Loyal Pet

by H Bregalad

Bellatrix is an animagus and escapes with Sirius, Harry catches her and decides to keep her for a pet, she decides to raise him into a Lord and Master that she can be proud to follow. Rated M for sex and animagus sex. Warning: Polyamory eventually. There is also violence, including towards children and animals. You have been warned. Based on timbarney110's challenge 'loyal pet.'

1. Year 3 Chapter 1

{Introduction}

Saying this once:

+I'm just playing with JKR's dolls, in JKR's dollhouse. Except I did bring one or two of my own in year 5.

+This is based on timbarney110's challenge 'loyal pet.' Which is great, practically 2 years worth of outline inspirations. If I'd written the story as outlined, I think I'd have rated that MA, this I'm trying to keep M.

-It has been brought to my attention that Just a Lonely Lorekeeper is also answering that challenge, I look forward to reading that once I've finished publishing mine, don't spoil it for me. Given that it is a public challenge, I assume that there will be others out there eventually.

+He asked for a lemon flavoured romp with some BDSM themes, in which bestiality also happens. I have written a lime flavoured philosophical piece in which bestiality is discussed, explored, and experimented with, I've written through year 5 and BDSM themes haven't been very prevalent yet. Though past performance is no guarantee of future returns.

This story rated M for sex, and some magically enabled bestiality, you have been warned.

-many things they get up to are now illegal in the muggle world but then, what's new? (Unlike the generous helpings of murder murder everywhere you see in some stories, did you know many parts of the world, most subsections of paedophilia were legal as recently as the 1970s.)

-If after reading all the above warnings you still want to read it, but want to avoid the longest sex scenes or some other especially disturbing imagery skip sub-chapters that start with 'The' I'll try to mostly divide the chapter breaks so that they come last so they're easier to skip past, though this isn't always possible.

+I'm not a lawyer: not where I live, not in the UK, not in the muggle world, not in the magical world. But I do fancy myself a lay anthropologist, economist, enchanter and ward builder (AKA computer scientist and automation hobbyist). I do not guarantee that anything I've written matches the real world, or JKR's cannon. I did research what I knew how, and think all of it could have happened, though perhaps not exactly as I have described.

+I welcome Brit-picking, Grammar-Naziism, and links to psychology papers that reinforce or contradict anything said by the narrator or any character. (I respectfully suggest that the Grammar-Naziism should be by PM, so as not to clog everyone else's views if they read review for that sort of thing.)

.

An understanding: Vernon

Uncle Vernon seemed like he wasn't going to say anything on the trip home this time either. For a few minutes Harry found the silence relaxing. But after a short burst of swearing at another driver, Harry began to feel mildly insulted. And then he figured it out. He'd watched his Aunt and Uncle work guests over at his 'at home business dinners. Most of Uncle Vernon's small talk openers were expressly contraindicated, not because he didn't care about Harry, (which granted he probably didn't, but he didn't care about most of those B2B executives he sold drills and other machining bits to) but because Harry's answers to most of those questions would involve the topic of magic.

Case in point: His biggest adventure involved having a giant magical snake set on him by a magical book that was magically eating his friend's little sister's soul. And then defeating it with a magical sword with some help from a magical bird, a magical hat, and the magical bird again.

Harry sighed, so … could it go the other way. Did Harry even want it to?

"So," said Harry, "How's business?"

"The tech sector has been gearing up to put in a lot of infrastructure," said Vernon, "While they're replacing systems with Y2K compliant systems they figure on upgrading at the same time."

Harry nodded and caught on, "and all of those machines live in boxes, which are held together with screws and have vent holes, and you sell drills."

"That I do!" Uncle Vernon beamed.

Was parroting Uncle Vernon's blather all that it took to get a smile… Well some of his blather was bullshit, but not all of it was.

"You really do have a foundational job," said Harry, "I didn't really understand that until I learned how frivolous some people's jobs are." Lord Malfoy for instance.

"Ah," said Vernon, "I can see how growing up with it might not give you a full appreciation."

"Exactly," said Harry, "seeing how the other half lives, gives me a new appreciation for the people who do real work, instead of just telling other people what work to do, most of whom already know what to do."

Harry wasn't sure which side of that Uncle Vernon considered himself, given that he was … mostly in sales? Maybe? At any rate, 'Aunt' Marge was squarely in the 'frivolous' side of the spectrum, sure people needed their dogs trained and groomed, but … if they couldn't do that themselves did they really need dogs? Or was he confusing things because muggles didn't keep familiars. How much difference was there really, or did it depend entirely on the animal and human specimen?

"Have you considered what kind of career you want?" said Uncle Vernon.

"Funny, they've been asking the same thing at school recently."

Uncle Vernon clenched his teeth.

"I started out saying, police detective like my Dad, but …"

"He What?"

"That's what he did you know," said Harry, "tracked down, fought, and locked up the darker elements of err … my sort. Till an err … disgruntled king pin … made a house call."

"Humph," said Uncle Vernon, "That's not what Petunia said."

"I was never convinced Mum admitted the truth to Aunt Petunia about Dad's inheriting a title but no money to speak of. Had to work, just like everyone else."

Uncle Vernon snorted, "Yeah, your mom was a real piece of work, from the way Pet tells it."

This was getting into territory Harry didn't want to deal with right now.

"But I'm not sure I want a job that involves fighting all the time," said Harry, "maybe if I could get real training for that, but … did I mention I had to fight a snake the size of a bus."

Uncle Vernon glanced over at him and then back at the road.

"How did you survive?"

"Mostly luck," said Harry, "Or do you mean … I found a sword just in the nick of time. And managed to impale it through the roof of its mouth into its brain, just as it's mouth was closing around me?"

Uncle Vernon snorted, "That does sounds just like your luck."

Harry nodded, "and miraculously there was the appropriate kind of antivenin on hand."

"You know," said Uncle Vernon, "if I heard that story about anyone else I wouldn't believe it."

"Are … you calling me a liar?"

"I'm calling you incredibly lucky," said Uncle Vernon, "Which is not to say, that I don't I call you a liar all the damn time, To keep attention off you. We were told to keep you low profile."

"Oh," said Harry, "Fair enough, I'll continue trying to keep my odd escapes off the front page."

Uncle Vernon nodded, "See that you do."

.

And there was silence for several minutes longer.

"You mentioned getting fight training?"

"Sort of."

"Are you serious?"

"Practising dodging Dudley's punches seems to have stood me in good stead, but … not getting hit is different than knowing how or where to hit back. Is different than knowing what to do with a sword when it ends up in my hands."

"Very true," said Uncle Vernon, "It's been a while, but … I've been thinking about breaking out my old equipment and teaching Dudley a few things. D'you want in?"

"Am I going to get pounded with in an inch of my life the moment Dudley whinges that I landed a punch?"

"When the gloves are on, and you follow the rules, he doesn't get to whinge. If you attack him while he'd down, you don't get any more lessons."

"And if he attacks me while I'm down?"

"Given that I know he'd never do any permanent damage," Uncle Vernon shrugged, "I'm under the impression you've been man enough not to whinge for quite a while."

Depends on definitions, thought Harry. But still, a chance to beat up on Dudley, and maybe Uncle Vernon too,

All he said aloud was, "I'm in."

"Good," said Uncle Vernon.

"Will there be knives or swords?"

"I'll assume you mean wood or rubber mock-ups?"

"At least until we can all manage not to cut our own fingers and toes off," agreed Harry.

"Humph," said Uncle Vernon, "I'm starting with boxing. Once you're proficient, if you still want more, there's a dojo about three blocks away."

What didn't need to be said aloud was. But that costs money. And you don't get that unless I say you're proficient.

"If I promise not to practice any school related things, and keep it out of sight, and not talk about it, may I at least read my homework?"

"Garden shed," said Uncle Vernon with hardly any thought, "rig a curtain or something across the window first. Also, no inviting aliens or whatnot around to visit."

"Yes sir," said Harry, "Thank you."

"Humph."

Maybe he'd only wanted to be asked politely.

.

An understanding: Dudley

Dudley groaned and mopped the sweat from his face and neck.

Harry echoed him. Dudley put his towel down, "Even chasing you all over town never wore me out like this."

Harry blinked, and stared, say again? But he didn't say that out loud.

"At least Dad thinks I'm coming up on 'capable to hold my own' at Smeltings."

"It's a step," agreed Harry.

"I'll at least be better than the few that were bothering me last year."

The irony of Dudley getting bullied. Or was it just karma? At any rate it explained why Vernon had been willing to teach these lessons to start with.

"How about you?" said Dudley, "you ready for a re-match with Ripper?"

Oh, right. That's who was visiting this weekend. "Don't remind me," said Harry.

"I don't know what you're worried about," said Dudley, "You always come alive again."

"What?" said Harry.

"I don't know what Aunt Marge is trying to prove," said Dudley, "bringing her prize dogs around. They always manage to rip you up, used to be to kill you, back when you were their size. But you always come alive again, and the dog gets sick or dies or whatever within the week. Well until Ripper, by the time she started bringing him around you were fast enough to get away and climb out of reach."

"I was dead?"

"Sure," said Dudley, "breathing stopped, heart stopped."

"Oh," said Harry, "Who knows about it?"

"Dad and I, maybe Mom. Not Aunt Marge."

"Interesting," said Harry.

"I'm not allowed to tell," said Dudley, "anyway who would believe me?"

Harry cleared his throat and whispered, "wizards would care, very very much, thank you for keeping it quiet."

"Ah!" said Dudley.

"Anyway!" said Harry. But he wasn't sure what topic to change to after that.

"Um, Harry," said Dudley.

"Yeah?"

"Why haven't I died yet?"

"Huh?"

"All Aunt Marge's dogs die from killing you. I haven't. Why?"

Harry stared at Dudley.

To his knowledge Dudley had only managed to pummel him into unconsciousness twice, and that was a long time ago. Long enough ago that Harry hadn't yet been fast enough to get away. Perhaps long enough ago that Dudley had noticed the pattern in suspicious doggy illnesses and quit while he was ahead.

"How long have you been wanting to ask that?"

"About four years," From Dudley's answer Harry was sure it was the second. Interesting, Harry hadn't attributed that much intelligence or self preservation instinct to Dudley as a nine-year-old.

"Not sure," said Harry, "Either because though I feared you but didn't hate you, didn't want you dead, or because my Mom's protection wants you alive too."

"Aunt Lily made you like you are?"

Harry shrugged, "that's the rumour, but no one knows how, so no one can be sure it was her."

Dudley shivered, "good to know. Is there a way figure out for sure … aside from me dying and seeing if I come back?"

"Not to my knowledge," said Harry drily, "Just in case, I recommend not dying."

"Agreed," said Dudley.

.

An understanding: Defence and Offence

"Uncle Vernon, can you sign my permission slip?"

"What's this for?"

"Visiting the shopping district on third weekends."

"Have any money?"

"Not really, but it's still a chance to hang out with friends," Harry shrugged, "watch them window shop too, not that they have any money either."

"No taking your lack of money out on the world by thieving."

"Certainly not," said Harry.

"Hmm, give me a good reason?"

"So I can visit the pub where that's allowed and practice my brawling." with adults closer to my skill level than my fellow pupils.

"Good point," said Vernon, and signed. "In return I'm expecting you to be on your best behaviour when my sister visits."

"Does that mean kicking her dogs, or not kicking her dogs?"

Vernon stared at him for several seconds, "It means no accidentally kicking her dogs. Either kick to kill and fess up immediately, preferably with something resembling a self defence excuse and evidence, or let the mutt be. And if you can't manage to avoid an accident, running like hell again is preferable to poisoning them with yourself, or however you manage that trick."

"May I poison them with other things?"

"Like what?"

Harry shrugged, "oven cleaner?"

Uncle Vernon rolled his eyes, "any dog that can't smell oven cleaner and 'get the idea' deserves to be poisoned."

"So … oven cleaner would be allowed, but rat poison would be cheating?"

Uncle Vernon nodded, "rat poison would definitely be cheating."

"I understand sir," said Harry.

"And if the mutt vomits on Petunia's floors, for any reason, you'll be doing a truly unfortunate number of push ups until school starts. Also repolishing the floors."

"Yes, Sir!"

.

Dream

A tug of the sheet and a draft of less-warm air, then a muffled grunt.

"Hey, Parv," said Padma.

"Hey."

"Bad dream?"

"Nightmare."

"Hmm?"

"Running away from something, I couldn't see what."

"What could you see?"

"Dessert, fallen apart shoes or something, only felt it on my heels."

"Probably were too hot, turn on your fan."

"My fan was on, probably what made me think I was running."

"Plausible."

"It didn't feel like a random dream, it felt like it meant something."

"Ever since you heard that there was a class on divination, you've thought that about all your dreams."

"No, only about the dreams I've told you about."

"Oh."

.

Alley

Harry needn't have worried so much about the dog, what brought things to a head was Marge & Petunia going on about his parents. This time Uncle Vernon was oddly reticent about joining in, though he did mention something about 'nobility' and 'gambling debts' at just the right moment for it to do the most damage without coming right out and saying anything. So much for confiding that much to him.

.

In the end Harry noticed the choice between kicking Ripper or going outside for some fresh air.

The fresh air helped some, but at the thought of returning inside, he realised that Uncle Vernon wasn't kidding, he knew exactly how to kick that tiny vicious dog so it would never get up again. Not liking to hear things said about one's mother might be a valid reason to get in a slap fight on the school yard. It was an insufficient excuse for adults to attack each other, or each others' pets. And both Uncle Vernon and the dojo had been teaching both how to be adult level dangerous, and the necessity of taking adult level responsibility for what one did with that capability.

After another glance back inside, Harry clenched his teeth not to scream, and ran out to the shed. Again he was faced with a decision, huddle here until Aunt Marge was gone, head to the garage to take out his anger and frustration on the punching equipment, or run away to the dojo for quiet and the shelter that sensi always promised his students if they needed it. 'If they were wise enough to back down from a fight.' Was always how Harry had interpreted the context around that particular offer.

'There is always an alternative to fighting,' Was how Harry titled that lecture in his head, they heard it about once a week. Well to be more technical, the lecture ought to be called, 'There is almost always an alternative to a fight, know what you want before you start one, know how much it will cost before you decide there is not a cheaper or less risky route to your goal.'

Most fights were about anger, which in turn meant they were usually about honour, respect, or rights.

That back there was about respect. He didn't want 'shelter' from a 'fight' he wanted to make a statement about … 'being a burden' and … 'gratitude for the roof over his head' as if they paid anything for the room they let him use, and Dudley's cast offs that they let him wear. Even at its most run down the magical world had better accommodations to offer.

Wait a damn minute.

He would show them!

He packed his things and had started down the road to where he figured he could get a taxi, when he accidentally summoned the knight bus. So that was even more efficient … if much more disturbing.

At The Leaky Cauldron, finally, He decided to owl Mr. Weasley and Dumbledore about where he was and why, but found that most of his parchment had been ruined when a bottle of ink spilled along the way, he must not have closed it tightly enough in his haste to pack.

Harry berated himself, but decided there was nothing for it but to sort out and assess everything, and replace whatever wasn't salvageable. Mostly that was just the last of his blank parchment. And his second year charms book.

When he was done with his assessment he stacked everything neatly.

He had his cloak. If he wasn't supposed to be here … he could avoid being seen except for getting meals. He could sneak everywhere and only change out of his cloak when he was ready to buy things… So he did what he'd wanted to do all summer: He read himself to sleep in a very comfortable bed with Hedwig perched on his elbow. Or his shoulder, or flying out the window to hunt and back, whenever she felt like it. He wished he was as free as she was, but at least he could let her be free.

.

In the morning he got breakfast from Tom, He also heard some alarming gossip: The notorious death eaters Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius Black, cousins no less, had broken out of Azkaban, the wizarding prison, no one was sure how, it was supposed to be impossible. Luckily Bellatrix seemed to have died in the attempt to cross the North Sea back to Scotland, her shredded and bloody clothes had washed up without her, but nothing of Sirius' had surfaced yet.

Harry was bemused, he'd seen their pictures on the muggle telly, but hadn't known that they were mages.

After breakfast he went out under his cloak to get the lay of the land, and buy parchment. While he was out he bought his new school books and realised that he could sell his Lockhart books. And given that his first year defence book and third year defence book appeared to be part of the same series, he bought the second volume, which it seemed Lockhart should have been teaching from.

It was an interesting read. A few of the spells he'd seen used by upper years, or Hermione. But some were new. It was with great difficulty that Harry did not get out his wand to try out the spells he found there. Instead he contented himself with slicing up a piece of used parchment, and bookmarking every single new incantation he wanted to try.

After a late lunch Harry went out again, if he read any more right now he'd go spare from wishing he were at Hogwarts where he could cast any magic he wanted, as long as it didn't disrupt class or wasn't 'in a corridor,' or … several other things…

.

He didn't know quite what kind of excitement and distraction he was looking for until it found him.

In the form of a bleeding and bedraggled cat of indeterminate breed. Perhaps larger and leaner than average, but limping and hurrying from the space between two buildings along the side of a shop and ducking into the shadows between that shop and the next.

Larger than average might mean a Kneazle breed.

He dodged through the shop and emerged in time to see her scuttle out across the side alley intent on disappearing into the shadows again.

The tawny colour could be several different things. It was hard to see under the blood and mud and slime.

"What did you do? Flip a cauldron and escape across a potions knife?"

She hissed at him. Then figured out that he wasn't what she'd been running away from already and glanced back where she'd come, and hissed again.

"Running away from a big mean dog?" asked Harry.

She spared him a glance, then limped farther on. This time she picked a gap wide enough that Harry could accompany her. She picked up her pace, but didn't seem to be running away from Harry.

"I've had some bad experiences with bully dogs before," he said conversationally.

When he looked down to see what she was doing now he ran into a bit of board dangling from rafter, that … on a well maintained muggle building wouldn't have been there. Then again, Harry wasn't sure an adult wizard would fit through here to maintain anything.

The cat sneezed at him and wandered on.

Harry rubbed his face and continued on. His hand came away red. Great a rusty nail scar to go with his other one.

Then he heard the snarl and looked behind. A huge orange blur was angling up the gap towards him… no, towards his exploring companion.

Harry put his trainer in the path of the orange blur, it came up short, "None of that," said Harry, "No bullying my friends."

The orange animated rug glared outrage.

"Go away," said Harry and glared back.

It tried to dart around him but Harry had his other trainer ready to interpose.

"No," said Harry again.

Another death glare.

"You'll find I tend to mean what I say," said Harry, Also it seems I'm lonely enough that my saving people thing seems to be including cats now.

The fluff thing that might have been a cat yawned hugely and turned back the way it came.

Harry stood up and relaxed the angles he'd had his shoes at to play goalie against a cat. He must be very bored.

The cat behind him yowled … gently.

"Yeah, it's gone, for now." Harry turned back to it. It no longer seemed intent on running away.

Good, one problem solved.

"There," said Harry, "you're rescued."

The cat said something, that … might have been agreement, if it was even intelligent enough to understand English.

"Now then," said Harry, "What I like after an adventure is a snack, and a shower, and a nap, and maybe a plaster." generally in that order of priority.

The cat tilted her head.

And for some reason everyone else seems to think the plaster should come first, the nap second, the shower third, followed by a full meal.

The cat purred and approached him.

Harry knelt, the cat walked up his lap and sat down. He petted her two strokes and waited for her to sniff his hand, she wrinkled her nose at the smelly potion and looked for his other hand.

That one merely had his own blood on it. She liked the smell of that one better and licked it several times before trying to nuzzle it instead. That was fine as long as he was scratching her head, but after she arched into a full back pet, it was just as messy as the other.

She looked around. Maybe for water. Did cats of her breed tolerate water? Some kinds of wild cats did. Tigers were notorious but … muggle house cats just licked themselves clean.

He imagined licking her clean, and he had no idea what the potion was, and he couldn't legally use a cleaning charm on it. Maybe if it was only her blood, there was an outside chance that he'd do that for his kitten … wait what was he thinking. This wasn't a kitten.

He stared at her. He'd gotten supposedly inordinate desire to fly after receiving an owl as his first warm blooded friend in the whole world. Neville and Ron called her 'his familiar' rather than just 'his post owl.' He'd thought that was just wizard terminology, but Ron called Scabbers a pet, not a familiar. He also called him lazy and useless … but …

Now he had a cat, he'd declared her his own when speaking to another cat, and now she was … exchanging notes with him on cleaning instincts and tactics. What was next? Chasing mice?

She sneezed again.

"Yeah, we should get you clean and dry. At least it's not a windy cold day."

She stood and turned to snuggled against his chest.

"Right," said Harry, "Let's go home."

She purred.

Harry picked her up, careful of her injured paw. Make that paws. And carried her back to the Leaky.

In his room he put her on the bathroom counter and started running the sink.

Weirdly enough, she didn't wait for him to find a wash cloth, or get the water running exactly to … tongue temperature, but just hopped in and began ducking under the faucet, exactly like taking a shower.

However he was sure she'd prefer warmer so he kept adjusting it to what seemed like it should be comfortable.

He was oddly convinced he could tell exactly what she found comfortable.

Her cleaning routine seemed to be ducking under the water and flopping against the sink wall. So perhaps, rinse and wring, rinse and wring. Sometimes she would use her tongue, then immediately rinse it under the running water.

Harry wasn't sure if she didn't like the taste of the potion, or if she knew enough not to swallow a potion whose purpose she didn't know. Or maybe she was trusting his instinct not to. Did this instinct sharing thing go both ways?

Once he was sure of her routine, and that she'd be at it for a while, he tried to help. Mostly by rubbing right as she finished getting wet, saving her the effort of turning around and flopping, just to get up again.

All that activity must be awful on her hurt feet.

She seemed to appreciate it, and sometimes would lick his hand.

Finally she hopped down into the tub, shook off and hopped out. Leaving pink footprints.

Harry crouched, trying to work out how to offer her murtlap essence for her feet.

She hissed at him.

He backed away.

She tilted her head then hopped into the tub again, padded to the end and pawed the faucet, looked at him, then hopped out again.

"You want … after all your — our work to get you clean, you want that I should be clean before I smear muddy potion back into your fur by accident?"

She blinked and hopped back onto the counter.

"Just clean clothes, or clean clothes and a shower?"

She sat down facing the tub.

"Bossy little cat aren't you."

She looked at the ceiling and sniffed.

"Fine," said Harry. And did as he was told.

When he was dressed again she didn't seem … especially impressed. But she assented to being treated with murtlap essence. And when he made to put it away she hopped onto his shoulder and licked his forehead.

"Ouch!" he jumped, "Right," he said, "we'd better treat that one too."

She licked him again.

He rubbed enough murtlap onto it to start it healing, also to keep it from getting infected, or licked.

"Now then," he sighed, "What do you say? I think there's just enough time before my dinner to find dinner for you."

"Mew," she said.

"Exactly," he said, "cat treats from the store, or do you prefer bacon like Hedwig?"

Hedwig barked from her perch in the corner.

"It's not sundown yet," said Harry, "But you're welcome to follow or ride along on the search for our dinner."

Hedwig looked them over then flew to Harry's shoulder.

The cat stared at Hedwig, then crouched and sprang to land on Harry's other shoulder.

"Oh dear Merlin," said Harry.

And oddly he was sure that Hedwig didn't weight anything. And that a big strong upright-walking-parent-cat like him could carry a small-plains-cat as small as Nimrodina . And that they weighed vaguely the same amount. Familiars communicating in stereo would take some getting used to.

.

Tom assured them that today's stew was fish based. Seemed legit. Harry ordered 'enough for a boy and two familiars. Tom winked at him and charged him the same as always, but brought him a big saucer to dump some out so it could cool for the animals.

.

Fudge

Just before noon the next day, Harry was surprised by a knock on his door.

He answered it to find two aurors and the minister.

The minister is here with two aurors!

"Oh, Merlin," muttered Harry, "I forgot to send those letters."

"It's quite alright," said Minister Fudge, "would you care to join me for lunch?"

"What?" said Harry, but he could see what was happening, the prison was proved not to be impregnable, escape proof, whatever. At least one, maybe two, mass murders were on the loose. The public was nervous and therefore annoyed; The minister eating lunch in public, was a calculated move to put a bold face on it. Remind everyone that there was still order in the streets. Vigilance might be wise, but paranoia wouldn't help. Being seen eating lunch with Harry Potter, that might make or save his political career. Or just prop it up long enough that he could get something done about the escaped prisoner problem. Or at merely figure out what the next step in being seen to be doing something.

The minister opened his mouth, calculating the best answer and the best way to put that answer. Except Harry had already figured it out, no need to put the Minister to all the trouble of explaining it.

On the other hand, he thought gleefully, it might be interesting to see what explanation the minister came up with.

On the first hand again, perhaps he should take charge and make some sort of play of his own. If only he had a plan for just this eventuality… Which didn't even make sense, he wasn't Lucius Malfoy. But maybe it should have, he was Harry Potter after all.

"Actually Minister," said Harry, jumping in, "I'd love to. This seems like just the opportunity I've been waiting for. Though I suppose the things I want your opinion on could wait for a more opportune time, if there's a particular topic you want to be err covering today."

"Certainly," said the minister, he seemed to get ready to say something else, then he got stuck eyeing Harry.

What do I do? Thought Harry.

Get dressed. He interrupted me reading, I'm in muggle clothes and all my wizarding robes are from last year and therefore too small.

Oh damn. Now what do I do?

Ask him for the name of his tailor.

Good idea? Is there a fancy way in the magical world, or do I just face it around like they do in the movies.

"Oh, sorry sir," said Harry, "let me throw some robes on. I'm afraid all I have at the moment are my Hogwarts robes. What with running away from home and all. I haven't replaced them yet."

"It's fine," The minister said, though his eyes bugged out momentarily. One of the aurors snorted.

He probably wasn't expecting you to come right out and say that. The other auror already knew, not sure how. Probably in the relief of them figuring out you were here and the minister catching wind of it to invite you to lunch.

"Right," said Harry, "that was going to be in one of the letters, you know. Anyway, while we're on the topic, who's your tailor?"

The minister smirked, and told him.

Both aurors rolled their eyes.

"Thank you, sir," said Harry.

It would have been better to give an actual compliment before the request for that information, but imitation is the sincerest form of flattery no matter how stumbling the compliment is offered.

The minister turned away, and after the aurors shared a wordless glance, one of them also turned away with him.

Not going to let me go totally unobserved while in the room with the minister. Wise.

Harry grabbed a set of school robes, the ones not torn up fighting the basilisk, and ducked into them. By the time he turned back to the door, the Minister was in the corridor and Nim was crouching to spring onto his shoulder again.

"Nim, I don't think this is the time."

But the glare was ominous. And then she leaped.

Harry sighed. He could already tell, he wasn't going anywhere without her for quite a while. Hopefully she'd settle down once he got to Hogwarts and she figured out that no matter how large the castle, there just wasn't anywhere he would go to get away form her.

The wizards seemed to take the cat's presence in stride.

"Hemphill, if you'd lead the way."

The shorter auror proceeded them down the stairs, and led them all the way to Fortescue's.

.

"So," said the Minister, as they looked over the menu, "I presume you had a good reason for running away from home?"

"My Uncle's sister was talking down my parents, she doesn't know about our world, so I couldn't very well tell her that they're war heroes could I? Anyway, I had to leave before I lost my temper, and then I thought, I might be angry enough for accidental magic, I ought to get somewhere that wouldn't get observed. Don't you know."

"Wise," said the Minister, "very responsible and forward thinking. The accidental magic reversal squad thanks you too, or would if they knew, I don't want to leave that out. But … I just want to be clear, just now isn't like other times."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"You know, with Sirius Black on the loose, best idea to stay with large crowds. He probably won't try anything with enough witnesses around. Whatever you do, don't approach him or go anywhere alone with him. He's … bad news, the worst. They say he was you-know-who's right hand.

Nim had a sneezing fit. Harry looked at her with concern, but after a moment she regained control of herself and lay down again with her ears laid back, but she didn't cough anything up, unlike Mrs. Figg's cats when they had sneezing fits that bad.

"Why would I approach him?" said Harry.

"Well he's your second or third cousin, well I'm sure he's third or fourth cousin to half the Wizengamot, but that's hardly here nor there. And they say he's was your godfather."

"My what?" said Harry, Merlin, my parents picked out a godfather for me, and he turned out to be a mass murdering psychopath?

No, that sounds exactly like my luck.

Nim nuzzled his chest. Then stood up in his lap to nuzzle his chin. Right, I love you too, but you're kind of distracting, and it's not often I can get anyone to explain anything.

"It was quite the dramatic betrayal when it went down," said the minister drily, "I can't believe I'm the first one to mention any of this to you."

Harry shrugged, "No one seems to fully comprehend that I was raised by muggles. So they don't tell me anything, then act surprised when I don't know."

"Practically a muggleborn," said one auror and looked away.

"Through no fault of his own," defended the Minister.

"Being an actual muggleborn, isn't the fault of the muggleborn in question either!" said Harry.

"No doubt," said the Minister, "But it won't win you many friends to mention that too loudly."

Good point. And now we know at least one of those aurors is a blood purist.

Oh, great.

Harry sighed, "Maybe we should get back to the topic of what I need to know about Sirius Black, as well as the facts that everyone assumes everyone already knows, and so, won't bother to mention them to me."

"He went to Auror training with your father and they were partners for a while."

"Oh, Merlin."

"When your mother got pregnant, your parents went into hiding. Rumour is only Sirius knew where they were hiding, rumours also say the property where they were staying had secrecy wards that would prevent anyone from finding out or revealing that location except through the direct agency of Sirius Black. You've heard about the unplottable wards on Hogwarts?"

"Yes, sir."

"Same idea except it blocks different forms of information and information vectors. There were several such ward schemas on the market by that point, the latest and greatest at the time was 'The Fidelius Charm' not sure if that's the one they used or not, and even if they did, which of the competing versions they got hold of, or got cast for them. These days it's been fully researched and standardised, but that wasn't always true."

"Alright."

"If they used the form most popularly speculated, Sirius Black could not have shared the location unwillingly."

"But we don't know?"

"By their very nature, secrecy wards are often hard to identify in general, and doubly so verify after a catastrophic failure of the rest of the property's wards due to fiendfyre."

"Oh," said Harry, "So … if it were a different version of the Fidelius, he might have … what? Given it up under torture or whatever."

"Torture, veritaserum, or legilimency," said the auror that had talked the least so far "you-know-who was rumoured to be a master of the mind arts."

So 'the mind arts' are a separate branch of magic than 'the dark arts'? I wonder what they are about, I mean, besides obliviation obviously.

"Right," said Minister Fudge, "but regardless he was caught at the scene of killing Pettigrew and 12 muggles."

Harry blinked, and nodded, "That's bad."

I'm never sure whether magicals think killing muggles is bad like murdering magicals who have already been disarmed, or if it's like killing someone's dog.

Minister Fudge and both Aurors gave a slow nod. Respect for the dead. Oh.

Harry gave the same nod, then when no one else seemed in a hurry to say anything else, Harry said, "Thank you for the information."

.

Their food came and they talked about inane job related and school related and holidays related things for a while.

"So," said Harry, "What about the other escapee, the one who drowned, what's her story?"

"She's the deranged cousin of the first one."

Nim finished her food and hopped into Harry's lap.

"She was born Bellatrix Black, had an unremarkable career at Hogwarts, or what passes for unremarkable for a Black in Slytherin house. She married Rodolphus Lestrange after she graduated. By her own admission she led the team of Death Eaters who attacked the Longbottom Manor, the last attack before the war ended.

"That's when … Neville lost his parents?" said Harry.

"That's correct," Fudge nodded, though his gaze seemed cool and assessing. The aurors bickered in quick abbreviated sentences about some other death eaters that were captured with her, and how blame should be assigned between them.

Nim's tail was twitching.

Apparently ministry law, like British law, allowed and encouraged punishing gangs and organised crime as a unit. If all the death eaters were to assemble and peacefully protest whatever they got into their head to protest, and then one went on a murdering rampage, they could all be charged at least as accomplices. Even worse (or better) if any group of random teens (or death eaters) assembled to pillage a supposedly deserted manor or shop or whatever, and someone turned up, and a team member killed him, all the rest could be charged with 'conspiracy' to commit that murder. Which was punished basically the same as a murder charge.

So being a death eater needn't have been illegal, but as soon as they started committing crimes 'as death eaters' then the ministry was within its rights to arrest and prosecute them all. Not that it was generally easy to prove anyone was part of the gang, sure some had the tattoo and some were caught with hoods and masks, but unfortunately that was not considered proof. Getting caught wearing said paraphernalia in public on the other hand, that was a difficult rap to beat.

Things had turned around after you-know-who disappeared, a significant portion of their rank and file suddenly escape the imperious curse, and more and more of the death eaters caught suddenly became willing to rat out their co-conspirators.

Nim helped Harry play astounded audience by trying to hiss at all the dramatic moments.

.

.

{End Chapter 1}