ty

The Trouble with Egypt

Harry couldn't wait to go on holiday with Sirius. He was confident it would only be the two of them again from now on: Lily had had her taste of 'family togetherness' last year with Ireland and it had blown up in her face. He didn't think she was likely to try again. And the week since he and Tom had returned from Hogwarts had been ridiculously awkward. The only time he was on his own was during his morning run and when he hid for meditation. The rest of the time, his parents commandeered his every waking moment in nervous attempts to bond. Lily, of course, was living in a mild state of panicked shock because both of her sons had been in mortal danger practically all year long, and very nearly actually died near the end of it. Harry couldn't help but bitterly compare the previous year when his own near-death experience had been viewed as "rebellion". Their cautious praise of his derring-do in the Chamber only made him angry and withdrawn because he knew they would have had the same reaction as before if he'd acted on his own, while Tom strutted about like a peacock in full plumage for the part he'd taken in killing the Basilisk.

He was running, of course. There was no other way he'd have the five seconds he needed to form a pair of coherent thoughts. Fog smothered the grounds in a dense blanket, and he forced his mind away from his family's idiocies.

He'd had a letter from Roderick the day before, sounding even dourer than he usually did over summer. Predictably, Mr. Malfoy was livid over the loss of Dobby, and seemed to be foisting most of the elf's chores onto his elder son. Roderick, of course, had no idea how to cook or clean on the level required, so it wasn't going well.

He'd even been forbidden from going to Delf's until lessons started, and Mr. Malfoy had written directly to Master Jerome about it, so Delf couldn't fake another letter.

Delf, as usual, was having the best time of it where her family was concerned. Astoria had just turned twelve, and was reveling in the new 'maturity' the age granted her. Dwight was a creative terror, but nothing new there.

"Hoi! Harry!"

The shout pulled him out of his mental ramblings, and he looked around until he saw Sirius waving by the front gate where he'd apparently just Apparated.

"Morning!" Harry called, grinning as he jogged over to his godfather. "Alright?"

"Alright," Sirius agreed as they walked up the lawn and around to the south end of the house. "Given any thought to where you want to go?"

"I was thinking of somewhere in South America," Harry suggested. "Maybe Peru? Lindsey told me about surfing last year, and I really want to try."

"Perfect!" Sirius grinned. Harry gave his first real smile in what felt like a long time.

The kitchen door was closed against the chill of the fog, but the room was cozy with heat from the stove and the smell of tea and bacon. Lily and James had got up while he was out running, and were seated kitty-corner to one another at the table, reading sections of the Prophet.

"Morning, Sirius!" James says jovially when he saw his son with his friend. "What's the news?"

"Ah, Sirius, perfect," Lily interrupted. Harry's excitement stilled at her tone. "I assume you're here to help us arrange for our holiday this summer?" So much for only him and Sirius. "I was thinking it might be nice to stay local again. I hear Bath is wonderful at this time of year."

"Er, I'm sure it is, but we were thinking of Peru just now…" Sirius replied awkwardly. Harry understood the feeling. It was difficult to disagree with his mother once she had assumed something. If he hadn't had such long practice, he'd have no doubt found it very difficult as well.

"I don't want to stay local, Mum. When are we going to have a chance to go to Peru again? I think it sounds like a great idea. You can go to Bath any time."

Lily looked moderately stunned, but recovered quickly. "Well—you see, sweetheart, your father won't be able to take as much time off as he did last year, so it doesn't make sense to go out of the country. And it's less expensive this way, do you understand?"

"Going far away doesn't mean we have to stay for a long time," Harry protested.

Just then, a very out-of-breath Tom sprinted into the kitchen, clutching a page of parchment which he waved over his head excitedly.

"THE WEASLEYS ARE GOING TO EGYPT!" he shouted, screeching to a halt and nearly knocking Harry over.

"That's wonderful!" Lily replied, smiling through her surprise.

"How can they afford that?" James asked. Lily swatted his arm.

"Don't be nosy, James."

"Mr. Weasley won the Annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw so they're visiting Bill in ten days. Can we go? Can we please?"

Lily and James looked at each other thoughtfully. Harry narrowed his eyes. So that was how it was. He should have gotten Tom to suggest Peru for him.

"Well, I suppose I can write to Mrs. Weasley and see if it would be alright if we did joint trips…" Lily said to Tom. He gave an excited yell and hugged her before dashing back out of the room.

"I'll write to Ron right now!" he was heard to shout from somewhere in the vicinity of the stairs.

Harry raised his eyebrows at his parents. "We can't go far away. Dad can't take time off. It's cheaper to stay local."

"We won't be staying long, regardless of the Weasleys' plans," Lily replied, standing up and handing her tea mug to Tipsy, who hurried it to the sink. "And besides, sweetheart, you got to choose where we went last year. It's only fair to let Tom pick this time." She swept out to write Mrs. Weasley, even though it sounded like Tom had made the decision already.

Harry could hear his pulse roaring in his ears. They just didn't see it. The favoritism. They were completely blind to their own actions.

"What an excellent way to plan things," he declared with sarcastic good cheer. "Do What Tom Wants. I think I'll make that the title of my memoir someday."

"Harry," James said soothingly, but Harry cut him off.

"No, it's fine. Egypt is fine. I want to go to Egypt. It'll be just bloody brilliant." He stalked out of the kitchen, through the foyer, up the stairs and along the hall to his room where he did not slam the door. He did not rage or throw a fit. He was not Tom. He simply sat down and wrote to Delf and Roderick. For a long, long time.

-o-

So they went to Egypt. Harry had to admit he felt a liking for the place as soon as the Portkey dumped them in the courtyard of the hostel they were all staying at: seven Weasleys, four Potters, and Sirius. The hostel was a five-storey job that had obviously seen better days, given the peeling paint and small number of guests besides themselves. But Harry liked it anyway.

The Potters and Sirius had Apparated to the Burrow at ten (running a half hour past schedule, as usual), to find the Weasley clan in a buzz of well-practised chaos. Harry had gone off and found the twins implementing the self-tangling shoelace charm they'd been perfecting last May on Percy's shoes. Tom and Ron nearly missed the Portkey (which was a long piece of rope, that being the only thing everyone could get a handle on) because they were in the attic harassing the ghoul, but they all somehow managed to arrive in one piece.

Egypt was hot, that was his first impression. The thick cotton shirt he'd needed in Britain was now far too heavy, and socks were obviously a mistake altogether. His second impression was that no one was fawning over Tom. Compared to their effusive welcome in Ireland, he vastly preferred the cool courtesy the Egyptians showed them as they took their baggage upstairs rather than the blatant worship of the Irish. Tom seemed a bit off kilter about it, but it put Harry in a remarkably good mood.

He quietly ignored the room assignment that put him with Tom and moved in with Sirius instead, giving his bed up to Ron so that he could escape sharing a room with Percy and the twins.

They ate a light lunch (most of them still suffering from Portkey queasiness), and then set off into the city-proper to meet up with Bill.

Harry and the twins had a right old time as their parents led them through the twisting, turning streets of Cairo, pointing out interesting architectural features (that was mainly Harry) or potentially wonderful prank ingredients (and that was mainly the twins).

Harry liked Bill when he met him. He seemed something of a mix between Mrs. Weasley and the twins: mostly quite down to earth, but with a wicked streak of humor mixed in.

"Pleasure," he said, shaking Harry's hand firmly when they were introduced. And he was absolutely not in awe of Tom at all.

They were scheduled to be there for two weeks, so they didn't have to start right in on visiting all those interesting places like the Pyramids, so they spent a leisurely afternoon strolling through the city, taking in the air and the culture. Mrs. Weasley didn't let go of Bill for the entirety of the afternoon, which he bore with tolerant good humor.

The day passed pleasantly enough, though Lily kept giving Sirius very stern looks (which he didn't see because he was giving very different sorts of looks to every third woman he passed), and Tom and Ron nearly followed a snake charmer into an alley way (Harry and the twins dragged them off before the mothers noticed).

So after all that, Harry was expecting to sleep very well that night when they got back to the hostel. And despite his typically bad luck, he did.

-o-

The next morning, Harry followed his habit when first running in a new place and simply picked a direction and stayed on as straight a line as possible. He chose north on a whim, and set off through the drowsy city.

It was always fascinating to Harry to be in a new place for the first time and watch it come awake. It was a bit like a baby bird hatching. The first yawning peddlers set up their stalls, arranging fruit and knick-knacks and calling news back and forth. A baby cried somewhere and a woman was singing in Arabic from an open window.

"Harry Potter? Hey, Harry!"

The shout pulled him up short, and he stopped on the curb, looking around for whoever had called.

"Up here!"

He followed the voice to a third-storey window across the street: Bill Weasley was waving down at him. Harry waved back and nodded when Bill indicated for him to stay where he was so he could come down. A few minutes later he appeared in the street and crossed to where Harry stood near a lamppost.

"What are you doing here? Scarpering to join the circus?"

"What? No!" Harry laughed. "I run in the morning. I didn't know you lived up here. I was just thinking of turning around, actually."

"Oh, mind if I join you? Mum wanted me to come down 'as early as possible', in her words. I'd figure 'before breakfast' counts as early, eh?"

"Of course," Harry replied politely, and they turned back south and started strolling towards the hostel. They passed a few blocks in silence that was neither awkward nor completely comfortable, until Harry asked, "What's it like to be a curse breaker?"

Bill grinned. "Wicked," he replied.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I really love it. I know people say that about their jobs, but I couldn't think of anything that would make me want to stop doing this."

"What do you do mostly?"

"Believe it or not, a lot of paperwork. Everything we find and learn has to be carefully recorded and cataloged. We're learning a lot about curses from these dead chaps. Egypt is the oldest known magical society, you know, though people argue about the Babylonians, and I think they took more magical knowledge with them when they fell than we have altogether these days."

"Wow." Harry was suitably impressed. He couldn't wait to tell Delf about all of this.

"So when the tomb-breakers or assessors think something might be protected, they call one of us in, and we have to figure out if it's jinxed or not—it usually is—and then figure out how to defuse it without having it go off in our faces. It's a subtle art, but there's nothing more rewarding."

"That's amazing," Harry said, and Bill seemed to puff up a bit.

"Yeah, well, there's really not much to it once you've got the knack. It's more of a sensing thing than a knowing thing, if that makes sense."

Harry thought that sounded like the best possible thing in the world. Why couldn't all jobs be so cool?

They were nearly back to the hostel by then, and when Mrs. Weasley saw them walk into the dining room, she wasted no time in latching on to her son and not letting go for the remainder of the day. Lily, meanwhile, gave her elder son a hard warning look as if to say 'I'm ready for you to get in trouble, and you won't like what happens when you do'. Harry stuck mainly with Sirius or the twins as the days progressed and Bill led them from landmark to landmark. Whether he did this avoid his mum or to make her think he was thinking about trouble, even he wasn't sure.

Bill was a good tour guide, and there were an incredible number of things to learn and think about. His letters to Delf and Roderick were surprisingly upbeat and positive, as both of them pointed out. They also both mentioned that Delf was back to dating Oliver, which Harry wasn't at all sure he approved of. But she could take care of herself; he knew that better than anyone. He paid it no more mind.

One day nearly two weeks into the trip, they were coming back from visiting the Sphinx (Tom and Ron were in an uproar over the three-headed skeletons they'd seen) and were thinking whether to eat in the city or go back to the hostel when the inevitable happened.

"Isn't that Tom Potter?"

It was a tourist group of about fifty elderly British people, and Tom, Lily, James, and anyone else who hadn't gotten out of the way in time were quickly swamped. Harry, who had dragged the twins out of the danger zone, looked on with resigned acceptance. They had managed to avoid scenes like this till that point, as His Majesty Lord Thomas was not as well-known abroad as he was at home in England.

"Harry," Fred murmured in his ear.

"Mm?" Harry grunted.

"Look," George murmured into his other ear, and Harry felt him nod off towards the right. He looked, and saw a little hole-in-the-wall pub, only recognizable by the bottle-shaped sign above the door. "There's no drinking age for magicals here, you know."

"…Tom's an excellent Quidditch player, just like his old man, but his mum's brains you know, top marks at Hogwarts…" James' words somehow made it through the gaggle of noisy witches and wizards, and that's what made his mind up.

"Let's go," he said, and they went.

The pub smelled of woodchips and beer and was mostly empty at this time of day. The man behind the counter was middle aged and well-built, sort of a prerequisite for running a pub, Harry supposed. He had slim to no knowledge of how pubs actually worked besides the Three Broomsticks and the Leaky Cauldron, but weren't fights supposed to be common? A burly barkeep would come in handy for breaking those up.

He and the twins sauntered up to the bar, looking as natural as possible. "Three please," Harry said, holding up his hand with the thumb and forefinger down. The man glanced between them all with bright black eyes, then shrugged and reached under the bar and brought out three brown bottles. The labels were in Arabic, but they smelled alcoholic enough when they got the caps off.

Fred took a large swig and immediately started coughing. George laughed and whacked him on the back a few times. Down the bar, the man grinned. Harry smiled too and took a small sip. The flavour was round and sweet and rested easily on his tongue, until he swallowed it and the alcohol hit the back of his throat. Then he coughed a couple times too, but overall he liked it very much.

After a time, the twins were grinning merrily and Harry was feeling quite pleasant himself. Somehow or other, about half of whatever he was drinking had disappeared, but that was alright.

"Now, 'Arry," said George.

"Yeah, 'Arry," said Fred.

"Wot was I gonna ask him?" said George.

"When you go out with your fam'ly, does that always 'appen?" said Fred.

"Yeah, d'you always get swarmed like that?" said George.

Normally those questions would have made him awkward or defensive, but he was simply feeling too good to let even his family bring him down.

"Yep," he replied. "Even just in Diagon Alley or something, everyone wants to shake his hand or something..." He took another drink. The bottle was nearly empty somehow. "It's stopped bothering me so much. I know he was involved in something incredible as a baby, and You-Know-Who, and dah dah dah. What annoys me is that he laps it up like a thirsty griffin. I mean, you saw him and Lockheart last summer. You know how he is. Not a word about Grandma Potter, the one actually responsible for him being alive or anything." He tried to take another drink, but it had all gone somewhere. Had he really drunk the whole thing already?

"What a prat," Fred slurred.

"Got that right," George agreed. "Three more!" he called to the barkeep, who lifted the bottles from under the counter and slid them expertly along to the teenagers. They were just popping the caps when a shriek rang out from the door behind them.

"BOYS!"

Harry and the twins spun on their seats. The mothers had arrived. Lily and Molly stood livid, outlined in the bright daylight streaming through the open door. Percy was at Mrs. Weasley's shoulder, puffed with confidence and the self-righteous pride of a tattle-tale. Harry mentally glared at him, but knew that true revenge would have to wait. There were mothers to deal with first.

In this particular case, 'dealing with them' meant to simply duck their heads and allow the screaming to wash over them. There were a lot of 'ashamed's and 'unbelievable's being thrown about, and then Harry had the scruff of his shirt grabbed like a disobedient dog, the twins had their ears grabbed, and they were summarily frog-marched from the pub. The Tom-centric crowd had dispersed and no one was out in the street to see two enraged mothers, three wayward teenage boys and one smug tale-bearer turn into a nearby alley and Apparate away.

The hostel was quiet in the hours between lunch and supper, and Lily wasted no time in dragging Harry upstairs while Mrs. Weasley set about dressing down the twins. Just before Lily slammed the door to her and James' first storey room, he heard her say, "…and if you're corrupting Harry, you won't so much as look at anything outside of your room for the rest of holiday, do you understand?" and he nearly had to laugh.

Lily did not subscribe to Mrs. Weasley's hot anger this time, however. Her current attitude was as far as possible from her previous furies, and there was no screaming or raging to be seen. Normally Harry would have been at least moderately concerned, but not this time. Whatever had made him so blasé about the twins' questions in the pub had carried over, and he was not going to take Lily's nonsense.

"Harry, I'm at the end of my rope with you. Why you insist on getting into trouble—"

"I didn't get in trouble, actually." He said each word very distinctly so that there could be no miscommunication.

"What?" Lily shrieked, composure shattered by his disagreement. "Of course underage drinking is getting in trouble! It's illegal for one thing, but moreover—!"

"It's not illegal," Harry interrupted. "There's no minimum drinking age here for magicals."

Her mouth opened, then closed. Opened again. "Well—! That is utterly beside the point! Do you realize how it looks for you to be sneaking off to pubs while your brother is making connections to ensure your future? It's completely—"

He cut her off again: "Oh, you mean Tom, the one I stopped from following a snake charmer at the beginning of this trip? You mean Tom, who got more detention in his first term than I ever have? You mean Tom, who's poncy, full of himself, and thinks he's a miracle because Grandma Potter sacrificed herself for him? That Tom is making connections to ensure my future? The future where I am the heir to the Potter name and fortune, have the Wizengamot seat waiting for me, and already had a job offer from Mr. Bagman? I think you've got your facts scrambled." Harry was not quite sure what had come over him. Normally, he never would have spoken to his mother like that. Even when they forgot his birthday, he tried to hold his tongue to avoid hurting them back.

Lily looked just as stunned as he felt. Deciding to seize the opportunity, Harry excused himself with a mumbled "I have a headache," and left the room. His and Sirius' room was two doors down, past Tom and Ron's, and he set about rummaging through his godfather's luggage to find some hangover potion. Then he fell across Sirius' bed and slept for two and half hours.

-o-

"Harry." He woke up to Sirius shaking his shoulder and couldn't remember where he was or what was going on for a moment. "Harry, up. Come on."

"Muhg," Harry grunted. He wasn't hungover, he didn't think, but 2 in the afternoon was an odd time for a nap and he felt stiff and groggy. Plus, it was 4:30 now and he had missed lunch.

"So what was it?" Sirius asked, dark eyes twinkling.

"I dunno," Harry replied, rubbing his eyes. "The label was in Arabic, but there was alcohol, believe you me."

"I do," Sirius said, grinning. "I see you were smart and took a potion."

"Yeah. I figured you'd brought enough that you wouldn't mind one going for a good cause." He had sat up on the edge of the bed and was straightening his shirt out. "Seriously, three dozen? We're only here for a couple more days."

"You never know what could happen. If something were to get accidentally spiked, I could be the hero of the trip."

Something went ding! in Harry's head. "Hey, Sirius…" he said slowly. "Do you have any of that Sleeping Potion like you used to use when you taught at Hogwarts?"

Sirius gave him a conspiratorial look. "I might," he allowed. "As long as I knew it wasn't going to be used for dishonorable purposes."

"Oh no," Harry reassured him. "Quite the opposite. This is about defending honour."

"Then how can I say no?" Sirius, grinning widely, went to his dopkit and searched through it till he came up with a small sealed vial of clear purple-ish fluid.

"Thanks much," Harry said eagerly as Sirius handed it over. "Now, if I wanted to delay its effect for a little while, how would I do that?"

"It ought to say on the label. Remember Harry: honour."

"Yessir." He saluted smartly, then spun on his heel and left the room. He slid into a cleaning supply closet across the hall and examined the slim bit of parchment attached to the vial. The usual blather about not mixing the stuff with vodka, Shrinking Solution, or using it as a salad dressing (that was interesting, he'd have to look into that) but the tidbit he was after was just there at the bottom: To delay the effect of this potion, add one (1) sprig of lavender per hour of desired delay and shake well.

Perfect. He knew exactly where to find some of that.

A brief listen at the top of the stairs informed him that Tom and Ron were down in the sitting room going on about three-headed skeletons to Ginny, whom Mrs. Weasley had not allowed in the tomb. So with the utmost confidence, he opened the door to Tom and Ron's room and went to the bureau against the far wall. It took a few minutes to sort out whose drawers were whose, but then he found exactly what he was looking for: a little cloth bag stuffed with cedar chips and lavender sprigs of the sort ladies (and Tom) used to make their underthings smell nice. Harry had discovered this interesting factoid about his brother the previous year in Ireland but had not found a good use for the information till now.

He gently loosened the ribbon and pulled out four purple stems before carefully replacing the packet and leaving the room quietly. He hoped the age of the flowers didn't matter as he watched them dissolve into the potion. This really had to work. As Sirius had said, honour.

He skirted the busy sitting room, using a servant's passage he had noticed a maid coming out of a few days before instead. He eventually found his way to the kitchen, getting only a little bit lost along the way, and asked the slightly startled staff there if they had any Butterbeer. It turned out 'butterbeer' was not a cognate between English and Arabic, so that took a few more minutes of confusion before it was sorted out. But when he left, he had two large tankards brimming with the stuff and some new friends in the kitchen to boot. Taking a more expedient path through the hostel proper, he made a show of poking his head into the sitting room and asking if anyone knew where Percy was. Mrs. Weasley said he was writing letters in the room he shared with the twins, and Harry made very brief, casual eye-contact with his friends as he thanked her and left. They made equally brief, casual nods to him. They were all up to something. The twins didn't know what yet, but that didn't change the facts.

He made a stop at his and Sirius' room to pour the slim vial of Sleeping Draught into one of the large cups and scrawl a quick note, which appeared to read:

Dear Fred and George,

I have made nice with Percy and I suggest you do the same. We were really out of line earlier today, and he did the right thing by telling our mums. Let's not have tension and animosity between brothers where there shouldn't be any.

— Harry

Of course, the twins would know the little squiggle under his name, far from being simple embellishment, was actually a stylized M. M for Marauders. Harry had done some very careful analysis of the spells in his Map over the past year, and he and the twins had developed a rather ingenious method of disguising prank plans as innocent class notes. The trigger was the same as the Map—'I solemnly swear I'm up to no good'—and the true writing underneath would reveal itself. In this case, it read,

There was Sleeping Potion in his drink. By 9 o clock, a clan of warring giants couldn't wake him. Use the advantage as you see fit.

—Harry

He was really quite pleased about it. The only problem was that they hadn't figured out a way to cover them back up, so they were a one shot deal and always had to be destroyed right away.

"Come in," said Percy's bossy, exasperated voice when Harry knocked on his door. "Ah, Harry," he said a bit nervously as the younger boy obeyed, careful not to spill the drinks ('Mine's on the left mine's on the left mine's on the left,' he repeated to himself over and over). "What can I do for you?"

"Ah, well, actually, I was really just hoping for a chat," Harry said, injecting just the right note of discomfort into his voice. Roderick always said that if the whole International Magical Relations Department thing didn't work out for him, he could always be an actor. "I know you probably think I'm upset over what happened earlier today, and how you told my mum and your mum and the twins and I got in trouble for it…" He could see Percy swelling to interject some snotty self-righteous remark, so he charged right on. "But I'm really not. I think you did just the right thing, and I wanted to thank you and give you this." He held out the tankard in his right hand. Percy managed to somehow look both startled and very pleased at the same time. "And do you think you could give this to the twins when you see them? I'm telling them to make up with you. I hope it does some good."

"Well, you know, I'm very pleased to hear you say that," he said gravely as he took the drink and note from Harry's hand. "It's most unfortunate that my brothers spend so much time and effort making the lives of everyone around them so difficult."

Harry made sympathetic 'mm-hm' sounds as Percy ranted on for the next twenty minutes, ranging from topics like childhood pranks the twins had pulled on him to the deplorably loose discipline at the Burrow to the duties of a Prefect, all the while taking mouthfuls of the spiked Butterbeer.

Harry and Percy were on remarkably good terms when suppertime rolled around, and Percy walked into the dining room with his arm slung companionably across Harry's shoulder. "I am going to recommend this chap for a Prefect position," he announced magnanimously. "It takes true strength of character to admit wrongdoing, and this one here has that in spades."

"Well, it was all thanks to my mum. She really put some sense in my head when we got home," Harry demurred. Lily looked confused and discomfited.

Percy clapped him on the shoulder. "There, you see? Just what I mean!"

The twins were positively goggling at him from across the table as they all sat down to eat, and Tom was glaring at him distrustfully. Percy kept on a steady stream of praise throughout the meal, which everyone slowly began to ignore and different conversations took over.

Harry took an early night, begging exhaustion after a busy day (though truthfully he wasn't tired at all—it was just that if this revenge was to go off well, he and the twins couldn't be seen having any contact whatsoever). So he laid up in bed for several hours, writing everything to Delf and Roderick, and enduring many begging, woebegone looks from Sirius, who badly wanted to know what had transpired, and how his new chumminess with Percy related to honour and revenge and Sleeping Potions.

Of course, no one was more amazed than Harry the next morning when his new friend stormed into the dining room where most of their party was having a pleasant breakfast and declared, "Harry, I want you to know that I don't blame you for my brothers not taking your advice. This rests solely on their shoulders and I will be sure to hold them accountable. Good morning, everyone." He stalked out again.

His hair was a shade of rich, almost-glowing pink.

Perhaps not what Harry would have gone for (how does 'Penelope was here' in Permanent Ink across his forehead sound?), but it was flashy—indeed, nearly painful to the eye—and certainly communicated the twins' displeasure. Harry kept his face carefully schooled into an expression of resignation, as if he really were disappointed that the twins hadn't followed his example. He was struck by the thought that this scenario was playing out remarkably similarly to how the Forbidden Forest excursion had gone in second year. I.E., the twins had gotten in trouble and he hadn't, as they were always eager to remind him.

Naturally, chaos reigned supreme for a time. The plan had been to spend the morning packing, as they were to leave the next day, and the afternoon out with Bill, but all that got pushed back a solid two hours as various methods were tried to de-pink Percy's hair (none were successful) and the twins were eventually found having a picnic on the roof. Mrs. Weasley went through most of the same things she had the previous day, only this time it was less 'you're corrupting Harry' than 'you should take Harry's example', and Harry again had to stifle laughter. He knew he'd hear no end of this from the twins, but decided the look on Percy's face was worth it. He wondered how long it would take him to think of simply dyeing it orange again.

Just after lunch, James pulled Harry aside.

"Harry, despite what Percy says, I think you're part of the reason his hair is bright pink this morning," he said, getting right to the point for once.

"Really?" he said, mockingly interested.

"Yes." James either ignored his tone or didn't hear it. "Tom blames you for dyeing his hair last year, and now Percy shows up with the same thing. Doesn't that strike you as a bit of a coincidence?" He was trying to lead him out, but Harry wasn't going to let it work.

"Yes, how odd," Harry agreed. "This is good food for thought, Dad. Can I get back to you on it a little later?"

"I know you told Fred and George what to do, Harry. Just admit it and be done," James said impatiently.

"Oh, hold on, I was confused, sorry. You think I give the twins their ideas? Okay, let me tell you something about the twins. They have these role-models, see? These four chaps, they graduated Hogwarts about fifteen years ago and got up to all sorts of troublesome nonsense during their school years. They gave themselves some sort of silly name; I think it began with an 'm'… They made a special map… Let me know if any of this sounds familiar, Prongs." He gave his father a pointed look. James looked rather startled at the turning of the tables. "Yeah, it's your lot that inspire them. Did you know that one time in first year they snitched all of your old detention forms and made a list of everything you'd ever done? The list goes clear across the Gryffindor common room, I've seen it, and they intend to replicate every prank you ever did. Now, tell me again how Percy's hair is my fault?"

"Wait, how have you gotten into Gryffindor Tower? Didn't you say you're a Ravenclaw?"

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "I have my ways."

His father looked like a small boy being denied a sweet. "But—"

"Secrets are secrets," Harry said firmly. "Now, is falsely accusing me of pranking Percy the only reason you called me over here? Because I have things to pack."

"It wasn't a false accusation," James disagreed, but it was too late for him to salvage his argument, Harry knew. He'd made the fatal error of taking Harry's terms. And James knew it too. "But yes, go pack. We're leaving early tomorrow."

"Why are we leaving tomorrow?" Harry asked. "There's still a whole week of July left, and Sirius and I usually stay away the whole month."

"Well, now that it's a family event, we have to plan around Tom's birthday, and we need to be home in time to prepare," James replied, blithely skating over quite a number of things.

Right. Something else to look forward to. "Ah-huh," Harry murmured, giving his father a chance to include a few other factors in his estimation. The chance wasn't taken, and James wandered away to see what his wife was doing.

Quashing disappointment, Harry stalked upstairs to his and Sirius' room and began emptying drawers into his trunk. Sirius was taking inventory of all of the silly little knick-knacks he'd bought, muttering about each one under his breath as he packed them inside socks so they wouldn't break. He'd never admit it, but he was a terrible packrat. His flat in London was chock-full of all sorts of paraphernalia from all the trips he and Harry had taken, and places he'd gone on his own, and any number of other things. The only time Harry had heard of him getting rid of anything was when his mother, Mrs. Black, died several years earlier and he'd sold massive quantities of her old things.

Even without Harry saying anything—or perhaps because of that—Sirius immediately sensed his godson's mood.

"Something happen downstairs?" he asked casually, piling robes in over his sock-wrapped souvenirs.

"No," Harry grumbled. "Well, not really. I almost had a nice moment with Dad, actually."

"'Almost'," Sirius noted astutely.

Harry sighed. "He said he thought I had something to do with Percy's hair—which I don't, technically—but I told him about how the twins worship you guys, the Marauders, and how they have a list clear across the Gryffindor common room of all your pranks they want to copy, and he asked how I knew what Gryffindor's common room looks like since I'm in Ravenclaw, and it was all just sort of… normal. Then I stupidly asked why we're going home tomorrow instead of next week like we usually would have and he said we have to prepare for Tom's birthday." Harry snorted. "Tom's birthday… Why don't they just go ahead and declare it a national holiday? Most of the Ministry already takes the day off to come to the party. No great change, right?" He paused, twisting his fingers unhappily. "I don't think they even realize what they're doing. I know they don't realize what they're doing. They're not at all malicious. Tom's famous. That must be difficult for a parent. But they've forgotten my birthday nearly every time since I turned seven. That's over half my life! They didn't know I was in Ravenclaw till last summer—Dad didn't anyway—and neither of them knew I was Seeker until Tom wrote them. I DID write them, you know, back in first year. And I know I asked you and Uncle Remus to not remind them of stuff because they should just know… But it's like they forget they have another son most of the time! If I'm not causing trouble, I don't exist for them! And I don't even cause trouble! Fine, the pub thing yesterday was on a line, but it wasn't illegal." He knew he was rambling terribly, but Sirius had sat down and was watching him gravely, so he felt no compulsion to stop. "You know they cite what happened with Quirrell two years ago as me trying to prove I'm better than Tom? That's balls. Proving I'm better than him is one of the few things I'm sincerely not interested in. And then they come barging in on our holidays and let Tom take them over too, as if them forcing themselves on me is going to make me forget that they don't know my favorite class or my favorite colour or who my best friends are. I suppose it's convenient for them to pretend that they didn't cause this rift because then they don't have to take responsibility. And really, as if I could ever be jealous of Tom, what bollocks."

"You really resent them, don't you?" Sirius' voice was depressed.

"How can I help it? It's hard to be appreciative when all they do is think I get in trouble to make their lives harder. I wish I didn't have to go to Tom's stupid birthday party. You know Mum wanted to keep me in my room for it last year?"

"Did she really?" He sounded amused and sad.

"Yeah. That was after Ms. Bones' party in Ireland, so she thought I was on a warpath against the family. It was nearly funny."

His godfather was silent for a moment. Then, "Harry, if I spoke to your parents about it, would you want to stay here in Egypt till after Tom's birthday?"

Harry looked up at him, eyes wide with surprise and gratitude. "Yes please."

Sirius laughed and rumpled his hair as he left. "I'll tell them you want to visit the source of the Nile or something," he said.

Well, that was a load off, Harry reflected cheerfully as he began replacing shirts and trousers into his wardrobe. Getting to stay in Africa AND skip Tom's party. He thought again of the time when he'd told Remus he wanted Sirius as a dad.

-o-

Seven Weasleys and three Potters left the next morning, using the same Portkey as had brought them there. Percy's hair was still painfully pink, though he maintained that he held Harry in the highest esteem and that the twins were a pair of lowlifes who didn't deserve to be friends with him. Harry knew he'd hear no end of that at Hogwarts. He had written to Delf and Roderick that he'd be back later than he'd originally said, and they should just meet at the Leaky Cauldron on the 31st. Delf wrote a very concerned letter back wondering if he'd gotten in trouble or something, but Roderick just complained that he had another week to endure before he could get out of Malfoy Manor. His father's fury over the loss of Dobby had not abated. But his time at home had given him a rather cunning idea for a new tattoo, which he described in great detail. Delf sent them both a copy of the concept a couple days later, and Harry was very excited and showed Sirius immediately, who agreed to foot the bill with Mr Bigby.

The next week was fantastic. They didn't get to the source of the Nile after all, but that was alright. They visited the Valley of Kings, and rode camels, and Sirius took him to three different pubs and had him sample what felt like 200 different types of alcohol. By the end of each evening, he couldn't even remember his own name, let alone which ones he'd liked best, which had been the supposed point of the excursions. But Sirius said proudly that his godson held his liquor better than any other godson he knew, making Harry laugh harder than was probably warranted. Everything was funnier drunk though.

But eventually, even that blissful respite came to an end, and Harry and Sirius packed up to go home the day before his birthday.

Mini-chapter: Fred and George

"G'night, Mum," said Fred.

"G'night Dad," said George.

"G'night Ron," said Fred.

"G'night Ginny," said George.

"G'night Tom," said Fred.

"G'night Mr. Potter," said George.

"And Mrs. Potter," said George.

They were answered with a series of mumbled farewells. It was nearly ten-thirty and Percy, Harry and Professor Black had long retired for bed. They mounted the stairs eagerly, knowing that whatever opportunity for revenge Harry had planted for them would have bloomed by now.

Lo and behold, Percy lay sprawled across one of the double beds, night shirt rucked up around his knobby knees. He was drooling a lake into the pillow.

"Attractive," Fred noted.

"Well, he is related to us."

"What do we do with him?"

"Here's Harry's note."

Fred withdrew his wand and tapped the page. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

"There was Sleeping Potion in his drink. By 9 o clock, a clan of warring giants couldn't wake him. Use the advantage as you see fit." George read aloud.

"Harry came through, my brother."

"Yes he did, my brother."

"I'll get the dyeing kit."

"What colour do we feel like this evening?" George wondered aloud.

"Percy would want pink, I'm quite sure," Fred replied, coming back from rummaging through his twin's bag.

"I think you must be right," George conceded, and they began to expertly mix a series of clear fluids together. After a time, the liquid in their beaker began to hiss and fizzle and when it was calm again it was a shade of brilliant crimson. The procedure itself took very little time: the potion (their own invention, they were proud to say) was based on the same principles as Polyjuice Potion, but on a much smaller scale.

Fred carefully brought the beaker near enough to their unconscious brother to dip the end of a lock of hair in the potion, and watched serenely as pink began to spread through Percy's usual orange.

"Do you know what the problem with this is?" George asked casually as he began replacing vials into the kit.

"Tell me," Fred suggested.

"Harry's not going to get in trouble with us."

"Ah," Fred sighed. "Harry's playing a different game, Georgy. I don't reckon Mrs. Potter is like Mum, to just put up with trouble. Harry plans long-term."

"Long-term or not at all," George corrected.

"The Forest thing was half accident and you know it," Fred replied, laughing. "He really got it from his dad, I reckon. We're skillful, but he's talented, Harry is."

"Do you reckon we could turn out like the Marauders someday? Successful, that is?"

"Except the Pettigrew bastard, yeah, no reason why not, eh?"

"Maybe just a smidge less respectable though," George amended thoughtfully.

"Ugh, definitely. Can you imagine how responsible you'd have to be for the Aurors to put you in charge?"

"Merlin, how boring. Hard to imagine Prongs growing up to be Mr. Potter, isn't it?"

"Yeah, no way. But Professor Black is still completely Padfoot," Fred said, voice muffled by the nightshirt he was putting on.

"And Harry gets to follow both of their examples," George sighed enviously.

"It's odd that he doesn't," Fred commented, getting into bed.

"It's what you said about the long game, I suppose," his twin countered, getting into the bed as well and putting the lamp out. "He's not in it for the chaos and fun like us and the Marauders. He's sort of like the evil mastermind who does everything from the shadows."

"Ha-ha! Harry Potter, an evil mastermind! We should tell him that. Ha! Ha-ha!"

"Ha-ha! Yeah, I reckon. You'd have to be smart about everything to be a real mastermind."

"Sure, right. Speaking of, do you think Daphne's going to finally snap and kill him this year?"

"Depends on if he dates anyone," George chortled.

"We should take bets. Let's write that rotten Malfoy when we're home."

"Good idea. It's nearly eleven though, and I reckon tomorrow shouldn't be too peaceful. We should sleep while we can."

"Right you are. G'night, Georgy."

"G'night, Fred."