19

Dumbledore was worried.

This wasn't exactly an unusual occurrence, of course. Thinking back over his years as headmaster, especially since young Harry had come to the school, he could barely remember a time when he hadn't been worried about one thing or another. But rarely had there been a time when there were so many things weighing on his mind as there was now.

The Triwizard Tournament was one of the main worries, naturally. So much could go wrong, even with only the older students competing. They had taken the utmost measures to ensure the safety of the champions, of course, but Dumbledore couldn't shake the feeling that it just wasn't enough. They were just children, for crying out loud, being put in tasks that most adults wouldn't be able to do.

Speaking of children, Harry Potter was the second heaviest weight on his mind. He knew of course that it was still the same Harry who had shown such courage and kindness in the last three years, he had no qualms with that. Nor with how he dressed, or his new habits of smoking and swearing, much to some of his professor's disappointment. But he was a child. Only just fourteen. And yet he felt it was his duty to go out and fight and kill.

He wasn't being given a chance to be a child. To have a normal life, without the chaos that comes with the Death Eaters. Dumbledore wasn't a fool, he knew that the boy would have to be in the war at some point, would have to fight and kill. The prophesy made sure of that, no matter how they all wished it didn't. But later. When Harry had had a chance to live first, to laugh, to fall in love, even.

He wanted to blame Sirius for it, but he knew that the ex-convict was only doing what he thought was right, for both Harry and for the world. He had only done what Dumbledore himself had never had the courage for- told Harry the truth.

The old man sighed, standing up from his chair by the window to head to his bed chamber. It would do no good dwelling on it now- the morning would bring a new day after all, and a new adventure.

"Would you like a cup of tea, dear?" Mrs Weasley asked her husband as he sat at the table, having just come in from work.

"Yes, thank you," he answered wearily, grabbing the newspaper that lay in front of him and flicking it open to the front page. It was Harry and Sirius again on the front page. It almost always was, these days. This time it was another shot from the world cup; Harry looking almost feral, covered in blood and glaring at the camera and Sirius grinning like a lunatic at someone who was just out of shot. He sighed, glancing at the headline this time; 'Boy-Who-Lived Captures Death Eaters'.

"Worrying about Harry again?" his wife asked as she sat next to him, plonking cups of tea down in front of both of them.

"Boys his age shouldn't be living like that, Molly," he said sadly, "Sirius seems like a nice guy, but he's treating Harry like an adult, letting him do anything and everything he wants. Harry needs structure, a family."

"He has more of a family now than he did before, dear," Molly said quietly, "And while I don't deny that I would prefer him to be living with us, Sirius is his godfather. And while he is incredibly irresponsible, he's all that Harry has." Her tone was gentle but firm, and Arthur smiled; his wife was always so calm when it was just them alone, without any boys running around causing trouble.

"Maybe we can invite them for Christmas?" Molly suggested.

"Can't, they'll all be staying for the Yule Ball. We could invite Sirius though," Arthur said, wondering how his children had taken the news of the Triwizard Tournament.

"Yes, and perhaps he could bring that nice Remus Lupin, you know the one who was at Harry's birthday party? He was a lovely man, and he seemed so lonely."

"He did?" Arthur asked, surprised, "How so? He was always smiling and happy when I saw him."

"Oh, Arthur. He's probably spent the last thirteen years of his life all alone, poor dear. After all, he lost all of his closest friends in one night, and I dare say that being a werewolf makes it difficult to get close to people." Molly had tears in her eyes as she thought of how hard it must have been for the man; to lose everyone and have to grieve alone. Not to mention then having to scrape by for money for so long. She knew that she and Arthur weren't exactly rich, but at least they had each other and the children.

"Come on, dear, let's get to bed," Arthur said gently, seeing the look of distress on his wife's face, "We can send them both letters in the morning and invite them before they get any other plans."

"I love you, Arthur."

"I love you too, dear."

To Moony, Sirius wrote in a messy scribble at the top of a sheet of parchment, before pausing, sucking on the end of his quill as he thought. He frowned slightly at his untidy handwriting, but quickly shrugged it off; his parents' lessons had never made it any better, and being out of practise for thirteen years obviously wasn't going to do it any favours.

"What to say..." he mused. What he wanted to say was 'I know you're poor, so get your butt here and live off of my money', but he knew that Remus would just take that as charity and reject it on principle. Even it was the most sensible option.

"Does sir require anything?" Dobby squeaked from beside him. The elf had been a lifesaver over the holidays and Sirius couldn't help but think of him as a very strange, very helpful friend. Without Dobby he and Harry would have been living in a dump of a house all holiday, and he still would be. Kreacher wasn't any help, he just lurked in the attic all the time, muttering to himself.

"Nah, I'm good, mate. Isn't this your day off anyway?" he asked, smiling down at the over-eager elf.

"Yes, Mr Sirius, but Dobby was bored," he admitted, looking down at the floor sheepishly, hoping that his free time wasn't going to be taken away.

"Well, why don't you read a book or something?" Sirius asked, gesturing around himself at the books lining the walls of the library where he sat.

"House elfs aren't reading, sir, we don't know how," Dobby said, still looking shamefully at the floor.

"Shit, mate, sorry. I would offer to teach you but I think I'd be a bit rubbish at it... wait a minute..." Sirius's face lit up and he grinned down at Dobby. "You want to learn to read on your days off? Or I could even give you an extra day off for reading lessons if you want? Oh, and you could learn to write too, that kind of goes hand in hand with reading." Dobby looked up eagerly, his enormous eyes shining with hope.

"Sir would really do that?" he asked, wondering why he still felt surprised by the kindness of his new masters.

"Of course I would. In fact, it gives me the perfect excuse to invite a friend of mine to live here, he'll be great as a teacher for you," Sirius happily began scribbling on his parchment, leaving Dobby to stare in wonder around at all the books that he would soon be able to read.

Malfoy lay awake in his bed, glaring at the canopy above him. He had been made a fool of again. Not only that, but he had had to sit and endure the constant chatter of Pansy at the dinner table; she wouldn't shut up about Harry Bloody Potter and his mutt of a godfather. Apparently it was the gossip of the year. Most annoying thing of the year, more like, he thought bitterly to himself.

He was terrified of Potter, if he was honest with himself. The Gryffindor now knew his and Blaise's deepest secret, one that could get not only them, but also his Aunt Andy killed. He couldn't let that happen, not to the woman who had treated him like a son, letting him run to her house whenever the punishments got too harsh at home. And then, later, she had shown him Grimmauld Place, saying that it wasn't much, but it was a sanctuary if he ever needed one- not having Black blood, his father couldn't get in there without being invited. His father had never realised that he even knew his Aunt, let alone visited her, and his mother... well, his mother was usually too drunk to notice he was gone.

No, Aunt Andy had been his mother, and had even taken Blaise in as an honorary nephew. All of the happiest memories of his life were with the two of them; he couldn't have that taken away from him. And he hated the fact that the ability to have exactly that done now rested in the hands of his worst enemy. He had been planning all sorts this year, hundreds of humiliating pranks had been running through his mind all summer, all intended to get revenge on Potter for their run-ins over the summer. But now everything was different, and Potter had the upper hand.

Although, he thought, who would believe Potter even if he did tell them? Draco Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin and hater of muggleborns, running around the muggle world with a disgraced relative?

Perhaps the year wouldn't be a waste after all, he thought, a smile lighting up on his face as he turned over to finally get to sleep.