Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling

Chapter 20 :

Aberforth Dumbledore was getting tired of his house guest, who expected to be waited on, but who had never hinted that he might pay for his keep, let alone the room. He was losing income by having the room occupied, and he worried that other guests would see and recognise his brother. He was harbouring a criminal, though it was not yet widely known that Dumbledore was wanted by the aurors.

Right now, he was out, he didn't know where. He let himself into his room, surveying the mess, and thinking there would be some cleaning to do when his brother was finally gone. But then he tensed. He had thought that Dumbledore would have outgrown his fascination for dark magic, especially as he posed as the 'Leader of the Light.' But all the same, he could sense something very bad here. Long ago, when Albus had left their childhood home in the midst of rows, he had left some horrible artefacts behind. And that was when Aberforth had made himself an expert at destroying such evil. He might not have had the sheer power of Albus, but he was quite sure he had just as much intelligence, and without the utter conceit of his older brother.

After half an hour, he had assembled eight items, all of them with the taint of dark magic, but only one that reeked of total evil. He left that until last, knowing it would be the most difficult. He dealt with seven, removing the spells from three, but leaving them otherwise undamaged, destroying four, but he was still left with that tiara. It had proven resistant to his spells, resistant to a particular potion, and he sighed. Basilisk venom was very expensive. It didn't stop him, and he made his way to the Potions shop.

Even then, it took a while for the tiara to melt into a puddle, while the darkness inside it wailed. Finally, the wisp of black spirit emerged, he said the spell, and it vanished. Job done. He went and poured himself a Fire Whisky. He'd done a very good job, he felt, and deserved the reward.

Far away, Voldemort's spirit writhed in agony. He had managed to recover from the last blow, had left the Flamels' place where the Philosopher's Stone might have been, and had been seeking another way of returning to full life. He was close to Azkaban. He could feel the pull of a devoted follower who might help him. But the destruction of a second horcrux left him again in pain, lost and confused. It would take a while for him to recover.

Albus was furious when he returned to find one of his cartons half unpacked, and the irreplaceable heirloom totally destroyed. He wanted to curse Aberforth, but he was fairly sure that he had killed his sister, even if accidentally, and this was his brother. He thought he might kill Harry Potter instead. It was all his fault.

He picked up the Thinking Cap and put it on. Maybe it would tell him how. But the Thinking Cap was one of those things that Aberforth had treated. It no longer worked. Instead of making him think of poison and trickery, it reminded him of birthday cakes and the Polka. And that only made Dumbledore more angry than before. It was all the fault of Harry Potter, the rotten little kid that refused to be humbled sufficiently to be used as a tool of the great and wise headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

xxx

Harry was having a wonderful time. It was like with his vision cleared, there was something released within him. He was mastering ever more advanced spells, and Mick said he was easily up to fourth year standard. The Patronus. He could make a fully corporeal Patronus now. It took the form of a stag, life-size, and with a set of antlers that looked fierce enough to take on anything. Even his skill in Potions had improved. He could distinguish subtle differences in colour and appearance now, and that gave him the essential clues that told him when it was time to add a new ingredient or an extra stir. He hadn't even known that he was working under such a disadvantage - in addition to the disadvantage of an incompetent and bullying teacher.

Lyall was visiting that day, and watched him at Defence training with as much interest as Brandon. Harry didn't mind. According to that book, House Potter had an alliance with House Greaves, and Harry thought that any enemies of the Greaves were his enemies as well - probably. He would not be an unthinking tool, of course. And yet the Greaves had done so much for him.

He was weary by the time he finished, and Mick sent him off to shower and change while he talked to the men. Harry shot a look at them, and obeyed.

Lyall asked Mick, "Can you teach him to apparate, do you think?"

Mick said doubtfully, "He's very young."

"I know, and it's only a few days before he returns to school. And yet, if he is attacked, it is the best defence."

"If he tries to do it without expert help available..."

"It can be dangerous, of course. But Harry is sensible. I will emphasise that he should only use it if his life is under imminent threat."

But Harry, when the idea was explained, to him, said, "I think I did that once. I was running away from some bigger kids, and suddenly I was out of their reach, on the roof." He shook his head. "I was in awful trouble for it, and I didn't try again."

Lyall said, "Probably a good thing, too. The danger is not to be underestimated."

"I'd like to do it, though. No-one will think a kid could do it, so they won't guard against it."

"Officially, of course, you are not permitted to do it until you are seventeen and have a Ministry licence."

"I'll tell no-one."

Mick nodded. "Then we'll start tomorrow. There's not really enough time, but we'll come back to it in the Christmas break."

"The Christmas break?" Harry asked, suddenly tentative, and Brandon said firmly, "Of course you come home for Christmas. Our children always come home for Christmas."

Harry said, "Thank you, Uncle Brandon. Thank you for everything."

They'd given him a home, they'd given him better health and especially better eyesight. And yet Hermione had sent him a short note that repeated he should not trust them. He hadn't answered. He was unhappy with Hermione.

xxx

Lucius Malfoy asked his wife how Sirius was going and she replied that it was a slow process, but he was slowly getting better.

"Does he have friends helping? Aside from yourself, I mean?"

"His closest friends are all dead, I think."

"His dealings with Harry Potter?"

"He is disappointed with Harry. He says he's joined the pure-blood snobbery class."

Lucius raised an eyebrow and the habitual sneer crept into his voice. "Like us, he means?"

"Probably. I told him to keep that opinion to himself if he wanted to take his proper place in society."

"You could try setting Molly Weasley onto him. She may be pure-blood, but not..."

"Not one of us, you mean? No, she's not," and after a moment, Narcissa said thoughtfully, "Maybe a wife would help. Maybe that will help bring him a little more stability."

"You think so? But who would marry him? He used to be a womaniser, and then he spent all those years in Azkaban... Who would marry him?"

"She has to be a pure-blood, of course. And a woman young enough to bear children, even if Sirius is not up to much to begin with. I want House Black as part of the Vanie again."

"Azkaban destroys people. Every single day, I think of how lucky I was that they accepted my excuses."

Narcissa said, "Mostly thanks to me, of course."

"You were invaluable. You were always better than I was at strategy."

"I told you never to get involved with the Dark Lord."

"I wish I'd listened to you."

After a moment, Lucius said, "Cecilia Shunpike? She's in her early twenties, the Shunpikes have a reputation for fertility and that's vital, and with her looks, she's in no position to be fussy."

"If she agrees, her son could be Head of House Black one day. That would have to be an incentive."

"So you'll approach her?"

"In a roundabout sort of fashion. She does have an impeccable pedigree. If she has any sense, she'll jump at it.

xxx

Cecilia Shunpike was a last minute addition to a small entertainment at the Black house in London two days later. It was arranged by Narcissa, who mentioned to each one of those invited, except for Cecilia, that they should stay no more than two hours, as Sirius was still not strong. Harry was included, along with Brandon and Sonia, but also Molly and Arthur Weasley.

Molly was motherly and Arthur was friendly, but Harry was stand offish, Sirius thought, and he didn't like it. And he looked different without his glasses. He was not like James at all. And he didn't like it that either Brandon or Sonia was always close to him. Did they think he was not to be trusted? Dumbledore had tried to abduct him. Maybe that was why.

He ignored Cecilia for a start. He'd only ever been interested in beautiful women, and Cecilia had nothing of beauty. She was short, she had a snub nose, and yet, when the conversation switched to some new laws that were proposed, she spoke with knowledge and judgement.

She lingered a little longer than the others, and Sirius talked to her of her extensive family. A marriage to her would advance his status - but she was not beautiful. Quite suddenly, he was tired, she noticed the signs, and rose to leave.

Sirius staggered to bed. It was taking such a long time to get better. Azkaban should not exist. No man should be subject to such a cruel punishment. Dementors should not exist, but no-one had been able to kill a Dementor. It was thought better to supply a sufficient number of victims than that they preyed on innocents, and that was why they were permitted to act as prison guards. His father had explained it to him one day, long ago.

There was another prison where those convicted of lesser crimes were sent – Bransen Prison. A certain disreputable associate of Dumbledore, one Mundungus Fletcher, commonly known as Dung, had served a few short stints in Bransen Prison. But the Dementors. Surely there had to be a better way to control them than to supply them with their quota of victims. If he became an influence, maybe he could do some good. He was Head of House Black, and that was a very ancient House, quite unpolluted with Muggle blood. It was time it was respected again.

xxx

Mick Larkin was thrilled with Harry's success. Instead of the traditional way of teaching apparation, he'd had him spend an hour in meditation, concentrating on what he'd done and how he'd felt when he had made that previous apparation. And then Harry had just done it, first time, and every time after. He was still forbidden from doing it unless it was to save his life, but he was competent.

Back at Hogwarts, Neville stopped next to Ron at dinner, and said, "His trunk is here. He must be coming back."

Ron said, "Tell Hermione. She's convinced he'll never be free again and just doesn't realise it," and once Neville was out of earshot, murmured to Dean, beside him, "I was almost hoping she was right. I'll have to give back his broomstick."

Harry was also at dinner, with his family. He was going to miss this; it had been so nice. But he'd be coming back at Christmas, and other school holidays. And he was wanted. It was very nice to be wanted.

When he dressed for school the next morning, his wand was in his sleeve holster, and he was additionally armed with a second wand secured to his ankle, a knife in a light holster worn on his other ankle, all hidden by long socks and ankle-length robes, There had been hints and rumours that Dumbledore wanted him captive or dead, and Dumbledore had some powerful allies. There had also been hints and rumours that the prisoners in Azkaban had been shrieking greetings to their once-great master, and very probably, if Voldemort did manage to return to full life, he might also want Harry captive or dead. He should be safe at Hogwarts, with Dumbledore gone, but Harry was in full agreement with Sonia and Brandon that he should also be as prepared as possible.

Sonia broke her usual reserve as he prepared to floo, gave him a quick hug and said. "You are not to worry too much about attack. Hogwarts is for enjoyment and being with your friends, most of all."

Brandon said, "Be prepared, of course, always, but yes. Don't allow it to mar your enjoyment. You will never be twelve again, so enjoy your time."

Harry laughed and said, "Is it such a privilege to be twelve?"

"I don't know. Just don't be too serious, that's all."

"I won't. I love the school, and I'm looking forward to playing Quidditch again."

The floo flared green, and Harry was gone.

Brandon said, "We have done a good thing with that boy."

"It was nice seeing him blossom."

"He started to trust, and I don't think that boy has ever had anyone to trust."