Jupiter | Harry James Potter

ii ; nightmares

Harry didn't seem to notice my flushed cheeks, however. He was staring at the wrinkled copy of the Daily Prophet that Stan Shunpike had unraveled from his pocket.

"Who's that?" Harry asked. "That man on the front."

Harry pointed at a large photograph of a sunken-faced man with long, unruly hair – my first cousin once removed, Sirius Black. I didn't know much about my cousin, except for the striking similarity between them. He was born into a family of Slytherin's but sorted into Gryffindor, and he befriended James Potter before ultimately running away from home. Sound familiar?

"'Oo's... That's Sirius Black that is. You're tellin' me you 'aven't 'eard of Sirius Black?" Stan Shunpike scoffed exasperatedly. Harry looked over to me in confusion as he shrugged.

"He's a murderer, Ha- Neville," I said.

"Murderer? Sirius Black ain't jus' no murderer. 'E's a lunatic, 'e is. Murdered 'firteen muggles in broad daylight. Big supporter o' You-Know-'Oo. Reckon you've 'eard of 'im."

"Yeah. Him I've heard of." Harry said. His face turned a sickly shade of green at the mention of Voldemort. I felt an odd pinch of jealousy at his sudden behavior change. I longed to return to a time when the mere thought of Voldemort made me nervous. Staring out of the window, I watched as the bus thundered along the roads of Britain, buildings and benches seeming to squeeze out of its way as the sky gradually lightened. Suddenly, Ernie slammed on the brakes, and the bus skidded to a halt in front of the small and shabby Leaky Cauldron.

"Thanks," Harry said, grabbing his and my trunks from the rack next to the glass door.

I quickly scurried down the stairs, wanting to get off the purple bus as fast as possible and Harry followed. Stan, however, wasn't paying attention to their quick escape. He was goggling at the figure standing in the doorway of the pub.

"There you are, Harry." A voice said. "Miss Lestrange, what are you doing here?"

The Minister for Magic stood in front of me, a welcoming beam plastered on his wrinkled face under his green bowler cap. The two had never met, but I knew who he was from whenever Harry and Ron went to Hagrid's in their second year to see if he knew who had opened the chamber. (Ironic, isn't it?)

"I ran away." I shrugged.

"Blimey! 'Ern! Come 'ere!" Stan Shunpike yelled as he gawked at Harry, I, and the Minister. "What did ya call Neville, Minister?"

"Neville?" Mr. Fudge frowned. "This is Harry Potter."

"I knew it!" Stan shouted. "'Ern! 'Ern! Guess 'oo Neville is, 'Ern! 'E's 'Arry Potter. I can see 'is scar!"

"Yes. Well, I'm very glad the Knight Bus picked Harry and Jupiter up, but we need to step inside the Leaky Cauldron."

We? Did he mean me? I wondered as I stared at Mr. Fudge. I felt a cold hand on my shoulder begin to steer me inside the Leaky Cauldron, and a stooping figure behind the bar came into view.

"You've got him, Minister! And another, I see!" A man said. He had long, bushy gray hair as well as a long, bushy gray beard and toothless gums. "Will you be wanting anything? Beer? Brandy?"

"Perhaps a pot of tea, Tom." Mr. Fudge said.

There was a loud noise of huffing and puffing from behind them, and I turned to see Stan Shunpike and 'Ern standing in the pub. Both of them were lugging the trunks that Harry hadn't gotten to go back for whenever Mr. Fudge steered him away.

"'Ow come you di'nt tell us 'oo you are, eh, Neville?" Stan asked excitedly as he beamed at Harry.

"And a private parlor, Tom." Mr. Fudge requested as he continued to steer us up the creaking stairs to the rooms on the second floor.