Disclaimer: See Prologue.
Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the Prologue.
Second Chances
Chapter 1: The Visit
7 years later…
Jacob Morton paused as he passed by Harry's cubicle. "So they've finally caught up with the Muggle Subway Menace?" he asked, referring to one of the other Auror partnerships, Norman Seawell and Zoe Lungren, and a case they'd been working on for the past few weeks of someone who had been taking cruel glee out of wreaking havoc in Muggle subway stations around Boston, the latest incident having claimed two Muggles' lives.
Harry looked up. "Yeah, and it only took them 3 weeks to do it too." He grimaced and Jacob laughed.
"I hear you. Bit slow of them, wasn't it. We could have done better."
Harry frowned slightly, not responding to Jacob's jaunty grin. "No," he said slowly. "The man was more clever than that; his methods were very unorthodox; it was hard to find any sort of pattern other than that they all took place on the subway. But all the times of day were different, all the devices he tampered with were different-and for the first few of them, he was clever enough to make it look like just a regular case for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."
Jacob sobered, listening to Harry's analysis. Harry hadn't become one of the youngest heads of an Auror team in the history of the Boston Branch of the American Ministry of Magic's Auror Department for his fame or that jagged scar on his forehead.
Harry continued on, a thoughtful expression on his face, turning fully in his chair to face his junior partner. "That was the thing; the problem at first was that the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office was called in when we should have been called in immediately. But those first few incidents, besides being seemingly random, didn't do anything other than inconvenience and annoy the Muggles, who could dismiss it as machinery being crazy. Muggle-baiting takes many forms, you know; it's getting harder to weed through which ones are accidental and meant for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office and which should go directly to us." He paused and then added, "He slipped up, though, when he decided to jinx the controls of that subway train; he was getting too confident after weeks of slipping by us and decided to do something that could injure or kill dozens of Muggles at its worst. If he'd stayed with the smaller incidents, he might have been able to escape a little while longer but he got ambitious." A rather grim smile crossed Harry's lips. "It seems to be one thing these evil guys have in common: an overweaning sense of ambition. They don't stop with one Muggle injured; they have to aim for the hundreds."
"You're right, Harry," Jacob acknowledged seriously, his earlier levity gone.
Harry blinked, seeming to come out of what Jacob irreverently thought of as Harry's Evil Occlumency phase, when he analyzed the characteristics and salient incidents of a particular case and where the culprit had slipped up. "Anyway, yes, they caught him; he's in questioning right now as a matter of fact," he said in something approaching his normal tone.
Jacob sometimes wondered in those moments how much Harry's earlier experiences with evil during his childhood contributed to his insight into evil's motives and how much was simply what seemed to be natural aptitude, but then dismissed it as being unimportant.
"Good to know. I just came by to let you know I'm off for the night," Jacob said.
Harry smiled. "Ok, I'll see you on Monday, then."
Jacob threw a mock salute. "Yes, sir, Chief. I'll be reporting for duty bright and early Monday morning."
"Don't call me Chief," Harry corrected automatically, though he grinned at what was something of an ongoing joke between him and his junior partner.
Jacob, at 25, was two years younger, age-wise, three years behind him, experience-wise, and what sometimes felt like a decade younger in his way of acting and thinking. It was at times like this when Harry realized just how quickly he'd had to grow up at Hogwarts, thanks to Voldemort.
He turned back to the file he was completing for the last case he and Jacob had just completed along with going through a back-log of files that had piled up in the last week since he'd been out of the office for most of it doing the actual leg-work and action part of being an Auror.
He liked his job and was good at it and while he couldn't say that doing the paperwork for it had gotten to be one of his favorite aspects of the job, there were times he didn't mind it. It rather gave him a chance to unwind from the constant tension of being out of the office when on the job and just go through the more mundane part of being an Auror. His mind would go into one of his 'must finish assignment' modes and he would work relatively steadily until he was done-while at other times, he pushed off the paperwork as long as possible.
Besides, the thought darted into his mind, what point was there in going home when there was no one to go home to? He may as well stay and get some work done…
It was some time later when Harry looked up, massaging a crick in his neck from having bent over his desk for too long and shaking out his cramped fingers from holding a quill for hours, to see that his desk clock was pointing to 8:30 and read, 'Long past time to stop working.'
He sighed, putting away the files he'd finished, and grabbing his wand and his cloak, left his cubicle, not surprised to see that the rest of the office was empty. Being a Saturday, most people had probably left a little earlier than usual, which meant around 5:30, so he was undoubtedly one of the last people left in the Ministry of Magic building. This was confirmed as he saw no one on his way to the Apparition point in the building.
He grimaced when he Apparated to the closest Apparition point to his flat (after five years in America, he still thought of it as being a flat and not an apartment), and saw that it was raining in one of the random rain-showers that plagued Massachusetts and, with a quick glance around, cast a surreptitious Water Dispelling Charm on his glasses, (a sudden memory darting into his mind of Hermione running down from the stands to cast the same charm on his glasses during that one incredibly wet Quidditch match in 3rd year), but not bothering to cast one on his cloak as he ran through the rain the two blocks to his flat.
He used a Drying Charm on his cloak and hair once inside his flat, hanging up his cloak, before going into the kitchen to heat up some of the pizza he had left over from yesterday's dinner.
He ate quickly, idly watching the telly, before getting up to go to his room and throwing himself into the chair there to skim through the Boston area wizarding newspaper.
He jumped slightly as a flash of lightning lit the room followed by a rumble of thunder and then tensed, automatically reaching for his wand as he thought he heard another sound, a faint thump from the other room.
Frowning, he stepped quietly toward the door, wand at the ready when he heard another noise, this time from behind him and whirled around, the word, "Stupefy" on the tip of his tongue…
The word died on the first syllable as his jaw dropped and he stared blankly, his wand lowering.
"Hello, Harry," the man- the vision- the ghost-whatever-it-was-said.
Harry forcibly closed his mouth, then opened it, swallowed and then managed to croak, "S-sirius?"
It was Sirius-and yet it wasn't. He looked ghostly, rather like the ghosts at Hogwarts, but oddly more solid than that. Harry knew he was more solid than the Hogwarts ghosts because the Hogwarts ghosts never made noise when they moved into objects-and Sirius had.
But- but what in the name of Godric was the vision of Sirius doing, standing here in his bedroom in Boston, grinning at him as if there was nothing at all unusual about his being here-as if he hadn't died more than a decade ago…
"But- but- you're dead," Harry blurted out unthinkingly.
Sirius let out the familiar laugh that sounded like a bark and, almost insensibly, Harry found himself smiling too.
"Sirius-I- it's good to see you-I guess…" he finished awkwardly, realizing how odd his greeting sounded.
Sirius grinned. "Nice to know you haven't forgotten my name, Harry, since you seem to be going out of your way to forget everyone else you used to know." Sirius waved a hand. "Sit down, Harry, and for Merlin's sake, you can put down your wand." He lifted his hands. "I don't even have a wand." He paused, tilting his head and then admitted with something like a smirk, "Then again, I don't need one to do the sort of magic I'd want to do." And with a wave of his other hand, he had conjured up another chair and seated himself in it.
Harry sat, part of his mind wondering if he were dreaming and were going to wake up any minute now. "What- what are you doing here?"
Sirius sobered. "I'm actually rather bending the rules here but your parents and I decided we had to when we saw the mess you'd made of your life."
Harry stiffened, promptly deciding that no, he couldn't be dreaming this; he would never have dreamed Sirius telling him this. "I haven't made a mess of my life!" he protested. "I'm the youngest Head of a team of Aurors that the Boston Ministry has ever had! I've done well and I'm good at what I do-not just because of my name or my scar or anything, either." He paused and then frowned at Sirius. "And what rules?"
"The rule that says we spirits aren't supposed to interact with the living world or try to change events that happen. We're allowed to do so exactly once and only when the Powers That Be approve it." He paused and then admitted with something like a wry twist of his lips, "The Powers haven't exactly approved all of what I plan to do in this little chat with you so I expect I'll either find when we get there that I can't do it at all or I'll manage to pull everything off and I'll just have set myself up for a scolding from the Powers."
Harry couldn't help but smile at this evidence that even in the after-life, his godfather was still Padfoot, one of the Marauders, at heart.
Sirius continued on, more seriously. "And by the mess you've made of your life I didn't mean your professional one. You have done well here and you are a good Auror. That's not what has your parents and I concerned." He paused and then asked pointedly, "Tell me this, honestly now, are you truly happy?"
Harry opened his mouth to say, of course he was happy-why wouldn't he be happy-but something in Sirius's gaze stopped him. "N-no," he finally admitted, drawing the word out. "Not really."
Harry had a sudden memory of all the times he'd come home, late at night, tired with the sort of emotional and mental exhaustion that went so much deeper than the physical after weeks of trying to outwit evil and get into the mindset of criminals, and wished his flat was more comforting, more a real haven, rather than just a place he ate and slept. All those times he'd wanted Hermione… In those moments, he always knew he wanted Hermione, missed Hermione, simply as his best friend if nothing else; she had always been able to calm him, somehow, understand his mood and his thoughts. She'd always been able to replenish his spirit when he felt it lagging… But he didn't have her…
Sirius nodded, as if satisfied with this answer. "And when was the last time you went back to visit England and all your friends there?" He paused for barely a second before he answered his own question. "Never. You've never gone back to England, not once, since the day you left seven years ago."
He continued his questioning. "The last time you owled either Ron or Hermione?"
Harry felt himself flush uncomfortably at the mention of Ron and Hermione and at the look Sirius was giving him. "Uh, last year, I think?" he guessed.
Sirius gave him an exaggeratedly ironic glance and responded with pointed sarcasm. "Oh you call that two-line note an actual owl? Kids these days-what you consider to be correspondence, and with the best friends you've ever had, too…"
Harry shrugged, a flicker of annoyance starting inside him. "People grow apart; it happens all the time," he said lightly although his tone was slightly higher than usual with the beginnings of defensiveness.
Now Sirius stood up and frowned. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Harry! You and I both know that that's not what happened between you three, so stop pretending! What happened is that you decided, all on your own, that Hermione had to be confusing her feelings and that she really belonged with Ron and so you left! And so you ran, ran to the other side of the bloody Atlantic Ocean, instead of taking a chance and facing what you were too afraid to face!"
"But she had just broken up with Ron! She was hurt and vulnerable and- and she'd always loved Ron!"
Sirius sighed, sitting down again. "Yes but that still doesn't mean she was wrong or that you were right to do what you did, practically laughing at her confession that she was in love with you like that."
"I- I didn't laugh," Harry said lamely but it was a token protest and Sirius didn't even bother to respond, only continued as if he hadn't spoken.
"You decided, arbitrarily, that Ron and Hermione belonged together and that you would be in the way, so you left. You cut yourself off from them, from just about everyone, and started over. But, Harry, look at yourself, look at your life! You're not really happy; you're content, maybe. You have casual friends and you've had a few casual relationships over the years but nothing else. And you once had so much more… You could have had love, the best friends anyone could have asked for, happiness, a family of your own…"
"But- but Ron… He would have been so hurt; it would have ended our friendship."
Sirius sighed. "Yes, he would have been hurt, but I think, Harry, you under-estimate the strength of your friendship; you under-estimate his affection for you."
Harry flinched, for the first time wondering if Sirius was right… But he was saved from regret at the sudden thought of another objection to Sirius's theory.
"But I didn't-I don't-love Hermione like that!"
Sirius didn't say anything, only looked at him, skepticism written all over his face so clearly he might as well have said, oh don't you?
There was a pause while Harry tried to process all that Sirius had said. It was too much. First, his godfather who'd died more than ten years ago, showed up and then said godfather proceeded to ream him out over choices he'd made seven years before and told him, in so many words, that he'd mucked up his life… It was too much.
Harry shook his head slightly as if to clear it.
Sirius watched in silence and then finally stood up. "I know it's a lot to think about, Harry. I figured it would be. Come on, then, get up. We're going to take a little trip. After all, seeing is believing, isn't it?"
Harry blinked, even as he stood up automatically. "We're going to travel?"
A little smile quirked Sirius' lips upwards. "In a manner of speaking, yes."
"Let me get my cloak," Harry said and then stopped as Sirius started to laugh. "What?"
"Oh, Harry. Believe me, you won't need your cloak where we're going."
Harry felt a flicker of doubt-not exactly fear but he wasn't comfortable. He'd trusted Sirius before, in life-but who knew what this ghost of his godfather really had in mind… He reached for his wand automatically, slipping it into the pocket of his jeans. "Okay…" he let the word trail off.
Sirius stepped over and grasped Harry by the arm. His grip was solid enough-but oddly cold too and Harry had to refrain from shuddering and instinctively stepping away.
Sirius gave another wave of his free hand and only said, simply, "Let's go."
And then they were gone…
~To be continued…