A/N- Well, here's my first fic, and to note, the story switches from character to character by the means of this *^*^*^*^*^*. So, now that that's said, read! (And don't forget to hit the purple button at the bottom of the page that lets me know what you think!)
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I only own the plot; the rest belongs to the gifted J.K. Rowling, including Harry and Co., Albus and Minerva, and the rest of the wonderful characters she's dreamed up and I've had the pleasure of tinkering with.
The feeble sunlight shone through an open window of four, Privet Drive, stopping short of the raven haired, bespectacled and green eyed boy, who lay, unusually still, on the un-made bed. He rolled over and produced a rolled up newspaper, yellowing in the corners, from underneath the mattress and stared at the article encompassing what was not taken up by the picture of a thin and rough looking man with long black hair of the front page.
ESCAPE ARTIST SIRIUS BLACK CLEARED OF ALL CHARGES AFTER DEATH
Sirius Black, who, three years ago, escaped from Azkaban, had been cleared of all charges placed on him after he appeared to have murdered thirteen people on a muggle street.
Black, however, was not present to hear the final verdict from the Minister for Magic.
In a fierce battle with his alleged cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, Black was murdered by an unknown and unidentified curse.
"We are unaware of the so-called curse used on Black, but we will be launching a thorough investigation into this incident," Cornelius Fudge said on Monday, in an impromptu press conference.
Details into the investigation are unavailable at this time.
Harry Potter scowled at the ridiculous scarcity of proper details in the article. It was true that Sirius was murdered by Bellatrix-Harry had been there when she had done it- but they had left out the fact that there were a number of Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, bent on retrieving what Lucius Malfoy had called the "prophecy"; they had also forgotten that Professor Albus Dumbledore-the most powerful wizard in the world, and the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry-had an actual duel with Voldemort-the most feared Dark wizard for a century, and murderer of Harry's parents-and won.
He had read the article so many times Harry feared it may be burned into the inside of his skull; and each time he read it he relived the nightmare that he had experienced with members of the Order of the Phoenix. The way he had tried to fight off the Death Eaters; Dumbledore's arrival; the look on Sirius's face as Bellatrix cast the final spell over him, ridding him of the pain of being locked up, all alone, at a house he loathed entirely, but leaving Harry with the agonizing memory that Sirius had died trying to save him.
Hot tears threatened, as they usually did these days, to fall from his brilliantly green eyes; eyes he had inherited from his mother. Harry wiped them on sleeve and threw the newspaper down, rather harder than he intended, but he enjoyed the sound of the paper hitting his Potions textbook with a resounding slap.
A sharp tap tap brought Harry from his furious pleasure of facing down the newspaper to reality. He stood, crossing over to the window and throwing it open, allowing a large barn owl to swoop in, bringing with it the tiniest of breezes before a wave of humidity slapped him in the face. He closed the window and watched the owl hoot a greeting to Hedwig, his snowy owl, before sticking out its leg. Harry untied the letter, staring at the curly purple ink.
Why was Dumbledore writing to him?
*^*^*^*^*^*
Minerva McGonagall made her way into the spacious kitchen of a large, lived-in house, leaning heavily on her waist height walking stick, souvenir of the four stunners she had endured to her chest only a month before. She tightened the tartan robe around her before setting to work, lighting the stove with a flick of her wand, cracking the eggs in a frying pan with another poke. Absorbing herself wholly into the task at hand, she did not notice her husband, standing tall in the doorway, midnight blue robe untied, long white hair and beard as smooth and soft as always, and blue eyes twinkling as he surveyed his wife.
"Minerva, dear, you're not supposed to be on your feet this early," Albus said, watching as she kept on opening drawers.
"And why not?" she challenged, looking desperately for the spatula. "Have you seen the spatula, by the way?"
"To you left," Albus replied, moving in to the room as she produced the spatula in question from the only drawer she hadn't looked in.
"Thanks," Minerva replied, flipping the sizzling eggs over.
"Come, Minerva, you need to rest before we leave," he said softly.
She paid his last comment no attention as she began to fry bacon, moving the strips she had conjured around in their pan.
"Please?"
"Now, really, Albus, I'm fine," Minerva replied stubbornly, moving over to the sink to wash the now empty pan.
"You heard what Poppy said," Albus whispered, coming form behind and wrapping his arms around her waist, "You're supposed to stay in bed until at least nine."
Minerva felt her resolution melt slightly as Albus rested a cheek on her shoulder. How did this man manage to persuade her so easily? But she knew the answer; it was because he cared about her, and he always had a certain charm about him that made her weaken in the knees; even in her old age.
"You are not old," Albus said.
"You stop doing that," she said, smiling. They had been able, for as long as she could remember, to know what the other was thinking without the use of occlumency. She supposed that when you knew someone for so long, you simply didn't have to use words to get across what you wished to say, you just simply thought it and they knew.
"Come on," he said, and promptly swept Minerva up into his arms.
"Albus!" she laughed, even as he carried her out into the hallway and into their bedroom.
"Yes, darling?" he replied, in an innocent tone, depositing her ever so gently on the bed, "I'm going to finish up with breakfast, and you're going to stay here and do absolutely nothing," he smiled and kissed her forehead.
"Alright," she sighed, and sank back in to the feathery softness of the pillows.
*^*^*^*^*^*
Dear Mr. Potter,
I would, first of all, like to thank you for opening this, as I can understand your reluctance to receive anything with my name on it.
In the recent death of Sirius, The Order has decided to hold a funeral for him at Grimmauld Place. He had expressed his wishes, long ago, to be buried here, should he ever die (which, I am sure, would've been a great shock to him). I believe he wanted to "keep an eye on the place," as he put it.
I, along with the Order, would greatly appreciate your presence at this event. If you wish to attend, send an owl to Molly Weasley, and the Guard will come and pick you up at noon tomorrow. If no, which we will understand, the Guard will come and pick you up on August the first.
Also, Professor McGonagall informs me that although you did not receive and "O" on your OWL for Potions, Professor Snape will allow you to take his Potions class this year.
Congratulations on your marks,
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Harry stared at the letter. He would, of course, go, and was rather shocked that McGonagall had done enough arm-twisting to get Snape to allow Harry in his Potions class. But the again, he seemed to remember McGonagall swearing she'd make and Auror out of him if it was the last thing she did. This aside, he pulled out a fresh piece of parchment from underneath the Herbology essay on Triple Tongued Horse Radish, assigned by Professor Sprout, and wrote,
Dear Mrs. Weasley,
I've just received an owl from Professor Dumbledore about my attendance to Sirius's funeral. Of course I'll come, I appreciate the invite (plus, who else wouldn't want to hang around with you lot for the summer?).
Harry
Harry strode over to Hedwig's cage and opened it, allowing her to fly around the room once or twice before he called her down.
"Alright, come down, I need you to deliver this to Mrs. Weasley," he said, attaching the letter to her leg. Harry opened the window.
She hooted softly and took off, soaring out and into the rising sun.
