Celebrations and Meetings
A/N: 'Bonded Wand' borrowed with permission from Harmonious Cannons.
The next day, the 31st of July 1991, was by all accounts a momentous day for Harry. A week prior, he had received his Hogwarts letter, and had immediately sent the reply. He didn't know just yet, but his message (a cheeky, "Beware, I am coming") had the usually imperturbable Professor McGonagall nervous and anxious about the son of James Potter. He had delayed the purchase of his school stuff till after the Longbottom couple were to be discharged. Andromeda Tonks on the other hand had decided that a party for him (the first that he would be able to remember) was certainly a necessity. She had roped in a very compliant Draco (a firecracker in the cake was a very innocent thing to do), an excited Neville (it was his first friend's birthday after all) and a doting Dora (he was her little brother) to organise it. As he no longer needed to visit St. Mungo's in the evenings, they had shifted the party to the evening of the 31st. They had decided to invite most of the Aurors (Kingsley had taken care of that) and the old Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall (she was his God-grandmother, if there was such a thing). None of the invited knew about the Longbottom couple's revival.
When they landed up at the stairs of Gringotts (side-alonged by Gran Augusta), he immediately sank to his knees as the extremely discomforting feeling of apparition washed over him.
"Tell me again, Gran, why didn't we come by broom." His whining elicited a rare, amused smile from the stoic old woman.
"Quit your grumbling young man. Come on up, sharpish. You are the heir of the House of Potter; behave that way."
Grumbling about hideous pipes and odd squeezing feelings, he followed her into the bank. Scooping money from his trust vault, they set away to vault #72, the family vault of the Potters. It wasn't the wealth stored there that caught his eyes. A painting of his parents smiled and waved to him. He stood gazing at it with unhidden longing.
"Mum? Dad?"
"Son! Harry! Lils! That mangy mutt has brought him at last! Where is Sirius, Harry? I need to have words with him. Why did it take him ten long years to bring my son here?"
Seeing that Harry was in no position to answer, Augusta cut in. "James, Harry wasn't with Sirius..." she said very delicately.
"He isn't dead, is he, Augusta? He left Harry too?" Lily asked, almost fearfully.
"I don't know how to say it. How can you be worried about a man who lies in Azkaban for betraying you to He-who-must-not-be-named?"
"Padfoot is in Azkaban?" the calmness of his words was belied by the anger that coloured James' face.
Unbidden, a long-lost memory of a shaggy black dog frolicking around flashed across Harry's eyes. Looking at his father with the most distraught expression, he asked, "It was the rat, wasn't it? Not Sirius. He was the dog."
Even in the portrait, his parents managed an astonished squeak. "You remember? You remember Padfoot? Yes it was Peter. The rat." Lily fairly spat the word.
Augusta was listening to this conversation with rising comprehension and didn't need further explanation to connect the dots. All of a sudden, the murder of Peter Pettigrew wasn't the work of a crazed Death Eater. It was an act of revenge, of unbound anguish, borne out of the loss of a close friend.
"Mum? Who was the tigress?"
"The tigress?"
Realising that his mother didn't know about such a person, he told them all about his dream. The animals, and their positions and actions were all concisely explained.
"The dog was Padfoot, the doe was your mum, I was the stag, and the wolf was Moony." Looking over to his son, he realised that his son didn't know about his other friend either. Looking at Augusta, he said, "I take it, that Umbridge woman got the law against werewolves passed?"
"Yes. Sirius was a werewolf too?" The old prejudices against werewolves were right at the surface, and that was easily discernible through her tone.
Frowning, James said, "No. Remus was. Frankie knew that."
Augusta launched into a rant chastising her son and the rest of the marauders about gallivanting with a werewolf; it just seemed to go on and on. She finally stopped when she could see that neither of the Potters was especially pleased with her.
"Dad, what exactly happens to a werewolf?"
Realising that he needed to remove a very big misconception, he explained exactly what it entailed to be a werewolf. "A werewolf, is born only to parents who are both afflicted with the disease. People like Remus Lupin become werewolves because they are, or were bitten by another werewolf on the full moon night, when they no longer remain human. They suffer greatly, as they have relatively low immunity in the week of the full moon, age faster than unaffected people, and are heavily discriminated against by others." Here he threw Augusta a dirty look, which was returned with interest. "They can't get jobs, mostly have to live alone, start shunning human contact, many become suicidal. What most people fail to realise is that for the other twenty-eight days, the person is fully in control. A werewolf who gets the friendship, companionship and love from those around him is a very powerful entity unto himself. Did you know that he would do anything to protect you? He was your Uncle Moony, not that you could say it properly; you called him Uncle Moo. And he called you 'cub'" he added wistfully.
"Dad? So Uncle Moony, he is alone, just because he has a furry little problem?"
All the adults looked at him as if he had just said something extremely radical. Then James started laughing his head off. Seeing that he wouldn't stop, and also catching the bewilderment on Harry's face, Lily shoved James out of the portrait, and apologetically said to the living pair, "I don't know what's gotten to him; you go meet Sirius, son. Maybe, he can tell you what this all means."
Deciding to keep the Will for later, the two accompanied a suitably bemused Goblin out of the vault. They made arrangements for keeping his vaults (except the trust vault) and noble titles on hold, shrunk his parents portrait with an adjustable resizing charm and went on to the rest of their business.
Harry was now rife with excitement as they made their way towards Ollivander's. As soon as they entered inside, the magic of the wands seemed to overwhelm him. It was indeed surreal. He was so caught up in the experience that he didn't see the inconspicuous and sudden presence of the wand-maker. When the old man called out, "Mr. Potter", Harry jumped out of his skin, startled, so violently that the reaction startled the wizened old wand-maker too. This caused all three of them to share a rather benign chuckle.
"So, Mr. Potter, after that less than dignified introduction, we should turn to business. You know, I make my business to gauge my customers' temperament to predict the sort of wand that should suit them. Your mother, with whom you share your eyes, was favoured by a ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow wand suited particularly for charm work. Eyes, you know, are the windows to the soul. Would you be like her then? Or would you be like your father whom you look like extraordinarily? He was favoured by a Mahogany wand with a Dragon heartstring core, eleven inches and very pliable and powerful. Particularly useful for transfiguration work. You will be right handed then?"
"Ambidextrous, sir."
The measuring tape started measuring Harry in the most unimaginable places on his face and abdomen. Just as it dropped, the old man brought out several boxes of wands for Harry to try. On seeing his puzzled face, he explained, "Some wands need the connection to the magical core from the left hand while some can connect through the right hand. Frankly, we only can make them, but can't know which hand the wand favours."
Harry tried. And tried. He tried different wands, he switched hands, but the right match was not forthcoming. Mr. Ollivander though seemed to revel while Harry quickly became exasperated. He also seemed to be holding something back. Finally, he came up with one that he seemed almost loathe to offer. "Should this be it? I wonder indeed. Let's see you try it. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
No sooner did he touch it than he had a feeling of sudden warmth. He brought it swishing down to release a sparkle of red and gold stars. "Mr. Potter! Indeed, this is very curious. This wand chose you, when its brother with whom it shares the core gave you that scar. Remember Mr. Potter, the wand chooses the wizard. The two brother wands will each work for their respective owners, as well as for the one who wields the brother. We must expect great things from you!"
At this, Gran Augusta couldn't resist her pride showing through. "He already has, ousting a Minister for Magic and curing my children is no mean feat you know!"
Garrick Ollivander had sold wands to witches and wizards who had done all sorts of great things. He was a person who measured power as equated with both the wand and the position. None came close to ousting the incumbent Minister for Magic at the age of eleven. His eyes bulging, he stared at the boy who was eyeing his wand with a bizarre mixture of satisfaction and disappointment.
"The wand doesn't appeal to you, Mr. Potter?"
"It is perfect, nearly..." he trailed off.
"But not so much that it seems a natural part of you?" he asked with a knowing smile.
Harry beamed at him as his exact thoughts were being articulated. "Yes, exactly. Now, I will understand if you deem me insane for saying this, but I can feel a wand calling out to me." He looked at the old man with a little trepidation. If he expected either of the two adults to laugh at him or brush him off, he was in for a very large surprise.
With wonder and awe in their voices, Madam Longbottom and Mr. Ollivander chorused in a whisper, "You can feel the call of a wand?"
"Sorry sir. I didn't mean to offend you. This wan-"
"Silly boy! I am not offended! It is the highest honour for a wand-maker to have made a wand that calls to its human! Please come here, and follow the calls of the, voice? Follow it. It is bound to be a wand of much importance!"
Emboldened, Harry set himself upon the trail of this wand. He delved deeper and deeper into the shop where the older wands were housed (this made Ollivander very happy) until he reached a row where he was sure the wand just wanted nothing more than to connect with his hands. He climbed up the ladder to the third level of the shelf, and finally reached out to the box. It fairly vibrated in his hands. He returned to the shop front. He made to hand the box to Garrick Ollivander who cringed away from it.
"Mr. Potter! I cannot touch it. Indeed, nobody else can! It chose you and was made for you. Open it, and hold the wand, bond with it; make your magic one with the wand."
Harry only had to open the box; no sooner did he do so, than the wand fairly leapt into his hands. The resulting feeling of sheer power and of his mind being opened to infinite possibilities almost put him in a daze. He quietly sat down on the chair and took deep breaths to steady himself. The two elders observed him as he did so, seemingly at a loss of words to say.
Finally, Mr. Ollivander offered, "That, Mr. Potter is one extremely dangerous wand. Perhaps an explanation would be necessary. The woods are of great symbolism, Hazelwood reinforced with oak. The core of the wand though is an absolute astonishment. A tail hair of a Griffin, a tail hair of a unicorn, eye-string of a Basilisk, a dragon-heartstring, and a phoenix feather, all strengthened by the essence of an erumpent's horn. It is powerful, very much so. It is capable of very powerful magic; light and dark. You must not fear it. A bonded wand will always obey the owner. So you must use it carefully. Use the wand only for special circumstances."
Harry had been listening to Ollivander extolling the details of the wand. "Sir, I have spent the past two months learning more about the nature of magic than is possible in the normal schoolwork. Magic is neither light nor dark; it is the wizard or witch who is so. That is of course, my belief. If a so-called dark sort of magic is used for the proper purposes, it benefits the light side and so, has no business being classified as dark. It's the intent that matters." He said it quite respectfully, but firmly; it had his tutor in customs and ethics beaming.
"Mr. Potter, I find myself impressed by your logic. It is a concept that most magical folk have problems coming to terms with. Be that as it may, since you were chosen by two wands, you will need a special license from the Ministry." Handing him a form to fill-up, he guided him through the bureaucratic procedure. "I will be sending it to them with the wand specifications as this will put up the trace on both wands. Ministry representatives will Owl the licence to you."
As they left the shop having paid thirty-five galleons for the two wands and eight more for four holsters, Harry made sure to turn back and say, "Mr. Ollivander, I know you will be writing to the Headmaster that I have the Holly wand; after all the tail feather is from his familiar. I would be much obliged if you refrained from mentioning the second wand until absolutely necessary. In fact, I would prefer to tell him about it personally. It was a pleasure meeting you, sir. Good-day!"
He left a flabbergasted wand-maker in his wake.
Augusta Longbottom was observing Harry as he navigated the gawks, stares and watchful eyes of the crowd in Diagon Alley while they shopped for his school things. While he showed the quintessentially British stiff upper lip and kept his face studiously emotionless, and very politely greeted those that approached him while making their acquaintance, in the quieter moments of the day, his face showed turmoil. More importantly, whenever people made to pat him across the shoulders or grip them, he stiffened perceptibly. He had always shied from any sort of physical contact, though he had somewhat warmed up to the people now around him. It was obvious that something had happened before he met the Aurors that made him distrust any adult, first and foremost. It seemed that his trust wasn't freely given and had to be earned. She wondered whether she herself had managed it at all. Andromeda and Ted had, that was for sure, and so had the Aurors. He had, only in a moment of extreme vulnerability, mentioned his time with his muggle relatives as being something terrible, on the same scale as some sort of hidden memory of He-who-must-not-be-named murdering his parents. What had they done to him?
What really astounded her, though, was the fact that he did not revel in attention. It seemed as if he was almost allergic to it. That had been something that she had had to work on a lot. She had worked hard to make him understand his place in the British magical society, not only from the point of view of his fame but also the threats that it posed him from the fringe elements. He had grudgingly accepted that he was famous, but by no means did he accept his fame. The answer that she got when she had questioned him about it was one that showed her his intrinsic way of thought. It wasn't he who had defeated Voldemort (he used the name; not doing so was disrespect to his parents' sacrifice), but his mother who had done so. She had been his shield. Whatever had happened in order to prevent his death had been his mother's doing. It endeared the boy to her even more.
One thing she was certain about was the standing of the child with her family. He was part of it. He had been grievously hurt by the muggles, and it was her duty as his grandmother to punish them. She somehow knew that he wouldn't tell her about whatever it was that he had to bear. She had one thread to follow: the Aurors had taken him out of the horrid place and they must have known something about it. She was going to use that. And she was going to be judge, jury and executioner.
She kept up with her observations as they went about their shopping. The school list was done. The boy really deserved a present. An animal wouldn't really be amiss.
A true smile lit up Harry's face for the first time that day, as soon as they entered the Magical Menagerie. The hoots of the owls, the squeaks of the rats, the hissing of the snakes; the whole atmosphere seemed to appeal to him. He stood aside for a moment, soaking it all in. Then they started wandering around the place, with Harry leading the way. He stopped first by the rats and gazed at them as if searching for something; Augusta knew that he was actually very angry and probably detested the creatures. Apparently satisfied that Pettigrew wasn't in among them, she followed him wordlessly as he moved on. He went to the snakes.
She knew that Harry was an inherently good person. She knew that Parseltongue was just another language, one that she couldn't understand. She knew that it was ungrateful to judge him based on such a unique ability. She knew it. But she wasn't prepared for it, particularly because she didn't know that he was a Parselmouth. As soon as he approached the crate, he put his hand inside and started hissing out to them. She had an iron will and an iron constitution, but the sight of the snakes slithering over his hands while he smiled happily and rubbed their heads, completely oblivious to the terrified stares. Parseltongue, a sure shot at being a Dark Lord. Augusta desperately hoped that Harry would come to his senses and beat a retreat before things took a turn for the worse. Perhaps he understood the sentiment, for he suddenly looked up at her and smiled and then bade the snakes to return to the crate with a hiss.
Paying no heed to the fact that the shop had now gone silent as everyone watched him speak Parseltongue, he moved over to the section where the owls were kept. He started hooting a slightly musical hoot as the owls started to descend upon him, softly landing to his side. He kept up with his rather peculiar behaviour. If Parseltongue was a shock, speaking owl was totally unheard of. He seemed to be actually conversing with several of them, before one of the owls- a beautiful snowy female- apparently made her decision, lightly landed on his shoulder and then nibbled at his ear. Harry smiled happily and then whistled out another low hoot which must have been a farewell of sorts for the owls; they all took off as one and flew back to the owlery. Harry continued to converse with the owl, a series of low and deep exchanges, before the boy laughed a tinkling, musical laugh.
"What is it Harry?"
"Nothing, I just told her that I wanted to call her Hedwig. She was miffed; she told me that her company would make me wiser. Her name is Athena. I don't know about wisdom, but she does have wise-cracks up her feathers." All the people around looked at him as if he had grown another head, and he realised it. "What's wrong Gran?"
"You can talk to owls?" she asked in a hoarse whisper.
"Didn't Professor Dumbledore tell you? Dudley drove away any humans that I tried to befriend, but he was scared of animals. So I befriended them instead. I can talk to all animals. Aurors Shacklebolt and Moody know that too!"
"But you are a Parseltongue! Only Dark Wizards have been known to have that ability!"
"Do you think I am dark?" The offended as well as hurt tone was discernible to everyone around. "Snakes, dogs, cats and the like were my first friends. I had to learn to talk to them."
Augusta immediately realised what he was doing. He was garnering sympathy for the poor Parselmouth. The fact that he could communicate with other animals because his childhood had only them as friends made the image all the more angst-ridden. She smiled inwardly; that was a masterstroke. In one fell swoop, he had made the people reconsider the Parselmouths are evil postulate. They quietly paid for Athena and made their way out as noise reigned again in the shop.
For the simple reason that Longbottom Manor had much more space and the revival of Frank and Alice was to be kept as a surprise. Not that Harry knew about the party; it was a surprise for him to savour.
The guests started arriving around six that evening; first the Tonkses and the Malfoy mother and son, with Neville quickly finding his two co-conspirators. The fact that he had a definite spring in his step was not missed by anyone. Aurors Shacklebolt, Moody and Jones soon joined them, with the Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall following soon after. It was rather amusing to see Harry's joyful expression when he saw the people who had come along for him. Draco commented rather innocently that Harry seemed to behave more like a three year old who would be more likely to smear cake across his face than to eat it. Harry realised soon after that Draco had gotten Dora to rig the cake to explode in Harry's face as soon as he would drive the knife through it. He unfortunately forgot Harry's initiation into spells and hexes courtesy Dora; he spent the rest of the party under a combination of a cheering charm and a tickling hex, making him seem rather hysterical. Neville only shook his head in dismay, before commenting, "I will be glad if all three of us don't get sorted together at Hogwarts. I'll have to babysit you both for all seven years."
Hearing this Harry dropped the incantations he had put on Draco, before they both mock-grovelled and begged for forgiveness. Seeing his rather unrelenting mood, Draco finally whined, "But Nevi, you will be bored out of your skin if we aren't around!"
Harry meanwhile managed a theatrical sniff and clutched his heart. "It is our loss Draco! Our brother doesn't want us anymore!"
Minerva McGonagall froze. This was exactly the sort of byplay she had seen for seven long years, starting almost exactly twenty years to the day prior. She fondly remembered the quartet that was the centre of every mischief in their time. They had been together in most of their capers and had almost made her life living hell as the Head of House for Gryffindor. She couldn't help but draw parallels to the situations; a Potter, another child marked at an early age who seemed the mature one, a non-conformist from a dark family. A fourth and she would be reliving her worst nightmare, and her fondest memories. Her main concern was someone going down the path that Sirius Black had taken. She could bear almost anything. But betrayal among such close friends was not one of the things.
Harry had been observing the tumult of emotions coursing through his father's Godmother. Suddenly finding himself unable to come up with the correct honorific, he settled for Professor. He decided that he would break the news regarding the Longbottoms and his bonded wand to take her mind off the subject. He had to meet Sirius before he could take any action.
Calling everybody's attention, he nodded to Neville. He thanked them in a very heartfelt manner for the surprise party, before deciding to spring his own surprise.
"Thank you for this party!" he gushed. "But you aren't the only ones with a trick up your sleeves!"
As if on cue, Frank and Alice came into the room, smiling brightly. There could have been no doubt as to their health; they looked perfect in every sense of the word if a bit frail. The room went silent for a whole minute as Harry, Neville and Augusta smirked. Then pandemonium reigned. In the noise and distraction of this rather momentous event, Harry and Neville caught up with Draco.
"Dragon", Neville started, "I have something to say. I know you weren't completely comfortable around me because of your Aunt and my parents."
Draco nodded mutely and ducked his head a bit.
"Don't worry, Harry told me, he always knows. Well just listen. Bellatrix may be related to you, but she isn't the Aunt I would relate you with. She isn't your family really. We are, and we are all here for you. Just so you know, my Grandmother was a Lestrange and a Slytherin."
Draco jerked his head so fast his neck cricked. Neville chuckled slightly. "Yes. She was Rudolphus's and Rabastan's Aunt. Bad people abound in every family. It is up to us to decide which ones to associate with."
Harry took on from there. "And well, mate, your mother's father and my Grandmother Dorea were first cousins: she was a Black. So somehow we are all related. We aren't really down to discuss genealogy, but just stressing that we will always be friends and cousins, almost brothers with Draco Malfoy, who by unfortunate happenstance is Bellatrix Lestrange's nephew."
Draco finally felt that he truly belonged.
The elders meanwhile were engrossed in the tale of the recovery of the Longbottom couple, as told by Augusta Longbottom. Frank and Alice provided bits of it every now and then. The deductions and the radical solution did amaze everyone. However, the use of two spells which could quite easily be used with a criminal intent was something that bothered the two teachers, the Aurors and Dora. How a boy of only eleven could cast an Unforgivable was beyond them. Coupled with Kingsley's information that Harry was a Parseltongue, there were enough doubts in their minds regarding Harry's magical leanings.
Andromeda took it upon herself to clear Harry's name in this regard. "You", she said with a lofty air worthy of the Black name, "are all prize fools. The Unforgivables were never Dark curses to begin with. They were all healing spells. A quick, painless death for a terminally ill patient was the objective of the killing curse. Pain in very measured and light amounts was actually a brain and nerve stimulant. Bellatrix loved getting under that curse just for the feeling that accompanied it. But the actual medical use was for the paralysed or the similarly incapacitated. The Imperius was actually used to control the patient during hospital stays as they often lacked the intrinsic strength to manage the instructions from the Healers. What Harry did was to use the Curse as was intended originally, though he doesn't know it. That explains why he always had that very guilty air about him ever since he first met you both. Don't worry. He isn't going Dark. He is just using magic with the correct intentions."
Augusta piped up here. She described what had happened at Ollivander's including Harry recognising Fawkes's tail feather for the Holly wand's core. More importantly, she conveyed his belief regarding the nature of magic. To say that they were all amazed was an understatement. Albus Dumbledore most of all, marvelled at the depth of the eleven-year-old's thought process. It was something that he had always tried to teach his students. He smiled inwardly. The Chosen One had the power of magic it seemed.
He requested Harry to show him the other wand. He examined it as Harry held it and recited its components. "Harry, you should never volunteer information about something as personal as a wand. It is quite like telling others the size of your boxers." The Headmaster's chiding made Harry go red with embarrassment, causing him to miss the serious expression on the old man's face.
Thursday was work as usual at the Auror office. Hourly reports on known shady characters, reports from the Muggle artefacts office, lookouts for illegal magical travel and the like were constantly being monitored. As was now a common sight in the office, a raven haired boy was currently poring over the records of closed cases. It was a testament to how much trust was put with him that he was allowed near the sensitive and classified records. The file he was currently perusing was the one that had been gnawing away at his mind since the previous morning. Sirius Black. A man hated for betraying his parents and killing another friend; a man who was also his Godfather. A man who was languishing in the definition of hell on earth, a place that made the even Dursleys' treatment of Harry seem to be loving care. There were several possible solutions. First and foremost was to get the Aurors and the Ministry to bring up the old records, publicly say they made a mistake by never allowing an accused trial. That would be political suicide and the Ministry would never do it. Another was to get them to push it off on the previous administration but that was another political hot potato as the new administration would be shown in a weak light.
None of that was going to work. His searches through the file had thrown up something important. Nobody had visited the man in ten years. He had sought revenge upon the man who betrayed Harry's parents and had been rewarded with ten years in Azkaban. No. That would stop. He needed the whole truth. He had to absolve Sirius of at least the infamy of being a traitor. He immediately filed the visiting rights form for Sirius Black.
A fortnight later, Harry sat terrified in the boat that transported people to and from the Wizard gaol. He feared the dementors like nothing else. The reason was obvious. He could see the soul of every creature. What about dementors? They had none of their own and they feasted on the pained ones of other creatures. What if they had done that to Sirius? What if, he really was too late? What if, their effect was something else altogether? This was a man who hadn't even been given the chance to grieve his best friend's death. How would he react to seeing his Godson?
His thoughts must have flitted across his face, for Kingsley asked him in a grave whisper, "If you're having second thoughts, we can turn back, you know. I still don't like this."
Harry quietly patted his pocket where he had kept his gift for the prisoner. "Uncle King, for the last time. I am not going to turn back. I need the truth. I am going to talk to him. I am going to need you and the wardens to keep the vile creatures away; I am not sure how I will react to them. We have a proper plan as to how we will manage the visit, and we are going to stick with it."
Sirius Black on the other hand, wasn't in a much different state. Why was Prongslet coming to meet him now? Ten years. Ten years of knowing that Sirius Black had betrayed his parents. Was this some sort of revenge? Was this a parting shot before the boy left for Hogwarts? What if Peter somehow found him there? Who had the kid lived with? Even his musings weren't following any coherent line. Every time he lost track of things, there was one single truth that kept him sane. He knew he was innocent. He had made the one mistake of trusting the rat. He could've trusted Remus, he could've told Dumbledore, or he could've... so many contingencies; yet the one thing that really stood out was that when it mattered, he placed his trust in the wrong person. He was still paying for that mistake. Perhaps this meeting was part of that punishment.
The prisoner was brought in to the meeting room by the wardens, stunned and bound. The visitor had been given express permission to use any spells that might occur to him should the prisoner try anything violent. The dementors were sent away. Only Harry, Kingsley and an unconscious Sirius remained. Kingsley was however, shocked to see grief, happiness and anger competing for dominance on the boy's visage. He couldn't make head or tail of it. As planned, Kingsley set Sirius up on the chair and with a quick "enervate" had him conscious again. For some reason, the look of sheer fear on Black's face as Harry's eyes bore into him made the whole situation vaguely satisfying.
"Please leave us Uncle King." Both Black and Kingsley flinched at the edge in the boy's voice. The Auror had to admit, as far as interrogation went, this boy had the signs of a prodigy. He hastened to comply, but not before the parting shot, "I am going to have a transparency charm on the wall. If he tries anything, even the Dementors won't have him back."
"That won't be necessary. Keep the charm for your own benefit. Please do release him. I am sure, you will be shocked. I just want your promise that you'll trust me no matter what you see or what anyone says."
The Auror and the boy exchanged an intense, determined gaze. "Always."
As soon as he left, Harry assumed a seat across the wide table, sitting opposite to Black. His expression was inscrutable. Sirius looked at him with the most pained expression. Seeing James's face with Lily's eyes looking at him with what he perceived as anger was akin to a hundred deaths to him. Harry suddenly got up, walking towards the convict his hand in pocket. Assuming the worst, Sirius said in the most resigned tone, "I sure deserve whatever punishment you see fit, Mr. Potter."
The smirk in his voice fully audible, Harry replied, "You sure do, Mr. Black." Then as his bounds fell, Sirius saw his Godson looking at him in fury and grief yet happiness for some reason. Extracting his hand from his pocket, Harry produced a clutch of Honeydukes' finest chocolate bars and placed them in the hands of his godfather. "Eat up Padfoot. We need to talk about that bastard snake-face and his pet rat."
"You know!" rasped Sirius.
"Of course I do. Please don't go all mushy on me. Now isn't the bloody time. I know that rat is alive. I need you to tell me the whole story; I am working with the Aurors. I want you free, safe and sound."
The words itself had the effect of the brightest Patronus on poor Sirius Black. He knew he was innocent. And now, the most important person to him, believed him too. A sudden hug from the said person brought him out of his musings. How he wished for a wand. He could have cast a Patronus himself.
"I should technically scold you for your language you know, pup."
"That technically, would make you a hypocrite, you old dog." Sirius Black always prided himself to have an iron will, but the unmistakable tone of teasing and the smile that he knew on his true brother broke him. For the first time, in the presence of another, Sirius Black sobbed. The sobbing and sniffling soon gave way to high pitched wails and cries and howls of grief. It was Padfoot now who was at the fore.
Harry let him cry for a whole five minutes. As the man finally regained control, Harry said, "Let it out. Don't hold it in. But right now, I am going to call Uncle King in. He trusts me. More importantly, while not solid proof, they know that nobody can lie to me. So my believing you will at least set a few wheels in motion."
Sirius nodded numbly. Much of what Harry said hadn't really registered. Kingsley came in, and at Harry's insistence brought in Ministry approved Veritaserum along. Sirius welcomed it. Pup knew the truth. And now, he was helping to bring it out. He observed the byplay between his two visitors. It was obvious that Harry was being held in deference by Kingsley. Shrugging, he set it aside for another time. As soon as the potion was administered, he spilled out the whole story; every detail, every sight, sound and smell. When the antidote was administered, he had the feeling of catharsis engulfing him. He looked up to see two matching expressions of unrestrained fury. For a while no one spoke. Harry then assumed an expression that sent Sirius back into the throes of grief. It was the same look that James had when they were planning a prank of epic proportions.
"Padfoot, we can't really get you released right now. Firstly it will be a political hot potato for Madam Bones. She will be seen as digging up for a can of worms on the previous regime, thereby destabilising her. More importantly, it will alert the rat. From what you described this person as, would I be wrong to say that he will have chosen a magical family home to reside in? May not be as a pet, but at least as a rodent? I could go so far as to say that the family in question would have to be one on the side having nothing to do or opposing Voldie. We can't randomly search family homes either."
Though dismayed, Sirius could understand what Harry was trying to say. Peter Pettigrew alerted would end his chances of being freed forever. He had paid for his impatience. He would not do so again. Sure, their hopes hinged on the flimsy premise of finding Pettigrew. But if and when the rat would be brought to book, Sirius would have his freedom and his honour back. What his godson was suggesting was the most prudent way.
"Then there is the fact that as a wizard, he will have easily gotten past Muggle pest controllers. He must have a modicum of self-preservation to do that. So my first theory seems sound. What I am suggesting is for Uncle King to submit this report to Madam Bones and get the proper people on board with the secret. Most importantly, we need wardens who can be trusted. You on the other hand are to go quiet, catatonic if you will. Madam Bones can be convinced into moving you to a cell with a lower presence of Dementors."
Sirius looked at the boy in awe. This was an assiduously thought out plan. He was having trouble accepting it from an eleven year old. Kingsley caught on to his train of thought, surely, for he remarked, "Sirius, this is the spawn of the most devious prankster who had his own brand of wits and the brightest witch of her generation. He helped arrest Malfoy and added the million-galleon question: is it possible to have a Dark Mark under the Imperius curse? He helped bring down Fudge and Umbridge. What did you expect?"
Harry smiled, then in a very pleading voice implored, "Padfoot, I need you to be strong. You have had a very terrible ordeal and you don't know how bad I am feeling, having to convince you to grin and bear it. I promise I will set you free, if that is the last thing I should do. Right now I need you to concentrate on the rat's form. I will see it in your mind. Every detail is of importance. Take your time."
Sirius obeyed and pictured the rat, drawing heavily from his memories. He didn't ask any questions. Now was the time to trust the right person, and he was going to do just that. Ten years without a shred of a positive emotion had nearly taken their toll on Sirius Black. Yet now, in front of him, sat hope personified. He had made a hash of things once. Now with a proper plan in place and better conditions, he had something to look forward to. Hesitantly, he raised his hand and then gently ruffled Harry's hair. The very action brought a large grin to both their faces.
"Harry, I can hardly express how happy I am right now. Even the dementors won't affect me as badly as they did before today. If I may, however, I would like to add a detail. Get Remus Lupin on board. He hasn't visited me. Persuade him not to, even after he accepts the truth. It will be harmful to us. The thing is as a wolf, he has better senses than you all. Get his help on the search. The second thing is, ask him about the Marauder's Map. It can recognise animagi too. Set it up over the whole of Britain. It will reduce your work."
They shared a grin at this. A former Marauder was going to pay. Making promises to write as much as he could, Harry started to leave. Seizing his chance, Sirius accosted Kingsley. "How does he know so much?"
"My friend, wouldn't it be better to put it off till we get you free?" Kingsley asked with a sly smile.
Harry set out of the meeting room, his thoughts muddled more than ever. Was there no concept of a proper investigation? How was it that a case had come up, there was no trial, only few Aurors knew anything about it while others just assumed the circumstantial evidence as fact? How could they be so blasé about accusing and sending a former Auror, no less to prison on charges of treachery without a trial? Then something that Sirius had said in bitterness struck him. He was indicted for being a Black, for being a member of the pureblood society. That made the sham of an arrest a political conspiracy. Whom did this conspiracy target? Sirius mentioned the secret Order of the Phoenix, which Uncle King, Mad-Eye and Auror Jones had been a part of. Discrediting a member of the Order meant discrediting its leader first and foremost for lack of foresight and discretion. So, post-Voldemort, it would discredit Professor Dumbledore. It was a power struggle.
Harry was so lost in his musings as his thoughts turned to what would happen if he was betrayed that way. Would everyone assume it was Draco? He never noticed the creeping chill. It was only when the scabbed hand was almost inches from his shoulders did he look around and start screaming. Notwithstanding the blackness consuming him, he was dimly aware of another presence rattling within him. A presence that had red eyes.
It was to the angry mutterings of his Godmother and the gentle ministrations of his Aunt Andy that Harry woke up nearly five hours later. The angry and worried scowl that each of them wore was ominous to say the least. Kingsley just looked around in relief. Harry blinked as he tried to take in the surroundings. Then realising that he was in St. Mungo's he got up with a jerk.
"Professor Dumbledore... get him here now!" Harry rasped.
Alice looked at her godson in alarm. "Harry? Are you alright? Why are you asking for the professor?"
Her motherly concern seemed to reach right to the boy for he now adopted a very pleading voice as he said, "Please mum. I've quite a lot to tell."
Alice was simultaneously shocked and pleased with the boy, so he immediately called the Headmaster. By the time he came, Harry had achieved a semblance of calm. He was now through his second mug of hot chocolate as the warmth of Alice's panther Patronus washed over him. He was still shivering though, but whether that was due to the effect of the dementors or due to the red eyed presence he saw within him, he wasn't sure. For some reason, the arrival of his teacher calmed him down.
"I hear your visit to Azkaban was eventful, Harry. Something you have to tell me about?"
Barely managing to suppress a shudder, Harry replied, "You have no idea!"
Dumbledore spared him with a look before chuckling slightly. "Do start and proceed as you may."
Taking a huge, calming gulp of his drink, Harry said, "It was the dementors."
Dumbledore nodded, "I surmised as much."
"I went to meet Padf- I mean Sirius. Just so you know, he is innocent."
Everybody felt their eyes widening in disbelief. Alice looked at him closely and adopting a very placating tone, asked, "Are you sure Harry?"
"Dear Godmother, you know that absolutely nobody can hide things from me or lie to me, don't you?"
Dumbledore smiled slightly at the address. Then he visibly brightened at the opportunity. "Harry, he must have told you about the fact he never had a trial. Did he complain about me not arguing against such a sham?"
Harry held Dumbledore's gaze for a whole minute, before frowning and shaking his head. "If you don't want to be the Supreme Mugwump anymore, why not resign? Why use that lack of trial as an excuse? Why leave in disgrace?"
"You looked into me, didn't you? You must have. How did you settle on my ICW position, though, is beyond me."
"When a person is as excited as you are, my dear sir, and then mentally spouts quotes like "Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely", coupled with the fact that- please forgive me saying so- you are getting by in your years, and so don't want to leave Britain much and I have heard all the Aurors moaning-"
"We don't moan." Kingsley interrupted indignantly.
"- that you won't even think of accepting the Minister's post, one must come to the conclusion that you want to reduce the number of responsibilities you bear. That means you will want to let go of the international position. Hence, the inference. It's elementary Professor." The last was said with a cheeky grin.
Andromeda and Ted Tonks joined the Headmaster in a full-fledged laugh. It only served to bewilder the rest of the group.
Finally Alice lost her patience. "Will anybody tell me what these three are laughing their heads off about?"
Still chortling, the three had to spend a couple more minutes to get a grip on themselves. "Alice, young Harry showed the positive things he has carried into our world from his time with the muggles. There is a muggle detective Sherlock Holmes. I read it once when even I had absolutely nothing to do. He was employing- ah, techniques- elucidated in it, complete with a rendition of its most legendary quote. Though I must say, that particular quote never featured in the books." Then he turned to Harry, and dropping a bit of the mirth asked, "But that isn't why you asked to meet me, is it?"
"No sir. While I was with the dementors, I realised why my scar won't heal. It isn't a part of me. There is an entity. Red eyes, no nose, basically the features of a human snake. I realised just now, that Sirius kept calling Voldemort 'snake face'. That leads me to believe that some part of Voldemort resides in my scar. Extending the logic, it explains why I have two chosen wands. The Holly wand might have chosen the Voldemort attached to me. The calling, or, bonded wand if you will, is truly mine."
The mirth that had cascaded across the room died an abrupt and horrible death as silence reigned. They looked at the boy as if as he had grown two heads, one of which was preparing to destroy their existence. Which, given what he had told them was essentially the truth.
Dumbledore was the first to recover from the shock. He got up abruptly and flooed off to Hogwarts, only to return with a grim expression and a delicate instrument that Harry had last seen on the Professor's table. This instrument he handed over to the boy, and tapped it with his wand. It rattled for a moment as Harry stared at it in fascination. Then, a white ethereal figure of Harry with a slight blackening above his eye rose out of it. He looked towards the professor intent on asking a clarification, but the words never left his mouth. The occupants of the room were now looking at him with faces filled with grief. Finally, with a bite of impatience, he demanded, "What exactly is all this?"
Dumbledore looked at him with weary eyes, eyes that made him look older than the truly old man he was. That by itself convinced Harry that something was wrong. Turning to the room as a whole, Dumbledore intoned gravely, "Andromeda, you are the expert here on spell damage and curses, aren't you? I will be giving you a few books about this. I am sure you don't know what this is. It is the darkest magic possible. How Harry has managed to stave it off is beyond me. Whatever he has done, he has managed to separate himself from it. What we now need is for him to be free of it. Alice, Kingsley, please call Frank and Alastor. I will explain better in their presence."
When the six adults had assembled in the ward, Dumbledore cast several privacy charms. "I am not going to keep this big a problem secret. That scar is Voldemort's Horcrux."
The gasps from the two former and two current Aurors told their own stories.
"Yes. It is that serious. A Horcrux is a soul anchor created in a ritual after premeditated, cold-blooded murder. The part of soul in Harry's scar is, in my opinion a sixty-fourth part of the soul. That means Voldemort has made five of those things, but at such a cost to his soul that Harry accidentally became one. Effectively he can't be destroyed till all of them are destroyed"
Harry was torn between fear, hatred and loathing. More than anything, though, he felt revulsion about the fact that he was carrying a part of the man who murdered his parents. "So that means both of us are a threat to the world. How very exciting!" he said dryly. "So, who's going to do the honours? I wouldn't mind going back to my parents."
The six adults were taken aback. No one had expected the complete lack of any sort of emotion in the boy's voice. They had expected at least a bit of fear. Alice finally broke the silence. "Wh-what do you mean?"
"I just asked who was going to destroy the Horcrux."
Dumbledore butted in here. "You are."
All eyes turned to the old man as he started smiling slightly. "You are a unique case. You can already communicate with the souls of those around you. Why not try and communicate with the souls within you? Your own soul is whole. That essentially means that it is far more powerful than the fractured piece in your scar. Study that piece. Learn its powers. I am sure that we can search its memories to find the locations of the other Horcruxes. We can destroy those. Once we achieve that, you can force the piece within you, out of the scar."
Everyone's expressions lightened at this pronouncement. Alice heaved a sigh of relief. She had lost ten years with her son. Now that she had regained her self and got one more son in the bargain, she was not going to let either go. Moody on the other hand was contemplative.
"Albus, are his Parseltongue abilities due to that thing? I just feel that the boy could overcome the powers of that piece, and go on to divest them. We can trust him to not be possessed by it. Maybe", he said turning to Harry, "you could analyse that thing, learn the techniques and magic for yourself, and then force it out. You won't go Dark. I am loathe to say this, but You-Know-Who as a teacher to a wise and intrinsically incorruptible person would be the ultimate case of know thy enemy. Just one thing, though. It would be wise to bring in someone trustworthy from the ministry, as high up as possible."
Everyone contemplated for a while on Mad-Eye's mad words of wisdom. It was true. Harry was as likely to go Dark as a flobberworm was. That however did not mean that he couldn't take in the knowledge that was on offer. This was to be seen as an opportunity instead of a tragedy.
Harry finally asked the question that still troubled him the most, though he wouldn't show it. "What if after everything else, I can't destroy the Horcrux?"
"Do you really think", asked Dumbledore, "that we would sit around twiddling fingers while you find the means to destroy Voldemort? We will find a way." He said it fiercely yet reassuringly at the same time. That seemed to placate Harry.
"I reiterate, I want this information to stay amongst us. We know the why and what of things. Nobody else should. I am going to make an Unbreakable Vow for all seven of us."
The rest of the room's occupants nodded in compliance. This was a secret that needed to remain one.