shouted again — it was a boys voice — and Hermione realized that he was talking about them. 'Are you all right down there?' he called.
'We?re fine,' Hermione called up. 'But we?re not survivors…I mean, not literally. We-'
Apparently, the boy decided that this claim merited further investigation. In the space of a moment, he had leaped down from his rock and landed lightly on his feet in front of them, still holding his wand.
Hermione made a little gurgling sound in her throat, and stared.
It was Harry.
Only it wasn?t Harry as he was now, not the almost-seventeen-year old Harry who even now scared her a little with his grown-up-ness and the fact that occasionally (not that often) he needed to shave.
This was Harry as he had been the first time she?d seen him, small and skinny and eleven, with his dark green eyes the biggest feature of a face still round with the last vestiges of childhood. Only this boys eyes weren?t green; he wore no glasses, and his forehead was unmarked. Like a Gryffindor Quidditch player, his wizarding robes were scarlet, although of a very archaic cut. And perhaps the most surprising thing about him was that he regarded them with no surprise at all.
'You?re the Heirs, aren?t you?' he said, raising his eyebrows very slightly. 'I?ve been waiting for you.'
'Demons, Demons, Demons?' Narcissa said, pushing the heavy book back across the table to Sirius. 'What a title.'
'Thats what I said,' grinned Sirius. Narcissa smiled back at him. He looked ten years younger than he had that morning — still worried, the lines of strain around his mouth and eyes remained, and he repeatedly checked the bracelet around his wrist to make sure that the Vivicus charm was still glowing, but the hopeless look of the morning had gone from his eyes. She knew this was due to the fact that Lupin was all right, and was happy for him.
She touched the covering of the book he had brought upstairs lightly with the palm of her hand. 'Where did you get this, anyway?'
'Snape,' said Sirius, looked pleased with himself.
'You told him about the demon in the cellar?' Narcissa was surprised.
'Well, it came up in conversation. 'So, Sirius, how you doing?
Whats that you say? Minions from hell getting you down? Have I got the book for you.?'
'Somehow that doesn?t sound like something Severus would say.'
'Severus,' mimicked Sirius good-humoredly. 'Ikkle Sevvie. I haven?t heard anyone call him Severus, except Dumbledore, for years. Not that I ever called him that — '
'No,' said Lupin, appearing in the doorway, 'if I recall, you used to call him 'Arse Face.?'
'On good days,' admitted Sirius amicably, swiveling around to greet his friend. Lupin had put on clean clothes to replace the ones he had torn during the Change, and although he by no means could be described as looking well-rested and relaxed, he did appear much improved.
'You ready to go?' he asked Sirius.
Sirius nodded.
'And where are you two off to?' Narcissa interjected with asperity.
'Godrics Hollow,' replied Sirius, getting to his feet. 'Remus has a theory that the box my Key fits is somewhere in the Hollow. And I think hes got a point.'
'Godrics Hollow?' Narcissa looked up at Sirius. 'Isn?t that…?'
'Yes,' he said shortly, pulling on his long gray travelling cloak.
Sirius? tone discouraged inquiry, so instead Narcissa got to her feet, put her hands on Siriusshoulders, and kissed him good-bye.
'Come back soon.'
'Will do. Owl me if you find anything interesting in that book.'
'I will,' she said, and waved at him as he Disapparated, along with Lupin.
Narcissa stood for a moment, looking at the spot Sirius had vanished from. Lately he had begun to seem less like a fiance and more like an infrequent houseguest. She knew he had no choice, and appreciated everything he was doing to help Draco; knowing he was worried about her son as well took some of the burden off her. Still, she missed him while he was away. Which, she had to admit, was a novel experience. She had never missed Lucius when he was gone.
Sirius was a lot of things Lucius hadn?t been — funny, warm, generous, and generally nonviolent.
And, of course, it didn?t hurt that he was dead sexy.
Harry sat on the floor of the cell with his arms behind him. He didn?t have much choice in the matter — he couldn?t see his bindings, but his hands were manacled behind him and fastened via a length of chain to an adamantine hoop sunk deep into the floor.
He couldn?t stand up, and couldn?t move more than a foot away from the wall. It was not comfortable — he itched all over, his clothes were torn and stiff with blood. And his mind was spinning.
The cell looked just as it had before. The same clutter of awkward looking furniture, the same huge wardrobe. The guards who had dragged him in here had even tossed his sword into the corner of the room. He could vaguely see the glitter of the ruby-studded hilt from where he was sitting.
He heard Dracos voice in his head, amused, laughing. 'Its not enough just to know how to pick up a sword, Potter. You have to know which end to poke into the enemy.' And the same drawling voice, slightly different inflection. 'Do what you want with him. It doesn?t matter to me.'
He shut his eyes, trying to block out of his mind the other things that voice had said. Things about his parents. The memory no longer made him angry, instead it opened up a black deep well of grief inside him that threatened to split his chest in half. He hadn?t felt this bad about anything since…well, since he had thought he?d
