, let me show you his arm, he doesn’t have the m-mark —”

“That is no surprise. He was a spy!” Crouch snaps, voice raised. “If he had the mark he would never be trusted by the Potters!”

This is too much. You can’t think in this — it’s too warm in this office, your clothes are sticking to your skin and it's suffocating, your throat is burning, you need some fresh air —

“Where is he?” You gasp. “Sirius. Where is he? Please, let me talk to him, please —”

“He is on a one-way trip to Azkaban,” Crouch spits. “And he will never return. For what he has done, he deserves no better.”

“When can I see h-him?” you say desperately. “His trial, his trial, when is his trial — “

“There won’t be one.”

Your heart feels heavy and you close your eyes, falling back in your chair as you sob. “What? What do you mean there won’t be one?”

“He is a mentally deranged and dangerous criminal,” Crouch says, hatred in his eyes. “We have an eye-witness account for what happened, there is no point in arguing when the verdict is clear. It is a waste of time.”

“No, no, that’s not fair, he deserves a trial just like everyone else.” You’re breathing heavily and suddenly it feels like there isn’t enough air in the room to fill your tired lungs. “You — you can’t just send him to Azkaban like that!”

“I can.”

“But — “

“The man has murdered thirteen innocent people!” Crouch bellows, his face red with anger. “Poor Peter Pettigrew, he was your friend! He tore after Sirius, told him just what he thought of his betrayal, and was murdered for it! Twelve innocent civilians, victims of his sick and twisted mind! James and Lily, betrayed by their closest friend — Harry Potter, betrayed by his godfather!”

His eyes are bulging out of their sockets and his fists are clenched on the desk. The room goes silent but for your uncontrollable sobs and Crouch’s heavy breathing across the desk from you. You screw your eyes shut and silently beg anyone listening to take it all away, to make this day never happen. To turn back time and keep your friends alive. Anything to get rid of this obliterating feeling.

“You got what you wanted, Barty,” Moody grunts from behind you. “Give the girl a break.”

When Moody takes your arm and pulls you out of Crouch’s office, you can barely see straight. You desperately try to process everything that’s going on, but it’s impossible. The very notion that James and Lily could be dead is inconceivable to you. Not your best friend, not your Lily, who promised you’d be best friends until you were old and frail. How could someone so sweet and wonderful, so full of life — how could she ever die? How could someone ever snuff out that perfect, unending light that was her soul? She always told you that your kids would grow up together, that they would be the best of friends just like you were — how can you ever come to terms with the fact that she will never get to see that become a reality? How will you ever adjust to life without James’s grins, without his constant jokes and laughter — who will you and Lily laugh at, how will you watch the way her face lights up when he enters the room if he’s dead?

Workers stare at you as you pass through the halls with Moody, they turn and anxiously whisper with their colleagues, but you don’t even notice. When Moody sits you down in his office, he doesn’t say anything. He says absolutely nothing and lets you stare at the chipped wood of his desk, lets you sob and weep and scream and wail, lets you mutter and babble incoherently.

The next day the Minister of Magic, Millicent Bagnold, gives you more Veritaserum and interrogates you with similar questions to Crouch. You scream and roar about Sirius — you just want to talk to him, you just want to see him — and when it gets you nowhere Moody takes you back to his office and silently lets you stew for hours again.

This routine continues for a week. Every day someone seems to have a new question to catch you out — one that will finally reveal that you knew something, or you helped someone — each new person bringing a fresh glass of water laced with a hefty dose of Veritaserum. You've actually gotten good at tasting the difference between the water they give you and the water Moody gives you, which is clean and potion-less, straight from his hip flask.

When you get home it doesn’t feel like home. You step in the door and cry, hot tears stinging your eyes. You spot a photo on your kitchen counter — it’s you and Sirius, on your birthday. You're sitting at the kitchen table, and his arm is around your waist while you lean into him, a gleeful grin on your face. It sets you off and in a fit of rage you throw it against the wall, shattering it. The second the photo hits the floor you’re filled with regret, and you rush to assess the damage. You try and repair it with your wand but you can’t focus properly on the spell, and spend an hour trying to carefully glue it back together with shaky hands.

You can't do anything. You feel bad doing the things you enjoy, like listening to music or reading a book — Sirius can't do these things in Azkaban. James and Lily can't do these things in death. You have no appetite and the days seem to blur and blur until you have no idea what time it is.

Why did this have to happen to your family?

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

December, 1995

You don’t think you’ve ever been as excited when Christmas break finally arrives. The last two years have been spent at Hogwarts, and the others at your parents’ house with Remus. Your parents love Remus — he’s like a son to them. And now you finally get to spend it with everyone you love, especially Sirius. However, getting to Grimmauld Place for the holidays isn’t as easy as expected.

A few days before the end of term while you’re helping decorate the entrance hall, Umbridge approaches. “Excited for Christmas, professor?”

It takes you a second to get over the initial shock of her actually speaking to you, and you turn back to your decorations. “Yes.”

“And where will you be staying this Christmas?” she asks. “As Hogwarts High Inquisitor, it is pertinent that I know where all staff are over the period in case I should need to contact them with anything urgent.”

She smiles at you and you resist the urge to gag at the sight of her.

“I’m going to my parents’ house,” you reply, lifting some tinsel in the air with your wand and lining it along a portrait of an elegant woman standing beneath an apple tree.

“How festive!” the woman in the portrait comments.

Umbridge cocks her head with interest. “Your parents? But I have heard that you usually stay at Hogwarts.”

You shrug. “Thought I’d switch it up this year.”

“Is there any particular reason this sudden change was brought on?” she asks, smiling condescendingly.

You pick up the box of decorations with one hand and turn to her. “I miss them.” Before she can interrogate you any more, you march away from her, fixing boughs of holly and mistletoe branches as you go.

You join the rest of the students on the Hogwarts Express back to King’s Cross, taking the time to carefully wrap presents and write cards. It’s a lot of work to get home. You’re not going to risk heading straight to London to Grimmauld Place, not with the chance of being followed — which you expect every time you leave Hogwarts. You go to the house first, pick up some extra clothes, before getting on another train to your parents’ house. You have dinner with them there and trade gifts until nightfall, when you pack up your things again and, disguising yourself as best you can, make your way to Grimmauld Place with Dubh sleeping soundly in your bag as you go.

“Well, you better be honoured that I went through all that zig-zagging across the country just to see you,” you say when Sirius greets you at the door. You don’t think the grin on his face could be any wider when his eyes meet yours. Remus follows him through the corridor, smiling.

“Believe me, I’m more than honoured,” Sirius says, striding forward to place both hands on your cheeks and bring your mouth to his, kissing you desperately. You drop your bags in surprise, chuckling against his lips. When you pull back, his head follows you and you laugh, putting your hands on his shoulders to gently push him back.

“Easy, Sirius, we’ve got company,” you tease, nodding at Remus, who rolls his eyes.

Sirius turns to Remus, grinning. “Can’t let me have a moment, can you?”

He shrugs. “Guess not.”

You give Remus a hug before heading into the kitchen, where Mrs Weasley is busy preparing dinner. There are bags under her eyes when she turns to greet you, the stress of Arthur’s injuries clearly getting to her.

“Let me give you a hand, Molly,” you say, and though usually she would tell you not to be silly, this time she accepts your help gratefully, allowing you to take over most of the workload while she busies herself with setting the table.

Sirius is in a brilliant mood, singing Christmas carols as he sets about the place putting up decorations. You don’t think you’ve seen him this happy in a long time and it calms your anxious heart. He works tirelessly up to Christmas Day, determined to make the house unrecognisable — and he actually manages to do a pretty decent job of turning the dusty old place into a warm, cheerful home. Garlands of holly and gold and silver streamers hang from the chandeliers, and a great twinkling Christmas tree, acquired by Mundungus, hides the Black family tree from view. Mistletoe branches are placed over the entrances to different rooms, and every chance he gets Sirius is pulling you under one to steal a kiss. Even the elf heads on the wall are wearing little Santa hats and beards.

He wakes up early on Christmas Day like a child desperate to unwrap their presents and shakes you awake, much to your annoyance.

“Sirius, this better be good —”

“Just look.”

He points at the window, grinning, and after rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you turn to look at what he’s pointing at.

There, at the window, is a brand-new telescope, aimed at the sky above. A glittery gold bow has been stuck to the top of it.

“You were complaining about not having your telescope here over the summer, that the one at home is too difficult to transport, so —”

You beam, throwing your arms around him gleefully. “Oh, I love it, Sirius!”

You kiss him, lingering for several moments to relish in the feeling of his lips on yours, unable to fight the smile on your face while you do. You thread your fingers through his hair, giggling.

“How did you even buy it? Don’t tell me you left —”

“I didn’t leave the house, no,” Sirius says with a roll of his eyes. “I sent Remus to get it and gave him the money.”

You smile good-naturedly at him. “Poor Remus.”

He snorts.

You kiss him one last time. “You are the absolute best. I love you.”

He smiles and you pull away to reach under the bed and produce his present, neatly wrapped in red and gold wrapping paper. Curiously, he unwraps it to reveal a small bottle of dark blue liquid, turning it around in his hands before his eyes widen in shock, laughing.

“I — how did you get this?” he says in disbelief. “I thought it would be discontinued by now.”

You beam. “I never reveal my secrets.” You nod at him, smiling. “Go on, test it out. I want to see if it’s actually the same.”

Sirius pulls the cap off the bottle, aiming the nozzle at his wrist and spraying it, rubbing it in with the other before holding his wrist out to you to test. Leaning forward, you sniff and laugh, grinning at him. It’s the cologne he used to wear for years before his capture, he used to say it was his signature scent. The same cologne you remember smelling inside your Amortentia potion in sixth year.

“Perfect.”

He smiles at you, pulling you towards him to kiss you again. “Thank you,” he breathes between kisses, smiling against your lips. “You’re perfect. I love you.”

When you finally disentangle from each other, you get dressed and head downstairs — though not before you’ve thoroughly inspected your new telescope, delighting in the cleanness of it and the crystal-clear focus of the untouched lenses.

In the kitchen, Harry, Ron, and Hermione are peering into Kreacher’s den opposite the pantry and Mrs Weasley is standing at the stove, sniffling when she wishes you both Merry Christmas. You’re about to check what’s wrong when Sirius taps your side, silently shaking his head.

“Percy,” he whispers near-imperceptibly into your ear, and you nod in understanding. Then he raises his voice, “I’ll get the turkey.”

He heads into the pantry and you make your way over to the kids, smiling. “Happy Christmas, guys. What are you up to?”

“I have a present for Kreacher,” Hermione explains, laying a package on top of the rags and blankets in the dingy cupboard, right beside the glass photos Kreacher hoards of Sirius’ family. She frowns. “But he’s not here…I guess he’ll find it later, it’s fine.”

“Come to think of it,” Sirius says, emerging from the pantry carrying a large turkey as Harry closes the cupboard door, “has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?”

“I haven’t seen him since the night we came back here,” says Harry. “You were ordering him out of the kitchen.”

“Yeah…” Sirius frowns. “You know, I think that’s the last time I saw him, too…he must be hiding upstairs somewhere…”

“He couldn’t have left, could he?” Harry suggests. “I mean, when you said ‘out’, maybe he thought you meant get out of the house?”

Sirius shakes his head. “No, no, house elves can’t leave unless they’re given clothes, they’re tied to their family’s house.”

“They can leave the house if they really want to,” Harry contradicts. “Dobby did, he left the Malfoys’ house to give me warnings two years ago. He had to punish himself afterward, but he still managed it.”

Sirius looks slightly disconcerted for a moment, meeting your eyes, before he shakes his head. “I’ll look for him later, I expect I’ll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother’s old bloomers or something…of course, he might’ve crawled up into the airing cupboard and died…but I mustn’t get my hopes up…”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, though Hermione looks reproachful.

“Thanks for the presents, by the way,” Harry says, smiling at the two of you.

You beam back at him, thinking of the book on defensive spells and the treats from Honeydukes you had left at the foot of his bed last night. “You’re very welcome!”

You receive an assortment of different kinds of magical teas from Remus, noting with interest the box of earl grey that apparently makes the drinker see everything in black and white for a few minutes, and the green tea that gives levitation. In return, you buy him a set of expensive oil paints which he delights in, promising that you will be the first person to get a painting made with them.

After you have dinner, the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione, head to St Mungo’s to visit Arthur along with Moody and Remus to escort them. You had intended to go, but upon seeing the look on Sirius’s face when everyone leaves, you decide against it.

Before they go, you shove two small bags into Remus’ hands. “Give these to Frank and Alice, will you? Oh, and give this to Arthur.”

You hand him a paddle with a ball attached to it by a string — another Muggle game you hope will keep him entertained in St Mungo’s.

“Of course.”

The place is oddly quiet without everyone else, and you feel a rush of sympathy for Sirius at how lonely the house feels without anyone in it. It reminds you of the silence in your home without him there.

But at the same time, it’s nice. You stand side-by-side as you wash the dishes, handing them to him so he can dry them with a tea towel, and relay all your grievances about Umbridge.

“And then she said, ‘I know you’re hiding something…or should I say someone?’ and she smiled — you do not want to see her smile, by the way, it’s unnerving — but she thought she was well clever, as if she’s the first person to ever think that I could be hiding you away somewhere —”

“Well, you are, to be fair.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know for sure. She just thinks I am,” you say matter-of-factly, handing him another plate.

The scene is so domestic, that it’s almost foreign to you. You went over a decade without him and strangely, it’s little moments like this that you missed the most. Quiet, everyday things.

“Oh, and Mam and Dad said to tell you they said hello,” you say, smiling. “I think my dad misses you quite a lot — or maybe he just misses having someone to order around.”

Sirius chuckles, plates clinking as he returns them to the cupboard. “He always made me work every time we visited. And it’s not like I could say no, either — don’t want to get on the wrong side of the in-laws.”

“A flawless plan, really.”

He hums in agreement, sighing. You hand him the last few cups and he places them in the press before dusting his hands off. “I suppose I should look for Kreacher, before he decides to turn our bedroom into a shrine for my mother…”

Later, it's revealed that Kreacher had been hiding up in the attic — Sirius found him covered in dust, no doubt searching for more Black family relics.

When everyone else turns in for the night, it's just you and Sirius left in the kitchen. You let out a yawn as he drums his fingers on the table, before his face lights up with intent and he stands up and moves away from the table. Curious, you watch as he produces an old record player and blows the dust off of it, then he carefully pulls the needle onto the record and with a crackle, soft music starts playing.

Sirius extends a hand to you, smiling. “Care for a dance?”

You laugh, looking up at him in disbelief. “Oh, you're not serious…I haven't danced in forever —”

“That doesn't matter. Neither have I.”

He pushes his hand further to urge you, and you hesitantly place your hand in his and allow him to pull you out of your seat and into the middle of the floor. The space you have in the kitchen is limited, but it doesn't seem to bother Sirius at all.

Gentle but firm, he places the hand not holding yours on your lower back, and you place your free hand on his shoulder, your face inches from his.

He starts to lead you in a slow sway, and strangely enough you find yourself moving without thinking, muscle memory kicking in. Sighing contentedly, you slot your head into the crook of his neck. You can smell his new (or old?) cologne on his skin.

“Do you think we would’ve been good parents?” you ask softly. “If we had got the chance.”

You feel the nod of his head as he hums. “We would’ve been the best parents, love. And our kids would be lucky enough to inherit all our incredible genes.”

You chuckle, reaching your hand up to his hair to gently pull at the soft strands. “I think they would get your hair.”

“And your eyes, I hope.”

“They’d be clever.”

“And funny — and they'd all be Gryffindors, no doubt.”

You raise an eyebrow. “They’ll all have my smarts, you know. They could be in Ravenclaw.”

Sirius laughs. “Oh, really? Well, if you were so smart then why weren't you placed in Ravenclaw?”

You shrug, biting back a grin. “I look better in red.”

He gently spins you around to the music, and your eye catches on one of the Weasleys’ scarves on the kitchen counter, red and gold sparkling in the light.

“Everyone would love them,” you say, smiling sweetly. “They'd ace every subject and brag about how cool their parents are.”

“They'd dress cool and have incredible taste in music.”

You chuckle, heart aching at the what-ifs. The what could have happened. “They’d be kind to everyone.”

“But not afraid to stand up for themselves.”

“They'd be like you.”

“They'd be just like you.”

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

On the very last day of the holidays, you sit at the kitchen table beside Sirius, the room completely silent, as he glares across at Snape. You're not sure, but you think he might be trying to incinerate the man with just his eyes — though so far he has made no progress.

Harry enters the kitchen, looking quite puzzled and nervous to see Snape sitting there. “Uh.”

“Sit down, Potter.”

“You know,” Sirius says, leaning back on the rear legs of his chair as far back as he can and looking up at the ceiling, “I’d prefer it if you didn’t give orders here, Snape. It's my house, you see.”

An ugly flush rises in Snape’s face. Harry sits down on Sirius’ other side, the three of you facing across at Snape.

“I was supposed to see you alone, Potter,” Snape says, a familiar sneer curling his lips, “but the Blacks — “

“We’re his godparents,” Sirius says loudly.

“I am here on Dumbledore’s orders, but by all means stay, Black, I know you like to feel…involved.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Sirius lets his chair fall back onto four legs with a bang.

“Merely that I am sure you must feel — ah — frustrated by the fact you can do nothing useful for the Order.”

Snape's lip curls in triumph and your fist clenches under the table.

“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath, though still loud enough for Snape to hear, based on the way his eye twitches slightly.

Snape turns to Harry. “The Headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term.”

“Study what?” Harry says blankly.

“Occlumency, Potter. The magical defense of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one.”

“Why do I have to study Occlu — thing?”

“Because the headmaster thinks it a good idea,” Snape says smoothly. “You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?”

“Yes,” Harry says, thumbing the sleeve of his jumper nervously. “Who's going to be teaching me?”

“I am,” Snape answers.

“Why can't Dumbledore teach Harry?” Sirius says aggressively. “Why you?”

“I suppose because it's a headmaster’s privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks,” says Snape silkily. “I assure you I did not beg for the job.” He gets to his feet. “I will expect you at six o’clock on Monday evening, Potter. My office. If anyone asks, you are taking Remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them.”

He turns to leave, his black travelling cloak billowing behind him.

Sirius sits straighter in his chair. “Wait a moment.”

Snape turns back to face you, sneering. “I am in rather a hurry, Black…unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time…”

“I’ll get to the point, then,” Sirius says, standing up. “If I hear you're using these Occlumency lessons to give Harry a hard time, you'll have me to answer to.”

“How touching,” Snape sneers. “But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?”

“Yes, I have,” Sirius answers proudly.

“Well then, you’ll notice he's so arrogant that criticism bounces off him.”

Sirius pushes his chair aside roughly and strides around the table towards Snape, pulling out his wand as he goes. Snape whips out his own. They square up to each other, Sirius looking livid, Snape calculated, his eyes flicking between Sirius' wand to his face.

“Sirius!” You say loudly, but he appears not to hear you.

“I've warned you, Snivellus,” he says, face barely a foot from Snape’s, “I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you're reformed, I know better —”

“Oh, but why don't you tell him so?” Snape whispers venomously. “Or are you afraid he might not take the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother’s house for six months very seriously?”

You would jump in but before you can even think about opening your mouth, Sirius is biting back at him.

“Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog’s working at Hogwarts, isn’t he?”

“Speaking of dogs,” Snape says softly, “did you know Lucius Malfoy recognized you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform…gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in the future, didn't it?”

Sirius raises his wand.

“No!” You yell, moving to try and get between them. “Don’t be stupid —”

“Are you calling me a coward?” Sirius snaps at Snape.

“Why, yes, I suppose I am.”

The door opens and the entire Weasley family, plus Hermione, enters the kitchen, all looking very pleased with Mr Weasley walking proudly in their midst, dressed in a pair of striped pajamas.

“Cured!” he announces brightly to the room. “Completely cured!”

He and all the other Weasleys freeze when they take in the scene before them: Sirius and Snape with their wands drawn and pointing into each other’s faces, and you and Harry beside them, watching on in shock.

“Merlin’s beard,” says Mr Weasley, the smile sliding off his face. “What's going on here?”

The two men lower their wands, both wearing twin expressions of the utmost contempt. Snape pockets his and sweeps across the room, saying nothing to the Weasleys as he passes, and pauses at the door.

“Six o’clock Monday evening, Potter.”

He leaves, and Sirius glares after him, wand held tightly in a white-knuckled grip at his side.

“But what's been going on?”

“Nothing, Arthur,” you answer, stepping forward to greet them, “nothing to worry about.” Over your shoulder, you shoot Sirius a reprimanding look, before turning back and plastering a smile on your face. “So, you're cured? That's brilliant, Arthur, really! Great news, honestly…”

“Yes, isn't it?” says Mrs Weasley, leading her husband into a chair, beaming. “Healer Smethwyck worked his magic in the end, found an antidote to whatever that snake’s got in its fangs, and Arthur’s learned his lesson about dabbling in Muggle medicine, haven't you, dear?” she adds, rather menacingly.

“Yes, Molly, dear,” Mr Weasley responds meekly.

Dinner that evening is a cheerful one, though you can tell that Sirius is far from the happy face he's putting on at the moment. When he's not laughing at loudly at Fred and George’s jokes, or offering everyone more food, he falls back into a sour expression.

When you get ready for bed that night, taking off your jewellery, you look over at him.

“I thought you would know by now not to listen to Snape’s goading,” you say. “He only says that stuff to rile you up.”

“I know, I know—”

“Didn't seem like you knew that,” you say, a bitterness lining the edges of your words.

“You heard what he said about James, about Harry,” he mutters angrily. “What kind of person would I be if I didn't defend them?”

“You don't need to defend them with your wand. He only wants to get a reaction from you, and you're giving him exactly what he wants. Leave the wand in your pocket next time. He has nothing on you.”

With a clink, you drop your earrings into the little ceramic plate on your nightstand.

He huffs in disagreement. “He's right about one thing: I’m of no use to the Order sitting here.”

You turn to him sharply, moving forward to sit on the bed beside him. “Forget the Order. Sure I'm not much use to it either, staying at Hogwarts all the time, am I?”

He opens his mouth to refute this but you continue talking before he can say anything.

“You’re of use to Harry. You don't realise how much he needs you,” you say softly, pulling a lock of hair behind his ear. “He really loves you, Sirius, and he is a lot better off now that you're in his life. Nevermind what Snape said — he might be doing the most for the Order, but that doesn’t automatically make him a good person. He is cruel and enjoys ruining the happiness of others. You do not, and for that you are a million times better than him.”

He leans into your touch, sighing. “I would have killed him.”

You snort, laughing. “He would've killed you. You might've been good with your wand when you were twenty, but Snape’s got a decade of practice over you while you were in Azkaban.”

He moves against your hand to press a kiss to the inside of your palm, before falling back on the bed with a loud, exasperated sigh.

“I hate him.”

You laugh. “Me too, Sirius, me too.”

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

>>read chapter 31 here!

→ all kinds of interaction greatly appreciated! ♡

not to sound like a broken record...but sorry for the delayed upload. also sorry for the sad start to this chapter, hope i made up for it later on :) happy christmas everyone! I can't begin to describe how kind everyone who has read this series has been to me. You have all been absolutely lovely and writing this would not be possible without all your endless support. I love you all ❤️

As always, the biggest hugs and kisses to my taglist loves:

@mothraantics @wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @devoid-swanky @carpe000diem @mooonyxoxo @navs-bhat

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[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (see full series list here)

1995

You thought Professor Umbridge was a pain in the ass when she first started, but now you realise you were seeing her at her best, and you’re about to start facing her worst. 

It happens one night as you enter your classroom and greet your students, setting your things out on your desk before turning to them — and that’s when you spot her bright pink, woolly cardigan and the clipboard resting in her hand, quill at the ready. She looks expectantly at you, blinking and pursing her lips. 

You have to fight down the irritancy from showing on your face, and you give her a nod, gritting your teeth. “Professor Umbridge. I was not expecting you tonight.”

“I believe an inspection is most accurately performed when the teacher is not made previously aware of it,” she replies in that sickeningly sweet voice, smiling at you.

You resist the urge to wince.

She dips her quill in ink, positioning it over her clipboard. “Please, continue.”

You take a slow breath before gathering your papers in your hands and you move down through the rows of desks, handing essays back to students. You're just going to have to ignore her. “Now, your homework — I graded them to O.W.L. standard, just to give you a general idea about how the exams are marked. Don’t worry about what grade you got, I thought your essays were pretty good overall, and I’ve left you all some feedback at the end with a few tips and comments on how to improve them. If you have any questions, you can come up to me at the end of class.”

You wait for the chatter and comparison of grades to die down before waving your wand and quenching the candles around the room, plunging it into relative darkness. Umbridge lets out a surprised squeak and you can’t the small smile of satisfaction that tugs at your lips, unknown in the dark. Your students are used to this, of course, and are ready when you place your wand in the air again, making a circular motion and projecting a glittery star map above you. 

“You’ll all recognise this constellation, I hope…Pegasus,” you say, glancing as the students watch on with interest — using the telescopes and seeing pretty stars right in front of them like this tends to be the most favoured activities of your students — and you have to say you wholeheartedly agree with them. Umbridge glances up at you for a split-second before she scratches something down on her clipboard loudly. 

“Now sometimes it can be hard to identify the shape of this constellation, a winged-horse, but if you turn it this way…” Using your wand, you slowly rotate the map in a different direction before stopping. “You can see the vague outline of Pegasus’s head and two front legs. I actually wanted to bring this up because an amazing discovery was made by two Muggle astronomers just last week —”

“Hem.”

“—it’s astounding, really. 51 Pegasi, this star right here — “ you point to one of the glittery stars in the map, one that doesn’t stand out at all and looks practically the same to all the others, “ — it’s quite similar to our Sun, and 51 actually has a planet orbiting around it! That makes it the first sun-like star to possess a planet other than our own, and it was discovered by Muggles —” 

“Hem.”

“It’s incredible the way they found out, too — you see, it’s impossible to see from Earth, but these Swiss astronomers discovered it through a slight wobble in 51 Pegasi’s motion caused by the planet’s gravitational pull, and they did it all without magic —”

“Hem!”

You stop, your excited smile dropping as you look at the unsightly woman. What could she possibly have a problem with? You thought you were doing pretty well. 

“Is there a problem, Professor Umbridge?” 

“Oh, well…the Ministry does not usually condone the teaching of Muggle beliefs, we are all witches and wizards here, after all,” she says sweetly, smiling fakely at you. 

You chew on the flesh of your inside cheek, blinking back at her. “Yes, but Astronomy is the only subject that Muggles also study, and it’s a science — everything must be proved and well, a discovery is a discovery, no matter who makes it —”

Umbridge lets out an odd, patronising squeak and scratches something down on her clipboard. 

You watch her, nervous, and continue. “It’s fascinating, really, how it ties our worlds together — with magic we are so much more advanced than Muggles and yet they manage to come to new and different conclusions and revelations, all through hard work and time and — “

“Hm.”

You spend the rest of the lesson on edge, Umbridge taking everything you say as a mistake, total flaws in the way you teach, the way you’ve taught for the past fourteen years.

When the lesson is finally over, the students rush from the classroom and you rub your temples, sighing deeply. You glance up at Umbridge, who stands up and taps her clipboard thoughtfully, humming annoyingly. 

“How long have you been working at Hogwarts?” 

“Fourteen years,” you answer bluntly, turning your back on her and stacking papers loudly. 

She hums, clicking her tongue. “And what did you do before taking this position?” 

You stop what you're doing and slowly turn around to face her, meeting her beady eyes. “Why do you want to know that?” 

She shrugs, smiling tightly at you. “Just curious.” 

You bite your tongue, exhaling, looking into her cold eyes. “I don't see how that's of any concern to you, professor.” 

She hums, again, tapping her clipboard. “Most Aurors are quite secretive, even to Ministry officials.” 

You don't say anything. 

“You will receive the results of your inspection in ten days.”

She makes her way to the stairway, but before she begins her descent, she stops, looking at you once more. You glare back at her. 

“Albus Dumbledore may trust you, but I certainly do not. I know you're hiding something…or should I say, someone?” 

She smiles proudly, a satisfied squeak escaping her as she stares back at you. She's bluffing, you know it — there's absolutely no way she could know about Sirius. She’s just pinning the blame on you, of course, like they all do. 

Despite knowing this, you can't stop the way your heart rate picks up, a sick feeling rutting through your body. 

You glare daggers at her, arms folded tightly across your chest.

“I have nothing to hide.” 

“Hm.” She flips a page on her clipboard. “We’ll see about that.” 

You listen to her distinctive pink heels click-clack down the stairs, echoing around the tower, and grate your teeth. 

So, if you thought you hated her before, you weren't even close to what you're feeling now. 

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

October, 1975 

“Okay, you stir it…and then it should go a pearly kind of colour…” 

Lily picks up the metal stirrer and carefully stirs your brewing potion, and you breathe a sigh of relief when it gains a pearl sheen and fumes emanate from it in spirals. 

You clap excitedly. “Perfect!” 

Lily beams back at you. 

“Okay, okay, let me see what I smell…” you say giddily, leaning in closer to the cauldron and inhaling a breath of the fumes. 

Fresh parchment, tea leaves, leather, rich cologne and…cigarette smoke? 

You pull back in horror, bringing a hand to your mouth. There’s only one person that comes to mind with that combination of scents: Sirius. But that’s not right, you know that’s not right, because this potion shows a person’s deepest desires, and though from time to time you find him attractive, and from time to time you might just entertain the idea of dating him — he’s far from being your deepest desire. Completely preposterous.

Lily gives you a concerned look. “What? What's wrong?” 

You stand further away from the cauldron, breathing out of your mouth and shaking your head. “Nothing.” 

She laughs lightly, waving you off. “Oh, you're just surprised at yourself. It's completely accurate, you know — “ 

She leans forward and sniffs, and a second later her face drops and she jerks back, looking like she’s about to be sick. She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Well, we clearly prepared it wrong. That's entirely inaccurate.” 

Slughorn appears at your desk, looking into your potion. He dips a spoon into it and raises it high above the cauldron, tipping it over and watching as the liquid drips back into the potion. He nods in approval, smiling at you and Lily. 

“Perfect. Couldn't fault it!” He grins, waddling away to check another pair. 

You stare after him, jaw dropped. You turn to Lily, her expression a perfect mirror of your own. “Uh…”

“Definitely brewed wrong.” 

“Definitely.” 

“Couldn't possibly be correct.” 

“Never.” 

“I'm not going to tell you, uh, what I smelled, by the way — just because it's entirely wrong and would only confuse things.” 

“Oh yeah, me neither, must be someone else’s potion fumes drifting over to our desk…”

You quickly flick through your potions book, reading down through the recipe. Absolutely wrong, that’s for sure. You must’ve messed the potion up somewhere, maybe you stirred it clockwise when it was supposed to be anti-clockwise…Slughorn is pretty barmy, too, he probably just got confused when he said it was perfect…

“Lily, darling, let me guess what you smelled…me?” James suddenly pops up in front of your desk — you have to give him credit for it, he has a knack for sneaking up on people and taking them by surprise — and grins at Lily, running a hand through his hair to muss it up. 

“NO!” She shrieks hysterically, grabbing the bottom of the cauldron and yanking it closer towards her as if to shield it from James. “Just go away, James!”

Her chest heaves with distress and you softly place your hand on her back. James’ eyes widen and he frowns, hurt flashing across his face. 

“I — I’m sorry, Lily, I didn’t mean to upset you —”

You look past James at Sirius, who is standing with his arms folded beside his cauldron, a confused look on his face. 

“Sirius, please take James back,” you call with a sigh, and he turns around to look at you. Did he do something different with his hair today? It looks different. Why are you just now noticing how lovely his hair is? Is it soft? It looks soft. Why do you feel an intense urge to reach out and pull that stray lock of hair out of his eyes? 

“Happy to.” 

You shake yourself out of your stupid stupor, and push James towards his awaiting friend. As your arm passes by Sirius’ face, he stops and his eyes go wide.

“Are you wearing perfume?”

“Yeah, why?” 

He stares back at you for a moment, an odd look on his face, and swallows thickly. “Where did you get it?”

You laugh, raising your eyebrows at him. “What, do you want a bottle? My grandmother gave it to me, she makes homemade perfume in her spare time.” 

He kisses his teeth. “Huh.” 

He grabs James by the sleeve and drags him back to their desk, before proceeding to gulp down a bottle of water in seconds, tapping his foot. 

You give Lily a look. “What was that about?”

She shrugs, grinning at you. “Maybe he smelled your perfume in the cauldron.”

You snort, throwing your books into your bag. “Yeah, right.”

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

One evening you’re dangling a length of string in front of Dubh with your wand, watching as she joyfully bats at it with her paws, mesmerized by its movements, when there’s a knock at your office door. You drop the string on the floor at Dubh’s feet and she rolls around beside it, trying to clasp the thin string between her paws. Much harder than it looks, apparently. You sigh, smoothing down your jeans as you stand and glance in the mirror quickly — looks presentable enough. You can only pray and hope it’s not Umbridge. 

Thankfully, when you open the door, it’s not the squashed face of the Hogwarts High Inquisitor you’re met with, but Harry, Hermione, and Ron. 

“Oh, hello.” You smile at them, opening the door wider for them to enter. “Come in.”

You sit back down at your desk, fetching a packet of biscuits from the drawer and setting it in front of them as they each draw up chairs and sit down. Dubh rubs against Hermione, purring, and the girl smiles and gently pulls her up into her lap, petting her. 

“I’d ask if you’re just here to see your favourite teacher but I can tell by your faces that you want to ask me for something,” you say. “Go on, what is it?” 

The trio glance at each other for confirmation, and Hermione clears her throat. “Well, um, we told you about Professor Umbridge refusing to teach us Defense Against the Dark Arts properly.”

You nod. 

“And we decided to take matters into our own hands and learn it ourselves.” Hermione looks at Harry before continuing, “We’ve formed an association, the Defense Association — and we need somewhere to practice spells. Harry’s going to teach us.”

“And you want my help finding you somewhere away from Umbridge?”

“We were thinking maybe we could use your classroom,” Ron suggests. 

You think for a moment, before shaking your head. “Sorry, but if Umbridge found out I gave you permission to use my classroom for an illegal society she’d have me sacked in an instant. No, no, you’ll have to find somewhere more secretive…”

You hum thoughtfully, thinking of all the secret passages and rooms you learned of when you were a student. “There’s a secret room hidden behind that big mirror on the fourth floor, you know, it might be big enough to practice a few jinxes — how many people are in this thing?”

“Twenty-eight,” Hermione answers, and you blow a whistle of air out your nose. Lot more than you expected.

“Sirius suggested that room too,” Harry says with a small chuckle. “But Fred and George said it caved in or something.”

“Sirius?” You repeat instantly. “You were talking to him?” 

Harry gives you a confused look. “Yeah, last night. You weren’t?”

Though you know it’s petty, you feel a flash of jealousy and hurt prick your chest. Sirius talked to them, and not you? 

“No, I — I didn’t. How did you —”

“Fireplace.” 

“Oh.” You frown. “He never changes, always loves to take the risk—” You sigh. “He’ll get himself caught one of these days.”

“Uh…”

You look at the kids. They’re glancing at each other nervously, expressions grim. 

“What happened?” you ask quietly. 

“It was Umbridge,” Harry replies, swallowing. “She knew he was there — her hand appeared in the fire.”

You breathe deeply, the room silent as you stare at the chipping wood of your desk. That explains what happened.

“So that’s why she tried to break into my office last night?”

“What?”

You nod, feeling sick to your stomach. “I was with Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout, we had a game of cards in Minerva’s office…and when I came back here afterwards, someone had been trying to lift the enchantments on my lock — it’s charmed to glow red when someone tries to enter without the key. I thought it might’ve been her, but it also could have been anyone — students get bored, it happens, I understand…”

“So she thinks it was you he was talking to?” Ron asks. 

“Of course she does,” you say with a sigh, drumming your fingers on the desk. “Who else would she think? I haven’t talked to Sirius since we left London — it’s far too dangerous. You — you just have to be careful, alright? She won’t be able to do anything to you unless she catches you red-handed…but even the smallest hint of Sirius around the castle and she’ll come for my head. I’m lucky I wasn’t alone last night and the teachers can vouch for me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets her hands on some Veritaserum.” 

You’ve had so much of the substance that at this point you think you might have a tolerance built up against it — but you’re not keen on testing that idea in front of Umbridge. 

Harry has a guilty look on his face. “I didn’t even think about that. I’m sorry.”

You wave him off, chuckling bitterly. “Not your fault at all, Harry. Sirius should know better — but I don’t blame him either. He’s not having a good time stuck there while we’re all here. Besides, you think I’m not used to the Ministry watching my every move? They’re quite obsessed with me — it’s almost flattering.”

You click your tongue. 

“I like your idea, by the way. The Defense Association,” you say, smiling. “It’s very brave. But you seriously have to be careful with this.  I have a feeling that woman will stop at nothing until she gets what she wants — and she wants complete control over every little thing you do, over this whole school. Don’t give her any more reasons to take away the things that make your time at Hogwarts enjoyable.”

You pluck a biscuit from the open packet on your desk, pushing it towards them. “Biscuit?”

Hermione politely refuses and Harry and Ron both reach forward to take one. The sleeve of Harry’s robe falls as he moves his arm, revealing the skin of his right hand, which is red and seems to bear several scratches. He quickly drops his hand and pulls his sleeve over it. 

“Harry? What happened to your hand?” 

He looks at you, holding up his left hand for you to see. “Huh? It’s fine.” 

“Your other hand.”

Hermione and Ron seem to hold their breath, looking at Harry, nervous looks on their faces. 

Harry shrugs. “Nothing. Crookshanks scratched me.” He suddenly stands up from his chair, sharing glances with his friends. “We should probably get going, homework to do, you know — “

“Harry,” you say seriously. “Don’t try to lie to me. What’s happened?” 

“I told you, it’s fine.”

“If it was really fine you’d let me have a look —”

“We need to go.”

“No, Harry, tell me —”

They turn to leave and you reach out and grab onto his arm, but he instantly wrenches free of your grasp and twists away from you. 

“It’s FINE.”

He glares at you and storms out of the room. Hermione and Ron watch as he goes, the room utterly silent. You feel absolutely horrible — he looked at you like he hates you. You shouldn’t have pushed him so far, but you knew he was lying, and if it was nothing to worry about why would he lie? 

“Harry!” Ron rushes after him, hurrying out of the room, leaving you with Hermione. 

She gives you an apologetic look. “I - I’m sorry, professor, I’ll go check on him — “

You sigh, shaking your head. “My fault, I shouldn’t have pressured him like that…” you open your desk drawer and pull out a small bottle, handing it to Hermione. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t look good. Make sure he puts this on it, it’s a salve. And I have a feeling he’s going to avoid me now for a good while…tell him I’m sorry. Goodnight, Hermione.”

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

When you were younger, you found it hard to decide on what career to go into. You adored astronomy, of course, but you also wanted to help people — something like a healer, perhaps. And then there was another part of you that loved Quidditch and commentating at the school games, maybe you could’ve gone into entertainment like Ludo Bagman. You used to pore over sports magazines and argue with James over who supported the better team — you the Chudley Cannons and James the Holyhead Harpies. 

But when Voldemort started to really gain more power, and the death counts were ticking up in the papers, you forgot all of that and put your efforts towards becoming an Auror. It was a choice between living in constant fear at home, or going out and turning that fear into something else — and becoming someone that the Death Eaters were afraid of. 

You would never have thought you’d be here teaching at Hogwarts. And though it may not sound exciting, every day is different.

And you still get to watch Quidditch matches — even if the latest match between Gryffindor and Slytherin has turned into a brawl. Really, it happens quite often, though you’re not too chuffed to see Harry in the middle of it, landing a blow against Draco Malfoy. Fred and George too, one of them sporting a particularly nasty split lip. Minerva and several other teachers are livid of course, and you and the rest of the crowd watch on in silence as she furiously marches Harry and the twins off the pitch and up to her office. Umbridge hurries after them, looking more satisfied than you think she intends to let on. 

This altercation results in a new sign stuck up on every noticeboard around the castle: 

EDUCATIONAL DECREE NUMBER TWENTY-FIVE

She banned Harry and the twins from playing, and for the next week your Gryffindors were particularly sour in class and you often heard them whispering to each other about someone called ‘Umbitch’. Wonder who that’s about? 

The High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions, and removal of privileges pertaining to the students of Hogwarts, and the ability to alter such punishments, sanctions, and removal of privileges as may have been ordered by other staff members. Signed,  Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, Order of Merlin First Class

Hagrid comes back — you spy the lights on in his hut and hurry down to see him. He had been off to find the giants, Dumbledore had told you at a meeting during the summer. And it seems you’re not the only one who noticed he’s back, because the moment you knock on Hagrid’s door you find the infamous trio sitting at the table, talking to him. You can’t help but gasp when you see him. His hair is matted with congealed red blood and his face is littered with scratches and bruises and redness. 

“Fucking hell, Hagrid, who’d you kill?”

He picks up a nasty looking slab of dragon meat and drops it onto the side of his face with a slap. Green blood oozes out from underneath it. 

You wince. “Or, uh, who tried to kill you?” 

“It’s nothin’, don't you start worryin’ ‘bout me now.” 

You scoff, sitting down at the table beside the kids. “Yeah, right. Spill.”

You listen intently as Hagrid tells the tale of his and Madame Maxine’s journey to find the giants, and how when he found them, their leader Golgomath had already set his allegiances with the Death Eaters, who had been currying his favour with gifts for several days before.

“So…so no giants are coming to fight?” says Ron, looking disappointed. 

“Nope,” Hagrid replies, heaving a deep sigh as he turns his steak over and applies it to the other side of his battered face, “but we did what we were meant ter do, we gave ‘em Dumbledore’s message an’ some of ‘em heard it an’ I s’pect some’ll remember it. Jus’ maybe, them that don’t want ter stay around Golgomath’ll move outta the mountains, an’ there’s gotta be chance they’ll remember Dumbledore’s friendly to ‘em…”

Snow patters softly against the window, the bottom pane covered by white.

“Hagrid?” Hermione says quietly after a while.

“Mhm?”

“Did you…was there any sign of…did you hear anything about your…your mother while you were there?” 

Hagrid’s rests the eye that isn’t obscured by the dragon steak on her, and Hermione looks rather scared. 

“I’m sorry…I…forget it —”

“Dead,” he mutters. “Died years ago. They told me.”

“Oh…I’m really sorry,” Hermione says in a small voice. 

Hagrid shrugs his shoulders, grunting. “No need. Can’ remember her much. Wasn’ a great mother.”

The room goes silent again, and you clear your throat. “You still haven’t told us how you got into this state, Hagrid,” you say, gesturing towards his bloodied face.

“Or why you’re back so late,” Harry adds. “Sirius said Madame Maxine got back ages ago —”

“Who attacked you?” Ron asks. 

“I haven’ bin attacked!” Hagrid exclaims emphatically. “I —”

A loud rapping on the door grabs your attention, and you all whip your heads to the source of the sound. You jump; Hermione gasps and her mug slips through her hands and smashes on the floor with a crash; Fang yelps. Silent, you stare out the window beside the doorway at a familiar squashed figure standing behind the thin curtain. 

Your face drops. “Fuck.”

“It’s her!” Ron hisses.

“Get under here!” Harry says quickly, seizing the Invisibility Cloak and wrapping it around himself and his two friends. Huddled together, they back into a corner while Fang barks madly at the door. Hagrid looks thoroughly confused. 

You hastily grab the kids’ mugs and shove them under the cushion in Fang’s bed, while the dog leaps up at the door. Hagrid pushes him out of the way with his foot and opens the door. 

Umbridge stands in the doorway, wearing a pink tweed cloak and a matching hat with earflaps to match. Her eyes widen at the state of Hagrid’s face and she purses her lips.

“So…you’re Hagrid, are you?” 

She speaks very slowly and very loudly, over-annunciating her words as if she is talking to someone who is hard of hearing. Without waiting for an answer from the man, she strolls into the room, her nose high in the air as she surveys the hut as if looking for something. Her eyes land on you and she doesn’t make much of an effort to hide the disdain on her face when she spots you. 

“And what are you doing here?” 

“Visiting my friend,” you say, gritting your teeth. “Are you going to tell me I’m not allowed to do that?”

She wrinkles her nose and clicks her tongue.

“Er…I don’t want ter be rude,” Hagrid says, staring at her, hand still on the open door, “but who the ruddy hell are you?”  

“My name is Dolores Umbridge.” 

Her bulging eyes sweep the cabin. Twice they land on the corner where Harry, Ron, and Hermione are hiding. 

“Dolores Umbridge?” Hagrid says in confusion. “I thought you were one o’ them Ministry twa — don’ you work with Fudge?” 

“I was Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, yes,” Umbridge says, now pacing around the cabin, scrutinizing every detail. “I am now the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher — “

“That’s brave of yeh,” says Hagrid. “There’s not many who’d take tha’ job anymore — “

“ — and Hogwarts High Inquisitor,” Umbridge continues. 

Hagrid frowns. “What’s tha’?”

“Precisely what I was going to ask.” The ghastly woman points to the broken shards of Hermione’s mug on the floor. 

“Oh,” Hagrid says, glancing at you for help. “Uh…”

“Fang has broken more things in this cabin then there are to count,” you say, scratching the dog’s head affectionately. “He got excited when you knocked on the door and bumped the table.”

She looks at you momentarily, her nostrils flaring, before she turns to Hagrid and rakes her eyes over his form, taking in every detail of his dishevelled appearance.

“There are four sets of footprints in the snow leading from the castle doors to your cabin,” she says sleekly. 

“Well, one of them’s mine,” you say simply, shrugging your shoulders. 

“And the other three?” 

“Well, I only jus’ got back,” Hagrid says, waving his hand at his travelling cloak on the coat hook and the large bag beside it. “Maybe someone came ter call earlier an’ I missed ‘em.”

“There are no footsteps leading away from your cabin.” 

“Well…I…I don’ know why that’d be…” Hagrid says weakly, tugging nervously at his beard and glancing over at the corner where the trio are hunched beneath the Invisibility Cloak.”Uh…”

Umbridge wheels around and strides the length of the cabin, looking around carefully. She opens the cupboards, bends and peers underneath the bed, and comes dangerously close to where the kids are hiding. After inspecting inside the enormous cauldron Hagrid uses for cooking, she wheels around again and says, “What has happened to you? How did you sustain those injuries?”

“Oh…I…had a bit of an accident,” he says lamely.

You have to resist the urge to wince at his inability to keep his cool.

“What sort of accident?” 

“I - I tripped.”

“You tripped.”

“Into an enclosure of blast-ended skrewts, right, Hagrid? That’s what you told me,” you chime in, giving him a look over Umbridge’s shoulder. 

“R-righ’,” Hagrid agrees. “Straigh’ in there, set ‘em all off, y’know…”

“Where have you been?” Umbridge asks coldly. 

“Where’ve I…?”

“Been, yes,” she says, pursing her lips. “Term started two months ago. Another teacher has had to cover your classes.” She glances at you, frowning. “None of your colleagues has been able to give me any information as to your whereabouts. You left no address. Where have you been?” 

Hagrid stares at her and you can practically hear his brain whirring furiously to find an explanation. 

“I’ve…I’ve been away for me health.”

“For your health.” Umbridge’s eyes travel over Hagrid’s discoloured and swollen face; dragon blood drips quietly onto his waistcoat in silence. “I see.”

“Yeah,” Hagrid says, swallowing thickly. “Bit o’ — fresh air, yeh know—”

“Yes, as gamekeeper fresh air must be so difficult to come by.”

“Well, change o’ scenery, always good —”

“Mountain scenery?” Umbridge says swiftly. 

She knows. Oh my god, she knows. 

“Mountains?” Hagrid repeats, shaking his head as though he’s never heard the word before. “Nope, south of France for me. Sun an’ sea.”

“Really? You don’t have much of a tan.”

“Yeah, well…sensitive skin,” says Hagrid, attempting a smile — you notice two of his teeth have been knocked out. 

Umbridge stares back at him coldly, and his smile falters. “I shall, of course, be informing the Minister of your late return. You ought to know that as High Inquisitor it is my unfortunate but necessary duty to inspect my fellow teachers. So I daresay we shall meet again soon enough.” 

She turns from him and marches promptly back to the door. 

“You’re inspection’ us?” Hagrid echoes blankly, staring after her. 

“Oh yes,” Umbridge answers, her hand on the door handle as she looks back at him. She glances at you, a smirk tugging at her thin lips. “The Ministry is determined to weed out unsatisfactory teachers, Hagrid. Good night.”

She leaves, closing the door behind her with a snap. You wait a few seconds before standing up and pulling back the window curtain an inch, peering out at Umbridge’s stout little form making her back to the castle in the snow. 

“It’s alright, she’s going back now,” you say softly, turning around and heaving a sigh. 

“Blimey…inspectin’ people, is she?” Hagrid says. 

“Yeah.” Harry pulls the cloak off, revealing the trio once again. “Trelawney’s on probation already…”

“You’re gonna need to be careful, Hagrid,” you warn. “She’ll be at your first lesson back, I’d put money on it. She’ll scrutinise every little thing you do and say.”

“Don’ worry, don’ worry…I’ve got some really good stuff planned for their lessons now I’m back.”

You raise your eyebrows. 

“Now, you lot had better get back up to the castle, an’ don’ forget ter wipe yer footprints out behind yeh!”

You open the door and poke your head out, swirling snowflakes landing on your hair and eyelashes. The kids make to follow you and you thrust your hand out. “Wait, put the cloak on.” You look up at the castle, eyeing the lit windows facing the grounds. “She could be watching from the windows.”

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

>> read chapter 30 here!

-> all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

thank you everyone for your continued support. I can't even begin to describe how much it means to me <3

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[mybutcheredtongue]

Hey, darling!!! I've just read your sirius story and I'm completely in love!!!! You write it so beautifully!!! Can't wait for more. Also if you have it, i would love to be on your taglist! ❤️❤️

hi hi thank you so much for your support!! you are the sweetest 💗💗 yess of course I will add you to the taglist right now, thank you so much!!

also im so sorry it took me ages to see this, I didn't even see the notification 😭

[mybutcheredtongue]

Just spent the last couple days reading your Sirius story and I am in love 🤍🤍!!! After each chapter I am speechless and rush to the next one because I am left craving more!! I really just wanted to let you know how amazing you are for putting the time and effort to bring this story to us!! I just know I’ll be in shambles by the end 😭

Also, if it’s not too much of a hassle could I please be added to your taglist?

thank you so so so much omg! you are the sweetest 😭💗

Thank you so much for reblogging too, it really helps spread my work and means the absolute world to me <3

and ofc I've added you to the taglist 😘

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (see full series list here)

1995

The house is all commotion the next day. Most of the kids wake up late and this sends Mrs Weasley into a tizzy as she hurries from place to place gathering trunks and belongings and throwing them downstairs in front of the door. You place your own trunk in front of the door, scratching Dubh’s ears as she leaps into your arms and digs her claws into your jumper to hold herself against your chest.

Moody stands at the doorway, both hands on his staff as his magical eye swivels from room to room upstairs. He glances at his watch. “Where is Podmore? We can't leave without him, we’ll be one short.” He taps his foot impatiently.

Mrs Weasley looks up the stairway and clears her throat before bellowing, “WILL YOU LOT GET DOWN HERE NOW, PLEASE!”

At once, Walburga Black’s portrait starts screaming and shouting, but no one bothers to close the curtains on her. The noise in the hall will only continue to wake her.

Sirius appears beside you and slips his hand into the back pocket of your jeans, kissing your cheek. “All set?”

You hum, turning to face him. “Hope so. I’m going to miss you so much, you know that?”

He smiles lovingly at you. “I’ll miss you too — I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Talk to Kreacher a lot more, I guess?” You smile cheekily at him.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Don’t even joke about that, it would be hell.”

Ron, Harry, and Hermione come hurrying down the stairs, their footsteps drowned out by Walburga Black’s screeches.

“Harry, you're to come with me and Molly,” you yell at Harry over your mother-in-law's portrait.

“Leave your trunk and your owl, Alastor’s going to deal with the luggage,” Mrs Weasley explains. “...Oh, for heaven's sake, Sirius, Dumbledore said no!”

Sirius’ hand leaves your pocket and he turns into his dog form, following you as you clamber over the trunks.

“Oh, honestly…” Mrs Weasley says despairingly, “well, on your own head be it!”

She wrenches open the front door and you step out into the morning sunlight, followed by Harry and Sirius. You descend the front steps of number 12 and they vanish the moment you reach the pavement.

You glance at your watch. “We’d better hurry up, Molly.”

“I know, I know,” she groans, lengthening her stride, “but Mad-Eye wanted us to wait for Sturgis…if only Arthur could have got us cars from the Ministry again…but Fudge wouldn’t let him borrow so much as an empty ink bottle these days…How Muggles can stand travelling without magic…”

Sirius, on the other hand, seems delighted. He gives a joyful bark and runs around you, snapping at pigeons and chasing his own tail. Harry laughs and you can’t help but smile. He’s been trapped inside for far too long.

Mrs Weasley purses her lips disapprovingly.

Dubh keeps her gaze laser-focused on the dog, watching him closely and swishing her tail agitatedly when he comes too close, digging her claws tighter into the fabric of your jumper.

On platform nine and three quarters, students and families bustle from place to place carrying their heavy trunks, owls hooting from their cages.

“I hope the others make it in time,” Mrs Weasley says anxiously, staring behind her at the arch through which new arrivals come.

“Nice dog, Harry!” calls Lee Jordan, waving at Harry.

“Thanks, Lee,” says Harry, grinning, as Sirius wags his tail frantically.

“Oh, good,” Mrs Weasley says with a sigh of relief, “here’s Alastor with the luggage, look…”

With a cap pulled low over his eyes, Moody limps through the archway pushing a cart full of trunks.

“All okay,” he mutters to you. “Don’t think we were followed…”

Seconds later, Mr Weasley emerges onto the platform with Ron and Hermione. You start to help unloading the trunks from the cart and nearly have them all off when Remus turns up with Ginny and the twins.

“No trouble?” growls Moody.

“Nothing,” Remus replies, dusting off the front of his jacket.

“I’ll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore,” Moody says lowly. “That’s the second time he’s not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus.”

“Well, look after yourselves,” Remus says, shaking hands all round.

You beam at him when he reaches you and pull him in for a tight hug, laughing. “See ya, Moony.”

“Keep your head down and your eyes peeled,” Moody says to Harry, shaking Harry’s hand too. “And don’t forget, all of you — careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don’t put it in a letter at all.”

“If you need to pass anything on, tell me,” you say as the warning whistle for the train sounds and the students still on the platform start to hurry onto the train. Sirius nudges your hand with his head and you gently scratch the top of his head, smiling. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Quick, quick,” says Mrs Weasley distractedly, hugging everyone at random. “Write…be good…if you’ve forgotten anything we’ll send it on…onto the train now, hurry…”

Bewitching your trunk to fly in the air behind you, you hurry onto the train and make your way past the throes of students greeting you in the corridor, down to your usual compartment in the prefects’ carriage. You set Dubh down on the seat beside you and as you sit down, you feel something in your back pocket and curious, you pull out a slip of parchment and unfold it.

I love you

Tell Snape he looks like a gargoyle

You chuckle appreciatively, putting the paper back in your pocket and feeling your heart warm.

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

February, 1977

“Transfiguring something of a larger stature, however, can prove to be more difficult,” Professor McGonagall says, the chalk in her fingers scratching against the blackboard as she writes instructions. “It takes a lot more concentration and practice, so I suggest you use your free time wisely and —”

Sirius sighs in boredom, eyes skimming around the room until he finds the person he's looking for. Across the room, sitting as far away from James as possible, is Lily, and right beside her, you.

You lean over to whisper something to Lily, who chuckles, and Sirius finds himself following your every movement, tracing the line of your jaw with his eyes, the curve of your neck, the way you're swinging your legs under the chair absent-mindedly…

“And then, you put the charm on the ties and I'll keep look-out — hey!”

James slaps Sirius across the back of his head angrily.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“You're not even listening!”

Sirius snaps out of his daze and looks back at his best friend’s angry face, scrunched up beneath his circular glasses.

“Sorry, Prongs, what were you saying?”

James scoffs, folding his arms dramatically. “You were staring at her again, weren't you?” He makes a noise with his mouth like the cracking of a whip, rolling his eyes. “Pathetic.”

“In my defense, she is very pretty — “

“I don't want to hear it!” James snaps. “Y’know, I liked you better before you got a girlfriend. You were more fun.”

“Oh, shut up, James — you're just jealous ‘cause Lily would rather go out with a toad than with you — “

“That's not true — !”

Someone clears their throat loudly and the boys look up to find McGonagall glaring at them from behind her spectacles, clearly unimpressed.

“Yes, Potter, Black — we’ll all just wait for you to finish your very important conversation and then I can get back to teaching.”

Quiet sniggers ripple through the room. Lily rolls her eyes as her best friend giggles.

“Sirius was distracting me, miss —”

“James won't stop talking —”

“Enough.” Professor McGonagall pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Pay attention or it's detention for the both of you.”

“Yes, miss.”

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

“Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices,” says Dumbledore after he gets to feet for his start-of-year speech. “First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students — and a few of our older students ought to know by now too.”

You glance down the Great Hall, skimming your eyes around at all your students.

“Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch’s office door. We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

There is a round of polite applause. You crane your neck to look at the new hire of Professor Umbridge: a small woman wearing a fluffy pink cardigan with mousy brown hair and a pair of small, beady eyes. She has her lips pursed and her hands folded in on the table as she looks out at the student body.

“Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the —”

“Ahem.”

Dumbledore breaks off and looks surprisingly at Professor Umbridge, who has gotten to her feet (though it is hard to tell the difference between her height while standing and while sitting), and clearly wants to make a speech.

Minerva glances at you for half a second, her mouth a thin, disapproving line as she turns back to focus her attention on Umbridge.

Her interruption irks you — no one has ever interrupted Dumbledore in the middle of his speech before. It feels quite disrespectful, though Dumbledore doesn't seem to mind as he sits down and gives Umbridge his utmost attention.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” she starts, her voice sickeningly squeaky, “for those kind words of welcome.”

She clears her throat again, that same little ‘ahem’. “Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say! And to see such happy little faces smiling back at me!”

You raise your eyebrows, noticing how the faces looking back at Umbridge seem quite far from happy — they actually look highly affronted at the childish tone that she has taken on.

“I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we’ll be very good friends!”

Nobody seems too keen on that idea.

She clears her throat again, but this time her tone becomes more business-like and official. “The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.”

She clears her throat again and Minerva’s face tightens as she exchanges a glance with you, her distaste clear on her face.

“Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. Then again, progress for progress’s sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation…because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognised as errors of judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.”

Finally, she sits down, looking expectantly at her audience. Dumbledore claps. You and the rest of the staff start to join in, though you bring your hands together once, maybe twice, before stopping completely.

“Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating,” Dumbledore says as he stands, bowing to her. “Now, as I was saying — Quidditch tryouts will be held…”

“I suspect we’ll be having an interesting year with her here,” you say to Minerva in a low voice, moving your lips as subtly as possible while keeping your eyes on Dumbledore.

A breath of air whistles out of her nose. “Interesting indeed. The Ministry loves to poke their nose into things.”

You hum in agreement. “You can say that again.”

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

“Now as you all know, next June you will be sitting your O.W.L. examinations,” you say, leaning against your desk and flicking your gaze from student to student in your classroom. “They are, of course, important — failing certain classes may mean you are unable to continue those classes at N.E.W.T. level next year — but they are nothing to get stressed about. Study well and do your best and you will be absolutely fine, there is no need to panic. Exams are not the be-all and end-all.”

Hermione’s brow furrows as though this notion is completely inconceivable to her. You notice the way she has her parchment neatly laid out on her desk at the ready, her book perched at the top, and her quills perfectly aligned with each other beside it.

Beside her, however, Ron and Harry have absolutely nothing on their desks.

“Those who are interested in taking N.E.W.T. level Astronomy in sixth year, I accept anyone with at least a passing grade in my class. I must warn you, though, that the work and curriculum is increasingly hard and quite a jump from O.W.L. level.”

The students look quite bored.

“I'm guessing you've heard all that before?”

There is scattered murmurs of agreements and nodding.

You sigh. “I’ll be honest with you all — you will be sick and tired of hearing about those exams in no time. Have your classes been hard so far?”

They glance at each other, and you hear Dean Thomas snort and mutter to Seamus Finnegan, “Not Defense Against the Dark Arts, anyway.”

Your ears prick up at this and you raise your eyebrows. “Not in Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

“Professor Umbridge refuses to let us use defensive spells in class,” Hermione says, frowning.

“What?”

“She's only teaching us theory,” Harry confirms, scowling. “We don't even get to practice the ones we need for the exam.”

“And she called Professor Lupin an ‘extremely dangerous half-breed!” Dean pops up angrily.

This seems to set off the rest of the class, and all at once they start voicing their complaints with vigour.

“What's the point of having a Defense Against the Dark Arts class if we’re not even learning how to defend ourselves in it?”

“You can't learn spells just by reading about them!”

“She's not even a real teacher —”

You wait patiently until everyone has let out their anger before you take a deep breath.

“That’s…ridiculous.”

You pick up your textbook, thumbing through it absent-mindedly as you think of what to say next. “But…if this is what your teacher wants you to do, I should tell you to listen to her.”

Uproar, again — and you hold up an authoritative hand to quiet your agitated students.

“I will tell you to listen to her, but that's not to say you're definitely going to listen to me,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. “You should listen to me, but not everyone likes to follow the rules…I will tell you not to practice these defensive spells in the privacy of your own dorms because Professor Umbridge does not want you to be performing these spells at all. I will also tell you not to be so open in complaining of your new teacher — you will get into trouble.”

You sigh dramatically, flipping the pages of your book to the first chapter as the students pass mischievous glances around at each other. “Now, let's get started, shall we?”

⁠After a long day of classes, back-to-school paperwork, and meetings, you relax into your comfy armchair in your office, listening as Minerva talks about how her week went. Your mug of hot tea warms your hands as the typical Scottish rain patters against the castle windows, and Dubh sleeps contentedly on a stack of papers lying haphazardly on your desk.

“I don’t trust that Dolores Umbridge,” Minerva says with a tight-lipped frown. “She sent Potter to my office on Tuesday, for running his mouth.”

You hum. “About her theory-only classes? Yes, I heard several complaints already.”

“Not just about that,” she says. “He told her He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back, which did not go down well, of course.”

“Like talking to a brick wall, I’d say.”

She clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “He’d do well to keep his head down and out of sight after her speech at the start-of-term feast…” She casts a glance at you from behind her spectacles. “As would you.”

You laugh humourlessly. “Believe me, I am. I’ve been avoiding that woman like the plague — thankfully she’s easy to spot from a mile away with those horrible cardigans.”

As though she doesn’t mean to, Minerva lets out a cat-like giggle, before clearing her throat and regaining her composure.

You smile knowingly at her over the rim of your cup, resisting the urge to laugh.

She yawns, adjusting herself in her seat. “I suppose I best be off, I have a few essays to grade for tomorrow…”

She sets her cup down on the table, standing up. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” you answer honestly, smiling at her. “Night, Minnie.”

She opens the door to leave. “Goodnight.”

You've never liked that Dolores Umbridge, not since she drafted some anti-werewolf legislation a few years ago that made it impossible for Remus to find a job. You remember the stress it gave Remus, he had very little money and was reluctant to accept any help from you — despite the large sum of gold sitting in your bank, practically untouched.

When you settle down to sleep that night, your mind turns to Sirius: alone in Grimmauld Place, listening to the screams and screeches of his mother’s portrait. The moment you got on the Hogwarts Express you regretted letting him persuade you to come back to school and leaving him, right after you had just found him.

As if she senses your worry, Dubh pads along your covers before settling into the bed beside your chest, purring contentedly and bringing you significant comfort just by being there.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

The next morning you wake for breakfast, sitting as far away from Dolores Umbridge as possible, making absolutely sure to avoid all eye contact with the woman. The last thing you need is a Ministry mole rooting around your business when you are technically harbouring a fugitive in your house.

While you poke and prod at your breakfast, thinking about nothing in particular, owls begin to filter in through the windows bearing the morning’s post. A barn owl makes it way over to you and drops off your usual delivery of the Daily Prophet.

“You’re still reading that?” Minerva asks in surprise as you tuck a few coins into the small sack tied to the owl’s leg as payment.

You hum, undoing the twine wrapped around the paper. “Good to know what the enemy is putting out there, right?” As you unfold the newspaper, your heart drops and you let out a small gasp.

“What is it?” Minerva asks, and you wordlessly hold the paper between you so you can both read the headline article.

BLACK SPOTTED IN LONDON

The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer who killed thirteen people, is currently hiding in London. The Ministry warns the wizarding community that Black is very dangerous and to be vigilant. Anyone with information of his whereabouts must come forward and alert the Ministry immediately.

You look up at Minerva, feeling dread sink down through your body.

“I knew he shouldn’t have came with us,” you whisper, swallowing thickly.

Minerva looks at the article again, her mouth thin. “He will just have to stay in the house from now on.”

You frown. “It’ll kill him.” You glance down the table at Dumbledore, currently talking to Professor Flitwick animatedly. “Maybe I can ask Dumbledore if I can go home, just for the weekend — I can’t bear the thought of him alone —”

Minerva looks at you sharply, her expression serious.

“And how do you think that will look to Umbridge? Sirius Black’s wife leaving without any explanation the weekend after he is spotted in London?”

“I’ll just say I’m going to my parents’ or something, I don’t know —”

“They will not believe you,” she hisses. “They have never believed you before, they will not believe you now. Do you wish to end up in Azkaban?”

You look back at her, biting your lip before breathing a long, defeated sigh. 

Minerva gently pulls the newspaper from your grip, flicking through the pages with mild interest. You push your plate away from you, feeling nauseous and without any appetite. Why didn’t you push more for him to stay at the house that day? You were selfish, letting him come with you because you wanted to drag out your time with him as much as possible and putting him in danger. Where is Kingsley? He’s supposed to be staying on top of this, feeding the Ministry fake information and keeping Sirius out of the headlines. 

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

->-> read chapter twenty-nine here!

-> all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

hi everyone, im really sorry for the huge wait!! I know how annoying it can be sometimes to have to wait long periods of time for a writer to post the next chapter, so I really am sorry for that :( I honestly don't really have an excuse, other than writer's block and a busy schedule. You all are the absolute best for your constant patience and support, i love everyone sm <3 Kisses!

a really huge thank you to my taglist loves ♡ :

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[mybutcheredtongue]

I just devoured the I'll love you series and I'm in love 😭😍

omg thank you so much!! im so so happy you like it 💓 your support means the absolute world to me it's so motivating 🫶

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (see full series list here)

1994

Two nights before Harry's big Ministry hearing, you sit at the kitchen table with Sirius, talking about nothing in particular, easily slipping into your old routine of sitting and talking with each other for hours on end. No matter who you meet, no matter how long you've known them, there's no one that seems to just get you like he does.

Mrs Weasley wipes down the counters in the kitchen, her usual routine before heading to bed, while her husband fiddles with a Muggle children's toy you'd given him. It's one of those things with the metal balls inside, and you have to shake and tilt it to try and get them to fall into place in the holes, usually on the top of a bottle of bubbles.

"Fascinating!" Mr Weasley exclaims happily, shaking it enthusiastically and watching in wonder as the balls miss every hole completely. "And Muggle children play with this, yes?"

You nod, smiling. "Keeps them entertained for a little while. I never liked them growing up — I was never patient enough.”

He continues to play with the toy, his face the picture of wonder and interest. You're glad he's there, really, because you hate the tension between Sirius and Mrs Weasley ever since Harry's return. Neither one of them have decided to apologise to the other — and though sometimes you think about saying it to Sirius, you feel it really should be Mrs Weasley who apologises, considering the awful things she said about his place as Harry's godfather.

You're still on good terms with Mrs Weasley, despite how her words still sit stinging in the back of your mind, but you'd rather forget about it and move on amicably than suffer through this suffocating awkwardness.

A knock on the kitchen door grabs the attention of the room, and you stand up to answer it, surprised when Dumbledore is on the other side of it.

"Dumbledore!" you exclaim, opening the door wider for him to enter. "Wasn't expecting you tonight."

He steps inside, smiling politely at you. "Yes, I do apologise for coming unannounced… Sirius, I would like a word with you, if you don't mind."

Mrs Weasley drops her cloth into the sink, brushing off her hands and seizing hold of Arthur's arm quickly. "It's getting late, we should be getting to bed. Goodnight, everyone."

"Night," you say to them, watching as they scurry out of the basement kitchen as quick as possible and close it behind them. Glancing between Dumbledore and Sirius, you feel a slight awkwardness creep through you. You clear your throat. "Should I go?"

"No," they say at the same time, eyes focused on each other.

Great.

You mentally prepare yourself for the argument that's bound to begin when these two start talking. You busy yourself in the kitchen, doing nothing really but pretend to look occupied as Sirius starts the conversation.

"Well, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Harry's hearing on Thursday," Dumbledore replies, as you mindlessly adjust cups in the press without them needing it.

"And? What about it?"

There's a pause, the only noise being you clinking cups against each other aimlessly. "I expect you would like to accompany Harry, but I am afraid I must tell you that I do not think you should."

"I can't say I'm surprised to hear you think that," Sirius says, a slight bitterness lining the edges of his voice. "But I'm sure you understand that I think I should. He's going to a Ministry hearing, he could do with the moral support."

"He will have moral support from Mr Weasley, who will be bringing him to and from his hearing," Dumbledore answers calmly. "It is far too dangerous for you to leave this house, Sirius, even in your animagus form."

"I'll be careful. I just want to help his nerves — "

"I cannot let you," Dumbledore says, more firm this time. "Not only do I think you shouldn't, I know you shouldn't. It is not worth the risk."

You look up as Sirius glances at you, and Dumbledore follows his eyeline expectantly.

"I'll go with him, Sirius, don't worry," you say with a sympathetic smile. You know how much he was looking forward to getting out of the house. "I'll make sure he's alright."

"I am sorry to say I must tell you to stay here as well, professor," Dumbledore says slowly, and you blink at him in confusion.

"I...I don't understand. I'm not on the run, why can't I go with my godson?"

"Suspicions will be raised if you are spotted within the Ministry," Dumbledore says, looking at you. The prolonged eye contact is making you uncomfortable, and you nervously avoid his gaze and focus on the wooden table before you. "It is best that Harry's visit draws as little attention as possible."

"Then I'll wear a disguise," you reply simply.

"As who?"

You bring yourself to meet his eyes, blue and expectant as he silently waits for you to offer an answer: one that you don't have. "As...uh, a Ministry worker bringing him to his hearing, of course."

You think you might imagine the slight surprise that widens Dumbledore's eyes by a fraction, but it's gone when he shakes his head. "Too risky. I direct the two of you to stay here during his hearing, and not to go with him."

You look at Sirius, your eyes communicating every frustration you're currently feeling — he looks the exact same. You're so sick of having arguments and never getting what you want out of them.

You bite your lip, sighing defeatedly. "Right, fine. We'll stay."

✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

After a disgustingly early start on Thursday morning, you wish Harry the best of luck in his hearing and watch as he and Mr Weasley leave the house for the Ministry. You make an effort to keep yourself and Sirius as busy as possible, working on cleaning and redoing the drawing room again.

You run a cloth along the piano, catching the dust and revealing the shiny black surface hiding beneath the grime. You sit down on the bench, pushing it closer to the instrument with your heels and start to play whatever comes to mind, an old classical tune you've forgotten the name of.

When you finish, Sirius comes to join you, placing his hand on your shoulder. "Beautiful. What's it called?"

You shrug, smiling sheepishly at him. "I forget. I'm a bit rusty, to be honest."

"Doesn't sound like that to me," he says, motioning for you to scoot over so he can sit beside you on the bench. "Could you teach me something?"

"You never played?" You say, surprised. "I would've thought this was here for you to play."

Sirius chuckles softly, shaking his head. "It was more my mother. She always wanted me to play, but I refused, of course. Regulus was far better than me — he used to play while she did her embroidery."

You scoff. "Her embroidery? It was the 70s, not the 1800s."

"My parents did not get the memo, apparently." He nudges you with his shoulder, smiling playfully at you. "Come on, teach me something, professor."

You spend the next hour teaching him the basics, gently placing your hands on his and slowly leading him through a simple piece, laughing at the intense look of concentration on his face.

"What are you giggling at?" he says with a grin, looking back at you.

"Nothing, you're just so concentrated," you giggle, beaming.

"Well, it's actually quite difficult, you know...everyone has to start somewhere!" he says in mock offense.

You hum, pouting dramatically at him. "And you're starting off very well." You peck his lips, patting his shoulder as you swing your legs over the bench and stand up. "Come on, Mozart, I think I heard the front door open."

When you enter the kitchen, the atmosphere is very much celebratory as Ron high-fives Harry hard, a great big grin on his face.

"Cleared!" Harry says to you and Sirius, beaming, "of all charges!"

You feel the weight lift from your shoulders and grin at him. "Oh, wonderful, Harry!"

Sirius claps Harry hard on the back, beaming proudly at him. "Knew you'd pull through."

When Harry turns away, however, you don't miss the way Sirius's smile falters and is replaced by a small look of disappointment, before he regains his composure and smiles again. You find his hand and squeeze it comfortingly.

"Listen, you guys, Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry — " Mr Weasley starts, and you both immediately turn your attention to Arthur.

"What?" you say sharply.

"Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on level nine, then they went up to Fudge's office together," Mr Weasley replies. "Dumbledore ought to know."

"Absolutely," Sirius says. "We'll tell him, don't worry."

Lucius Malfoy. If Fudge stopped to think for a second why Lucius Malfoy keeps donating so much gold to the Ministry, surely he'd realise that it's not out of the goodness of his lovely pureblood heart?

Dinner passes pleasantly, everyone in high spirits after Harry's great escape from expulsion. Sirius, however, seems more downcast than usual and you're pretty sure you know the reason.

He heads to bed much earlier than everyone else, finishing his meal and bidding everyone goodnight. While everyone else celebrates and chats happily at the table around you, you chew on your lip thoughtfully.

You wait a while before heading up to bed after Sirius, wanting to give him time to himself to think over everything. However, when you open the door to his bedroom you find it empty, and immediately go looking for him. It's only when you enter the master bedroom, where Buckbeak is being kept, that you find your husband, sitting on the floor next to the hippogriff, stroking his feathers absent-mindedly.

"Here you are," you say softly, shutting the door behind you. "Hello, Buckbeak."

Buckbeak cocks his head in your direction curiously, clicking his beak in greeting.

Sirius looks up when you enter, clearing his throat. "Hello."

You make your way over, sitting next to him on the floor. You don't say anything for a few moments, the room quiet and still, before you take a deep breath and start talking. "I know you're disappointed Harry is going away to Hogwarts again."

He doesn't respond, sighing.

"But it was going to happen," you continue, your voice soft and gentle. "That's where he's happiest."

"I know," he says quietly. "I know that. I just...hoped I'd get more time with him. Longer than a few weeks."

You hum, laying your head on his shoulder. "Me too."

"But you'll get to see him anyway," he continues. "Come September, you'll both be gone back to Hogwarts."

You shake your head, offering him a small smile. "I'm not going back to Hogwarts in September, Sirius. I'm staying here."

His expression brightens for a moment, before he seems to remind himself of something and shakes his head. "But you love your job. You're always talking about how much you love teaching."

"I do," you answer truthfully. "But I love you more. I could never live with myself if I knew I had the choice of going back to work or being with you, and I chose my job. I've had a good thirteen years of working there, and I'd like to make up for all the time we have missed out on together instead."

Sirius looks at you as if it's taking every bit of resolve in him to say this. "I want you to go back."

"You don’t seem too convinced.”

He exhales deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. "I want you there, to look out for Harry. To keep him safe."

"Hogwarts is where he's safest, Sirius," you say. "Dumbledore will be there, he knows best how to protect him — "

"But he's not you," he says simply, his eyes serious. "Dumbledore can protect him, sure, but Harry trusts you. He knows he can go to you for anything. I think that's what he needs most this year."

You sigh, kissing your teeth quietly. "I don't want you to be alone."

"But you know I'm right."

You chuckle humourlessly, shaking your head. "I hate it when you're right."

He pulls you into him, kissing your temple. "I know."

✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

"So, any girls, Harry?"

Sirius raises his eyebrows at the boy, everyone else in the room distracted by their own separate conversations and activities. They had previously been discussing Harry's life at the Dursleys, and now Sirius thinks it is high time for him to impart as much (god)fatherly wisdom he can on the lad.

"What?" Harry's face is the picture of confusion.

"You can't tell me there isn't someone you've got your eye on," Sirius continues with a cheeky grin. "Girl, boy, maybe there's more than one — so come on, tell me, what's going on?"

Harry laughs nervously, shaking his head. "There's no one."

Sirius raises his eyebrows at him, unbelieving.

"Okay, there's one girl."

Sirius grins triumphantly, laughing. "I knew it! You make any moves yet?"

"What? No."

"In that case, let me impart some of my endless wisdom," Sirius says theatrically. "Now, Harry, if you're going to listen to anything I say to you now, it best be this: never lie to a woman. Okay? Simple." He brings his hand up to begin listing things off his fingers. "It'll never work, they always know. And if they don't know straight away, they'll find out you lied eventually, and then it'll be even worse for you. It never ends well. I mean — have you ever tried to lie to my wife?"

Harry thinks for a moment, shaking his head. "No?"

"Think again, you're sure you've never lied about your homework or something like that?" Sirius pushes.

Harry thinks again, remembering the time he tried to lie to you about his scar being painful in fourth year. "Wait, I have, actually."

"And did she believe you?"

"No."

Sirius nods gravely. "She is impossible to lie to. I don't know how, but she just sees through it every time — it's impressive, really."

"I hope you're not gossiping about me."

Looking up, Sirius spots you sitting down into the chair beside him, just returning from your guard duty that night.

He smiles. "Never, darling."

You hum, giving him an unimpressed look. "Nice try."

Sirius looks at Harry, raising his eyebrows with a laugh. "See? I told you." He shakes his head, smiling at you. "I've just been giving Harry some advice on girls, that's all."

You snort, giving him an incredulous look. "Girl advice? Sirius, please, you know nothing about women."

"What? I know plenty!" he says defensively, but still in good humour. "I knew enough to get you to marry me."

You smile sympathetically at him, patting his cheek. "That's actually not true, I'm afraid, because I married you for your money."

"Oh, really?"

"Uh-huh."

You look at each other, grinning, before bursting into laughter. When your chuckles finally subside, you look at Harry again. "Seriously, though, Harry, don't listen to Sirius. You don't want to do anything he or your father ever did to get a girl to like them."

"It still worked!" Sirius defends. "We both got to marry the women we loved."

"What did my dad do?" Harry asks curiously, and you laugh.

"What didn't your dad do?" you say. "Actually, do you want to hear the story of how I even became friends with your dad? And Sirius too, by connection — but it was really all James's doing in the end."

"I want to hear this too!" Hermione chimes in, who before had been talking to Remus with Ron.

"What's this?" Remus asks, a curious smile playing on his features.

"How we became friends in fourth year," you explain, and Remus instantly nods in acknowledgment.

"Oh yes, James and his ways."

You clear your throat, grinning. "Now, if I can have your full attention..."

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

January, 1975

You walk along the corridor, a letter clutched in your hands, making your way to the owlery when a voice calls your name.

You recognise the voice, and with an agitated sigh, you continue walking and ignore it. He calls again, before you hear his footsteps pounding along the floor behind you and he skids to a stop beside you, bumping your shoulder.

"Potter? What do you want?"

James Potter falls into step beside you, grinning, his face red and his glasses askew from running. You can't say you're particularly fond of him, considering how he annoys Lily every single day and bullies her friend, Severus. Any enemy of Lily's is an enemy of yours.

"So quick to anger!" he exclaims dramatically. "So demanding!"

You grit your teeth. "What do you want, James?"

"Listen, listen..." he places a hand on your shoulder, pulling you aside. "Now, you and I haven't always seen eye-to-eye, for reasons unknown — "

You scoff.

" — but despite this, I have a trade — a proposal, if you will — of a lifetime to offer you!"

You raise your eyebrows at him again, thoroughly unimpressed.

"I suggest this — trade me a date with Lily, and I'll send you an invitation to the wedding. Sound good?"

He stretches out his hands, wiggling them theatrically and you burst into derisive laughter, shaking your head.

"Oh...you're funny, James, I'll give you that," you say, moving to walk away when he grabs your arm again.

"Wait, wait, listen to me," he says desperately. "Look, I really like Lily, and you're the only one who can help me. You’re her best friend.”

"What about Alice?"

He frowns, rubbing the back of his neck. "She used some…colourful language to tell me she will not be helping me."

You nod. "Sounds about right." You sigh, rubbing your forehead. "Look, James, if you really like Lily then stop being such an ass about it."

"What?"

"You're too cocky, James, and you're mean," you say. "Just actually talk to her yourself, no bullshit. And let Alice and me get some peace, yeah?" 

You finally manage to leave him now, turning and making your way up to the owlery to post your letter. 

If there's one thing about James Potter, it's that he doesn't know how to follow good advice. Sure, talking to Lily would be all fine and dandy if she wanted anything to do with him, but unfortunately for James, she did not. No, to James, this romance is a multi-level scheme, a plan, and you were key to his success.

The best friend angle, he calls it. If he can convince you that he's a decent guy, good enough to date Lily, you can then convince her to go out with him! All he needs is one teeny, tiny little date and James believes that Lily will fall head-over-heels in love with him, and they'll live happily ever after for years to come. 

But he can't go talking himself up to you — you'd never believe it for a second. So he sends the next best thing: his best friend. 

One morning, on your way to Potions, your bag decides to unceremoniously rip and fall to the ground, sending your belongings skittering along the dungeon floor. 

"Oh, no! Do you want some help?" Alice asks, stopping in her tracks. 

You shake your head, glancing at your watch. "No, it's fine. You'll be late — save me a seat!" 

Alice and Lily quickly head into the classroom while you throw everything back into your bag, cursing at the textbook that's now been covered in ink from one of your inkwells and how you've got dark ink all over your hands now. You repair your bag with a wave of your wand, and hurry into the classroom. 

Professor Horace Slughorn looks at you in surprise as you enter and you smile sheepishly. 

"Sorry, professor, my bag split..."

"Nothing to worry about, my dear! Take a seat," Slughorn booms cheerfully. 

You look around, trying to locate Lily and Alice and the seat they were supposed to have saved you, only to find it's been taken by someone else — conveniently the boy Alice has been pining over for the past few weeks. You stare, betrayed, at Alice, who shrugs and mouths, "I'm sorry!"

You scoff quietly, glaring at the boy and wandering to the only empty seat left, which happens to be right beside Sirius Black. He looks up, raising his eyebrows and smirking at you as you sigh, dropping into the seat beside him. 

"Well, aren't I lucky to have you sit beside me?" 

"Truly." You glance around and click your tongue thoughtfully. "Trouble in paradise, Sirius? Looks like your girlfriend kicked you out."

You point at James, who is sitting beside Peter and Remus on the other side of the room.

"Is there something wrong with wanting to sit with someone new?" Sirius says, lowering his voice as Slughorn begins his teaching. "A very pretty someone, might I add."

"Save it for James," you mutter, unimpressed. This isn't the first time Sirius has tried his charms on you, and you're not in the mood for it right now. 

"Today we will be brewing a hair-raising potion," Slughorn says, smiling happily at the students. "Now, we'll start by chopping up 5 grams of porcupine quills — "

"Speaking of James..." Sirius starts, ignoring Slughorn. "What do you think of him? What are your thoughts?"

"I think he's a git." You turn pointedly away from him, focusing on Slughorn again. You give him a confused look when you notice he's not paying attention to Slughorn at all. "Don't you want to find out how to brew this potion?"

He shrugs casually. "I've already made it before, it's not difficult."

Though you really want to ignore him and listen to Slughorn, your curiosity gets the best of you and you turn to him again. "Why have you made a hair-raising potion before?"

He grins at you. "We put it in Filch's goblet on Halloween. Although, we may have gotten some measurements wrong — "

"That was you?" You say in disbelief, a shocked laugh escaping your lips. "You're the reason Filch lost half his hair?" 

"Well, me and James — and also Peter and Remus," he replies, grinning proudly. 

You sigh, shaking your head with an amused smile. "Right. Well…I haven't made it before, so if you don't mind, I'd like to listen to my teacher now."

" — next, add the rat tails slowly, mixing the potion counter-clockwise as the tails are added, and it should turn to this sort of blue colour — cerulean, I would say...or perhaps it is more of a sky blue — " 

"Really, though, about James..." Sirius interrupts quietly, distracting you again. "He's a good guy. Got a good heart, a real romantic. Don't you want Lily to go out with someone who really cares about her?"

You scoff. "Did James set you up for this? Seriously? He's more desperate than I thought—"

"Which just shows how much he cares," Sirius says, ever the loyal friend. 

"It shows how much of a coward he is," you hiss, your face the picture of attention when Slughorn's gaze flits to your desk to make sure you're listening. "He's too scared to talk to Lily himself."

"Because she hates him!" He sighs, looking at you, eyes big and pleading. "You just need to get to know him, then you'll see — what about this? Hang out with us tomorrow. Spend the whole day with us, and then tell me what you think."

You raise your eyebrows at him, shaking your head. 

"Unless..." a smirk tugs at his lips. "Unless you're scared of being wrong. Scared that you might actually like us."

And, despite knowing that this is definitely not worth your time, despite knowing that he only said that to goad you, you bite. 

"Fine. One day, that's all you get," you relent, and Sirius grins triumphantly. "But — if I don't like him by the end of it, you have to do my potions homework for a month!"

"Done." He holds his hand out for you to shake, grinning smugly at you, and you take it, letting go quickly. "And when I say the whole day, I mean the whole day. You can't go running off to Lily and Alice at all, you're stuck with us."

You give him a pained smile, gritting your teeth. "Can't wait."

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

"You make me sound so bad in that story," Sirius complains when you finish and you laugh.

"That's how you were!" you defend. "Right, Remus?" 

Remus smiles appreciatively, nodding. "I'm afraid so."

"Did it work?" Hermione asks curiously. "What did you think of James by the end of it?" 

You laugh, grinning at her. "Oh, nothing changed, and Sirius had to do my Potions work for the month, as agreed" — Sirius rolls his eyes " — but I did have a lot of fun, and we became friends. By fifth year, we were all as thick as thieves." 

"Did you really not like my dad?" Harry says, brows furrowed. 

You give him a reassuring smile, shaking your head. "Not at the beginning, no. Lily didn't like him, so I didn't like him either. But after that torturous day spent with the lot of them, he really grew on me and now I can't picture Lily with anyone else. You really wouldn't meet another couple more perfect for each other."

"Except for us, of course," Sirius adds. 

You nod, an obvious look on your face. "Oh, obviously. We are unbeatable." You tap your chin thoughtfully, racking your brains for another story to tell. "What else can I tell you..."

"How about the time you punched Lucius Malfoy?" Remus offers, casually taking a sip from his goblet. 

The trio's jaws drop, and you turn and stare at Remus accusingly, who smiles innocently at you over his goblet. 

Sirius laughs beside you. "An excellent story!"

You shake your head frantically, glaring at Remus. "I really don't think this is the story they need to hear — "

"We wanna hear it!" Harry says, grinning and nodding at his two friends. 

"I — I don't even remember — "

"I do," Sirius says, smirking at you. He clears his throat dramatically. "Your godmother hated Lucius Malfoy at school, Harry. Absolutely hated him, and for good reason too, 'cause he was a prick — but one day he was picking on her, trying to wind her up, and he said something bad about Lily and bam, she just punched him right in the middle of Herbology, no hesitation."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stare at you in shock and you wince, shaking your head. "That makes me sound awful."

"One of the best days of my life," Sirius says with a proud grin. "You broke his nose, didn't you?" 

"Yep," you nod, kissing your teeth. "Got myself a month's worth of detention, too. Professor McGonagall was furious with me."

"Wicked," Ron says in awe. 

"You should've seen the look on his face," Sirius continues gleefully. "He was too afraid to speak to her for weeks."

You shake your head vigorously. "I'd like to stop talking about this."

"Oh, stop pretending like you regret it," Sirius says with a scoff, laughing. "You're proud of it — and you should be, he needed to be taken down a peg."

"Oh, well…” you glance at Remus. “At least I didn't eat a butterfly."

Remus stares back at you in shock, his cheeks reddening. "I was six! And I told you that in confidence!"

"You...you ate a butterfly?" Harry repeats and Remus hangs his head in shame. 

"I'm not proud of it. It was an accident and I cried for a month after it happened. I...I can never look at butterflies the same."

You and Sirius burst into laughter, while Remus scowls, his face a dark shade of crimson.

He gives Sirius an accusatory look. "You can't say anything, Sirius, when you only took O.W.L. Astronomy because she was taking it."

You snort, looking at Sirius in surprise. "Really? I thought you liked it."

"Hated it," Sirius admits. "I thought it'd be nice and easy, looking at stars and planets and all that but it was actually pretty difficult, and you loved it — you used to go on these long excited rambles about astronomy and I never had any idea what you were talking about."

"I really thought you liked it!" you say sheepishly. "If you didn't like it, why didn't you tell me? Could've escaped my rambles."

He shrugs, smiling at you. "I liked hearing you talk."

You raise your eyebrows, folding your arms. "Didn't like hearing me talk when you put that potion in the showers, did you?"

Remus and Sirius grin at each other. 

"It's not like you were the only target!" Sirius says defensively, still laughing. 

"What?" Harry asks, puzzled, and you give the chortling Sirius a shove. 

"The boys thought they were so funny." You scowl at Remus, though you don't really mean it. "One day, they slipped a potion into the Gryffindor showers that caused anyone who used them to have to walk around with a giant bubble around their head for the rest of the day. It was awful."

Ron and Harry start laughing and you sigh, shaking your head. 

"It was very funny, to be fair," Sirius says cheekily and you roll your eyes. 

"Oh, shut it." 

You, Sirius, and Remus spend the rest of the evening telling the kids the best stories of your school days, and your chest burns from laughter by the end of it. 

"Remember the night we snuck out?"

"Or when James sneezed and nearly fell off his broom!"

"You can't forget the time Alice tripped, fell into Flitwick, and knocked him over!" 

When Mrs Weasley finally puts a stop to your story-telling and makes the kids go to bed, you linger, sitting contentedly between Sirius and Remus. You drape your arms across their shoulders, pulling them into you with a sigh. "I love you two, you know that? I don't know what I'd do without you."

You mean it, too. You're so happy to be back to some semblance of normal, where you get to see Sirius every day and wake up next to him after so long apart, where you finally get to tell people these stories without worrying about what they'll think, where you get to laugh and joke with Remus and talk about nothing at all. 

You're with your family again.

✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

“I thought we’d have a little party, not a sit-down dinner,” Mrs Weasley says cheerfully, as she hangs a scarlet banner over the dinner table that reads: Congratulations Ron and Hermione — New Prefects.

The kids had received their book lists this morning, the last day of the summer holidays,  which you find quite odd as the book list is usually out far earlier in the year. With the lists, Ron and Hermione receive shiny new prefect badges and Mrs Weasley has been on cloud nine ever since. When you join her in Diagon Alley to get everyone’s books and supplies, she talks and talks of how proud she is of her youngest son and how wonderful it is that he was chosen. You think it’s sweet.

The town is bustling of course, with parents and children scrambling to get their books and school supplies before the term starts. You meet several of your students and their parents and stop many times to chat and catch up with them – even spending a good while talking to Neville and his grandmother, who has always struck you as an interesting woman. She is one of the few people who had actually trusted you after Sirius’s imprisonment and always appreciates the time you spend visiting Frank and Alice in St Mungo’s.

“Your father and Bill are on the way, Ron, I’ve sent them both owls and they’re thrilled.”

The table is piled high with food and drink, the room buzzing with celebration and cheer. Remus approaches you and Sirius, goblets in hand for the both of you. 

“All set for tomorrow, then?” he asks you, handing you your goblet. 

“Think so,” you answer with a shrug, taking a sip from your wine. “I’m glad I went to Diagon Alley weeks ago, it was absolutely mad today — all the good parchment and quills were gone.”

Nearby, Moody sets his normal eye on Ron and growls, “Prefect, eh? Well, congratulations. Authority figures always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes or he wouldn’t have appointed you…”

Ron looks quite startled at this view and quickly leaves to go welcome Arthur and Bill Weasley, who have just arrived, accompanied by Mundungus in a weirdly lumpy overcoat that he seems adamant to keep on — no doubt housing another unique business venture in his pockets.

“Well, I think a toast is in order,” Mr Weasley announces, once everyone has a drink. He raises his goblet, beaming. “To Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor prefects!”

You grin at the pair of them, drinking to them and then applauding. As you reach for something to eat on the table, you beam at the pair of them. “Congrats, you two. I was never a prefect myself, that was Lily’s job — our teachers reckoned I wasn’t a good fit.”

“Why did they think that?” Ginny asks curiously. 

“‘Cause I found rules impossible to follow.”

Ginny laughs, and Hermione looks unsure of whether she should smile or frown at this, and instead chooses to take a large gulp from her butterbeer and chokes on it. 

“What about you, Sirius?” Ginny says, thumping the coughing Hermione on the back. 

Sirius lets out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Remus was the good boy, he got the badge.”

“I think Dumbledore might have hoped that I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends,” says Remus. “I need scarcely say that I failed dismally.”

Soon, Ron is gushing about his new broom to anyone who’ll listen. His mother has bought him a broomstick as a present for his new status. “Nought to seventy in ten seconds, not bad, is it? When you think the Comet Two-Ninety only does nought to sixty and that’s with a decent tailwind according to Which Broomstick?”

“Why didn’t Dumbledore make Potter a prefect?” Kingsley Shacklebolt is saying quietly to Remus, though his deep voice is audible even in chatter. 

“He’ll have had his reasons,” Remus replies. 

“But it would’ve shown confidence in him. It’s what I’d’ve done,” Kingsley continues. “Especially with the Daily Prophet having a go at him every few days…”

You think that perhaps it’s best to keep Harry out of the limelight as much as possible. Your heart aches with sympathy for him — an orphan boy raised with his spiteful relations, without any knowledge of the wizarding world until his eleventh birthday, and then being thrust into a world where everyone knows his name and his story better than he does. A boy who met two different versions of Voldemort in his first two years, then watched him come back to life at fourteen, and witnessed the death of his classmate. A boy who is currently being vilified by the media and the government simply for telling the truth, and a boy who has to live in fear for his life all because he survived death as a baby. 

At the end of the day, he’s just a boy. He’s just a child. 

If you could take it all on for him, you would. You would do it in a heartbeat. 

“You alright?”

Sirius taps the tip of your nose gently with his finger, looking inquisitively at you. You shake yourself out of the thoughtful daze you had gotten yourself in, and smile at him. 

“Perfect. Just thinking, that’s all.” 

“About what?” 

You glance at Harry out of the corner of your eye, who catches your eye and looks away quickly, acting as though he isn’t eavesdropping as he makes his way over to Moody. You turn back to Sirius, placing your hands in the back pockets of your jeans with a shrug. “D’you remember all the things the prefects used to get? The fancy baths in the bathroom, the private compartment on the train, the mitching class for meetings…”

“Didn’t need to be a prefect for the last one, did we?” Sirius says with a cheeky grin, and you chuckle. 

“Well, we certainly didn’t, no.”

After a while, everyone begins to filter out of the basement and upstairs to their beds. You follow Moody as he hobbles down the hallway towards the doorway. 

“You’re welcome to stay, y’know,” you whisper, conscious of the sleeping portraits on the wall. 

Moody leans on his staff with both hands, raising his eyebrows at you. “And wait for that house-elf of yours to strangle me in my sleep? No thanks.”

You snort, scoffing. “If Kreacher was going to strangle anyone in their sleep, what makes you think it’d be you?” 

“I’ve seen the looks he gives me — there’s murderous intent in those eyes,” Moody growls, good eye wide in warning. 

Sirius shrugs. “He has that intent for everyone, trust me — “

He stops as a muffled yell is heard from upstairs, and without hesitating you sprint up the stairs to the drawing room with Sirius, Moody, and Remus following close behind you.

“What’s going on?” 

Running into the room, you freeze when you spot Mrs Weasley cowering in the corner of the room, her hand trembling violently as she points her wand at a figure in the middle of the room: Harry, lying dead on the carpet. 

Remus pulls out his wand immediately, saying, “Riddikulus!”

Harry’s body vanishes, replaced by a shiny full moon hovering in the centre of the room. Remus waves his wand once more and the moon vanishes. 

Mrs Weasley breaks into a fit of sobbing, her face in her hands as her body shakes. 

“Molly,” Remus says bleakly, striding over to her, “Molly, don’t…”

You stare at the patch of carpet where the boggart pretending to be Harry’s lifeless body had just been, fighting the urge to vomit.

“It was just a boggart,” Remus says soothingly as Mrs Weasley buries her head in his shoulder, sobbing. “Just a stupid boggart…”

“I see them d-d-dead all the time!” she cries into his shoulder. “All the t-time! I d-dream about it!”

You force yourself to tear your eyes off the carpet, shaking your head to remove the image of Harry dead, but it sticks sickeningly permanent in your mind despite your efforts. Looking around, you see the real, alive Harry standing, panting, at the side of the room. You feel a rush of relief at the sight of him alive. 

“D-don’t tell Arthur,” Mrs Weasley chokes, rubbing her eyes desperately with her sleeve. “I d-don’t want him to know…being silly…”

Remus hands her a handkerchief and she blows her nose loudly. 

“Harry, I’m so sorry, what must you think of me?” she says shakily. “Not even able to get rid of a boggart…”

“Don’t be stupid,” Harry says with a weak smile. 

“I’m just s-so worried,” she says, tears streaming down her face. “Half the f-family’s in the Order, it’ll b-be a miracle if we all come through this…and P-Percy’s not talking to us…what if something d-dreadful happens and we had never m-made up? And what’s going to happen if Arthur and I get killed, who’s g-going to look after Ron and Ginny?” 

“Molly, that’s enough,” Remus says firmly. “This isn’t like the last time. The Order is better prepared, we’ve got a head start, we know what Voldemort’s up to…”

She gives a squeak of fright at the name. 

“Oh, Molly, come on, it’s about time you got used to hearing it — look, I can’t promise no one’s going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we’re much better off than we were last time. You weren’t in the Order then, you don’t understand, last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one…”

“Don’t worry about Percy,” you add gently. “He’ll come round. He’s still young and he hasn’t gotten the chance to realise that he needs his family more than his job yet.”

“And as for who’s going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died,” Remus says, smiling slightly, “what do you think we’d do, let them starve?”

Mrs Weasley gives a watery smile. “Being silly.”

“Come on, Molly, why don’t you come downstairs and let me make you a cup of tea to help you relax?” you offer soothingly, leading her out of the drawing room. 

When you slip into bed some twenty minutes later, sleep escapes you for quite some time. The image of Harry’s unmoving body burns in your mind, a seed of worry gnawing at your gut. You dream of Harry’s corpse on the drawing room carpet and of Cedric’s lifeless face on the dewy grass of the quidditch pitch.

✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

->-> read chapter twenty-eight here!

-> all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

thank you for all your patience, I know this chapter was a little slower than usual to come out. also sorry to anyone who read like half of this chapter because I accidentally posted it before it was finished and didn't realise for ages. love you all <33

HUGE thank you to my incredible taglist lovelies:

@mothraantics @wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @devoid-swanky @carpe000diem @mooonyxoxo @hyperspeedo @idkman5335 @elanna-elrondiel @murielisacertifieddilf @penelopied @jennifer0305 @imgondeletedis @wooyoungsrightsock @wolfdragon0424

[mybutcheredtongue]

May I pretty pretty pretty please be added to the I’ll love you series I’m foaming at the mouth for the next part… PLEASEEEE

YESSS of course I'll add you rn!! im so glad you like it <3 next part will be out soon!! 😘

[mybutcheredtongue]

to everyone who seen me post the latest chapter earlier today....THAT WAS AN ACCIDENT I DIDN'T MEAN TO POST THAT YET

I am absolutely mortified 💀 you did NOT see that 👎👎👎👎👎 you did NOT see my placeholder gif 👎👎👎👎

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (see full series list here)

1994

I've just been attacked by dementors and I might be expelled from Hogwarts. I want to know what's going on and when I'm going to get out of here.

That's what Harry had written in his note to you and Sirius — and also in notes to Ron and Hermione too.

The pair of you had been livid, of course — "this is what happens when he's left alone with those people!" — and three days later, you stand on the doorstep to Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging with a group of other Order members.

"Alohomora," you say, pushing the door open. You make your way into the hallway, all the lights turned off.

Tonks lets out a whistle at a stack of antique decorative plates on a table beside her. "Wow, look at these plates, they're proper fancy! Just look — "

She immediately drops it with a crash.

"Oops," she says, repairing it with a wave of her wand.

You make your way up the stairs, unlocking the door with your wand while the others wait at the bottom of the stairs. Harry slowly emerges from the room, poking his head out the door, wand clutched tightly in his hand.

"Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out," Moody growls.

Harry doesn't lower his wand. "Professor Moody?"

"I don't know so much about 'Professor'. Never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly."

Harry still doesn't move, clearly wary of your party.

"It's alright, Harry," you say gently. "We've come to take you away."

"P-professor?" he says disbelievingly. "Is that you?"

"Why are we all standing in the dark?" Tonks says. "Lumos."

The tip of Tonks's wand flares, illuminating the hall with light. You beam at the sight of your godson, already looking older than when you last seen him.

You stride forward and wrap him in a tight hug, beaming. "Good to see you, Harry."

"Yeah, you too..."

"Ooh, he looks just like I thought he would," Tonks says excitedly. "Wotcher, Harry!"

"Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus," Kingsley Shacklebolt says from the back. "He looks exactly like James."

"Except the eyes," Dedalus Diggle wheezes. "Lily's eyes."

Moody squints suspiciously at Harry, his magical eye pointed towards him searchingly. "Are you quite sure it's him? It'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater personating him. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?"

"Harry, what form does your patronus take?" Remus asks.

"A stag," Harry answers nervously.

"That's him, Mad-Eye."

Harry descends the stairs, still looking a bit confused, stowing his wand in the back pocket of his jeans as he goes.

"Don't put your wand there, boy!" Moody roars immediately. "What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost a buttock, you know!"

"Who do you know that's lost a buttock?" Tonks asks curiously

"Never you mind, just keep your wand out of your back pocket!" he barks, hobbling off to the kitchen. "Elementary wand safety, nobody bothers about it anymore..."

Wow, how many times did you hear that during your training?

"And I saw that," Moody adds irritably as you roll your eyes at the ceiling.

Remus holds out his hand and shakes Harry's. "How are you?"

"Fine..." Harry replies, looking as though he's still in shock at what's going on.

"I'm — you're really lucky the Dursleys are out..." he mumbles.

"Lucky, ha!" Tonks exclaims, grinning. "It was me that lured them out of the way. Sent a letter by Muggle post telling they'd been short-listed for the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. They're heading off to the prize-giving right now...or so they think."

She winks at you and you smile back, remembering the side-splitting laughter that had infected you as the two of you cooked up that idea a few nights previous.

"We are leaving, aren't we?" Harry asks. "Soon?"

"Almost at once," Remus says. "We're just waiting for the all-clear."

"Where are we going? The Burrow?" Harry asks hopefully.

You shake your head. "No, not the Burrow." You follow Moody into the kitchen, the group of Order members walking in after you. "Too risky. We're set up headquarters somewhere else, somewhere undetectable."

Moody sits at the kitchen table swigging from a hip flask, taking in the many electrical appliances in the Dursleys' kitchen.

"This is Alastor Moody, Harry," Remus tells, pointing toward him.

"Yeah, I know."

"And this is Nymphadora — "

"Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus," Tonks says with a shudder. "It's Tonks."

" — Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only," Remus finishes, glancing at Tonks.

She folds her arms. "So would you if your fool of a mother called you Nymphadora."

"And this is Kingsley Shacklebolt," Remus continues. "Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle — "

"We've met before," squeaks Diggle, dropping his top hat excitedly.

" — Emmeline Vance — Sturgis Podmore — and Hestia Jones."

Harry nods awkwardly at each of them in turn.

"A surprising number of people volunteered to come get you," Remus says, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Yeah, well, the more the better," Moody says darkly. "We're your guard, Potter."

"We're just waiting for the signal to tell us it's safe to set off," Remus explains, glancing out the kitchen window. "We've got about fifteen minutes."

"Very clean, aren't they, these Muggles?" Tonks says as she looks around the kitchen with heat interest. "My dad's Muggle-born and he's a right old slob. I suppose it varies, just like with wizards?"

"Uh — yeah," says Harry, turning to you. "What's going on, I haven't heard anything from anyone, what's Vol — ?"

Several of the witches and wizards make odd hissing noises and Moody growls, "Shut up!"

"What?"

"We're not discussing anything here, it's too risky," Moody explains, looking around him warily with his magical eye.

"We can talk about it once we're back at headquarters," you say.

"How're we getting there?"

"Brooms," Remus replies. "Only way. You're too young to apparate, they'll be watching the Floo Network, and it's more than our life's worth to set up an unauthorised Portkey."

"She says you're a good flier," Kingsley says, gesturing to you.

"He's excellent," you reply proudly, smiling at Harry.

Remus glances down at his watch. "You better go and get packed, Harry, we want to be ready to go when the signal comes."

"I'll come and help you," Tonks says brightly, following Harry upstairs to his bedroom.

Remus pulls an envelope and piece of parchment out of his pocket, bending over the kitchen table to start scribbling something down. You walk around the room, looking at different photos of the Dursleys.

Baby Dudley, with a proud Petunia and Vernon standing over him; Petunia and Vernon on their wedding day; several more photos of Dudley growing up — there's an obvious absence of Harry. If a stranger were to walk into this room without knowing anything about the Dursleys beforehand, they would never know Harry even exists.

"What a strange device!" Podmore exclaims, curiously opening and closing the kitchen microwave while Kingsley stands behind him. He waves you over. "What does it do?"

Because of your Muggle father, you are often questioned on Muggle items and customs — though usually by Arthur Weasley.

"It cooks food," you reply. "It's called a microwave."

"A microwave..." Kingsley repeats thoughtfully, opening the door and peering inside with immense interest.

Nearby, Hestia laughs at a potato peeler that she came across in one of the drawers. You give her a look, confused as to what could possibly be so humourous about a potato peeler, but she just continues to snicker and giggle as she turns it over in her hands.

"Excellent," Remus says when Harry and Tonks return, Harry's trunk bobbing along in the air behind them. "We've got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we're ready. Harry, I've left a note telling your aunt and uncle not to worry — "

"They won't," says Harry.

"That you're safe — "

"That'll just depress them."

" — and you'll see them next summer."

"Do I have to?"

Remus smiles but doesn't answer.

"Come here, boy," Moody says gruffly, beckoning Harry towards him with his wand. "I need to Disillusion you."

Harry's brows knit nervously. "You need to what?"

"Disillusionment Charm," Moody replies, raising his wand. "Lupin says you've got an Invisibility Cloak, but it won't stay on while we're flying; this'll disguise you better. Here you go — "

He raps Harry hard on the top of his head and Harry's body takes on the exact colour and texture of the kitchen unit behind him, like some sort of human chameleon.

"Nice one, Mad-Eye," Tonks says appreciatively, and Harry looks down in surprise, spinning in place as he surveys his new look.

"Come on," Moody says, moving towards the back door and unlocking it with his wand.

You all step out onto the Dursleys' impeccably well-kept lawn. It looks practically untouched — a contender for the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition indeed.

"Clear night," Moody grumbles, peering up into the dark sky above. "Could've done with a bit more cloud cover. Right, you," he barks at Harry, pointing his finger at him, "we're going to be flying in close formation. Tonks'll be right in front of you. The rest'll be circling us. We don't break ranks for anything, got me? If one of us is killed — "

"Is that likely?" Harry asks apprehensively, but Moody ignores him. When he turns his worried eyes to yours you shake your head, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at Moody's grimness.

" — the others keep flying, don't stop, don't break ranks. If they take out all of us and you survive, Harry, the rear guard are standing by to take over; keep flying east and they'll join you."

"Stop being so cheerful, Mad-Eye, he'll think we're not taking this seriously," says Tonks as she straps Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage into a harness hanging from her broom.

"I'm just telling the boy the plan," Moody growls. "Our job's to deliver him safely to headquarters and if we die in the attempt — "

"No one's going to die," you say calmly, receiving a doubtful grumble from Moody in the process.

"Mount your brooms, that's the first signal!" Remus says sharply, pointing into the sky at the shower of bright red sparks flaring high above you.

You swing your leg over your broom — your dusty old Cleansweep Seven that you've had since you were fifteen and that has seen more of the inside of your garden shed than the open air — and wrap your hands around the flaking handle. You're a pretty average flier — nothing compared to James, of course...but who could ever compare to him?

"Second signal, let's go!" Remus says loudly, as this time green sparks explode into the air far above you.

You kick off hard from the ground. The cool night air rushes into you as you rise higher into the air, the houses and buildings of Little Whinging becoming smaller and smaller as your group ascends. Looking up, the sky is vast and clear, revealing the billions of gleaming stars twinkling above. You can't help the small rush of giddiness that sparks in you at the sight of it.

"Hard left, hard left, there's a Muggle looking up!" Moody shouts over the wind, and your circling group follows Tonks as she swerves, Harry close behind. "We need more height...give it another quarter of a mile!"

"Bear southeast and keep climbing, there's some low cloud ahead we can lose ourselves in!" calls Moody.

"We're not going through clouds!" Tonks shouts angrily. "We'll get soaked, Mad-Eye!"

You're glad to hear this, your fingers turning numb around the handle of your broom in the chill.

You alter your course every now and then according to Moody's instructions, you and the rest of the guard circling Harry and Tonks as you move.

"We ought to double back for a bit, to make sure we're not being followed!" Moody shouts.

"Don't be mad! We're nearly there now!" You yell, recognising the streets hurtling past below. "If we keep going off course, we won't have to worry about being followed because Harry'll have died from hypothermia by then!"

"Time to start the descent!" Remus orders. "Follow Tonks, Harry!"

You dive, flying lower and lower until you touch down on a quiet street with several less-than-welcoming houses lining it.

"Where are we?" Harry asks.

"In a minute," Remus says quietly, looking at Moody expectantly as he rummages around in his cloak.

"Got it," he mutters, pulling out Dumbledore's trusty Deluminator and clicking it. The nearest streetlamp goes out with a pop. Moody clicks the Deluminator again and one by one each lamp on the street distinguishes, leaving the faint glow of lit rooms behind curtains the only source of light on the street.

"Borrowed it from Dumbledore," Moody explains to Harry, pocketing the Deluminator once more. "That'll take care of any Muggles looking out the window, see? Now, come on, quick."

Together, your group makes it towards houses Number 11 and Number 13. Even though he's been Disillusioned, you can still see Harry's form shivering with the cold, and you make a slow sweeping motion down the length of his body with your wand, muttering a quiet warming spell under your breath. You hear him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thanks."

Remus tuts quietly under his breath. "No spell for the rest of us, then?"

You smile. "You're not my godson."

Even in the dark, you can see him rolling his eyes at you.

"Here," Moody says, thrusting a piece of paper towards Harry. "Read quickly and memorise."

"What's the Order of the — ?"

"Not here, boy!" Moody snarls immediately, his eyes wide. "Wait 'til we're inside!"

He snatches the parchment out of Harry's hand and lights it on fire, dropping it to the ground, the edges curling in the flame.

"But where's — ?"

"Think about what you've just memorised," Remus says quietly.

After a moment, the run-down door of the Black house emerges in the space between 11 and 13, followed soon by grimy walls and windows.

"Come on, hurry," Moody growls, prodding Harry in the back.

You tap the door with your wand. Loud metallic clicks and squeaks sound behind the door before it creaks open, revealing the darkened hallway beyond. "Get in quick, Harry. But don't go far inside and don't touch anything."

You shuffle into the hallway behind Harry, casting a wary eye to the curtained portrait at the end of the hall, waiting for Moody to finish returning the light to the streetlamps before closing the door behind him.

"Here." Moody raps Harry hard over the head with his wand, lifting the Disillusionment Charm and returning Harry to his usual, visible state. Probably could've been a bit more gentle with it, but whatever.

"Now stay still, everyone, while I give us a bit of light around here," Moody says quietly. With a soft hissing noise, the old-fashioned gas lamps flicker to life, illuminating the depressingly drab hallway you're standing in.

Hurried footsteps alert you to Mrs Weasley's entrance, emerging from the basement door with a smile on her face as she makes her way toward you.

"Oh, Harry, it's lovely to see you!" she whispers, pulling Harry into a tight hug before holding him at arm's length and examining him critically. "You're looking peaky; you need feeding up, but you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid..."

She turns to you and the rest of the Order members and whispers urgently, "He's just arrived, the meeting's started..."

Everyone starts to make their way through the door, and Harry moves to follow Remus when you gently hold him back, a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, Harry. Order members only. We'll talk later, yeah?"

"Ron and Hermione are waiting upstairs, you can wait with them until the meeting's over, and then we'll all have dinner," Mrs Weasley whispers to him. "And keep your voice down in the hall."

"Why?"

"I don't want to wake anything up."

"What d'you — ?"

"I'll explain later, I've got to hurry, I'm supposed to be at the meeting — I'll just show you where you're sleeping."

You give Harry and Mrs Weasley a wave before heading down into the basement, opening the door as quietly as possible and slipping into your usual spot beside Sirius at the table while Dumbledore speaks to Remus and Moody about Harry. You listen as Dumbledore outlines plans and guard duty: looks like you're on tomorrow night. Brilliant.

Snape sits across from you, and when your eyes meet he gives you a near-imperceptible head shake. Nothing on Wormtail yet. Then his eyes shift to hatred as he wrinkles his nose at Sirius beside you, and you notice that your husband is currently pretending to scratch his nose with just his middle finger extended, directly in Snape's eyeline.

Of course.

When the meeting is finally over, most of the Order members file out of the kitchen and upstairs, speaking in hushed voices as they enter the hall. You pull one of the scrolls of parchment from the middle of the table into your hands, skimming your eyes over a plan of the Department of Mysteries, exits and entrances marked in red.

Just then, you hear a clatter and a great, thankfully muffled, screeching starts from the hall. You sigh, rubbing your temples, and move to stand up and deal with your darling mother-in-law when Sirius gently pushes you back into your chair, standing up.

"I'll handle it."

Bill and Mr Weasley sit close by, heads pressed together as they mull over parchment and documents. After a minute or two, the screaming stops and Sirius reopens the door, Harry following close behind with Remus and the rest of the kids.

Mrs Weasley clears her throat and Mr Weasley jumps to his feet, hurrying over to give Harry's hand a shake. "Harry! Good to see you!"

Bill starts to try and roll up the scrolls and you move to help him, handing him the plan of the Department of Mysteries.

"Journey all right, Harry?" he asks. "Mad-Eye didn't make you come via Greenland, did he?"

"He tried," Tonks says, striding over to help you and immediately knocking over a candle, sending the wax spilling onto the parchment. "Oh, no — sorry — "

"Here," you say, waving your wand and muttering a spell to repair the parchment. In the light your wand casts, you spy Harry trying to catch a glimpse of what's written on the parchment.

Mrs Weasley sees him too, and clicks her tongue disapprovingly, snatching up the scrolls and shoving them into Bill's arms. "This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings."

She sweeps off towards a dresser to start unloading dinner plates and you grab a cloth and wipe down the table for dinner.

"Sit down, Harry," Sirius says, retaking his usual spot at the table. "You've met Mundungus, haven't you?"

Mundungus, who has been snoring away at the end of the table, stirs and jolts awake. "Someone say m' name? I agree with Sirius..."

He raises his hand in the air as though voting, and you snort.

"Meeting's over, Dung," you say with a smile, giving his back a poke as you pass by with more plates. "Harry's arrived."

"Eh?" He peers at Harry before his face lights in recognition. "Blimey, so 'e 'as! Yeah...you all right, Harry?"

"Yeah."

Mundungus fumbles in his pockets and produces his trusty black pipe, lighting the tip with his wand and taking a long pull from it. A cloud of green smoke thickens the air around him instantly.

"Owe you an apology," he grunts.

"For the last time, Mundungus," calls Mrs Weasley in frustration, "will you please not smoke that thing in the kitchen, especially not when we're about to eat!"

"Ah. Right, sorry, Molly."

He stuffs the pipe back into his pocket, with slight reluctance.

Soon, a series of heavy knives are chopping meat and vegetables on their own, supervised by Mr Weasley, while Mrs Weasley stirs a cauldron dangling over the fire. Mundungus, Sirius, and Harry are talking at the table, and from the few snippets you overhear you can tell Sirius is complaining about being stuck inside with nothing to do — which you don't blame him for.

"At least you've known what's been going on," Harry says bracingly.

"Oh, yeah," Sirius says sarcastically. "Listening to Snape's reports, having to take all his snide hints that he's out there risking his life while I'm sat on my backside here having a nice comfortable time...asking me how the cleaning's going — "

"What cleaning?" Harry asks.

"Trying to make this place fit for human habitation," Sirius replies, waving a hand around the dismal kitchen. "No one's lived here for ten years, not since my mother died, unless you count her old house-elf, and he's gone round the twist, hasn't cleaned anything in years — "

"Sirius?" Mundungus pipes up, eyes focused on a silver goblet in his hands, examining it with immense interest. "This solid silver, mate?"

"Yes," he answers, surveying the goblet with obvious distaste. "Finest fifteenth-century goblin-wrought silver, embossed with the Black family crest."

"That'd come off, though," Mundungus mutters thoughtfully, scrubbing the crest with his cuff.

"Fred — George — NO, JUST CARRY THEM!" Mrs Weasley shrieks.

Fred and George have bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of butterbeer, and a heavy wooden breadboard, to hurtle through the air towards the table. Harry, Sirius, and Mundungus leap away, just in time to avoid the pot of stew that skids the length of the table before stopping at the end, the flagon of butterbeer that falls with a crash and spills over the surface, dripping onto the floor, and the sharp knife that slips from the breadboard and sticks in the table where Sirius' hand had been moments before.

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!" Mrs Weasley screams, face red with fury. "THERE WAS NO NEED — I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS — JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW DOESN'T MEAN YOU HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!"

"We were just trying to save a bit of time!" Fred says, hurrying forward and wrenching the knife out of the table. "Sorry, Sirius, mate — didn't mean to — "

Harry and Sirius are laughing, and you turn your face away to hide your laughter from the furious Mrs Weasley. Mundungus struggles to his feet, swearing and muttering under his breath.

"Boys," Mr Weasley steps in, lifting the stew pot back into the middle of the table. "Your mother's right, you're supposed to show a sense of responsibility now that you've come of age — "

"None of your brothers caused this sort of trouble!" Mrs Weasley snaps at the twins, slamming a fresh flagon of butterbeer onto the table while you clean away the mess from the previous with your wand. "Bill didn't feel the need to Apparate every few feet! Charlie didn't charm everything he met! Percy — "

She stops dead, catching her breath with a frightened look at her husband. Mentions of Percy are not particularly welcomed in the house at the moment, after Percy and Mr Weasley had an especially heated argument and Percy chose his job at the Ministry over his own family.

"Let's eat," Bill says quickly.

For a few minutes, there is silence in the room but for the scraping of plates and cutlery and the creak of chairs as everyone settles down for the meal. You sit beside Sirius, who smiles and pulls your chair closer to his as you eat.

He tugs on the sleeve of your jumper, rolling the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. "I like this, it suits you. You look very pretty."

You scoff, giving him a smile. "Of course you like it, Sirius, it's yours. Anyways, I'm thinking of going back home soon just to collect a few things," you say. "Is there anything you want? I am seriously missing my telescope here — "

A loud burst of laughter drowns out the rest of your words, as Fred, George, Ron, and Mundungus roll around in their chairs.

"...and then," chokes Mundungus, tears running down his face, "and then, if you'll believe it, 'e says to me, 'Dung, where did ya get all them toads from? 'Cause some son of a Bludger's gone and nicked all mine!' And I says, 'Nicked all your toads, Will, what next? So you'll be wanting some more, then?' And if you'll believe me, lads, the gormless gargoyle buys all 'is own toads back off me for twice what 'e paid in the first place — "

"I don't think we need to hear any more of your business dealings thank you very much, Mundungus," Mrs Weasley says sharply.

"Beg pardon, Molly," he answers at once, wiping his face and winking at Harry. "But, you know, Will nicked 'em off Warty Harris in the first place so I wasn't really doing anything wrong — "

"I don't know where you learned about right and wrong, Mundungus, but you seemed to have missed a few crucial lessons," Mrs Weasley says coldly, before shooting a particularly nasty look at Sirius and standing up to fetch a large rhubarb crumble for dessert.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Mundungus is certainly not the most law-abiding man, but he has his uses.

"Molly doesn't approve of Mundungus," Sirius says quietly to Harry.

"How come he's in the Order?"

"He's useful," Sirius mutters. "Knows all the crooks — "

"Well, he would, seeing as he is one himself," you add, taking a sip from your wine.

Sirius nods. "He's also very loyal to Dumbledore, who helped him out of a tight spot once. It pays to have someone like Dung around, he hears things we don't. But Molly thinks inviting him to stay for dinner is going too far. She hasn't forgiven him for slipping off duty when he was supposed to be tailing you."

Several helpings of crumble later, the air in the room moves to a relaxed laziness as you finish telling the story of Remus's first time getting drunk at Hogwarts to Tonks, who giggles and laughs while Remus shakes his head and becomes increasingly interested in his goblet. Sirius's hand rests on your hip, idly drawing circles with his finger.

"I don't — uh — I don't remember that," Remus says, cheeks crimson as he glances at Tonks to see her reaction.

You hum, smiling at him. "Well, I certainly do. "

Tonks smiles appreciatively at Remus, yawning loudly.

"Nearly time for bed, I think," Mrs Weasley says, yawning too.

"Not just yet, Molly," Sirius says, pushing away his empty plate and turning to look at Harry. "You know, I'm surprised at you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort."

The change in the atmosphere is rapid: Mrs Weasley sits bolt upright, her fists clenched; Remus lowers his goblet warily, eyes meeting yours.

"I did!" Harry says indignantly. "I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so — "

"And they're quite right," Mrs Weasley says firmly. "You're too young."

"Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?" Sirius asks, raising his eyebrows. "Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He's got the right to know what's been happen — "

"Hang on!" George interrupts loudly.

"How come Harry gets his questions answered?" says Fred angrily.

"We've been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!"

"You're too young, you're not in the Order," Fred says in a high-pitched imitation of his mother. "Harry's not even of age!"

"It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's been doing," Sirius says calmly. "That's your parents' decision. Harry, on the other hand — "

"It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!" Mrs Weasley says sharply, a dangerous look on her face. "You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?"

"Which bit?" His tone is polite, but you spot the familiar tense in his jaw and know that this calmness won't last long.

"The bit about not telling Harry more than he needs to know," Mrs Weasley replies stonily.

Everyone else in the room is dead silent, their eyes flitting between Sirius and Mrs Weasley as though watching a tennis match. You meet Remus's eyes across the table, subtly shaking your head.

"I don't intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly," says Sirius. "But he was the one who saw Voldemort come back. He has more right than most to — "

"He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!" Mrs Weasley snaps. "He's only fifteen — "

"And he's dealt with as much as most in the Order, and more than some — "

"No one's denying what he's done!" Mrs Weasley's voice rises, her fists trembling with anger. "But he's still — "

"He's not a child!" Sirius says impatiently.

"He's not an adult either! He's not James, Sirius!"

Sirius stares back at Mrs Weasley, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. His voice is ice. "I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly."

"I'm not sure you are!" Mrs Weasley says hotly. "Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!"

"What's wrong with that?" says Harry.

"What's wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him! You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!"

"Meaning I'm an irresponsible godfather?" Sirius demands, his voice rising.

"Meaning you've been known to act rashly — "

"Enough, both of you,” you say loudly, stopping the two. You inhale deeply. "Harry deserves to know a certain amount. He has been left in the dark for a month, and I have no doubt that he's used this time to come up with a few interesting theories of what's been going on. Don't you think he deserves to know what is true, from us, rather than a muddled version from...others?"

You don't doubt that a few of Fred and George's Extendable Ears have survived Mrs Weasley's purge.

Mrs Weasley looks back at you, breathing deeply. "Well..." she looks around the table for support, but receives none. "Well...I can see that I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has Harry's best interests at heart — "

"He's not your son," Sirius says quietly.

"He's as good as!" Mrs Weasley snaps back fiercely. Great, just when you thought the argument had come to an end. "Who else has he got?"

You pause, hoping you misheard her.

"He's got us!" Sirius snaps back, gesturing between you and him.

"Yes. The thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?"

Immediately, you feel your anger flare and you glare daggers back at her. "It's not like he had a choice, Molly!" You snap defensively. "How could you say something like that — "

"Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry," Remus says sharply. "Sirius, sit down."

Sirius, who had begun to rise from his chair, sinks slowly back into his seat, face white.

"I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this," Remus continues calmly. "He's old enough to decide for himself."

"I want to know what's been going on," Harry says at once.

Mrs Weasley looks at him for a moment, swallowing harshly. "Very well. Ginny — Hermione — Ron — Fred — George — I want you out of this kitchen, now."

Instant uproar.

"We're of age!" Fred and George cry together.

"If Harry's allowed, why can't I?" Ron shouts.

"Mum, I want to!" Ginny wails.

"NO!" shouts Mrs Weasley, her chest heaving as she stands. "I absolutely forbid — "

"Molly, you can't stop Fred and George," Mr Weasley says wearily. "They are of age."

"They're still at school — "

"But they're legally adults now."

"I — alright, fine, Fred and George can stay, but Ron — "

"Harry'll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!" Ron says heatedly. "Won't — won't you?" He adds uncertainly, meeting Harry's eyes.

"'Course I will."

Ron and Hermione beam.

"Fine!" Mrs Weasley shouts. "Fine! Ginny — BED!"

You hear Ginny stomping and raging at her mother all the way up the stairs, awakening Walburga's portrait when she reaches the hall. You sigh, hurrying off to force the curtains shut over the crazy woman with immense effort. You return, shutting the door to the stairs behind you, and fall back into your seat with a heavy sigh.

"Okay, Harry...what do you want to know?" Sirius speaks.

"Where's Voldemort? What's he doing? I've been trying to watch the Muggle news," Harry asks immediately, "and there hasn't been anything that looks like him yet, no funny deaths or anything — "

"That's because there haven't been any suspicious deaths yet," says Sirius. "Not as far as we know, anyway...and we do know quite a lot."

"More than he thinks we do, anyway," Remus adds.

"How come he's stopped killing people?" Harry asks.

"He doesn't want to draw attention to himself at the moment," you answer. "It would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn't quite come off the way he wanted it to, you see. He messed it up."

"Or rather, you messed it up for him," Remus says with a satisfied smile.

"How?" Harry questions, perplexed.

"You weren't supposed to survive!" Sirius says. "Nobody apart from his Death Eaters were supposed to know he'd come back. But you survived to bear witness."

"And the very last person he wanted alerted to his return the moment he got back was Dumbledore," says Remus. "And you made sure Dumbledore knew at once."

"How has that helped?"

"Are you kidding?" Bill says incredulously. "Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of!"

"Thanks to you, Dumbledore was able to recall the Order of the Phoenix the day Voldemort returned," says Sirius.

"So what's the Order been doing?" asks Harry, looking around the table at everyone.

"Working as hard as we can to make sure Voldemort can't carry out his plans," Sirius answers.

"How do you know what his plans are?"

"Dumbledore's got a shrewd idea," says Remus, "and Dumbledore's shrewd ideas normally turn out to be accurate."

"So what does Dumbledore reckon he's planning?"

"Well, firstly, he wants to build up his army again," says Sirius. "In the old days he had huge numbers at his command; witches and wizards he'd bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, a great variety of Dark creatures. You heard him planning to recruit the giants; well, they'll be just one group he's after. He's certainly not going to try and take on the Ministry of Magic with only a dozen Death Eaters."

"So you're trying to stop him getting more followers?"

"We're doing our best," you say.

"How?"

"Well, the main thing is to try and convince as many people as possible that You-Know-Who really has returned, to put them on their guard," Bill tells. "It's proving tricky, though."

"Why?"

"Because the Ministry is still in denial," you say with a sigh. "You saw Fudge after Voldemort came back, Harry — he hasn't changed his mind at all. He's completely refusing to believe it."

"But why?" Harry asks desperately. "Why's he being so stupid? If Dumbledore — "

"Ah, well, you've put your finger on the problem," says Mr Weasley with a wry smile. "Dumbledore."

"Fudge is frightened of him," you say.

"Frightened of Dumbledore?" Harry says incredulously.

"Frightened of what he's up to," says Mr Weasley. "You see, Fudge thinks Dumbledore's plotting to overthrow him. He thinks Dumbledore wants to be Minister of Magic."

"But Dumbledore doesn't want — "

"Of course he doesn't," Mr Weasley speaks, adjusting his spectacles. "He's never wanted the Minister's job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but he's never quite forgotten how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though Dumbledore never applied for the job."

Remus clears his throat. "Deep down, Fudge knows Dumbledore's much cleverer than he is, a much more powerful wizard, and in the early days of his Ministry he was forever asking Dumbledore for help and advice. But it seems that he's become fond of power now, and much more confident. He loves being Minister of Magic, and he's managed to convince himself that he's the clever one and Dumbledore's simply stirring up trouble for the sake of it."

"How can he think that?" Harry says angrily. "How can he think Dumbledore would just make it all up — that I'd make it up?"

"Because accepting that Voldemort's back would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn't had to cope with for nearly fourteen years," Sirius says bitterly. "Fudge just can't bring himself to face it. It's so much more comfortable to convince himself Dumbledore's lying to destabilize him."

"Ignorance is bliss," you say sardonically.

"You see the problem," Remus says. "While the Ministry insists there is nothing to fear from Voldemort, it's hard to convince people he's back, especially as they don't really want to believe it in the first place. What's more, the Ministry's leaning heavily on the Daily Prophet not to report any of what they're calling Dumbledore's 'rumourmongering', so most of the Wizarding community are completely unaware anything's happened, and that makes them easy targets for Death Eaters if they're using the Imperius Curse."

"But you're telling people, aren't you?" says Harry, looking around the table. "You're letting people know he's back?"

You smile humourlessly.

"Well, as everyone thinks I'm a mass murderer and the Ministry's put a ten-thousand galleon price on my head, I can hardly stroll up the street and start handing out leaflets, can I?" Sirius says grimly.

"And people don't exactly find the wife of said criminal the most trustworthy either," you say bleakly, shrugging.

"I'm not a very popular dinner guest with most of the community," Remus tells. "Occupational hazard of being a werewolf."

"Tonks and Arthur would lose their jobs at the Ministry if they started shooting their mouths off," Sirius explains, "and it's very important for us to have spies inside the Ministry, because you can bet Voldemort will have them."

"We've managed to convince a few people though," Mr Weasley says optimistically. "Tonks here, for one — she's too young to have been in the Order last time, and having Aurors on our side is a huge advantage — Kingsley Shacklebolt's been a real asset too. He's in charge of the hunt for Sirius, so he's been feeding the Ministry information that Sirius is in Tibet."

"But if none of you is putting the news out that Voldemort is back — " Harry begins, but Sirius stops him.

"Who said none of us was putting the news out? Why d'you think Dumbledore is in so much trouble?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asks.

"They're trying to discredit him," Remus explains. "Didn't you see the Daily Prophet last week? They reported that he'd been voted out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards because he's getting old and losing his grip, but it's not true, he was voted out by Ministry wizards after he made a speech announcing Voldemort's return. They've demoted him from Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot — that's the Wizard High Court — and they're talking about taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class, too."

"But Dumbledore says he doesn't care what they do as long as they don't take him off the Chocolate Frog cards," Bill chimes in, grinning.

"It's no laughing matter," Mr Weasley says shortly. "If he carries on defying the Ministry like this, he could end up in Azkaban and the last thing we want is Dumbledore locked up. While You-Know-Who knows Dumbledore's out there and wise to what he's up to, he's going to go cautiously for a while. If Dumbledore's out of the way — well, You-Know-Who will have a clear field."

"What's he after apart from followers?" Harry asks quickly.

You exchange a glance with Sirius before he says, "Stuff he can only get by stealth."

Harry stays looking confused, and Sirius continues, "Like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time."

"When he was powerful before?"

"Yes."

"Like what kind of weapon?" Harry asks. "Something worse than the Avada Kedavra — ? "

"That's enough."

From the shadows beside the door, Mrs Weasley stands, her expression furious. "I want you in bed, now. All of you."

"You can't boss us — " Fred begins.

"Watch me," she snarls, before turning her unapproving gaze on Sirius. "You've given Harry plenty of information. Any more and you might just as well induct him into the Order straight away."

"Why not?" Harry says. "I'll join, I want to join, I want to fight — "

"No."

This time, it's not Mrs Weasley who speaks, it's Remus.

"The Order is comprised of overage wizards," he says.

"Wizards who have left school," you add quickly, seeing the twins open their mouths. You sigh, pushing your chair away from the table, patting Sirius's arm softly. "Molly's right, Sirius. We've said enough. I think it's time everyone got some rest."

He gives a half-shrug but doesn't argue, waiting as Mrs Weasley leads her children and Harry upstairs to their bedrooms.

Later, you yawn around your toothbrush, facing the mirror in the dimly-lit ensuite off Sirius's bedroom.

"She can't seriously think leaving Harry in the dark about all this is the better option," Sirius muses testily, idly fiddling with your jewellery on the nightstand as he talks. "He's not a child. He's deserves to know what's going on."

"I agree."

"And the way she brought up James — as if I can't tell the difference between my best friend and my godson," he continues in frustration. "I know he's not James, of course I know that — "

You spit into the sink, pulling the tap to rinse it out. "She didn't know James. She doesn't know how difficult it is to stop yourself from looking at Harry and seeing him. How hard it is to not look for him and Lily in everything."

"No," Sirius says after a moment. "She doesn't."

You run your hands down your face, sighing. "I can't believe she said that thing about you in Azkaban. I can't believe she would stoop that low, as if you had any fucking choice to be in there."

"She hates me," he says. "Do you see the looks she gives me?"

"She doesn't hate you," you tell him wearily, flicking off the light and closing the bathroom door behind you. You lean against the doorframe, folding your arms. "She's scared and worried about Harry, that's all. She's stressed."

"She's not the only one."

"No, she's not," you say softly, making your way over to where he sits on the bed, gently taking his face in your hands. "Look, forget about it now. What's done is done, there's no use dwelling on it now."

He sighs, leaning into your touch with a small sigh. "You really are the most amazing woman I've ever met."

"I try."

He kisses your knuckles one by one, then presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. "And clever."

You hum, watching as his lips slowly travel up your arm, arriving at your neck, where he lingers for several moments to kiss every inch of exposed skin he can reach. "And beautiful."

He pulls you toward him so you're straddling his legs, and he grins. "So very beautiful indeed."

✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

->-> read chapter twenty-seven here!

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[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (see full series list here)

1994

"What's going on? What's happened?"

Cornelius Fudge appears, staring down pale and appalled at the scene below him: Harry sobbing and choking, face dirty, robes torn and tattered with a blood-soaked sleeve from a deep gash stretching down his forearm, clutching Cedric Diggory's dead body tightly in a white-knuckled grip.

"My God — Diggory!" Fudge whispered. "Dumbledore — he's dead!"

With screams and gasps and mutterings, these words are repeated over and over throughout the stadium: "He's dead."

You try not to look at Cedric's lifeless face as tears prick your eyes and spill over the edges, dripping down your cheeks as your breaths come in rapid succession. You watched Cedric grow from a small, shy, excitable eleven-year-old into a strong, kind, and genuine young man...and now he's dead. Lying cold and still on the damp, dewy grass. His life has been cut short before he even got the chance to live it.

"Harry, let go of him," Fudge urges, reaching out to pry him from Cedric's limp body, but Harry refuses to let go.

"Harry..." you place your hand as gently as possible on Harry's cheek, brushing away the dirt and grime with your thumb. "You're hurt, dear, come with me."

"He wanted me to bring him back," Harry mutters shakily. "He wanted me to bring him back to his parents..."

"You have, Harry. Let him go, his parents are coming now..." you say softly.

Dumbledore bends down and raises Harry from the ground, setting him on his feet. He sways, leaning all his weight on one leg — the other, you notice, is covered in shiny red blood, and you hurry to place his arm over your shoulder, helping to hold him up.

"He'll need to go to the hospital wing!" Fudge says loudly. "He's ill, he's injured — Dumbledore, Diggory's parents, they're here, they're in the stands..."

"I'll take Harry," Moody says gruffly, appearing at your side. "I'll take him — "

"No, Dumbledore wants him to stay here..." you protest, while Fudge sweats profusely beside Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore, Amos Diggory's running...he's coming over...don't you think you should tell him — before he sees — ?"

Around you, girls are screaming, sobbing hysterically and you support Harry's weight with your own. "You're alright, Harry, you're safe now. Breathe in and out..."

You move to tap Dumbledore. Harry needs to get out of here, he needs medical attention, he needs to get away from the noise and the crowds and the maze.

Harry moves suddenly and you feel his arm being pulled from around your shoulders.

"Harry?"

You look around, but all that's around you is several students, some crying, some screaming, some looking around in fear...

"Harry!"

Standing on your tip-toes, you finally spot him on the far outskirts of the bustling crowd, being half-pulled, half-carried out of it by Moody. You breathe a sigh of relief that he's being taken to the hospital wing by another teacher and seems alright, and you turn to go back to tell Dumbledore...when you stop.

Something eats at your gut, every instinct in your body telling you that Harry's still not safe. You watch as Moody's limping form carries Harry further and further away from you...but something still doesn't feel right. Moody is sensible — he wouldn't take Harry away from you the other teachers when Voldemort could very well be near. He wouldn't take him out of Dumbledore's sight.

So why is he doing that now?

Panic starts to overwhelm your body as you attempt to weave through the frightened crowd, ordering students aside.

"Out of my way, please!" You yell, doing your best to push the students out of the way as gently as possible, without hurting any of them.

"What happened, professor?"

"Is Cedric alright, professor?"

"Professor!"

After what feels like an age, you finally emerge on the other side of the crowd, chest heaving. Get to Harry. You have to get to Harry, keep him safe.

You run up the stairs to the entrance hall, clutching your wand tightly, going as fast as your legs will allow.

Hospital wing, that's where you're going —

You race up the spiral steps, your lungs burning as you make it to the top and throw open the doors, only to find it empty, save for a few sick students resting in the beds.

"H...Harry...?"

No response.

Feeling panicked and overwhelmed and utterly sick, you dash down the stairs once more and into the entrance hall, where you miraculously find Dumbledore, Minerva, and Snape.

"H...Harry with M...Moody..." you pant, breathlessly, keeling over. "Not in...h...hospital wing."

"I know," Dumbledore says. "Come, swiftly, let us check his office."

The four of you make your way down the corridors, before coming to a stop outside Moody's office.

Without even checking if it's locked, Dumbledore produces his wand and yells, "Stupefy!"

With great splintering and crashing and a flash of red light, the door to Moody's office is blasted apart. Moody's thrown backwards onto the office floor. Seething, Dumbledore steps into the office, placing a foot underneath his unconscious body and kicking him over onto his back so that his face is visible.

You go straight to Harry, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders at the sight of him unharmed. "Come along, Harry," you say quietly, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. "You need to go to the hospital wing..."

"No," Dumbledore says sharply.

"Dumbledore, he ought to —" Minerva agrees, her thin mouth twitching as though she's about to cry. " — look at him, he's been through enough tonight — "

"He will stay, Minerva, because he needs to understand," he says curtly, wand still pointed at Moody. "Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery. He needs to know who has put him through the ordeal he has suffered tonight, and why."

You look at Harry's trembling form, transfixed on Moody in a state of utter disbelief and reluctantly, you nod, keeping your hand on Harry's shoulder protectively, making sweeping motions with your thumb in an effort to bring a semblance of comfort to the boy.

"Moody," Harry says. "How can it have been Moody?"

"This is not Alastor Moody," Dumbledore says quietly. "You have never known Alastor Moody. The real Moody would not have removed you from my sight after what happened tonight. The moment he took you, I knew — and I followed."

So someone really has been impersonating Moody this whole time — with Polyjuice Potion, no doubt. Everything starts to click in your head, despite how shocked you feel. This explains why he acted as though he didn't know you, didn't call you by name, didn't treat you with the same respect he used to...

Dumbledore bends down over Moody's limp body, putting a hand inside his robes, pulling out the hip flask and a set of keys on a ring. Then he turns to Minerva and Snape.

"Severus, fetch me the strongest Truth Potion you possess, then go down to the kitchens and bring up the house-elf called Winky. Minerva, kindly go down to Hagrid's house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here."

He's sending her to get Sirius, and you feel a soft wave of calm wash over you for just a second, knowing that he'll be near. If either Snape or Minerva find these instructions peculiar, they don't show it. Both turn at once and leave the office. Dumbledore walks over to the trunk with seven locks, fitting the first key in the lock and opening it. It contains a mass of spell books.

He closes it, places a second key in the second lock, and opens the trunk again, this time revealing an assortment of broken Sneakoscopes, some parchment and quills, and what looks like a silvery Invisibilty Cloak.

You and Harry watch as Dumbledore places each key in their respective locks, reopening and closing the trunk until finally, he places the seventh key in the seventh lock and throws open the lid.

Harry lets out a cry of amazement and you gasp. You peer into what looks to be a pit and, lying on the floor below, is the thin and starved form of the real Alastor Moody. His wooden leg is gone, the socket that usually holds his magical eye is empty, and chunks of his hair are missing.

"Is he alright?" You ask in worry, and Dumbledore climbs into the trunk, dropping onto the floor beside him, bending over him.

"Stunned," he answers. "Controlled by the Imperius Curse — he's very weak. Of course, they would have needed to keep him alive. Throw down the impostor's cloak — he's freezing. Madam Pomfrey will need to see him, but he seems in no immediate danger."

You breathe a sigh of relief, and grab the fake Moody's cloak to throw it down to the headmaster. He covers Moody in the cloak, tucking it around him, and clambers out of the trunk once more. Then he picks up the hip flask that stood upon the desk, unscrews it, and turns it over. A thick glutinous liquid splatters onto the office floor.

You recognise it instantly. "Polyjuice Potion."

Dumbledore nods. "You see the simplicity of it, and the brilliance. For Moody never does drink except from his hip flask, he's well known for it. The impostor needed, of course, to keep the real Moody close by, so that he could continue making the potion. You see his hair..."

Dumbledore looks down on the Moody in the trunk. "The impostor has been cutting it off all year, you see where it is uneven? But I think, in the excitement of tonight, our fake Moody might have forgotten to take it as frequently as he should have done...on the hour...every hour. We shall see."

He pulls out the chair at the desk and sits upon it, his eyes fixed on the unconscious man on the floor. You stare at him too, swallowing harshly. You feel sick, you feel angry. Angry at the impostor for doing all of this, angry for putting Harry in danger, angry that it led to Cedric's death...and you're angry at yourself. How could you not have put two and two together? You should have told Dumbledore the minute Neville showed up at your door, after that first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. You should have told him about that night you found him in the Great Hall after hours...you should have realised.

Before you can think more on this, the face of the man on the floor begins to change. Scars disappear, and skin becomes smooth. His nose shrinks and becomes whole, no longer missing that chunk of flesh. Suddenly, with a loud clunk, the wooden leg falls away as a normal leg regrows in its place, and the magical eye pops out and a real eye replaces it.

You stare at the man before you, pale-skinned and fair-haired...and you can't help the gasp that escapes your lips. "I...I don't believe it...Barty Crouch?"

Hurried footsteps outside signal the return of Minerva and Snape, and also Winky the house-elf.

"Crouch!" Snape exclaims, stopping dead at the doorway. "Barty Crouch!"

"Good heavens," Minerva says in shock, staring down at the man on the floor.

Filthy and deshevelled, Winky peers around Snape's legs, her mouth opening wide as she lets out a piercing shriek. "Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you doing here?" She flings herself onto the young man's chest, sobbing hysterically. "You is killed him! You is killed him! You is killed Master's son!"

"He is simply stunned, Winky," Dumbledore says calmly. "Step aside, please. Severus, you have the potion?"

Snape hands Dumbledore a small glass bottle of Veritaserum. Dumbledore bends over the man on the floor and pulls him into a sitting position against the wall and forces Barty's mouth open, pouring three drops inside it. Then he points his wand at the man's chest and says, "Rennervate."

Barty Crouch Jr opens his eyes, his face slack and his gaze unfocused.

"Can you hear me?" Dumbledore says quietly.

His eyes flutter. "Yes."

"I would like you to tell us how you came to be here. How did you escape Azkaban?"

Barty takes a deep, shuddering breath, then begins to speak in a flat, monotone voice. "My mother saved me. She knew she was dying. She persuaded father to rescue me as a last favour to her. He loved her as he had never loved me. He agreed. They came to visit me. They gave me a draft of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my mother's hairs. She took a draft of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my hairs. We took on each other's appearance."

Winky shakes her head, trembling violently. "Say no more, Master Barty, you is getting your father into trouble."

Barty continues in the same expressionless voice, his tongue darting out to wet his lip grossly. "The dementors are blind. They sensed one healthy, one dying person entering Azkaban. They sensed one healthy, one dying person leaving it. My father smuggled me out, disguised as my mother, in case any prisoners were watching through their doors. My mother died a short while afterward in Azkaban. She was careful to drink the Polyjuice Potion until the end. She was buried under my name and bearing my appearance. Everyone believed her to be me."

"And what did your father do with you, when he had got you home?" Dumbledore asks quietly.

"Staged my mother's death. A quiet, private funeral. That grave is empty. The house-elf nursed me back to health. Then I had to be concealed. I had to be controlled. My father had to use a number of spells to subdue me. When I had recovered my strength, I thought only of finding my master...of returning to his service."

"How did your father subdue you?"

"The Imperius Curse," Barty replies. "I was under my father's control. I was forced to wear an Invisibility Cloak day and night. I was always with the house-elf. She was my keeper and my caretaker. She pitied me. She persuaded my father to give me occasional treats. Rewards for my good behaviour."

"Master Barty, Master Barty," sobs Winky. "You isn't ought to tell them, we is getting in trouble..."

"Did anybody ever discover that you were still alive?" Dumbledore questions softly. "Did anyone know except your father and the house-elf?"

"Yes," says Barty, his eyelids flickering. "A witch in my father's office. Bertha Jorkins. She came to the house with papers for my father's signature. He was not at home. Winky showed her inside and returned to the kitchen, to me. But Bertha Jorkins heard Winky talking to me. She came to investigate. She heard enough to guess who was hiding under the Invisibility Cloak. My father arrived home. She confronted him. He put a very powerful memory charm on her to make her forget what she'd found out. Too powerful. He said it damaged her memory permanently."

"Why is she coming to nose into my master's private business?" Winky cries. "Why isn't she leaving us be?"

"Tell me about the Quidditch World Cup," Dumbledore says.

"Winky talked my father into it," Barty answers. "She spent months persuading him. I had not left the house in years. I had loved Quidditch. Let him go, she said. He will be in his Invisibility Cloak. He can watch. Let him smell fresh air for once. She said my mother would have wanted it. She told my father that my mother had died to give me freedom. She had not saved me for a life of imprisonment. He agreed in the end."

Winky continues to sob, her face in her hands.

"It was carefully planned. My father led me and Winky up to the Top Box early in the day. Winky was to say that she was saving a seat for my father. I was to sit there, invisible. When everyone had left the box, we would emerge. Winky would appear to be alone. Nobody would know."

You listen intently, continuing to rub soft circles of comfort into Harry's shoulder.

"But Winky didn't know that I was growing stronger. I was starting to fight my father's Imperius Curse. There were times where I was almost myself again. There were brief periods where I seemed outside his control. It happened there, in the Top Box. It was like waking from a deep sleep. I found myself out in public, in the middle of the match, and I saw, in front of me, a wand sticking out of a boy's pocket. I had not been allowed a wand since before Azkaban. I stole it. Winky didn't know. Winky is afraid of heights. She had her face hidden."

"Master Barty, you bad boy!" Winky whispers shakily, tears trickling between her fingers.

"So you took the wand," says Dumbledore. "What did you do with it?"

"We went back to the tent," he answers. "Then we heard them. We heard the Death Eaters. The ones who had never been to Azkaban. The ones who had not suffered for my master. They had turned their backs on him. They were not enslaved, as I was. They were merely making sport of Muggles. The sound of their voices awoke me. My mind was clearer than it had been in years. I was angry. I had the wand."

Harry's body trembles beneath your hand as Barty continues on.

"I wanted to attack them for their disloyalty to my master. My father had left the tent; he had gone to free the Muggles. Winky was afraid to see me so angry. She used her own brand of magic to bind me to her. She pulled me from the tent, pulled me into the forest, away from the Death Eaters. I tried to hold her back. I wanted to return to the campsite. I wanted to show those Death Eaters what loyalty to the Dark Lord meant, and to punish them for their lack of it. I used the stolen wand to cast the Dark Mark into the sky. Ministry wizards arrived. They shot stunning spells everywhere. One of the spells came through the trees where Winky and I stood. The bond connecting us was broken. We were both stunned."

Winky sniffles, shaking her head and muttering something incoherent.

"When Winky was discovered, my father knew I must be nearby. He searched the bushes where she had been found and felt me lying there. He waited until the other Ministry members had left the forest. He put me back under the Imperius Curse and took me home. He dismissed Winky. She had failed him. She had let me acquire a wand. She had almost let me escape."

The house-elf lets out a shrill wail of despair.

"Now it was just Father and I, alone in the house. And then...and then..." Barty's head rolls sickeningly on his neck, and an unhinged grin spreads across his face. "My master came for me. He arrived at our house late one night in the arms of his servant Wormtail. My master had found out that I was still alive. He had captured Bertha Jorkins in Albania. He had tortured her. She told him a great deal. She told him about the Triwizard Tournament. She told him the old Auror, Moody, was going to teach at Hogwarts. He tortured her until he broke through the Memory Charm my father had placed upon her."

You feel sick.

"She told him I had escaped from Azkaban. She told him my father kept me imprisoned to prevent me from seeking my master. And so my master knew that I was still his faithful servant — perhaps the most faithful of all. My master conceived a plan, based upon the information Bertha had given him. He needed me. He arrived at our house near midnight. My father answered the door."

The smile spreads even wider over Barty's face, mouth wide in sick pleasure. "It was very quick. My father was placed under the Imperius Curse by my master. Now my father was the one imprisoned, controlled. My master forced him to go about his business as usual, to act as though nothing was wrong. And I was released. I awoke. I was myself again, alive as I hadn’t been in years."

"And what did Lord Voldemort ask you to do?" Dumbledore asks.

“He asked me whether I was ready to risk everything for him. I was ready. It was my dream, my greatest ambition, to serve him, to prove myself to him. He told me he needed to place a faithful servant at Hogwarts. A servant who would guide Harry Potter through the Triwizard Tournament without appearing to do so. A servant who would watch over Harry Potter. Ensure he reached the Triwizard Cup. Turn the cup into a Portkey, which would take the first person to touch it to my master. But first — "

"You needed Alastor Moody," Dumbledore finishes.

"Wormtail and I did it."

Your grip on Harry's shoulder tightens slightly but you instantly release it. Peter Pettigrew is finding more and more ways to ruin lives.

"We had prepared the Polyjuice Potion beforehand. We journeyed to his house. Moody put up a struggle. There was a commotion. We managed to subdue him just in time. Forced him into a compartment of his own magical trunk. Took some of his hair and added it to the potion. I drank it; I became Moody's double. I took his leg and his eye. I was ready to face Arthur Weasley when he arrived to sort out the Muggles who had heard a disturbance. I made the dustbins move around the yard. I told Arthur Weasley I had heard intruders in my yard, who had set off the dustbins. Then I packed up Moody's clothes and Dark detectors, put them in the trunk with Moody, and set off for Hogwarts. I kept him alive, under the Imperius Curse. I wanted to be able to question him. To find out about his past, learn his habits, so that I could fool even Dumbledore. I also needed his hair to make the Polyjuice Potion. The other ingredients were easy. I stole boomslang skin from the dungeons. When the potions master found me in his office, I said I was under orders to search it."

"And what became of Wormtail after you attacked Moody?"

"Wormtail returned to care for my master, in my father's home, and to keep watch over my father."

"But your father escaped," says Dumbledore.

"Yes. After a while he began to fight the Imperius Curse just as I had done. There were periods when he knew what was happening. My master decided it was no longer safe for my father to leave the house. He forced him to send letters to the Ministry instead. He made him write and say he was ill. But Wormtail neglected his duty. He was not watchful enough. My father escaped. My master guessed that he was heading for Hogwarts. My father was going to tell Dumbledore everything, to confess. He was going to admit that he had smuggled me from Azkaban. My master sent me word of my father's escape. He told me to stop him at all costs. So I waited and watched. I used the map I had taken from Harry Potter. The map that had almost ruined everything."

"Map?" Dumbledore says quickly. "What map is this?"

"Potter's map of Hogwarts. Potter saw me on it. Potter saw me stealing more ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion from Snape’s office one night. He thought I was my father. We have the same first name. I took the map from Potter that night. I told him my father hated Dark wizards. Potter believed my father was after Snape."

Harry tenses beside you, staring at Barty.

"For a week I waited for my father to arrive at Hogwarts. At last, one evening, the map showed my father entering the grounds. I pulled on my Invisibility Cloak and went down to meet him. He was walking around the edge of the forest. Then Potter came, and Krum. I waited. I could not hurt Potter; my master needed him. Potter ran to get Dumbledore. I stunned Krum. I killed my father."

"Noo!" Winky wails. "Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you saying?"

"You killed your father," Dumbledore says softly. "What did you do with the body?"

"Carried it into the forest. Covered it with the Invisibility Cloak. I had the map with me. I watched Potter run into the castle. He met Snape. Dumbledore joined them. I watched Potter bringing Dumbledore out of the castle. I walked back out of the forest, doubled around behind them, went to meet them. I told Dumbledore Snape had told me where to come.

"Dumbledore told me to go and look for my father. I went back to my father's body. Watched the map. When everyone was gone, I transfigured my father's body. He became a bone...I buried it while wearing the Invisibility Cloak, in the freshly dug earth in front of Hagrid's cabin."

There is complete silence in the room save for Winky's sobs. Then Dumbledore says, "And tonight..."

"I offered to carry the Triwizard Cup into the maze before dinner," Barty whispers. "Turned it into a Portkey. My master's plan worked. He is returned to power and I will be honored by him beyond the dreams of wizards."

Dumbledore stands up, staring down at Barty with a look of disgust on his face. Then he raises his wand once more and ropes fly out of it, twisting themselves around Barty tightly.

"Minerva, could I ask you to stand guard here while I take Harry upstairs?"

"Of course," Minerva responds, looking nauseous, yet drawing her wand and pointing it at Barty steadily. She glances at you, mirroring your sickened expression.

"Severus, please tell Madam Pomfrey to come down here; we need to get Alastor Moody into the hospital wing. Then go down into the grounds, find Cornelius Fudge, and bring him up to this office. He will undoubtedly want to question Crouch himself. Tell him I will be in the hospital wing in half an hour's time if he needs me."

Snape nods silently and sweeps out of the room.

Dumbledore turns to you and Harry. "Professor? Harry?"

Harry gets up and sways again, shaking violently as his injured leg buckles beneath him. You rush to place your shoulder under his arm, and help him hobble out of the office and into the hallway.

"I want you to come up to my office first, Harry," Dumbledore says quietly. "Sirius is waiting for us there."

Harry nods, a blank expression on his face.

"Take it easy, Harry, it's alright..." you say softly, helping him up the steps. "I've got you."

"Professor," Harry mumbles, "where are Mr and Mrs Diggory?"

You frown, feeling hot tears prick your eyes once more at the mention of Cedric.

"They are with Professor Sprout," Dumbledore answers, his voice shaking slightly. "She was Head of Cedric's house, she knew him best."

You sniffle loudly, feeling your throat start to burn at the denial of sobs. Dumbledore gives the password to his gargoyle and it springs aside, revealing the spiral staircase. You help Harry up the stairs, doing your best to ease his pain, and Dumbledore pushes open the oak door to his office.

Sirius is standing there, waiting. His face is white and gaunt with worry. In one swift moment, he crosses the room.

"Harry, are you all right? I knew it — I knew something like this — what happened?"

His hands shake as he helps Harry into a chair in front of the desk.

"What happened?" His tone is urgent as he looks frantically between the three of you for answers.

Dumbledore begins to tell Sirius everything Barty Crouch said and you sit down, feeling the urge to cry and be sick and to hit something overwhelming you all at once.

Cedric Diggory is dead, Voldemort is back, Moody was kidnapped by Barty Crouch Jr who is actually alive, Wormtail is continuing to help his master, Barty Crouch Sr is dead, murdered by his own son...

You look over at your godson, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion as he strokes Fawkes the phoenix's feathers gently.

"I need to know what happened after you touched the Portkey in the maze, Harry," Dumbledore says.

"We can leave that 'til morning, can't we, Dumbledore?" Sirius says harshly, and you agree with him. He puts a hand on Harry's shoulder protectively. "Let him have a sleep. Let him rest."

"He has been through enough tonight," you say softly. "He can tell us when he is ready."

Dumbledore takes no notice of what you and Sirius have said, however, and leans forward towards Harry.

"If I thought I could help you,” Dumbledore says gently, "by putting you into an enchanted sleep and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what has happened tonight, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened."

Harry takes a deep breath and begins to tell you how the Portkey had taken him and Cedric to a graveyard far from the school, where Voldemort's father was buried. He tells you of how Voldemort had no hesitation in ordering Wormtail to kill Cedric, and when Harry tells you this part you feel your lip tremble. You look away, feeling the contents of your stomach attempting to come up, and bite down hard on your knuckles to prevent it. Two single teardrops spring from your eyes and slide down your cheeks, dripping onto your shirt.

He tells of how the Death Eaters apparated among the graves, and how Wormtail slit Harry's forearm with a dagger. At this, Sirius lets out a vehement exclamation and Dumbledore stands up quickly, ordering Harry to show him where Wormtail had cut him. He stretches out his arm, revealing the torn sleeve of his robes and when he pulls it up, the cut on his arm is deep and dried blood crusts over it.

"Oh, Harry..." you say shakily, feeling immensely worried for him.

"He said my blood would make him stronger than if he'd used someone else's," Harry tells you. "He said the protection my — my mother left in me — he'd have it too. And he was right — he could touch me without hurting himself, he touched my face."

Dumbledore studies Harry for a moment before returning to his desk and sitting back down. "Very well. Voldemort has overcome that particular barrier. Continue, Harry, please."

He starts to tell you about how Voldemort had tried to cast the killing curse on him and Harry had used the disarming spell to protect himself, and their wands had connected by a beam of light. He stops talking, choking on his words, and Sirius breaks the silence.

"The wands connected?" He says, looking from Harry to Dumbledore to you. "Why?"

You look at Dumbledore expectantly.

"Prior Incantatem," he mutters.

"The Reverse Spell effect?" Sirius says sharply, narrowing his eyes.

"Exactly," says Dumbledore. "Harry's wand and Voldemort's wand share cores. Each of them contains a feather from the tail of the same phoenix. This phoenix, in fact," he adds, and he points at the scarlet and gold bird perching peacefully on Harry's knee.

"My wand's feather came from Fawkes?" Harry says, amazed.

"Yes," Dumbledore tells. "Mr. Ollivander wrote to tell me you had bought the second wand, the moment you left his shop four years ago."

"So what happens when a wand meets its brother?" you ask.

"They will not work properly against each other," Dumbledore explains. "If, however, the owners of the wands force the wands to do battle...a very rare effect will take place. One of the wands will force the other to regurgitate spells it has performed — in reverse. The most recent first... and then those which preceded it..."

He looks at Harry interrogatively, and he nods.

"Which means that some form of Cedric must have appeared."

Harry nods again.

"Diggory came back to life?" Sirius says.

Dumbledore shakes his head. "No spell can reawaken the dead. All that would have happened is a kind of reverse echo. A shadow of the living Cedric would have emerged from the wand...am I correct, Harry?"

"He spoke to me," Harry says, shaking. "The...the ghost of Cedric, or whatever he was, spoke."

"An echo," Dumbledore says, nodding, "which retained Cedric's appearance and character. I am guessing other such forms appeared...less recent victims of Voldemort's wand."

"An old man," Harry says croakily. "And Bertha Jorkins and...."

"Your parents?" Dumbledore says quietly.

"Yes."

You exhale shakily at the mention of James and Lily, feeling your body go rigid.

"The last murders the wand performed," Dumbledore says softly. "In reverse order. More would have appeared, of course, had you maintained the connection. Very well, Harry, these echoes, these shadows...what did they do?"

Harry tells you of how the figures that emerged from the wand prowled around the edges of the connection, and how Voldemort almost seemed to fear them. He tells you of how James told him what to do and how to escape, and how Cedric had asked him to bring his body back to his parents.

Tears spill from your eyes and you have to look away, fixing your gaze on a scuff mark in the wall of the office.

"I will say it again," says Dumbledore. "You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you tonight, Harry. You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers. You have shouldered a grown wizard's burden and found yourself equal to it — and you have now given us all that we have a right to expect. You will come with me to the hospital wing. I do not want you returning to the dormitory tonight. A Sleeping Potion, and some peace...I presume the two of you would like to stay with him?"

You and Sirius both nod and Sirius transforms into the black dog, walking with the three of you out of Dumbledore's office. When Dumbledore pushes open the door to the hospital wing, you find Mrs Weasley, Bill, Ron, and Hermione all grouped around a harassed-looking Madam Pomfrey. All of them whip around as your group enters, and Mrs Weasley lets out a kind of muffled scream.

"Harry! Oh, Harry!"

She starts to hurry toward him, but Dumbledore moves between them, holding up a hand. "Molly. Please listen to me for a moment. Harry has been through a terrible ordeal tonight. He has just had to relive it for me. What he needs now is sleep, and peace, and quiet. If he would like you all to stay with him, you may do so. But I do not want you questioning him until he is ready to answer, and certainly not this evening."

Mrs Weasley nods, looking very white. She rounds on Ron, Hermione, and Bill as though they're being very noisy, and hisses, "Did you hear? He needs quiet!"

"Headmaster," Madam Pomfrey says, staring at the dog. "May I ask what — ?"

"This dog will be remaining with Harry for a while," Dumbledore answers simply. "I assure you, he is extremely well trained. Harry — I will wait while you get into bed. I will be back as soon as I have met with Fudge, Harry. I would like you to remain here tomorrow until I have spoken to the school."

He leaves, and Madam Pomfrey leads Harry to a nearby bed. Looking around the hospital wing, you spot Moody lying motionless in a bed in the far corner of the room. His wooden leg and magical eye lie on the bedside table.

"Is he alright?" you ask.

"He'll be fine," Madam Pomfrey answers. She gives Harry a bundle of pyjamas and pulls a screen around his bed. While Harry changes, Madam Pomfrey approaches you, speaking quietly.

"Is it true? About Cedric Diggory?"

You take a shaky breath, nodding. "He was so young..." Tears sting your eyes and you feel the dog move to lean against your leg, his warmth comforting as you place your hand on his head gently, stroking the soft fur.

Madam Pomfrey nods sadly, before she walks off into her office. When Harry is finished, you all come around the screen and settle into chairs around the bed, the black dog laying his head on your knees and looking up at Harry.

"I'm alright," he says to Hermione and Ron, who are looking at Harry cautiously. "Just tired."

Madam Pomfrey returns from her office, carrying a small bottle of purple potion and a goblet. "You'll need to drink all of this, Harry. It's a potion for a dreamless sleep."

Harry takes the goblet and drinks a few mouthfuls, and after a few moments he sinks into the bed and his eyes drift closed. You gently reach out and pull his glasses off his face, placing them on the bedside table beside him.

"Professor..." Hermione whispers quietly, glancing at Harry from the corner of her eye. "What happened?"

"The Professor Moody you had come to know was an impostor," you answer, swallowing hard. "It was Barty Crouch Jr this whole time..."

As quiet as possible so you don't wake Harry up, you relay everything that Barty Crouch told you after drinking the Veritaserum, then you tell them what Harry told you happened in the graveyard. By the end of it, you and Mrs Weasley are sporting identical tear streaks on your cheeks.

"Wait, what's that?"

Mrs Weasley is turned to the door, and stopping to listen, you hear muffled shouting outside it.

"They'll wake him up if they don't shut up!" She hisses angrily, getting to her feet.

"What are they shouting about?" You say quizzically. "Nothing else can have happened, can it?"

You pause to listen again, and then you hear it: the booming voice of Cornelius Fudge, and Minerva angrily shouting at him.

"Regrettable, but all the same, Minerva — "

"You should never have brought it inside the castle! When Dumbledore finds out — "

The hospital doors burst open and Fudge comes striding up the ward, with Minerva and Snape at his heels. You glance back at Harry, only to see he's sitting up with his glasses back on. You curse Fudge for waking him up, he needs his rest.

"Where's Dumbledore?" Fudge demands of you.

"He's not here," you say angrily, getting to your feet. "Lower your voice, you're in a hospital wing — "

The door opens, and Dumbledore sweeps into the ward. "What has happened? Why are you disturbing these people? Minerva, I'm surprised at you — I asked you to stand guard over Barty Crouch — "

"Oh, there is no need to stand guard over him anymore, Dumbledore!" Minerva shrieks, livid. "The Minister has seen to that!"

Minerva's hands are balled into fists, her body trembling with fury.

"When we had told Fudge that we had caught the Death Eater responsible for tonight's events," Snape starts in a low voice, "he seemed to feel his personal safety was in question. He insisted on summoning a dementor to accompany him into the castle. He brought it up to the office where Barty Crouch — "

"I told him you would not agree, Dumbledore!" Minerva fumes. "I told him you would never allow dementors to set foot inside the castle, but — "

"My dear woman!" Fudge roars angrily. "As Minister of Magic, it is my decision whether I wish to bring protection with me when interviewing a possibly dangerous — "

"The moment that — that thing entered the room," Minerva screams, pointing at Fudge, her voice drowning out his, "it swooped down on Crouch and — and — "

You know what the dementor must have done. The Dementor's Kiss. He is now worse than dead.

"By all accounts, he is no loss!" Fudge bellows. "It seems he has been responsible for several deaths!"

Dumbledore stares hard at Fudge. "But he cannot give testimony, Cornelius. He cannot give evidence about why he killed those people."

"Why he killed them? Well, that's no mystery, is it?" Fudge blusters. "He was a raving lunatic! From what Minerva and Severus have told me, he seems to have thought he was doing it all on You-Know-Who's instructions!"

"Lord Voldemort was giving him instructions, Cornelius," Dumbledore says. "Those people's deaths were mere by-products of a plan to restore Voldemort to full strength again. The plan succeeded. Voldemort has been restored to his body."

Fudge looks like he's just been hit by a truck. Dazed and blinking, he stares back at Dumbledore, spluttering. "You-Know-Who... returned? Preposterous. Come now, Dumbledore..."

"As Minerva and Severus have doubtless told you," says Dumbledore, "we heard Barty Crouch confess. Under the influence of Veritaserum, he told us how he was smuggled out of Azkaban, and how Voldemort — learning of his continued existence from Bertha Jorkins — went to free him from his father and used him to capture Harry. The plan worked, I tell you. Crouch has helped Voldemort to return."

"See here, Dumbledore," snaps Fudge. "You — you can't seriously believe that. You-Know-Who — back? Come now, come now... certainly, Crouch may have believed himself to be acting upon You-Know-Who's orders — but to take the word of a lunatic like that, Dumbledore...."

"When Harry touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, he was transported straight to Voldemort," Dumbledore says steadily. "He witnessed Lord Voldemort's rebirth. I will explain it all to you if you will step up to my office." He glances around at Harry. "I'm afraid I cannot permit you to question Harry tonight."

"You are — er — prepared to take Harry"s word on this, are you, Dumbledore?"

There is a moment's silence, which is broken by Sirius growling angrily, baring his sharp teeth at Fudge.

"Certainly, I believe Harry," Dumbledore answers simply. "I heard Crouch's confession, and I heard Harry's account of what happened after he touched the Triwizard Cup; the two stories make sense, they explain everything that has happened since Bertha Jorkins disappeared last summer."

Fudge glances at Harry before answering. "You are prepared to believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, on the word of a lunatic murderer, and a boy who...well..."

"Who what, Minister?" You say icily. "Go on, tell us, considering you seem to know far more about Harry than any of us."

Fudge glances at Harry again.

"You've been reading Rita Skeeter, Mr Fudge," Harry pipes up quietly.

Fudge reddens slightly, but a defiant and obstinate look comes over his face and you feel ready to punch him.

"And if I have?" he says, looking at Dumbledore. "If I have discovered that you've been keeping certain facts about the boy very quiet? A Parselmouth, eh? And having funny turns all over the place — "

"I assume that you are referring to the pains Harry has been experiencing in his scar?" Dumbledore says coolly.

"You'll admit that he's been having these pains, then?" Fudge says quickly. "Visions? Headaches? Nightmares? Possibly — hallucinations?"

"Listen to me, Cornelius," Dumbledore says firmly, taking a strong step towards the fool of a minister. "Harry is as sane as you or I. That scar upon his forehead has not addled his brains. I believe it hurts him when Lord Voldemort is close by, or feeling particularly murderous."

"You'll forgive me, Dumbledore, but I've never heard of a curse scar acting as an alarm bell before..."

"Perhaps because there is no one else with the same curse scar as Harry!" You snap angrily. "Be reasonable, Fudge!"

"Look, I saw Voldemort come back!" Harry shouts. He tries to get out of bed, but Mrs Weasley forces him back. "I saw the Death Eaters! I can give you their names! Lucius Malfoy — "

"Malfoy was cleared!" says Fudge, visibly affronted. "A very old family — donations to excellent causes — "

"Macnair!" Harry continues.

"Also cleared! Now working for the Ministry!"

"Avery — Nott — Crabbe — Goyle — "

"You are merely repeating the names of those who were acquitted of being Death Eaters thirteen years ago!" Fudge roars angrily. "You could have found those names in old reports of the trials! For heaven's sake, Dumbledore — the boy was full of some crackpot story at the end of last year too — his tales are getting taller, and you're still swallowing them — the boy can talk to snakes, Dumbledore, and you still think he’s trustworthy?"

"Why would he lie? What reason could he possibly have to lie?!" You shriek.

"You fool!" Minerva cries. "Cedric Diggory! Mr Crouch! These deaths were not the random work of a lunatic!"

"I see no evidence to the contrary!" Fudge shouts, his face purpling. "It seems to me that you are all determined to start a panic that will destabilize everything we have worked for these last thirteen years!"

"How many more people have to die before you decide to start taking this seriously? Cedric Diggory was seventeen, Fudge, seventeen! He was a child! Open your eyes, you fool, and do something about it!" You roar, feeling your blood boil and hot tears sting your eyes.

"Voldemort has returned," Dumbledore repeats calmly. "If you accept that fact straightaway, Fudge, and take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the dementors — "

"Preposterous!" Fudge bellows. "Remove the dementors? I'd be kicked out of office for suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the dementors are standing guard at Azkaban!"

"The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord Voldemort's most dangerous supporters in the care of creatures who will join him the instant he asks them!" says Dumbledore. "They will not remain loyal to you, Fudge! Voldemort can offer them much more scope for their powers and their pleasures than you can! With the dementors behind him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hard pressed to stop him from regaining the sort of power he had thirteen years ago!"

Fudge opens and closes his mouth as though there are no words to express his fury and truly, at this very moment, you feel the same way.

"The second step you must take — and at once," Dumbledore presses on, "is to send envoys to the giants."

"Envoys to the giants?" Fudge shrieks, finding his tongue again. "What madness is this?"

"Extend them the hand of friendship, now, before it is too late," Dumbledore says, "or Voldemort will persuade them, as he did before, that he alone among wizards will give them their rights and their freedom!"

"You — you cannot be serious!" Fudge gasps, shaking his head and retreating further from Dumbledore. "If the magical community got wind that I had approached the giants — people hate them, Dumbledore — end of my career — "

"Good!" You snap furiously. "You don't deserve a career at all!"

"You are blinded," says Dumbledore, his voice rising now and his eyes blazing, "by the love of the office you hold, Cornelius! You place too much importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! Your dementor has just destroyed the last remaining member of a pure-blood family as old as any — and see what that man chose to make of his life! I tell you now — take the steps I have suggested, and you will be remembered, in office or out, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers of Magic we have ever known. Fail to act — and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside and allowed Voldemort a second chance to destroy the world we have tried to rebuild!"

"Insane," Fudge whispers, still backing away. "Mad..."

And then...silence. Madam Pomfrey stands frozen at the foot of Harry's bed her hands over her mouth. You glare daggers at Fudge, feeling ready to attack the stupid, stupid man.

"If your determination to shut your eyes will carry you as far as this, Cornelius," Dumbledore says after a moment, breaking the silence, "we have reached a parting of the ways. You must act as you see fit. And I — I shall act as I see fit."

Dumbledore's voice is calm and level, yet Fudge seems to think this is a threat, bristling.

"Now, see here, Dumbledore," he says, waving a threatening finger. "I've given you free rein, always. I've had a lot of respect for you. I might not have agreed with some of your decisions, but I've kept quiet. There aren’t many who’d have let you hire werewolves, or keep Hagrid, or hire her" — here, he points at you, and Sirius growls at him " — or decide what to teach your students without reference to the Ministry. But if you're going to work against me — "

"The only one against whom I intend to work is Lord Voldemort. If you are against him, then we remain, Cornelius, on the same side."

Fudge is speechless. He rocks back and forth on his heels, sweating profusely and shaking his head. Finally, he says, "He can't be back, Dumbledore, he just can't..."

Snape strides forward past Dumbledore and pulls up the left sleeve of his robes and sticks out his forearm to Fudge, who instantly recoils.

"There," he says harshly. "There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it turned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold."

Fudge steps back from Snape, a heavy silence hanging in the air. He swallows harshly, then lowers his voice to a whisper. "I don't know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore, but I have heard enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry."

He turns to leave, almost reaching the door, when he stops, and strides back up the ward to Harry's bed. "Your winnings." He takes a large bag of gold out of his pocket and drops it onto the bedside table with a clink. "One thousand galleons. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but under the circumstances..."

He crams his bowler hat onto his head and leaves without another word, slamming the door closed behind him. The moment he disappears, you let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding, and Dumbledore turns back to the group around Harry's bed.

"There is work to be done," he says firmly. "Molly...am I right in thinking that I can count on you and Arthur?"

"Of course you can," Mrs Weasley answers. She's white to the lips, but she looks resolute. "We know what Fudge is. It's Arthur's fondness for Muggles that has held him back at the Ministry all these years. Fudge thinks he lacks proper wizarding pride."

"Then I need to send a message to Arthur," Dumbledore says. "All those that we can persuade of the truth must be notified immediately, and he is well placed to contact those at the Ministry who are not as short-sighted as Cornelius."

"I’ll go to Dad." Bill stands up. "I’ll go now."

"Excellent." Dumbledore nods. "Tell him what has happened. Tell him I will be in direct contact with him shortly. He will need to be discreet, however. If Fudge thinks I am interfering at the Ministry — "

"Leave it to me," Bill says firmly. He claps a hand on both Harry's and Ron's shoulders, kisses his mother on the cheek, pulls on his cloak and leaves the room.

Dumbledore turns to Minerva. "Minerva, I want to see Hagrid in my office as soon as possible. Also — if she will consent to come — Madame Maxime."

Minerva nods and leaves without a word.

"Poppy," Dumbledore says to Madam Pomfrey, "would you be very kind and go down to Professor Moody's office, where I think you will find a house-elf called Winky in considerable distress? Do what you can for her, and take her back to the kitchens. I think Dobby will look after her for us."

"Very — very well," Madam Pomfrey answers, looking slightly startled, she too leaves.

Dumbledore ensures the door is closed properly, and waits until Madam Pomfrey's footsteps have died away, before he speaks again. "And now, it is time for two of our number to recognize each other for what they are. Sirius...if you could resume your usual form."

The great black dog looks up at Dumbledore, then, in an instant, transforms into the man you know and love.

Mrs Weasley screams and leaps back from the bed, pointing a shaky finger at him. "Sirius Black!"

"Mum, shut up!" Ron yells. "It's okay!"

The look on Snape's face is one mixed of pure fury and horror. "Him!" he snarls, glaring at Sirius. They're wearing identical expressions of dislike and disgust. "What is he doing here?"

"He is here at my invitation," says Dumbledore, looking between them, "as are you, Severus. I trust you both. It is time for you to lay aside your old differences and trust each other."

You nearly laugh. Dumbledore's asking for a miracle. The two men glower at each other with the utmost loathing, neither moving.

"I will settle, in the short term, for a lack of open hostility," Dumbledore sighs, a bite of impatience in his voice. "You will shake hands. You are on the same side now. Time is short, and unless the few of us who know the truth do not stand united, there is no hope for any of us."

They still do not move, and you roll your eyes, giving Sirius a nudge. "Sirius. It's time."

You hear an agitated whistle of air blow out Sirius's nose before very slowly, still glaring at each other, Sirius and Snape move toward each other and shake hands. They let go extremely quickly.

"That will do to be going on with," Dumbledore says, stepping between the two men once again. "Now I have work for each of you. Fudge's attitude, though not unexpected, changes everything. Sirius, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher — the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin's for a while; I will contact you there."

You feel your heart sink at the thought of Sirius leaving again, and Harry seems to feel the same way.

"But — " Harry starts.

"You'll see me very soon, Harry," Sirius tells him, turning to his godson. "I promise you. But I must do what I can, you understand, don't you?"

"Yeah," says Harry. "Yeah...of course I do."

Sirius grasps his hand briefly, before turning to you.

You smile dryly. "Just can't keep you for longer than a day, can I?"

He sighs, shaking his head. "I must do this."

"I know, I know. I'll see you soon." Placing a hand on his cheek, you give him a quick kiss goodbye before Sirius transforms back into the dog and trots out of the room. You watch him leave, sighing quietly.

"Severus," Dumbledore says, a firm look on his face. "You know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready...if you are prepared..."

"I am," Snape answers.

"Then good luck."

With the smallest trace of apprehension, Dumbledore watches Snape sweep out of the room after Sirius.

And finally, the headmaster turns to you. "I ask you to start compiling a list of all the Death Eaters you can remember from before Lord Voldemort's fall from power, and the ones Harry has told us were in the graveyard, even if they are dead, imprisoned or otherwise. Write their name and status for me, and when we reconvene we can consult it."

You nod. "I'll get right to it."

You look back at Harry, before leaning down to hug him tightly. "You have been so brave, Harry. It's time for some well-deserved rest."

And with that, you leave.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

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->-> read chapter twenty-five here!

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[mybutcheredtongue]

okay so just want to say a big thank you for everyones support and love on my most recent posts! I was away for 3 weeks mostly without my phone, so I didn't realise that chapter twenty-four just didn't post for some reason? SO SORRY to everyone omg it was in the queue but I must've clicked a wrong button or something...anyways, it's out now so happy reading!! 😘

~

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