The Greater Good
by Kiana Unei
Sorry about the cliff hanger, but I was struck with a bit of writer's block, and hadn't the faintest on what to do after they left.
J K Rowling owns Harry and his world.
Chapter XVI:
His Word
Mrs Weasley sighed gently as she retrieved the filthy dishes from the round dining table, carrying them cautiously back to the kitchen. Obviously, she could have done this through the use of magic, but right now she just wanted to work with her hands.
'Oh, please let the evening go well,' she remembered pleading to herself hours ago, before their guests arived. Ever since Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had informed her of his plans, she had been strung out in a fit of anxiety; not exactly the best of moods to possess during a visitation. When she had explained it all to Arthur, her husband had all but pulled himself bald trying to come up with an excuse, or at least a decent plan to handle the . . . awkward situation. Awkward, yes . . . but then again, they HAD met him breifly before.
Of course, when the rest of the family found out, the twins Fred and George jumped from the couch to their feet, yelling out an excited, simultanious 'Really?'. Ginny had chewed nervously on her fingernails, a habit she had aquired sometime during the previous week- but Ron looked only slightly startled. Understandable, of course, as he had met the man several times before, and apparently considered him normal enough.
When the sitiuation had been explained, the plan was laid out: Clean house. Be on your best behaviour. Pick up any sharp objects and hide them. Yes, dining utenciles too.
"Can I bring a sac to vomit in?" Fred had joked.
"Sirius doesn't look like his picture anymore, remember?" Ron scoffed, smirking. The family relaxed slightly after that. "And he's not nutters." The tension evaporated all together.
At six o'clock, a solid RAP at the front door anounced the arrival of their guests. Ron had pulled open the door, and allowed the two entrence.
"Hi," Harry had greeted, peering around the taller boy at the rest of the Weasleys.
"Hello," Sirius Black had offered, taking in his new surroundings. Nodding, he adressed them; "Ron. Mrs, Mr Weasley."
Mr Weasley cleared his throat. "Ah- hello. Come in?"
Harry was already inside and standing on the worn purple carpet, letting his soaked boots drain into the absorbant material. He shook his cloak free of snow, and hung it neatly from a peg on the lopsided rack. Black entred after him, stepping into the light and brushing back the thick black hood of his cloak.
The face undernieth was indeed nothing of resemblence to the prisoner's photo; he was clean, filled out after years of starvation, and had a slight, warm smile brushed across his otherwise neutral face. Only his eyes betrayed the existence of a tourmented soul burried within.
"My, is it snowing out?" Arthur had taken a daring stab at conversation, closing the door behind his guests. Black was watching him, shrinking away when the other man's hand brushed his heavy cloak.
"Yes."
"I see." Arthur searched his mind for something else to say, to no avail.
They stood looking akwardly at each other, until Harry took a deep breath, "Sirius, this is Mr and Mrs Weasley, the twins are Fred and George, the one hiding behind Mrs Weasley is Ginny, and you know Ron. Everyone, this is my godfather, Sirius."
"Hi." Was the general, mumbled greeting.
"Oh, really!" Harry said after a moment, exasperated, and took his godfather's gloved hand. "Come on, I'll show you Ron's Dreaded Room of Doom."
"Yeah!" Ron put in, hurrying up the stairs to lead the way, "And Ginny's Wall of Bogies."
"I don't have a 'Wall of Bogies!'" Ginny snapped, comming out of hiding. "And Ron, your room is a mess!"
"Like Harry said, my 'Room of Doom'," her brother called over his shoulder.
"Mr Black," Mrs Weasley licked her lips nervously, "would you like me to take your coat?"
The man paused halfway up the steps, turning 'round to face her. His face softened, and he managed a weak but nonetheless kind smile. "I . . . I'll keep it on, if you don't mind?"
"Of course not, go ahead." She watched as he nodded once, then ascended the remaineder of the stairs.
Clasping her hands together, Mrs Weasley wandered back into the kitchen to attend her preparations. Arthur followed.
"Well, Molly," he sighed, and leaned against a countertop, "he looks better. Almost didn't recognize him."
She mumbled a reply, and shooed him away from her cooking.
"But what I didn't understand- who was that Wesson character? He wasn't at the trial- "
"Arthur, please," Mrs Weasley turned to look him in the eyes. "Let's try to have a nice evening."
"I just don't think it's fair-"
"It's what the Minister decided. It's only four months. Now, do you want rice, or greens with supper?"
"Greens. Molly- "
"Arthur, let it go. Let's try to make the evening as pleasent as possible." She went to work summoning a dish from thin air, and filling it with freashly cut salad. "Take this to the table, will you, dear?"
Arthur did as told, resting the bowl between the cranberrys and roasted foul. He started when he noticed he wasn't alone.
"Sorry." Black was looking at him from the doorway, face as blank as it had been during his trial.
"All right," Mr Weasley assured him, and himself. "No harm done. How are you feeling?"
"Fine." His hands were still quaking from behind his black gloves; the aftereffect of the powerful truth serum the Ministry had dumped into his system.
"I'm just putting the salad down," Arthur said, somehow feeling the need to justify himself to his guest. Black's pale eyes wandered briefly to rest on the dish, then returned to the other man.
"I'm sorry about . . . what happened." Arthur sighed, resting his hands on the back of a chair.
"Don't be. My fault." the man's voice sounded rough, and very heavy. "Just four months. No Dementors; they've joined with Voldemort."
Arthur shuddered invoulentarily, imagining the cold, forbidding island fortress, and what it would be like imprisoned there.
"I guess in the end, it would have been better had I never escaped in the first place." Black slided wearily into a chair, resting his hands on the table and looking blankly at them. "Wormtail wouldn't have escaped, Voldemort wouldn't be back, and the Dementors would still be under control of the Ministry."
"And Harry would still be an orphan," Mr Weasley pointed out. "And You-Know-Who would probably have returned anyway. Many are still loyal to him.
"Look at it this way: You were found guilty of becoming an illigal Animagus- eight months in Azkaban, escaping Azkaban- fifty years, aiding Death Eaters- five years, and stupifying two guards and an Auror- three years in Azkaban. A total of fifty-eight years and eight months.
"But for saving Harry's life, and the fact that you were wrongly convicted of murder, the Minister of Justice knocked it down to just four months- one for each crime. See?"
The man made an indistinct noise.
Arthur started to continue, but was interrupted by a tap at the front door. Curious, he opened it to find only a white envelope laying gently at his feet, half-hidden by the falling snow. He retrieved it, and walked back inside. "Sirius? Letter for you."
Black took it from him, intrigued. "Who from?"
"No idea. Maybe the Ministry?"
The younger man grimaced. "Hope not. I've had enough of those jackarses for one lifetime." He tore the brim away, fished out the letter, and read the electric-blue lettering.
I'm calling in my debt. You gave me your word. The Crest will alow you access into the Netherworld. Use the Crest to set me free. If you go back on your word, I will instead find payment in the boy's humanity.
by Kiana Unei
Sorry about the cliff hanger, but I was struck with a bit of writer's block, and hadn't the faintest on what to do after they left.
J K Rowling owns Harry and his world.
Chapter XVI:
His Word
Mrs Weasley sighed gently as she retrieved the filthy dishes from the round dining table, carrying them cautiously back to the kitchen. Obviously, she could have done this through the use of magic, but right now she just wanted to work with her hands.
'Oh, please let the evening go well,' she remembered pleading to herself hours ago, before their guests arived. Ever since Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had informed her of his plans, she had been strung out in a fit of anxiety; not exactly the best of moods to possess during a visitation. When she had explained it all to Arthur, her husband had all but pulled himself bald trying to come up with an excuse, or at least a decent plan to handle the . . . awkward situation. Awkward, yes . . . but then again, they HAD met him breifly before.
Of course, when the rest of the family found out, the twins Fred and George jumped from the couch to their feet, yelling out an excited, simultanious 'Really?'. Ginny had chewed nervously on her fingernails, a habit she had aquired sometime during the previous week- but Ron looked only slightly startled. Understandable, of course, as he had met the man several times before, and apparently considered him normal enough.
When the sitiuation had been explained, the plan was laid out: Clean house. Be on your best behaviour. Pick up any sharp objects and hide them. Yes, dining utenciles too.
"Can I bring a sac to vomit in?" Fred had joked.
"Sirius doesn't look like his picture anymore, remember?" Ron scoffed, smirking. The family relaxed slightly after that. "And he's not nutters." The tension evaporated all together.
At six o'clock, a solid RAP at the front door anounced the arrival of their guests. Ron had pulled open the door, and allowed the two entrence.
"Hi," Harry had greeted, peering around the taller boy at the rest of the Weasleys.
"Hello," Sirius Black had offered, taking in his new surroundings. Nodding, he adressed them; "Ron. Mrs, Mr Weasley."
Mr Weasley cleared his throat. "Ah- hello. Come in?"
Harry was already inside and standing on the worn purple carpet, letting his soaked boots drain into the absorbant material. He shook his cloak free of snow, and hung it neatly from a peg on the lopsided rack. Black entred after him, stepping into the light and brushing back the thick black hood of his cloak.
The face undernieth was indeed nothing of resemblence to the prisoner's photo; he was clean, filled out after years of starvation, and had a slight, warm smile brushed across his otherwise neutral face. Only his eyes betrayed the existence of a tourmented soul burried within.
"My, is it snowing out?" Arthur had taken a daring stab at conversation, closing the door behind his guests. Black was watching him, shrinking away when the other man's hand brushed his heavy cloak.
"Yes."
"I see." Arthur searched his mind for something else to say, to no avail.
They stood looking akwardly at each other, until Harry took a deep breath, "Sirius, this is Mr and Mrs Weasley, the twins are Fred and George, the one hiding behind Mrs Weasley is Ginny, and you know Ron. Everyone, this is my godfather, Sirius."
"Hi." Was the general, mumbled greeting.
"Oh, really!" Harry said after a moment, exasperated, and took his godfather's gloved hand. "Come on, I'll show you Ron's Dreaded Room of Doom."
"Yeah!" Ron put in, hurrying up the stairs to lead the way, "And Ginny's Wall of Bogies."
"I don't have a 'Wall of Bogies!'" Ginny snapped, comming out of hiding. "And Ron, your room is a mess!"
"Like Harry said, my 'Room of Doom'," her brother called over his shoulder.
"Mr Black," Mrs Weasley licked her lips nervously, "would you like me to take your coat?"
The man paused halfway up the steps, turning 'round to face her. His face softened, and he managed a weak but nonetheless kind smile. "I . . . I'll keep it on, if you don't mind?"
"Of course not, go ahead." She watched as he nodded once, then ascended the remaineder of the stairs.
Clasping her hands together, Mrs Weasley wandered back into the kitchen to attend her preparations. Arthur followed.
"Well, Molly," he sighed, and leaned against a countertop, "he looks better. Almost didn't recognize him."
She mumbled a reply, and shooed him away from her cooking.
"But what I didn't understand- who was that Wesson character? He wasn't at the trial- "
"Arthur, please," Mrs Weasley turned to look him in the eyes. "Let's try to have a nice evening."
"I just don't think it's fair-"
"It's what the Minister decided. It's only four months. Now, do you want rice, or greens with supper?"
"Greens. Molly- "
"Arthur, let it go. Let's try to make the evening as pleasent as possible." She went to work summoning a dish from thin air, and filling it with freashly cut salad. "Take this to the table, will you, dear?"
Arthur did as told, resting the bowl between the cranberrys and roasted foul. He started when he noticed he wasn't alone.
"Sorry." Black was looking at him from the doorway, face as blank as it had been during his trial.
"All right," Mr Weasley assured him, and himself. "No harm done. How are you feeling?"
"Fine." His hands were still quaking from behind his black gloves; the aftereffect of the powerful truth serum the Ministry had dumped into his system.
"I'm just putting the salad down," Arthur said, somehow feeling the need to justify himself to his guest. Black's pale eyes wandered briefly to rest on the dish, then returned to the other man.
"I'm sorry about . . . what happened." Arthur sighed, resting his hands on the back of a chair.
"Don't be. My fault." the man's voice sounded rough, and very heavy. "Just four months. No Dementors; they've joined with Voldemort."
Arthur shuddered invoulentarily, imagining the cold, forbidding island fortress, and what it would be like imprisoned there.
"I guess in the end, it would have been better had I never escaped in the first place." Black slided wearily into a chair, resting his hands on the table and looking blankly at them. "Wormtail wouldn't have escaped, Voldemort wouldn't be back, and the Dementors would still be under control of the Ministry."
"And Harry would still be an orphan," Mr Weasley pointed out. "And You-Know-Who would probably have returned anyway. Many are still loyal to him.
"Look at it this way: You were found guilty of becoming an illigal Animagus- eight months in Azkaban, escaping Azkaban- fifty years, aiding Death Eaters- five years, and stupifying two guards and an Auror- three years in Azkaban. A total of fifty-eight years and eight months.
"But for saving Harry's life, and the fact that you were wrongly convicted of murder, the Minister of Justice knocked it down to just four months- one for each crime. See?"
The man made an indistinct noise.
Arthur started to continue, but was interrupted by a tap at the front door. Curious, he opened it to find only a white envelope laying gently at his feet, half-hidden by the falling snow. He retrieved it, and walked back inside. "Sirius? Letter for you."
Black took it from him, intrigued. "Who from?"
"No idea. Maybe the Ministry?"
The younger man grimaced. "Hope not. I've had enough of those jackarses for one lifetime." He tore the brim away, fished out the letter, and read the electric-blue lettering.
I'm calling in my debt. You gave me your word. The Crest will alow you access into the Netherworld. Use the Crest to set me free. If you go back on your word, I will instead find payment in the boy's humanity.