Chapter 39: The Greater Good
Harry woke suddenly, heart pounding.
Where was Sirius?
He tried to sit up but something held him down, hands pushing him back. He struggled against them. He had to get to Sirius. He had to save him.
The world was blurry. He couldn't recognize anything. Where was he? Where was Sirius?
"Harry, calm down."
"No," Harry croaked, voice sounding distorted and wrong.
"I have to help Sirius."
He tried to sit up again, flailing weakly against the arms holding him down.
"Let me go," he pleaded desperately.
"Please."
The hands did not let go. Why were they trying to stop him? Were they Death Eaters? Was he still in the Department of Mysteries?
Where was Sirius?
"Can't you give him something?"
Harry ignored the Death Eater's voice. He didn't care how worried they sounded. He only cared about Sirius.
"We've done everything we can to bring the fever down, Mr. Weasley. His body has been through too much in the past few hours. We're doing the very best we can."
Harry kept struggling, refusing to admit defeat. He had to help his godfather. He had to.
"Sirius…" he called, hoping his godfather could hear him. No one responded. Maybe he should be louder?
He drew in a deep breath, preparing to shout. He choked on the air, losing himself to a coughing fit, lungs spasming terribly as he fought to breathe.
"Harry, you need to calm down. Just breathe."
Harry knew that voice.
George.
George was here.
He felt his heart begin to slow, panic receding a bit.
"Sirius?" he asked, hoping George knew where his godfather was.
"He's alright, Harry. He's fine."
Harry sighed in relief, exhaustion replacing his fear. If George said Sirius was fine, then he must be fine.
"Just go back to sleep. You're safe."
Sleep sounded nice. Harry let his eyes drift closed again, the world fading into darkness.
…
Harry dreamed, fevered images flitting through his mind.
He was sometimes awake, sometimes asleep, sometimes in-between.
He heard whispers, saw ghosts.
Rodolphus Lestrange screamed at him from beyond the veil, cursing him to hell, calling him a murderer.
Auror Langley asked Harry why he'd been so weak, why he'd let Voldemort invade his head.
Emmeline Vance shook her head in disappointment, wondering aloud how the child of Lily and James Potter could be such an incompetent fighter.
Someone was always with him when he woke from these dreams, whispering words of comfort that he couldn't quite understand. He was always able to drift back to sleep, falling deeper into the horror of his mind.
…
It was sunny.
Even with his eyes closed, Harry could see the golden glow of the light.
He opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the harsh rays of sunlight.
He reached toward the bedside table, hoping to find his glasses. He located them, sliding them onto his face.
The Hospital Wing came into focus, empty white beds stretching before him.
"I'm glad to see you awake, Harry."
Harry startled at the noise, turning to see Dumbledore sitting in an enormous purple armchair beside his bed, a large book open in his lap.
Upon seeing the Headmaster, Harry couldn't stop himself from blurting out question after question, all his worries spilling over.
"Where's Sirius? Is Tonks okay? How long was I asleep? What happened to…?"
Dumbledore held up a hand, offering him a soft smile.
"Slow down, Harry. Sirius is fine. Tonks is fine."
Harry still wasn't satisfied. He needed to see Sirius with his own eyes, needed to know for sure that his godfather was alright.
"Where is he? Can I see him? He's not back in Azkaban, is he?"
Dumbledore shook his head.
"No. He's being held at the Ministry. He's been there since you fell unconscious a little over 2 days ago. He will stay there until his trial."
A trial. Sirius was getting a trial.
"When is it?"
Dumbledore's face fell.
"Fudge is stalling. He hopes to use this trial in an attempt to save his job. He sees it as an opportunity to paint himself as competent. Voldemort's return is public now. The story broke in the Daily Prophet on Monday morning. Fudge thinks that if he can prove Sirius' guilt…"
"He still thinks he's guilty? How? Didn't they catch Pettigrew?"
Dumbledore shook his head sadly.
"No, I'm afraid not. Peter was among the Death Eaters who apparated away."
Harry couldn't believe this. He couldn't…
Dumbledore moved closer to him, resting a hand on Harry's arm.
"Harry, it will be alright. Amelia Bones is on our side. She will ensure that Sirius is set free. Once he is, Fudge will most certainly face a vote of no confidence. Everything will be fine."
Harry didn't believe him. Sirius had been betrayed by the system before. It could happen again.
"When's the trial?" Harry asked again, trying to stop his voice from shaking.
Dumbledore sighed, looking sad.
"Fudge has set it for July 25. It was the latest he could manage with Amelia breathing down his neck."
July 25? That was an entire month from now.
"Does he have to stay a prisoner for all that time?" Harry croaked, trying not to imagine Sirius in a cell, locked away, alone.
"I'm afraid so."
Harry felt his heart breaking for his godfather.
"He really is alright, Harry. I've been to see him several times, and he's being well taken care of. He thought you'd be worried, so he gave me this."
Dumbledore pulled a folded piece of parchment from his robes, handing it to Harry.
Sirius' messy handwriting stood out clearly on the parchment, scrawling and slanted. Harry frantically unfolded the note, nearly tearing it in his haste.
Harry,
Do not panic. I am fine.
I'm being held at the Ministry, but it's not a bad situation. I have a bed, I have food, I have books. Dumbledore has an Order member watching at all times. Nothing bad is going to happen. I promise.
I am getting a trial, Harry. I'm getting a trial, and I'm going to win. When that happens, we're going to be the family that we always should have been.
I know you saw that I let the Aurors take me. I hope you don't think it a weak choice. I did it because you need me to be a real guardian to you. Not just an escaped convict who you sometimes get to see.
I want to be here for you, Harry. I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure that I can be.
I'm afraid that I won't be able to write to you for a while. They're only letting me send one letter.
I have very little time left to write this, so I'll just say one more thing.
I love you, Harry.
No matter what happens, that will always remain true.
Love,
Sirius
Harry read the letter twice, trying to etch the words into his memory, trying to make himself believe them.
"I know this is difficult, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, breaking the silence between them.
"I do not wish to burden you any further, but we must speak about what will happen this summer."
Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. Hadn't they already had this discussion?
"I'm going back to the Dursleys, right?"
Dumbledore nodded slowly, looking apprehensive.
"Yes, but…"
The Headmaster paused, searching for the right words.
"Things have become more complicated."
"How?"
Dumbledore sighed, running a hand across his face.
"You are no longer safe from Voldemort's mind. Now that you can no longer take the Potion, you have no sound defense against him. You were able to fight him off in the Department of Mysteries, but it was a very near thing."
Dumbledore was right. Those victories had been a product of adrenaline and desperation, not skill. Harry wasn't sure he would be able to do it again.
He was still a liability, still a danger.
"I nearly killed Sirius," Harry whispered.
He looked up at Dumbledore, searching for some reassurance in those eyes.
"If it had been anyone else, I think I would have done it. What are we supposed to do? How am I supposed to do this?"
Harry found no certainty in Dumbledore's face. All he saw was sorrow.
"Professor Snape is still working on developing the Potion. He is certain that he can have it done within the next month. In the meantime, we will have to rely on the Blood Wards around your Aunt's House. That is the only way for us to protect you and everyone else."
The Blood Wards…the house...
"What does that mean?" Harry asked, dreading the answer he knew was coming.
"It means," Dumbledore said, avoiding Harry's gaze.
"That you won't be able to leave the house."
Harry felt his heart sink. He was going to be trapped in that house. All alone. Again.
"I'm so sorry, Harry."
Harry nodded, trying to hide his rising dread.
"Is it even safe for me to be here right now? Can't he just try again?"
Dumbledore's silence told him everything he needed to know.
"I need to leave."
Dumbledore nodded firmly.
"Yes. We needed to wait until you were recovered, but now…"
The man trailed off, not needing to finish that sentence.
Harry knew he should be upset.
He knew he should be angry.
Instead, he felt numb, empty, detached.
It reminded him of the days right after the Third Task when everything had seemed murky, dreamlike, separate.
"I tried to convince your Aunt to let you have visitors, but…"
Harry let out a humorless laugh, imagining how that conversation had gone.
"She'd never agree to that, Sir. It's fine. I'll be fine."
Dumbledore looked at him sadly, guilt shining from his eyes.
"I wish that we did not have to do this, but after everything that has happened…"
"It's our only option," Harry finished for him, knowing it was true.
He remembered what it had felt like to lose his autonomy, remembered how close he had come to taking the prophecy, to killing Sirius, to losing himself.
He couldn't allow that to happen again.
He could survive a month at the Dursleys. He would do whatever it took to keep them happy, to keep everyone safe.
He simply had to.
…
Dumbledore apparated him to Privet Drive, leaving quickly to avoid the wrath of Aunt Petunia.
Harry kept his head down, staring at the ground, saying nothing as Uncle Vernon berated him for bringing a man in a bright blue robe near their house.
Harry's safety was tied to his Aunt's good will. He had to stay quiet, stay meek. It was the only way.
His Aunt seemed to understand this, taking pleasure in the power she'd been given.
His trunk was immediately put into the cupboard under the stairs, locked away with his broomstick.
Only a stroke of good luck saved his wand (which Dumbledore had retrieved from the depths of the Department of Mysteries) and his rucksack full of books. Harry had remembered to hide them at the last moment, draping his invisibility cloak over the bag just before they left Hogwarts.
Hedwig wasn't here.
Aunt Petunia had told Dumbledore that the bird couldn't return, making it a part of her terms for keeping Harry. His owl would be staying with the Weasleys at Grimmauld Place that summer.
She also refused to have owls going back and forth, claiming that the noise would make it impossible for her to keep Harry around. Every three days, the Order would send an owl, confirming that Harry was alive. That was the only communication he was allowed.
Harry could tell that Dumbledore was furious about all of this, but they didn't have much choice. The threat of possession was real and profound. They needed Aunt Petunia's cooperation, needed it desperately.
Harry knew what all this meant: he was at the mercy of his relatives.
Completely and totally at their mercy.
He would have to put up with their abuse, staying quiet, refusing to fight back.
He had no other choice.
It had to be done.
As Harry sat in his bedroom that night, locked once again in the tiny space, he thought about all that had brought him here.
He'd been through so much this year: torture, libel, possession, illness, battle.
He'd designed Spells, trained students, fallen in love.
And after all of that, he still ended up back here.
Locked in a dark bedroom.
Alone.
The End.
The Sequel to this work, One Clear Call, is up now.
Thank you to everyone who has read this far. I really appreciate all of you :)