Chapter 7: A Great and Terrible Evil
The room was drab and bare.
The windows were small. The light, too weak to drive away the shadows, left indistinct shapes on the floor. He liked to take refuge here. It was a good place to think. Away from the other children. They were too noisy. Too mundane. He was made of better stuff than they. He would show them all. They would pay.
The scene faded as images swam into focus, flicking by like a film on fast-forward.
A ring with a black stone.
A golden cup.
A heavy silver locket carved with a decidedly serpentine "S."
Emotions came along with the images: loneliness, despair, and anger. SO much anger…
Harry jerked awake, sweaty and trembling, heart pounding roughly against his ribs.
He had no idea what that dream meant.
What was he seeing? They felt like memories, but they certainly weren't his.
He could still feel the overwhelming anger, rage burning under his skin without cause or cure.
There was no way he was going to get any more sleep tonight.
A quick glance at the clock revealed it to be just before five in the morning.
Needing to pass the time until he could move about the house without waking everyone, Harry padded out of bed and pulled his Divination textbook from his rucksack, flipping to the chapter on Dream Interpretation as he settled back under the duvet.
He wouldn't normally focus on Divination, but he needed to understand what had just happened.
Nearly an hour of careful reading and calculating left him with nothing. He found that snakes could signify danger or healing, rings were a sign of commitment or challenge, and a locket could symbolize something hidden or taboo. None of that was particularly helpful. Worse, he could find nothing about what could have caused such intense, foreign, emotion.
Noticing that it was finally a reasonable time to be awake, Harry got ready for the day, reveling in the new clothes Sirius had gotten him. Everything was so nice, free of holes and patches. They fit him pretty well too, only hanging slightly loose. Compared to Dudley's old clothes, these were fit for royalty.
Once dressed, Harry made his bed slowly and methodically, drinking in the softness of the duvet on his fingertips. It felt unreal to touch nice things like these, to know they were his. He'd never had a space so truly his own before. He'd never had someone work so hard to make him feel at home.
It meant everything to him.
Harry grabbed his Spell-Crafting book and headed downstairs, socked feet making barely a whisper across the dark wooden floor.
To his surprise, the dining room was occupied. Remus was sitting at the far end of the table, looking slightly disheveled, and drinking a large mug of coffee. He was reading from a thick tome but looked up as Harry entered, offering him a warm smile.
"Good morning, Harry," he said. "Did you sleep well?"
"Well enough, thanks," Harry replied, sitting down across from Remus. "You?"
"It would have been better if Sirius learned how to share the blankets," Remus said with a sigh, reaching toward the pot in the middle of the table. "Would you like some coffee?" he asked, grabbing another mug.
Harry nodded, taking the mug Remus poured for him, sniffing curiously at the dark liquid. Remus had a suprising obsession with coffee, even preferring the dark acidic beverage over tea.
Then again, maybe it wasn't all that shocking. Remus had spent the majority of his twenties in the United States, taking advantage of their less restrictive Werewolf regulations.
He'd probably grown used to drinking coffee while living there. After all, Americans were hopeless at making tea.
Harry wouldn't normally drink coffee but considering how little sleep he was managing, he needed the caffeine.
Harry took a sip of the dark liquid, surprised by how much he actually liked it. Maybe Remus was onto something with this.
"What are you reading?" Harry asked, looking curiously at the enormous book.
"It's a book of Wizarding Law," Remus explained. "For your trial. I've always been a legal enthusiast. I would have gone into the legal profession if it weren't for my condition. No one wants a Werewolf as their lawyer."
Harry felt anger rise up in him. It wasn't fair that Remus couldn't do what he wanted. He was a good man.
"You've got a very solid case," Remus continued. "They have no grounds on which to expel you. None at all."
"Really?" Harry asked, failing to disguise his excitement.
"Really," Remus confirmed, smiling at him. "They can't get you on the Statute of Secrecy because the only Muggle who saw you cast the spell was your cousin. He's immediate family and was already aware of magic. The Ministry keeps a registry of Muggles who know about magic, like the family of Muggle-borns or those who marry a Witch or Wizard, so they are fully aware that your cousin knows about magic. It's a nonissue. Fortunately for us, they can't get you on Underage Sorcery either. Even if there hadn't been Dementors there, you couldn't be expelled. Here, read this."
Remus slid the book toward Harry, indicating the top of the page.
Violations of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery are assessed using a strike-based system. The first and second offenses result in an official warning. After the third offense, the underage Wizard may be called to a disciplinary hearing where they will be assessed for possible expulsion. Notably, instances of accidental magic and magic used in self-defense do not count as strikes.
Once Harry looked up from the page, Remus continued speaking. "Fudge has already overstepped by calling you in for a hearing on a second offense. He will likely try to argue that the incident with your aunt wasn't accidental. He won't succeed. Fudge may have some of the Wizengamot in his pocket, but most are decent enough. They know this is a political stunt."
Harry thought for a moment. It sounded like he wouldn't be expelled either way, but he still wanted people to know that the Dementors had been there. Maybe it would help convince people that Voldemort was back. Maybe people would finally believe him.
"How can I convince them that the Dementors were really there?" Harry asked. "I know it shouldn't matter for the expulsion because it's only my second offense, but I don't like being thought a liar!"
Remus put a reassuring hand on his arm, seeming to sense the panic lingering just beneath Harry's words. "Don't worry," he reassured. "There is a way. You'll request the use of Veritaserum. Do you know what that is?"
Harry nodded, remembering Snape threatening him with it last year.
"You are fully entitled to ask for it," Remus explained. "There's a standardized list of questions for cases like these where the goal is to decide whether the underage magic was used in self-defense. They'll be primarily yes or no questions. The rest of the gallery will be under a Silencing Spell while the questions are asked. Amelia Bones will likely be the one asking the questions. She's the head of the DMLE and a dedicated civil servant. She won't abuse the Potion."
Although Harry really didn't like the idea of being forced to answer questions under the influence of Truth Serum, he trusted that Remus' advice was for the best.
Harry was suddenly struck by a thought, brow furrowing in confusion. "Remus?" he asked tentatively. "Why didn't they use Veritaserum with Sirius? Wouldn't that have shown them the truth?"
Remus' expression turned sad, eyes filling with sorrow. "It was war," he said quietly. "They didn't always follow the proper protocols, especially not with suspected Death Eaters. They also claimed he confessed. The deck was stacked against him from the very beginning."
Harry could feel his excitement growing, an idea flickering in his head. "If we could get him a trial though, we wouldn't even need Pettigrew!" he exclaimed. "Or, I could say he was innocent under Veritaserum at my hearing! He could finally be free!"
Remus' expression grew even more somber as he watched Harry, shaking his head sadly. "I'm afraid it would never work, Harry"
"But why?" Harry asked. "We could…"
"They'd set the Dementors on him right away," Remus said sharply. "He's an escaped prisoner to them. A murderer. A Death Eater. Veritaserum only works if you are asked directly about a subject. Amelia Bones has no reason to ask about Sirius. In fact, she would be penalized for deviating from the prescribed questions. I'm sorry, Harry. We need Wormtail. Without him, there won't be anything to stop the Ministry from immediately giving Sirius the Kiss."
Harry let that sink in, wishing things could be different.
He wanted Sirius free so badly it hurt.
He made a vow in that moment: the next time he saw Pettigrew, the rat wouldn't be getting away.
Harry and Remus spent nearly an hour going over the questions he would be asked. The hearing may be nearly a week away, but Harry was happy they were preparing now. Having a plan helped take the edge off his nerves.
As they were finishing up, the rest of the household began to filter in. Mrs. Weasley headed straight to the kitchen, whipping her wand through the air in practiced shapes as she set about making breakfast. The other teenagers in the house trickled in, followed closely by Mr. Weasley and Bill.
Unsurprisingly, Sirius was the last to arrive, stumbling into the kitchen when breakfast was nearly over. His godfather was the farthest thing from a morning person Harry had ever seen.
Harry watched as Remus gave Sirius a chaste kiss, pressing a cup of tea into his hands.
Something about the domesticity of the scene made Harry weirdly gleeful.
He remembered when he'd first found out that Sirius and Remus were a couple. It had been in a letter from Sirius during his fourth year.
At first, Harry had been very confused.
The Dursleys, Uncle Vernon especially, had always been adamant that love was only between a man and a woman. When Harry had awkwardly asked Ron why Sirius was so open about his relationship with Remus, Ron had given him a very odd look. It was only after Hermione had explained the phenomenon of homophobia that Ron understood Harry's confusion.
"That's a stupid thing to get upset over, isn't it?" Ron had asked, looking highly confused. "Why should anyone else have a say in who you love? You don't think it's wrong do you, Harry?"
"No, of course not," Harry said quickly. "I just didn't know if people thought it was okay. That's all."
"Of course it's okay, Harry," Hermione reassured. "It doesn't matter what anyone says. If you love someone, it doesn't matter who they are."
"As long as it's not Malfoy!" Ron said.
"No," Hermione agreed. "Unless he stops being a blood supremacist and a bully, he's off-limits."
Harry felt a smile split his face at the memory. He still wasn't exactly sure why the knowledge that the Wizarding World was so accepting of different sexual orientations made him so happy. It was probably just because he was glad that Sirius and Remus could openly be together.
"You look happy this morning," Sirius said slyly. "Is there something you wish to share?"
"Nothing, Sirius," Harry quipped. "I'm just laughing at your hair."
Sirius gasped in mock offense, raising a hand to his rumpled hair.
Fred, on the other hand, let out a cackle. "You?" he asked incredulously. "Laugh at someone's hair?" He shook his head fondly. "I hate to break it to you, Harry, but your hair is the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen."
"Maybe so," George defended. "But he wears it well."
Harry, although he knew he should be affronted on behalf of his poor hair, felt himself blushing instead, cheeks burning.
He didn't know why George complimenting his hair would make him blush like this. There was no earthly reason for it.
After breakfast, the group of teens was ushered up the stairs by Mrs. Weasley to begin cleaning one of the many disgusting rooms in Grimmauld Place. They'd barely made it past the first landing when Ginny tripped on Ron's untied shoelace. At the sound of her hitting the stairs, a woman's shrill screaming filled the air.
"FILTHY HALF BREEDS AND MUDBLOODS, DISGRACING THE HOUSE OF BLACK! YOU BESMIRCH THE NAME OF WIZARD WITH YOUR FOUL AND TAINTED BLOOD!"
Harry wasn't usually one to startle at sudden noises, but the screaming reminded him of the way Mr. Diggory had screamed when he had first seen Cedric's body, loud and desperate. Harry felt his heart beginning to race, palms growing slick with sweat, lungs struggling to draw in enough oxygen.
Thankfully, as suddenly as the screaming had begun, it stopped. Sirius had been on the stairs just behind them, quickly drawing the curtains back over the portrait Harry surmised must have been the source of the noise. As the screaming faded, Harry felt a measure of his calm returning.
"Sorry about that, Harry," Sirius said, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "I forgot to warn you about my mother's portrait. She screams bloody murder any time one of us makes too much noise. She put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the frame so we can't take it down. Just be glad our old House-elf is gone. I gave him clothes before the Order took up residence here. He was untrustworthy as they come. My bitch of a mother loved him though."
Surprisingly, neither Hermione nor Mrs. Weasley reprimanded Sirius for his language. Harry guessed they must have felt that Mrs. Black deserved the title.
Harry couldn't believe Sirius was forced to hear his mother scream those things at him. He imagined it would be like having a talking portrait of Aunt Petunia hanging on his wall.
Forever.
He couldn't help but shudder at the thought.
Harry wondered how a Sticking Charm could be permanent. There must be a way to undo it.
He resolved then and there to get that portrait off the wall. He owed it to Sirius.
Thankfully, the group made it up to the drawing room without further incident, chattering happily as they went. Harry did not participate in the conversation, distracted by the strange sensation in his scar. As they rose up through the house, Harry felt the tugging return, growing in intensity until it was almost unbearable.
He was being drawn toward something, needing to get to it, needing to be near it.
Harry barely paid attention as they worked to spray the Doxies, not even noticing as Fred and George stuffed the tiny, stunned creatures into their pockets.
He felt dizzy, vision shifting wildly. He was seeing through two sets of eyes, pulled between different perspectives, consciousness split.
He sprayed the Doxies mechanically, barely noticing the passage of time.
What had felt like five minutes to Harry had in actuality been almost four hours, and before he knew it, Mrs. Weasley was calling them for lunch.
As the others headed downstairs, Harry hung back. The tugging drew him toward a cabinet in the corner, forcing his legs to move. He opened the doors, arms moving of their own accord.
There, on the middle shelf, was a heavy silver locket.
It was the locket from his dream.
Harry traced his finger along the serpentine 's', marveling at the beauty of the locket. The metal, which should have been cold, was enticingly warm on his fingertip, drawing him in. As he touched it, the tugging in his scar finally stopped.
Looking back, Harry wouldn't understand why he did what he did next. He wouldn't understand why he forgot every warning he had ever heard about unknown magical objects.
All Harry knew was that the locket felt like a piece of him, a part of him.
Harry wrapped his hand around the locket, slowly picking it up, entranced by the gleaming object.
Placing it in his pocket, he headed downstairs to join the others.