Princeps by Lomonaaeren

Chapter 3

"Sir. Sir. Professor Salvare!"

Harry stirs and sits up on the library couch, surprised beyond measure that he fell asleep there. Then again, he's been reading books on prophecy and ways of locating magical artifacts almost non-stop this summer, and he's not young in body anymore. Sooner or later, he has to accept the advancing effects of age.

But not right now, he decides as he sees how frantic Regulus is, shouting at him from the door of the library.

"Sirius is in the Floo! He says he has to talk to you right now!"

Harry stands up and hurries, ignoring the protesting creaks from his knees and back. It seems odd that Sirius would be contacting him when he was supposedly safe at the Potters' house, but then again, maybe the Blacks are trying some ploy to regain custody of him.

Or even attacked the Potters'? Harry really hopes that's not the case.

But when he gets to the Floo, he realizes that Sirius's eyes are wide and bulging, and that there's someone else behind him, someone who hangs back and seems to keep his face deliberately out of the field of the flames. Harry narrows his eyes, but decides that he'll ask later who that is and why Regulus gave Sirius the Floo connection to the Decoy House without telling Harry.

"Mr. Black." Harry kneels down and does his best to look calm and unruffled, because that's how he'll do better work here than if he runs around screaming. "Are you well?"

Sirius stares at him, his eyes still bulging, and whispers, "Not really, sir."

Harry nods, accepting that. "Are you physically injured? If you grant me access through the Potters' Floo, I can fetch you. Or is it an attack?"

"No, no...neither of those." Sirius hesitates. "Maybe I shouldn't have had my brother get you, Professor Salvare. It's not that serious."

"Unlike your name," Harry says, and makes Sirius smile a little despite himself. Merlin, he's shaking. Harry hopes that Sirius tells him what happened soon so he doesn't have to go over there and shake it out of him. "What is it?"

"I got an owl from Professor Dumbledore." Sirius is clutching his hands together.

That's about the last name Harry expected to come out of his mouth. He blinks, and then curses himself for mixing up the timelines again. Sure, Sirius is a Gryffindor no matter what the history and thus a little more inclined to the Headmaster, but he also isn't the man Harry knew who'd been loyal to him for decades. "Did he say something disturbing, Mr. Black?"

"He said that I couldn't trust you and I shouldn't take Defense."

Again, about the last thing Harry suspects. He sits back on his heels, some of his urgency dimming. "Well, that's not true, Mr. Black. But I'm not sure that you'll believe me on the strength of my own denial. I have sworn some of the young Slytherins to my service, that's true, but only because they begged for it."

"I have to take Defense!" Sirius bursts out. "There's a bloody war coming! And you're the only competent Professor we've ever had!"

"Language, Mr. Black," Harry says a little weakly. "Well, I can promise you that as long as you got an Acceptable or higher, I'll be accepting you into my Defense class."

Sirius stares at him with his eyes burning. "I got an Outstanding."

"That's great!" Harry says, trying to maintain his enthusiasm in the face of his uncertainty. "Then I don't see why—"

Sirius leans towards him. "Professor Salvare, what do you think of Professor Dumbledore?"

Great. Harry sighs. "I think he's a good man trying to do a difficult job in an impossible time."