The Marauders - Order of the Phoenix Part Three

CXIII: A Recruit for S.P.E.W.

He let himself imagine for just one more moment the shining, smiling face of Sirius Black, rounded and healthy, more like the version of Sirius that existed in that old wedding photo of his mum and dad than the Sirius he'd met in the Shrieking Shack...

We're a family now Harry, he pictured Sirius telling him, catching him up in a bone-crushing hug - the sort of hug that he, Harry, had craved for years... the sort he saw other kids get from their parents on Platform 9 3/4 every year... the sort that he, Harry, had never felt before.

Harry pushed the imagined hug away and sat forward, taking a piece of the parchment and wrote the following letter:

Dear Sirius,

I reckon I just imagined my scar hurting. I was half asleep when I wrote to you last time. There's no point in coming back, everything's fine here. Don't worry about me, my head feels completely normal.

Harry

He stared at the words on the parchment as the clock on the mantel chimed a deep, ringing note of the half-hour, and he stood up, sighing deeply, and slipped out of the Portrait hole, headed for the Owlery.

By the time he'd climbed the long stairs down from sending Hedwig off on her next journey - hopefully a shorter one than the last, he thought - the smell of breakfast had permeated the corridors. Harry trotted down the staircase into the Great Hall, feeling a bit sorry for himself, and found Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. Hermione was talking about S.P.E.W., the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, which she'd come up with the night before.

"...so I thought we could tell some people from other houses about what we're working to do; after all, recruiting more members is absolutely essential to get a real movement started. We need to strike while the iron is hot, as they say, seeing as the unfair treatment of Winky at the World Cup is still fresh on everyone's mind," Hermione was saying.

"I know I certainly can't stop thinking about it," Ron said.

"Nor can I," Hermione sighed heavily, missing the sarcasm in Ron's voice. "Perhaps later on we could go to the library and --"

"Harry!" Ron said, spotting him coming down the table to the seat next to Hermione. "There you are! You were gone when we got up, we thought you'd be down here, but you weren't."

Hermione looked frustrated at the interruption, but she turned as Harry sat. "Morning Harry!" she chimed. "I was just telling Ronald that we ought to be drumming up new members today for the Society of the Promotion of --"

"Where were you?" Ron cut across her words.

"The owlery," Harry answered, choosing to answer Ron's question rather than listen to Hermione prattle on.

"The owlery?" Hernmione asked. Then, "Oooh, were you writing back to Snuffles, then?" she asked.

"Yeah," Harry said and he told them about his letter. He left out all the hesitation he'd had about it, deciding that he'd rather they didn't know what a horribly selfish person he'd nearly been.

"Oh but that was a lie, Harry," said Hermione sharply. "You didn't imagine your scar was hurting and you know it!"

"So what?" said Harry.

"So Snuffles can't help you if you don't tell him what's going on and I think it's rather very important that he knows the truth about what's going on. That's what having parents and godparents is all about. They can't help you if you don't talk to them!" She said this in a tone that Harry was sure probably sounded exactly like Mrs. Granger.

Ron glanced at Harry, his mouth drawn up in a half concerned, half apologetic purse, eyes studying Harry.

Harry tried very hard not to let any of his selfishness show on his face. "He's not going back to Azkaban because of me," he said lowly, "Or worse."