Chapter 3; A Study in Paints

December 14, 1981

Charlus' portrait was placed on the wall of the makeshift den and even his raucous commentary and biting remarks became a welcome part of the routine. Even when Harry had smeared apricot jam on his painting in a understandable, if ill-conceived attempt to give his "unc'a" a hug, his caustic reply was hardly damaging. After all, referring to Harry as a "foul, untutored swine" could not be understood by the boy and went unremarked by the stoic elf. If anything, it helped to increase Tippy's vocabulary. When late at night, they would occasionally argue over some point of criticism on her child-rearing skills, she would occasionally serve his epithets right back at him. Not normal behavior for an elf, but these were far from normal circumstances. The first major row they had came two weeks into their self-imposed exile.

The day began normally for the trio. After breakfast, Tippy and Harry settled on the living room rug that was converted from a tapestry depicting ancient knights battling dragons on a verdant field. Tippy was reading to Harry from a children's book in her halting manner. She was barely more educated than a child herself. Charlus, in the mean time suffered to make occasional sniffs in indignation or made comments like "fuzzy bunnies, indeed! What tripe!" After an interminable (to Charlus) hour, he had had enough.

"Elf!" he said. "We need news. It's all well and good to play house with the boy, but he needs real supervision. Human supervision. It is hardly meet for a future head of the Potter House to be brought up on naught but tales of bunnies and homesick toads!"

"Tippy takes good care of young master!" the elf exclaimed.

"Yes, yes! You are the very paragon of motherly virtue. But what news of the rest of the world. What is the reaction to the murder of James and Lilly? Are they searching for the boy? What has Voldemort been up to? We need answers."

"What can Tippy do?" she asked.

"Run down to the village and fetch a copy of the Prophet. Take some galleons and pick up some groceries for the lad. Then come right back. But, for the love of Merlin, don't stop and talk to anyone or answer any questions. If you get into any trouble, pop back here immediately. Do you understand?"

The elf stood, wringing her hands. "Tippy understands. Tippy is smart. Tippy is NOT good for nothin' gnome drippings." She glared at the painting, then realizing what she was being asked, she looked worriedly at her young charge. "But, what about…"

"Leave the lad with me. Even that little devil can't get into much trouble in a mere hour."

Seeing her look of reluctance, he rolled his eyes. Then a look of delight crossed his face. "Of course if you know a good sticking charm, I'm sure it would do nicely…"

"No, no, no!" Tippy said with indignation. "Tippy is not sticking young master. Tippy has a few ideas where to stick Master's painting."

"Fine, fine. Just leave him with his toys and such. He can entertain himself for a little while."

After a little more cajoling, threatening and begging, Tippy finally agreed to go. With no less than ten goodbye hugs and kisses to Harry and several threats to Charlus, she popped away. With an immense look of satisfaction, Charlus looked down at his young charge. The young Potter was evidently enthralled with the prospect of seeing how far a crayon could fit up his nose.

"Leave off!" Charlus exclaimed. Looking around the room, his eyes alighted on the offending children's books. Turning his gleaming eyes on Harry, he sat upright in his chair and took a deep breath.

"Child, I think it's time to broaden your horizons a wee bit. Leave behind the muggle tales and sip from the font of wisdom!"

His enthusiasm was hardly dampened when Harry looked at him quizzically with a crayon still halfway up his nose. "Un'ca?" he said.

"We have here a golden opportunity, me boy. Unchaperoned and unfettered, we Potter men must forge our own way. We must push the limits, as it were, and go where angels fear to tread. Eh, lad?"

"For' ahead!" Harry giggled.

"Aye, that's a bonny lad! Forge ahead, indeed!" Charlus exclaimed, thrilled with Harry's apparent enthusiasm. "What say we forego the banalities of childish yarns and explore th' true stuff of legends. Tell me, young Harry, have you ever heard the tale of Wendelin the Weird and the three Hags?" he asked.

"Weird!" Harry yelled.

"Even so." Charlus replied.

"For' ahead!" Harry replied.

So saying, Charlus began his tale, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "Well, Wendelin was a big man, filled with prodigious appetites and other….er…features." Flustered, he continued, "Anyway, he was a big man with a big appetite, but hardly discriminating in his tastes, if you know what I mean!"

Harry gave him a puzzled look, then brightened up. "Weird!" he yelled.

"Just so!" Charlus answered, once more caught up in his tale. "While out tending his garden, he came upon three Hags sitting on a broomstick, bigger than any broomstick he had ever seen. Wendelin, being very keen, had a thought that would seldom occur to lesser men…." And so, Charlus told a tale that is not often told in books and never to boys of Harry's tender age. Nevertheless, Harry sat and listened raptly (for a two year-old), while he listened to a story that could make the most wizened old widow blush to the tips of her ears. Thus began the education of Harry Potter by the one-time rogue and scoundrel that was Charlus Potter.

When Tippy returned, she carried a newspaper and several sacks of groceries that she had gotten from the local market. With a sizeable population of wizards, Godric's Hollow had several exclusively wizarding businesses. Though Tippy was not an infrequent visitor to the local markets, she was unremarked, in part because she had removed the Potter Crest from her tea cozy uniform and also because most wizards never bothered to learn the faces of house elves.

Charlus demanded to see the paper, but was frustrated by a lack of hands. They eventually solved the problem by propping his painting up on one of the dining room chairs while Harry and Tippy delighted themselves by turning, and sometimes tearing, the pages at his direction. Charlus perused the articles, often making remarks like, "Ah, the villain!" or "that diseased harridan! The nerve!" What could be deduced from these comments, was anybody's guess. Tippy and Harry were rather more engrossed in making funny faces at the moving pictures and occasionally poking them to try to get a response. Finally, at the bottom of the second page, Charlus read a story that immediately brought a stronger response.

"Whats this? " he asked, leaning forward so far as to appear ready to fall out of his frame. "Sirius Black sentenced to life in Azkaban for the betrayal and murder of the Potter family. " he quoted. "Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot says "It's a sad day for the wizarding world. The likes of the Potters do not come around very often. Though this conviction will bring little comfort to their friends and loved ones, I hope, at least, they will rest easier knowing that justice will come to those who commit such terrible crimes."

"What rubbish! Sirius Black a betrayer! Never! A scoundrel, yes. A rogue, certainly. I myself have been known to refer to him as a bastard son of syphilitic serpent, but he would never betray James and Lilly. Never!" He threw his hands up in disgust and started pacing back and forth within his frame, muttering to himself.

"What game is Dumbledore playing at? Not even a trial? Under what authority?"

Charlus was, in life, a contemporary of Dumbledore. He knew him as a shrewd politician and a formidable wizard. As Chief Warlock, it was easily within his authority to order a trial for Sirius Black. That there was a betrayer within the Order of the Phoenix, there was little doubt. That it could reside in the person of Sirius Black, however, strained credulity. He was practically an adopted son of the Potter House and a best friend to James and Lilly. Even if he served as secret keeper, only under the most severe torture could he be made to give up James and Lilly's location. A wizard could hardly be blamed for succumbing to that kind of abuse. In any event, the Death Eaters would surely kill him, not let him go to blow up a street full of Muggles.

The second question in Charlus's mind centered around Peter Pettigrew. If Sirius was trying to kill Pettigrew, another close friend, it was sure that he had a reason. Charlus was willing to wager that reason was at the heart of James and Lilly's death. Perhaps Peter was the secret keeper turned betrayer. Peter certainly fit the bill better than Black. No, there was definitely something strange afoot. Dumbledore was playing games with the law and Harry's godfather was certainly a captured pawn. The real question was, why?

Charlus returned to scanning the paper and found an article on page four detailing how the budget for the DMLE was being reduced in light of the recent drop in criminal activity following the disappearance of you-know-who and the trial and arrest of many of his followers. That bit of news caused the painting's eyes to open wide in surprise. If Voldemort had indeed disappeared, then he needed to know the how and why. Was it related to his nephew's death? Had James and Lilly managed to kill him or injure him enough to result in his disappearance? How was Sirius involved? The only good thing in this whole ridiculous mess, as far as Charlus could see, was that no mention was made of Harry Potter. Apparently, he was presumed dead. Lost in the same attack that took his mother and father. That was a good thing. It protected the boy from Voldemort and his deatheaters and from whatever games Dumbledore was playing.

The next question became, how do a house elf, a painting and a baby spring Sirius Black from the impregnable fortress known as Azkaban?