The Greater Good
by Kiana Unei
Summery on part I. No read part four until you read part I. Common sence. Thank you.
Nothing in the story is mine. Harry and his world belong to J K Rowling. I am making no money from this.
Thank you, nice people!!
Chapter IV (continued):
"I think it would be a good idea."
The room was dimly lit, hard, and had only two chairs. The Minister of Defence was seated on one with that slimey imposter, Mr Wesson, to his left. Sirius Black was on the floor; thick, unbreakable chains wrapped around both his wrists and his bare ankles.
"All right, Black, I'm going to be blunt with you," the minister said. "As of this moment you have two choices: One, I can summon the Dementors, and you'll be no more than an empty shell. As good as dead. But I must warn you, the process is extreamly painful, especially if you're still partly sane."
Sirius gave them a dark look. He had been threatened with the Dementor's Kiss enought times in Azkaban, and by people who couldn't care less about whether he was actually given it or not. This bloke, on the other hand, seemed to find this alternative as the least attractive of his 'two options'. "And the other . . ?"
"You help me out by retrieving a valuable Egyptian artifact."
"What do I look like, Indianna Jones?"
"Beg pardon?"
"Nothing," Sirius mumbled. He shifted uncomfortably. "Why me?"
"Because," Wesson paused her for effect, "the Crest of Isis is located in a maze of catacombs benieth the fortress Azkaban- "
"No way!" Sirius jerked back invoulentaraly, shaking from memories.
Wesson continued, "-and you would be rather inconspicuous. We've already captured you, we could turn you back over to the Dementors, you could escape and recouver the Crest."
"And then what? You rescue me and let me go? Pardon me?" His heart was pounding in his throat. The slightest reflection of a light long since dead flickered on behind his pale, haunted eyes.
"Heavens, no!" the minister said, chuckling. "Let you go? Let you return to society? I wouldn't dream of it. No, you compleat this task, and we'll make sure you die quickly and without pain."
Sirius' eyes darkened again. If eyes were indeed windows to the soul, then his had just been pulled closed. "So if I refuse, you kill me. If I help, you kill me anyway, is that it?"
"It's not IF you die," Wesson said in a parental voice, "it's how you die that counts. Black, from the moment you were captured your death was unavoidable. But the means is up to you: Dementors, or night's leaf potion?"
"Why me?" he said in a deadened monotone. "Why not just recall the Dementors and go in there yourselves?"
Wesson and the Minister of Defence exchanged glances. "Well . . ." Wesson said, "well, removing the Dementors would increace the chances of another escape. Besides, it would no doubt draw attention, and the last thing we want is more of your friends on our hands, trying to figure out why you've been captured, but the Dementors have been exiled. They might try to help you escape."
Sirius smirked, for the first time since he could remember. The idea that the Death Eaters would try to help him do anything was preposterous, and the fact that the two idiots in front of him actually thought they would only added to the irony. Smiling, even stripped down to a dry grin, hurt after so long.
"So why not put one of your own people in there?" he asked. Again, Wesson and the minister exchanged a glance.
"Because we haven't yet figured out how you've managed to stay sane. Placing an Auror, even Mad-Eye Moody himself, into Azkaban is as good as killing them." The minister looked as though this were obvious.
"How 'bout this," Sirius said, hoping for Luck to finally smile on him, "I give you my secret on keeping one's head- you can even veritas me- and you give me a trial."
"I don't think so." The Minister shook his head to emphisize his point. "But I'm not going to argue with you about alternatives, Black. Here are your choices: either help us, or don't."
"Either way I'm dead," he said in a low voice. "So I really don't see the point."
"Very well," the minister said, looking much like he were dealing with a screaming two-year-old over whether or not she could pick up a worm and eat it, "how about this: you help us, and you get one favour before you die quickly and painlessly."
"A trial."
"No. You only want one so you could bend the law into your likeness."
"All right- give me truth serum, then ask me if I've ever murdered anyone. If the answer is anything other than 'no', you can kill me."
"Do you really think I'm that stupid, Black?" the minister asked. "You've got something up your sleeve, so-to-speak. Some spell that'll make you answer questions in your favour."
Sirius racked his brain for a way out of this situation. He could probably escape Azkaban again, but then he'd only be back on the run. Still, it was better than death.
"All right," he agreed, "I help you, and you let Harry live with the Weasleys, rather than his aunt and uncle."
"Beg pardon?" He had apparently surprised both men with his answer.
"Harry. My godson. His relitives hate him; let him live with his friends, the Weasleys."
"Who are the Weasleys?" the minister asked, looking suspicious. "Friends of yours?"
"Only their youngest son, Ron," Sirius answered.
"Weasley? Arther Weasley?" Wesson asked. "Poor, red hair, lot of children?"
"Yep."
"Who?" the minister asked again.
"Arther Weasley works for the Ministry, in the Department of Something-or-other. Something to do with Muggles- the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, I think." Wesson looked surprised.
"Check them out," the minister ordered, "if they're okay, grant his request. If not- "
"Let Harry live with Remus Lupin." Sirius answered.
"If not," he continued, giving Sirius a dark look, "check out Remus Lupin. If HE doesn't work, request denied. Agreed?"
"Agreed," Sirius said.
Chapter V:
Deneb Procyon Black
"Try this." The red-cloaked guard tossed Harry a bottle of soap, and a wash cloth.
"Thanks." Harry began scrubbing at his scar, as if soap and water could actually remove it.
"How'd you get caught up with Sirius Black, anyway, kid?"
"Oh . . ." Harry pretended to drop the cloth, stalling for time. ". . .He's my, er, he's my -my father."
"Wow. Quite a bit to live up ta, eh, kid?"
"Er- yeah." He was, of course, not getting anywhere on trying to remove his scar, other than starting to hurt himself. "Bloody stupid spell," Harry mumbled.
He had switched tactics; now, instead of trying to convince the guard that he was THE Harry Potter, Harry was attempting to get close enough to his godfather to help him escape. THEN he could let people recognize him as who he really was.
"This isn't working." Harry handed the cloth and bottle of soap back through the bars. "Thanks, anyway."
"Yer welcome, kid. Funny, you seem too nice to be, well, his son." The guard was warming up to him, Harry thought happily. Seemed a hard-luck case was easier to get help than someone claiming to be the Boy Who Lived.
Harry shrugged. "Yeah, well . . . you know how it is. What's your name, Sir? You seem too nice to be a guard."
He laughed. "Yeah, well, you remind me of my son a little. He'd be about your age, now."
"Sir?"
"Deneb . . . His mother took him when we . . . devorced." The guard sighed heavily, staring off into space.
"I'm sorry."
"So am I, kid. How 'bout you, you got a name?"
"Er, yeah . . . Procyon. Black. Yeah."
" 'Procyon Black Yeah'?" The guard grinned slightly. Harry laughed.
"What's . . . Where's Sirius? My father?" Harry quickly ammended. If he were going to pull this off, he'd need to start behaving like Sirius' son.
"I don't know, kid. Probably in the exicutionary by now." He actually looked slightly saddened.
"Oh." Harry's heart was pounding very fast. "Could I, you know, see him?"
"I don't see why not," the man smiled slightly at Harry. "I bet he'd like to see you before he died. I would."
A/N: Sorry it's short, again, but I wanted to get this up before Nick wanted to use the computer to try and find "AGAIN" Azkaban Fortress. Or maybe now he's on to Hogsmeade. So sorry, I couldn't convice him that it's not real! Hopefully I'll get the rest of chapter five up today or tomarro, and then you'll see what the whole deal with "Message from Gwynnadale" and the start of the chapter was about. Again, thanks so much for being nice!
by Kiana Unei
Summery on part I. No read part four until you read part I. Common sence. Thank you.
Nothing in the story is mine. Harry and his world belong to J K Rowling. I am making no money from this.
Thank you, nice people!!
Chapter IV (continued):
"I think it would be a good idea."
The room was dimly lit, hard, and had only two chairs. The Minister of Defence was seated on one with that slimey imposter, Mr Wesson, to his left. Sirius Black was on the floor; thick, unbreakable chains wrapped around both his wrists and his bare ankles.
"All right, Black, I'm going to be blunt with you," the minister said. "As of this moment you have two choices: One, I can summon the Dementors, and you'll be no more than an empty shell. As good as dead. But I must warn you, the process is extreamly painful, especially if you're still partly sane."
Sirius gave them a dark look. He had been threatened with the Dementor's Kiss enought times in Azkaban, and by people who couldn't care less about whether he was actually given it or not. This bloke, on the other hand, seemed to find this alternative as the least attractive of his 'two options'. "And the other . . ?"
"You help me out by retrieving a valuable Egyptian artifact."
"What do I look like, Indianna Jones?"
"Beg pardon?"
"Nothing," Sirius mumbled. He shifted uncomfortably. "Why me?"
"Because," Wesson paused her for effect, "the Crest of Isis is located in a maze of catacombs benieth the fortress Azkaban- "
"No way!" Sirius jerked back invoulentaraly, shaking from memories.
Wesson continued, "-and you would be rather inconspicuous. We've already captured you, we could turn you back over to the Dementors, you could escape and recouver the Crest."
"And then what? You rescue me and let me go? Pardon me?" His heart was pounding in his throat. The slightest reflection of a light long since dead flickered on behind his pale, haunted eyes.
"Heavens, no!" the minister said, chuckling. "Let you go? Let you return to society? I wouldn't dream of it. No, you compleat this task, and we'll make sure you die quickly and without pain."
Sirius' eyes darkened again. If eyes were indeed windows to the soul, then his had just been pulled closed. "So if I refuse, you kill me. If I help, you kill me anyway, is that it?"
"It's not IF you die," Wesson said in a parental voice, "it's how you die that counts. Black, from the moment you were captured your death was unavoidable. But the means is up to you: Dementors, or night's leaf potion?"
"Why me?" he said in a deadened monotone. "Why not just recall the Dementors and go in there yourselves?"
Wesson and the Minister of Defence exchanged glances. "Well . . ." Wesson said, "well, removing the Dementors would increace the chances of another escape. Besides, it would no doubt draw attention, and the last thing we want is more of your friends on our hands, trying to figure out why you've been captured, but the Dementors have been exiled. They might try to help you escape."
Sirius smirked, for the first time since he could remember. The idea that the Death Eaters would try to help him do anything was preposterous, and the fact that the two idiots in front of him actually thought they would only added to the irony. Smiling, even stripped down to a dry grin, hurt after so long.
"So why not put one of your own people in there?" he asked. Again, Wesson and the minister exchanged a glance.
"Because we haven't yet figured out how you've managed to stay sane. Placing an Auror, even Mad-Eye Moody himself, into Azkaban is as good as killing them." The minister looked as though this were obvious.
"How 'bout this," Sirius said, hoping for Luck to finally smile on him, "I give you my secret on keeping one's head- you can even veritas me- and you give me a trial."
"I don't think so." The Minister shook his head to emphisize his point. "But I'm not going to argue with you about alternatives, Black. Here are your choices: either help us, or don't."
"Either way I'm dead," he said in a low voice. "So I really don't see the point."
"Very well," the minister said, looking much like he were dealing with a screaming two-year-old over whether or not she could pick up a worm and eat it, "how about this: you help us, and you get one favour before you die quickly and painlessly."
"A trial."
"No. You only want one so you could bend the law into your likeness."
"All right- give me truth serum, then ask me if I've ever murdered anyone. If the answer is anything other than 'no', you can kill me."
"Do you really think I'm that stupid, Black?" the minister asked. "You've got something up your sleeve, so-to-speak. Some spell that'll make you answer questions in your favour."
Sirius racked his brain for a way out of this situation. He could probably escape Azkaban again, but then he'd only be back on the run. Still, it was better than death.
"All right," he agreed, "I help you, and you let Harry live with the Weasleys, rather than his aunt and uncle."
"Beg pardon?" He had apparently surprised both men with his answer.
"Harry. My godson. His relitives hate him; let him live with his friends, the Weasleys."
"Who are the Weasleys?" the minister asked, looking suspicious. "Friends of yours?"
"Only their youngest son, Ron," Sirius answered.
"Weasley? Arther Weasley?" Wesson asked. "Poor, red hair, lot of children?"
"Yep."
"Who?" the minister asked again.
"Arther Weasley works for the Ministry, in the Department of Something-or-other. Something to do with Muggles- the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, I think." Wesson looked surprised.
"Check them out," the minister ordered, "if they're okay, grant his request. If not- "
"Let Harry live with Remus Lupin." Sirius answered.
"If not," he continued, giving Sirius a dark look, "check out Remus Lupin. If HE doesn't work, request denied. Agreed?"
"Agreed," Sirius said.
Chapter V:
Deneb Procyon Black
"Try this." The red-cloaked guard tossed Harry a bottle of soap, and a wash cloth.
"Thanks." Harry began scrubbing at his scar, as if soap and water could actually remove it.
"How'd you get caught up with Sirius Black, anyway, kid?"
"Oh . . ." Harry pretended to drop the cloth, stalling for time. ". . .He's my, er, he's my -my father."
"Wow. Quite a bit to live up ta, eh, kid?"
"Er- yeah." He was, of course, not getting anywhere on trying to remove his scar, other than starting to hurt himself. "Bloody stupid spell," Harry mumbled.
He had switched tactics; now, instead of trying to convince the guard that he was THE Harry Potter, Harry was attempting to get close enough to his godfather to help him escape. THEN he could let people recognize him as who he really was.
"This isn't working." Harry handed the cloth and bottle of soap back through the bars. "Thanks, anyway."
"Yer welcome, kid. Funny, you seem too nice to be, well, his son." The guard was warming up to him, Harry thought happily. Seemed a hard-luck case was easier to get help than someone claiming to be the Boy Who Lived.
Harry shrugged. "Yeah, well . . . you know how it is. What's your name, Sir? You seem too nice to be a guard."
He laughed. "Yeah, well, you remind me of my son a little. He'd be about your age, now."
"Sir?"
"Deneb . . . His mother took him when we . . . devorced." The guard sighed heavily, staring off into space.
"I'm sorry."
"So am I, kid. How 'bout you, you got a name?"
"Er, yeah . . . Procyon. Black. Yeah."
" 'Procyon Black Yeah'?" The guard grinned slightly. Harry laughed.
"What's . . . Where's Sirius? My father?" Harry quickly ammended. If he were going to pull this off, he'd need to start behaving like Sirius' son.
"I don't know, kid. Probably in the exicutionary by now." He actually looked slightly saddened.
"Oh." Harry's heart was pounding very fast. "Could I, you know, see him?"
"I don't see why not," the man smiled slightly at Harry. "I bet he'd like to see you before he died. I would."
A/N: Sorry it's short, again, but I wanted to get this up before Nick wanted to use the computer to try and find "AGAIN" Azkaban Fortress. Or maybe now he's on to Hogsmeade. So sorry, I couldn't convice him that it's not real! Hopefully I'll get the rest of chapter five up today or tomarro, and then you'll see what the whole deal with "Message from Gwynnadale" and the start of the chapter was about. Again, thanks so much for being nice!