April 1995
After spending his morning in the library dutifully mingling with a crowd of others researching labyrinths, minotaurs, and earth-based spells, Harry escaped after lunch for alleged private study. He actually snuck off to the Grantown Den under his invisibility cloak via a secret tunnel to Hogsmeade, to meet up with Sirius for what was no doubt going to be a difficult and unpleasant talk.
Still, maybe Sirius would have some good advice. Maybe he wouldn't disown him. Harry pessimistically decided to count any reaction better than Sirius trying to kill him as a win.
His mind spun with so many unpleasant possible scenarios that when he arrived at Sirius' Muggle home he asked Sirius to set his wand aside for their talk.
"What? Why?"
Harry fidgeted nervously, shifting in his chair and smoothing down his hair with a nervous hand. "In case you get mad at what I say."
"You think I will hex you?"
Harry shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "I dunno."
"I won't," Sirius promised, reaching across the table for Harry's hand. "I promise."
Harry reflexively flinched away from Sirius' moving left arm, which stilled mid-action, hovering in the air. Sirius drew his arm back.
"That bad, huh? Okay then. First though, for security before I disarm myself, tell me what colour the roses are in London, and what potion my mother asked you to brew."
Harry nodded. "Purple, like everything else in the garden. Lavender to be precise. And your paranoid mum wanted me to brew an Antidote to Common Poisons in case someone tried to kill off the precious Black Heir?"
"Good. Sorry, just wanted to be sure." Sirius got up from the kitchen table and put his wand over on the counter, moving very slowly. When he sat back down he did so opposite Harry, not next to him, placing his functioning hand face palm down on the table where Harry could see it.
"You think I'm being stupid."
"I think you're scared," Sirius corrected, "and I want you to feel safe. There's nothing you can say that's going to make me attack you."
"I bet there's times you never believed your mum would attack you, but she did," Harry shot back defensively.
Sirius nodded, his dark eyes sad. "Yes. Too many times. Which is why I understand what you are asking of me, even though it's heart-breaking to be on the other side of it. I suppose you judge you have good reason not to feel safe with me. I do have a temper sometimes, and I have always been a bit of a troll-brain about flying off into battle without thinking first."
"Sorry," Harry mumbled. "It's just…"
"I won't attack you. No matter what. I have promised you a safe home with me and that offer is not going away."
"What if I say I've killed someone?" Harry fired out.
Sirius tilted his head. "I will ask why. Maybe they're a Death Eater. Maybe you have a good reason. I would give you a chance to explain, and I won't just attack you."
"What if… what if I say I joined the Dark Lord?" Harry asked, his breath coming fast, his eyes watching Sirius for any sudden movements. "You got kicked out of home for the opposite. What if I reversed that? You wouldn't want me then."
Sirius was very still, frozen like a statue. "Have you?"
"Maybe. You don't know. What if I have?"
"Why would you ever do that? He killed James and Lily, tried to kill you… He's a monster, he's trying to conquer Britain…" Sirius said, sounding bewildered and worried. The overgrown nails of his left hand made a scratching noise on the table as his hand started to clench, before he deliberately flattened it out again.
"Is this a test?" Sirius asked, his brow furrowed in thought.
Harry shrugged, his shoulders hunching up defensively. "No… yes. I guess so. I really have done something I think you will be really mad about. Something I want advice about, if you're not too angry."
"Something you fear I will disown you for, that I will fly into a rage over. Something as bad as murder or joining Voldemort."
"…Yes."
Sirius closed his eyes for a moment as he took a deep, slow breath. Harry's eyes flicked nervously to the man's healing ear, and the ruin of his right arm.
Harry fidgeted nervously. "Forget about it. Look, maybe we should just talk about something else. Uhh… how are you going with the paperwork to try and get some of the new land in Diagon Alley for our Houses? You got my notes, right? That Kre… that your house-elf helped me with? Talking to the portraits? Since you're the Potter regent I can't do it myself, which is annoying."
"It is all proceeding well, and I got a hold of some older Potter portraits from the family vault and from Dumbledore. He'd taken any paintings with people in them from Potter Cottage years ago to question them about the mystery of You-Know-Who's death. None of them are of immediate relatives, but they might be of some assistance. I do not approve of the whole mess, to be honest, but I agree with your arguments that if we do not seize some of the buildings, only the Dark pure-blood families will. Remus liked your plan to rent some of them out to werewolves or Muggle-born entrepreneurs, so you have an ally there in your scheme."
"If you're sending Umbridge something, she likes cats and pink. And chocolate. And bribes, of course," Harry babbled. "Rumour has it that fifty Galleons is the going rate in the Muggle Management Office if you want anything done."
Sirius blinked. "How do you know that? The Malfoy boy? Draco?"
Harry nodded. "About the bribe, yes. His father is trying for some land, not that he has any decent claim to it. Pansy told me about the cats and chocolate. The Parkinsons think they have a legitimate case."
Sirius fixed him with an intent stare. "Harry."
"Uh… yes?"
"This thing that you have done, that you are worrying over–"
"I've changed my mind. I don't want to talk about it."
"I think you do, really. Or you would not have raised the topic. Why did you? I haven't heard any rumours worse than usual, so whatever it is could probably have been kept a secret."
"…Because you'll find out later anyway, one way or the other. On Monday, maybe. And I guess… I guess I want to know if you…"
Harry didn't know what he wanted. Maybe for Sirius to say he'd have a home no matter what. He'd said it already, but it was hard to believe. He probably didn't really mean it. He didn't seem like the kind of person to thoroughly think things through. He probably thought Harry was exaggerating, which he was a little. He probably just meant he'd still offer a home to Harry even if he didn't do the dishes, or he got a T in Care of Magical Creatures, or the roses in the garden died. Not that he'd still care about him if he had an amicable truce with Lord Voldemort.
"I can swear an Unbreakable Vow, if you wish. Not to attack you or cast you out over whatever you tell me."
Harry looked up at him, startled. Sirius' dark eyes were fixed firmly on Harry's face, and his mouth was a sad line, no humour at all in his expression. It wasn't a joke.
"Even if I've joined Voldemort?" Harry checked. "Or murdered someone? Or I practice Dark magic?"
"Even then. So long as you vow to leave any allegiances at the doorstep and bring no trouble into the house. No spying or attacking. No Dark magic in the house. No killing or attacking me or guests or wards of the house, obviously. You would no longer be welcome at Order meetings, and you might have to answer to the law, but I will not turn you in or cast you out of the family over whatever you have done."
Harry started sniffling and scrubbed at his watery eyes to clear his vision.
"Shall I swear a Vow for you? We'll need a third person as the binder. Would Remus do?"
"No. Not like that… I want you to want to have me in your family. Not… not be forced to by magic."
Sirius nodded. "And I do. I just… I don't know what else to do to convince you. If you would rather live with the Dursleys, that is alright. I mean… I personally hate them, but if you want to live there and they are treating you alright, I suppose it is only a few more years. I just… I don't want you to turn me down because you are scared of me. I don't like to think I'm frightening you, I know… I know my soul is… hurting. I know I get angry too easily, sometimes. Athena's Curse isn't so easily broken. But I am trying so hard, I swear it! Whatever this is, I swear you will still have a home. You're James' child… you deserve… you deserve to have a home. No matter what. It's the last thing I can do for him," Sirius said, sounding broken.
"Neville and Hermione aren't talking to me," Harry added, looking forlorn as he stared at the tabletop. "When you find out… you will hate me too. People only like me when I agree with them. Everyone wants me to be who they expect me to be."
"Everyone?" Sirius asked, sounding sad. "Your whole life?"
Harry thought about it for a moment. "Mostly. Not Storm, so long as I keep the snacks coming he doesn't care what I do. He's a sweetheart. Uh…"
Harry thought about it. Ambrosius hid secrets until he thought Harry was ready for them – agreed with him about the right things. Pansy had mostly stuck by him, but she and Millicent stopped publicly associating with him in third year when their parents told them to. Quirrell had been supportive, but it had all been an act by Voldemort. There weren't many people he even trusted with enough of his secrets for them to have a chance of turning on him or demanding he fit their ideals better.
"I would have said Neville once, but not now. Snape, maybe. And Draco. They don't judge much, and accept me for who I am. Well, Snape's called me an idiot a bunch of times – and I really am – but he still talks to me and helps me anyway. He doesn't try and tell me what to do. Hmm. Well, except he nags a lot about proper potion brewing technique. Oh, and my grades. So, I guess maybe he's not a good example at all? Snape's always said my mother would just have wanted me to live; he tries not to judge about important things. That's something, I guess. Let's cross him off, though, because he does want me to change quite a bit, really! Draco already knows what I'm going to tell you, and he said he'll still be my friend no matter what I choose. He's pretty close to always accepting me as I am, like Neville used to be. He's pushy about etiquette and how I tie my cravats, but nothing much worse than that. Neville used to be the best, and Hermione's not bad either."
He had manipulated Harry into doing a sacrifice at Yule, but that clearly hadn't been Draco's idea.
Sirius was quiet for a moment, before saying, "They've been good friends to you, then. And Neville and Hermione too, until now."
"Yes. I hoped though that Neville… I didn't realise Neville would… He threatened me!" Harry said, and burst into tears. "He's my b-best friend and he doesn't care what happens to me! I chose what I did to help people! To help him, and Hermione, and Luna, and everyone else! They don't care if I end up in Azkaban, they wouldn't listen to me!"
"Harry, show me your forearm," Sirius said intently.
Harry pushed up his shirt sleeve roughly, showing the smooth skin bare of the Dark Mark.
Sirius let out a relieved breath. "You haven't joined him."
"No. But I… made a truce with him."
Sirius sighed. "Better than you made me fear."
"I thought if I made it sound w-worse than it was–" Harry blubbered.
Sirius nodded. "That the truth would be a relief. A very Slytherin approach."
"The Sorting Hat wanted me in Slytherin!" Harry said, almost like a shouted accusation. Another test, not that he'd planned it.
"It considered it for Remus, and he's still my best friend," Sirius said.
"I didn't want to go to the House they said was full of Dark wizards."
"That's something, at least. So… a truce. How? Why?"
It was a plea for some kind of rational explanation for the impossible, and Harry did his best to calm down and give him one.
He told Sirius all about the first informal truce they'd had last year after he'd finally figured out Quirrell's true identity, and how the Dark Lord had apologised for his parents' deaths, but it wasn't enough. How he'd written to him expressing a wish to not fight each other but sworn angrily that he didn't want to hear from him ever again. How Harry had almost immediately broken their nebulous détente by reporting Quirrell's possession to the Aurors last year, but without evidence or backing no-one had believed him, and the Dark Lord had subsequently written an angry letter about that over summer when he somehow gotten wind of Harry's underhandedness.
The new offer of a formal truce that had been made on his birthday along with his usual present, and the hashing out of terms and the signing of the truce after the attack at the Quidditch World Cup, in desperate hopes of being able to protect his friends from harm.
"Usual birthday present?!" Sirius gasped, jaw dropping in shock.
"We've been – were – friends for years," Harry explained. "I thought he was Quirrell, right up until uh, around February last year, I think."
"What did he send you?" Sirius asked, shaking his head in disbelief as if the idea was stuck and wouldn't come free.
"A book about magical snakes… it was really interesting."
"Huh. I would have guessed a book on curses or Dark magic."
"Not for that present."
"Other times, then? You realise he's trying to recruit you, don't you? Tempt you into Dark paths…"
Harry huffed. "Well obviously. He was never going to be satisfied with just a truce forever. I was buying time."
Sirius gave him a look which suggested he was biting his tongue, metaphorically if not literally.
"Look, he's been trying to get me to be on his side for ages. I figured it out, once I realised who he was. I mean, he could have asked for a lot of things, like demanding I spy for him, but his part of the truce was just insisting I exchange regular letters with him! I think deep down he might be scared I'll fight him. He says that he thinks the prophecy was fulfilled when I was a baby, but I don't think he's completely sure about that."
Sirius gave a grave nod. "And now he has Trelawney, who gave the prophecy about the two of you."
"Yes. And that's where it all went wrong…"
Sirius opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but snapped it shut and just shook his head when Harry paused for him to interject.
"So, I tried to add Professor Trelawney to my 'safe list' for May, as per the terms of the truce I told you about. But he refused! He said the truce only said I can ask for one non-combatant's safety a month, not that he has to guarantee it. That everyone else is fine, but not her. So, I know he's got her, and she's probably alive, but… not well. Probably something like Lockhart. A prisoner in danger of torture or death," Harry said, with a guilty wince at the fate of his erstwhile mentor in the art of public relations.
"And now you know the truce isn't worth a goblin's promise. That he will lie and weasel out of anything disadvantageous to him."
"Yes," said Harry, with a sigh. "I just wanted to keep people safe. And it's kind of worked, you know? He ordered his followers not to even attack any children unless specifically ordered to. Even when Hermione and Neville were trying to kill Death Eaters in Hogsmeade, people went easy on them. Fought with mild spells. When the more vicious ones took them down, they still didn't kill them. Even Lestrange refused to kill me – Antares Black, that is – in Hogsmeade because her Lord had said they mayn't kill children.
"That was me! That was my truce, saving my friends, saving my own life!" Harry pleaded, his voice rising.
"It was a generous thought, but are your friends happy with your gracious protection?"
"No," Harry replied sullenly. "They're furious. Well, not Draco. He appreciated it. He was scared."
"Huh," said Sirius, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I guess there is really something there after all."
"He's right to be scared. We're all scared. I'm scared!" Harry said. "I don't want to have to fight a Dark wizard that everyone says is matchless in duels for anyone except Dumbledore! I just want to stay out of it!"
"But no-one will let you."
"No! And it's not fair!" Harry yelled.
"No, it's not. Still, there it is. You, right in the middle of things thanks to a prophecy, whether you want to be or not."
"I thought I could reason with him! A bargain to keep people safe. A correspondence to maybe soften some of his ideas – influence goes two ways! And he didn't seem that bad. But then… the werewolf stuff, and he's killing people, and now Trelawney's stuck and my deal is useless when it really matters. A damn loophole! I tried so hard but I left a stupid loophole like the useless idiot I am and it's all for nothing!" Harry sobbed, tears breaking through the anger once more. "And you will hate me too, and the Dursleys will never let me go home if I break the truce and he targets them because of me, and I will have nowhere safe to hide with Death Eaters hunting me down! And he's going after Muggles with werewolves and I think it's my fault! And Neville and Hermione will never speak to me again if I don't break the truce, and everyone's going to look at me and hate me, and I don't know what to do because all the options are hopeless!"
Sirius sighed a long, deep sigh. "It is alright, Harry. I do not hate you. You will still have many friends, and I understand why you made the choice you did, even though I cannot support it. I want you to formally revoke the truce. You know it is not wise, Harry."
"I know. It never was, exactly… it just seemed like the best choice of a lot of equally bad choices. I didn't want him hunting me, or my friends."
"However, he will anyway," Sirius observed shrewdly, "he will find a way around the truce, or cancel it, the moment he thinks it is to his disadvantage to maintain it."
Harry slumped in his chair. "Yes. That's why I've been thinking of cancelling it. Though you have to understand, it's not just because of that, or even because of my parents. It's other stuff too, there's how he treats Muggles and Muggle-borns, for instance. He's dangerous. Violent. Killing and infecting people, torturing them. I don't understand why! I just… how could I support someone like that? I can't. I won't."
"You should cancel it. We will protect all those you care for, Harry, as best we can."
It was all anyone could ask, really.
"I think I will; it doesn't mean as much as it should. And I will still have a home with you?" Harry double-checked. "Because even if the Dursleys let me go home, I don't know if it would be safe for them, and I daren't live on my own if he's angry and out for revenge…"
"Of course you do, you know I've had a place waiting for you all along. I can hardly let Snape beat me in being the most supportive adult in your life, now can I?" Sirius promised, with a jaunty smile and a wink. It might have been a bit forced, but the effort was clearly there.
"Thank you," Harry murmured shyly, as Sirius carefully drew him into an awkward one-armed hug. "I'd like that. It's more than I deserve, I know."
"No, it's not," Sirius said gruffly. "You are young, you made a mistake… you've learnt from it. We all deserve a second chance. And a home."
"Do you… do you think I'm like ahh… Wormtail? My friends… they said I was."
Sirius looked thoughtful for a moment, taking his question seriously, before shaking his head and giving Harry another squeeze around the shoulders. "He was willing to see his friends killed to ensure his personal safety. You, on the other hand, are willing to sacrifice your personal safety to see your friends live. His focus was on himself, while yours is always on the impacts of your choices on other people. I don't think you're the same at all, Harry."
Harry wrote his letter to Voldemort that evening formally cancelling the truce and signed in blood, citing Voldemort's serious breach of faith and lack of adherence to the terms as his justification. Still nervous about the possible implications of the prophecy and not wanting to provoke conflict, he did add a conciliatory addendum about how he had no wish to provoke hostilities with his letter. It was the best attempt at Gryffindor bravery a snake-in-lion's-clothing could manage.
-000-
After Sunday's Potter Watch meetings were over, Harry met up with Neville and Hermione down by the Black Lake in the afternoon to share the dubiously good news about breaking his truce with You-Know-Who, which they were utterly delighted by.
"I knew you would do the right thing in the end," Neville vowed, his eyes shining.
"Oh, Harry! I'm so glad!" Hermione gushed. She moved to hug him but stopped when Harry flinched away.
Harry sighed. "Yeah. It's done. I sent a formal letter last night renouncing the truce and everything. I talked about it with Sirius, too."
He didn't think either of his friends needed to know that he'd also sent a letter to Snape yesterday, warning him that he was breaking the truce and that the Dark Lord wasn't likely to be happy about it. He'd carefully mentioned the weather in passing, so Snape would know he was free to pass the gossip on to whichever of his two patrons he felt deserved an extra handful of hours' notice (and more importantly, so Snape had the option of currying their favour by doing so).
"You do not seem happy with your choice… are you doing this only because we asked you to?" Neville checked.
"No. I mean yes, I'm satisfied I've made the right choice, but I'm not truly happy about it," Harry said. "It's all so dangerous. Though I want you to know I'm not doing it only because you asked, or I wouldn't have had to take so long to think about it."
"Why aren't you happy?" Hermione asked. "Oh Harry, this really is the right thing to do, and I'm so proud of you for realising it."
"How can I be happy when cancelling it might put my friends' lives in danger?" Harry said. "That's what I've been the most worried about all along."
"You should tell Professor Dumbledore," Hermione urged. "He is the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, after all!"
"How do you know about that? It's supposed to be secret."
"Neville told me."
Harry gave Neville a look but didn't feel like he had any moral high ground whatsoever to go lecturing anyone about the importance of secrecy to the war effort.
"I'll go with you," Neville offered.
"We both will," Hemione said, "and we'll be nothing but totally supportive of you, alright?"
"I thought you would want me to tell the Aurors."
"The Headmaster can do that. If there's anyone left in the Ministry who can be trusted," Hermione said. "The Quibbler says the Rotfang Conspiracy is on the rise again."
"Anything else interesting hidden in there this week?" Neville asked.
"The usual, mostly general reports of corruption and infiltration in the Ministry. There's a reference to the 'dire reappearance of the bloated Hypnotoad' which I think is either about the Imperius Curse or Umbridge. Thicknesse seems to be falling out of favour. The Quibbler seemed to approve of him at first but lately there's talk of Nargles."
Harry was willing to ramble off-topic about the Ministry, but Neville eventually hauled them all back on track and reminded him he should talk to Dumbledore about his broken truce.
"Do I really need to tell him anything?" Harry pleaded. "Sirius could do it for me."
"Do you have any gleanings of information that you could share that might assist the war effort?" Neville asked. "Things that no-one else might know?"
Harry thought about it, then nodded. "Yes. I think so."
"Then your duty is clear."
Harry agreed, so Hermione's owl Diana was dispatched with a request for a meeting and immediately returned with a password to bypass the grotesque that guarded the Headmaster's staircase. The three of them trooped upstairs, though Harry's footsteps dragged reluctantly.
Dumbledore listened with calm and grave attention to Harry's news, and his expression did not waver with surprise at any of the afternoon's revelations. Harry suspected that either Snape or Sirius had given him a heads-up.
It wasn't until the topic of additional information Harry might possess for the war effort was brought up that Harry managed to elicit some shock from Dumbledore, as well as his friends.
"I believe I know who You-Know-Who is possessing," Harry said.
Dumbledore nodded. "Peter Pettigrew," he said, glancing at Neville and Hermione as if expecting they might not have heard. Then a startled look crossed his face when Harry shook his head.
"No, we all know that," Harry said. "Well, maybe not the Minister and so on. I mean the other version of him, the real one. He wrote ages ago about 'moving house' and I am pretty sure he hasn't possessed Quirrell for some time. He's in another body now, a dark-haired young wizard, and he goes by the name 'Ovid Mortalem'. It's an anagram, you see. Like 'Lord Voldemort' is. I played around with the letters in his real name a bunch once I figured it out."
Dumbledore's startled look faded into a calculating expression as he stroked his long beard thoughtfully, where it rested against one of the garishly-coloured robes that he favoured. This one was bright yellow and adorned with tiny moving purple sparks like fireworks, and came with a matching pointed yellow hat. It was hard to take him seriously in a robe like that; Harry wondered sometimes if that was the whole point.
"That explains a few things," he said thoughtfully. "Thank you, Harry."
"But I liked him," Neville said, sounding bewildered. "He fought Lord Missing… Pettigrew in Hogsmeade! He was so brave, and he helped save you! He came to the third task… he sat with Professor Flitwick and the Ravenclaws. Gran and I met him afterwards when the stands were emptying out. After the Battle of Hogsmeade I shook his hand and I congratulated him on his duelling, and he was so nice. Surely there is some mistake?"
Harry felt smug. "Hah! Now you know how I felt! How does it feel to have fawned over Lord Voldemort's duelling prowess?"
"It has been rumoured for almost a year now that the original version of Lord Voldemort and the younger impression of him from his diary have been increasingly at odds," Dumbledore said. He scribbled a note on parchment and tapped it with his wand, before pushing it across his desk towards Neville. The inky black letters in 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' rearranged themselves into the anagram 'I am Lord Voldemort' while the letters in 'Ovid Mortalem' shuffled into place to spell 'I am Voldemort'.
"Many otherwise wise wizards and witches have been won over by his façade of charm, Neville," Dumbledore said. "Take comfort in the fact that Potter has revealed his latest disguise before you were lured any deeper."
Neville looked pale-faced and like he might want to throw up at any moment, and as he rushed from the room Harry felt a rush of guilt about gloating over his friend making the same mistake he had.
Harry stood to follow him out, but Dumbledore called for him to wait a moment. "Is there anything else you can tell me that may be of use?"
Harry's attention was divided between the door and Dumbledore before he sat down again. Hermione looked like she might leave too, but Harry's eyes pleaded with her not to, and she stayed put.
"Uh… nothing else as important as that. He's been experimenting with how to improve the survivability rate of lycanthropy infection. He worries about the prophecy but mostly thinks it's already been fulfilled."
"Prophecy?" Hermione asked, but the others ignored her as Harry soldiered on.
"Oh, and he has Professor Trelawney captive – you knew that already, right? – but as I said earlier he refuses to promise not to hurt her, so if there's plans to rescue her in the works, sooner rather than later would be best."
Harry thought for a moment longer, then shook his head. Old secrets rose to mind, but nothing useful. Either Dumbledore already knew that that Philosopher's Stone was a fake – in which case it would be old news for him to hear that Voldemort knew it too – or he didn't know, in which case the Flamels must not trust him and wouldn't appreciate their fake deaths being revealed to a former friend who'd failed to safeguard the fake stone that Dumbledore had been fooled into thinking was their most precious possession.
"That's all I can think of, sir."
"Copies of your correspondence with him might be of great assistance to the Order?" Dumbledore hinted.
"I'm sorry, sir, they were hexed to self-destruct after a while, like Howlers do," Harry said, telling a partial truth as only some self-destructed. There were too many things in the remaining letters that would be humiliating for someone else to read. "But I will share anything I remember that might be of use." Truth, this time.
"I think I saw one spontaneously burn to ash once," Hemione added, and Dumbledore sighed with resignation.
Harry passed over a hand-written version of his 'safe list', the people whom Voldemort had promised would be immune to attack. "This is the list I discussed earlier. If you could help see to everyone's safety, I would appreciate that."
"You have my word," Dumbledore promised, albeit not as formally as Harry would have liked. "Perhaps you and a friend or two might like to join me for tea next week? After you have all had a chance to resettle your nerves and gather your thoughts about any extra clues to Voldemort's schemes, or jot down notes on things he mentioned valuing highly. Any snippet might be of use."
Harry promised to come for tea, and that he'd do his best to wrack his brains for extra morsels of intelligence in the meantime.
"Will you be telling Madam Bones about ah… Mr. Mortalem? Who he really is?" Harry asked. "Or the Minister?"
"Unfortunately the Minister refuses to even believe there is one version of Voldemort behind the current troubles, he certainly will not be persuaded that there are two, especially with such scanty evidence as I can provide. The Order will be alerted, of course."
Harry nodded. "Madam Bones might still look into it, all the same. Or at least be on her guard."
"Did you not see the paper this morning?" Dumbledore asked, rummaging in the clutter of his desk and extracting a copy of that morning's Daily Prophet.
"No, I haven't. I used to borrow one, but not lately," Harry said, glancing over at Hermione, who gave him an apologetic shrug. Lately she'd been too set on giving him the cold shoulder to be forthcoming in loaning him her morning paper.
"Page seventeen, in the 'Ministry News' section. Alas, it did not make the front page like it should have."
Some gossip about the famous singer Celestina Warbeck's latest love affair had made the front cover that morning, and the Triwizard Tournament news wasn't far behind on page two. Which was flattering, but not as important as the Ministry gossip buried further down in the paper.
With her werewolf niece on the run, Amelia Bones had lost her Ministry job and had been slandered (or arguably, exposed) in the Prophet for corruption.
"It is a hard thing to admit that there is corruption and nepotism within the Ministry, but it must be washed away to leave our fine government clean and sparkling. Know that I, your Minister, stand firm against any such reprobate scofflaws who make a mockery of their own jobs in failing to uphold the law, or who seek only to advance and protect themselves and their families instead of working for the public weal as I do.
"I am bringing in an outsider to replace Madam Bones, a wizard who will be free from any influence and able to clean house without impediment. I hope everyone will welcome Corban Yaxley as the new Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. A champion duellist and an experienced retired Auror, Mr. Yaxley served for almost twenty years with the Auror Office in his youth before retiring to manage the family estate after his father passed away during the last war. Rest assured he is more than capable of tackling the challenge ahead and is looking forward to working with High Inquisitor Argo Pyrites, who has recently completed a marvellous job reforming Hogwarts. Together they shall sweep the department clean and oversee reforms to improve accountability and performance, and root out any thankfully rare instances of corruption."
"Did… did they replace Susan's aunt with a Death Eater?" Harry asked, incredulous.
Dumbledore leant forwards. "Are you sure Corban Yaxley is a Death Eater? Do you know this for certain?"
Harry hesitated. "Well… no. I suppose I don't. Yaxley is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and I understand they have a rather large family. I never heard a first name, but one of the masked Death Eaters in Hogsmeade was called Yaxley by some of the others. He was an exceptionally good duellist, however."
"Any other names?"
"Bellatrix, presumably Lestrange," Harry said, and Dumbledore nodded. "Pettigrew, obviously."
He knew it might be wrong, but he didn't want to name Greg's father. It was just a guess, anyway, and Mr. Goyle had clearly not wanted to really hurt anyone. He'd never heard his name, and couldn't really be sure he'd identified the man by his voice alone, so he wasn't technically lying.
There was one other name he had heard though. The man whose life he'd saved, and who had repaid that debt by helping Harry get free at the end of the battle. He almost left him out, but the memory of the man laughing about severing the wand arm of Mr. Scribbulus' shop assistant still haunted his mind. After some hesitation, he added, "Amycus Carrow."
He explained – in more detail than the last time he'd told the story after the battle – about how he'd saved the man's life, the attacks the man had then made against civilians and friends, and the whispered promise of a life debt he'd repaid by helping Harry get free when spells were flying all about at the climax of the battle.
He escaped at last, extremely grateful to have escaped from the interview with nothing worse than disappointed looks and a lecture with an overabundance of platitudes about Doing The Right Thing and trusting the Headmaster more in the future.
-000-
Voldemort sent an angry reply that same evening to Harry's cancellation of the truce. He was not at all impressed, demanded Harry reinstate the truce immediately, called him naïve for assuming he could save Trelawney, and self-righteously pointed out that he would have no need to harm her if she would only be more cooperative. He closed with hinted dire warnings that Harry's friends may rue the consequences of the withdrawal of Harry's protection.
Neville peeked around Harry's bedcurtains while Harry was still in the middle of writing an angry letter back explaining how only cowards and fools thought it necessary to target children in a war, children who were vital to stopping the next generation of wizards and witches from being sickly inbred Squibs, and which one was Voldemort, a coward or a fool? He explained again that he didn't want to fight but couldn't keep the truce any longer if Voldemort would always be looking for ways around it when it suited him, and using Harry's ideas about curing werewolves to instead make more of them. He added an angry postscript that he was going to add all of Voldemort's names to his owl ward so no letters would be getting through in the future, so not to bother writing again.
"Go on then, take a look if you don't trust me," Harry bit out, scribbling away angrily.
Neville glanced at the correspondence scattered on the bed then swore in surprise as one of the letters caught fire with a flash of blue flames and burst into a cloud of ash at his merest glance.
"Yeah, he wasn't happy," Harry said, enchanting his bitter reply with its own self-destruct charm. He tied it to an owl's leg and launched it out the window while Neville was still dousing the small fire that was spreading on Harry's bedspread with a spout of water from his hastily-drawn wand.
"Jesus, Harry, what was that about then?" Dean Thomas asked, sitting up in bed and looking over at the mess on Harry's bed, eyes wide and shocked.
Harry rescued his remaining letters, and his damp pet snake (who thankfully didn't mind the surprise shower and thus wasn't inclined to bite Neville over it), while Neville stumbled through his best drying and mending charms.
"Letter from Sirius Black," Harry lied. "He puts hexes on the letters sometimes. He thinks he's funny."
"Again?" hissed Storm. "I liked the rain."
"No."
"Well I'm not laughing," Thomas said, shaking his head. "Bit too far for a joke if you ask me."
"I agree."
"But I liked it. More sssurprise rain in our burrow? I could try making it?"
"Ssstill no."
"Sorry," Neville mumbled. "I will have this fixed in a minute."
"Reparo doesn't work on burn marks," Harry said. He ignored Neville for the time being and dug into his Healer's bag (where he'd cached a lot of his important belongings, still being nervous about the fallout from his decision) for the scroll linked to his owl ward. He added Lord Voldemort, Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Slytherin, and a couple of variants of those names just to be on the safe side. After a moment's thought about the possible benefit to spying, he shook his head and added Ovid Mortalem, too. Best just to make a clean break of things; if he'd done that last time he'd tried to cut contact with Voldemort maybe he wouldn't be in this mess right now. He signed the last name with a flourish; now no mail from any of those people would get through his wards. Owls would either refuse to leave the sender or would have their letters disintegrate to dust before they reached him.
"Are you still mad at me?" Neville asked, looking sad as he sat down on Harry's bed. It was dry and free from ash now, with only a small charred patch on the bedspread; the best fix he could manage.
"A bit," Harry said.
"Do you… not want to be friends anymore?"
Harry's shoulders slumped as some of his anger drained away. "No, I really do want to stay friends. I'm just… a bit mad. A bit scared. A lot scared. What he'll do," Harry whispered. "What people will say about me."
"We agreed not to tell anyone," Neville whispered back. "No-one knows except Hermione and I. Dumbledore, of course, and whoever else you told."
"That's it?"
"That is everyone. No-one else needs to know your mistake," Neville said. "Also, I… I understand better now how you made the error you did. Being fooled myself."
"More water please!" Storm nagged, more loudly.
"Thank you," Harry said, most gratefully. "I really appreciate that. And… he can be quite charming when he wants to be. We're not the only people fooled by him and I doubt we'll be the last."
Neville said a polite goodnight as he headed back to his own bed.
Harry put Storm back in his tank and waved his wand with a variant of Aguamenti to conjure a gentle warm rain for his happy pet, then settled down to answer Molly Weasley's soothing chatty letter asking him to consider her as a possible tenant to run a bakery if he managed to get some land in the expanded Diagon Alley district, and congratulating him on his success in the third task.
-000-
Life was good. No-one was gossiping about Harry's broken truce or a controversial cordial history with the Dark Lord. Draco hadn't told anyone a word about their confidential discussion, not even to his father or Pansy. He explained that he hadn't wanted to accidentally ruin any schemes of Harry's, not being entirely sure what his plans were. When Monday rolled around and there still weren't any unusual rumours circulating, it was clear Draco had wisely decided to simply stay quiet. The Light side seemed to want their boy hero's reputation untarnished, and perhaps Voldemort was too embarrassed by the whole situation to want to publicise the end of a détente with a child. After all, nothing had really changed; no-one needed to know anything.
His fears of angry classmates hadn't materialised; the only people accosting him in the hallways were the excited masses eager to congratulate Harry on his progress in the Triwizard Tournament and speculate on the possibility of him winning the whole thing for Hogwarts. There were also a few Quidditch fans keen to encourage Harry to barrack for Slytherin in the upcoming match in May where they'd be facing off against Hufflepuff, and some of Harry's friends were counted among that number.
"We should win against Hufflepuff, but their Seeker Diggory has a few years' experience on Draco," Millicent rambled anxiously, "and I am even newer as a Beater myself of course. We really should build up a good lead of points as a buffer against whatever happens in June's match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Your support would be appreciated. You know you are an honorary Slytherin, and it is not like we are facing off against Gryffindor."
"Okay, okay, I'll only cheer for Slytherin," Harry promised soothingly, as they walked together to Potions. "I'll even wear something green."
"And you will get Hermione to cancel the H.E.L.P. Society meeting if the match is on the first Sunday instead of the first Saturday of May?" Millicent checked anxiously. "Flitwick knows how important the match is, and will postpone the Frog Choir meeting if he has to, but you know Hermione has never cared much for Quidditch…"
"You'd probably have as much luck persuading her as I would," Harry said, "but, even if she doesn't cancel, I will still come and watch and cheer for you, alright?"
Classes were all going well. Potions was all ease with Slughorn presiding over a peaceful classroom, diffusing any inter-House tensions with practiced charm as they learnt how to brew Girding Potions.
Professors Hagrid and Macnair were having fun teaching them how to fight Red Caps, with Macnair demonstrating some simple charms and hexes to repel the vicious ground-dwelling dwarf-like creatures.
While Hermione approved of Professor Trocar at an academic level, she was starting to lose hope that he would learn a gentler teaching method (or to be less bigoted), as he was smug that his harsh discipline had brought order to his classroom. Most of the class was dutifully studying the history and geography of wizarding Europe, currently focusing on the long and complicated history of the Holy Roman Empire and the Aegean Union, and their respective influences on the primary language of spellcasting used across Europe and in the 'colonies'. It couldn't be denied that they learnt a lot more from him than from Binns; it was no longer a class to nap through.
Moody had them all drilling in hex-deflection in DADA, and unhesitatingly wrote Harry passes to borrow whatever he wanted from the Restricted Section to help him in the Tournament, a privilege that Hermione in particular was deeply envious of. He borrowed a couple of books on her behalf, which soothed her jealous looks.
Harry pushed hard in Charms, and to a lesser extent in Transfiguration, and was allowed to switch to self-study whenever he could prove he'd mastered the class content. He tended to learn more outside of those classes, as senior students clamoured to teach him spells to practice later that they were convinced would aid him in the final Tournament task.
In a couple of months Harry would have to worry about the final task, and what exams to focus on most. There had been an offer of exemption from exams on the table which they'd all turned down; they'd all agreed (in polite terms when talking to the adults) that it was a foolish offer, particularly in Krum and Delacour's case as it was their final year of school and they needed their results, especially Delacour. But for now, with the stress of the third task behind him, his uncomfortable alliance with the Dark Lord quietly finished for good, and classes that week seeming easier than ever thanks to his frantic studying all year, everything seemed to be going very well indeed.
As a week went past people even stopped speculating about his non-existent relationship with Daphne in favour of the latest juicy gossip about Cedric Diggory's break-up with Cho Chang, and a rumour that Hermione and Krum had been caught snogging out by the Black Lake (which she blushingly confided to her closest friends was true). Hermione was aghast to hear speculation about whether an engagement might be in the wings (definitely not true) and was very embarrassed by Greg's subsequent public fretting over her 'tarnished reputation' and his stubborn insistence that she should always wear her hair up now if she was going to proclaim herself old enough to be courted.
Of course, just because things seemed to be working out on a personal level for Harry didn't mean there weren't troubles elsewhere in the world.
Hermione had apologetically resumed her habit of sharing her morning paper with Harry, and the news wasn't looking too good for werewolves. Nor, reading between the lines, were things going too well for the Ministry. All of the werewolves arrested during their aborted attack in London had escaped from Azkaban – the prison seemed to be leaking like a sieve and Lupin was slandered as the mastermind behind it all.
The Ministry's compensatory follow-up strategy seemed to be to scoop up any werewolves they could find that vaguely matched the description of the escapees and throw them in Ministry holding cells to await an eventual trial while security at Azkaban was reviewed. There were protests by other werewolves about this treatment, and moving photos of angrily shouting human-looking werewolves spitting with rage being Stunned by Aurors made the front page of the Daily Prophet. While some were taken in for assaulting an Auror or destruction of property, some of them were rumoured (in The Quibbler) to have been arrested for nothing more than 'resisting arrest', which all the werewolf-sympathetic students were outraged by. Opinions continued to be increasingly polarised on the topic of werewolf rights with few moderates left; some saw this as a good opportunity to scoop up all the werewolves – always lawless and violent – and stamp out the curse in Britain once and for all. Others thought the werewolves were just fighting for survival and if they were treated better then they wouldn't feel the need to lash out.
"I can't make out the goal of any of this," Harry said, rubbing at his forehead in frustration. He took a sip of hot tea as he pondered the issue. "What does anyone hope to accomplish here? What side supports werewolf rights? Who does and who doesn't? It's all so messy!"
Hermione frowned. "It seems to me that the Ministry just wants to be seen to be doing something, to shore up support after recent failures."
Harry set his teacup down on its saucer with a gentle clink. "Well yes, obviously. But what else? Are they trying to enrage the nation's werewolves? Or trying to eliminate them because they're Dark creatures and they want support for that?"
She snorted in response. "If it is the latter they aren't doing so well, given they all just broke out of prison. You would think they would push for more executions."
"Even if they expect breakouts, they only need to hold them there for a month or two. Werewolves don't do well in prison, so I heard," Harry said, glancing around shiftily to see who was listening in – quite a number of people, actually. Best not to talk specifically about Lupin. "When the full moon comes, they turn on themselves, and Dementors make things even worse. A couple of months is all they tend to last. It might sound like a soft sentence to put them there for three months, but it's not; it's practically a death sentence without the messy outrage you might get from an unjustified public execution. Even a regular jail cell would be tough for them."
"Do you think Lupin really led the rescue of werewolves from Azkaban like the Prophet says?" Neville asked.
Harry opened and shut his mouth. "Hmm. I don't think so, but I honestly don't know for sure." He'd have to ask Sirius for gossip. He'd been assuming it was Fenrir and Death Eaters – maybe Pettigrew too – who'd led the rescue raid, but honestly it wasn't impossible that Lupin might have done it too, for the sake of innocent werewolves swept up in madness they wanted no part of. Probably not, though. Lupin was very against deliberately infecting others with lycanthropy, and that had been the goal of the London attack.
"Perhaps the other side wants werewolves angry," Harry mused. "People backed into a corner are more ready to fight."
"Any news today about Professor Trelawney?" Lavender Brown asked, calling over the table to Hermione.
"No, sorry," Hermione replied, sympathetically.
"She knew her doom was coming," Brown said, sniffing sadly. Trelawney had been her favourite teacher.
Harry sighed guiltily. Sirius had told him a couple of days ago that they'd mounted a rescue effort but found only a deserted base. Harry still felt like it was all his fault somehow, but was trying to keep in mind that at the end of the day it was Voldemort's fault.
"Here comes some more mail," Hermione said, as another flight of owls swooped through the windows of the Great Hall and split off to reach their targets at the various tables. Harry hunched protectively over his sausages and toast, wary of stray feathers (or worse) falling on his breakfast, or hungry beaks opportunistically snatching a morsel.
Thomas got a letter from home, and Ron and Neville both got packages. Ron's had three large pies (shrunken for easy transport), which pleased but bemused him until he read the letter from his mother asking him to have them taste-tested among his friends in the dorm to garner opinions on which recipe was the most scrumptious.
One of the Weasley twins piped up to ask jealously, "Why didn't we get any?"
"She says she didn't trust you not to add weird things to the pies for a laugh," Ron said, sniffing the pies curiously.
The twins exchanged a look, then shrugged. "That's fair. So long as we get a slice each."
Neville's package was just as strange, if not stranger. "I wonder what Gran sent me?" he mused, opening the small cardboard box with curiosity. "She does not often send me gifts. Maybe it's a new plant?"
When he opened the box up, however, all that was revealed lying inside was the rolled-up bright-red scroll of a Howler.
"Oh dear," he said faintly, leaning back. "I do not even know what I have done!"
The Howler started to smoke as it heated up, tiny wisps emanating from its surface.
"Best get it over with," Ron advised. "You don't even have to touch them to make them activate, they react to being in your vicinity. It will just get louder the longer you wait. Trust me, I know."
Neville gingerly picked up the Howler but couldn't pry it open. He peered at it puzzledly. "Huh. It is not addressed to me. It's… to you, Harry."
"Why is your Gran mad at me?" Harry said, then blanched at the possibilities. What gossip had she heard? She must be really mad to have worked so sneakily to get around his anti-Howler owl ward to get a letter to him first thing in the morning.
"You had best find out."
"Oh no! I don't want to be yelled at!" Harry said, drawing his wand. Nothing good would come of a public upbraiding. Who knew what secrets Neville's Gran might bellow to the world?
"Silen–"
He started to incant the Silencing Charm but was shocked to be forcibly interrupted when Hermione leapt up and covered his mouth.
"No! That only makes it worse! Didn't you read my chapter on wizarding communication methods? It will blast you with red dye as it yells at you if you try and silence it!"
Harry shook her off. "Oh yeah, I remember. Fine. I'll just destroy it."
As Hermione argued with him about the pointlessness of trying to stop a Howler by any means other than a ward, the Howler took the decision of what to do out of their hands, spontaneously heating up to the point that it exploded and its message rang out loudly across the Hall. As the letter burst open with a spray of ash something small and silver bounced out of the inside of the scroll, landing on the dining table in a platter of scrambled eggs.
Harry ignored it for the time being, however, as the message itself captured his attention completely. It wasn't, as he'd feared, Madam Longbottom screeching angrily about Harry's truce with Voldemort. It was worse. It was a man's voice, calm and charming, projected across the room at a loud volume so that everyone would hear his message to Harry.
"Greetings, my Heir."
"Oh, bloody hell!" Harry gasped, pushing away from the table in a panic, the wand in his hand shaking now, as he still held it pointed uselessly at the Howler.
There were only two people who called him their Heir, and it wasn't Sirius' voice.
Cliffhanger! :D *ducks for cover*
freetre – Potter Cottage paintings explanation included for you.