As Draco's godfather, Professor Snape had a standing invitation to attend the Malfoys' Yule Ball, so he was the one who escorted Harry through the headmaster's fireplace via the "Floo Network".
Upon arriving at Malfoy Manor, Harry decided that he never wanted to travel like that again. He felt more than a little sick from all the spinning and had to sit down for several minutes before he felt well enough to move around again. "First time through the Floo is always hard," Narcissa said, handing him a fine crystal goblet full of ginger ale, "Just rest until you feel better."
Hannibal, Will, and Abby arrived a few minutes after him, and both Will and Abby swept him up in fierce hugs. Hannibal was more reserved, but he still leaned down to share a warm embrace with his son. "It's good to see you, Harry," he said with a slight smile, "and you as well, Severus. How is Hogwarts?"
"A disaster, as usual," the Potions Master said dryly.
"And in some ways more so than usual," Harry added, "Where did Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy go? I need to talk to them as soon as possible - it's about Sirius Black."
Severus frowned sharply, but he still called a house-elf to direct them to the hosts of the ball.
They met in Lucius's study. "It's good to see you all, as always," said the patriarch, "What can I do for you?"
"Lord Malfoy, Lady Malfoy," Harry said formally, "You have seats on the Wizengamot, correct? Were you ever called up for the trial of Sirius Black?"
That made both of them frown. "I personally was not," said Lucius.
"Nor I," said Narcissa.
"Most likely it was my father, Abraxas. I did not actually take over the Malfoy Lordship until a few years ago when his health began to decline." He flicked his wand toward one of the many shelves on the walls, and a few books rose, floated over, and laid themselves on his desk for him to reference. "But from the look on your face, I think you already know what I'm going to find.
"I don't think there was a trial."
Everyone stopped and looked at him.
"Our defense professor this year is Remus Lupin, once a close friend of both Sirius Black and my father, James Potter. If anyone was called to testify, especially for the defense, it would have been him, but he never received a summons."
"Harry's right." Severus looked grim and frustrated, like he wanted to stop himself from speaking but knew it would be worse if he stayed silent. "Given the events and their circumstances, if there had been a trial, that gossip rag that calls itself a newspaper The Daily Prophet would have covered it in lurid detail, and every book ever written on the Potters and the Dark Lord's downfall would have included at least a single page on the subject."
"The trial of the century," Will said quietly.
"Indeed."
Harry looked to Narcissa, whom he knew was a Black because Draco had half-bragged about it once in a prior year. "Professor Lupin said that Sirius was kicked out but never actually disowned from the family. Is that true?"
"It is," she answered. Though she had been bartered in an arranged marriage simply as a mother of Malfoy heirs, she was far from stupid, and understanding came an instant after she spoke. "They sent the Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black to Azkaban for more than a decade with no trial."
"A worrying precedent, " Hannibal said, garnet eyes narrowing.
Lucius frowned sharply. "Indeed it is."
They each took one of the books, the records Abraxas Malfoy had left of his time on the Wizengamot, but there wasn't a single mention of a trial for Sirius from the Second Wizarding War to the end of his tenure.
Lucius shut his book with a snap. "The Minister will be here tonight, as always. Given the circumstances - the potential fallout from a failure to act, being able to shift the blame onto his predecessor for causing the problem while he reaps the rewards for uncovering and resolving it - it shouldn't take too much to convince him to look into this."
"And who knows how many others he'll find?" Will said, exchanging a look with Hannibal, "The Second Wizarding war must have been a chaotic time, and I'll bet you any amount of money you care to name that he wasn't the only one left to rot simply because he was presumed guilty."
The two eldest High Wendigos were doing that thing they did where they discussed what happened in the States without actually saying a word. As always, Hannibal inclined his head, and for just an instant Harry glimpsed his crown of black antlers, each point as sharp as a blade.
No one else noticed. Severus was watching Lucius and Narcissa, who were looking at each other and wondering how many of their fellow Death Eaters they could - and should - get out of prison and how much effort they should expend in order to do so. They were going to be walking a very fine line; Lucius had escaped imprisonment after the last war by claiming imperius curse, Narcissa by being unmarked and a new mother, so it wouldn't do to be seen as too close with some of the actual Death Eaters.
"We will start with Cousin Sirius, say that the bonds of blood and twelve years unjustly imprisoned demand that we lend him our aid, regardless of how we ourselves might feel," said Narcissa, "and if, by chance, there are others, do they not deserve a fair trial as well? We can bring some of the other families in on this, perhaps even some of the Light ones. 'How can you condemn one of your own blood when their guilt was never proven?'"
"The same soliciting team for all to seem impartial, but that doesn't mean we can't get the best," said Lucius.
Apparently satisfied with persuading Hannibal to never again play serial killer chicken through prison bars, Will turned to look at the Malfoys. "Is Black guilty?"
Lucius eyed him for a long, silent moment before finally saying, "No. Those who know them well said that Black would rather have died than betray the Potters - and they're right. But neither do I know who actually betrayed them; the Dark Lord kept the identities of all his spies a secret. The only thing he said on the matter was that Potter and Black had trusted unwisely, and it was going to cost them everything."
Whether by chance or design, Harry didn't see Fudge until almost the end of the ball, long after many of the guests had departed. Lucius steered him to a private alcove together with Will and Severus, then brought Fudge to him.
"Ah, there you are, Mr Potter! I've been looking all over for you."
"Apologies, Minister," said Harry, "I was talking with my friends. Our defense professor this year, Remus Lupin, has been giving supplemental lessons on the Patronus Charm because of the dementors. We were discussing what memories we were using to try and make our - Patronuses? Patroni?" He looked up at Severus.
"Both are technically correct," said the Potions Master, "but 'Patroni' is more common."
Harry nodded and looked back to the Minister. "Oh! For me?"
"Indeed." Fudge put the small box, wrapped in blue and gold paper, in his hands. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get it; even for me - and you - there was a stack of paperwork a foot high to get a copy for release."
"Oh. Oh! Thank you so much, Minister; I won't forget this." Harry held the prophecy close to his chest and bowed deeply to the man. Then he shuffled his feet. "Now I feel kind of bad."
"And why is that?"
"Mr. Potter believes that Sirius Black never received a trial," said Lucius, "and having checked my father's extensive and thorough records of his time on the Wizengamot, I'm inclined to agree. There may be others as well."
"No trial? But that's-" It seemed that Fudge understood the potential consequences, because his face went pale as milk.
"An egregious breach of justice, no matter my own feelings towards the man," Severus said dryly, "As I told Lucius earlier, The Prophet would have covered the trial in detail."
"But now that this has been brought to our attention," said Lucius, steering Fudge away from the metaphorical edge, "we - and most importantly, you, Minister - can fix it. You have the power to call for a trial for Black, and for anyone else who might have slipped through the cracks. If even one of them is innocent, then you have righted Minister Bagnold's terrible wrong and released those who should never have been imprisoned. if they are guilty, then they are where they always should have been, and you can be the one to finally close the book on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
"Yes... Yes, indeed..." Fudge stroked his chin speculatively, his color returning rapidly as he thought about Lucius's suggestion, "Of course right now Black's in the wind - and attacked Hogwarts, even!"
"That's what actually got me thinking," said Harry, "He attacked Gryffindor Tower, but it's no secret that I was sorted into Ravenclaw. Unless he's actually as mad as they say…"
"Far from it," said Fudge," I daresay he was the sanest person in Azkaban, and escaping from there took planning. I met him on my last inspection, actually; most of the prisoners are mad, muttering to themselves in the dark, but he seemed quite normal, almost bored. He asked if I'd finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword."
"Then there must be something we don't see," said Will, "If he's not mad, he must have attacked Gryffindor Tower for a reason. I worked for Muggle law enforcement while we still lived in the States; does wizarding law enforcement have anything like conditional surrender? where Black could turn himself in, in exchange for the Ministry's word that he wouldn't be armed or subjected to vigilante justice and execution?"
"We do indeed," Fudge answered, "but it will take time to set this all in motion, and the only place we could really hold him is Azkaban. He's already escaped once." He sighed heavily. "He's in the wind; let him stay there for now, and I'll retract the dementors' Kiss-on-sight order, as long as any further attacks also come to nothing. I'll post some Aurors to Hogwarts as well, just in case."
"Thank you, Minister," said Harry, "It means a lot that you're willing to even consider this."
"It's no trouble, my boy, none at all."
Severus escorted Harry back to Ravenclaw Tower, since it was well after curfew when they finally made it back to the castle. He knew that the man's curiosity over the Minister's gift must have been killing him, but Severus never said a word about it, letting him go without questioning anything.
The third year boys' dormitory was completely empty, and while he'd eventually grown to enjoy his yearmates' company, now he was glad beyond words for the privacy. As was fitting for Ravenclaws, each one of them had a desk next to their bed so they could do their school work. Harry sat at his now, with a lined muggle notebook and a pen, as well as his wand- and the box.
He carefully untied the golden ribbon, then popped the sticking charms and unfolded the royal blue paper. The box inside was a soft dove grey with black lettering embossed on the top, a date followed by:
SPT to APWBD
Dark Lord
and (?) Harry Potter
Hm... What did that question mark mean? It might not have been him? And Dark Lord, not Voldemort?
Harry carefully wrote the embossed letters down exactly as they appeared on the box. Then he lifted off the lid.
A soft silver light washed over his face. Inside the box, cushioned by slightly crumpled paper, was a sphere of glass, perfectly round and full of glowing mist. He lifted the entire thing out of the box, using the paper to keep the sphere from rolling away, and set it ceremoniously on his desk. When he was sure it would stay, he took up his wand.
As instructed, Harry gave the sphere a single sharp tap, then threw down his wand to take up his pen.
Before his eyes, the sphere split into slices like an orange, releasing the mist inside. It swirled- and became Professor Trelawney. She opened her mouth and spoke in a voice very unlike her normal one. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"
Harry hurriedly wrote down the exact wording, complete with ellipses. When he looked up again, the mist had dispersed, leaving only the wedges of enchanted glass behind on their paper cushion. He gathered it all up and put it back in the box, then put everything in his trunk under the heaviest protections he knew how to cast, which were impressive for a third year.
It was late - very late. He would sleep on it, let his subconscious make of it what it could, and then actively think on it more in the morning.
The feast the next day was hearty and delicious, as all meals at Hogwarts were, but between homesickness and the prophecy, Harry barely noticed. He spent as much of the break as possible working on the prophecy, defining every word it used and recording every interpretation he could think of, and also owl-ordered more than a few books to help with his analysis.
Part of the trouble with interpreting prophecies definitively was that they were often so vague that they could sometimes apply to multiple events over the course of history - history repeating itself and all that - or even several events in quick succession. Regardless of anyone else's interpretation, this prophecy was no different.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches" - what power did he have that could defeat the Dark Lord? Because that was what vanquish meant - not "kill", not "gruesomely disincorporate", but "thoroughly defeat". And on a related note, which Dark Lord? Both Grindelwald and Voldemort had been acknowledged as Dark Lords, and despite the extremely UK-centric and even England-centric nature of the history they learned from Binns, Harry was positive that other countries had Dark Lords as well, either self-styled or designated by the populace for one reason or another. And 'approaches' - how quick was this approach and on which the scale? Human? Cosmological? Something in between? Also, the prophecy was given after his birth; how could he approach if he was already here?
"Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..." "Born" was pretty unambiguous, but "thrice defied him" how? Open combat? Refusing to pass the sugar? Going somewhere they were explicitly forbidden from? And "as the seventh month dies" - on which calendar? Sure, if they were assuming it was Voldemort, then they could also assume it was the Gregorian calendar - but what if it wasn't Voldemort? What if it was some other Dark Lord - and someone other than Harry?
"And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not..." Again with the unknown power. What kind of power was it? Actual strength like most people thought, or skill, or knowledge? Because knowledge was indeed its own kind of power. So was wealth, and specialist training, and bloodline gifts like one of the Aurors assigned to Hogwarts - Nymphadora Tonks, the Metamorphmagus. And how would he be marked? Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually? Harry did admittedly have all four - he had the physical curse scar, mental trauma from his years at the Dursleys (indirectly Voldemort's fault but it still counted in his book), emotional loss of his biological parents (even though he'd never really known them), and spiritual because Dumbledore had said that Voldemort had transferred some of his powers to Harry. But did that really make him Voldemort's equal? He was only thirteen.
"And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives" - where did this die come from? What the hell happened to vanquish?! And the whole line could be interpreted several different ways, from the obvious "we have to kill each other because we can't be alive at the same time" to "I have to mercy kill you because I can't live in peace and happiness while you're barely scraping by." A simpler solution to that - instead of, you know, murder - would be to take care of each other, ensure that the other was happy and at peace so they themselves could have the same.
And the last line was essentially just reiterating a few things said earlier.
What a mess.
I've decided I hate prophecies, Harry wrote to his family, Give me my tarot cards any day of the week, or even tea leaves or a crystal ball. It seems like prophecies are even more vague than trying to divone by smoke. I'll finish up this year, of course, but I think I'll drop it next year in favor of either self-study and taking my tests independently or just researching for pleasure.
But that reminded him. Squibs. He and his friends had to sit separately for the welcome back feast, but he caught them all the next day during their free period in the library. "Neville, do you remember our conversation during the Quidditch match the dementors broke up?"
"About Squibs? Yeah, I remember. My family thought I was one for the longest time before my uncle Algie forced my magic to show."
Harry shot him a thoroughly alarmed look.
"There's no need to worry about it," the Hufflepuff said hurriedly, "What do you want to know?"
"What happens to Squibs? Like what do their families do with them, or about them? Both now and historically."
"Depends on the family, I think," the boy answered, "Some families raise them alongside their wizarding children, if they have any, but either tutor them privately or send them to Muggle school, since obviously they can't come to Hogwarts. There are some jobs in the wizarding world that don't require magic - though not many. For others, though, they go out into the Muggle world."
Harry nodded in understanding. That made sense. Still... "You said some families."
Neville nodded and looked away. This time it was Draco who answered. "It's technically illegal now, but a lot of pureblood families, especially the Sacred Twenty-Eight, would abandon their Squib children to be raised in the Muggle world, or in the really old days, they would give them to their Muggle vassals and serfs, back when being a Lord or Lady meant you had land and tenants and not just a seat on the Wizengamot."
This time Harry couldn't stop the "Jackpot," from slipping out.
"What?" Draco asked, "What is it?" He looked absolutely bewildered.
"I've been thinking," said Harry, "about the nature of magic, and how it seems to spontaneously appear in some people - Muggleborns - and not in others - the actual muggles. How could that be? Magic is a force of nature; a hurricane doesn't just come ashore and say, 'I'm gonna hit you and not you, you and not you.'
"So so I thought, 'if there are Muggles born with magic, are there wizards born without?'"
Hermione caught on like lightning. "You think Muggleborns are descended from squibs abandoned in the Muggle world?"
"It's possible," said Harry, "More than possible; it's likely. And I think I know a way we can find out for sure.
"How do you feel about coming with me to Gringotts this summer?"
Harry did a little research and determined that yes, Gringotts could do genealogy tests and family trees, and now they were the only ones in the UK who could do so because blood magic was otherwise illegal. Harry made an appointment with the goblins for a few days after they were supposed to get their letters with their book lists for the subsequent year.
They had another supplemental class in the Patronus Charm, and this time Harry actually managed a vague, four-legged shape. Professor Lupin told him that he'd found another boggart over the holidays, and since Harry's boggart took the shape of a dementor, it was as good a practice as he was going to get at the moment. "Though obviously you'll need to lower your Occlumency shields to get the full effect," he added dryly.
He gave it a shot and found that, as usual, simply practicing the spell was a lot different than doing a "live exercise" against a "dementor". He still managed the mist, but it was a less-than-ideal protector; his mother still pleaded for mercy in his ears while Voldemort told her to step aside. In the end, Lupin forced the boggart back into the chest he had released it from, leaving Harry sweating and shaking with the strain of resisting the effects of the dementor-boggart (boggart-dementor?).
Apparently it was strong enough that his family sensed it even with their bond stretched thin by distance, but he still managed to convey that he was all right, just training. Their concern abated but didn't vanish, and Harry knew he was going to have to send at least one letter assuring them of his continued good health and also his revelation concerning squibs and Muggleborns. He would be interested to hear what they had to say about it, especially if he ended up being right.
But of course things couldn't keep going well forever. Scabbers disappeared later that same day, though the rest of them only heard about it the next morning. Ron and Hermione weren't speaking to each other, and Fred, George, and Ginny all reported that they'd had a screaming row over it the previous evening. Even Blause Zabini and his silver tongue couldn't smooth it over when Draco called him over from the Slytherin tables, Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson in tow.
All three Slytherins ended up eating breakfast with them, at which point they all had to squish to Pit. Harry briefly considered asking Remus if he could borrow the Marauder's Map back, if only to find them a place where they could all eat together. Then he discarded the idea and leaned over the table just enough to see the twins. "Fred, George, where are the school kitchens?"
"Basement," they chorused together, "Tickle the pear on the bowl of fruit painting, and it will giggle and turn into a door handle."
"Can we eat down there?"
"Sure. As long as you're polite, the house-elves don't mind. Why?"
"If we get any more permanent additions to this clan thing we've got going on here, we're gonna need more space."
"The proper modern term would be coven, had the Ministry not outlawed its use," Blaise said quietly.
Harry blinked at him. "Why? It's just a name - isn't it?"
"It is, but names have power," said the other boy, "It used to be that covens were groups of witches and wizards who would come together practice magic and share knowledge and techniques. Supposedly that's how the Founders met; they all joined and ultimately came to lead the same coven. Or formed one of their own that eventually became Hogwarts; it's not entirely clear, and obviously the Ministry has suppressed that information.
"But as time went on and - Muggleborns, started becoming more numerous, they started joining covens but not... adhering to them, shall we say. The covens were kind of like guilds from hundreds of years ago; once you were in, you were in for life, and you were expected to contribute to the coven, give your loyalty and support. The coven's successes and failures were yours, too. But a lot of Muggleborns… didn't. There were a lot of reasons, some valid, some not, but the fact remained that they made promises and broke them or didn't intend to keep them in the first place. There was not a small number that just wanted to profit off the covens' secret knowledge.
"So the covens kicked them out and started becoming more insular, categorically excluding Muggleborns from their initiates, and said Muggleborns didn't like that. At least here in the UK, they started pressuring the Ministry to do something, and eventually they gave in and said, 'no more covens.' In some cases, the former covens were actually folded into the Ministry, usually the Department of Mysteries, but for others... depending on the purported nature of their secrets, some were hunted down and killed, and had their archives burned. Hundreds, sometimes even thousands of years worth of knowledge... all lost."
Many Ravenclaws listening in, including Harry, and Hermione all looked sick at the thought. Many of the other houses were grim as well. "All that," said Hermione," because of... membership in a coven?"
"Some of the covens were quite powerful," said Blaise, "the equivalent of old-money purebloods now. Potioneers, cursebreakers, wardmasters-"
"Merlin, wardmasters," Draco interjected, "One of my ancestors, Armand Malfoy, came over to England with the Muggle Norman Conquest. He nearly bankrupted the family warding our manor, but those wards are still holding a thousand years on and only need a little bit of a tune-up every couple of decades. There isn't anyone who can do wards like that nowadays - at least not here."
Blaise nodded in agreement. "There were rumors of conspiracy, of course. That the Minister in question - Cyadorn, I think - felt that the covens threatened the Ministry's power and, more importantly, his own. But nothing was ever proven, and any coven members who might have actually made accusations were often killed in the shutdown raids."
"I've never read about any of this," Hermione whispered.
"Of course you haven't," Blaise said, the barest edge of gentleness entering his tone, "There's more to history than what little Binns teaches us, and Flourish and Blotts and even Hogwarts' own library are all Ministry-approved. They wouldn't want themselves to look bad in the history they wrote."
And then, because the hits had started coming and refused to stop, Sirius Black attacked again - still Gryffindor, but this time he actually got inside the tower and went after Ron. He told them all about it the next morning, how he heard his hangings tear and felt a draft, then woke up to see Black standing over him holding a knife. Ron yelled, and Sirius ran. Once again, the castle was searched, but to no avail.
In other news, Hermione finally walked out of Divination, and even though Harry was sorely tempted to join her, he'd promised his parents that he would finish out the year if nothing else and he meant to keep his word.
He did look Trelawney in the eye and say, "Everyone dies, Professor. If you're trying to scare me, you'll need to do better than that."
On a somewhat related note, he finally figured out what the strange skeletal horses that pulled the school carriages were. He hadn't seen them in his first year, since they'd sailed across the lake in the boats, but beginning in second year they'd been bringing the rest of the student body up to the castle. No one else had commented on them, so he had assumed the dragon-like winged horses had been fairly common or at least normal in the wizarding world.
It wasn't until the beginning of third year, when he heard Ron refer to them as horseless carriages, that he realized something was up.
And now he understood. Thestrals, as they were known, were only visible to those who had witnessed a death and accepted the reality of it. Given who - and more importantly what - his parents and sister were... yeah. He had that more than covered.
Exams descended on Hogwarts. Even Fred and George, normally known for their very laissez-faire approach to education, were seen studying for their owls, which many (including a few teachers) considered to be a sign of coming doom.
Harry himself was fairly certain that he would pass all of his exams with at least an Exceeds Expectations, but he kept studying and revising up until the very last minute.
All except for Divination, his last exam. Professor Trelawney had already said that would concern crystal gazing and essentially nothing else, so he reviewed those sections in Unfogging the Future while waiting for his turn. Ron went up ahead of him, and he wished the other boy luck.
Then Trelawney called him up.
Much to his own surprise, he did see something in the crystal ball - not the future, but the past.
The Voldemorts of the diary and the diadem whirled together, then rushed out of the Chamber of Secrets. The Scottish highlands flashed away below the spirits, followed by the Channel and part of the North Sea. Belgium, France, and Germany were gone in a blink, and the whirling spirits swooped up to clear the Alps, then plunged to skim just above the Adriatic Sea. They crossed into Albania, aiming for-
Voldemort. Wraith - Voldemort, the one he'd encountered in his first year, shuddering and shivering his way through the death throes of the rat he was possessing, reluctant to leave it unless he had no other choice.
All at once, all three spirits rose and met and merged together in a brilliant flash of light-
-that made Harry jerk back with a hiss of pain. He rubbed his eyes and tried to blink the spots from his vision, but before he could reorient himself, Trelawney was leaning eagerly forward in her chair and asking what he had seen. He knew at once that he couldn't tell her the truth, but he could include elements of it; he told her that he had seen the past from another's perspective and made up a lie about his dad Will taking him and his sister Abby back to the States for a July 4th celebration. This time he had seen it from the air and been blinded when one of the firework mortars had detonated a little too close to the angle he was viewing from.
"Interesting," said Trelawney, "Very interesting, Mr. Potter. I think we'll leave it there... Meditate on what you have seen and puzzle out its meaning. Use this to guide your Inner Eye, and there may be more visions in your future."
Harry sorely doubted that, but he nodded anyway and scooped up his bag, turning to go.
"IT WILL HAPPEN TONIGHT."
The Ravenclaw whirled back around, wand already in hand to point it at the woman, a nasty hex already on the tip of his tongue.
It was immediately apparent that Trelawney was not herself. She was stiff as a board in her chair, staring straight ahead with eyes fogged over.
"THE DARK LORD LIES ALONE AND FRIENDLESS, ABANDONED BY HIS FOLLOWERS. HIS SERVANT HAS BEEN CHAINED THESE TWELVE YEARS. TONIGHT, BEFORE MIDNIGHT... THE SERVANT WILL BREAK FREE AND SET OUT TO REJOIN HIS MASTER. THE DARK LORD WILL RISE AGAIN WITH HIS SERVANT'S AID, GREATER AND MORE TERRIBLE THAN EVER HE WAS, WITH NEW AND UNEXPECTED ALLIES. TONIGHT… BEFORE MIDNIGHT... THE SERVANT... WILL SET OUT... TO REJOIN... HIS MASTER…"
...Well shit.