- Harry Potter and the Bridge of Dreams -

Chapter 6

The Years of Silence, Part II


Of Remus Lupin, what do we know? He is said to be the bravest of wizards; his Cursed Kin call him the Wolf-Who-Walks-Unashamed. Of the wounds and the burdens he has undertaken by his work I can say nothing; he would disapprove. Still, I will say this: yes, we hear of bravery, of wrath and the works of violence which stain his war-torn past. But of his kindness, no one speaks, and what a great wrong is done! He may be the kindest man this world has ever known; he was one of the first to offer even a shadow of the loving past that Harry Potter had lost...

-From A Modern Wizarding History, by Datru Thov Depast


The next day, Harry and Dudley simultaneously bemoaned the fact that they had forgotten to ask the Headmaster to put together their play set, and happily celebrated Dudley's newly discovered magic. Dudley begged permission from his parents to use Harry's training wand to change the color of anything that was his, and received it with the proviso that the color was something that could be seen in public.

Said proviso was a response to Petunia's one nightmare that night, in which her couch had reverted to a purple-and-yellow-plaid. She had crept downstairs to check – and be relieved – but she had no desire for a repetition, or for the two boys to suddenly start wearing absurd clothes.

Still, the end result had been something she was somewhat agreeable with; Dudley's walls were now the same blue that the teacup had been, which was, if slightly startling, actually quite nice. She had told him to make his other things different shades of blue, at least, when she had begun to find his whole room a monochromatic blur, and Harry had concurred - "because it would be good practice."

The headmaster had told the truth, however, because after changing the color of everything they could get their hands on in Dudley's room, the two of them – especially Dudley – had been exhausted. They'd slept until almost noon, and she'd allowed it, but with a warning to both of them that if they weren't careful not to tire themselves with the wand she'd take it away, and only give it to them when she was watching.

Over the next several days, she and Vernon fretted over whether or not Dudley would still acknowledge their authority, since he was now aware of his magic and equally aware that they had none. Dudley's response to her threat about the wand reassured her, and suddenly, Petunia found herself thinking that magic was...perhaps not so bad. After all, Dudley was her son, and Vernon's, and nobody was more normal than they were. They had even had an influence on Harry; except for the magic, he was a normal boy, too. And most of the abnormalities...she couldn't really complain that Dudley had never been sick, after all...or that now, in the worst of circumstances, her son would be better able to protect himself than nine tenths of the population.

Something Vernon had said the night before came back to her as she made her way up the stairs with the laundry.

"I've always worried a little about Harry – that he might end up deranged or something, learning all this wizard stuff. After all, we don't really know anything about that father of his, and you've always said your sister was a little...well, a little off, Petunia. But if our Dudders is magic, now – well! We know we've raised him up right, right from the minute he was born! He loves us just like any good boy should love his parents – and he'll make sure Harry stays in line!"

Petunia wasn't worried in the least about Harry; she hadn't been ever since the moment he had first called her Aunt Tuney. But she couldn't argue with Vernon, because she, too, felt better now that they knew Dudley had magic. Lily's magic had ruined Petunia's childhood; she had been afraid, more than anything, that the same thing would happen to Dudley that had happened to her; that he would grow up bitter, angry at everything he couldn't have that Harry did.

He was safe from that now, and even though she would still never have magic of her own, she would be able to live some of her secret dream through her son – her son, that she had brought into the world. Didn't that mean that somewhere, hidden inside her, there was a tiny spark of magic too? A spark – a seed of magic...and it had blossomed in her son.


About a week after Christmas, Harry was prodded awake by a bodiless voice.

"Harry! Harry...Harry? Hello, Harry? Can you hear me? It's Padfoot, Harry -"

Harry woke up blearily, peered around his room, and then jumped a little.

"Hellooooo? Harry? Haaaaa-rryyyyy..."

"Padfoot!"

"Harry? I can barely hear you, pup -"

Quickly, Harry pawed through the pile of Christmas presents that was still beside his bed until he reached the two mirrors which he had put aside without thought. One of them was still a plain mirror, but the other had Padfoot's face reflected in it.

"Padfoot! So that's why you sent me mirrors! Can you hear me, now?"

"Yes, I can hear you!"

Harry lifted the little mirror and lay it on his bed.

"How come you didn't call before, Padfoot? Headmaster Albus was here on Christmas!"

"I was worried that you didn't want to talk to me when you didn't call; it is bending the rules quite a bit. Then I realized I hadn't sent the instructions with the mirrors! Sorry, pup."

Sirius grinned sheepishly.

"So, the Headmaster came, huh?"

"Yeah! And guess what?"

Harry bounced in his bed excitedly.

"He gave me a training wand for Christmas, and we let Dudley try it and he has magic too!"

Sirius' reflection showed his surprise, and then he grinned.

"Really? That's great, Harry! Dudley might be a pretty powerful wizard; not many kids your age can use a training wand, and it's supposed to be harder for kids who haven't done accidental magic. But now you'll have someone to plan all your pranks with – and you won't have to go to Hogwarts by yourself! How was the rest of your Christmas?"

"Awesome! We had a really big turkey, and lots of pudding, and Headmaster Albus gave me a box that can hide anything. Your presents were the best though, Padfoot! Headmaster Albus gave me some good ones too, but me'n Dudley can't wait to play on the swings!"

"That's great, Harry, I'm glad you like them. I have some good news for you, it's why I sent the mirrors. Headmaster Albus finally convinced the Wizengamot – that's the Wizard court, Harry – that I'm not "a danger to myself or others". Said I'd had enough mind-healing now – certainly been long enough..."

Sirius snorted slightly and scowled a little, but then his grin was back.

"So, anyway, that means that I'll be allowed to visit you soon! You can't come live with me, because of your wards – remember those, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"But you'll still be able to visit on weekends and over the summer, and we'll still be able to go on trips and out for quidditch games and fun in general...which means -"

"That's why you gave me the helmet! And the goggles! Take me on your motorcycle, okay, Padfoot? Really soon! I want to fly on it again!"

"I planned on it, pup. Now, I don't know when I'll be able to come, because the Headmaster still has to set things up with your Aunt and Uncle, and explain the situation to them...but soon, alright? Really soon."

Harry was vibrating with glee. He was happy enough with Aunt Tuney and Uncle Vernon, but they were Dudley's parents; they didn't belong to Harry, not really. But Padfoot was Harry's, and nobody else's; Padfoot was almost like having a dad who lived far away.

"Can we go see a broom race, Padfoot? I want to go with you this time!"

Sirius smiled a private smile, and then nodded.

"Sure thing; I'll look up some tickets. What did your Aunt say about your training broom?"

Harry's smile became sneaky.

"I let Dudley see it first, and since he has magic he can fly a broom now and he wants one too! So he asked Aunt Tuney for one and she made him ask Uncle Vernon. But they always let Dudley have anything he wants, so Uncle Vernon told him he would make Headmaster Albus get him one!"

Harry blinked for a moment, and then remembered the point of his story.

"So I get to keep mine, too, as long as I only fly it with supervision. And I have to share it with Dudley if brooms are really expensive and Uncle Vernon can't 'ford another one."

"Sharing is okay, but don't let that cousin of yours bully you out of using your broom."

Harry shook his head.

"It's okay, Padfoot. Dudley's big, but he only tried to hit me once when we were small, and I got really mad and he got little blisters all over and cried a lot, and Headmaster Albus had to come and fix him and Uncle Vernon was mad. And then they talked and made Dudley 'pologize, and Dudley said he wouldn't try an' hurt me any more."

Sirius was grinning madly.

"Good one, Harry! But listen, we better cut this short now, 'cause I know I woke you up and I don't think you should let your relatives know about these mirrors until the Headmaster has a chance to explain to them that I've got permission to see you, okay?"

Harry nodded.

"So, it's our secret, right, Padfoot?"

"Right. Are you going to ask about the other mirror, Harry?"

Harry's eyes opened wide.

"Yeah! What's the other mirror, Padfoot?"

Sirius laughed.

"The other mirror will let you talk to Moony. Remember not to try and talk to him on the full moon though, okay Harry? He won't be able to answer you at night, and on full moon days he's really grumpy. Next one isn't for a couple weeks though, so -"

"Okay! Can I call him now? Can I? After you?"

"Only if you think no one will hear you – remember, the mirrors are secret, and Moony's has to stay that way. All you have to do is say Moony into his mirror – it has an M on the back. To call me, say Padfoot into this mirror; mine has a P on it. When you're done talking, say whoever's name again and off. Got it?"

Harry nodded.

"Got it! Bye, Padfoot!"

"Bye, pup!"

"Padfoot, off."

The mirror blanked out, and Harry hugged it for a second before putting it on his bedside table. It was early yet; he glanced at the clock, and saw it was only ten past seven.

"Aunt Tuney won't be up for another twenty minutes...and Uncle Vernon won't get up 'til eight. Alright!"

He picked up the second mirror, and looked directly into it.

"Moony!"

The image in the mirror shimmered, and Harry's reflection disappeared and left blankness. There was a moment of silence and then Harry heard a creak and someone saying hello.

"Moony! Moony, I'm in a mirror, come see!"

There were rushed footsteps, and then an unfamiliar face blinked into view with an unfamiliar room behind it.

"H-Harry? Harry! Hello! My, you look just like your father, don't you? But such brilliant eyes -"

Harry grinned proudly.

"Aunt Tuney says they're just like my mum's!"

"Indeed, they are. You've talked with Padfoot, then, Harry? I almost hexed him when he told me he forgot to send you the instructions – he's an idiot sometimes."

Harry laughed.

"I'm gonna tell Padfoot on you, Moony! And then he'll give you green hair again!"

Remus raised an eyebrow at Harry.

"Oh-ho, so he told you about that little accomplishment of his, did he? Did he tell you it lasted for a week?"

Harry laughed harder and nodded.

"Well just imagine, me, a Gryffindor Prefect, with Slytherin green hair! I decided that I would have to get revenge, and the night after my hair went back to normal, your father helped me give Padfoot a potion that made him sing everything he wanted to say – like a girl – for three days!"

Harry stuffed his blanket in his mouth so that he could roll around and laugh quietly.

"I won that time, but we were always getting in trouble with pranks like that; it was funny, but the Professors got a little tired of hearing Sirius sing all his answers."

Harry hiccoughed and grinned at Remus. Padfoot had told him about the "Great Green Hair Escapade" in his last letter, and how amusing werewolf-Moony had looked with green fur...but he had completely failed to mention Moony's retaliatory strike.

"Padfoot says I should watch out for Dudley, now. We found out that he has magic too!"

Remus smiled.

"Well, I bet that's nice for him. Are his parents okay with it?"

Harry shrugged.

"I dunno. Aunt Tuney is happy, I think, and Uncle Vernon is...well, he thinks Dudley is perfect, so I guess he thinks if Dudley's magic it can't be that bad after all."

Harry grinned.

"At least I got to keep my broom this time!"

Remus chuckled a little.

"So Sirius sent you another one, huh? I hope it was a training broom this time, and not a Comet 220?"

"Yep!"

Remus smiled a little tiredly; it was good to see Harry, even if it was through a mirror. They had been corresponding through letters since Harry was old enough to write, but they had never met. It was almost impossible for Remus to get visitation, because of his condition – not even with Dumbledore backing him. Sirius had really come through with these things.

"So, with brooms and wands and discovering your cousin's magic I suppose my present was even less exciting than I thought, but -"

Harry interrupted him at once, shaking his head.

"No! Your present is great, Moony! Aunt Tuney has hardly any pictures of my mum, and I only had one of them together...they look so happy in the pictures, and they wave and smile at me! Padfoot's presents are fun, but I really like having stuff of my mum'n dad! Really – I think it's my favorite present this year – better than the swingset, better than my broom, better than my wand, even! Only...only don't tell Padfoot, 'kay?"

Remus smiled a different smile then, one that made him look younger, and not so sad and tired.

"Promise. I'm – I'm glad you like it so much, Harry, really glad. Look, I really want to have a good long conversation with you, but I'm expecting a guest any minute now. Do you think we can talk later?"

Harry bounced thoughtfully for a minute, and then leaned close to the mirror.

"If I'm really quiet, I can call you when I go to bed! Padfoot said I shouldn't tell anyone about my mirrors until Headmaster Albus comes to talk to Aunt Tuney and Uncle Vernon, and probably I'll have to keep this one secret anyway..."

"Then I'll talk to you tonight, Harry, but don't get in trouble on my account. You can always call me tomorrow morning."

Harry grinned.

"Okay! Bye, Moony!"

"Goodbye, Harry."

"Moony, off!"


Two years passed in a blur for both Harry and his family; for Harry, there was Padfoot at winter and summer breaks, and on weekends – and sometimes Moony, too, although that was perhaps the biggest secret Harry had. He was good at keeping secrets; he had been surrounded by them his whole life, and it was second nature to him to understand that sometimes, there were things that it was better for certain people not to know.

It was for that reason that Harry was on his way with Headmaster Albus to meet a man called Ollivander at Padfoot's house. Though the Headmaster had long planned to provide Harry (and his Cousin, when he showed the talent) with a wand as soon as he had enough control, Aunt Petunia had, finally, flatly refused to allow Harry or Dudley to have a real wand in her house until they were eleven and would be in Hogwarts' hands. Dumbledore had argued bravely, but had finally been forced to twinkle and concede...openly, at least.

Sirius, on the other hand, had asked for a "home consultation" by Britain's premier wand maker on the day after Harry's ninth birthday, so that Harry could have a real wand he would be able to learn and practice with when he was visiting his Godfather. Nothing could be done about Dudley, who watched Harry leave with the Headmaster enviously; but Harry was too pleased about getting his wand to care.

Harry apparated with Dumbledore as far as the Leaky Cauldron, and then flooed from there to Padfoot's house – Grim's Playground. Harry tumbled out of the fireplace into Padfoot, who was waiting and caught him neatly, and then jumped up immediately, grinning.

"Hi, Padfoot!"

"Hiya, pup! Afternoon, Headmaster."

Dumbledore smiled and nodded.

"Good afternoon, Sirius. Has Ollivander arrived?"

Sirius nodded.

"About fifteen minutes ago. He's in the parlor unpacking – I think he brought every wand in his shop with him!"

"Shall we go in, then?"

Sirius shrugged and led the way through the house. At one time, "Grim's Playground" had been "Grimmauld Place", the ancestral home of the Black family and the home of more than a few bad memories for Sirius, who was now the last son of his House. He had been resistant to Dumbledore's suggestion that he come back here to live, even with the thought that the protections on the place would be good for Harry's safety. But he had finally decided to move back in when he had realized that the better revenge would be, not to stay away, but to completely redo the entire house – so much so that the numerous generations of the Black family were probably spinning in their graves.

To that end, he had knocked down walls, installed windows, and then frantically repainted, redecorated, and refurnished – and had come up with something that, rather than looking like a Dark Lord's hide-away, seemed more like a cross between a bachelor pad and a magical fun house. Half of the downstairs had been opened into a garage, where Sirius spent a good deal of his time tinkering happily beneath a Silenced portrait of his mother. The portrait, which 'lived' to spew vulgar invective, had survived the redecorating only because it was attached to a structurally important wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm. It amused Sirius more than anything that his muggle-hating mother's portrait was now Permanently Stuck over his muggle workshop.

The other half of the first floor was a combination kitchen/dining room/living room, a great open space in which Sirius' single house elf, Maddy, was most often found puttering about. There had originally been another house elf in charge – one named Kreacher – but Sirius had told Harry that he had gone quite mad, and had attempted to hang his own head on the wall. Apparently, it had not worked out too well, though Sirius had refused to give Harry any grisly details.

In the corner beyond the kitchen was a very short hallway with a narrow door that led into a wizardspace parlor. It was one of the only places in the house that Sirius had left largely untouched – he was afraid if he did too much to the expanded room it was liable to unexpand and crush him. Still, he had managed to remove the Dark Artifacts that had been decorating the parlor, and the walls and furniture had been redone in a combination of burgundy and blue, obliterating the old green and black motif.

Mr. Ollivander, proprietor and owner of Ollivander's Wands (makers of find wands since 382 BC) was waiting on a sofa, and just as Sirius had said, it looked as if he was surrounded by an entire shop's worth of wands. Tall piles of thin boxes swayed all around the couch, defying gravity.

Harry paused in the doorway, and as Ollivander stood to greet them he loomed tall and spidery, his eyes like twin full moons in his smooth, pallid face.

"Mr. Black, Headmaster, and - ahh yes, Mr. Harry Potter; a bit earlier than I had thought, but it is good to meet you all the same. I can still remember meeting your parents for the first time -"

Suddenly the looming figure of the wand maker seemed much more friendly, and Harry looked up at him eagerly.

"You knew my parents, sir?"

Ollivander nodded, and gestured for Harry to take a step toward him.

"Yes, I did. Your mother was quickly chosen by a ten inch wand of willow with the hair of a Manticore as its core; very swishy, strong for Charms. Your father, on the other hand, spent more than an hour in my shop and was finally selected by a nine-and-one-quarter inch wand of mahogany containing a single tail feather from a most magnificent Phoenix; an interesting combination, excellent for Transfiguration and Enchanting."

Ollivander paused for a moment, and then continued more slowly.

"I...had the fortune of meeting your mother on one other occasion, shortly before your birth. Her wand was snapped in combat, and she came to me for a replacement. Nine-and-three-quarters inches, oak, containing five crystallized Phoenix Tears. Quite a rare and beautiful wand, if I remember correctly, and extraordinarily powerful for Defensive magics."

Harry deflated just the tiniest bit, listening to this; Mr. Ollivander seemed to know far more about his parents' wands than he knew about his parents themselves. Still, it was always nice to know anything. Padfoot, Moony, and Headmaster Albus had been telling him stories for years now about his parents – his father growing up, both of them at Hogwarts, their wedding and the year of marriage before his birth...and after.

"Now then, Mr. Potter, shall we begin? Which is your wand arm?"

Harry held out his right hand.

"Right, sir. If it's the same as with a training wand."

Ollivander raised an eyebrow at that, but Harry didn't notice.

"Ahh...yes, just so. Now, hold still, and I'll get some measurements..."

A tape measure began to dart around Harry's body; it measured his wand hand and arm, but also his waist, his height, the circumference of his head, the width of his nostrils, and the length of his neck. Cross-eyed, Harry peered down it, and noticed that instead of centimeters or inches, the tape measure was labeled with strange symbols, curlicues and runes and squiggles, and not a single number at all.

"What is it measuring, Mr. Ollivander?"

The old wand maker gave him an appraising glance, and seemed to come to some sort of decision, because he nodded slowly and began to speak in a sing-song voice.

"Vinewood, Rosewood, Holly, Alder, Lime;

Ironwood, Redwood, Cherry, Maple, Pine;

Spruce, Ash, and Juniper, Rowan and Teak;

Willow, Mangrove, Hawthorn, Birch and Mesquite.

Trees of the forest, trees of the wood;

These bring power best, for those who are good.

Yew, Poplar, Sycamore, White Aspen, Silver Birch

Of these five be careful, lest your name you besmirch

Laburnum, Hickory, Mahogany, Fir

Among these four search for a need more obscure

Oak is the strongest; take care in whose hand it is laid

Of Elder alone has but one wand been made."

Harry looked astonished at the wand-maker. The measuring tape took that opportunity to measure the space between his eyes.

"What is that, Mr. Ollivander? Is it a rhyme?"

Ollivander nodded, and gestured at the measuring tape, which zoomed into his hand.

"Indeed, Mr. Potter. It is a rhyme which has been used for many, many years to teach the most basic lore of wand-woods to the wand makers of my family. The measurements I am taking help to cut down the potential wands you might try...certain portions of this tape react to different levels and types of magical potential, which are associated with different wand woods and cores. Many people think that my measurements are only to determine the appropriate length of a wizard's wand, but that is foolishness. The length of one's wand depends on the balance between the amount of raw power and the mental focus of the wizard in question."

Both the Headmaster and Sirius were listening with interest to the wand-maker's discourse; Dumbledore had had many conversations with Ollivander over the years, but he had never heard the quaint little rhyme, nor heard such an in-depth explanation to a customer's question – especially such a young customer.

"What about the inside, Mr. Ollivander? The, um, core? Is there is a rhyme for those, too?"

Ollivander barely smiled, the smallest upward turning of the corners of his mouth.

"No, Mr. Potter, unfortunately there is not. Far too many magical creatures can be used as the core of a wand – the mane or tail hair of a Unicorn, the tail feathers or tears of a Phoenix, slivers of fang from a Basilisk, the heartstrings and scales of Dragons, the feather of a Gryffin or a Sphinx's blood...and those are only some of the more common. Rarely, a wizard will by chosen by a wand with a magical plant as its core – essence of Mandrake, for example, or the seed of a Devil's Snare."

"And my wand, Mr. Ollivander? What will my wand be?"

Harry stepped forward eagerly, and Ollivander perused the boxes behind him for a long moment before he selected one and handed the wand inside it to Harry.

"You must try them and find out. Ebony and Phoenix Feather, eleven and a half inches. Give it a swish, Mr. Potter."

Harry swished, but Ollivander snatched the wand away almost immediately and handed him another one.

"No, not that one. Here; Oak and Griffin Feather, ten and three-quarter inches, try -"

Swish.

"No – perhaps this one – Ironwood and Unicorn Hair, eleven and one-quarter inches, try -"

And so it went. Harry tried. And tried. He swished and flicked and waved and twisted every wand Ollivander could think of to have him try, and several that he was sure Harry wasn't suited for at all. Ollivander seemed to grow more pleased the more wands Harry tried; after two hours, they all took a break for pumpkin juice and scones in the kitchen, and then returned to the parlor. At the end of another hour, Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling madly, Sirius was glaring at the discarded wands in consternation, and Ollivander was rubbing his hands together in glee.

"Well, well, well, I haven't had a customer so tricky in ages, Mr. Potter – your father took quite some time, but not this long. Even the Headmaster was not so difficult find a wand for; Ebony and Phoenix Feather, eight and three-quarter inches, yes?"

Dumbledore nodded, but Ollivander's gaze lingered on the wand in the Headmaster's hands, which was of a pale wood that certainly didn't look like ebony. Dumbledore's twinkle dimmed the tiniest bit, but he said nothing.

"Well now Mr. Potter...let me see...I suppose you had best try these while I think."

The pile of wands had dwindled to three. Ollivander took them out of their boxes doubtfully, but lay them out before Harry all the same.

"Yew and Dragon Heartstring, six and one half inches."

Nothing.

"Apple and Unicorn Hair, thirteen inches-"

Nothing.

"Rosewood and Manticore Scale, twelve and one-quarter inches -"

There was, still and finally, nothing. Harry was looking at the stacks of discarded wands in horror now; had he lost his magic? Had it been a mistake, and he didn't have any at all? But he was reassured when Ollivander laughed out loud and clapped his hands.

"Excellent, excellent! Such a pity I don't have you in my shop, where you could try...but I've had a thought – yes, just the thing for now. Mr. Black, do you know what became of the wands belonging to Mr. Potter's parents?"

Sirius looked startled, and then nodded slowly.

"Yeah, they're...they're in the box upstairs that has the things saved from the house after -"

He went pale and fell silent; Harry's face turned solemn. Ollivander pressed his fingers together and looked at Sirius thoughtfully.

"If it is not too much trouble, Mr. Black, could I ask you to bring those wands to us, please? I believe Mr. Potter would find it...beneficial."

Sirius stood and stretched, shrugged.

"Sure. Matter of fact, I'll bring the whole box down. Harry can look through the rest of it later."

There was thumping as Sirius ran up the stairs and then louder thumping as he came down again with the box.


A/N: So Harry gets his gift of a Mirror a little sooner...and more usefully. And, with Sirius returning to take a more active presence in his Godson's life, things are sure to get interesting. Keep in mind that this time skip was only two years, so Harry is nine, not eleven. I honestly don't believe that every wizard child would go out to get a wand just before their first year of Hogwarts; it makes no sense, especially for wizardborn children. If that were the case, Ollivander's shop would only need to be open a couple weeks out of the year, right before school starts, so that in that time all of First Year could buy wands.

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