Harry took the stairs two at a time as he rushed down to the kitchen to begin his 'lesson' with Mrs. Delacour. He rounded the corner and stopped abruptly as a dark red apron was thrust into his face.
"You're in charge, Harry," Apolline said, beaming as he dropped the apron over his head. Her shoulder-length hair was tied behind her head in a ponytail with a black ribbon. Harry smiled inwardly. It would seem Fleur came by it honestly.
"Well," he said, surveying the already organized ingredients Apolline had laid out, "it seems like we just need to get started."
Apolline handed Harry the first of the dry ingredients, a large bowl filled with flour. Harry took the bowl and looked around the table.
"Do you have butter or shortening?" he asked after a moment.
"Which would you prefer?"
"Both, if you have them. Are they cold?"
"Should they be?"
Harry nodded, and Apolline picked up her wand from it's resting place on the table and waved it over the fats. She handed him both and stepped back. He picked up the salt, and dropped a little into the flour, before adding the fats and beginning to mix.
Apolline watched as Harry worked, adding ice water next, bit by bit, before turning the mixture out onto the floured worktop.
"I used to overwork the dough like crazy," Harry explained as he kneaded. "I was used to making bread. It took me a while to get the feel for when it's ready."
He stopped suddenly, a blush creeping up his face.
"You can stop me if you know this already," he said quietly.
Apolline shook her head and smiled.
"When I do it, I use room temperature butter only and pour the ice water in all at once. I'm already learning, unless the final product isn't quite up to snuff," she teased with a smile, eliciting a shy one from Harry.
"We'll cut it in half and refrigerate for a few hours. After that, we'll be ready to roll out the dough and begin baking. Wildberries don't have a lot of moisture in them, so we won't have to blind-bake the crust."
"You make it look so easy!" Apolline said as she began to put the empty containers in the sink.
"I like to bake," Harry replied, shrugging. He lifted his apron over his head and placed it on the counter. "If you follow the same steps every time, you get the same result. Not like meat, which always needs to be done a little differently each time. Baking is...predictable. It's why I like it."
He turned back to Apolline with another shy grin on his face.
"Thanks for letting me help. I've been wanting to ever since I saw your impressive kitchen."
"Anytime, Harry."
They returned to the kitchen a few hours later, the pie dough chilled as necessary. Harry rolled out the dough, showing an extremely impressed Apolline how he used the rolling pin to lift the dough, and roll it into the pie pan. He crimped the edges before sliding the crust into the oven for a short par-bake. Apolline made the filling as the crust baked, instructing Harry how to make her mother's wildberry recipe as she went.
"I don't know if it's because of our origins, or just that I love wildberries," Apolline said as they slid the finished pie out of the oven, "but something about this kind of pie just warms my soul. Thanks for making it with me Harry, neither of the girls really likes to bake."
"Their loss," he replied with a smile.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
The relative silence surrounding Grimmauld Place was broken by the sudden arrival of a half-completed string of curses, courtesy of a fuming Sirius Black.
"-imbecilic, old, power-hungry bastards the lot of 'em. And Fudge! What a cu-"
A brown owl sat on the railing to his small doorstep, an envelope with the waxy red seal of the Ministry attached to one of its legs.
"Oh, for fu-what do they want with me now?" Sirius asked the bird, snatching the letter from where it was tied to the bird. "Off with you," he growled, shooing the owl away as he backed through the door.
Grimmauld place had become no more lively than it'd been when he'd returned nearly a week previous. A path was worn in the dirt on the floors from his usual rounds from the kitchen to the sitting room, and up to his bedroom. He followed the path through the sitting room and into the kitchen, tossing the letter and his wand on the small table next to his father's favorite chair, which he'd found much joy in claiming for his own. He followed his routine into the kitchen and opened the single dust-free cabinet to expose his much-too-sparse collection of alcohol. He grabbed his preferred firewhiskey, grumbling as he felt the light weight of the empty bottle. He tossed the bottle to the counter where it the other empty bottles, and fell to the ground, shattering into large pieces.
Sirius stared down at the broken bottle for a moment, silently lamenting leaving his wand in the other room. He looked up and around the dusty, stagnant kitchen, nearly every surface covered in the same thick layer of dust. He supposed he could call Kreacher to clean the bottle. And clean in general. And probably cook too if he was specific enough about not being poisoned...but then he'd have to call Kreacher. And see Kreacher. And talk to Kreacher.
He decided he'd probably rather starve.
Stepping gingerly around the glass shards, Sirius grabbed the full bottle of frosted gin. He had never liked gin, especially the wizarding kind that gave you the chills when you drank it, though the cold numbness that followed wasn't too bad.
He moved back to the sitting room, dropping heavily into the ornate chair, and deftly popping the top of the gin off with one hand. He glared at the Ministry's letter as he took a long drink, ignoring the shudder trying to push it's way up his spine.
He plucked the letter from the table, setting the bottle down in its vacant spot. Whatever the Ministry has to say, he doubted it was good. His eyes were drawn briefly to the large fireplace, the logs inside cold, but only a spell away from a roaring fire large enough to burn a letter.
He ran a finger quickly under the wax seal and unfolded the parchment. His eyes grew wide as he read the unexpected news.
To Mr. Sirius Black
(Temporarily Restricted) Head of House Black,
This letter is to notify you that your presence has been requested on Wednesday, August 23rd in small court B405.
The request was made by the prosecuting party on behalf of the minor in question: Harry James Potter.
The hearing will be held at 1 PM to determine whether or not Mr. Potter will be removed from the custody of Mr. and Mrs. Dursley due to allegations of gross mistreatment.
Your presence is requested, but not mandatory. However, the details of this hearing are not to be disclosed. Please see, or owl, a ministry representative for more information.
Thank you for your time,
Sandra Bollinger
Department of Family Affairs
Sirius reread the letter in disbelief, the minimalist explanation given by the Ministry doing little to offer any extra information beyond the obvious. Harry was being removed from the Dursleys due to mistreatment? Gross mistreatment?
Sirius thought back to Harry's third year, his godson's face alight with excitement at the idea of living with a man he'd only just met, fresh out of Azkaban. It seemed so normal back then, and he had wanted so desperately to connect with his godson, that he had never given Harry"s eagerness a second thought.
Tendrils of rage began to pierce through the numbness of the magical gin, urging Sirius to action. Maybe Azkaban wouldn't be quite so bad if he'd actually committed the murder for which he was accused.
Before his anger could pull him from his seat to become the protector Harry should have had all those years, another thought occurred to him. He'd seen Harry at his trial but hadn't had the opportunity to talk to him. He doubted he was staying with those rotten muggles anymore, so who had that man accompanying Harry been?
"Kreacher!"
A loud crack sounded in front of Sirius, the dusty air disgorging a wailing house-elf onto the floor.
"Don't want to help the blood traitor! Don't want to! Mistress promised Kreacher-promised the brat wouldn't come back," Kreacher moaned, before stilling, lying facedown on the floor.
"Get up," Sirius snapped. "Neither of us wants you to be here, so let's do this quickly, and you can go back to whatever rotten bog you crawled out of."
"Such a kind master," Kreacher mumbled, rising to his feet. "Such a thoughtful master."
"Do we have any owls left?" Sirius asked. He hadn't explored what remained of his childhood home, the horrible memories serving as a barrier to most areas of the ancient home.
"Must have slipped Kreacher's mind. Owls hunt for themselves, but they need to be untied. Kreacher is sorry master."
Sirius grimaced the thought of a coop full of long decayed owl carcasses a distinctly unappealing one.
"Buy us another. One that is fast, and smart. I'll let you clean up the old owls using your magic if you choose a good one the first time. Otherwise," Sirius growled, leaning in close, "I'll come up with a dozen menial tasks to make my life easier, then you'll have to clean the owls by hand."
"Mmm," Kreacher hummed, his voice deep and wet. "Master is feeling generous today. Must not be feeling well. Kreacher will pick up a potion for master. Will cure all his ills."
"No potions," Sirius said quickly. "Quit complaining and get going."
With another exaggerated crack, Kreacher left Sirius alone in the house. Much to Sirius' chagrin, Kreacher's parting woke the portrait of his mother, who began howling about the tragedy that was the current state of House Black.
Moments later, Kreacher returned, holding a large, and rather perturbed owl.
"He is fast, and smart, as master requested," Kreacher said, holding a skinny arm out to place the bird on the table. The owl quickly took flight, roosting atop the mantle of the fireplace, glaring alternately at Kreacher and Sirius,
"Not very friendly though," Sirius pointed out.
"Master didn't ask for friendly," Kreacher said, his perpetual grimace as close to a smile as it ever got.
"Get out of here," Sirius said angrily. The house-elf vanished as soon as the words had left Sirius' lips.
He quickly penned a simple letter and turned to the still fuming owl. A few minutes and some bloody pecks later, Sirius finally got the letter attached.
"Find him and deliver the letter to him. If he has his owl, you don't have to stick around," he instructed, wiping the blood from his fingers. "In fact, if he doesn't need to use you, then you're free. Don't come back."
The bird hooted once in reply and soared out an open window.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
The late August sun warmed Harry and Fleur as they sat, their feet submerged in the magically warmed water of the lake. Harry stole a glance over at Fleur, who sat kicking her feet idly, her trousers rolled up to her knees. She gazed out over the lake, her eyes unfocused as small droplets of water splashed into the air as she kicked. His eyes were drawn to her ankles as she kicked, a faded circular scar around each one marring her otherwise flawless skin.
"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" Fleur asked, startling Harry from his admiration.
"Am I?" he asked with a small smile.
The week that passed since Fleur first began to sense him had done more to comfort him than he could possibly have imagined. He'd been frightened at first, despite his assurances to her that he didn't mind being so vulnerable, but her care and persistent consideration had slowly put his fears to rest. Even after seeing him at his lowest in the kitchen, she was nothing but compassionate, giving him the space he needed to calm himself.
Even during his time of introspection, he had seen the overwhelming excitement in Fleur's expression whenever he asked what she felt from him. As his nervousness dwindled, he began taking every opportunity to offer her that simple joy. He had a hard enough time expressing himself properly to her, and her special understanding had almost become...welcome. He was going to miss it when he returned to Hogwarts.
"Not right this minute," she said, her sky-blue eyes refocusing on his own.
She smiled the gentle appreciative smile he knew came from his acceptance of her abilities. He'd had many nearly sleepless nights at the Delacour's. Some from nightmares and others spent trying to further understand his friend. He knew she always meant what she said, and could be quick to temper if provoked the right way, but it was what made her happy and content that he puzzled over. She had done so much for him in their relatively short friendship, that he felt the simple allowance of her sensory ability fell far short of equal.
He just...wanted her to be happy.
"What are you thinking of?" Fleur asked, startling him back out of his thoughts. "I do not often feel that from you. Are you thinking of your godfather? Or your friends? It feels like...fondness?"
"Erm, yeah," Harry said, fumbling to cover his embarrassment. "Thinking about my friends."
"Have you let them know you are here yet? They could come to visit," she asked gently.
"No," Harry answered. "I'd have to explain to Hermione why I'm here. She wouldn't let me get away without an explanation. Ron might not ask too many questions, but he'd probably be a bit of a prat about it for a while."
"About you needing to leave your family?"
"About...er...staying here with you," Harry said, trying to fight the flush he felt creeping down his neck.
"About staying with a Veela, you mean," Fleur said icily.
Harry suppressed a sigh. Ron was one such topic that got Fleur quickly riled up. She had little tolerance for his 'fairweather friend' as she called him, and Harry had little success is dissuading her from her view, though reminding her that Ron had followed him into the legendary Chamber of Secrets had helped him make a little progress.
"Maybe," Harry allowed. "But even if he was able to get to know the real you, he'd probably still be a little jealous."
"Mmm," Fleur hummed noncommittally.
Harry cursed inwardly for stumbling onto another sensitive topic. Fleur knew she was beautiful, but she always tried to call as little attention to that fact as possible. She often spent the summer days in loose trousers and shirts, her flowing silvery hair usually tied back by one of her many ribbons. It had taken a lot of thought, but he thought he finally understood how she had gravitated towards him, and how, surprisingly, they'd become such good friends. She just wanted a normal life, to be normal, and blend in with a crowd without turning heads everywhere she went. When he had come to that realization, he had almost laughed aloud at the thought of him turning as many heads as someone as beautiful as Fleur. She had certainly turned his at the World Cup, even without her allure.
Before Harry could figure out how to resurrect their conversation, a large owl came swooping into the clearing, landing between them. Fleur reached to the letter, pulling her hand back with a hiss when the bird snapped at her finger. Holding her injured hand, she looked up wide-eyed at Harry.
"Very few people know you are here," she said, looking back down to the letter. "That is probably important."
Harry reached out slowly, the touchy owl following his every movement. He gently pulled the letter from the owl's leg.
"I think I'll send my reply with Hedwig if that's okay," Harry told the bird before scanning the sky. "I'm sure she's around here somewhere."
The owl hooted once before taking wing, flying swiftly from sight.
"What is it? If you do not mind me asking," Fleur asked as Harry's eyes widened.
"Look for yourself," he said, handing over the small piece of parchment.
WHERE ARE YOU?
-Sirius
"Rather to the point, is he not?" Fleur asked, her mouth quirking up into a smile. "Do you think he would want to come to visit? Would he be able to visit?" She gestured across herself with one hand, irritation leaking into her tone.
"I would have to ask him," Harry said, dropping the letter in the grass. He wanted to see his godfather, but he couldn't help the pang of disappointment that followed.
"What is it?" Fleur asked.
"It's like...there was a bubble here or something, and now that the real world is coming here too...I don't know," he finished, feeling foolish.
"It has been nice," Fleur agreed, smiling at him. "But your hearing is tomorrow, and you have to return to school soon."
"I know," he sighed. "I just don't want it to end."
"I know," Fleur answered, her voice surprisingly timid. "Me either. It has been a dream come true having someone stay the summer." She paused, then blushed deeply. "Ah, the circumstances notwithstanding, of course."
Fleur felt her face heat as she finished talking. She looked down at the ground, not for the first time wishing she was better at filtering her speech before it left her mouth. Instead of feeling his mood plummet, she instead felt it shift to light amusement. She looked back up into his eyes, surprised to see him smiling genuinely back at her. Not one of his amused half-smiles, or sickly attempts when he wasn't feeling well. One of his rare, true grins that scrunched up his eyes behind his round glasses. She couldn't help but grin back, any embarrassment easily driven away by his smile.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Sirius pulled the letter from Hedwig's leg, being sure to scratch the top of her head.
"Thanks, Hedwig," he said, unfurling the paper.
Sirius,
Sorry I haven't reached out to you, this summer has been a little odd, to say the least.
I'm staying with the Delacours. You remember talking about Fleur? The Beauxbatons champion? Her father is the French Ambassador to the Ministry and has taken me in for the rest of the summer.
I don't know if you've gotten anything from the Ministry yet, Mr. Delacour says you probably have, since the hearing is tomorrow, and so you know a little bit about why I'm staying here. I can tell you more later if you want me to, but you'll probably find it all out at the hearing.
They invited you over for dinner tonight, but since Fleur and her mother are both Veela, they said you'd need to know occlumency to come to visit.
Mr. Delacour says to floo over at seven if you can come, or send a reply with Hedwig if you won't be able to.
Either way, see you soon.
-Harry
Sirius set the letter down and let out a sigh of relief. He mentally thanked Dumbledore for insisting all members of the Order of the Phoenix learn occlumency to help keep their operations during the first war secret. He glanced at the clock on the wall to find he had very little time left to prepare himself before he was expected for dinner. He hoped he had something presentable to wear in his room that hadn't aged too poorly in his many years away. He started to grin as he climbed the stairs. Who would have thought that Sirius Black would find the idea of a simple dinner visit to be so exciting?
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Harry sat along with Fleur and Gabrielle in the parlor, waiting to greet Sirius. Hedwig had returned without a reply, giving Harry hope that his godfather would be able to come to visit the Delacours. He would also have the opportunity to talk with Sirius about everything that had happened…
Harry swallowed nervously, glancing over at Fleur who only smiled reassuringly in response. He tried to smile back, but the halfhearted attempt quickly vanished as the floo roared, and Sirius strode into the room.
"Harry!" Sirius said, grinning broadly as he approached. "It's good to see you!"
"You too Sirius," Harry replied, "and not in secret for once."
"I can still hardly believe it," said Sirius, turning to Fleur and Gabrielle who had risen from their seats to greet their guest. "Well, introduce me."
"This is Fleur," Harry said, holding his hand out towards her.
"It's nice to finally meet you," Sirius said, shaking Fleur's offered hand.
"You as well," Fleur replied, smiling up at him. "I am glad you could come."
"Me too, we had to learn Occlumency during the war, and it's been one of the most useful skills I gained during that time. Thank you for having me."
Harry moved his hand over to Gabrielle, who he could see was bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement.
"And this is Gabrielle."
"Eet is very nice to meet you," she said, offering her hand to shake as well. She beamed as she finished, her quick practice of the English phrase having proved effective.
"And you as well."
As Sirius let go of Gabrielle's hand Fleur gestured towards the dining room.
"Our parents are in the dining room finishing up preparations. Dinner should be ready in just a moment."
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Harry could only marvel at the dinner that followed, only interjecting as was necessary, the rest of the time content to observe. He had never thought he would end any of his summers in such a way. Though his hearing loomed overhead, he couldn't help but get sucked into the utter normalcy of sitting around a table with his friend and her family, and his godfather, who effortlessly endeared the Delacours to him. The conversation was light, Sirius sharing some of his more tame escapades during his time at Hogwarts, always taking care to include James' participation as well.
The end of the evening found Harry and Sirius alone up in his room, Mr. and Mrs. Delacour having insisted they have some quality time to themselves. Despite their lighthearted conversation, Harry could feel his nerves winding tighter as time passed, knowing precisely why Sebastian and Apolline had given them the time alone.
"How on earth did you end up with the family of the French Ambassador of all people?" Sirius asked after another lull in the conversation. He rose from his seat and dropped heavily on the edge of the bed next to where Harry sat. "If anything, I'd have expected the Weasleys."
"Well," Harry said, trying to get a handle on his raging anxiety, "it just sort of...happened. I didn't plan it or anything."
"Why don't...why don't you start at the beginning," Sirius said, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "You don't have to go into crazy details or anything like that. The letter from the ministry told me why you have a hearing tomorrow, so you don't really have to talk about that if you don't want to, though you're welcome to if you would like."
Sirius smiled crookedly at Harry.
"I'm not great at this sort of thing," he continued. "Growing up I always had to hide what I really thought if I wanted to make it through the day unscathed." His eyes grew distant as he stared out the dark window across from them.
"I'm glad you got out Harry," he said quietly. "It took me much longer to get up the courage to tell somebody what was happening to me."
"You...it happened to you too?" Harry asked, reeling from the revelation.
"Oh yes," Sirius said, laughing humorlessly. "You might call me the white sheep of the Black family. I suffered under the wand of my mother and father often. Moreso as I grew older and more rebellious. It wasn't until I was out of Hogwarts and living on my own that I was able to tell anyone." He turned to Harry, his grey eyes misty. "It was actually your mother I told first. She'd come to check on me after a particularly heavy bender, and I just...told her. I don't know why, but I did. Not long after that, the war started in earnest, and we didn't really have the chance to discuss it again. Though, compared to Azkaban, those memories really aren't that bad."
Harry sat in shock, staring wide-eyed at his godfather. Sirius seemed to shake himself free of the memories and smiled.
"I got carried away yammering on about the past," he said. "How did you end up here?"
"Well," Harry began, "Fleur wanted to exchange letters over the summer and suggested we use the muggle post since I wasn't allowed to use Hedwig. Because I left early last year to go to the world cup, they treated me extra badly this summer." He paused briefly, before deciding to skip the details. "She sent me a letter that said she knew something was wrong," he continued quietly, his eyes focused down on his knees. "She told me I could tell her, and she wouldn't feel any differently about me."
"Does she?" Sirius asked gently.
"I don't think so," Harry answered after a moment's thought. "She's not very good at hiding things, and she hasn't given me any reason not to trust her."
"You're lucky to have a friend like that," Sirius said, a wistful smile crossing his face.
Harry nodded.
"After I told her they hurt me, her father showed up a few days later to get me, and I've been here ever since. It's been...nice."
"If you would like," Sirius said slowly, a surprising rush of nervousness flowing through him as he mentally committed to his words, "I will do everything I can to get my title reinstated before the end of school. If I do, I can claim guardianship. That is...if you want me to." He smiled sheepishly at Harry, who smiled back.
"If you don't mind…" Harry said, "that would be great."
"It's a promise," Sirius said, awkwardly putting a hand out to shake. Harry stared at the hand, before gripping it in his own.
"Thank you."
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
"Ah, Harry, it is good to see you."
"You as well, sir," Harry replied, stopping his trek through the lower levels of the ministry. Dumbledore gestured to a nearby door, the numbers matching the room he'd been directed to by the excitable receptionist upstairs.
"Your court scribe will be here momentarily, but in the meantime, I suggest the three of us avail ourselves of the privacy this room offers," said Dumbledore, his eyes casting briefly out to the not-so-subtle crowd that had formed behind the Boy-Who-Lived and the French Ambassador on their walk to the lower levels.
"Is it so important that it cannot wait until the start of the school year?" Sebastian asked frostily.
"I expect you will find answers to the questions you so clearly have of me," Dumbledore answered serenely, his hand still held out in invitation.
Sebastian nodded stiffly, before turning his attention over to Harry.
"I'm okay if you are," said Mr. Delacour.
Harry nodded, gratefully stepping into the drab room, and away from the stares and mutters that had followed him through the Ministry. Inside the room sat a simple square table with a single chair on either side.
"We can conjure and transfigure furniture out of thin air, and this is what the ministry does with that ability?" Sebastian grumbled, opting instead to lean against a wall, his arms crossed across his chest, covering his official ministry badge.
"They are rather uninspired," Dumbledore agreed, pulling one of the chairs out and sitting in it. Harry followed suit, sitting down in the uncomfortable wooden chair opposite the Headmaster. Harry stared at Dumbledore, whose mustaches lifted in what Harry was sure was a distinctly uncomfortable smile. He felt his pulse quicken at Dumbledore's uncharacteristic lack of composure.
"I shall get straight to it then," Dumbledore said suddenly, his eyes shifting behind his spectacles quickly from Harry to Sebastian and back. "Harry...I owe you an apology of such magnitude that I have yet to determine a sufficient method of expressing my incredible regret."
Harry heard Sebastian shift position on the wall behind him but found he couldn't look away from Dumbledore's sorrowful gaze.
"Erm…" Harry finally managed. "What for, sir?"
"For everything that is happening here today," Dumbledore answered, gesturing to the room around them. "It is a very long story, that I will be happy to share, should you desire. To put it succinctly, I am the reason you were placed in your Aunt and Uncle's care."
Harry sat, unsure of how to reply. He'd known Dumbledore had been the one to place him at the Dursley's but had no idea how anything that had happened could have been the Headmaster's fault.
Picking up on Harry's confusion, Dumbledore continued. "I had many spells and enchantments placed around your home to ensure that no Death Eater could find you, or cause you harm." He sighed heavily, the breath pushing his whiskers out as it escaped. "Had I thought to encompass the interior of the home in the enchantments, you would not have suffered so for all these years."
"You couldn't have known," Sebastian interjected, his tone noticeably warmer than when they had entered.
Harry found himself nodding along with the statement, though a nasty tendril of anger wormed its way out of the depths of his mind. All those years of torture and suffering, the dreams where he'd begged for death, they all could have been avoided if Dumbledore had thought to turn around? He clasped his hands together tightly below the table and willed the anger from his features.
"Regardless," Dumbledore continued. "You ended your fourth year at Hogwarts being tortured by the Cruciatus, and then are forced to return to such a hostile environment…" Dumbledore trailed off, shaking his head, his long white hair swinging behind him. "I have failed you in so many ways, Harry," Dumbledore almost whispered, the lines in his face seemed to grow deeper as he spoke, a weight sitting heavy on his soul. The aged wizard sat for a moment, his eyes focused on the table between them, before he straightened, a hard determination to the set of his eyes in place of the usual friendliness Harry was used to finding behind the half-moon spectacles.
"If you will let me, I will endeavor to make amends. Not only should this not have happened to you, but the war we are about to find ourselves in should never have fallen onto your shoulders."
Before Harry had time to reply, a knock sounded from the door, and it opened to reveal a middle-aged witch with black hair tied in a tight bun. She held a quill in one hand and a clipboard in the other. Her eyes were focused down on the clipboard as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a foot.
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Delacour, I am Valerie Cosgrove. I will be your-" her speech died as she looked up to meet the twinkling gaze of Albus Dumbledore. "Ah, Supreme Mugwump, what are you doing here...sir?" she added.
"I was just leaving so Mr. Potter can get this dreadful business over with," Dumbledore said, rising from his seat. He turned to Harry and Sebastian and smiled. "Thank you for indulging me. I wish you a quick visit here today."
Valerie sat in the newly vacated chair as the door closed behind Dumbledore, and placed her clipboard on the table. She took a deep breath, regaining her composure.
"As I was saying," she began again. "I am Valerie Cosgrove. I work in the Department of Family Affairs. I will be your scribe for today, Mr. Potter."
"It's nice to meet you, ma'am," replied Harry.
"As you are still a minor, we have some extra precautions in place to preserve your privacy during this delicate proceeding. Have you been made aware of these precautions?"
Harry shook his head before glancing over his shoulder to Mr. Delacour, who shrugged, and stepped forward.
"I am also curious," Sebastian said. "I was unable to get much information about the methods used here in Britain to keep the information from getting out, especially in what could be, forgive me Harry, such a high profile case."
Valerie nodded.
"It's not something we try to advertise, lest some of the less scrupulous individuals of the press find ways to subvert our methods of protecting the minor in question. I will explain.
"All members of the jury, as well as any ministry employee involved, myself included, are given a proprietary memory potion prior to the hearing. After judgment has been cast, a catalyst is then consumed, removing any memories created after drinking the potion. Anyone that has been invited to observe the hearing is not required to drink the potion, though may be asked to do so at the discretion of the prosecuting party."
She looked down at the paper attached to the clipboard, and her eyes widened briefly in surprise.
"I see the only person you have invited to the hearing is Sirius Black. Should he be given a memory potion?"
Harry shook his head slowly.
"He should probably know," he answered quietly.
Valerie made a quick note, then folded the parchment over the top of the clipboard, exposing a number of blank pieces of parchment underneath. She carefully pulled a small vial from her breast pocket and held it in front of her.
"This is the memory potion. I will drink it now, and the catalyst once the hearing is completed. I will transcribe your words exactly as you say them, and deliver them to the courtroom. After we are finished here, you are free to either join us in the courtroom, wait outside for the verdict, or return home, and we will owl you the result."
As she finished speaking, she quickly undid the stopper of the small crystal vial and downed the contents in one quick gulp. She shuddered briefly, then picked up the quill.
"Please Mr. Potter. Tell me as much, or as little as you would like about your time living at Privet Drive with Petunia and Vernon Dursley."
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
"I don't recognize your authority!" Vernon Dursley shouted at the assembled freaks of nature assembled before him. The leader, a middle-aged man in a ridiculous pointed hat sighed, and leaned back in his seat.
"We are well aware of your views on wizarding kind, Mr. Dursley," the man said, lifting a sheet of paper in front of him. "Worthless freaks" and "blights on society" appear no fewer than five times during your escort to this courtroom."
The man gestured to the group to Vernon's left, a group of supposedly normal people. Probably just more of those unnatural freaks in disguise.
"As you can see," the man in the hat continued, "and as we have explained, we have a jury of muggles to assist in our final verdict. This is not our first time blending our justice systems together."
"They're all either one of you lot, or they've been paid off," snarled Vernon, earning a squeak of agreement from his wife.
"Fortunately for us, your cooperation and belief are not required. We offer you the opportunity to accept a dose of Veritaserum, a truthfulness potion, in exchange for a more lenient sentence. What say you?" The man said loudly, addressing the room as well as the Dursleys.
"It's more likely poison than some truth serum," Vernon said. "Why would we take anything you offer?"
"The accused has refused the Veritaserum. We shall begin."
Sirius sat in his seat in the back of the relatively small stone-clad courtroom, watching Vernon and Petunia dig their metaphorical graves. He'd started the hearing angry and frustrated, but by the time the presiding judge had finished reading Harry's accounts of his years with his aunt and uncle, Sirius had grown positively murderous. The only thing staying his hand had been the glimpse he'd gotten of Harry's fearful pale face as he stared wide-eyed at Petunia and Vernon as the courtroom doors had closed, sealing him outside. He had half a mind to apparate from the ministry directly to St. Mungos and demand Jacobson approve him for reinstatement.
Sirius' scowl slowly deepened as Vernon's protests began to falter and weaken as Harry's written testimony neared its end, the events detailed within becoming magnitudes more horrible. Sirius ground his teeth, his hands tightly gripping his knees. Seeing Vernon lose his ignorant confidence was nice, but it was a far cry from satisfying Sirius' rage. He was pulled from his thoughts as a member of the group of muggles stood and began to speak.
"It is our opinion that the...wizarding court...is justified in their removal of Mr. Potter from number four Privet Drive. We approve the motion to move the trial to a...er...non-magical...court, to try Vernon and Petunia Dursley on the charges of child abuse and neglect."
"You can't convict us," Vernon shouted, though sweat beaded his purpling brow, and his voice held little strength. He pointed one large hand at the group of muggles. "You're just like them! I won't stand for this sham of a trial."
"As the Jury has ruled, Harry James Potter will be permanently removed from the care of the Dursleys effective immediately. The Department of Family Affairs will work to locate a home for Mr. Potter by the end of the Hogwarts term should no acceptable claim to guardianship nor adoption requests be brought forward. This hearing is adjourned. Please bring forward the catalyst."
Sirius rose from his seat, striding purposefully from the room, and far from the temptation surrounding the Dursleys. He cracked the large door open and slid out, doing his best to limit the obnoxious shouting issuing from an irate Vernon Dursley. He found Harry sitting on a bench not far from the courtroom door, his head in his hands. Sebastian Delacour sat next to him, speaking in low tones too soft for Sirius to hear.
Sirius raised a hand in greeting as he approached, a large genuine smile on his face. Harry looked up. His eyes were red and tired behind his round glasses.
"I hope you don't mind hearing it from me, instead of an official ministry employee, but it's over," Sirius said, taking a seat on the other side of Harry.
Harry turned to look at Sirius, disbelief clear in his wide eyes.
"It's true," Sirius said to the unasked question. "It was pretty cut and dry. They didn't deny anything, pretty much just shouted the whole time. They're going to be taken to a muggle court and tried properly within their own justice system."
Harry simply blinked owlishly at Sirius, his hands falling to his lap.
"I know, Harry," Sirius said quietly, his smile fading. "It's hard to believe, and you probably thought the feeling of sudden freedom would be enough to make you soar out of this place." He grinned reassuringly, placing a slow gentle hand on Harry's knee. "That'll come. I promise you. It'll come when you don't expect it, and it'll probably knock you flat, but it'll come."
He patted Harry's knee and removed his hand, getting to his feet and holding out a hand.
"I am very happy to be the one to tell you that it is over, and you are free. This time next year, we'll be getting you ready for another year at Hogwarts together at Grimmauld Place."
A grin spread slowly across Harry's face, pushing a few tears from his eyes that were quickly brushed away. He grabbed Sirius' hand and hefted himself to his feet.
"It's a deal."