Chapter Text
The steady patter of rain softened the other sounds in the infirmary. The unrelenting tick of a clock. A boy murmuring in his sleep. The whispers.
Sarah rolled her eyes towards the bed at the far end of the infirmary. It was one massive blur, until she found her glasses. The curtain was drawn, but she could see shadowy figures moving inside. She recognized the shapes, the noises they made. McGonagall, Snape, Lupin, Dumbledore.
It had been Snape who found her, according to Madam Pomfrey. A girl named Pansy Parkinson had found Draco Malfoy and the others, then ran all the way back to the castle to fetch Snape. Snape had revived all three and got the story out of them.
Attacked by Sirius Black.
Sarah’s lips twitched. Sirius had done more than run off. He had covered for her.
Eventually the whispering stopped. Sarah quickly looked at the ceiling again, taking deep, steady breaths. The curtains swished open, then closed again. Footsteps approached her.
“Sarah? Are you awake?”
Sarah shook her head, then looked to the side. Her initial amusement at Sirius’ escape was gone. Her chance at living with him was gone. The possibility of him being found innocent was gone. Sarah did not want to be awake.
“I can get her to talk.”
“Severus, the girl is mute!”
“There are other ways of extracting information…”
Sarah stiffened. Her wand. She needed her wand. It was on the bedside table. Someone moved to block it. Snape. Where was Professor Sprout?
“That will not be necessary, Severus.”
The angry click of heels rapidly approached them.
“What is going on here?”
They were surrounding her. Sarah hated being surrounded. She wanted her wand. Someone was leaning over her. She sat bolt upright and scrambled back until she hit the headboard.
“We need to ask Sarah a few questions, Poppy.”
“Absolutely not! The girl has just woken up after being attacked!”
“Hoot!”
“How did that owl get in here?”
There was the clatter of claws, a cry of shock, and Sarah’s wand landed in her lap. She grabbed it immediately and aimed it at Snape’s heart.
“And what,” Snape said, glaring at her with his hateful black eyes, “are you going to do with that?”
“Sarah is clearly upset,” said Lupin, reaching for her arm. Sarah snapped her wand at him and he held his hands up defensively. “Perhaps she wants some space.”
“Sarah.”
Sarah flinched.
“Please lower your wand,” said Dumbledore in what was meant to be a soothing tone. “We are not going to hurt you.”
She swung her wand to Snape again. He scowled at her.
“Severus, perhaps it is best if you leave.”
“This girl,” Snape said angrily, “conspired with a wanted criminal—”
“You have no way of knowing that—”
“We agreed that Sirius—”
“This is an infirmary!”
“Quiet, please,” said Dumbledore, speaking over everyone.
Sarah slashed her wand through the air, words forming as quickly as she thought.
I want Professor Sprout
“Yes, of course,” said Dumbledore. “It was a mistake not to include her. Severus, please fetch Pomona.”
Sarah kept her wand aimed at Snape until he finally left the hospital wing. Hedwig appeared again, landing to rest on the headboard.
“Can you tell us anything that happened?” asked Lupin gently.
Sarah pulled her knees to her chest. Why was Lupin here? Why did he still have a job? He knew that Sirius was an animagus. He knew about all the secret entrances. And now he knew about Peter Pettigrew.
Peter Pettigrew was dead.
The doors to the hospital wing flew open. “What is going on here? Did something happen to Potter?”
Professor Sprout arrived at the foot of her bed, panting. Snape stalked behind her.
“Potter is in my house,” said Professor Sprout. “Why wasn’t I informed immediately?”
“I’m afraid that is my doing, Pomona,” said Dumbledore. “Given the sensitive nature of today’s events.”
“What events?” Professor Sprout demanded.
“Potter snuck into Hogsmeade and was attacked by Sirius Black,” said Snape, his voice dripping with venom.
Sarah shook her head.
“Do you deny you were in Hogsmeade?” asked Snape.
Sarah flipped him off.
“Potter!” exclaimed McGonagall. “That is not the sort of thing you do to a professor!”
Sarah flipped him off again.
“Twenty points from—” began Snape heatedly.
“Fifty points to Hufflepuff,” proclaimed Professor Sprout loudly. “We can play that game all day, Severus. If you continue to abuse the point system, so shall I!”
“This is not the time for this,” said McGonagall. “Do you not understand the severity of this situation? I have a mind to summon the aurors right now!”
Sarah nodded sharply. Someone had just been killed and an Azkaban escapee had fled the scene of the crime. What were a bunch of school teachers going to do about it?
“Sarah,” said Lupin. Sarah was tempted to flip him off too. “Did you go to Hogsmeade today?”
Sarah shook her head.
“The girl is lying,” seethed Snape. “I found her in the Shrieking Shack!”
“The Shrieking Shack?” asked Professor Sprout. “What on earth were you doing in there?”
“Having a dalliance with Weasley,” said Snape, giving Sarah a look of disgust.
Sarah shook her head again. Lupin reached into his robes, pulling out a notebook and a pen. Sarah could tell both were muggle. The notebook was spiral bound, and the pen was a biro. Lupin passed both to her, and Sarah reluctantly took it. The adults moved around so they could watch her. Her shoulders tensed, but Sarah made herself relax. She switched her wand to her other hand so she could write. There was no chance she was letting it go with Snape around.
I went to the Shrieking Shack, she wrote.
“The Shrieking Shack is in Hogsmeade, you insolent—”
“Severus, if you are unable to control yourself, I must ask you to leave.”
“How did you get into the Shrieking Shack?” asked Professor Sprout.
There’s a tunnel under the Whomping Willow, Sarah wrote.
“How… how did you learn about that tunnel?” asked Lupin.
Sarah rolled her eyes, but wrote, Sirius told me.
“I knew it!” shouted Snape triumphantly. “Headmaster, this girl is an accessory—”
“Severus—”
“She helped Black escape!” Snape bellowed. Sarah’s hand tightened on her wand. “Potter has been communicating with—”
“Control yourself!” shrieked Madam Pomfrey. “And get out of my infirmary!”
Snape’s mouth snapped shut. He finally noticed the other adults staring at him. McGonagall, Lupin, Madam Pomfrey, Professor Sprout. Dumbledore didn’t seem surprised. Rather, he looked disappointed. This was one of the rare times Sarah was in agreement with Dumbledore. Snape was a disappointment.
“You are shouting at a child who has just seen a man murdered,” said Lupin quietly. Professor Sprout jerked, giving Lupin an alarmed look. “All for a schoolboy grudge she has nothing to do with. Isn’t it enough that James is dead?”
“Absolutely appalling,” said Professor Sprout.
“I said out,” said Madam Pomfrey, pointing to the doors. “Now!”
Snape was breathing rapidly, his eyes darting around and finding only unfriendly faces. Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have been thrilled, but the hope she had been nurturing since meeting Sirius was as dead as Peter Pettigrew. She just wanted to be left alone.
Finally, Snape spun around and stormed out of the infirmary, letting the doors slam shut behind him. Ron snorted in his sleep, smacked his lips, and rolled over.
“Who was murdered?” asked Professor Sprout. “Was Black captured? Did the dementors—”
Sirius is innocent, Sarah wrote. Professor Sprout’s words dried up. Peter Pettigrew was the Secret-Keeper. The faster she wrote, the faster they would leave her alone. He was the one who killed all those muggles…
The aurors had come and gone. Madam Pomfrey wanted Sarah to stay in the infirmary overnight for observation, but there was nothing physically or magically wrong with her. Nothing new. Sirius hadn’t hurt her, or Ron. Sarah wouldn’t have agreed to stay, but the aurors had taken Peter Pettigrew’s body with them.
They peeled back his left sleeve. They saw the mark on his arm.
All the questions the professors had were asked again.
Peter Pettigrew tried to hurt me. Sirius stopped him.
Sirius hadn’t been the Secret-Keeper, and telling someone the Fidelius secret wasn’t a crime anyway. Ron Weasley’s pet rat Scabbers was actually Peter Pettigrew, a rat animagus. How Sirius had recognized him from a Daily Prophet article about Ginny Weasley’s funeral. How he had broken out of Azkaban to kill him.
Sarah watched the rain, still steadily falling. Obscuring the world. Covering tracks.
They knew Pettigrew was an animagus. Sarah hadn’t said anything about Sirius being one. Nor had Lupin, at least not to the aurors. Nevertheless, it was obvious how Sirius had got out of Azkaban, how he had got past the dementors. Even if they suspected Sirius was an animagus, they didn’t know what sort of animal. Sarah would never tell.
Now, hours later, Sarah was finally alone. Alone to grieve. She had watched Peter Pettigrew die. It had been so fast. A curse, a green light, then nothing. Quick. Painless. The Killing Curse. Her parents hadn’t suffered. Perhaps Sarah could have found some relief in that, but her parents were still dead.
Why didn’t you tell anyone? they all asked.
Who would have believed me?
The infirmary was silent. The castle was asleep. Stalwart Hedwig was still on her headboard. Sarah knew Sirius was clever enough to evade capture.
Wanted for the murder of Peter Pettigrew.
It wasn’t a murder. It was an execution.
Socked footsteps approached her hospital bed.
“Sarah?”
Sarah looked away from the window, into the pale, worried face of Ron Weasley.
“It’s all true, isn’t it?” asked Ron in a small voice. His pajamas were too short. “Scabbers, I mean.”
Sarah watched him for a moment, then nodded. Ron looked crestfallen. She knew how much he cared for that rat. That it had been Peter Pettigrew was awful. The man had been living with the Weasleys for years. Slept in Ron’s bed. Hid in his robes. Sarah had wrestled with horror and disgust at that, at seeing it. Now Ron had to as well.
“Did you,” Ron began. He hunched his shoulders. “Did you actually want to be friends?”
Sarah met his eyes. This wasn’t the worst part, but it was bad. She felt bad for him. And she remembered the girl whose hand she didn’t shake, how that could have made a difference, how she didn’t want to hurt people, not really, but making them happy made her feel bad in the process. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, and then that would be the end of it. She didn’t want to be friends.
The notebook and biro Lupin had given her were on the bedside table. All the pages she had written on for her teachers and the aurors had been torn out. Ron was still standing there in his hand knitted socks and too short pajamas, waiting for a response, his face growing more closed off. Sarah motioned him closer, then opened the notebook.
I don’t like quidditch, she wrote.
“You don’t?”
Nor chess, she continued. I like being alone.
“Oh,” said Ron. “Yeah, I noticed you’re alone most of the time.”
I don’t like being around people, Sarah wrote, feeling oddly exposed. That was obvious, but it was different when she was telling someone. I don’t mind working with you in Herbology.
“Okay,” said Ron. “So, are we friends or what?”
Sarah frowned, then wrote, Acquaintances.
“Uh, alright,” said Ron. “Why don’t you like chess?”
Sarah closed her eyes, summoned what little patience she had, and wrote a reply.
“Sarah, did you see this?”
Susan pushed a Daily Prophet across the table. Sarah reluctantly looked up from her muesli to read the headline.
PETER PETTIGREW FOUND DEAD…AGAIN?
SIRIUS BLACK STILL AT LARGE, WANTED FOR QUESTIONING
“What do you think it means?” asked Hannah.
Sarah went back to eating. The food tasted bland. Everything was bland. Peter Pettigrew was dead, but nothing had really changed. Sirius was still a wanted criminal
“You were attacked?” exclaimed Susan. “We thought you were in trouble for sneaking into Hogsmeade!”
Sarah was in trouble for sneaking into Hogsmeade. She was in trouble for not telling anyone about Peter Pettigrew being an animagus. There was nothing surprising in her having been attacked, as it happened every year. That Sarah had been attacked by a man everyone thought was dead was also not surprising, as she had been attacked by Voldemort twice since starting Hogwarts.
“It says two Hogwarts students,” said Susan. “That boy from Gryffindor, Ron Weasley?”
“I haven’t seen him for a few days,” said Hannah worried. “Is he alright?”
Sarah nodded, but did not look up from her breakfast. All of the Weasleys were gone. Their dad worked for the Ministry, and Peter Pettigrew had been staying in their house for years. They had no idea what he might have overheard, what information might have leaked, what he might have done. There had to be some sort of investigation.
Ron didn’t seem to fully grasp how disturbing it was that a man pretending to be a rat had slept in his bed, but Sarah did. Every time she thought of it, she was glad Pettigrew was dead. She only wished he had suffered more.
Nothing could quite prepare Sarah for the sight of Ron Weasley sprinting at her. For a moment she thought he was going to attack her, as absurd as that was. That he was waving a wand around did not help lessen that impression. Now that the dementors were gone—whether back to Azkaban or searching for Sirius in earnest, Sarah did not know—she was allowed to wander the grounds. Hedwig was with her, riding on her shoulder.
“Sarah!”
Sarah would have pretended not to hear, but Ron was being followed by two adults. Both of them had red hair. Sarah recognized them from the funeral. They were Ron’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.
“Look!” shouted Ron, waving the wand more aggressively. “I got a new wand!”
Ron was blissfully unaware of many things. The definition of the word acquaintance. That Sarah was standing next to the Whomping Willow, one of the most violent trees on the planet. She was investigating whether the entrance to the tunnel had been sealed. It had.
“It’s willow,” said Ron excitedly, coming to a stop within whomping range. Thankfully, Ron’s parents got him away from the tree before he was concussed, or decapitated.
“You must be Sarah Potter,” said Mr. Weasley, smiling at her.
“It’s so wonderful to meet you!” said Mrs. Weasley, stepping forward with her arms open. Startled, Sarah quickly backed away. Hedwig took flight, prepared to launch an aerial attack. Mrs. Weasley's smile froze, but only for a moment.
“Ron’s told us all about you, of course,” said Mr. Weasley. This alarmed Sarah.
“Dad!”
Sarah wanted to get away. Pulling some parchment out of a pocket, she jotted a note and handed it to Mrs. Weasley.
Thank you for the jumper
Mrs. Weasley’s eyes began watering. “It was no trouble at all, dear!”
“Arthur? Molly? Is that you?”
Sarah stared into the distance, deeply annoyed. Not only had Ron and his parents intruded on her walk, but Hagrid had emerged from his restored hut to harass her as well.
Ron gave her a concerned look, then said, “Mum, it’s almost lunch. I’m going to walk Sarah back to the castle.”
Sarah nodded to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who both had strange looks, glanced at Hagrid, then headed back to the castle. Ron kept pace at her side.
“They have to talk to McGonagall and Dumbledore,” said Ron, looking over his shoulder. “Sorry about that.”
Sarah sighed.
“You said you don’t like people,” explained Ron. “Don’t like being around people. Well, not said… You know what I mean.”
Sarah nodded.
“Can I tell you about my wand?”
Life might have been easier if Sarah was a meaner person. It was hard to be rude to someone who had just done you a favor. While she didn’t care about what sort of wand Ron had, the facts were that Sirius had stolen Ron’s other wand, and in the time since Sarah had written to Gringotts to transfer seven galleons from her vault to the Weasleys. So she nodded again, since it was clearly something Ron wanted to share, and what was the harm in it, really?
“It’s willow, I’ve already said that,” said Ron. “Fourteen inches, with a single unicorn tail hair!”
Sarah’s expression was neutral as they entered the castle. Her mum’s wand had been willow with unicorn tail. Ten and a quarter inches. There were no coincidences in magic; while unicorn tail hair was fairly common as a wand core, willow wood was rare. Sarah did not share this with Ron, and kept her troubled thoughts to herself.
“You must be very relieved that Sirius is not the true culprit,” said Dumbledore, smiling benevolently at her.
The chair Sarah sat in was uncomfortable, mostly because it was one of Dumbledore’s chairs and she was in his office. For whatever reason, Lupin was there too, looking tired and concerned. It would be a full moon in a week’s time, and Sarah knew how strenuous it was for werewolves.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” asked Lupin, leaning forward in his chair. “
Sarah kept her wand on her lap, and neither man commented on it. She wasn’t a threat to them. Logically, she knew neither Dumbledore nor Lupin would hurt her, but she was feeling cornered.
Why didn’t you, she wrote angrily, before cutting herself off. It didn’t matter what explanation Lupin gave her for his absence. The fact was that he had abandoned her as thoroughly as Dumbledore had on the Dursleys’ porch. Lupin washed his hands of her and went on with his life, until Dumbledore gave him a job. Or until Sirius Black broke out of Azkaban. Sarah knew that Sirius had only broken out to get Peter Pettigrew, and she had been a secondary concern until Sirius had seen Ripper attack her.
All of her feelings were complicated, and she was sick of them.
“Why didn’t I what?” asked Lupin.
Sarah’s jaw tightened. Why don’t you go fuck yourself, she scrawled.
Lupin didn’t look shocked, or angry, but merely resigned. Sarah felt a pang of guilt. Lupin was a werewolf. Everyone hated werewolves. He was used to people who acted the way she was acting. The paper crumpled in her hand.
Dumbledore sighed. “Regardless of your personal feelings, Professor Lupin is still your teacher.”
“Is this because of the patronus lessons?” asked Lupin. “Sarah, I’ve already apologized for that. With my condition...”
Sarah started trembling. Sometimes she wished she could just scream at people, make them understand. Sometimes she didn’t care if they understood anything at all. She forced herself to pick up her pen again. The pen Lupin had given her.
You could have written to me, she wrote, trying to keep her letters even.
Lupin sucked in a breath. “I…”
“Professor Lupin had very good reasons,” said Dumbledore.
Sarah clenched her teeth so hard they could have cracked. No reason was good enough. Even Sirius being in prison. Sarah understood, as much as she hated it, but she knew Sirius could have avoided Azkaban. It wasn’t entirely his fault, but his wild behavior and self-hatred hadn’t helped.
You testified that Sirius was the Secret-Keeper, Sarah wrote, holding it up for Dumbledore to read.
“Yes,” he said.
Sirius didn’t have a trial, she wrote.
“No,” said Dumbledore. “He did not.” Dumbledore paused, then added, “I did not give testimony in front of the Wizengamot, as you might imagine. I sent a written account to the Ministry.”
Sarah looked at her lap. She knew what the answer would be, but she needed to ask. Needed to hear it.
I want to live with Professor Lupin, she wrote. She harshly bit the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t start crying. She was not going to cry in front of them. Even if Lupin was a disappointment, he had to be better than the Dursleys. If Sarah couldn’t have Sirius, then—
“I’m sorry,” said Lupin quietly. It even sounded like he meant it. “Sarah, it’s too dangerous with my transformations. I also don’t have the sort of money to support a child.”
Sarah had money. She had an entire vault of money, and so did Sirius. He only transformed once a month.
“Sarah,” said Dumbledore. “You know why you must return to your family. Your mother’s sacrifice…”
Sarah let the words wash over her. It was all meaningless.
My mum didn’t die so I could be starved and beaten and locked in a cupboard, Sarah wrote, the pen nearly cutting through the paper.
“Starved?” asked Lupin. “Sarah, what—”
Sarah slammed the notebook shut and stood.
“Hold on,” said Lupin. “Dumbledore, what is she talking about?”
Sarah started for the door. If the stupid headmaster tried to lock her in she would blast it off its hinges.
“You said she was safe,” said Lupin, also rising. “You promised me she was safe!”
“Remus, I assure you—”
“Sarah, please wait,” said Lupin desperately. She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Beaten? Locked in a cupboard?”
Sarah turned around and pointed at Dumbledore. Dumbledore looked solemnly back. He knew about the cupboard. He knew about Ripper. He knew about all the cuts and burns and dislocated shoulders. Sarah loathed it, but Dumbledore knew. And still he said she had to go back to the Dursleys. That her safety from Voldemort was more important than her safety from them.
What did it matter if Lupin knew? Hardly any part of her life was private. It wouldn’t make a difference. Sarah had more important concerns. She had three months to prepare for returning to the Dursleys.
Sarah opened the door and left.
Sirius was smart—anyone who started learning how to be an animagus at twelve had to be—but Sarah didn’t think he was very wise. He had been sleeping in caves and eating out of bins for months.
The bans from the kitchens and the library were lifted. Sarah had stayed in her dormitory until they gave in. Maybe Dumbledore worked out she was sending all the food she nicked to Sirius. She didn’t care. She was still going to send it.
Articles in the Daily Prophet kept calling for Sirius to turn himself in. He wasn’t going to do that. He wasn’t going to risk going back to Azkaban.
Twelve years. That was almost Sarah’s entire life.
With another bundle of food, Sarah sent a letter of advice. She told Sirius all the ways she imagined she could survive in the muggle world with magic. Transfiguring paper into money, or just taking what you wanted. Finding shelter in empty houses. This might have been illegal, but Sirius was already a criminal. A few more crimes wouldn’t hurt.
Lupin stopped trying to talk to her. Sarah didn’t know whether to be relieved or to resent him more.
Before Easter holidays—given the homework piling up, it was no sort of holiday at all—Professor Flitwick spent a class on Cheering Charms. Specifically having them cast Cheering Charms on one another. It was one of the rare classes in which partners were required, as you needed a target to cast the charm on. Sarah was partnered with a boy from Ravenclaw with a sulky mouth. He looked too eager for a chance to force her to smile.
Sarah disliked mood-altering charms on principle. She didn’t want to be made to feel any particular way. Her feelings were her own.
Cheering Charms were often on O.W.L.s, according to Professor Flitwick. Sarah didn’t know how well she would remember the facts in two years’ time, but she wrote it down rather than interact with her partner. Invented by Felix Summerbee in 1508. The inventor even had a cheerful name. It made Sarah want to gag.
When Professor Flitwick told them to begin, Sarah struck first.
Elatum, she thought, flicking her wand at the boy.
The boy, who had been smiling in a rather creepy way, abruptly broke into maniacal laughter. Sarah watched him for a moment, morbidly fascinated, then picked up her book to find out what went wrong. The boy’s laughter was drawing a lot of attention, including from Professor Flitwick. The boy, whose name turned out to be Michael Corner, was restrained and taken to the hospital wing to laugh himself out. Sarah had overpowered the charm.
Unfortunately, this led to Sarah being partnered with Professor Flitwick. He was made out of stronger stuff than a third-year, and as Sarah attempted to cast the charm again, she was reminded that Professor Flitwick was also a professor duelist. He was not one to be surprised by wordless magic, and could tell from how she moved her wand what she was going to cast, and when. Professor Flitwick was also more than capable of casting the charm on Sarah. The sudden elation that filled her wasn’t entirely foreign, but there was no reason for her to be in such a good mood. It was inexplicable, and felt wrong. Even so, the spell tried to make her smile. Sarah had to bite her lips together. Professor Flitwick at first looked pleased, but once he saw how distressed the Cheering Charm was making her, quickly dispelled it.
Sarah left Charms in a dampened mood. She didn’t like the fake happiness of the charm, she didn’t like how out of control it made her feel. Needing a break, Sarah wound her way to the Astronomy Tower. Other than for classes and clandestine meetings, the Astronomy Tower was rarely used. With the Marauder’s Map, Sarah could confirm no one was there.
It was a blustery spring day, and when she reached the tower Sarah was buffeted by the wind. She felt like she could be picked right up and carried away, and entertained the idea of getting her flying carpet and doing just that. But there was a quidditch team practicing at the pitch, students ambling across the grounds, Hagrid doing something with the hippogriffs. She would attract attention flying, even on a broom, and she wanted to enjoy it in peace. There wasn’t the threat of Sirius to drive people home for the Easter holiday. Sarah drew her knees to her chest, rubbing the warm grain of her wooden leg for comfort, and tried to understand why it bothered her so much if people learned she had a flying carpet.
A small shape was bobbing towards her. Sarah watched it, curious if it was Hedwig and if she had somehow got injured. As the figure neared Sarah saw that it was an owl far smaller than Hedwig and lacking her distinct white feathers. The owl was also much closer than Sarah thought, an illusion that made sense when she had to reach out and grab the owl before he was blown off course.
The little owl was grey with deep orange eyes, and chirped happily in Sarah’s hand. The letter he had been carrying subsequently fell out, and Sarah quickly caught it. She recognized the handwriting as Sirius’, and carefully settled the little owl in her lap before reading it.
Dear Sarah,
I’m sorry it took so long to reply. I’ve gone abroad, and it took some time for Hedwig to locate me. She’ll need a few days rest before flying back. For the time being, I’ve found the best owl available. I’m not convinced he is reliable, but he was eager for the job. Since your friend Ron lost his pet, perhaps he would like an owl?
If you want me back in Britain, just say the word. I know you can take care of yourself, but you shouldn’t have to.
I want to know more about you. What classes do you like? What’s your favorite food? What book are you reading? Even if it’s boring, day-to-day stuff. I still want to know.
There’s too much to say, many things I don’t want to confine to a letter. I’ve let you down again. They can’t give us back those twelve years, and I won’t let them take any more.
I miss you very much, and I’ll write again soon. For now, I’ve included something that I hope makes life a little more bearable. Then again, do you really need it?
Love,
Sirius
The letters stared to blur, and it took Sarah a moment to realize she was shaking. She lowered her hand. The little owl zipped around her head, chirping excitedly. Proud of a job well done.
Love. Sarah could not recall anyone saying they loved her. Aunt Petunia certainly never had. Sarah imagined her parents must have loved her. Her mum loved her enough to die for her.
She looked at the letter again, and saw a second note had been included.
I, Sirius Black, Sarah Potter’s godfather, hereby give her permission to visit Hogsmeade at weekends
Sarah gave the little owl a letter to deliver to Ron. She tracked the owl on the Marauder’s Map, which amusingly identified him as little owl. The short distance delivery made the little owl overjoyed. Soon after, little owl was renamed Balthazar, and he returned to her bearing another note.
Thank you
Snape was worse.
Whenever he looked at Sarah his mouth twitched, his fingers flexed. She knew he wanted to hurt her. Punish her. She could feel ghostly fingers around her neck, constricting, suffocating.
Snape did the same to Lupin, and it was obvious he was dying to tell everyone that Lupin was a werewolf. Sarah hadn’t known it was possible for Snape to hate her more, nor for her hatred of him to deepen. Sarah didn’t want to care about Snape at all, but he was dangerous. The map made her feel safe, let her know where Snape was at all times. Potions class was torturous, sitting in the front while Snape lurked behind her, watching, always watching.
She knew what it looked like when a man wanted to kill her. She saw the same look in Uncle Vernon’s eyes. In Pettigrew’s eyes. In Voldemort’s eyes.
Sarah was not without her advantages. She knew things about Snape. She knew her dad had stopped Snape from running into a full-grown werewolf—true, Sirius had goaded him, but Snape had been the one to stick his greasy nose in where it didn’t belong. She knew Snape was jealous of her dad’s talent at quidditch, of his popularity. She knew that Snape had been childhood friends with her mum, that he had been—and probably still was—obsessed with her. She knew how her dad had hung Snape upside down in front of a crowd and threatened to take his pants off.
She knew they called him Snivellus.
She knew he was a Death Eater.
Practically, Sarah realized there wasn’t much she could do with her information. A Death Eater working at Hogwarts, teaching the Girl Who Lived? Well, Dumbledore had hired him, and everyone trusted Dumbledore. There were loads of Death Eaters who had been allowed to go on with their lives despite all the people they had hurt and killed. Sirius got twelve years in Azkaban, but Lucius Malfoy got to have dinner with the Minister. It was sick.
Still, Sarah could wield it over Snape, if only in the privacy of her own mind. And if she got detention for the header of her Confusing Concoction essay containing Prof. Snivellus, well, that was her business too.
There was another big quidditch game. Quidditch made Sarah think of flying. She adored her flying carpet, but she missed the speed and maneuverability of a broom. Each day it grew easier to walk with her prosthesis, and her crutches lay unused under her bed. The wooden leg felt more and more a part of her. What bothered Sarah was that she recalled vividly what her first time on a broom felt like. How easy and natural it was. She didn’t want to discover she had lost that.
Ron invited her to the game. It was Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, and the last game of the year, so he was very excited for it. Though it was annoying to be asked to do something she specifically said she didn’t like, Sarah was glad Ron hadn’t kept asking her after she declined.
The evening before the match, Sarah broke into the broomshed. It was quite late, as both the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams had decided on last minute practice, but Sarah was confident nothing was out to get her. The dementors were long gone, and with them the ghastly pall that had shrouded the castle and grounds.
The moon and stars were her only light. The pitch was dark and quiet, the towering stands hiding her from sight. Sarah forgot about her leg, forgot about exams, forgot about having to go back to the Dursleys in a few short weeks. For a time, there was just her and the endless sky.
Sarah felt like she could outfly anything. It was as easy as breathing.
Every free moment Sarah had she spent flying. Learning how to handle a broom again, or drifting on her flying carpet. With the quidditch season over and everyone studying for exams, no one was using the pitch. Once she returned to the muggle world, Sarah wouldn’t be able to fly for months.
Ron had suggested off-handedly that she visit his family’s home, the Burrow, but there were problems with that. Going to someone else’s house, particularly such a large family, made Sarah deeply uncomfortable. She hated people being in her space—her room was private—and similarly disliked entering other people’s spaces. The Weasleys were extremely friendly—Ron’s mum had sent her a massive Easter egg—and she would be forced into their company. Even if she did want to go, Sarah had no idea how to get there, and she doubted the Dursleys would give her permission. Not that they could stop Sarah if she was determined, but she knew full well what they were capable of.
The best Sarah could hope for was a quiet summer spent in her room. Well, the best she hoped for was that Uncle Vernon would drop dead. Or that Sirius would threaten them. Or that Lupin would do something. Make sure she was alive. Tell them he was a werewolf.
This was another hard thing. As much as she resented Lupin, he was one of the few people who could have…who could have been something. He was nice to kids. But Sarah wasn’t anything special to Lupin. If she was, maybe she would have grown up knowing him. Maybe she could have grown up living with him, at least some of the time.
Sarah wasn’t important enough for that, it seemed. Even being the Girl Who Lived. If it wasn’t enough that her parents had been friends with Lupin, what about having defeated Voldemort? Was that not good enough?
What did she have to do to prove that she mattered?
Most students looked forward to school being over. Sarah had nothing to look forward to, only something to prepare for. Aunt Marge being out of jail. Dudley having joined an actual gang. Uncle Vernon getting another gun. Aunt Petunia’s hatred.
Sarah sent Hedwig off with another bundle of food. By the time exams began, Hedwig had been gone for two weeks.
Exams weren’t a good distraction. Sarah got bored writing essays and finished too quickly. The practical portions were better. Transfiguring a teapot into a tortoise, a Cheering Charm that made her grit her teeth, trimming a kneazle’s claws. For Potions, Snape hovered over Sarah as she expertly thickened her Confusing Concoction. It was one of the many potions she had brewed in preparation for returning to Privet Drive. She could slip it into the tea; they’d be too disoriented to bother her. Snape stormed away when it was obvious Sarah wasn’t going to fail.
Ancient Runes was Sarah’s favorite exam. There was only a written component for third year students, some basic translations of the runes they had covered that year. Professor Babbling gave Sarah extra credit for the water bowl she had inscribed. A self-filling water bowl wasn’t exactly a novel idea, but that Sarah had come up with it on her own impressed Professor Babbling.
Everyone agreed that the most interesting exam was an obstacle course for Defense. Sarah wasn’t exactly thrilled as it had all been made by Lupin, but she went through it like everything else. Lupin gave her full marks. It seemed to be the only thing he was capable of giving her.
Though Sarah didn’t like Lupin, and being around him made her upset, she didn’t want him to go away. Nor did anyone else, given the outcry at the end-of-term feast when it was announced that Lupin would be stepping down as Defense professor.
There was a lot of speculation which Sarah excluded herself from. She knew Lupin was a coward. Maybe looking at the girl he had abandoned was unbearable for him. Sarah, of course, learned the truth when Lupin invited her for tea.
Lupin’s office was mostly empty. Sarah hadn’t been in it for months, but could recognize the signs of someone moving out. The empty grindylow tank, the bare walls, the packed suitcase. Lupin was behind his desk, removing things from the drawers. There was already a steaming teapot and two cups set out.
“Thank you for coming,” said Lupin, smiling sadly at her. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
He pulled out a chair for Sarah, then sat across from her and poured them both tea.
“You are probably curious why I’m leaving,” said Lupin, pushing a tray of biscuits at her.
Sarah didn’t respond. She doubted she would ever see Lupin again. She didn’t care where he was going, or what he would do. It had nothing to do with her.
“Severus threatened to inform the Board of Governors and the Ministry that I’m a werewolf,” said Lupin. He took a sip of tea. Sarah left her own cup untouched. “Professor Dumbledore has offered me another opportunity.”
Sarah considered taking a biscuit.
“He has asked me to aid in the search for Sirius Black,” said Lupin.
She glared at Lupin. If Lupin did anything to Sirius she would skin him and use him as a rug.
“Sirius was one of my best friends,” said Lupin gently. He paused, then lowered his eyes. “No, that only upsets you more.”
Sarah got out her notebook. She was still using the same one Lupin had given her. Full marks and a notebook. Her cup runneth over.
I have to go back to the Dursleys, she wrote.
“It’s for your safety,” said Lupin. “I know that… I know some of what you’ve been through. I cannot tell you how sorry I am Sarah. I’m sorry I—”
No, it isn’t.
Lupin paused. “Professor Dumbledore told me about the spell he performed, how it keeps you safe from Voldemort—”
It’s to keep the Girl Who Lived safe, Sarah wrote, her bitterness making the letters jagged. She closed the notebook and stood.
“Sarah, I…” began Lupin.
Sarah regarded him coolly.
“I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want.”
Sarah snorted and turned away. She expected nothing from Lupin, and that was what she got.
Sarah got to the train early, as there was no point in waiting. She left a note on her bed to not cause mass panic, snuck out of her dormitory window, loaded her trunk and Hedwig’s empty cage onto her flying carpet, and flew over the gates. She knew it was the last time she would fly until she returned to Hogwarts in the fall. Dread coiled in her stomach. She had no idea what she was going back to.
She filled the hours waiting for the train to leave practicing magic, all the spells she could think of, flipping through books to find more. When the other students arrived, and the train finally chugged to life, Sarah found a book to read. She killed the hours with reading, sorting her Chocolate Frog cards, cleaning Hedwig’s cage again, repacking her trunk, and buying sweets from the trolley witch.
Most people knew that the locked compartment was Sarah’s. Hannah and Susan came by to wish her a happy holiday. Ron came by and babbled about some world cup. Sarah didn’t answer the door for anyone else, and none of her visitors stayed long.
Sarah hadn’t heard from the Dursleys all year, and half hoped that no one would show up. But once Sarah passed through the barrier, Aunt Petunia was there. She looked pinched and drawn, even in the new dress she wore. Sarah had no idea who she was trying to impress. Aunt Petunia stared at her left leg, and her expression grew more unpleasant.
“Sarah, dear!”
Sarah looked away from her aunt to where a group of red-haired people stood. Ron’s mother was waving at her. The twins, Fred and George, were saying something to Ron that was making him blush. The eldest son, Percy, was managing all the trunks. Mr. Weasley was giving Aunt Petunia a concerned look.
Aunt Petunia hurried forward and seized Sarah’s arm.
“Do you know those people?” she hissed, pulling Sarah away from the barrier.
Sarah nodded, tightening her grip on her trunk. She charmed it featherlight, so it was easy to carry. Aunt Petunia didn’t notice at all.
“You must be Sarah’s aunt.”
Aunt Petunia nearly crushed Sarah’s arm, but it wasn’t Mr. or Mrs. Weasley speaking. It was someone entirely unexpected.
“Who are you?” demanded Aunt Petunia.
“Remus Lupin,” said Lupin, smiling in a disarming way. Unlike the other witches and wizards swarming the station, he was competently dressed in a muggle suit. Sarah noticed it looked nicer than the robes he usually wore. Was it easier to repair muggle clothes?
“I don’t know you,” said Aunt Petunia. Strangely, she moved to stand in front of Sarah. “What do you want?”
“I was one of Sarah’s teachers this year,” said Lupin easily. “And I was a good friend of her parents.”
Aunt Petunia sneered. “You’re one of them.”
“Yes,” said Lupin. “I am also a werewolf.”
Aunt Petunia stiffened, and a small smile grew on Sarah’s lips. Aunt Petunia knew werewolves were real. That all the monsters were real.
“If I get wind that you’ve mistreated Sarah,” said Lupin, his voice dropping. “What I do will pale in comparison to what her godfather does.”
“Godfather?” spluttered Aunt Petunia. “She doesn’t have a godfather!”
“He was the best man at Lily’s wedding,” said Lupin drily. “The notorious mass murderer, Sirius Black.”
Sarah blinked a few times. She was completely thrown. Why was Lupin doing this? She could handle the Dursleys on her own. She was going to tell them about Sirius in the car.
“Have a good holiday, Sarah,” said Lupin. He gave her a sad smile.
Sarah nodded, not knowing what else to do. Lupin retreated into the crowd. A group of people hid him from sight, and when they passed Lupin was gone.
Aunt Petunia came to her senses. She hustled Sarah away before anyone else could approach, bundled her into the waiting car, and sped all the way back to Privet Drive.