The Boy Who Lived

Haunted Snowballs and Full Moons

Oh Sirius! Remus wanted to double over in pain. What are you doing here? Why come back?

He couldn't believe that Sirius would want to harm Harry, no matter what the Ministry said, he didn't want to believe it.

The students had to sleep in the Great Hall while the castle was searched. Of course, he was long since gone. Everyone was baffled by how he'd even got in but Remus knew. There was only one explanation. He didn't dare look at Minnie.

He didn't look at Severus either. But only because he knew Severus would be trying to blame him for getting Sirius into the castle in the first place.

Fucking slimy dungeon-bat dicknose!

Sometimes it helped to resort to James's level.

Minerva was equally worried. Worried for Harry although she'd say no such thing aloud. It was clear that Sirius wanted to get to Harry. But why? No one knew. Even her quiet discussions with Remus provided unfruitful and she didn't think he was holding anything back even though she knew full-well that Remus had been the most conniving of the four Marauders and therefore, the least trustworthy. The others were too readable, gave themselves away, even Peter whom they all seemed to believe was capable of Oscar-winning performances to get them out of their scraps, not that they particularly cared about flouting the school rules. But Remus... he was entirely different basket of Kneazles. He could run circles around a fairy ring, if so inclined.

Still, she believed him. She knew him well enough to know he was affected by Sirius's escape and his appearance at the school.

But life carried on, there were no further sightings. No signs of him. And soon the talk turned to the first Quidditch match of the season: Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff.

But then disaster struck that too.

Minerva felt like the year was cursed as she watched the Dementors storm the pitch halfway through the thunderstorm-sodden match and she watched her son collapse sideways, crumbling as if boneless as he fell from his broom.

Afterwards, he said to her quietly that he'd seen the Grim just before it happened. In the empty stands. And he described hearing voices and a woman screaming and shrill laughter and falling through an icy mist, then no more. He was certain he was hearing his mother's death and her Sacrificial Protection spell, every time he encountered the Dementors.

To top it all, Minerva had to tell Harry his Nimbus was irreparably damaged. She wondered how she could afford a new one.

Still, she was pleased to hear sometime afterwards that Harry had approached Remus directly about learning how to defend against Dementors.

Draco was beside himself with glee. Well, to everyone else he was. He found he had to exaggerate his gloating just a bit about Potter passing out to quash that feeling of the horror of watching Potter just... fall. It was pretty horrendous, if one allowed oneself to dwell too much on the image of him just collapsing and dropping out of the sky, all that way, at speed, and hitting the ground so... hard. He shuddered. Anyway, it showed what a weakling Potter was that he couldn't even withstand a couple of stupid Dementors... of course, he'd never admit that he would wake in the dead of the night in cold sweats, hearing his father casting the Cruciatus, feeling that draining, icy breath drawing him from the pain of his nightmares. No, that was between him and the bedsheets. Whereas Potter plummeting out of the sky, well, there were weeks of millage to be had out of that.

He plotted with Vince and Greg. Well, he plotted, they nodded. And the next Hogsmeade trip he disappeared into Zonko's to browse their dressing-up clothes that were hidden away at the back. It may have long since passed Halloween but he found exactly what he was looking for.