Chapter Text
Harry stumbled out into the atrium after Mr Weasley, old sneakers sliding beneath his feet. It was large and crowded. Harry tripped on his loose laces and spun on one foot to avoid getting trampled by a large wizard in a stiff brown jacket. Fireplaces lined the wall to his left, carved from the same dark marble as the floor. Each enthusiastically spitting out magical folk in crackling flashes of emerald flame.
He snapped his gaze back to Mr Weasley who was already moving forward through the crowd.
"This way, Harry, to the lifts."
Harry's eyes roamed the room, glancing over the ministry folk and the fountain in the middle of the room. "Lift?" Harry echoed.
"Yes. We'll go to my floor and you'll stay with me until it's time for your-" Mr Weasley stopped, speaking and walking both, rather abruptly.
"Sir?"
Mr Weasley's eyes narrowed on the far side of the room. "Fudge," the elder wizard pronounced after a moment's deliberation. "What pressing business could demand the presence of two Lords at such an early hour when a hearing is scheduled an hour from now? Come along, Harry."
Harry walked after him automatically, feeling much like a startled duckling. "Where are we going?"
"We're following the minister." Said Mr Weasley, a fleeting and uncharacteristic grin of cunning gracing his features.
When the minister and his companions were greeted by someone tall with familiar long blond hair, and the lot of them got into a lift, Arthur's brow furrowed. "Into the lift." He instructed, nodding at the only other one in the hall. "Quickly. I have a bad feeling."
Harry walked inside obediently when the golden grates opened. A faint breeze across his face brought Harry's attention upward. He blinked. Several origami paper birds flitted around the roof of the lift in small circles.
"Charmed memoranda." Mr Weasley explained, punching in a number on the floor selection panel. The lift began to move. "We use them instead of owls now. It was far too messy, you see."
Harry could only imagine.
The lift halted and the golden grilles retracted. A corridor, comparatively barren and sombre, presented itself to Harry's view before Arthur was gently pulling him forward and into the hall. They arrived in time to witness two oak doors closing behind the Minister and his imposing companions. A bronze plate affixed to the stone beside the portal bore the inscription: Courtroom Ten.
"Changed location. Time too, no doubt." He turned to Harry. "I want you to go on in, Harry. Something fishy is going on here, and I have no illusions it means anything good for you." Arthur squeezed Harry's shoulders. "Take a breath and head inside. Act like you aren't surprised to find them there. I'll just...well, I'll be letting the others know what's happened and send a note off to Dumbledore. You'll be just fine, Harry. All you need to do is tell the truth. Yes?"
He didn't linger for a reply, nodding once at Harry and already headed back the way they came.
Finding himself suddenly quite alone, Harry swallowed. Right, he could do this. He faced a basilisk and a dragon, after all. A room of old wizards who didn't much like him couldn't be any harder than that. At least they wouldn't try to kill him.
Probably.
Harry put his hands against the doors and pushed. It opened to reveal a room that reminded him of a gladiator's colosseum. Off to a good start, obviously. He let the doors shut behind him and did his best to look completely unconcerned as several people he didn't know, who weren't even seated yet, jumped at the sound and turned to look at him. Among them Minister Fudge, who looked caught completely off guard.
"Oh, right, got the message did you? Already?" Said the portly wizard, twisting the bowler hat in his hands. His cheeks took on a slight red colour and his brows lowered in displeasure. An expression often found on men of a certain age and background when a teenager had the audacity to enter a room without permission.
Or in this case, when it was dreadfully inconvenient. Uncle Vernon often wore that expression throughout Harry's childhood.
"That's right." Said Harry. "Are you ready for me?"
Fudge looked at the wizards beside him.
"We've another ten minutes yet, sir." Said a familiar voice. Harry watched as a head of well-combed ginger hair materialised beside the Minister, its owner carrying a clipboard and a precarious stack of files. "No reason he can't have a seat until we say otherwise. He's here on our order, not the other way around." Percy Weasley stood there, eyes a little shadowed and voice polite but somewhat bored.
He didn't look once in Harry's direction, no matter how he tried to catch the older boy's eye.
"Quite right." Said Fudge, standing taller. His face fell into a more arrogant set of features. Fudge turned to Harry and waved to the side. "Have a seat, Potter, we'll be with you when we're with you. Need to make certain everyone's arrived and all that. Weasley, go on and take the scribe's seat. I'll be with you in a moment."
Without knowing whether or not this was the right way to go about things, Harry shrugged to no one in particular and had a seat on what looked uncomfortably similar to a muggle electric chair, only with shackles on the armrests. Pleasant that. Harry sat as flippantly as he could manage, legs dangling over an armrest. As long as his words were polite there was no reason his body language couldn't shout otherwise for all and sundry. Or so Harry's fifteen-year-old mind decided.
To be fair, it was getting difficult for Harry to sit still and shut up lately, and he was never all that good at it to begin with.
The wizards standing with Minister Fudge on the main floor of the room soon began trekking up the stairs, purple outer robes swishing, to take their places among what Harry now saw was a full house. Was it just his imagination that had him seeing nothing but shadows up there when he first arrived? Or was there magic afoot? To take possible wrong-doers off guard, maybe?
Someone cleared their throat with an annoying hem-hem. The murmuring came to a halt, and the room was silent. Harry zeroed in on a short witch with a wide, squashed face, dressed entirely in pink. He assumed all in pink. Her shirt, cardigan, and even the bow in her hair were all that colour, that he could see from where she sat near to the platform Minister Fudge stood upon.
"We have another five minutes but I don't see any reason not to begin now." Fudge stated from his position. Harry guessed his opinion didn't matter because the minister was looking at the faces in the seats, not Harry. There were no sounds of dissent.
Very well," Fudge cleared his throat. "The Disciplinary Hearing of the twelfth of August, concerning offences committed violating the Decrees for Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, and the International-"
The great, brass-bound wooden doors of the chamber opened. Harry twisted in his seat curiously.
A young witch stood there. Soft blond curls bounced gently around her shoulders as she moved a few steps further into the room. Pale pink pumps clicked on the stone floor, matching her shirt, vest, and pencil skirt. A rhinestone necklace in the shape of a tie hung around her neck, matching the earrings revealed when she tucked a strand of blonde tresses behind her left ear. Blue eyes surveyed them all.
"Young lady-" Fudge began, confused.
"Goodness!" She exclaimed. Harry jumped in his seat. Her voice was clear and bubbly and carried well around the room. "How odd I didn't get a memo informing me we're changing time and location." She said pleasantly. "You'd think that was something someone would want people to know. Unless they were trying to get away with something." The blonde witch paused, appearing oblivious to the confused and awkward silence that followed.
"Anyway, I was talking to this witch downstairs with the loveliest chiffon robes, very traditional but still very summer, in the main reception hall and this incredibly cute paper birdie brought me a note telling me I might find a majority of the members of the wizarding high court in courtroom ten this morning. Right now. And, gosh, wouldn't you know it? Here you are!"
Harry could see several faces turning red. From anger or embarrassment, he wasn't sure.
The witch turned on her pumps and walked toward Harry's chair, ignoring the rest of the room completely. "Hi there!" She said, her voice a little lower than before. "I'm Elle Woods and I'm a Gemini vegetarian. Oh, and an attorney. I'm totally an attorney. Yours, actually."
"Oh. Hi...Elle." Said Harry, flummoxed. She couldn't be much older than Percy...was she really a lawyer? "I'm Harry." He finished.
Elle's blue eyes gazed at him expectantly.
"...and I'm an omnivorous Leo?"
He was rewarded with a wide smile full of even white teeth. "Twinsies! Summer signs are the best in my opinion. Never what's expected but still super fun once you get to know us. Though I'm sure the other signs have something to make up for their unfortunate location in the calendar. Can't think of anythingright nowbut...I'm sure it's there."
"Miss Woods-"
Elle held up a perfectly polished finger to silence the Minister over her shoulder. She looked Harry over in his position in the chair of doom.
"Oh sweetie," She murmured, softening, "you look like the personification of shame-filled white open-toed shoes after Labour Day. Don't you worry, Elle is here to make it all better with store credit and an apology from the manager to boot."
He wondered if the pun was on purpose. And what Labour Day was.
"I'm sorry, it's just, I get the feeling they don't like me much." Said Harry. "And you seem very...young."
She put a finger to her lips and winked. Elle turned on her pale pink pumps once more to face her audience. The Wizengamot. Whatever. She clapped her hands together once. "Right. Let's get started. Oh, wait, wait, wait. Before I forget." She waved her hand negligently over her shoulder and the doors slammed shut. A slight click echoed about the room. "There. Wouldn't want any unexpected surprises. Now," She walked forward a few feet to face the podium directly.
"Elle Woods, attorney for the accused. Please state charges, who filed those charges, and any available evidentiary support." Harry couldn't see her face from here, but he imagined she was beaming.
"Hem-hem."
The toad-like witch in hot pink stood. Harry assumed she stood; she could have just been sitting up a bit higher for all the difference it made. "I'm sorry, it almost sounds like you are treating us like ones on trial. I must misunderstand. You do intend to focus on the crimes of the accused, don't you?" Her voice was a sort of sticky-sweet that put Harry on edge.
Elle didn't reply right away. Then she shook her head rapidly. "I'm sorry, I just hallucinated."
Harry turned a laugh into a coughing fit. The witch's cardigan, a violent bubblegum pink, was gaudy and childish next to the classy dusty rose of Elle's tailored jacket.
"The thing is," Elle was saying, her own voice sweetening just a tad. "Mister Potter doesn't have to do a thing right now. He's totally innocent until proven otherwise. So, like, what that means is you have to tell me what you think he's done wrong and then prove it. Somehow. You do have evidence, don't you? I can't imagine us coming all the way down to courtroom 10 for nothing. Courtroom 10... Oh, that's right." She snapped her fingers. "This is where we held the hearings for the accused in the last wizarding war. It's almost like someone is trying to illustrate a similarity between Mister Potter and the domestic terrorists and traitors once tried here. Weird."
Scattered murmurings began between the members of the Wizengamot.
"After all, this is just a case of underage magic for a fifteen-year-old Gryffindor held in a secret room under the Ministry earlier than scheduled without an adult or guardian present. Nothing at all suspicious about that. Are you that concerned due to my client's celebrity? He is the Boy-Who-Lived and a Triwizard champion, you know. This would totally draw a lot of attention if anyone found out. Were you trying to avoid reporters?"
Fudge seized on that excuse. "Of course, Miss Woods. We want to get to the truth of the matter. There's no need for media throwing rumours about until we all know what's happened for certain. The truth, that is what is important." He nodded as he spoke, and several members of the wizengamot nodded along with him.
"Rumours," Elle repeated. "Wouldn't want any of those." She turned to Harry. "Let's make this go a little quicker, shall we? Mister Potter, why are you here?"
Harry blinked. "Um..."
At her encouraging nod, Harry sat up straighter. "I was told to come here."
"To courtroom 10?"
"To the ministry. Today." Said Harry.
Elle tilted her head. "Why were you told to come to the ministry today Mister Potter?"
"Well..." Said Harry, "You see. I got a letter from the ministry saying I was to be expelled and someone, I don't know who, was coming to destroy my wand. Then I was told I was going to have a hearing instead."
"And we're here for the hearing," Elle confirmed.
Harry nodded slowly. It almost felt like she was purposely simplifying it, like she was talking to children. He wondered if the other witches and wizards felt the same way.
"Okay, so, like, why did the ministry threaten to expel you? What did you do?"
Harry took a breath. "I was with my cousin Dudley. I live with him and my aunt, his mother, and her husband over the summer holidays. I was with Dudley and I used magic in front of him."
"There is your evidence, surely." Called the toad lady in hot pink.
Elle tapped a pump on the floor. "You used magic in front of your cousin and they threatened to expel you? Did you curse your cousin?"
Startled laughter filled the air along with exclamations.
"Now really, Miss Woods," Said Fudge, dabbing his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief, "That's hardly called for."
"No, I didn't curse him. I didn't curse anyone." Said Harry loudly, when Elle made no motion she'd even heard the minister, instead awaiting his answer.
"What sort of magic did you use, Harry?" She asked.
"The Patronus Charm." More murmuring.
"You cast a Patronus?" It was a different witch this time, with short auburn hair and a monocle. She was also sat near the Minister's platform, though not as closely to his feet as the witch in hot pink.
Fudge gave the witch a look of disdain. "You can't believe that little fourteen-year-old cast a Patronus, Madame Bones?"
Harry resented that. He was a little fifteen year old.
"Go on and answer the question, Harry." Said Elle.
Harry nodded at the witch. "Yes, ma...madame."
"Did the mist have a defined shape? That is to say, could you see what sort of form it might take?" Madame Bones asked.
Harry frowned. "Yes, it's a stag. It's always been a stag." Louder murmuring erupted and Fudge had to bang on his little desk several times to bring things back to order.
"Of all the nonsense..." Fudge scowled down at Harry from his podium.
Madame Bones stood, casting a stern look toward Minister Fudge. "I would very much like to ask another question. Do you mean to say, Potter, that you can cast a fully formed Patronus?"
At Elle's nod Harry said, "Yes, Madame Bones. I have done since I was thirteen."
Madame Bones looked impressed, as did several other witches and wizards.
"Hem-hem." Toad lady was back. "Is your client claiming to achieve a full Patronus at a mere thirteen years of age?"
Elle tilted her head. "What? Like it's hard?"
Harry choked.
"I know!" Elle clapped her hands. "Why don't we have Mister Potter demonstrate? That ought to clear a few things up." She turned to Harry. "Do you mind showing off a little?"
"No. Not at all." Said Harry, with a small smile.
"Now wait a minute." Fudge interrupted loudly, trying to be heard above the excited murmuring of the members of the wizengamot. "As a criminal at a trial, he hasn't got his wand with him. He can not cast a charm, fictional or otherwise." He said this all rather smugly.
"No?" Said Elle, scrunching up her nose. "Use mine, Harry. Give it a whirl." She stepped forward with a few clicks of her pumps and held out a wand.
Harry took it in his hands and froze. He looked from the wand to Elle and back. It washiswand. She'd brought him his wand. Harry glanced around at the people in the seats, then at a red-faced Fudge attempting to speak over them. With a shrug, he stood and held out his wand.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Prongs bounded forward, powerful muscles rippling beneath a semi-transparent hide. A brilliant shimmering silver-blue. Large branched antlers, each tine glowing, cast patterns of light on the dark stone ceiling and walls. It made a quick round about the courtroom floor, circling Elle, then returning to stand in front of Harry. Chest puffed up proudly. Harry thought Prongs looked less than impressed with his audience.
Silence. Every eye in the chamber watching the boy wizard and his patronus.
"Remarkable." Breathed Madame Bones.
Elle turned to look at the other occupants of the room. "Is this what called us all here? Is this wondrous example of one of the purest forms of light magic really an appropriate excuse to call for a criminal trial? Is a Patronus worthy of expulsion? My friend, Erica, was dating this guy Tad and she, like, really liked him. Erica had long red hair and was super curvy. I mean, her hip-to-waist ratio is to die for. Anyway, Tad hated when she dressed in anything form-fitting and never liked it when she wore her hair hanging. She had amazing hair. Personally, I have always respected redheads as fellow members of a hair colour minority."
Madame Bones hid a smile behind her hand.
"So finally he breaks up with her. He tells her that her body is all wrong, she's too wide here and too small there and that letting her hair hang like that makes her look like a streetwalker." Someone made a startled, outraged noise. "I know right? Well, Erica was devastated. She ate so much ice cream. But she picked herself up. And you know what? She was married a year later to a Kensington with killer abs and a trust fund. I guess what I'm trying to say is that the world isn't blind. And, just like with Erica, I'm sure there are plenty of magic schools out there that would be glad to take in a fifteen-year-old who can perform a Patronus. The Boy-Who-Lived to boot."
She tilted her head, picture perfect innocence, "Gosh. I wonder what Britain's magical community would think of that development? Imagine Harry Potter walking around in Durstrang colours!" She glanced at Harry. "Or, if it's not too biased, Illvermorny?"
Minister Fudge made a strangled, sputtering noise. His eyes darted from Elle's pleasant smiling face to the Patronus beside Harry, then to the rows of witches and wizards seated above them.
Madame Bones stood.
"A formal vote," she announced, her voice clear and firm, cutting through Fudge's choked noises. "All in favour of dismissing charges against Mister Potter?"
A ripple of movement went through the chamber. Hands, some hesitant while others were raised with decisive swiftness, shot up across the tiers. The witch in the garish pink sat stiff as a board. Hands gripping the edge of her desk.
It was over. Just like that.
"The ayes have it," Madame Bones declared. She didn't look at Fudge. "All charges are dropped. Mister Potter is free to go."
The formal atmosphere dissolved into a low buzz of conversation and the rustle of fabric as people started to rise from their seats.
Elle walked over to Harry with bouncy hair and bouncy steps. Before he got out a word of thanks she drew him into a hug and squeezed him tightly. "You did so good!" She praised. "I could tell you were so scared, but you did it. You looked mature and capable and didn't let any adolescent rage vomit out of your mouth."
Harry's cheeks flushed.
"My cousin Darren is a big drinker with a bigger mouth, so I know a lot about both word vomit and the alcohol-induced kind. Really sucks getting it out of silk, let me tell you. Might as well burn it and weep." She moved back and beamed at him. "This was fun! So, I'll be around for the year. This is my card if you need me for anything or if you just want to meet up and vent. We all need to do that once in a while, don't we? And maybe we can talk a little about that muggle family of yours while we're at it. You have a godfather, don't you?"
Harry blinked at the card held out to him. "Yes, I do. Your, um, business card is pink."
Elle nodded. "Uh huh. And scented."
Harry brought it to his nose curiously. Strawberries.
"I think it gives it a little something extra, don't you?"
Harry found himself grinning so wide it hurt his cheeks. He took the card and put it into his pocket. "Thank you, Elle."
Fudge stormed past them. On the platform Percy Weasley muttered something under his breath, scrambling to collect his notes and the stack of files from earlier. As Percy carefully made his way down the steps and crossed the room, trailing behind the Minster, he exchanged a nod with Elle. So brief Harry nearly missed it.
Elle caught Harry's inquisitive glance and shrugged her shoulders. "Cute paper birdies come in the strangest shapes and sizes."
Harry blinked owlishly. Percy...helped?
Elle patted his cheek. "Try not to get into too much trouble, Harry sweetie. Shoot me an owl."
And she was gone. The hearing was over.
Harry made to join the crowd of witches and wizards leaving the room when Dumbledore strode dramatically inside and stopped short. Looking for once completely wrong-footed.
"Miss the memo, professor?" Harry asked cheekily, stepping into the corridor. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and wondered if he should try to find Mr Weasley's office. Maybe get lost a little on the way so he could have a look around.
Accidentally of course.
"It seems I missed all of the excitement. Harry, if you would take the lift at the end of the hall to Arthur's office, you'll find it on level two, I believe he will take you home at lunch."
Harry looked up, frowning, but Dumbledore wasn't looking at him. "That long? I can just—"
"I'm afraid I have rather urgent business to attend to." Dumbledore continued. "And am unable to escort you myself."
"Yes, but..." Harry trailed off as Dumbledore began to walk away.
Right. Of course Dumbledore has better things to do. It's not like Harry just faced expulsion or anything.
Harry crossed his arms and stood right thereout of spite. He would wait a few minutes before finding the lift.
"Quite the show, Potter."
Draped in a plum outer robe over a set of dark blue matching vest and trousers, Lucius Malfoy stood to Harry's left. Hands resting on his cane.
"Sir?"
"And, admittedly, a surprising show of competence." His silver-grey eyes trailed past Harry to Dumbledore's retreating form. "Among other things."
Lucius gave Harry a considering look before moving further down the hall to speak to a thin wizard with thick brown curls and silver glasses with very narrow frames. The two immediately began speaking, heads bent together.
Well that was...a thing that happened.
The short witch in hot pink walked out of the courtroom, pausing when she noticed Harry. She held a pink handkerchief up to her face and sniffed dismissively. "I do hope some people don't let ill-gotten victories go to their head. The Ministry watches troublemakers very closely."
Harry struggled with whether he should say something. His mind raced through possible responses, each one more sarcastic than the last. From suggesting the Ministry consider focusing on actual criminals rather than fifteen-year-olds saving their cousins from soul-sucking demons, to questioning if her wardrobe choices constituted an unusual form of torture. Elle, he thought, would agree it was in the realm of possibility.
Then a hand pulled him back and away, fingers wrapping around his upper arm with just enough pressure to turn him around without being rough. "Potter?"
Harry looked up into a nearly familiar face with heavy brows and dark eyes that flicked over him briefly. Curiously, the wizard didn't look at his scar. "Yeah?"
"An especially bubbly American witch employed my services on your behalf. I've been asked to escort you home." The wizard told him. Harry looked him over but he wasn't wearing the plum robes of the Ministry or the red robes of an Auror, like Kingsley did. He wasn't wearing robes at all, actually. But he did have on a long knee-length coat with a metal badge that said 'warden'.
"And by home you mean...?" Harry hedged. He had no desire to go back to Privet Drive. Especially when he'd already been at Grimmauld Place for ten days.
"Specifically, she wants you delivered into the care of your godfather." The wizard -warden?- explained.
"Oh! Yeah," Harry said, smiling a little. "Yeah, that's perfect."
The Warden led Harry down the wall and away from the witch in pink who, Harry only now noticed, was making a noise of outrage. Had she still been talking?
Oops.
He glanced up at the Warden as they walked. More than one person moved out of their way when they noticed the tall wizard. He was young, fit, and covered head to toe in naught but black. Even his accessories were black from what Harry could see. Not that he was looking. A collar-type necklace he thought Sirius would like, and a heavy belt with thick metal clips on it.
Maybe he was goth or something. Did wizards have goths? They must have, that was the only explanation for Snape.
Halfway to the lift Dumbledore stood with a group of witches and wizards, all dressed in plum over-robes. He didn't recognize any of them, but he assumed they were at the hearing. They didn't seem keen on whatever the old wizard was saying, expressions ranging from bored to nervous to outright hostile. Dumbledore looked to the side and did a small double-take when he spotted Harry and the Warden walking down the corridor. Something remarkably like disapproval crossed his face.
"Cheers, professor!" Harry said brightly.
Dumbledore made a move to excuse himself from the conversation. An older gentleman with a soft hat that had tassels put a hand on his arm, motioning toward one of the other wizards in the little cluster. Dumbledore reluctantly turned back, his face genial once more.
Harry snickered quietly as they passed them by. "So," Harry said. They stopped in front of the lift. "Elle sent you?"
The Warden pressed a button and the grate rattled open. They stepped inside. "That's right."
Harry nodded, standing to the side. "And you're a what, exactly? Babysitter? Not that I'm complaining, I'm happy to go home."
"I prefer to think of myself as a highly specialised security and wellness consultant," He drawled, unfazed. "But 'babysitter' works too. I'm a Warden, name's Flint."
Oh. Harry blinked. "You're...you were on the Slytherin Quidditch team."
"Was I?" Flint said.
"You fouled a lot," Harry blurted.
The corner of Flint's mouth twitched. "I nearly fouled, Potter. Didn't myself kicked out of any games, did I? Some of us read the rules thoroughly. You can check yourself."
Harry huffed. "I might."
"You should," Flint said easily. "It was legal. Mostly."
"Mostly he says."
"I seem to recall a tiny seeker standing on his broom like a surfboard, diving off it, and catching the snitch in his mouth," Flint smirked. "Tell me, any of that sound legal to you?"
He frowned, turning to look up at Flint. "I didn't know! Did...was-" He'd never thought about it before. All that ever mattered when he played was the need to win.
Flint reached around him to press the level 8 button. "Did you get away with it because you're the Boy-Who-Lived? Nah, you got away with it because we all thought it was bloody fantastic." The lift began to move.
"Really?" Harry asked.
Flint looked down at him and nodded. "I'd never been more pissed about House placement than I was during Quidditch season each year. I would've killed to get you into Slytherin."
Harry stood there thoughtfully until the lift shuddered to a halt. Flint stepped out first, scanning the crowd before nodding Harry forward. What did he think he was going to find in the Atrium, bears? Someone pointed at Harry as they went by. Oh right, he was famous. Or infamous.
Depended on the day lately.
They made their way across the atrium over to the line of floos, the first half going and the second half coming. Flint came to a stop at the first floo they reached. "Where are we taking you?"
"I'm at..." Harry froze. "Crap. I can't say. There's a spell. I literally can't tell you."
The Warden considered this. "You know, Potter. As a Warden under contract, anything I happen to observe or hear is confidential. Even if I see or hear it accidentally." He said, casually.
Harry looked between the floo and Flint. "So if I just said it while I was throwing in the powder..."
"I might overhear," Flint said. "Hard to avoid, standing this close. But that stays between me, you and the fireplace."
Harry fought a grin. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the pot, stepped into the fireplace, and threw it down. "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!"
Flint stepped in beside him just as the flames roared up. It's a tight fit. Flint is broad enough that Harry has to press against the bricks to make room. Then his vision is filled with green, and the world spins. He grunted and shut his eyes, bracing for the brief, alarming sensation of falling sort of upwards while twisting in circles.
It stopped abruptly. Harry stumbled out onto the dark wood floor of the parlour at Grimmauld Place. Wheezing on soot, lungs burning. Legs wobbly. Two floo trips in one day was more than enough in his opinion. A large hand was suddenly pressing against his back, holding him upright.
"Most people have learned how to breathe by now," Flint said. "Try not to die in my presence. It'll look bad on my record."
"Ha-ha." Harry said, wiping his face and blinking ash from his eyes. The room came into focus. He allowed Flint to gently propel him to the door.
Ron and Hermione peer in just as they were about to step into the hallway.
"Harry!" Hermione said. "You're back! How did it...who's that with you?"
Behind them, pacing near the stairs, Sirius stopped mid-stride, hand running through his long dark hair.
Ron frowned. "That was quick, wasn't it? I didn't think we'd see you for another hour."
Harry ignored them both, making a beeline straight for Sirius. He brushed past Ron and dodged Hermione's reaching hand.
"Wait, I—" she started. "Harry, what happened? Is everything all right?"
"Later." Harry said without looking back.
Hermione moved to follow him when Flint maneuvered himself between them. The Warden didn't touch Hermione, but his presence was enough to make her take several steps back. Eyes widening.
Sirius watched Harry approach, brows raising. "Well," He said, looking from Harry to Flint who followed close behind him. His gaze landed on the Warden badge. "I'm guessing it went well?"
Harry nodded. He let Sirius pull him in for a hug. "Yeah. It all worked out." Harry mumbled into Sirius's shoulder, the tension finally draining from his shoulders.
"This your godfather, Potter?"
Harry straightened and turned to Flint. "That's right." He stopped speaking as he registered Marcus Flint was standing two feet from Sirius Black. Wanted mass murderer Sirius Black. "Uh."
Flint nodded. "That's me done, then. I'll see myself back." And he just turned and walked away, like it was nothing. Completely unfazed. No questions asked.
He was gone through the floo before anyone could say anything else.
Sirius leaned against Harry, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Gods below," he murmured to Harry. "Dumbledore is gonna hate this development." He slung an arm around Harry's shoulders and steered him toward the stairs. "Let's have a conversation. You can tell me about that handsome Warden fellow."
Harry tripped on a step. "S-sirius!" He complained.
Sirius barked out a laugh. "What? I can't appreciate the view?"
Harry groaned.
"Hang on." Called Hermione. "Harry, you haven't told us any-"
"Give a rest, Hermione," Sirius said. "You can talk to him later." He pulled Harry upstairs, stopping briefly in front of a door with a small plaque on the outside that read 'Sirius'.
The moment Sirius shut the door he was towing Harry to his bed, pushing him down and crawling onto the comfort after him. Sitting with his legs crossed and bouncing slightly.
"Where do I even start?" he mumbled, more to himself than to Sirius.
"The beginning is usually a good place," Sirius suggested.
"Yes, well, if I started at the ending it'd be a very short conversation." said Harry.
Sirius grinned. "If you want to skip the boring parts and jump to mister tall dark and handsome, I won't complain."
Harry laughed in spite of himself. For the first time in months he felt a little lighter. "Okay. You're not going to believe this..."