Harry and Merope to the Rescue - Chapter 20

Disclaimer:

I don't own the HP universe, unfortunately.

As Kreacher led Harry back down the hallway that led to the entrance hall, Harry contemplated the plan for Sirius' trial that they had put together. He was going to represent Sirius, which meant that he was going to need to visually visit the Ministry, instead of going in stealth mode to research the case, though he did make a copy of the file that Walburga had.

Thinking about the plan led him to consider the parts of his history that he had shared with Walburga. He wasn't initially going to share so much with her, but it just felt right to him and his gut feelings didn't tend to lead him astray very often. He was confident that Walburga would keep her word, as she had already promised in her letter, to not reveal that he is a time traveler. Although, really in the grand scheme of things, he didn't think it would be detrimental if it were revealed, it wasn't as if the Ministry had the power to really do anything to him, it would more or less just be a bit of an annoyance, and having it revealed would probably cause him to make other decisions he didn't initially plan to make.

He was jarred out of his thoughts when they came upon Walburga's portrait again, which caused him to stop and study it another moment. The portrait seemed to regard him with a little more interest.

Kreacher, having noticed Harry had stopped following, turned and asked, "Is everything being alright, Master Harry?"

"I'm not sure, Kreacher," Harry responded. "I have a strong magical sensitivity and there is something about this portrait that seems to be a little - I'm not sure what term I should say - something doesn't feel right about it, but I can't quite say what it is at this moment."

Kreacher became curious and walked back over to look. Shaking his head, "Kreacher is not being able to sense anything different, Master Harry."

"No, Kreacher," responded Harry, "you probably wouldn't. It appears to be something that has been around so long that you would not have noticed, as you have probably become used to the feeling. But there is something dark present here that I suspect may have been the reason the portrait of Walburga that I am familiar with was so unpleasant."

Harry stretched his hands out towards the portrait, but stopped when they were about an inch away from actually touching it. He let his hands hover up and down and around the perimeter of the frame, trying to feel where the dark magic seemed to be concentrated. Finally, he found it. It seemed as though it was a curse that had been twisted and mutated from what it was originally intended to have been placed for, but Harry imagined that it was the cause of the madness in the portrait he had known. Rather than trying to study it further and attempt to trace the curse to the original castor, assuming the original castor to still be alive, Harry just pulled the curse out and banished it.

It hadn't been noticeable when Harry first came into the house because it felt the way it had always felt to him in his original timeline. He realized now, he had fallen into the trap of assuming that that's just the nature of Grimmauld Place, he had never bothered to try to find the source. Immediately upon removal of the curse, the very air felt free; free of oppression, free of strife, free of depression. Harry studied the portrait again and the Walburga in the painting was now smiling in peace and joy.

Kreacher watched Harry in awe, though he seemed at a loss for words. Harry just smiled and said, "That was something I should have taken care of when I was in my original timeline, but I was young and naive, I thought it was just the nature of a magical home that stored so many dark artifacts." Harry thought silently to himself for a moment and finally said, "I think that curse must have been placed on this home a long time ago, although I can't think why it was centered on Walburga's portrait." Shaking his head, Harry said, "It's no matter now. It's gone now and there is no reason to dwell on it."

Harry checked his watch and grimaced at the time. "Kreacher, it has been a pleasure to see you again. Remember that you have a standing invitation to come see us at the island whenever you are able and want to, Little Harry would love to play with you again. Now, I must return back to my family, it's supper time and I don't want them to grow unnecessarily worried for me."

Kreacher bowed and said, "Yes, Master Harry." Then they continued the trip to the front door where Harry stepped outside and apparated back to the island.

Meanwhile, Walburga felt shocked at the sudden lightness she felt in the atmosphere around her, she wasn't sure what she could contribute it to, but suddenly she felt peace and calmness settle over her for what seemed like the first time in her life.

Ministry:

Cornelius Fudge was sitting in his cubicle, trying to make sense out of Headmaster Dumbledore's response to his letter, but he couldn't make heads or tails of it. He tried to cast a revealing spell, in case instructions were sent to him in code, but he was unable to get the spell to work. The letter started out with Deere Meester Foodge, as the greeting. He thought that the headmaster may have written it that way in case the letter was intercepted, so that must mean it contained delicate information. He didn't want to respond back for clarification for fear of looking like an incompetent fool that couldn't figure out how to decipher code.

Therefore, rather than risk appearing as a fool, Fudge decided to lock the letter in his desk drawer in order to figure out later. He briefly considered recruiting Umbridge to help, she seemed to have an uncanny talent for finding a solution for everything, but he didn't want to risk exposing whatever it was that Headmaster Dumbledore was trying to tell him. He also didn't want to have to owe the pink toad any favors. After a long sigh, he decided he would just do nothing for now, go about his business, and hope that the headmaster sent him clearer instructions next time.

Elsewhere in the Ministry:

Barty Crouch, Sr., sat at his desk with his head in his hands, trying desperately to blink back the tears. He was not having a good day. He had just returned from an appointment he attended at St. Mungo's, where his beloved wife had been diagnosed with a terminal illness so rare that they seemed to have no name for it. The healers couldn't even determine how much longer she had to truly live before the disease ate away her immune system and shut her body down bit by bit.

What made matters worse was that after they returned home, his wife begged him to give up his own morals to break their Death Eater son out of Azkaban before she died. They had such an argument when he refused to agree to it. She accused him of not loving her enough to grant her final wishes. She accused him of not loving their son.

Crouch, Sr., shook his head, he had loved their son just as much as she did, he had been such a joy when he was a young child. He had been devastated when he learned that he had somehow missed all signs that all was not right with Barty, Jr. Sometime during his time at Hogwarts, Barty, Jr., changed from the sweet, loving, and joyful son that he had been, to someone who found pleasure in the torture of others. Barty, Jr., had done horrendous crimes for which he was tried and convicted for. He was in Azkaban for life.

Crouch, Sr., knew as Head of the DMLE, he could easily do as his wife wished and maneuver a way to get their son out of Azkaban, but he knew it was morally wrong. He would have to break laws that he was supposed to uphold. As much as he loved his son, he felt his son had deserved his fate for the crimes he had been accused of. Unlike the case of Sirius Black, Barty, Jr.'s trial had been meticulously detailed and extremely public.

Two years ago, he would never have even entertained the idea that he could do it. It was morally wrong. And in his own opinion, if a man didn't have his morals and integrity, he wasn't much of a man. He was sickened with himself for even allowing the thought to pass through his mind now, and it wouldn't have been if his wife had never brought it up. He was devastated that his wife would use her imminent death and last wishes to guilt him into doing something she knew he would find morally repugnant.

So here he sat, feeling sorry for himself and unable to talk to anyone that could give him advice, because if his wife did manage to wear him down, whoever he spoke with would know the truth if there was ever any word of Barty, Jr.'s uncanny escape.

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