This is the first chapter of a story where Harry and Sirius get all the care I wanted them to get in canon. It’s very self-indulgent.

Title: Serendipity
Author: Claire Watson
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Canon Divergent, Fix-it
Relationship(s): Harry Potter & Sirius Black
Content Rating: G
Author Notes:
Beta: Grammarly!
Word Count: 5,574
Summary: Harry Potter notices things. Just because he doesn’t talk about them, doesn’t mean he doesn’t see them. When a serendipitous series of events brings him and his new dog-friend to a strange new place, some of those things start to finally make sense.

Chapter one

When Harry first learned that he was going to be going to a magical school to be taught magic, a faraway place where his relatives wouldn’t be able to follow, he’d been thrilled and excited.

That excitement hadn’t dimmed at all during that first trip to Diagon Alley: not when he was overwhelmed in the Leaky Cauldron, nor at the bank with its strange, fierce guardians, not on the discovery that he was likely going to be looked down on and bullied, nor when the creepy wandmaker linked him to the man who’d made him an orphan.

Being sent back home after learning all this exciting new stuff had been a bit of a let-down, but the knowledge that he only had to wait until September kept the ball of excitement simmering gently in his belly. It was much easier to deal with hunger, anger, and hatred when you knew the end was in sight.

Being dropped at King’s Cross and finding his way to the train was scary, but it was also an adventure. Meeting all sorts of kids his age, being part of the crowd… It was all thrilling.

It was disconcerting to discover just how big the spotlight on him was. When Hermione Granger, who introduced herself as a muggleborn, immediately began telling him everything she’d read about him, Harry got the sinking suspicion that his fame was going to turn into just another kind of ‘Harry-hunting.’ People were already using it to put him into a box that they’d predesigned for him based on something that he couldn’t even remember.

What Harry wanted was to blend in. To not be anything extraordinary, to not be singled out in any way. That appeared to be a pipedream. It looked like he would have to make do with what he got.

v^v^v^v

Harry soon gave up on his wistful hope of going unnoticed amongst his peers. He fell into the school routine, and before long, even the pointing and whispers stopped bothering him so much. Things settled into a routine aside from the small matter of a troll invading the castle at Halloween. Harry had his friends for company, and schoolwork was more tedious and repetitive than difficult.

His fame was as irritating as he’d suspected it would be. Firstly, being singled out by the unpleasant Potions Master, Professor Snape, then with the whole Quidditch thing. Harry loved being on a broom—he loved the feeling of freedom—but being gawked at by a stadium full of people took much of the shine off the experience.

Then there was the whole thing with Norbert.

The punishment they were given smacked of unfairness. Fifty points each for being caught out after curfew was way over the top. They hadn’t even been caught doing anything. Professor McGonagall made a muttered reference about Harry being just like his father, proving that she, like Professor Snape, was punishing Harry for being James Potter’s son.

The rest of Gryffindor was as unimpressed with the points loss as they were. But, instead of blaming McGonagall for handing out unfair punishments, they chose to blame Harry, Hermione, and Neville. Almost the entire house gave the three firsties the cold shoulder as further punishment.

No one treated Fred and George like this, and their lost points over the year definitely tallied up to more than the fifty each Harry and his friends had been given. The whole experience made a mockery of the whole ‘your House is your family’ speech from the start of the year unless more families were like the Dursley’s than Harry had imagined.

Then there was the detention they were given. Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Draco were instructed to go out—after curfew!—into the forbidden forest and hunt whatever was killing unicorns.

When Draco objected—possibly the first time Harry had wholeheartedly agreed with the blond snob—Hagrid told him to get on with it or face expulsion.

Hagrid also said comforting things such as “What we’re doing is dangerous, so I don’t want anyone taking any risks,” and “There’s nothing in this forest that will hurt you if you’re with me or Fang.” These gems were followed a little later by “We’ll split into two parties” and “I warn you, Fang’s a coward.”

Harry was selfishly pleased that he and Hermione got to stay with Hagrid, although that was short-lived. After a brief discussion—where it was revealed that creatures had to be mighty fast or mighty powerful, or both, to injure a unicorn—Hagrid left Harry and Hermione alone while he went to rescue Draco, Neville, and Fang from whatever had happened to cause them to send up red sparks.

Then Harry was sent off with Draco and Fang, only to come across what they’d been looking for in the act of drinking unicorn blood.

Unsurprisingly, neither the two first-year students nor the cowardly dog managed to achieve anything. Malfoy did the most intelligent thing he’d done so far and bolted, Fang too.

Harry was lucky that Firenze was compassionate enough to rescue a human, or he might have met his end there and then. What an appropriate consequence to being found out of the common room after curfew. How insane was his life that nearly being killed was better than being in Surrey with the Dursleys?

As the school year drew to a close, there was the whole Philosopher’s Stone thing. As soon as Harry realised that Hagrid had let slip the secret to calming Fluffy and that Dumbledore had left the Castle, meaning that the Stone was undefended, Harry felt compelled to go down there and make sure it was safe.

Making their way through the obstacles was difficult, but nothing that they didn’t know how to handle. Facing the thief on his own at the end seemed like the logical conclusion. He wasn’t even all that surprised to discover it was Voldemort. It made sense, really. He was Harry Potter; why wouldn’t he face off against Voldemort? Never mind that Voldemort was supposed to be dead.

Quirrell was a surprise; Harry had honestly expected it to be Snape. Still, the whole thing was less awful than it might have been. As scary as it’d been to be tied up and told he was too nosy to live, Harry still tried to save the Stone. After all, it was what a hero would do, and he wanted to be a hero. Didn’t he?

The following year had been even more eventful. Harry ricocheted from one crisis to the next, starting by having to be rescued from the Dursleys before the school year even started.

Then there was the issue at King’s Cross. Harry hadn’t been sure about flying the Ford Anglia to school, but Ron seemed confident, and Ron knew a lot more about what was okay and what wasn’t in the magical world than Harry did.

It wasn’t until after the big confrontation at the end of the school year, the whole thing with the giant snake and the talking diary and Ginny Weasley nearly having her lifeforce sucked out of her, that Harry had a chance to think over what he’d discovered.

Lockhart’s casual explanation of the way he’d been using magic to muck around with the memories of a bunch of people made Harry wonder about what else magic could do. Could he use magic to make his relatives treat him better? Or to make Dudley and his friends stay away?

Before long, Harry was back in his room at Privet Drive for the summer. As the long, hungry hours stretched in front of him, Harry daydreamed about ways he could make them pay for locking him up and not bothering to feed him. It would only have to be until he was old enough to move out; then, he’d be able to finally leave.

The daydreams weren’t particularly useful, but reminding himself that there was an end in sight—that he would eventually get to ditch his awful relatives for good—helped him cope.

Bargaining with Vernon to get a signature for his Hogsmeade pass made Harry feel in control of his own destiny, for once. He sent Hedwig away, explaining that it wouldn’t be safe for her while Marge and Ripper were in the house, and girded his loins to get through Marge’s visit.

That feeling of control dissolved as soon as Marge arrived.

It was the first time she’d visited since Harry had learned the truth about his parents. Instead of being able to comfort himself with the knowledge that she was wrong, her constant jabs, taunts, and insults infuriated him more than ever.

The build-up of angry pressure within him that culminated in Marge’s unexpected inflation felt like it nudged something loose in Harry’s brain. As he hurriedly threw his things together, Harry felt more clear-headed than he could ever remember being.

Dragging his trunk towards the door with Hedwig’s empty cage tucked under one arm—thank goodness he’d sent her safely away from all this mess—Harry’s path was blocked by Vernon, trouser leg in bloody tatters.

“You come back here!’ Vernon bellowed. “You come back here and put it right!”

Harry shoved the cage he was carrying at Vernon to distract him, scrabbled at the door behind him for the lock, and escaped from the house. Five hurried steps later, and he’d made it out into the quiet street, pulling his trunk, now mysteriously lighter and able to be carried—although it was awkward—with him.

Harry began walking without any thought in his head but to get as far away from the Dursleys as possible. He managed to get several streets away before the adrenaline finally wore down enough for him to register how exhausted he felt.

Harry dropped his trunk to the ground and just stood there for a second.

The reality of the situation he was in swept over him. He’d just done two, maybe three pieces of magic: first the blowing up of Marge, then the unlocking of the cupboard under the stairs, finally whatever made his trunk lighter.

The fact that they weren’t deliberate and that he hadn’t used his wand for them wouldn’t matter. Dobby hadn’t used a wand last year when he’d levitated the pudding, and Harry had received a warning, nonetheless. The warning had stated explicitly that further spellwork would lead to ‘the prospect of expulsion.’ There were probably already people on their way to Privet Drive to snap his wand.

It struck Harry suddenly that he didn’t recall his wand being one of the items he’d shoved in his trunk. Maybe it had already been in there?

With a sudden sense of nervous urgency, Harry opened his trunk and rifled through the contents. His movements grew more and more frantic the longer he looked, upturning books and potions ingredients, checking underneath his robes…eventually, he tipped everything out onto the grassy area just beneath a streetlight to get a better look.

No wand.

Uncaring as to tidiness and the ability to find things later, Harry shoved everything back into his trunk and collapsed onto the grass next to it, hanging his head in despair. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to cry. He was stuck in the muggle world, no money, no wand, nothing but a trunk full of useless school stuff.

A low whine caught Harry’s attention. Lifting his head, he caught sight of an emaciated, scruffy black dog. It was large, despite its thin frame, and it might have looked scary but for the sad expression in its intelligent eyes.

“You got a raw deal too, did you?” Harry asked. He held his hand out cautiously for the dog to sniff. It didn’t look aggressive—nothing like Ripper, who always seemed a second away from trying to tear Harry’s throat out.

The big black dog crept forward slowly, almost as if it were trying not to spook him, then carefully sniffed his hand. A second later, a long, wet tongue swiped over it.

Harry snatched his hand back. “Gross!” But the dog already seemed less scary. He reached out and gently patted it on the head. “You’re a nice dog, aren’t you? I wonder what your name is?”

The dog perked up slightly and sidled closer.

Harry wrinkled his nose. “You could do with a bath. You stink worse than Dudley’s shoes.” He sighed. “I guess you don’t have anyone who loves you either, huh? If you did, you wouldn’t be out here, looking like you’ve spent a month in my cupboard.” He decided to ignore the smell and continued to pet the dog, to its evident delight. “I wish I had some food to share with you, but I’m homeless too right now.” He snorted. “Not like the house on Privet Drive was ever my home.”

It felt better to say it out loud like an indefinable weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“I just wish…” Harry sighed again, scratching gently at the base of the dog’s ears. “I just wish I had an actual home to go to, you know? I wish my parents had left me a house or something.” He stopped scratching as he imagined it, warming up to the idea. “A magical house, hidden from everyone else, where I wouldn’t need to do all the cooking and cleaning, where no one would call me names. Where there would be enough food for you and me, and we could just relax.”

The dog whined again, nudging at his hands with its nose.

“Sorry.” Harry obediently started scratching again. The dog sat there, thumping its tail with a blissed-out expression on its face. “Even if there was a place like that, I don’t have any way to get there. I don’t even have my wand.” A memory sparked in his brain, the time he’d been desperately wanting to get away from Dudley and had ended up on the roof. “Unless…maybe if I wish hard enough? If I want it enough, things sometimes happen for me.” The magic he’d already done that day, for instance.

The dog made a conversational sounding, grumbling woof, tail still wagging.

“You think it’s a good idea?” Harry asked. “Well, it’s not like I can get expelled twice. Here, why don’t I hold onto you with one hand and my trunk with the other? That way, if it works, then everything will come with me.”

The dog’s tail wagged even harder.

“Here goes,” Harry said. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and wished with all his might that he was somewhere safe and warm, with his new dog friend to keep him company. His whole body flushed with warmth; then, there was a feeling like being forced through a tight rubber tube.

It made Harry want to throw up, but he clenched his teeth grimly, still clutching his trunk and the dog, and rode it out. When the feeling finally stopped, he cautiously opened his eyes.

He was no longer on a grassy verge, sitting underneath a streetlight. He, the dog, and the trunk had all been transported to an unknown location.

They were on a tiled floor in an empty, five-sided room, lit by a glowing sphere of light near the ceiling. Four of the five windowless walls were covered in embroidered fabric hangings depicting various scenes, with each wall having a theme set around one of four familiar colours: Gryffindor’s gold, Hufflepuff’s black, Ravenclaw’s bronze, and Slytherin’s silver. The last wall was blank, with no hangings, only whitewashed plaster.

Harry gaped for several long moments. “I think this must be Hogwarts.”

The dog stared around with a distinct look of shock.

The sphere of light descended. Its glow grew too bright to see, then dimmed again. An impersonal voice came from it.

“Language detected: English, British variant. Newcomers to the Acropolis, speak aloud your true name and your purpose here.”

Harry gulped. Not Hogwarts, then. “Uh, my name is Harry Potter, sir. Or, uh, ma’am.”

The sphere of light hovered, giving no reaction.

Harry wracked his brain, trying to figure out if he was supposed to say anything else. Maybe it wanted his full name? “Harry James Potter, that is.”

The sphere of light remained unchanging.

“I don’t know what the dog’s name is,” Harry explained, feeling foolish but not knowing what else to do.

The dog heaved a great sigh, then pulled away from Harry’s hand. It looked at him, then up at the sphere of light. Between one moment and the next, the dog had turned into a man, a dirty, smelly, skeletal wreck of a man.

“Sirius Orion Arcturus Black,” the man said in a voice that was scratchy with disuse.

“You will now be scanned,” the sphere intoned. “Those who wish harm, or have committed a capital crime, will be ejected.”

Sirius Black! That was the name of the man on the telly, the escaped convict the muggles were looking for! He was a wizard? An animagus wizard, at that? What was he doing in a muggle prison in the first place?

Harry tried to step away from this man—he’d scratched his ears, for Merlin’s sake—only to discover that he was locked into place. A beam of bright light emerged from the sphere and surrounded Sirius Black for several seconds.

“Scan complete. Sirius Orion Arcturus Black, pass. There have been several harmful magical effects detected; please report to the infirmary for magical cleansing at once.”

That wasn’t very clear. Wasn’t Sirius Black reported to be an armed and dangerous murderer? Although that report had come from the muggle police, maybe they were confused? Harry was confused, anyway.

The bright beam encompassed him next. It felt weird, like ants crawling all over his skin. It didn’t hurt, but it was unpleasant.

“Scan complete. Harry James Potter, fail. The presence of two discrete souls within your body contravenes item six of the Offworld Statues. You have three minutes to state a defence before termination procedures commence.”

Termination procedures? That sounded bad. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry said, doing his best not to stutter. “I don’t know anything about two souls.”

“Truth,” the sphere reported. “Investigation opened. Harry James Potter, your magic is hereby bound; you will be under direct surveillance until the investigation is complete.”

The sphere went dark for a long moment. Harry tried to say, “What now?” but could no longer talk. Before he had time to panic, the sphere relit, glowing softer this time.

“Sirius Orion Arcturus Black, Harry James Potter, please report to the infirmary to have several harmful magical effects removed. When that is complete, the interrogation will commence.”

There was a feeling like Harry had been doused with cool water, and then the light disappeared. Harry was relieved that he could move again.

The empty wall now had a large wooden door set into it.

“Harry! Harry, are you alright?” Black asked urgently. “It didn’t hurt you, did it?”

“You know who I am?” Harry replied, then immediately felt stupid. One thing he’d learned over the last two years was that every single witch and wizard in Britain seemed to know who he was.

“I didn’t do it, Harry, you have to believe me,” Black said desperately, not answering his question. “I wouldn’t have, I would never have…but they put me in Azkaban and never gave me a trial. I swear it, Harry, I didn’t do it!”

Harry felt sorry for the poor guy. He’d heard about Azkaban. He remembered how scared the normally fearless Hagrid had been about being sent there. Hagrid didn’t have a trial either, was just packed away because Fudge needed ‘to be seen to be doing something.’ They didn’t even bother looking for evidence! Why muggles were involved in the whole thing was still a mystery, but the lack of justice seemed all too credible.

Harry reached out a tentative hand and patted Sirius Black on one filthy shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, Mr Black. I believe you.” The wonder on Black’s face as he stared at him made Harry feel uncomfortable. “We should probably go to this infirmary that the glowing ball was talking about. And then I need to get interrogated, or something.”

Black relaxed. “Please stop calling me Mr Black, Harry,” he said. “Sirius is fine.” He gave himself a shake, looking slightly more with it. “Hey, what was that about two souls? What the hell? How can you have two souls? And who the hell has been casting harmful magic on you? That’s what I’d like to know! Come on, Harry, I want to get this sorted out right now.” He strode towards the door, not faltering at all when it opened at his approach.

Not seeing any other options, Harry picked up his trunk and followed.

There was a short, dimly lit hallway leading to another door. This one opened into a brightly lit room. There was no furniture, no decoration on the walls, no windows. It was just a large, empty, white room.

As soon as the door closed behind them, two excited beings that reminded Harry of Dobby the house-elf—only taller and more androgynous-looking—appeared in front of them.

“New masters!” the taller one crowed. “Come! New masters is coming here in front of mirrors!”

Before Harry could ask what mirrors, two tall mirrors popped into existence.

Harry’s trunk was whisked away, and Harry and Sirius were ushered over to the mirrors in question. They were floor-length, with dark, ornate frames covered with obscure carvings. They radiated magic.

Harry stood where the elf leading him instructed him to stand and wasn’t even surprised when he didn’t see his reflection staring back at him. Instead, there was a swirling, seething mass of vibrant colours; reds, oranges, blues, greens, yellows, and purples; overlaid by a shell of blue that gently held back tendrils of colour that tried to escape the centre mass.

In amongst the swirling colours were patches that looked almost decayed. One patch was so sickly and disgusting looking that Harry was almost physically repulsed. “Is that me?” he asked the little elf beside him. “What is that…thing?”

“Stand still, younger master,” the elf replied. “Desky is busy. Young master’s questions will wait until it isn’t poking at magic.” True to their word, Desky poked at a couple of the decayed looking spots, watching as they reacted. Some visibly retreated; others just sat there and let themselves be poked.

Sirius stood in front of the other mirror and was being poked by a different elf. Something was bothering him; his nose was wrinkled like he’d smelled something bad. Harry thought it must be something significant considering how bad he already smelled.

“I would have expected the magic my mother cast on me to have unravelled by now,” Sirius muttered. “And who the hell cast that compulsion spell on me?”

Harry looked to see what he was talking about, but the mirror Sirius was in front of looked blank to him. It wasn’t even reflecting the room they were in.

“Young master is only looking into his own mirror,” the little elf beside Harry scolded. “Other mirrors are for other masters!”

Harry ducked his head. “Sorry, I just wanted to know what the nasty looking things were and if what Sirius was looking at looked like that.” He gestured to the image in front of him. “I wasn’t purposefully trying to invade his privacy.”

“I don’t mind you seeing,” said Sirius instantly, to Harry’s surprise. “It’s the least I can do, really.” As he finished speaking, the shifting mass of colours in front of him became visible to Harry.

Sirius’ image had many similarities to Harry’s, with several notable differences. There was no blue shell surrounding the colours, and there was no disgusting patch like Harry had. Some of the decayed areas looked similar, and Sirius’ elf was poking at them the same way Desky had poked at Harry’s.

The colours that Sirius had in his mirror were proportioned differently as well. Unlike Harry’s multi-coloured swirl, Sirius had a predominance of reds and oranges, with a good smattering of yellow and blue. A striking emerald green popped up regularly, but the purple was dull and barely visible.

“Do the colours mean something?” Harry wondered aloud.

Sirius looked startled. “You haven’t learned the base magic system or done a core evaluation?” His brows drew together. “You have started Hogwarts, haven’t you? I didn’t misremember that part of the article?”

“I’m about to start my third year,” Harry confirmed. “What article? And what base magic system? Do you mean charms, transfiguration and potions? What do colours have to do with any of those? By evaluations, do you mean the end of year tests?”

Sirius looked confused. “No, I mean evaluations where you examine your magic to see what areas you’ll have a natural aptitude for. But by your third year, you will have started down the path to whatever mastery you’re inclined towards. How will you know what to pick if you haven’t examined your core and done an evaluation?”

Harry was starting to grow irritated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We just looked at the available classes and picked the ones we wanted to take.”

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but the elf beside him interrupted.

“Master listens to Notsey! Notsey has brought good bath. Master is getting into bath.” Notsey pointed at a bath filled with something that looked like steaming, clear, bright green jelly. “Hurry up, master.”

“But—” Sirius’ objections were ignored, and he was firmly led over to the bath. When he reached it, privacy screens sprang up around him. “Harry?” Sirius called frantically. “Harry, are you still there?”

“I’m still here,” Harry called back.

“I can’t—” Sirius’ voice broke off. There were some rather odd gooping noises. “What in Merlin’s name is this stuff? Harry? Is there some way that I can see him? Don’t take him away, okay? I need to know he’s alright. I just found him again! And did you see the clothes he’s wearing? There’s something wrong; I know there is…”

“I’m okay,” Harry called again, feeling hot with embarrassment about the state of his clothes. Even with the shame, part of him was gratified that someone had finally noticed that a boy Harry’s age wearing clothes several sizes too large for him wasn’t right. It was nice having a grown-up finally be worried about him, although it was a bit odd that it was an escaped prisoner who was the first to say something.

There was an aggrieved sounding sigh. “Older master is needing healing. Older master will stay in bath or Notsey will make all food taste like nothing for a week.”

Desky—who had still been poking at Harry—apparently finished what they were doing. “Young master is getting into bath,” the elf declared, pointing at another bath that appeared from nowhere. This one was full of green liquid too, but the green was a much darker colour. It was still clear and looked like unset jelly.

Harry allowed himself to be led over, divested of his clothes and then chivvied into the bath.

“Harry?” Sirius called. “Are you still there?”

“I’m having a bath too, Sirius,” Harry replied. The goopy liquid was more pleasant to sit in than Harry had expected; warm and soothing. It smelled a bit spicy, like pine and something else that he couldn’t put a name to. At Desky’s urging, he fully submerged himself, holding his nose so no green slime could go up. It was okay, and he popped up after several seconds. Desky helped him wipe the green stuff from his eyes and forehead.

Leaning back and relaxing, Harry glanced up at Desky, who remained watching over him. “Would it be okay to get rid of the screens, please? I mean, we’re both in the bath now. I think Sirius isn’t going to relax while he can’t see me.”

“Yes!” came Sirius’ vocal agreement.

“If young master wants,” the elf snapped their fingers, and the screens disappeared. Sirius—now looking like a green slime monster—settled down.

Harry let himself luxuriate. He’d often wondered what just sitting in a bath for enjoyment would be like. This wasn’t quite the same, but it was closer than he’d ever been before. He could see why people liked it.

“Masters is sitting quietly until bath is finished,” said Notsey firmly.

That was fine by Harry. He closed his eyes and just…relaxed.

He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew, he was being gently shaken awake. A much tidier Sirius, with shorter, untangled hair and now wearing a fluffy white robe, was smiling down at him. The detail Harry could see was incredible; his glasses had never given him such a clear image.

But he was in the bath; he wasn’t even wearing his glasses, was he? Harry reached a hand up and groped at his eyes to check. Nope. No glasses. Wow. This medicated bath had fixed his eyesight? That was amazing!

“Time to finish up here, pup,” Sirius murmured, running his hand over Harry’s head affectionately.

Something about the situation sparked recognition deep in Harry’s mind. “I feel like I know you, somehow. But I don’t remember ever seeing you before.”

Sirius winced. “You were probably too young for the memory to remain all these years later. James was my best friend, you see. I practically lived at your house when you were just a baby. James and Lily named me your godfather, and after that, they couldn’t get rid of me. I used to give you baths, change your nappies, read you bedtime stories. You were walking early, so sometimes I’d change into Padfoot and let you chase me. You enjoyed yourself so much I got you children’s broom for your first birthday.”

Harry blinked. “I had a broom when I was a baby?” He was still trying to get his head around the idea of having a godfather.

“It was just a toy thing, didn’t get more than two feet off the ground,” Sirius defended. “By then, Prongs and Lily-flower had gone into hiding. I was doing my best not to lead anyone to you all, so I didn’t get to see you use it. Lily sent me a photo of you whizzing around on it, though. You were a natural.”

Suddenly, Harry remembered where he’d seen Sirius’ face before. “You’re in my photo album! You were at my parents’ wedding!”

“I wasn’t just at their wedding; I was the best man.” Sirius’ eyes grew unfocused. “That was a wonderful day. Even with all the darkness surrounding us, they were so in love. It gave everyone hope, you know? How could evil win when we all loved each other so much? But love didn’t protect the McKinnons or the Prewetts. It didn’t end up protecting James and Lily, either. Quite the opposite.”

Harry frowned. “What does that mean?”

The elf that had been attending Harry butted in. “New masters is wasting time. Cleaning time is over; now they is being given rest and potions.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Sirius promised. “First, let’s get this done so we can get this ‘two souls’ business sorted out. When you stand up, the elf will change the bath into a shower so you can wash the gunk off.” He wrinkled his nose at the grey sludge the once deep green mixture had turned into. “Yours finished up even mankier than mine. Mine still looked recognisably green.”

It did look rather disgusting. “I was hoping the goopy bath would turn out to be a substitute for potions,” Harry mumbled, more to himself than to Sirius.

Sirius made a sound halfway between a laugh and a bark. “Not likely. Healers will always take every opportunity to make you drink disgusting potions. Fact of life.”

“Madam Pomphrey isn’t that bad,” Harry argued, feeling like he should defend her. “Could you turn your back so that I can stand up?”

“Nothing you’ve got is going to be any surprise to me,” Sirius pointed out. “I used to change your nappies, after all. But if you feel more comfortable, sure.” He turned around and raised his voice slightly. “If you’re talking about the Hogwarts school nurse, then she doesn’t technically count as a healer. Not in the way I meant, anyway.”

When Harry rose to his feet, the elf did as Sirius said it would and either transfigured the bath into a shower or vanished it and then instantly conjured a shower. Either way, the sludge had gone, and hot water was raining down on him. The showerhead was the same style as the one in the Hogwarts bathroom, and it ran at the same temperature. Harry soon rinsed himself clean.

Clean being the operative word. Harry had never felt this clean before. A glance at his hands showed that even his oldest scars, the ones from tangling with Aunt Petunia’s roses the first time he’d had to prune them, had lost their dark edges. When he put on the fluffy white bathrobe the elf offered him. It was like wrapping himself in clouds.

Wherever Harry and Sirius had landed, they were being well taken care of. Now it was time to find out what on earth the glowing sphere had been talking about.