X. Harry and D.C. Markham

When all the others had left, Markham closed the front door, and turned to Harry. "Now, we can talk as two sensible people, and maybe I can make sense of some things I saw and heard that I don't like and don't understand. You may have Mrs. Figg back here, if you like."

"She's all right; but don't tell Aunt and Uncle that. If you do, they'll never send me back to her again."

"Now, why is that?"

"They don't like me. I was placed with them and they took me because they're my only relatives. Anything I like, they don't want me to have."

"I see. Now, what is this about Sirius Black? Is that man indeed your Godfather?"

Harry winced in pain. Not now, not here—I can't break now! Aloud, he said quietly, "Yes, it's true—or rather, he was. He…died…last month."

"And why do you know this?"

"I saw it." Harry's mind was churning. How much do I tell this man? And when are the Professors going to rescue me? Mrs. Figg's in the Order; she knew the truth. Do they expect me to think up something myself? Then again, he doesn't even know they're here; only Vernon and Petunia do, and they won't want him to know. I have to cover for them.

"Under what circumstances?"

"He was…he was fighting with someone who wanted to kill me. She killed him." There—now he would have to think fast if he was going to come up with a plausible story; it was obvious that his teachers were letting him handle it. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure how long he could keep from cracking. At least there was only one Muggle to deal with now, not a houseful; anything he accidentally did to the man, his Professors could fix.

"Where and when?"

"I can't talk about where; it's secret. When was this last June 12th."

"Why is it secret?"

"I can't talk about that, either."

"Why is he your Godfather, if he was a mass murderer?"

Harry took a deep breath. All right, time to put my Divination-homework skills to use…but as much of the truth as I can, not all of it, and no more lies than I must. Call on my inner Slytherin that the Sorting Hat seems to think I have, and stay calm and polite, above all. He has to believe it. "Because--because my parents picked him; he and my Dad were best friends. And he wasn't."

"Wasn't your Godfather, or wasn't a mass murderer?"

"He didn't murder anyone. The real killer, who was supposedly a victim, set him up and is still alive, as far as I know." Not if Lupin or Hagrid get hold of him…or he upsets his Master one too many times…

"Why all the secrecy? If you know something, why couldn't you give evidence?"

"It's—it's political, and I can't talk about it."

Markham was getting impatient. This wasn't going at all the way he thought it would. And this boy is just short of cracking; he must have cared about the man. And that sister of Dursley's has all the kind heart of a lead brick; what has she got against the boy? Time for more direct questions, but gently; if he fractures he might blow, and I'm by myself here. "For what reason can you not talk about this?"

"I told you; it's political. There was a scandal, you see, about the murders; Sirius was arrested and thrown into prison just to show that somebody was caught."

"But surely he had a trial?"

Harry gave a bitter snort that would have done Snape proud. Neither noticed the man, still Disillusioned, who came out of the corner and sank silently into a chair away from the two. "He didn't, as far as I know; he was convicted on dodgy eyewitness testimony and sentenced to life in prison. About two, almost three years ago, he escaped; everyone thought it was to kill me, but he was after the one who set up my parents to be murdered, and had set him up to be blamed."

"Why is that?" Markham was patiently teasing out a really strange story—but it held together so far.

Harry took a deep breath. "All right. I'll tell you some things, but others I have to keep secret, and some things I just don't know. I don't know you, I can't tell if I can trust you, but I'm just going to have to explain some things. See, my mum and dad were involved in one of those…uh, agencies; I don't know which, and I couldn't tell you if I did know. There was a…terrorist running about in the late 1970s, with a whole gang, killing and torturing innocent people."

"Like the IRA, or the Red Army of Liberation?"

"Something like, I guess, but neither of them; they're called the Death Eaters."

"I think I've heard of them. Some kind of cult, into weird stuff? Wear masks, I think?"

"Uh-huh, that's them. Anyway, Mum and Dad, and Sirius, were involved in trying to catch them. They didn't know that one of their other agents, another close friend, was a double agent. He betrayed my parents; the chief of the terrorists murdered them, but didn't get me, because Mum…hid me first; the house partly blew up, I think, because I have this scar." He showed his famous scar to the man. "I guess they hurt him pretty badly first, because he dropped out of sight for years and everyone thought he died. Now he's back. Sirius was…undercover; even the government didn't know he wasn't really a criminal; only the leader of his agency, and a few trusted agents, did." Harry took a deep breath. "Several of us students, most of us with parents in this…agency…got caught in a hostage trap last month; Sirius was with the…agency members who came to rescue us. He died fighting against one of the worst of the Death Eater lieutenants." Harry bowed his head. "It really hurts, because he never got his name cleared, and now he can never take me away from here."

Meanwhile, Dumbledore and Lupin looked at each other. "Albus, how long do we wait before we rescue him?" Lupin asked worriedly. "Harry is close to cracking; all that pain he choked down to write us is trying to come out now! At the very least, we are going to have to Obliviate that Muggle."

"Patience, but I think very soon, now," Dumbledore replied. "I think it's almost time for his Professors to come downstairs to find out why he didn't return for his advice meeting."

"And Severus stays hidden?"

"Yes; he must not be seen to anyone outside the Order. The Muggle police know about the Death Eaters, but as a dangerous cult only. Patience, Remus--Harry is actually doing very well; he has told nothing but the truth—properly interpreted, that is, and adhering to the Statute of Secrecy. Now we see if this Markham accepts it."

That gentleman looked around the living room again. P.C. Craig was right; there are no snaps of this boy, but lots of that other one. This one is obviously wearing the other boy's discards, and they don't even remotely fit; no wonder he never goes out. And there is NO love lost between that Marge woman and Potter. Aloud, he said, "So—you were involved with this Sirius Black, but that was not in any way related to the case at hand today. Correct?" When Harry nodded, he continued. "In any case, if the man is indeed dead, it's a moot point anyway, and I'm sorry." Markham leaned back and folded his hands. "Mr. Potter, what is your honest opinion of your cousin?"

Harry didn't hesitate; he was happy to get away from himself as a topic. "He's thoroughly spoiled, a vandal and a bully; but I believe him when he said he didn't get into the marijuana. Boxing is the only thing in life he takes at all seriously, and really the only thing he's any good at; he's on a training diet and does regular exercises and drills, so he isn't going to spoil it." Harry shook his head. "I—I can't say I ever liked him; I was one of his first victims, from the time I first lived here. He despises me, and his parents encouraged everything he did. But I felt sorry for him when he realized that his lifelong friends were using him. I've seen that happen often enough that I hate it as much as I hate bullying. You didn't see his face; I did. He was devastated. Now would be the time to show him a last chance. If you can get him away from his friends and his father, who is trying to make him a junior Vernon, he might someday grow up. Be the good cop; he's seen the bad cop, and he just might tell all."

"And the other boys?"

"They're just repeating what they've been told all their lives; you heard their mums. Donald won't go against Piers; his brother protects him from the other bullies. I wouldn't have figured Dennis for dealing, though." Harry's voice hardened. "But using my name… that I will not forgive, whichever one of them did it. I can endure the rest, as I have all my life: the bullying, the hate, and having my parents' names dishonored by people who never knew them; they aren't here any more to suffer from it. My relatives despise me enough as it is, just for existing. But I will not have my name slandered for something I didn't do." He took another deep breath, and let it out with a sigh.

"Fair enough," Markham nodded. "Given what I saw and heard, you've convinced me that whatever else is going on, you had nothing to do with this mess. And it would appear that your cousin is picking the wrong friends; his parents have done him no favors in sheltering him from consequences of his actions. In a way, that's as bad as their obvious neglect of you—don't think I didn't notice the difference in clothes."

Harry hung his head. "It's all right; I can handle it for a little longer. Two more years—this one and next—and I'll be out of school and able to manage." I'm not going to tell him I come of age in one year, by a different law.

Markham leaned forward again. "What I don't understand is this: your parents apparently set you up fairly well to go to a private boarding school, tuition and expenses and such. Why did they leave nothing to your aunt to raise you with?"

"I don't know all of it, but I'd guess it's because they had planned for Sirius to raise me if something happened. He was well off. They had never planned on anything for Aunt Petunia, as she and Mum were estranged, and there wasn't anything left." I'm not going to mention the vault full of gold; I'll give it to charity before I let the Dursleys have it. "And, in any case, my Aunt and Uncle didn't even know about my being admitted to my school until I got my first admissions letter. Aunt knew about the school, as Mum went there, but Uncle Vernon didn't."

"And the story about St. Brutus?"

"That was my aunt and uncle's story; they knew how Mum and Dad really died, and didn't want the neighbors to know anything. It's a sort of cover for why I don't go to Stonewall High or Smeltings. Better that the neighbors think me a delinquent, so they don't ask too many questions, than to worry about involvement with the people my parents worked for—or worse, attracting the ones who killed them."

"What is your plan, now?"

"I need to go back upstairs; I was in the middle of course advice counseling. Some of my school professors have been here all day, up in my room; they must be starving by now."

The detective started. There were more people in this house? "Here? Why did none of them come down with you?"

"Uh—this was family business, not school business, and they thought to keep out of it. If you had arrested me, they would have surely come down."

Harry was now getting really tired and hungry, and he was sure his Professors were, too, unless they were conjuring up dinner—in which case, he wanted some. "Please, sir, if you're satisfied, will you excuse me so that I can fix up something, or order carryout, for my Professors? They must be starving. You know where to reach me; I should be here for the next few weeks. If I leave to visit my friends, or after term begins, I can get mail through Mrs. Figg; she has my forwarding address."

Markham nodded. "If, first, you will ask one of your professors to come down and talk to me, just to prove your story, I can leave you be and deal with the rest of that lot." A thought hit him. "How much do they know?"

"About me? Pretty much everything; the school I go to is where my parents went, and a lot of my friends have parents in…their agency."

"Then fetch one down, please, and then maybe we can conclude this before your relatives get home."