Haris saga Pottersbragi
The Saga of Harry, Chieftain of Potter
Prologue
Godric's Hollow, England
October 31st, 1981
Albus Dumbledore appeared with a quiet 'pop' in the small town which housed the Potters. He rushed down the street towards the old cottage, only to stop in front of it, slack-jawed at the sight that awaited him. With slow steps, he walked into the house. He slumped into the doorframe at the sight of James Potter, dead on the floor of the living room. A small tear escaped his eyes as he pushed off the frame and continued towards the stairs, following the broken spots of the banister and the quiet crying with his wand in hand. Upon reaching the upper floor and looking into the nursery, his wand arm fell to his side. Severus Snape was sat on the floor, cradling Lily Potter in his arms, shaking and whimpering. Albus stepped past the Potions teacher and the corpse towards the crib, only to find it empty.
"Severus," Albus said with a weak voice. "Where is Harry?"
Severus didn't answer with words, and Albus doubted the man could muster it in his state, but shook his head. He didn't know. Albus gripped the crib and leaned over it, lightly shaking his head as more tears rolled down his cheeks and into his white beard. He had failed, and spectacularly. The Fidelius charm had been broken only half an hour earlier, but with the skirmishes with Death Eaters all over England, he had been unable to rush here immediately. Now, he was too late. His mind seemed to be crawling along. His thoughts were sluggish. Sirius… Sirius had betrayed them. Betrayed James and Lily. Dumbledore had never thought it possible. Sirius had loved James like a brother, and Lily like a sister. Dumbledore recalled Sirius sitting with little Harry and making faces at the child to peals of laughter. He remembered Sirius at the Potters' wedding, tearing up in joy for his best friends. To think he of all people was capable of betraying those he loved most… Dumbledore knew Tom's ability of charming good people to his side was great, but Albus had thought Sirius – of all people – would be immune to this charm. If even Sirius could be turned against James, Albus didn't dare imagine the kind of betrayals that would be to come. Looking at Severus brushing Lily's hair, icy water momentarily rushed over his heart. A part of Albus – the tiniest, most repressed part of him left over from his time with Grindelwald – felt the urge to turn his wand on the young man, to make him pay for what he had brought on when he relayed the incomplete prophecy to his former master. Instead, he slipped his wand back into his robes.
Albus was about to leave the room when he noticed a bundle of dark robes on the floor next to the crib. Hesitantly, he knelt down over them and turned them over. A sand-like substance fell out of the robes, and Dumbledore's eyes widened with shock. Running his hand through the sand, he clearly felt dark, residual energies lingering in it. A vague impression of an agonised scream rang through his mind, as though coming from the other end of a long tunnel. Albus felt as though he was struck in the face with an ice-cold, wet rag and gasped for air, and he knew that this fight was not yet over. The prophecy had been enacted. The old man, reeling from his revelation, stood and slowly made his way out of the room and down the stairs. A few tears escaped his weary, aging eyes as he realised the fate a toddler had been consigned to this night, and for the loss of two great people.
Dumbledore shook his head lightly. There was much to be done, not the least of which being locating baby Harry. If his suspicions were right, which they in his humble opinion usually were, Sirius had taken the boy after he betrayed Lily and James to Lord Voldemort. Harry had to be rescued.
• • • • •
It was to a dull headache that Sirius awoke in a room with bare stone walls, and for a moment, he thought of Hogwarts. It was only an instant later that he recalled what had happened, and he remembered stepping over Prongs' body to reach the heart-breaking wails of his godson. Two silhouettes and a red flash was all he recalled before waking up in the… dungeon-like room he found himself in.
Harry!
Panicked, Sirius leapt to his feet, ignoring his headache, and rushed to the door. Throwing it open, he was met with the sight of two people, only one of whom he recognised. Meerlinda, a gorgeous woman he had met a handful of times at the Potters' second home in Dover, where James grew up. Long, raven hair and deep, ocean-blue eyes crowning a deathly pale, disturbingly young face. A shiver went through Sirius at the sight of her half-content, half-sombre expression. Her face was free of wrinkles or lines that came from age and use, but held an immensely world-weary quality Sirius had never been able to put his finger on. The one thing he knew for certain about her, was that he had never met a woman like her before or since that night he first saw her as he was sneaking from his guest room into James' room at the Potter home when he was fourteen. Standing in the hallway, staring out a window as the moon lit up her already-white countenance; like a living ghost or a pale image of a goddess, her pure white nightgown had seemed grey like ash in comparison to her skin.
Now, she was sitting in a chair next to a longtable in what seemed like a dining hall filled with sconces, a large chandelier, and candles across the table, and the little bundle of blankets in her arm made some pleased sounds as her other hand was occupied with playing with the baby wrapped in them. She half smiled briefly as the tiniest hands grasped her index finger with an excited baby-laugh.
"You're awake," said the other person, a man whom Sirius didn't recognise. "We need to talk."
At the statement, Meerlinda looked up at Sirius, and those blue eyes pierced his soul just the same as they had that night in the hallway when Sirius had mindlessly bumped into a dresser.
"That can wait, Eric," Meerlinda said. Sirius wondered, not for the first time since his teens, if she really was human, or if she was an angel. Her voice certainly sounded like what he expected of one. He couldn't describe it – even to himself – without thinking of a dinner bell made of diamond. She extended a dainty hand, gesturing to him. "Come, Sirius."
Sirius almost wondered if she had placed him under the Imperius curse, seeing as he had no control of his feet, shuffling him forwards at her command. As he reached her, she held up the bundle – little Prongslet – to him. Without thinking, Sirius took his godson and held him close. Harry smiled up at him and reached out for him, and Sirius let out a choked chuckle as he pulled his head down and let Harry touch his face and grasp at his short, trimmed beard. Harry's laughter came out as a gurgle through the saliva building up in his mouth. A vice clenched Sirius' heart as he saw Lily's eyes peering back at him, and a cut on Harry's forehead drew his attention.
"What happened?" Sirius managed to get out of his dry, constricted throat.
"The Dark Lord," said the man – Eric – with a concerned expression. "He cast the Killing curse at Harry, but… well, does he look dead to you?"
Sirius's heart skipped a beat as cold sweat pushed out of his forehead and back.
"Are you sure?" he croaked out.
"It's his specialty, isn't it?" Eric retorted. "It was the Killing curse. I'd recognise its disgusting resonance anywhere. It was how he killed Lily and James."
Sirius paused as he took in the information. He had to swallow as he thought of James and Lily. Neither had survived the curse, not a single person in history had survived it, but Harry somehow did.
"How did he live?"
"We have some theories," Meerlinda spoke up again, her eyes locked intensely on baby Harry, "but we need much more time to figure it out. We were hoping the Black family library might have sources we could use."
"I'll do what I can," Sirius muttered with eyes downcast in shame, "but I don't know if I can gain access to it. My mother cast me out of the family."
"Did the Lord Black confirm the banishment?" asked Eric quickly.
"He did. It was my father, Orion, at the time. But my grandfather Arcturus would have become Lord again after my father died two years ago. I could ask him, but I wouldn't get my hopes up."
"Please do so. I already have people out searching for Pettigrew."
At the mention of the name, Sirius' guts rapidly heated up to a boil, and his heart began pounding with rage.
"That rat bastard!" he growled. His hands began to shake. "He betrayed us. He betrayed…" Sirius' anger subsided and the boiling hatred simmered down. The thought of what he did… to whom he did… And he simply couldn't find it in himself to stay angry. Not in the face of what he had lost. And what Harry had lost. He looked down at the tiny human in his arms, and the only thoughts he could manage were of how he would care for Harry. How could he? Sirius was a lady-killer, not a father. Even James had struggled immensely with parenthood, and he was the most responsible right after Remus — of course, that wasn't saying much for the Marauders. Remus was the closest to responsible any of them had been, and that was just a slight stretch. Sirius still couldn't believe Remus had been made prefect.
Sirius gently raised Harry higher and placed a kiss on his head, his heart twisting in both sadness of the entire situation, and satisfaction at knowing that Harry was alive and safe. And Sirius swore to himself that he would do his utmost to make sure Harry was happy.
How could he do otherwise?
• • • • •
Hogwarts Castle, Scotland
July 13th, 1984
Albus sat behind his desk, lightly drumming his fingers against the table top, lost in thought. Fawkes trilled quietly, drawing his gaze towards the scarlet bird and tickling his chest, making him smile at his trusted familiar.
"I'm worried, Fawkes," he said quietly. "Sirius has all but disappeared off the face of the Earth, and I can only presume he took Harry with him."
Fawkes gave out a sombre wail and flapped over onto his desk before trotting in front of Albus and looking comfortingly up at his master. Albus smiled and began stroking Fawkes' scarlet and golden feathers softly.
"I can never thank you enough for your companionship, my friend." Albus sighed lightly. "Your presence has been valued over the years, and in these times, is invaluable. I only wish I could find Harry and bring him to safety."
His hand dropped back to the desk and leaned back in his chair. His heart was heavy, even three years after the fateful incident at Godric's Hollow. It happened occasionally that his heart felt twisted in Creeper's Vine, slowly constricted and making him breathless. It was at times like these that it was made absolutely clear to him just how old he was becoming. One-hundred-and-two years old. Despite his magical prowess, his body was faltering, as fit as he still was for an old man. Albus knew his death was still years in the future, but with the uncertainty of Harry's continued living because of the prophecy, having possibly died back in '81, he was reminded of just how short some people's lives were, and just how long his own had been. Of course he knew of the other children that had been injured, orphaned, or killed during the war, but none of them seemed as ever-present as Harry — The Chosen One, who may have only experienced one year of life. For the first time in years, a few silent tears escaped the confines of his eyes, and he clutched a wrinkled hand to his chest.
He had failed. Quite spectacularly. It was only dimly brought to his attention that someone had been admitted to his office by the gargoyle downstairs.
"Albus!" came the rushed shout of his deputy. "Albus!"
"What's the matter, Minerva?" Albus replied calmly, hastily wiping at his tears before his protegé entered.
"It's Harry Potter!" she said as she heaved for air, standing in front of him.
Albus' former bout of dreariness was instantly forgotten as he shot to his feet, his attention utterly focused on Minerva.
"What?" he meant to speak loudly, but it came out as a hoarse whisper.
"The Book and Quill have agreed!" she spat out as fast as she could with a delighted smile. "He was enrolled just twelve minutes ago! Albus, he's alive and performing accidental magic!"
Albus' staggered back into his chair and slumped down in it. Minerva shuffled forward and took one of the customary chairs in front of the desk. Albus' gaze was floating somewhere in the aether, unfixed and unfocused. Minerva simply sat and beheld the old wizard as he let out a pleased, relieved sigh.
Maybe there was hope – for both the wizarding world and him – after all.
• • • • •
February 16th, 1988
"I'm tellin' you, Albus, the boy's nowhere to be found!"
Mundungus Fletcher's squeaky voice was starting to grate on Albus' ears. The wizened man prided himself on his patience for all people, but Mundungus was a special kind of odious in Albus' mind. It was only his proclivity for unsavoury aspects of their society – as well as his knowledge of the equally unsavoury people making those aspects up – that he allowed Mundungus to remain a part of the Order. Albus didn't truly hold it against him, but he was loath to involve himself in those aspects of society.
"But surely someone mus—"
"I'm sorry Headmaster, but you're not listenin'," Mundungus said nervously, as if afraid that Dumbledore would lash out at him for interrupting. "No one knows anythin' about the boy! I even started askin' them writers that write fairy tales 'bout him. There ain't one that can tell me anythin' they didn't write themselves. If no one knows about him by now, they never will. I'm sorry, Headmaster."
Albus sighed and removed his glasses before he rubbed his eyes.
"Thank you, Mundungus. You may go."
With no one knowing of Harry's whereabouts after his name appeared on the Hogwarts Charter in 1984, it would seem that Albus needed to wait until Harry turned eleven so he could see the address the enchanted quill would write on his Hogwarts acceptance letter.
Sirius had also yet to be located. The night after the incident at Godric's Hollow, Sirius had murdered Peter Pettigrew in the middle of a street in Muggle London with a curse which blew up half the street and twelve muggles with it. Ministry officials had found him laughing maniacally in the middle of the destroyed street, but an ally of his had rushed in, had fought off half-a-dozen aurors at once, and then apparated away. They reached as far as Wincester before the aurors lost their trail. If Sirius still had Harry, then Dumbledore was afraid of how the boy would be once he reached Hogwarts, if indeed Sirius would even let him attend.
For the millionth time that decade, Albus sighed wearily and leaned back in his seat.
• • • • •
Hogwarts Castle, Scotland
September 1st, 1991
Minerva looked out over the newest group of first year students, her eyes scanning for a very particular individual. The darkness of the evening, however, made it difficult to make out the young faces. There were many boys with dark hair, and she couldn't clearly see any of their eyes; having seen Harry many times before the Potters went into hiding, she knew well that the boy possessed Lily's distinctive eyes, and whilst it was quite bright as a baby, his hair had been darkening like James' the last time she had seen him.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.
"Thank you, Hagrid," Minerva replied. "I will take them from here."
With a flick of her wand, the great, big oak doors opened wider to allow the throng of eleven-year-olds inside. The group followed her as she turned and strode inside the castle, reaching another set of doors. She turned back to the students, and took her authoritative stance.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.
"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."
She sent a few stares at examples of her point: A young, dark-haired boy whose robe wasn't fastened correctly; another Weasley who had dirt on his face; and a boy with dark, unruly hair tried to flatten it with some urgency, but even Minerva knew that mop was a lost cause. Just as she was turning to leave, the boy with the untidy hair straightened his neck and looked back up, and her breath was caught in her throat as she saw his eyes.
Gleaming brightly, a green more vibrant and shining than her own robes or the most perfect emerald gem. He caught her gaze, and sent her a small smirk. Her heart lurched, sending a powerful rush of heat throughout her chest and throat as – for just a moment – eleven-year-old James Potter was sending her his charming, trademark smirk, his inner warmth and passion shining powerfully through eleven-year-old Lily Evans' joyous, inquisitive, and empathic eyes. All else seemed to fade to black, and Harry Potter's eyes shone brightly in the darkness. His handsome face, the sharp Potter jawline and cheekbones, the soft eyes and brows of Lily Evans, the unruly lawn of hair James, Fleamont, and Henry had all dealt with… Despite being an eleven-year-old, Harry Potter looked every bit as gorgeous as all Potter men Minerva had had the fortune to meet. There was next to no fat on his face, and she noticed that he was already a little rugged, courtesy of a few scars she could see with her sudden focus.
It was with immense effort – and a missed step – that Minerva managed to pull herself away and enter the Great Hall to prepare the student body for their newest schoolmates' arrival. She came to a halt halfway through the hall and looked up at Albus. Finding his eyes, she saw his concern at her bewildered expression. She fluttered her eyes at him, their unspoken signal that she wanted him to look into her mind. She felt the tingling probe of his legilimency on her frontal lobe, and she brought up the vivid image of Harry Potter's smirk. Albus' face paled, and through their mental link, she felt the trepidation, the anxiety of seeing the boy who had plagued his days and nights for a decade.
Minerva set up the stool and placed the Sorting Hat upon it. She then strode back to the doors, doing her best to calm herself down. She opened them wide to see a gathering of the castle ghosts loitering about.
"Move along, now," she said sharply. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start." The ghosts floated through the walls, leaving her with the children. "Now, form a line and follow me."
She led the students down the centre aisle of the Great Hall towards the stool placed in front of the staff table. Reaching it, she turned to face the new students. She purposefully didn't seek out Harry again, needing to focus on her duties as deputy headmistress. She then looked at the Sorting Hat, and the enchanted piece of cloth opened the seam over the brim it used to speak.
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffis are true And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
if you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands, though I have none
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"
Minerva, the staff, and the sorted students all gave polite applause, though none of the new students did. Minerva chuckled internally to herself. They never did. They were always too nervous and confused to applaud the hat. Except – this year – for one. Harry Potter, situated in the very centre of the group of first years, seemed totally unconcerned as he clapped along with the others who had known what was coming. Some of the other first years around him seemed confused more at him than the hat, though.
Clearing her throat, Minerva pushed the thought from her mind.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. There was a moment of pause before the hat shouted out "HUFFLEPUFF!"
The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Minerva saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.
"Bones, Susan!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.
"Boot, Terry!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them. "Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers.
Minerva went through the students as she had done every year for well over a decade by that point, until she reached the 'P's. Her heart began thumping louder and louder as she went through "Parkinson", "Patil", "Patil", and "Perks". She saw the next name, and with a short, steadying breath, read out "Potter, Harry!"
Minerva heard a multitude of gasps, several instances of "Merlin's beard!", an irritating number of exclamations of "Morgana's tits!", and a thick blanket of whispers and mutterings.
"Did she say Potter?"
"The Harry Potter?"
"The Boy Who Lived?"
"Can't be! He's supposed to be dead!"
"Could he really have survived?"
The entire room quieted, however, as young Harry Potter stepped up to the stool with a confidence Minerva had rarely seen. She vividly recalled the self-important swagger James had approached the Sorting Hat with, but Harry's approach reminded her more of Sirius Black; confident in a reserved, almost stoic manner as befitting one who was raised by the Blacks. The boy's smirk, however, was all James. Her heart sank a little, however, when his eyes landed on Albus and darkened, and his smirk faltered a little. He gracefully turned and sat down on the stool, and Minerva tentatively placed the Hat on his head. She then stepped back and waited patiently. Her heart warmed a little again when Harry chuckled quietly at something the Hat must have said. The wait became long, however, and Harry was making small gestures as though he was having a friendly conversation with the Hat: Nodding, shaking his head, shrugging, gesturing with his hands — all things one would expect from a normal, friendly conversation, all the while his eyes were pointed up at the Hat and his lips were moving only to fit his gestures.
Finally, just before Harry would qualify for a Hatstall, the seam opened up and the Hat roared "GRYFFINDOR!"
The named house burst into applause and cheers, and Minerva couldn't suppress a smile of her own as Harry stood.
"I'll try to visit," he muttered to the Hat, which gave him a nod. He then handed the Hat back to McGonagall and sent her a charming smile which she could do nothing about but give him her own warm smile. He strode down towards the Gryffindor table, found the Prefect Percy Weasley, and sat down between him and another new Lion, Hermione Granger.
Going through the rest of the new students, she finally finished and took the stool and Hat aside. Albus stood up, having recomposed himself, and held up his arms, open towards the sea of black-robed students.
"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
He then sat back down to clapping and cheering from the entire hall, except, once again, for Harry Potter. Minerva noticed that the boy was staring at Albus with an almost indecipherable look on his face, but Minerva could detect just a slight hint of resentment from the boy. Albus seemed to notice it as well, as his warm smile faded when he looked at Harry. The two held each other's gazes for a few moments until Harry turned his attention to the food which had appeared on the platters and trays.
It unsettled Minerva a little, and she kept a close eye on Harry all throughout the feast. He spoke with all those around him, but it seemed more passive than active. He sat with his back straight, his arms tight, and his hands moving with a trained grace and purpose. He looked someone in the eyes when they addressed him, spoke only very briefly when spoken to, and then turned his attention back to his food. The only person he actively addressed was Prefect Weasley, much to the obvious pride of the Prefect, and the almost-as-obvious disappointment of his peers. Minerva thought it was a nice gesture, even if Harry didn't know just how much it might mean to Percy.
Minerva had spoken with Percy many times, almost half being her asking him to keep a closer eye and leash on his mischievous brothers. He was as ambitious as any Slytherin, and worked hard to be acknowledged by anyone with authority. For such a famous – or maybe more appropriately, infamous – individual to focus his attention on him would be something Percy would be thinking of for days to come.
Minerva watched him closely for the rest of the meal until Albus called for silence and made his start-of-term announcements. At the mention of the restriction of the third floor corridor, Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the headmaster, and Minerva could almost see the gears turning in the boy's head. Her right hand clenched around a fistful of her robes nervously. All other students had already dismissed that message, but Harry's glare of suspicion lingered on Albus as he went through the other notices to give to the students. Harry only looked away when the children were sent to bed, and he stood and stuck closely to Percy, waiting patiently for all students second year and above to leave. Then, Percy led the first year Gryffindors out of the hall. Just before he walked out of sight, Minerva caught Harry's eyes, and he sent her the Potter smirk with a small, friendly wink.
Minerva took a deep breath. He had obviously been told of her fondness for James, and sought to ingratiate himself with her. He was already succeeding. She looked at Dumbledore. He subtly nodded his head, letting her know that he wanted to speak with her in his office.
• • • • •
"What is your impression of him?" Albus asked her. "Harry?"
"That he's a Black," Minerva stated hesitantly. "That Sirius must have raised him with manners and politeness and etiquette. He ate as gracefully as any pureblood Lord I've seen, and he seemed courteous, even though his peers seemed to… dare I say it… annoy him?"
"I got the same impression as well," Albus affirmed with a thoughtful nod. "That he feels superior to them. Above them, somehow. Knowing Sirius, I couldn't have believed he would teach anyone that kind of mentality, but with his betrayal of James and Lily, it seems my knowledge of him is more flawed than I could have imagined."
"I'm surprised he even let Harry come here," Minerva admitted. "But that begs a question to me."
"Oh?"
"Was it actually Sirius that took Harry?"
"What do you mean?"
"An unknown man came to Black's rescue that night he… when he murdered Peter," Minerva swallowed a lump in her throat at mentioning the foolish, stupid, brave, courageous boy's name. "Could it be someone else who took Harry? And if that's the case, then did they also abduct Sirius to take care of him?"
Albus leaned forwards and folded his hands in front of him.
"Would you elaborate?"
"Well, it's just a theory, but I can't help but imagine that Sirius may not have willingly taken Harry. That he went along with someone else's plan so that he could at least remain close to Harry. However much I mourn his betrayal of Lily and James, I've seen how he held and played with Harry. He could never have abandoned him or hurt him. Lily and James were at least adults, Black's peers, but Harry was just a baby. Even with that betrayal, he couldn't have hurt Harry. I would stake my life on at least that much."
Albus nodded slowly. His eyes settled on his wrinkled fingers, lost in thought.
"If that's indeed the case," she continued, "then I would hazard a guess that there is an entire third party at play; not Death Eaters or Sirius, but someone we wouldn't know. Someone invisible to us. Even if he's a Death Eater, Sirius wouldn't let others hurt Harry if he were in a position to protect him. If that had been the case, he would have killed the whole family himself, but he let his master do the deed instead. You said that the Dark Lord isn't truly gone, and if that's true, then Sirius will want to save Harry until his master returns so his master can deal with Harry for him."
Minerva had never enjoyed them, but she was so uncomfortable speaking of the topic that she took one of Albus' dreadful sour candies. Albus managed a weak smirk as she popped it in her mouth and grimaced at the sour taste, before he reached for the bowl and took one for himself.
"I have a feeling that I know why he seemed so angry with me," Albus let out calmly as he leant back and rolled the candy around his mouth.
"Why would that be?"
"In my searches for him, I've come across several sites where I believed he was being hidden. Many of them were very intensely warded, and I believe his mind has been turned against me by using my dismantling of those wards as breaches of his security. I believe he is under the impression that I've been hunting him down — for what purpose, I can barely even guess at. To finish him off? To take credit for Voldemort's downfall? To turn him into my own personal weapon, perhaps?"
"You think so?"
"I do. If Sirius was with him, he would have turned Harry against me and make him more pliable to work against me. He would have made me seem untrustworthy, whilst at the same time making Harry certain that he didn't work for Voldemort. He might have told Harry that he was innocent, and that he wasn't the one who betrayed Harry's parents."
"You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Albus," Minerva stated with narrowed eyes.
"I've thought of little else than Harry for a decade, Minerva. How he is doing, if he's happy, if he's being treated well. If he is driven or lazy, clever or cunning, grounded in grim reality or a merry dreamer with fancy imagination," Dumbledore finished his listing with a sombre smile. "But I hadn't expected that Sirius would pass on his teaching and training as a member of House Black. If I had to guess, I would say Harry has been in at least somewhat regular contact with old Arcturus before he passed away back in July. That, or Sirius has come to see eye to eye with the values of his family. It would fit with his service to Voldemort."
Minerva and Albus sat in silence for a short while, simply sucking on their candies — Minerva with a great deal of grimacing compared to Dumbledore's utter serenity at the taste.
"What should we do, Albus?" Minerva asked. Despite her strength and resilience, the desperation was evident in her tone.
"For now, we wait and watch. Let him get acquainted with the school and his peers. Then, we let him know that he can talk to us, and wait for him to come to us. It must be his choice."
Minerva nodded and rose. She needed to get her rest for the early start on the first day of classes.