The Chronicles of the Forgotten Potter

Christmas at Grimmauld Place was relatively cheerful. Mr. Weasley was out of the hospital and still recovering and everyone seemed to be in fairly jovial spirits. In some respects the merry atmosphere seemed a bit strained, seeing as they were all, namely Mrs. Weasley, attempting to make the holiday especially bright to ward off the impending dark that was threatening to begin it’s conquest of the world that they all knew.

Harry seemed rather distant from the rest, even from Kat who was constantly worried for him. He knew she wished to take the burden of such graphic and realistic nightmares from his mind and in a way he selfishly kind of wished that she could. The dream that he had experienced was beyond anything that had shown itself in his mind before. It had shaken him considerably yet, he was strangely happy to have witnessed the vision (so to speak). He had seen what could have possibly been the end of Arthur Weasley, but he had helped to save the man that he saw as an adopted father figure. Such visions couldn’t be all bad. Snape’s warning of false visions created by Voldemort to torture him was soon a small figment of a thought at the back of the young wizard’s mind.

Kat had been observing her brother from afar, not wishing to interfere with the raging thoughts that seemed to plague his mind recently. Despite being somewhat distant from the others, she managed to maintain a decent balance between mental solitude and socialisation with her friends. She and George were on better terms again, both working hard to rebuild the friendship that they had once shared and Fred couldn’t have been happier. He had one of his best friends back and his twin seemed to be in entirely brighter spirits, once more throwing himself full out into their work developing items for their little business, “Weasley Wizard Wheezes.” She had been spending more time with Hermione and Ginny, the three bonding more and coming closer as friends. They would, once in a while discuss the DA and the progress that everyone had made and, on occasion, practise the spells that they had learned with Kat there to help.

She had also been talking more with Sirius, discussing things here and there, clearly attempting to steer her thoughts from anything Order or school related. He wanted nothing more than peace and safety for the Potter twins, neither deserving the eminent fate that plagued their futures. He often caught himself wondering what it would have been like had James and Lily not been murdered, had Voldemort never come to power and had he never been sent to prison. He wished that he had been there for the two of them, to help them through their abnormally rough and rather dangerous childhood. He couldn’t help but think of how amazing the Potters would have been as parents and he was amazed at how well the twins had turned out considering their circumstances. Both nearly spitting images of their parents in looks and in personality Harry being mainly like his father in almost every sense with the exception of his mother’s relentless kindness, sense of justice, and, of course, her eyes while Kat was very much like her mother but with her father’s sense of humour and somewhat mischievous demeanor, and signature jet-black hair.

He now stood in the room that possessed the Black family tree tapestries that covered the walls, staring at the place that had been his. The only remnants of his existence being the burn mark where the small portrait of his face would have been woven. It was a symbol of the great and noble house of Black and why he had rebelled against them in the first place. He heard his godson enter, knowing full well that he would have followed him there after their little wordless exchange in the kitchen. He also knew that when one twin arrived, the other wouldn’t be far away. Harry felt lost, confused, and vulnerable and had come to Sirius for any kind of relief that could be supplied. He, of course, obliged willing to do anything to ease the boy’s unraveling and constantly growing burden.

As the two talked, Kat slowly began to approach the room, pausing a few feet from the door, unsure of whether or not to enter. She decided to wait, thinking it best to leave Harry to speak with Sirius privately, and turned to head back to the kitchen and see if Mrs. Weasley needed help with anything.

She heard the others coming down the stairs and calling out to Harry, telling him that it was time to leave. They planned on heading out into the city, rather, Diagon Alley for a little while. Kat had told them she was feeling under the weather, which, in all honesty, was not a lie. She had developed a bit of a cold from the winter chill and the severe lack of sleep that she had been getting. Her friends had understood, all giving her sympathetic looks and Hermione lectured her on drinking lots of tea and other ways of helping fight off the rather nasty cold that had decided to plague her. She wandered into the room that her brother had all to recently left and found Sirius staring gravely at the spot that had at one point been occupied by his picture, which was, at present, occupied by a burn mark.

She didn’t say anything for a while, just staring at the extensive family tree of the Most Noble House of Black, studying the faces of those who were revered and the burn marks of those who were considered a disgrace. Kat, however, saw the scorched spaces to mean the opposite. All of those who were charred off of the family tree were good people, people, who in the normal and logical sense, should be revered for their kindness and good deeds, while the others who still retained their images were really the disgraced ones.

“You know,” she said, her voice piercing the silence, “you should be proud of your burn mark.” He looked at her inquisitively, unsure of where she was headed with such a comment. “You’re not one of them because you didn’t let pureblood mania become everything that you stood for,” she continued, “You’re a good man Sirius, a better one than any of them could have ever hoped to be and that spot there symbolises it. I think you should look at it proudly as opposed to glaring at it.” Sirius looked at his god daughter with a small smile, loving that she could find the bright side of the dark thing that was his family tree through something as cold as logic. Kat took the smile as a response and returned it before turning her gaze to the tapestry in front of her. “How is your cold doing?” he asked, changing the subject from the somewhat touchy one at present. “It’s getting better,” she sighed, “I can breath more clearly now, I think it should clear up by the time that I leave for school.” He smiled at her, “Good, good.”

He paused and took a shaky breath, unsure of what to say next, “How have you been sleeping recently?” For a moment, she said nothing, continuing to stare at the tapestry in front of her. “Better,” she said, her gaze lingering on the fabric for a brief second before turning it to meet the kind, concerned eyes of her godfather, “He’s not been too active in my subconscious lately. It’s a bit odd really, but nice. A nice rest from the nightmares.” He hid the feeling of uncertainty that boiled within him from his face, replacing it with a rather convincing look of faux happiness for the girl who stood before him, “That’s great.” He smiled at her, allowing their conversation to take on a more light-hearted feel as they conversed for a while longer. All the while he was mulling over the possibilities of the cause of the Dark Lord’s pause in the blatant assault of Kat’s subconscious. There had to be some reason for this fortuitous absence of his dark and terrifying thoughts. He feared that this was only the calm before the storm and he planned to take his concerns to Dumbledore upon their next meeting.