The Façade of the Truth
Warnings/Notes: Once again, there will be OOTP spoilers in this chapter.
Disclaimer: Nothing in this story you recognize as Harry Potter material belongs to me. J.K.Rowling created it all.
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Chapter three – A surprising discovery
Harry Potter made his way down the deserted, narrow passageway dividing Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley. He hated to do this, but he had no choice. He made his way into the main street, where people in rags crowded round a small window.
"Excuse me," he asked, as he saw an old woman with a plate of human finger bones, "could you possibly tell me where the Knockturn Alley bookshop is?"
The woman grunted something and pointed to a small, narrow alley.
"Thanks." Harry said under his breath, as he made his way down the passage.
Rats scurried along the dirty stonework, and the large walls either side of the path were covered in pictures of people being tortured. Eventually, Harry came to the end of the alley, where a line of shops stood in a row. A small bookshop with dusty windows stood at the very end of the line. Rubbish bags were by the side of the steps leading up to the green door, which paint was peeling off, and one of the windows were broken. Harry walked up to the door and opened it.
A small, grey haired man stood behind the counter with a dark green cloak on. He was muttering something under his breath as he wrote on some parchment.
"Frogs brain, toads leg and tongue of snake, mixed in with the dragons blood, gives you –" he stopped abruptly when he saw Harry.
"Hello – I'm here to find a book on disguise and concealment." The boy-who-lived explained.
The man looked at him, and then his scar. A nasty sneer played across his lips.
"Harry Potter – well I never. My name is Alexander Burkes." He said croakily. "Never in my life would I have expected the boy who defeated the Dark Lord to come strolling into Knockturn Alley."
"So, do you have any books on disguise and concealment?" the boy asked, trying to ignore the man.
Alexander, who was still sneering, swooped away from the counter and headed towards a door opposite Harry. He beckoned for the boy to follow, and then pulled out a loop of three rusty, old-looking keys. Then, he put the middle key into the keyhole, turned it, and the door creaked open slowly.
The room inside was very dark and cold. Only one small window was placed high up on the wall, and large cobwebs dangled from the ceiling. Dimly lit were rows of bookshelves, and in between them, about fifteen aisles, which were numbered. The books looked old, and the carpet was the colour of blood.
"I better leave you alone to read. Disguise and concealment books are on aisle two - just come back out to me if you see anything you like." Alexander sneered in his cold, croaky voice.
"Uh, thanks." The boy-who-lived said slowly.
Then, the shopkeeper left the room and shut the door, shutting out most of the available light. Harry drew out his wand.
"Lumos." He whispered.
Instantly, a small light appeared at the tip of his wand, allowing him to see. He walked over to aisle two, where most of the books were leather-bound and ripped. A small, wooden sign hung on the top shelf, saying 'Disguise and Concealment'. The boy ran his finger over the titles of the books and read them out.
"Protection charms against muggles, secret-keepers, murdering without being found out, escaping from murder, murderers in crime, committing an offence, five ways to escape from Azkaban…"
Then, he stopped when he saw a small, leather-bound book with gold lettering. He took it off the shelf, pointed his wand at it, and read the title.
"If You're Being Hunted By Muggles."
Harry opened it up and turned the yellow, crinkled pages. It had everything – what to do if you were escaping muggle prison; how to gain power from muggles; how to slay muggles and not be found out…
"This is the one I want." The boy said quietly, closing the book.
He made his way back up the aisle and walked along side the wall, looking for the door. He soon came to it and pulled the handle down, expecting the door to be locked. It wasn't, though, and Harry made his way out into the first room, where Alexander stood at the counter writing again. He looked up when he saw the boy.
"So, got your book, have you, boy?" he asked, sneering.
"Yes, Mr. Burkes. How much will it cost?"
"Let me see it." He said, putting his hand out.
Harry handed him the small, leather-bound book and Alexander grunted. He pulled out a small drawer behind him, took out a piece of parchment and put it onto the counter. Then, he took his eagle-feather quill and wrote something.
"This book costs eight galleons." He said, still scribbling on the parchment.
"Eight galleons? Well, alright, then." Harry exclaimed, while pulling some gold he got from Gringotts out of his pocket.
He handed it to Alexander, who gave him the parchment.
"That's your receipt." He said.
"Thanks. I better be off now."
Mr. Burkes nodded and the boy-who-lived made his way out of the shop, closing the door swiftly behind him.
"Right, at least that's done."
Harry stuck out his left arm and the Knight Bus appeared again. With one last look around him, the boy-who-lived made his way onto the bus and vanished from sight.
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Harry Potter stepped down off the Knight Bus and waved to Stan Shunpike. The bus vanished into thin air not long after, and the boy-who-lived looked around at his surroundings.
He was at Grimmuald Place, and even though he knew no one was in number twelve at the moment, it was the safest place he could take shelter in. If anyone found out that Vernon was dead, the finger would be pointed at Harry, wouldn't it? And he couldn't afford to do anything else wrong – not at the moment.
A house appeared in between numbers eleven and thirteen, and Harry quickly walked up the worn stone steps. He pulled out his wand and tapped the black door once. He heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like a chain. Then, the door, which paint was peeling off, creaked open.
Harry stepped inside the dark hall, remembering what Lupin had told him almost a year ago.
"Get in quick, Harry, but don't go far inside and don't touch anything."
The familiar smell of damp, dust and a sweetish, rotting smell filled his nostrils, and he stepped further inside the house as the door closed.
"Is anybody here?" he asked in a hushed voice.
No one answered.
"Hello?" Harry asked, now speaking louder.
Then, a dreaded, familiar voice screeched into the boy's ear.
"Filth! Scum! Vile half-blood, be gone from this place! Contaminating the house of my fathers and mothers! Be gone, be gone, you –"
"Please be quiet! It isn't your house anymore!" Harry said feebly, trying to reason with the howling portrait. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but please be quiet. I don't know how to keep you silent."
"Filthy half-breed polluting the air of my family's home! Be gone! Filth! Rotting the-"
"Please, Mrs. Black. Please be quiet. This is difficult for me, too. I haven't been in this house alone before, and it makes it even harder when my godfather, Sirius, died. Did you know him?" Harry asked. But his feeble voice had no impact.
'What a stupid thing to say to her. Of course she knew him! He was her son!"
"Filthy, rotting flesh of the vile half-breed, leave this place! I will –"
"MRS. BLACK! PLEASE BE QUIET!" Harry yelled, trying to compete with the screaming woman. "DIDN'T YOU HEAR ME? IT'S HARD FOR ME, TOO! I SUPPOSE YOU WOULDN'T CARE THAT YOUR SON IS DEAD, WOULD YOU?"
Mrs. Black stopped screaming suddenly. Apparently, she hadn't expected anyone to be so rude.
"You lie, you lie! A filthy half-breed dares to lie to me! My vile, rotting son is not dead!"
"I'm not lying. Now please, would you kindly shut up and leave me alone?" Harry snapped, as he walked over to the portrait and shut the curtains over it.
"Wouldn't Sirius be proud of me? Arguing with his dead mother…" he said under his breath.
Harry found his way into the dark kitchen and sat down at the long table, oblivious to the fact that Sirius had sat in the same place almost a year before. He pulled out the small book he had bought earlier, opened it up, and began to read.
All of a sudden, Harry heard something upstairs. It sounded like a voice, although he wasn't sure, so he continued to read. Then, the voice grew louder.
"That sounds like –" Harry began.
"I don't believe this. It's absolutely ridiculous, but what am I supposed to do? I waited outside last night, patiently, hoping that something would happen, but it didn't! Maybe my eyes are becoming weak. Perhaps it isn't –" The voice stopped suddenly.
"Professor Lupin? No, it couldn't be. It's full moon." The boy said quietly.
"Harry?" The voice asked quietly, surprised.
Then, the man came into the kitchen, and Harry could see that it was Remus Lupin. But he wasn't a werewolf.
"What's the matter, Lupin?"
"What are you doing here, Harry?" Remus asked with worry in his voice, sitting down at the table, opposite the boy. "Are you alright? Can I do anything for you?"
"No, no, everything is fine." The boy replied, hiding the book away from his old teacher. "Aren't you supposed to be…away?"
Lupin looked confused.
"I mean - it's full moon, so-"
"Ah yes. Well, just one little problem, Harry. Last night, when I was prepared to transform, I went outside and gazed up at the moon like I usually do. Then, I waited to become a…a…monster." Remus began.
Harry nodded.
"I must have waited for hours. I focused on the moon, trying to transform, but my eyes grew sore with staring at such a bright planet. I was also very tired by this time. I lay down, wanting to go to sleep, and I did. But when I woke up two hours later, I was exactly the same. Nothing happened, Harry. I couldn't transform."
"But, how could that be?" the boy-who-lived asked.
"I do not know. It's never happened before, and I'm sure you can't just stop being a werewolf. Something must have happened to alter the time change. Maybe the earth was on a different angle tilt so the ray of moonlight couldn't penetrate so-"
"Professor, maybe I could try and find out for you."
"Oh, that's very kind of you, Harry, but I'm sure something will happen soon enough." Remus said quietly, with worry in his voice. Then, he looked at the boy again. "Hang on, why are you in this house on your own?"
"Uh, well, I just wondered if it had changed at all."
"In a few months? No, Harry, I'm not taking that as an answer. Tell me the truth, please."
The boy-who-lived thought quickly, not wanting anyone to know what had happened to Vernon. He eventually looked up at the man and leaned forward in his chair.
"I-I…just wanted to be around Sirius's memory." He said, feeling slightly miserable.
Lupin's face relaxed a little bit, but he now had a look of sympathy on his face. He got off the chair, walked over to Harry, and patted him on the shoulder gently. Then, he sat down next to the boy.
"It's alright, Harry. I still miss him, and I think we always will. But I think Sirius would want you to move on instead of grieving over him – I think it would be best if you tried thinking of the good times you had together instead of the bad."
"But Lupin, what good memories do I have of him?" the boy asked, anger building up inside of him. "Whenever I saw him, I was always worried that he'd be taken away to Azkaban. I'm still haunted by the memory of when I tried to…to –" he broke off, sadly remembering what had happened that night. "I tried to kill him, Lupin. If you hadn't come upstairs that time in the Shrieking Shack, I would never have known the truth."
"It's alright. You don't have to think about that. I know."
"No, you don't." Harry spat suddenly, leaping of his chair.
He stormed out of the room and made his way into the hall, anger filling him rapidly.
"Filth! Scum! Be gone from this place! Filthy beasts and half-breeds, be gone!" Sirius's mother screeched.
The boy spun around, pulled out his wand and pointed it at the portrait, fuming.
"Crucio!" he cried, just as Lupin rushed into the room.
The portrait fell to the ground and the woman inside it gasped. Then, she spoke in a very fast, high-pitched voice.
"Unpolluted purebloods! Be gone from my filthy house! Purifying the house of my grimy fathers and mothers! Traitor of my filth! You –"
"Harry, what did you do?" Lupin asked, astonished.
"I-I…"
"Be gone! Filtering the home of mudbloods and us grimy half-breeds! Be gone, be gone!"
Harry watched, in horror, as the woman in the portrait melted, screeching. Soon, all that was left was a pile of clothes in the picture.
"Something tells me that the Black family won't be very happy about this." Lupin stated calmly.
With one quick glance at the portrait, Harry dashed up the stairs, leaving a very confused Remus alone. The boy-who-lived ran to the top floor, where the stairs only led to one door. He pulled the chain that was locking it and ran in.
It was a large room. A four-poster bed with silk scarlet hangings stood on the left side of the room, and a huge oak wardrobe with a large mirror was placed opposite that. The ceiling, which had inflatable motorbikes dangling from it, was decorated to look like the night sky, and the walls were dark blue, although instead of stars, tropical fish were painted on it. The window was open, and the red curtains had pictures of broomsticks on them. Then, Harry noticed a picture in a brass frame on the bedside unit. He went over to examine it.
It was the picture of the four marauders, no doubt. Sirius stood next to James with his arm around his neck, and Remus, who was smiling formally, had his hand on Peter's shoulder. They all held rolls of parchment in their hands and looked about fifteen years old.
"Sirius…dad…" Harry said sadly as he sat down on the four-poster, tracing the outline of James and Sirius's heads with his fingers.
Then, the boy noticed something in the top drawer of the bedside-unit. A small piece of parchment was visible, because the drawer had not been closed properly, and he put his hand in and pulled it out.
It wasn't a piece of parchment – it was a leather-bound book with Sirius Black's initials on it. A small, rusty padlock was locking the book together, although the key for it was on top of the unit. Harry saw this, so he picked up the two rusty keys, put one into the lock, turned it, and it clicked open. Pulling the security device off, he opened up the leather cover and flicked through the crinkled, tear-stained parchment. Most of the pages had been ripped out for some reason, so Harry went back to the first page and began to read.
"August 1976… Hi! My name is Sirius Black. I'm sixteen years old, and you're lucky that you've found my diary. Whoever you are, I'm sure you'll find these pages most motivating! I like to play pranks with my mate, James Potter, and we get into loads of trouble. I have two other friends, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew, although they're not so keen on pranks and jokes! We all go to a nice wizarding school called Hogwarts, and it doesn't matter if you're a muggle because I will be dead by the time you find this! The authorities can't track me down because I hit the sack years ago! Unless they dig me up, nothing can stop me from kicking the bucket! Woohoo! Well, happy reading."
The boy, who was smiling slightly, flicked over to another part of the book
"December 1983…. I'm sitting in a cell in Azkaban at the moment, feeling downright depressed. I hope those Dementors aren't getting to me. I wish I could be out of here – I can never get any sleep with all these groans of mad and depressed people. I thought my mother's snoring was bad, but it's nothing compared to this. Should be used to it by now, really. Better go - I hope I'm alive to write in this next time. If not, just tell me and I'll see what I can do."
Harry re-read the page several times, and eventually, he turned the many pages over to the middle of the book.
"September 1992… There's nothing for me anymore. I wake up every morning, hoping to kick the bucket (again). We all get fed sandwiches once a day, and Dementors patrol the corridors day and night. The things they do to you are unreal. Sometimes I think about how James and I used to joke about this place, believing we'd never come here. He used to say that if I ever got trapped here, he would come and rescue me. When you've been here for as long as I have, you begin to notice how frequently grimy water drips off the walls. I have been watching the bars, too, and it looks as though they've gotten rustier. But is it just me? I don't know anymore – I can't decide. All I know is that I want to get out of Azkaban. If I don't, at least I'll see Padfoot (Hey – I'm stuck in a cell so don't blame me. It's supposed to be Prongs o' course) again."
The boy-who-lived suddenly felt depressed. How could Sirius even live through that? He decided to turn the pages again and soon came to another part of the book.
"October 1993… I managed to escape from that horrible place. I feel awful, though, because I'm so different to everyone else. At least I managed to catch a glimpse of my godson, Harry Potter, two months ago. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw him – he looks too much like James. Poor boy, he wouldn't be living with muggles if Pettigrew hadn't betrayed Lily and James. Pettigrew was the only reason why I wanted to escape. He needs to die, and I'm going to commit the murder I was wrongly accused of. Don't know where I'll go now – probably up north to Hogwarts if I don't get caught. They're already after me, and I'm innocent, really. No one seems to understand, and unless they knew what happened, they will always hate me. I hope I manage to just talk to Harry for a short while – even if he doesn't believe me."
Harry flicked through the pages again, but he went passed something that caught his eye. He turned back to that page, which was the 1st October 1993, and saw two tiny-written words in black ink at the very edge of the parchment. It was hardly visible, but when the boy held the book up to his face, he could see what the words said.
He's aliveConfused, Harry continued to flick through the book and eventually came to the last pages. Sirius's writing had become neater to what it was seventeen years ago, but the colour of the ink was exactly the same.
"June 1996… I painted my old mum's room this week. I have nothing to do, and it looked gloomy when it was dark purple and black. Might as well make myself at home since this is the only room I'm staying in. Got some new hangings for the four-poster, too. They look nice – so do the new red curtains. Harry isn't too well. He's been getting some horrible press attention and I wish there was something I could do. Poor lad asked if he could stay with me in Grimmuald Place, and Snape isn't being very good to him either. I feel so helpless, being locked up in here. It reminds me of being back in Azkaban, and that feels horrible. Nothing –"
The writing seemed to stop abruptly, and nothing else was written past that page. Harry knew why. Sirius must have been writing in this very diary before he went to the Department of Mysteries in search of his godson.
But then another thought struck Harry as he remembered something.
"He's alive."
What could that mean? Why would Sirius write two words in such small writing? Obviously he didn't want anyone to know what it meant.
Before Harry, Sirius would have been the last person to enter this room, and he even left the window open.
With another sad glance at the small picture on the bedside unit, the boy-who-lived kicked off his shoes, lay down on the bed, and buried his face into the red silk covers. Then, he laid his head on the pillow and fell asleep, tired after memories of his godfather.
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Author's Note: I apologize for this chapter taking so long. I haven't got much time to write because of visiting my brother all the time, but I do try and type the story as frequently as possible. I haven't forgotten it, you know!
Avestia: You think it's really good? I am delighted. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
HarryGryffinGirl: I will continue, don't worry : - ).
lily evans: Yes, James Potter is alive. I'm glad you liked the cliffhanger. Voldemort went to the Dursleys himself because, well, I won't say anything. It's part of the story, and you will find out in the other chapters! As for the protection on the house, we'll just say that it was lifted when Petunia left. Yes, something did happen to the Dursleys. I'm glad you like the story!
Facade1: Hello! I'm glad you like the story, and I apologize for the chapters taking so long to be uploaded. I haven't had much time to write. Thanks for your review!
Kurbani: I'm glad you like the story! Here's the next chapter for you, and I hope it was as good as the others!
