Chapter Nine: Aftermath and Stuff

Amelia Bones was an angry witch. She considered herself a top-notch administrator, a solid auror, an excellent lover when the occasion called, and an all-around powerful magic user. She had worked hard as the head of the DMLE, and after years of effort, she firmly believed that justice would always have a place here in magical Britain.

Which was why she was pissed, sitting in her office after hours with a half full bottle of Ogden's finest. It was Halloween, and she had yet to make a damn millimeter of progress on getting her fiancé out of jail. If that weren't enough, despite everything she had uncovered with her son's account manager, she couldn't begin to lay charges at the door of the man responsible for his years of suffering.

For Sirius, Amelia had firm evidence that her man was innocent. After a decade of questioning his conviction and not believing the status quo, she finally had proof! The problem was that in order to reopen the case, she needed to drag it in front of her bosses in the Wizengamot. Through established routine and the Wizengamot charter, she needed to present all of the case files, the new evidence, and the prisoner in question at the same time to open it as 'old business'.

Of course every one of the case files were in secure holding in the records department, sealed by the Chief Warlock. She could go in and see them, but they were warded against copy and could not be removed without the Warlock's personal authorization. It was idiotic, she could look at the files, compare evidence, confirm everything, but she couldn't actually do anything while the files were sealed. She had even gone as far as physically going to Azkaban herself, where the warden of the prison refused her visitation rights on the order of, you guessed it, the Chief Warlock.

The obvious solution was to just go to the Chief Warlock, but in this case the Chief Warlock was the same man that had thrown her husband-to-be in jail with no evidence or trial. Sure, she could try, but asking the great and powerful Dumbledore would tip her hand, and for a man of his influence arranging an 'accident' at a prison notorious for its poor conditions would be beyond trivial. Ol' albus wasn't even the only person with a vested interest in keeping the Black heir behind bars. Amelia, even as a student, had felt something was off with the headmaster, but now? After Harry and this business with Sirius? Amelia had a little bit more than suspicion regarding the man who she now thought of as 'that bearded twinkly-eyed bastard'.

The additions to the charter, as well as 'binding traditions' that defined how she had to prosecute these cases were a collection of changes made over the centuries by a score of people who were each tailoring the rules to suit their own needs. It was, as she and Andi often bemoaned, just more pureblood voodoo. If they didn't have so much invested here, if she didn't have Sirius here, if Ted wasn't buried or their kids raised on these shores, that had talked about moving to the colonies or down to Oz or something. Word was, there was less of the pureblood voodoo that made both of their jobs so much harder.

She had spent two weeks finding out how she couldn't just introduce exonerating evidence and get her man free again. Not even just for her sake, but the sake of her son. Two weeks wasted. The only reason she hadn't broken down and hexed the living daylights out of every gleefully uncooperative member of the records office was the same reason why she hadn't know these procedures before now. She worked hard to get the right man, and during her tenure in this position she had yet to have to overturn a case. She did things by the book, as crooked as it was.

She had spent the last six weeks working through two hundred years of laws, charter amendments, rulings, and in several cases plain old decrees. The magic user in her refused to accept that there was no solution, where there was a wand there was a way, but her work had revealed a maze that would drive a man with the stubbornness of a stone to give up, and even the heartiest genius to their knees. For the gods' sake, a number of the laws and loopholes depended on lunar and solar arrangements!

She just didn't have the time to keep this up. She had aurors and solicitors booked for a week straight following the three day break for All Hallows Eve. A small bitter part of her acknowledged that even Sirius, as carefree and rebellious as he had been (WAS, WILL BE, she had to remind herself), he would have been angry with her for spending two months neglecting her job for him. She hated that her time was legitimately too valuable to commit so fully to any one project like that. She had one last recourse, but it was an equivalent to the non-magical nuclear option.

She could go to the Goblins.

On a pad in front of her, slightly obscured by bottle and glass, was a pad with two clearly marked sides, Pro and Con.

Pro:

Goblins literally warriors of red tape

Harry's account assures best service

Possibility of team working on problem

Possibility of Goblins finding way to ironclad adoption

Odds of snapping and murdering Dumbledore lower

Odds of Goblin stabbing Dumbledore higher

Con:

Possibility of non-humans destabilizing Ministry of Magic

Odds of Goblin stabbing Dumbledore higher (see above)

Amelia sighed and placed her head in her hands. This was the kind of thing that made her think even magic couldn't stop her from dying early of stress. Dark wizards had nothing to do with it. Her life would be claimed by stress and paper work before her reflexes died enough for some jumped up wanker to get the drop on her.

The poor woman spent the rest of the night finishing the bottle, and thinking on her issues. She wanted her fiancé back. She wanted her son's godfather back. She wanted... well she wanted a lot. Eventually, she fell asleep on her desk.

At noon the next day, there was a knock on her door that woke her. In a rush she cast a low powered incendio at the paper with her list, and hurried swept the empty bottle and glass into a space expanded drawer.

"Come!"

The door opened, revealing the lined and oddly leonine countenance of Rufus Scrimgeour, head auror. The man stuck his head into the room, and with a curious sounding snort, stepped into the room.

"Long night, Amelia?"

"How did you know?" she responded, looking around her office. She may have been wearing the same robe as yesterday, but her office looked impeccable. She had taken care of the booze, and she had personally charmed her office to suppress odors of alcohol and not allow clothes to wrinkle. This wasn't the first time she had to take comfort at the bottom of a bottle during a long investigation. Amelia felt bittersweet for a moment. That particular set of spells she had actually picked up from Sirius before everything had gone to hell.

Rufus tapped his left cheek knowingly, and Amelia felt her face, only to find she had fell asleep on top of her quill, which had stuck to her cheek.

"Bugger."

Rufus smiled, "I'd chide you for your language, but I have a feeling you're going to be saying that again today."

Her face took on a concerned cast immediately. Things didn't get to her desk by being minor concerns.

"No, no, no, nothing that can destroy society before two, you remember the rule. No, this one is something that your son did. I remember H, good kid, I didn't know he had it in him, but..."

Rufus trailed off as he handed a file to the witch behind the desk, only for her to glance through it, and put her head in her hands again, "Gods damn it kid. This is why we can't have nice things."

"We got the report from McGonagall a few hours ago. Seems like she had to report it as deputy headmistress. I guess we should expect this kind of stuff from a kid with a phoenix, lord knows Dumbledore causes enough trouble. It looks like your son killed the troll completely on his own, assisted by his phoenix only. From the traces Flitwick picked up, it looks like he was running through a set of standard mid-range spells before he managed to decapitate it. I probably don't have to say it, but every spell he used was at least third year, and not even I know a spell strong enough to behead a troll in one go, that's counting dipping into some of the darker stuff I've seen."

Amelia's hands never left her face, as if she thought not being able to see the paper would make the report go away. If he didn't know better, Rufus would have sworn he heard her whispering vows to look at the adoption papers again and see if she couldn't do something about them. He took a seat in front of her desk, and waited.

Five minutes of bemoaning her fate later, Amelia was ready to go.

"Can I borrow Kingsley? He knows the kid and is more than enough to take care of this."

"Sure, but I'd rather just come with you," he responded as she stood to gather her coat, "I want to tell the kid to be careful personally. Much more of this and he'll find himself with an Order of Merlin."

As she left her office she scoffed, "Like he needs the encouragement. Kid's enough trouble as is, stupid loving your children."

Harry woke up early, having set an alarm charm for considerably before breakfast. His sister, two closest friends, and two newer friends had all been... displeased... with him the night before.

Susan and Hannah had gone for classic expression of sadness, worry and disappointment. Nym had physically assaulted him, which Harry felt was the best of the response he had gotten. Hermione had managed to quote, in one breath, every one of the eleven rules, traditions, statutes, and provisos he had broken. They were the worst.

Neville was angry with him until Harry brought him into the boy's room and showed him the brand new Troll-hide boots that he was proud owner of. Most folks preferred dragon hide as it looked better, but truth be told troll hide was nearly as resistant to offensive magics and made, in Harry's opinion, a much more handsome and manly pair of shoes.

The night before, when Slippy had interrupted the shouting and tears and brought him more sweet delicious calories, Harry had managed to talk her into making the boots for him and Neville. When he saw them, he stopped being angry and gave Harry a bracing and manly fist bump. The girls had followed them into the boy's dorm and been less than impressed by Neville's response. Their ire only increase when Harry showed them the set of (in his opinion) fine troll hide purse he talked Slippy into making for them.

Harry slipped quietly from the dorm and the common room, making his way to the kitchens. He was teaching dot, the surprising young head of breakfast operations, how to make his special waffle mix. It turned out the elves had never really considered using purees in their mixes, so his apple waffles were a huge hit when he had introduced them to his elven friend the first time.

The fact that being in the kitchen and sharing his recipe meant he wouldn't be at the Hufflepuff table for the fireworks the rumor mill would produce was entirely incidental.

Having wasted the whole morning and made his waffles in huge batches for the school, Harry helped clean up fully, and then began showing the elves the finer points of his method. He was halfway through showing how using an overpowered mincing spell could produce the apple puree faster than even the elven enchanted knife method when Drip and Drop, the brothers dedicated to answering the direct calls of the staff, and head boy and girl popped in..

"Harry! Old-beardy is callings for you!"

"He has a few peoples from the ministry!"

"Theys waiting for you in his office!"

"Please comes with us, Harry!"

The brothers, who Harry had a bit of experience with, loved alternating their speech. They claimed to have given the Weasley twins the idea. Harry, having met both pairs, felt like it honestly could have gone either way. He took off an apron and dusted flour off of his shirt and jeans. It was a Sunday, and he had been strongly hoping that he could hide from the results of his evening until he could use classes as an excuse to not attend meetings. If the ministry was there though, it meant mum, which meant this was probably going to be a very long day.

With a whispered request to Drip, Harry took Drop's hand and was popped away to just down the corridor from the gargoyle that hid the headmasters office. Harry walked the rest of the way, and just before he reached the stone guardian Drip popped in next to him and handed off a small shrunken package. If Harry had to attend a meeting with the headmaster for the second time in as many days, he could at least get a laugh out of it. His birth dad would have expected nothing less from him.

The gargoyle had evidently been expecting him, as it stepped aside as soon a he presented himself before it. Harry moved up the escalating spiral stairs and went to the door. He had enough experience at the door now to know that Dumbles had some way of knowing who was there before they knocked. It felt like a waste of magic to use it on something as lame as that, so Harry had resolved to go out of his way to be annoying and beat the old man to the punch. He crossed the small landing and knocked on the door as quickly as he could.

"Harry Bones here to see you sir!"

Harry didn't bother to wait for a response and just entered, looking immediately to the old man's face. He wasn't disappointed, as he caught a hint of an annoyed frown cross the man's face before he resumed his normal grandfather-y twinkle.

Harry scanned the rest of the room. Yep, his mum was here, along with Mr. Scrimgeour, Professor McGonagall, and professor Flitwick, Harry reflected that thankfully Snape was absent.

"Ahh, young Harry. I believe we can start. Minerva here has reported last night's event to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as part of her remit as Deputy Headmistress. Your mother and Mr. Scrimgeour have come in their official capacities to learn of last night's events."

Harry looked around the room silently, trying to connect the dots. Dumbledore wasn't happy with the answers he got from Harry, so he literally ran to mum to try and get a different answer. Lord and Ladies above, the old man was seven years old if he was a day.

"Sir, Professors, Mr. Scrimgeour, Mum, I have had this conversation with the Chief Warlock already last night I gave more information than, technically speaking, I was legally required to. It annoys me to do this, but I must invoke the privilege afforded to the head of a Most Ancient and Noble house. What occurred between myself and the mountain troll, who I have been reliably informed was named 'Urg-rock!' was family business, and as no one else was injured or harmed, I am not required by any boy to divulge any information about what happened. Thank you all for your time here."

Dumbledore looked blankly at the child across desk from him, "You expect us to believe you were engaged in some form of house business with a troll that you decapitated. Within two minutes of meeting it no less? "

Harry smiled, "He was a very poor negotiator."

As the official statement portion of the meeting drew to a close, Harry slipped back into the persona of a guilty eleven year old and turned to the head of the DMLE, "With all that said and done, wanna join me for lunch since you're here mum? I have it on good authority we can get a shepherd's pie for lunch, and I know how you love that."

Harry put on his best puppy dog eyes which was actually pretty damn impressive for a budding young metamorph, prompting his mum to scowl and sigh. Scrimgeour to actually laugh out loud. Dumbledore looked like an annoyed grandfather, a look which everyone could agree didn't work well on him, and McGonagall and Flitwick both looked like they suspected this meeting was going to be a waste and they had given up their lunches for nothing.

Amelia promised her old friend that if there was anything important she'd share with him, and took her son out of the headmaster's office. Given the time, Harry figured they'd arrive just a hair too late for proper lunch, so he directed their steps towards the kitchens. Amelia was following him idly, and directed conversation to classes so far and how the family was doing. Harry was happy to fill in the details of how he met his god-brother and his only mildly annoying friend Hermione.

Amelia finally looked up and questioned what was going on when they got to the portrait of a bowl of fruit.

"Harry, why are we headed into the kitchens?"

"Oh, well I was halfway through showing the guys my waffle recipe, and I know they keep a bit of the food over after in case one of the kids knows where they are and missed lunch. They'll take care of us."

Amelia was taken aback by Harry's words. She knew where the kitchens were and knew it was staffed by elves. Being Sirius' girlfriend in seventh year guaranteed that kind of knowledge, she just didn't understand her son's words. The guys? Harry had always been close to the elves in the Ossuary, but she had thought that was just Harry being Harry.

"Harry, if we're going to be talking about things you don't want Dumbledore to know, why are we hanging out with the elves? You know they report to him, don't you?"

"Of course I do, mum. But elf business is kept among elves. Even if they weren't my people, they like me better than they do him. They'd take care of us," they had fully entered the kitchen now, and Harry called out into the kitchen, "Hey Pointy! Could you bring me and my mum one of the pies from lunch? We're gonna be talking about the whole troll thing. If you see Slippy and she isn't busy, could you point her my way too?"

The elf in question gave a small wave as he floated a meter tall stack of plates towards the massive cabinets that held the school's crockery.

Harry led his mum to the small table near the ever present fire in the heart of the kitchen. All around the mother-son pair a hundred elves went quietly about their business. The reflection of the fire glinted off the massive pots (each more industrial reaction vessel than cookware) that the elves used to make the bases for the meals. Hundreds of plates flew through the air, levitated by scores of elves through washing area and into piles for storage until the next meal. Amelia had been on edge for weeks, but even her nerves couldn't help but be calmed by the colors, smells, clinks, and clanks that all screamed normalcy and safety. The kitchens of Hogwarts held an ancient magic in themolder than Hogwarts and older than organized history. The magic of home, of a family gathering about a fire and breaking their fast, and harry wasn't hiding behind the overwhelming calm and safety of that feeling, no sir.

When she finally took a seat at the table, Amelia closed her eyes for a moment and breathed deeply of the air and magic of the place, more than even the feeling of the place, she was happy to be back here. She had dozens of memories of this table in this room, some more work appropriate than others, but all the same, it was like someone made comfort into a physical place. A tension she wasn't aware of carrying leached from her shoulders. As a pop sounded nearby and an elf deposited a pair of food laden plates in front of her and her son, she turned a gimlet eye on the boy across the table from her.

"So. Harry. We're going to start with what you were doing when you apparently hunted down and killed a troll, then you're going to explain to me why you know all of the elves in this supposedly off-limits place by name, and then maybe we'll move on to why they like you more than they like Dumbledore."

Harry quickly took a bite to get himself an extra second before he had to answer, and when he had thoroughly chewed his bite he swallowed and started, "Well, I think I know why the Uric guy who commissioned my wand was a master dueler. I looked into it a bit, and it looks like wand cores are usually a substance from a single magical being, more than one magical creature being use for a single core has a history of making a wand almost alive. My wand speaks to me, a lot like Hedwig does," Harry looked down at his food for a second, something very like confusion on his face, "Oddly enough, Hedwig agrees with it more often than not, but that's not the point. Everything I hear from it has been realy helpful so far, and I've been thinking that if Hedwig is okay with it then it can't be bad. But the more I listened to it, the more antsy I would get. Then Halloween. You know why I would hate Samhain. I may have only found out recently, but I lost a lot on that night," Amelia grimaced, she hadn't thought about that, Harry would be a little crazy the night he lost his parents, "and when Professor Quirrell came into the great hall last night yelling about the troll before he fainted, I just kinda snapped. The teachers told all of us to go to our common rooms, but the Slytherin and Hufflepuff common rooms are in the dungeons, and that's where Quirrell said the troll was. I heard all of that, and I figured out what the antsy feeling was," Harry stopped looking at his mum and began staring off into the distance, "The wand was giving me these feelings of blood-lust. It wanted me to go into combat, it wanted me to test myself against the troll, to protect my people, my tribe. So I did. And I could feel the fire in my blood, I felt the clash, the release from casting a spell, chain, I ran, I jumped, I tracked, I followed, and I fought. It was everything I needed, it was everything the wand promised it would be, I was worried about giving in to it, I knew I could hold off the feelings, but Hedwig agreed so I went for it, and it was glorious. "

Harry trailed off, still staring into the distance. Amelia was enraptured by his words. The lust for battle was something she had known when she had apprenticed to Mad-eye, and when she had led her team with Sirius and James against the death eaters when they started. She could remember feeling that way. Her mind before and after made sure that she had done right, that she had only fought the right people and for the right reasons, but in the moment it was the glory of war. The release of the endorphins Harry and Nym were always going on about. Hitting that sweet spot just at the base of a death-eater's protego, watching them trip and spill onto the ground, seeing red flush over the blade Sirius had always insisted she carry.

It was what Mad-eye, as he quietly confessed one night, kept living for, why he couldn't just retire. That feeling. All of the finest aurors felt it. She knew it, she had been one and she had hand selected every one of the ones to follow her. It was what kept a dark wizard catcher alive after twenty years of fighting the darkness, and it was what made dark wizards such a gods damned problem.

And her eleven year old son just described the feeling with the same clarity she could have. Fuck.

Harry met her gaze again, "I know how crazy it sounds. I was there, I mean I know how crazy it felt. I don't regret it though. Not for an instant. The club on that troll was probably fifteen stone alone. If that thing had been in the dungeons, if the 'Puffs had walked into it? I was careful, I was safe, and I had a phoenix telling me it was okay, and Hedwig even helped me take it down."

Harry put on a very mischievous smile, "I also have a kind of gift for you, I was really hoping you might put it up in your office? You know, kinda like mums in the non-magical world would put like pottery or something from their kids in their offices?"

Harry removed the package Drip had handed off to him from his pocket, placing it on the table next to them and casting a quick engorgio. The pocket sized trophy quickly assumed it regular proportions, and beside the pair soon laid a nicely mounted troll's head.

"Pleeeeeeease put it up in your office? Like right behind you on the wall? So it could be like staring down anyone that came in?"

Harry threw off his best puppy dog eyes, and Amelia burst out into laughter. Trust Harry to do something like this. Letting him have access to James' old journals had been a terrible idea.