"Or you can call me if you're lonely and need someone to talk to when Remus is with Snape," Harry realised. He took the mirror, running his fingers over the surface. It was only the size of his hand, but he'd easily be able to keep it with him in his school robes. "This is brilliant!"
"If you ever need to talk, about anything — the headmaster, your classes, romantic advice," he wiggled his eyebrows and Harry made a face, "I'm always here for you. Okay?"
"I'll call. At least once a week," Harry promised. It would be much easier than sending an owl.
"And if you need someone in person, go to Snape. He's still a greasy git, but I guess he's family now." Sirius grumbled, but Harry knew better; his godfather was delighted Remus was happy and in love. Even if it was Snape. Sirius shifted around until he was sitting cross-legged facing Harry. "Remember where your allies are, Pup. From the sounds of things, you've got a fair few. Keep making friends with all the other heirs, and the kids in other houses. I know I'm hardly one to talk, but all these inter-house rivalries have been going on far too long; it's fine when it's friendly, but the divide has gotten far too deep. If anyone can help reconcile that, it's your generation. Even if you have to do so in secret, keep them close. Especially Cissa's boy — he's a Black at heart, and once you've got a Black's loyalty you've got it for life."
"It feels like this is all so much bigger than us, Sirius," Harry murmured. "We're all just kids. None of us are even old enough to take our Wizengamot seats yet; how are we supposed to change the minds of half the wizarding world?" There were so many broken parts of wizarding society; things that had been allowed to fester since Voldemort's first rise to power, if not longer. The more Harry learnt, the more he realised how screwed up things had become. But half of the people in charge didn't seem to care; not when the system benefited them. They didn't want to fix it, they'd just figured out how to exploit it.
"One thing at a time, kiddo," Sirius said. "You're a determined little bugger, and I have every faith you'll succeed. We'll be right behind you every step of the way." He offered a grin, patting Harry's knee. "Remember, you don't have to change everything all at once. Just focus on getting through the school year in one piece for now, yeah? You'll have plenty of time for politics when you're older. Try and enjoy being a normal teenager for a bit longer."
He knew what Sirius was implying. He wasn't stupid; the adults had been shifty all summer, and the tattoo on Snape's arm — his Dark Mark — was more visible now than it had been before. Voldemort was gaining strength, and war would soon be upon them once more. Still, it was an absurd concept to Harry, with his previous Hogwarts track record. "When have I ever been a normal teenager?" he pointed out wryly. Sirius barked an unexpected laugh.
"You've got me there, kid. Well, normal teenagers should be in bed by this time. Actually, that's a lie, normal teenagers stay up all night getting into mischief," he added with a half-grimace, "but you've got a big day tomorrow, so you should get some sleep." He shuffled off the mattress, but leaned in to kiss Harry's hair. "I'll see you in the morning. I love you, Harry."
Harry would never get tired of hearing that. "I love you too, Sirius."
His godfather slipped quietly from the room, and Harry looked down at the mirror in his hands, sighing. That was one of his problems solved.
If only he had a hope of figuring out how to address the others. .-.-.-.-.
Harry awoke with a gasp, hand flying up to his burning scar. What the hell was that all about?
It could have been a nightmare. But a nightmare had never made his scar burn like that. A nightmare had never felt so… real.
A shiver went down his spine. He couldn't even remember what really happened; he concentrated harder, trying to recall. It had been so vivid… there were two people he knew, and one he didn't… in a room he didn't recognise… a cold, high voice — Voldemort.
Flashes of the dream flew through his memory. Wormtail was there, they were talking about— about him. They had killed someone already, and they wanted him dead too.
Harry had no idea who the old man was, but his gut told him he was now dead. Except not, because it was a dream. Wasn't it?
He crawled out of bed, wondering if anyone else would be up that early. Snape was usually an early riser. To his surprise, Remus was the only one in the kitchen, his eyes still half-closed. "You're up early," he commented, then frowned when he got a better look at Harry. "Cub, are you alright?"
"I had a dream," Harry started shakily. "I… when I woke up, my scar was hurting. It's probably fine, right?"
The look on Remus' face suggested that it was not, in fact, fine.
"Tell me everything." Remus held out an arm, and Harry only hesitated for a moment before accepting the comfort offered, leaning into the man's embrace.
"I don't remember much, just that it was so vivid." He told Remus about the old muggle man, and Wormtail, and Voldemort. The more Harry spoke, the more Remus looked grave. "And then I woke up, and it was like someone had pressed a hot poker to my scar."
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