Chapter Text

Christmas Eve was one of the happiest days of the year at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The waiting room was filled with witches and wizards wanting to spend this day with their loved ones, regardless of their ability to get out of bed or speak or even recognize their family. A big, bearded man wearing all red wandered the corridors as Father Christmas, giving gifts to sick children. Healers wore smiles and red hats instead of their usual blue. 

For most people in St. Mungo’s, it was a good day, despite the circumstances that brought them to the hospital in the first place. The largest group in the building, crammed into a small room on the fourth floor, was no exception. 

“My baby gave me a hippogriff for Christmas!” The song reverberated through the room as the group sang in a drunken tone (although every single member was sober). “A giant, feathery hippogriff, it’s true.”

Henry Edwards stood against the wall at the back of the room. The hospital room was packed full with the Weasleys, Potters, and Black and Lupin. They had all gathered to visit Mr. Potter, who was to be discharged today. Only Percy, who insisted he was too busy to come, and Mrs. Potter, who was speaking to the healers, were absent. They all surrounded the bed of James Potter, who was singing the loudest of them all, despite the raspiness of his voice and his concussion diagnosis. Henry was the only one not singing at the top of his lungs, instead humming along to the tune of the song. He didn’t know the words, and even if he did, he rather wasn’t in the mood for Christmas songs. Truthfully, he hadn’t been in the mood for much anything since that night before holiday. 

Henry still hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to Lupin, and even looking at the smile on his face made Henry’s stomach boil. It made Henry furious that Lupin was just going around, acting normal, not even yet saying a word of the dream to Henry. Yet, by the way Lupin had greeted Henry earlier at the Burrow, it seemed his professor had no belief that he’d done anything wrong.

The group clapped and cheered as they finished one song and moved onto the next. The bright smile on Mr. Potter’s face filled Henry with an odd sense of guilt. He almost felt as if it was his fault that Mr. Potter was in that bed in the first place. 

And then, how selfish was he, to be all sad and tortured about his dream when Mr. Potter had lived it and was smiling? 

The sound of the group singing was suddenly all consuming, the noise vibrating in the floor. Each breath became labored, as if his lungs were unable to take in any air. The walls began to close in, and his breath constricted in his chest. His heart pounded in his ears. The room was suddenly far too small, too hot, and Henry had an intense need to get out.

“Alright, mate?” Ron’s voice was somewhere in his periphery, barely audible over the roar of the room and the pounding of his heart. Henry only nodded as he hurriedly moved to the exit and pushed open the door, nearly collapsing against the wall as he escaped. From the corridor, he could still hear the singing. But his breath came back to him, and his heart slowed down as he leaned against the wall. A few healers and visitors passed by, not paying him any notice.

Once breathing had again become instinct, Henry straightened and looked around. The corridor was now empty—not just of people, but of any detail at all. The walls were sterile white, and the floor was only a few shades darker. Identical light blue doors lined the corridor. The only irregularity, the only thing that indicated it might not be an endless maze of white, was the flickering of the fluorescent light just above him. 

Henry began to roam the white, sterile corridors. He’d only ever been in a hospital once before, when he was eight and had his appendix removed. He’d been expecting St. Mungos to be old and beautiful, just like everything else wizards had created. But the hospital was just like the one he’d been to when he was a kid. The same fluorescent lights, the same tiled floors, the same solemn atmosphere. Despite the green wreaths hung on the walls and the healers’ red hats, it was downright depressing. All of these people, pretending to be happy. But how could any of them really be happy, when they were spending their Christmas Eve here, instead of at home? 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been wandering the corridors, nor was he certain how far he’d gone from Mr. Potter’s room, when he heard the faint sound of a piano. The tune was an old Christmas song, one that Matron played every year on her piano at Wool’s. Silent Night .

He followed the tune until it led him to a pair of wooden double doors with colored stained glass windows. Above the door was a sign that looked much older than any of the others in the hospital. It read, “Muggle Chapel.”

Henry had never been religious. When he had attended church every Sunday at Wool’s Orphanage, he had never paid much attention or listened to the pastor’s sermon. He had always found church rather boring, but something about the chapel intrigued him. As if there was a string attached to his heart, and something inside was tugging on it, urging him to open the doors and step inside.

Henry pushed through the double doors, only to be transported to a place he hardly believed was part of the same hospital he’d just been in. It was like the old, famous chapels he’d seen in history books. Tall ceilings and stained glass walls surrounded Henry, and a nave with wooden benches stretched out in front of him. By the altar stood a piano, playing itself. A large Christmas tree stood on the other side of the altar, decorated only by a string of lights.

The chapel was completely empty, save for one person in the front row. Henry identified her immediately by her dark red hair. 

As Henry walked slowly up the aisle, Mrs. Potter turned to look at him. Her green eyes were lined with silver, but she smiled when she saw Henry.

“Hello, dear,” Mrs. Potter said. “Would you like to join me?” 

Henry hesitated before sliding into the bench next to Mrs. Potter. 

“I’m sorry,” Henry said after a moment of silence. “About… everything that happened.”

Mrs. Potter gave him a sad smile. “Thank you, Henry.” 

“Are you alright?”

She let out a deep breath. “As alright as I could be, I suppose. It could have been a lot worse. James… I was worried, but he’s going to be fine. He’s to be discharged today, I just spoke to a healer.” After a moment, she continued. “Are you alright? Dumbledore told us about…”

“Yeah,” Henry said, staring forward. “Yeah, I’m alright. Thanks.” 

“I meant to thank you, Henry,” Mrs. Potter said. “For telling Dumbledore what you saw. I don’t know what divinity sent that dream to you, but it helped to guide the Aurors in their search for… the attackers.”

Henry wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t even been aware him telling Dumbledore had any effects—he had assumed no one besides the old wizard would believe him. But then again, the headmaster had quite a lot of influence. 

Mrs. Potter turned to stare at the sanctuary. After a moment, she spoke again. “I used to come here a lot. I used to work as a healer here, you know. I was raised religious, and this chapel felt like one last connection to my life before.” 

“You’re muggleborn?” Henry asked, then realized it was a stupid question. He’d heard what Bellatrix had called her in the dream. 

“I am. You are as well, yes?” Henry nodded. “I imagine you can relate to some extent, then. To loving magic, but missing some aspects of your old life.”

Henry had never really thought about it, but he did. Maybe not church, but he missed football with John, running around the streets of London, even the god awful porridge served for breakfasts in the winter. He went back to the muggle world every summer, but it was a part of him that had died when McGonagall told him he was a wizard.

“Sometimes I wonder how much simpler life would be,” Mrs. Potter said, speaking more to herself than him. Henry knew the words she left unspoken. That, without magic, she would never have had to deal with Voldemort and Death Eaters and losing her son. 

“I stopped coming here when Harry…” Mrs. Potter said. “I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t believe in a God that would hurt a little boy.”

Henry wasn’t sure why she was telling him this, but in some odd way, it made him feel better. Hearing her feelings, hearing her voice , comforted him. Made him feel like he wasn’t alone.

“I used to have to go to church every week,” Henry said. “The orphanage mandated it. Every Sunday, when it was time to pray, I would ask God for a family. Every Sunday, I would go to bed expecting to wake up the next day and find myself in a room decorated with football posters and school awards. I’d go downstairs, and my mum would have set out a delicious breakfast, and my dad would be just off to work, and my siblings and I would walk to school together. But it never happened, and one day, I just stopped praying.”

“I’m sorry, Henry,” Mrs. Potter said. “I… well, I won’t pretend to understand what you’ve gone through. And I’m eternally grateful for what I have now. But, believe me, I can relate to longing for those familial relationships you can’t have. Everyone deserves a family.”

“I think I’ve found one,” Henry said. “Not parents and siblings. But Ron and Hermione, and the Weasleys.”

Mrs. Potter smiled. “That you have. Would you like to join me in a prayer, Henry?”

Henry wasn’t sure if he believed prayers would do anything, but he knew that he felt more at peace with Mrs. Potter than he had in a long while. So he nodded, and the two knelt together. As Henry closed his eyes and clasped his hands together, he prayed for everyone to remain safe, and he prayed for answers to all of his questions about his dreams. Finally, he prayed for the same thing he had a million times over.

Because even though he loved the family he’d found, a small part of him still longed for the family he saw in the Mirror of Erised.

***

Christmas morning at the Burrow was just as magical as Henry had expected. Hogwarts had magnificent wreaths, floating candles, and singing doves, but the Burrow had something even the magical school couldn’t replicate—pure, unadulterated joy. 

Mr. Potter had been discharged the day before, and Mrs. Weasley had graciously offered the Potters a place to stay at their house, given the current state of the Potter manor. But with Bill, Charlie, Henry, Hermione (her parents were on a ski trip, and she wasn’t fond of skiing), and the Potters, the house was packed. Fred, George, and Henry were all joining Ron in his room in the attic, making for very tight sleeping quarters. Luckily, they hadn’t spent much time sleeping, instead spending the night playing different card games.

By the time the sun rose, Mrs. Weasley had gathered everyone for breakfast, which was eaten quickly before everyone settled around the Christmas tree. Despite the early hour, not a single face was without a smile. 

It was practically impossible to take a step in the sitting room, what with all the gifts and people. Mrs. Weasley had made a jumper for each and every person in the house. Ron’s was his typical maroon, which Henry suspected he had come to begrudgingly love, and Henry’s was a nice green. He couldn’t help but notice how the light blue of Ginny’s sweater looked wonderful with her eyes and hair. As if the very color was created for her. 

Ron and Hermione had together gotten Henry an Arsenal jersey, which was simply one of the best gifts he’d ever received. He’d given Ron a Chudley Cannons hat, and Hermione a book titled Magicians, Musicians, and Mathematicians: The Intersection of Magic and Muggle Culture . 

What was likely several hours later, every gift had been opened, and every face was beaming with laughter. It was nearly impossible to see the floor beneath the heaps of gift wrap (which Henry was sure could easily be tidied by magic; but, he figured, Mrs. Weasley kept it to add to the festive spirit). 

Once Mrs. Weasley brought out the morning tea, Ron and Henry took their leave—along with Charlotte and Ginny—to begin warming up for their Christmas Day Quidditch match. It was a tradition that had began during third year, when Charlotte and all the Weasleys stayed at Hogwarts during holiday. 

“Isn’t it a bit careless to do something like this without any professionals around?” Hermione said. “You could get hurt.” 

“That’s what makes it fun,” Henry grinned.

“Besides,” Charlotte added. “My mum’s a healer, in case something really goes wrong.”

“Henry, wait a second!” a voice called from behind. Henry turned to see the twins standing side by side, smugly smiling. George held a piece of parchment at his side. 

“You go on,” Henry nudged Ron. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Henry turned towards the twins, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “Yeah?”

“We’ve got one more gift for you,” George said. “Don’t worry, it’s not a prank or anything.”

“We didn’t want Mum to see it,” Fred said, glancing past Henry to make sure the others had gone on. “Or Ron, to be honest. He’d probably be salty we didn’t give it to him. Figured it would be safer to wait.” 

Knowing the twins, George’s words did little to reassure Henry. All the same, knowing the twins, he was rather intrigued as to what they might gift him.

With no lack of fanfare (Fred played a hand trumpet and George stomped his feet), George handed Henry the piece of blank parchment he was holding. Henry turned it over in his hand and opened it, not any less confused after his brief examination. It appeared to be nothing more than what he had originally thought—old, wrinkled, unused parchment. He wasn’t sure if this was the twin’s idea of a joke, but if it was, they had really ought to step up their game.

“Er, thanks?” 

Fred and George shared a knowing smirk. “It’s not just parchment. If that’s what you were thinking.”

“No, I—”

Fred tapped his wand on the parchment. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

With those words, an invisible quill seemed to begin to write on the parchment. 

Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs are proud to present the Marauders Map.

Henry felt his heart drop in his chest as he saw the second name. Fred and George apparently took his surprise for amazement, because George grinned and said “there’s more.” He opened the parchment to reveal a huge map of familiar corridors, familiar stairs, familiar rooms. And then some corridors, some rooms, that he’d never even seen. 

He was holding a map of Hogwarts, complete with every secret room, passageway, and hiding spot of the school.

In any other circumstance, he would have been astonished by this. But right now, all he cared about was the name on the front. 

“It doesn’t work as well right now, because we’re not at Hogwarts,” Fred explained. “But when you’re there, it’ll show where every single person in the school is, even if they’re disguised or hidden.” 

“And watch this,” George said. He raised his wand to the map. “Mischief Managed.” 

The map seemed to erase itself, the ink fading into the parchment until it was blank again. 

“Where did you get this?” Henry asked.

“Nicked it from Filch’s office our first year,” George said. “We’ve memorised it by now, as well as Filch’s routes, so we haven’t got much use for it anymore. Figured we’d pass it on to the next generation.”

Henry opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. With a grin, Fred nudged Henry’s shoulder. “It’s incredible, right? You’d better put it to good use. We’re trusting you, mate.” 

“Er… yeah,” Henry managed to get out. “Thanks so much. That’s… really neat.” 

“We knew you’d like it,” George said. “Now, we’d better hurry out, yeah? Don’t want to let the others get too much of an advantage.” 

Fred and George ran off, leaving Henry staring at the parchment in his hands. 

Henry had been just about ready to accept that a man named Wormtail had never existed. That maybe Lupin reacted to the name for some different reason. Only for this map, seemingly the only documentation of Wormtail’s existence, to fall right into his hands. This was confirmation to Henry of what he’d suspected for the past weeks—his first dreams, like his dream about the Potters, was real. And more than that, Lupin was definitely hiding something from him. 

Ginny caught the Snitch before Henry.

It was a good, fast match. Bill even joined in, so they’d have enough for teams of four. By the time everyone had come back to the ground, even the losing team was laughing. 

Henry was only half-present the entire time. Quidditch had always been his escape, the one time he was able to forget about all of his problems, but not today. Instead of looking for the Snitch, Henry kept finding his eyes drifting to the ground, where Professor Lupin sat with the others watching the match. Every time Lupin cheered for him, he felt a pang of betrayal in his chest. Every new thing Henry learned just made him trust Lupin less and less, and regret ever opening up to him. If he lied to him about Wormtail, about his dreams, what else could he be lying about?

Henry couldn’t even bring himself to feel bad when he lost the match.

“What a brilliant match!” Mrs. Potter cheered as they walked over to their audience.

“Ginny, you’ve ought to consider going for the seeker position once Henry’s graduated,” Hermione said.

“I dunno,” Ginny said. “I find it kind of boring, honestly. No offense, Henry.”

“I was always a Chaser, but I found being a Seeker quite fun, actually,” Mr. Potter said.

“If you all play like that during real games, I reckon I might have to find the time to attend one or two this year,” Black said.

“I assure you, they’re even better,” Lupin said, flashing a grin to Henry. He did not reciprocate.

“Alright now, come in, you lot! I’ve made biscuits,” Mrs. Weasley said, herding everyone towards the house.

“Already? We only just ate—” George started, before Fred slapped a hand over his mouth. 

“The hell are you doing? Never turn down food,” Fred said, a most serious expression on his face.

Ron, Henry, and Hermione fell behind the pack as they headed for the house.

“You alright, Henry?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, fine.” Henry kept his eyes to the ground. His jaw clenched.

“You seemed a bit out of it,” Hermione said. “Are you absolutely sure nothing’s bothering you?”

“No, Hermione, nothing’s bothering me!” Henry stopped suddenly, planting his feet to face his friends. “Nothing at all! Not that I can’t sleep without seeing something awful, not that Lupin and Dumbledore are lying to my face, not that it’s fucking Christmas and I have no family to spend it with!” 

His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at his friends’ shocked faces. 

“You have us, Henry,” Hermione finally said. “We’re your family.” 

“That’s not the same, and you damn well know it!” Henry said. “I’m tired of pretending it is! You’ll never understand what it’s like to not…” 

He stopped, because he’d started speaking without thinking and he wasn’t even really sure what he meant to say. And isn’t that what he had just yesterday told Mrs. Potter, that Hermione and Ron and the Weasleys were his family? Then why did he feel today like there was a gaping hole in his chest that they simply couldn’t feel? 

Hermione stared at Henry with tears filling her eyes. Ron’s jaw clenched.

“You’re right, we can’t understand what you’re going through,” Ron said. “But you’ve no right to take it out on us.” 

Ron strode past him, his shoulder brushing against Henry’s. Hermione bit her lip, opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, then decidedly followed Ron. 

Henry stood there, his breath heavy. 

Ron was right, wasn’t he?

They hadn’t done anything wrong. They had no idea what having no family, or having these prophetic dreams was like, but that wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t fair for him to act like that.

But Lupin, he had done something wrong. He’d done everything wrong. He’d kept secrets from Henry, he’d lied to his face, he’d acted like everything was perfectly normal when it wasn’t . Merlin, how could it be? 

Henry wasn’t sure how long he stood there before his heart stopped pounding, before his breathing slowed. Once he returned inside, he found the other kids around the kitchen table, sharing biscuits and opening chocolate frogs. 

Henry hesitated at the entrance. He wasn’t sure if being here was good right now, not when he’d just lashed out at his best friends. But then Ron met his eyes, and gave him a small nod and smile. As if to say, it’s okay . He took a seat in between Ron and Ginny, plucking a loose frog off his chair before he sat. 

“Another Dumbledore,” Charlotte groaned, adding the card to a tall pile. Fred and George had disappeared for a few hours yesterday at the hospital and returned with heaps of chocolate frogs. No one was quite sure where they’d gotten that many—or how they afforded them—but Henry wasn’t about to ask. 

The chatter and laughter in the room grew, and Henry was able to almost forget about earlier, forget about everything troubling him. These people were his family. Why would he even think otherwise?

“Oh, Henry,” Ginny said, nudging his shoulder.

“Yeah?” 

She handed him a small box, wrapped neatly with red paper and a gold ribbon. “Your Christmas gift. I forgot to give it to you earlier—I think it got lost under the piles of gift wrap,” said Ginny.

He untied the ribbon and opened the box to reveal a glass slide with gold trimming. Inside, a four leaf clover was pressed, as bright as if it had just been pulled from the ground five minutes ago.

“I remember you telling me once about how you liked four leaf clovers,” Ginny said. “It’s nothing. Kind of stupid, really. I—”

“I love it,” Henry said. As a kid, whenever Wool’s would take them to a grassy park, he’d spend hours searching for four leaf clovers. He only found a few, but he saved them everytime, keeping them in his dresser drawer until they shriveled and wilted. 

“Oh. Truly? Because I understand if—”

“Truly,” Henry smiled. 

Ginny smiled back. “I’m glad.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything,” Henry said. “I just—”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Ginny said. “Honestly, I’m not a big gifts girl. I just saw this and knew you had to have it. Besides, you being here is a gift.” 

“Well, thank you,” Henry said. “It means a lot.”

And it really did. The fact that Ginny remembered that one small thing he must have mentioned in passing meant the world. 

***

That night, Henry didn’t want to go to sleep. 

Not when he had no idea what his dreams might have in store for him. 

Instead, he spent hours staring at Ron’s ceiling, watching as the mini Chudley Cannons players swerved and dodged. A sound that vaguely resembled the rumbling of the Hogwarts Express echoed throughout the room, and Henry couldn’t tell if it was Ron’s snores or the ghoul throwing a fit in the attic above. 

But one could only lay with their own thoughts, listening to that horrid sound, for so long before they started to go crazy. So after a few hours, Henry found himself sneaking downstairs, if just for a change of scenery. And audio.

Clearly, he wasn’t the only one who had that idea. Professor Lupin sat at the table, slowly sipping a mug of tea. He stared out the window at the dark sky, holding but not reading a copy of the Daily Prophet. Henry wondered if the Prophet might say something about the Potters.

For a brief moment, Henry was relieved to see Lupin here, so he might have someone to talk to. And then he remembered that he was currently furious with Lupin. 

“Professor.”

Lupin turned to Henry, a small smile forming on his lips. “Henry. Couldn’t sleep?” 

Henry shook his head. 

“Would you join me for a cup of tea?” 

Henry nodded and sat. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, but he figured having tea might motivate Lupin to share something. With a flick of his wand, Lupin summoned a mug and picked up the tea kettle. 

“You seemed distracted today,” Lupin said, softly pushing the mug towards Henry.

“Did I?” Henry titled his head. “I can’t think of anything that might possibly be distracting me.” 

Lupin sighed. “Yes. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that, Henry.”

“About time,” Henry muttered. He’d never dream of speaking to a professor like this, but at the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“How are you feeling, Henry?”

“Oh, so good,” Henry said. “Real great, yeah.” 

“I understand why you’re angry with me, Henry,” Lupin said. “I breached your trust, and I apologize. If there’s anything you’d like to ask me, please do.” 

Henry had to admit, he wasn’t expecting Lupin to acknowledge the elephant in the room right off the bat. But he was going to take advantage of whatever he gave him. He wasn’t going to lash out, he wasn’t going to get angry. He was going to play this right. If this was some sort of game, some sort of competition, Henry was going to win. 

“Where were you that night?”

Lupin took a deep breath. “That is the one thing I cannot tell you.” 

Henry figured Lupin wouldn’t give him an answer to that question, but it still made him angry. “Do you know why I’ve been having these dreams?”

“I do not,” Lupin said. “I’m inclined to believe it might have something to do with Divination, though I’ve never bought into that branch of magic.” 

“Messers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,” Henry said. “Those names mean anything to you?”

Lupin paled. “Where did you learn those names?”

“I’m asking the questions,” Henry said. 

Though the color did not return to Lupin’s face, he nodded. “Yes, those names do mean something to me. They are… aliases. For whom, this is confidential. What I can tell you is that Wormtail, the man you heard about in your dream, was allied with Voldemort during the war.” 

Finally! Finally, Lupin was admitting that Wormtail meant something. But for some reason, it didn’t feel gratifying. It just caused the pit in Henry’s stomach to deepen. “The other three. Did they work for Voldemort, too?”

“Merlin, no,” Lupin said. “They were on our side. Wormtail was as well, at the start. But he… he betrayed his friends. He turned to the dark side.” 

“In my dream, the man speaking told the others to get Wormtail,” Henry said. “Because he was the key to finding Harry Potter. I… does that mean…” 

Lupin’s eyes widened. “I can say with full confidence that it does not mean what you think it means, Henry. I am truly sorry, but I cannot say much more than that. All I can tell you now is that this is something you should not concern yourself with. Do you understand?”

Henry nodded. “I understand.” But he didn’t, not really. What could “find Harry Potter” possibly mean other than its obvious interpretation? Maybe “Harry Potter” was code for something, but that just didn’t feel likely. Or maybe this dream wasn’t the same as the one at the Potters’, and he shouldn’t take it literally. But even still…

He decided to move on. He wasn’t going to get answers out of Lupin regarding this topic. But maybe if he could learn more, if he could piece something together… “Were the four of them spies? Soldiers? Why did they need aliases?”

Lupin sighed and took a sip of his tea. Then, he set it down on the table and leaned forward towards Henry. “What I am about to tell you, I tell you in hopes to regain some of your trust. But I must emphasize that this cannot leave this room. You cannot tell even your closest friends, do you understand?” 

“Yes,” said Henry.

“I am trusting you. Do not breach this trust,” Lupin said. “During the first war, the organized war efforts against the Death Eaters were through a group called the Order of the Phoenix.” 

“The Order of the Phoenix,” Henry repeated.

“Yes,” Lupin said. “Those four that you speak of, they were all members. Along with some other people you know. Kingsley Shacklebolt, for one. And Dumbledore.”

“And you,” Henry guessed. “And Black and Mr. Potter, and the Weasleys.” 

“The three of us, yes,” Lupin said. “The Weasleys weren’t active until… well, just over a year ago, we started receiving reports of attacks on muggles that were clearly the product of dark magic. Then, around ten months ago, the first Death Eater jailbreak occurred. We made the decision to reform the Order of the Phoenix shortly after this.” 

“But that can’t be the whole reason,” Henry said. “If the Order of the Phoenix was formed to fight You-Know-Who, there must be more of a reason it reformed than a few Death Eaters escaping Azkaban.” 

And then Henry remembered the conversation he overheard this summer. Where the adults were discussing something important, and they mentioned that he was back. That he was searching for something he didn’t have before.

Lupin nodded. “That’s very astute, Henry. Indeed, there was more to it. As I’m sure you remember from your eavesdropping expedition this summer—I saw Fred and George’s listening device, quite clever actually—Dumbledore believes that Voldemort has returned.”

“That he’s looking for something he didn’t have before,” Henry said. Lupin nodded. “Broderick, the man who was attacked… was he attacked by You-Know-Who?”

“Yes,” Lupin said. “He was guarding a part of the Ministry we believe Voldemort might have interest in. Many of us who work for the Ministry had taken shifts there, Sirius and James included. He was the unlucky one to be patrolling that night.” 

“So that’s why the Order of the Phoenix got back together,” Henry said. “To fight Voldemort again. To finish what they started.” 

“Precisely,” Lupin said. “All those meetings and dinners we had during the summer—that was the Order, planning. At the time, we weren’t certain of Voldemort’s return. The attack on the Potters is what has confirmed it.” 

“But why would he attack the Potters? Revenge?” 

“Likely, yes,” Lupin said. “Or he believes they might be hiding something from him.” 

“That thing he’s looking for?” Henry guessed. Lupin nodded, but didn’t elaborate. 

Henry took a long sip of his tea, letting the hot mug warm his hands.

“Thank you,” said Henry. “For being honest with me.” 

“It’s the least you deserve,” Lupin said. “Now, if I could request the same from you, for just this one question. Are you alright?”

Henry opened his mouth, an affirmative answer on the tip of his tongue. It was his instinct, to tell everyone he was fine and not burden them with his troubles. But didn’t he owe it to Lupin to be honest? 

“No.”

Henry avoided Lupin’s gaze, keeping his eyes on the window. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lupin lean back in his chair. 

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

It was a few moments before Lupin spoke. “Just know, if you’re ever ready to talk, I’m always here.” 

Henry swallowed. “Yeah. I know.” 

A star shot across the night sky in the window, leaving a shining trail of light in its path. After a few seconds, another followed, and soon, the night sky was filled with streaking lights that formed the most beautiful light show. 

“Would you look at that,” Lupin muttered.

They sat like that, Lupin and Henry, watching the blazing stars illuminate the black night, until the stars were replaced with the rising sun peeking over the horizon. And sitting there wordlessly, for the first time in a long time, Henry’s mind was as quiet as the night.