author's note: Starting with book IV, I'll probably start posting once a week (on Tuesdays) to try and arrange the chapters of Book V in something resembling a sensible order. And to give myself time to finish the last two books, of course. Gives any readers a chance to catch up, too.
Chapter Seventy-Three: To Save Buckbeak
Of course, Harry's natural inclination was to speak with the Sorting Hat. It would be the first time he'd spoken to the Hat since…well, since the big confrontation. But he scowled as he realised that the Hat must have known all along—in both of their cases, and never said anything.
He blinked. Hadn't it said that it kept these secrets for those it sorted? For better or for worse, at great cost, with no reward possible? Something to that effect. That was just proof of its words. Put that way, it was somewhat…reassuring.
It might have had the decency to tell him where his brother was, at least. Would that be asking too much?
And speaking of…he probably ought to tell Ron and Hermione this news…but somehow, he suspected that he'd just get drawn into Hermione's planning sessions. Perhaps, he should speak with Professor Lupin, Tonks, and Sirius instead…Tonks was an auror, perhaps she…?
The fact was, it was galling to be stuck here, safe at Hogwarts, not knowing what was going on. At least Dumbledore had promised to keep him informed. He'd just have to find something else with which to occupy his time. He knew that Hermione could be counted on to drag him into her plans.
He turned to Fawkes. "Do you suppose he'd mind, Guy?" he asked the phoenix, who, by now, probably could guess precisely what Harry was talking about. The bird just stared at him, and then gave a little trill, that he took for permission. But instead, full of a restless energy, he shrugged, and said, "I'm leaving. I have to accomplish something here."
Fawkes gave a sad little trill of farewell, and Harry made his way through the corridors to the Defence classroom with the same lack of attention that had brought him to Dumbledore's office.
Professor Lupin looked up as he appeared in the doorway. "Ah, Harry, come in," he said, with a smile. "I would have left by now, but tonight—and tomorrow night—are the full moon. I thought it best to take advantage of this, while I still could—"
"What's the matter, kiddo?" asked Sirius, rising to his feet and crossing the room. "Come in; sit down…you look like you've seen a ghost."
"Ghosts are all over Hogwarts," Professor Lupin pointed out. Sirius just smiled.
"It's a muggle expression, Remus. Isn't that right, Nymphie?"
"Call me that again, Black, and I hex you. Wotcher, Harry!" said the unfortunately named girl.
Harry glanced around the room as if he expected a wall of boggarts to show up and attack him.
"Well, today is the day slated for Buckbeak's execution—"
"Ah, yes. I'd forgotten," Professor Lupin muttered, with a grimace.
"—but that misfortune pales in comparison to others. Do you believe in the reality of foretelling the future?"
There was a pause, as everyone tried to understand his abrupt change of subject.
"I never really thought about it," Professor Lupin said diplomatically, taking a sip of the Wolfsbane Potion, and grimacing. He seemed otherwise to be relaxing, sitting at his desk, and taking some time to hang out with his friends. Harry thought he probably shouldn't have interrupted—but if anyone deserved to know about a potential breakout by Peter Pettigrew, it was these two, whose lives he had ruined.
"I think your Dad did," said Sirius. "He could make some convincing arguments for it, but I'm on the fence. Don't we make our own destinies?"
"You just say that because you're the odd Black out," said Tonks, rolling her eyes. "You always have to be different. But everyone in the House of Black has to learn all these long-standing traditions—prophecies have been around for a long time. And the Unspeakables clearly believe in them, or they wouldn't be researching them in the Hall of Prophecy. But what does this have to do with anything?"
Asking what an "Unspeakable" was could wait. It sounded like some manner of title.
"Professor Trelawney gave a prophecy that sent Dumbledore to the Ministry to check up on some things. I was there to hear her prophecy, and it sounded…bad. It seemed to concern Peter Pettigrew."
The sudden tension in the room was so taut and thick that you could cut it.
"That traitor?" snapped Sirius Black, looking quite different, almost deranged, with his head bowed, and his fists clenched. He'd cut his hair to about shoulder length, his clothes were typical muggle attire, and his fingernails were neat and even, and yet somehow he looked far more dangerous than he had on that first night. He didn't have his wand in his hand, but his eyes seemed to shoot sparks.
"A prophecy…are you sure? Professor Trelawney, er…didn't strike me as the type—" Professor Lupin said. His diplomacy was falling a bit flat in the wake of the sudden hard lighting of the room.
"It's the end of the school year," Harry said. "This sort of thing tends to happen. I shouldn't be surprised if I encounter a dementor of twelve before the day is out…even if they have all returned to Azkaban."
Sirius paled a bit at the mention of the place, and Harry shot him an apologetic look.
"What was the prophecy?" asked Tonks, and Harry frowned. He couldn't remember her giving it, but he remembered what he'd told Dumbledore, and he could recite that.
"I gave Dumbledore my memory of the incident, to help him convince the Ministry—"
"As if that'll work," Sirius growled. "Incompetent fools! You saw how they handled my case—"
Sudden, complete silence, the kind that comes of a rising crisis that no one knows how to handle.
"Perhaps if I went to the Ministry—" Tonks suggested, casting worried glances around the room.
He'd done nothing but put them on edge.
"I just thought that you should know…keep your guard up." He wished he hadn't come, even as he knew that he had to. He spent some more time giving half-hearted suggestions as to what they should do, before he conceded defeat, and left.
The natural thing to do after witnessing a dangerous prediction was to seek out Ron and Hermione, and tell them what he'd witnessed. It was just as well that he'd gone to Dumbledore first, and then Sirius, Professor Lupin, and Tonks, because Hermione had scarcely lain eyes on him before she redirected his attention. Today was, after all, the day slated for Buckbeak's execution, and Hermione was a woman of single-minded focus. She'd even drawn Ron into things. He looked quite as long-suffering as Harry felt.
Her plan went off without a hitch, unless you counted the natural difficulties in trying to convey your intentions to an animal. There was a certain language barrier. Hippogriffs were probably aware of the concept of death, but probably less aware of the existence of murder or execution, and even less how to plan to save yourself from those. He knew that Hagrid took care of him, and loved him, and Hagrid's tears and wailing made him strain against the rope.
But the rope was being held by Ron, so there was one fewer hurdle in their line-up. Few creatures in this world had the physical strength and stamina to drag Ron anywhere against his will. The reverse was not as true. Once Ron had bowed to Buckbeak, received Buckbeak's approval, and led him into the woods, they had to keep still and quiet, watching the cabin closely to see who came and went, and listening in to hear what they decided.
He had not expected Dumbledore's presence, but it had been several hours since he'd issued his warning. Still, it was most likely not a good sign that Fudge had come, in person, to see to the execution of Buckbeak, instead of staying behind in the Ministry. That seemed to suggest that their priorities were somewhat…skewed
At last, they left. Dumbledore's suggestion that they "search the skies" was one of the last comments anyone made before they all left the cabin to head back to the castle. Hagrid was about to get very drunk to celebrate Buckbeak's escape which he thought was Buckbeak untying his own rope (knots are very unreliable things), when, unless Harry was much mistaken, Dumbledore had just covered for them.
Hermione was smug about the entire matter, even before Buckbeak was safe. Harry quietly reminded her that they still needed to get Buckbeak to Mundungus Fletcher, somehow, and she wrinkled her nose at the name of a man she'd never even met. She knew that he was a thief and a criminal, and, although what they were doing right now was, technically speaking, illegal, that didn't make her any more inclined to accept a thief—even one who was doing her a favour, had fought against Riddle in the last war, and who greatly admired (and was steadfastly loyal to) Dumbledore.
Hermione was exactly the sort of person who never noticed her own hypocrisy, Harry mused as they led Buckbeak at a muffled trot over towards the Whomping Willow. Crookshanks glared at them as they approached, as if to ask them what had taken so long, before darting over the tree, and pressing a paw to its trunk. They could have used one of its fallen branches, but that was much more difficult to do—aiming through those lashing limbs without getting close enough for it to strike you—and Sirius had already taught Crookshanks the secret; might as well make use of it.
They waited until they were well along the path to the Shrieking Shack to relax even slightly. It would be a bit of a trick, getting out of the Shack, with all of its doors and windows boarded up, but Harry knew that, between him and Hermione, they could manage. If Ron didn't just knock the door down, or something. It was the sort of thing he would do.
Because there was no true rush, Harry was able to prise the boards off the door (with Ron's help, of course) and shift them to the side. He had no idea how they were going to replace the boards again without a hammer, but decided that saying such a thing was probably not the best idea. It was also entirely possible (or absurdly likely?) that Ron had managed to bring his pet hammer with him when he was incarnated as a human, and—
Yes, those were thoughts best left for another time. Judging by the appearance of The Burrow, however, there were magical means of replacing those boards. If this activity was truly sanctioned by Dumbledore, he would probably arrange to have those boards fixed before anyone could discover the tunnel leading to Hogwarts. Which did not mean that he, Ron, and Hermione would just leave the boards hanging loose around the frame of the door.
Mundungus Fletcher was one of those patrons of the Hog's Head who wore a cowl over his face, the ones that Hagrid had mentioned so casually in first year. Harry could see a pair of extremely baggy eyes, a chin covered with stubble, and surprisingly full lips, under a rather long nose. But not all at the same time, as the cloak worked hard to keep his profile in shadow.
The bartender glared over in their direction, occasionally, as if knowing that they were not supposed to be there, which seemed plausible, but Mundungus Fletcher assured them, in his rather rough and scratchy voice, that the old man never breathed a word of his dealings before. Also, he apparently had been a member of Dumbledore's old Order, too. Those people were suddenly coming out of the woodwork, which was probably just as well, given—
Oh. Now, with Buckbeak off their hands, and the immediate task of trying to repair the Shrieking Shack to look forward to, Harry remembered the prophecy. But he knew that it was pointless to mention it to Hermione—she'd just scoff, and right now she was radiant with her triumph. Her thundercloud of hair, even, seemed to be glowing. He wouldn't ruin it for her with talk of things she didn't believe in.
At the same time, it seemed wrong to only tell Ron. He considered the matter on the way back to the Shack.
The next step was transfiguring items they found on the way into tools they could use for construction. They'd have to tell Dumbledore about their efforts…and maybe Sirius, Professor Lupin, and Tonks could help them instead, but for now, they needed just anything of around the same shape and size as hammers and nails. Rocks and sticks worked well enough, for the moment. It was only a stopgap measure, after all.
Harry picked up a rock hammer, and shot a glance, aside, at Ron. He thought the entire thing was hilarious, but Ron didn't seem to agree. Perhaps it made him nostalgic.
Hermione didn't know to comment on the quick work Ron made of the entire task. Harry was sure that nails were supposed to take a great deal more blows to sink in. Despite this, he knew that Ron and Hermione were both listening to what he remembered of the prophecy. Hermione, of course, was dismissive, Ron far less. He seemed troubled, and were it anyone else, Harry would fear that he'd hit his thumb with the hammer accidentally. But he hadn't forgotten who Ron was.
After they'd finished, they had to return to Hogwarts, cross the grounds without attracting attention, and somehow sneak back into Gryffindor Tower, where they were supposedly fast asleep. For this part of the journey, Harry pulled out the invisibility cloak, to hide them from prying eyes, and the Map, and they emerged back into the night, where Crookshanks was waiting. He twined around their legs, purring, and then stopped the Whomping Willow, so that they could head back into the castle.
It was difficult to believe that this was the cat who had caused Ron and Hermione's quarrels. Really, though, with Scabbers revealed to be a villain (or at least a minion), that made Crookshanks into the hero's sidekick, always an auspicious role. Neville had even forgiven the cat for getting him a week of detentions (after Crookshanks was revealed to have stolen the passwords, the detentions were canceled, which helped). Sir Cadogan was still in charge of passwords for the moment, which was always a bit of a hurdle to cross, but it was always amusing to watch Ron and Sir Cadogan interact. Harry wished that they'd met earlier, but he'd just enjoy it while he could. Ron always seemed a bit…diminished, after a chat with Sir Cadogan.
It was a bit less amusing when they were this pressed for time, but nothing much could be done about the matter. Sir Cadogan had insisted that the Fat Lady had forfeited her position for the year, and that therefore he, the stalwart defender of the young and the innocent, had taken up the standard, defending the Tower with steely courage, and….
Sir Cadogan had never shown any such ability, of course, but he had been the only portrait to volunteer for the job, and Dumbledore had elected to humour him. Harry was confident that he wouldn't even remember the three of them passing through, late at night, on the last day of term. He'd keep silent, for rather different reasons from the Fat Lady. That was all that mattered to them, for the moment.
No one could discover how Buckbeak had escaped, a week later, perhaps because they were too busy focusing on the breakout from Azkaban Fortress. Peter Pettigrew had somehow escaped in the middle of the night. Probably, the fact that he hadn't been put in a cell specially designed for animagi assisted in this ("He was in temporary holding there, surrounded by dementors—we were about to move him to a proper cell, but these things take a while to prepare", a flustered Fudge was reported to have said). Harry threw the paper across the table in disgust.
"Well," he said, putting quite a bit of emphasis into the word. He thought it sufficient response. He felt Ron's gaze land on him, more troubled than it had been in months. The Dark Lord will rise again... greater and more terrible than ever he was….
Sirius Black and Remus Lupin breached protocol by joining them at the gryffindor table. Technically, Professor Lupin was no longer a professor, which meant that he couldn't get in trouble for it—he no longer even had the authority to award points.
"I see you've heard the news," said Professor Lupin. He sounded tired, and his voice was hoarse and creaky. He put his head in his hands, looking down at the table, as the gryffindor students in Harry's vicinity turned to look at their strange little corner.
"I should have let you kill him," Harry said to Sirius. "This is what comes of showing mercy." The way he spat out the last word made Ron glance over at him, and then move over to be ready to act at a moment's notice. Harry, in other circumstances, would have rolled his eyes, but he honestly didn't know how to react.
"It's not your fault, kiddo," Sirius said. "You were right. If I'd killed Peter, I'd have gone back to Azkaban…old Voldy's still got plenty of supporters there. If it wasn't him, the prophecy could have been about any of the other Death Eaters… chained in different ways. These things have a way of coming true, I suppose. Don't tell Tonks I said that. Look, kid, Harry, don't blame yourself for this. You made the right choice…I wasn't thinking straight."
"But…if Riddle rises again…that makes it my fault."
"Then it's definitely my fault that your folks died," Sirius said, staring him down. Harry'd worked particularly hard to make Sirius stop blaming himself for just this—it was in the way of his recovery. Fool knew it, too. Harry decided that he hated talking to smart people. He liked being the one who knew how to talk people into corners, and hated having it turned back on him. But Sirius meant well. Harry sighed.
"Pettigrew owes you his life," Remus said, looking thoughtful. "That gives you a bit of leverage over him—something about bonds of spirit…I'll have to look it up…."
"Why did I bother telling Dumbledore?" asked Harry. "Are the Ministry always this inept?"
"Pretty much," agreed Sirius.
"But we're here for you, all the way," Hermione said, eyes suspiciously bright. Ron sighed, running a hand through his hair, and shot Harry a glance.
"Will you be alright?" he asked. "I might remind you that I, too, was present when Peter Pettigrew revealed himself."
Harry gave a bitter laugh. "As if I could forget. Very well, then, I understand what all of you are saying."
"Good," Hermione said, in a manner that stated in no uncertain terms that the discussion was closed.
"All that we can do is to be ready when Riddle rises again," Ron said, folding his arms, and frowned.
"He never escaped without help," Sirius snarled. "We should pursue that lead, I suppose. But I am concerned about you being alone at the Dursleys—"
"I have the Weasleys checking up on me every week," Harry said, glancing at Ron, who looked deep in thought. There was a time when he would probably have mocked Ron for that—or not Ron, per se—anyway, things were different, now, and the world was about to be upended, again. At least he had forewarning, this time.