Chapter 4; Eating the Fruit of the Tree

Life went on for the odd remains of the Potter Family. Harry continued to grow and learn, and over time suffered less and less over the loss of his parents. He even once referred to Tippy as "mummy", which nearly caused the house elf to collapse in a fit of combined ecstasy and grief. Tippy, for her part, dedicated herself to Harry's upbringing with single-minded intensity. Besides the normal housekeeping chores, she also helped in giving Harry lessons in reading and writing, often learning right alongside him. Charlus' painting often served as tutor, expounding on the basics of math and reading. If his lessons deviated from the norm for young wizards, no one was there to gainsay him and that suited Charlus just fine. The end result was that Harry and Tippy both grew in learning and both were well advanced above normal levels for toddlers or house elves, respectively.

The question of what to do about Sirius Black was put on indefinite hold. Not because it ceased to worry and vex the churlish painting, but because there was nothing they could do to remedy the situation. The painting had spent many sleepless nights pondering what they could do. He had yet to come up with a solution. The wards around Azkaban were formidable in the extreme. House elves were barred, outright, from the prison. They had no human allies and scant few resources. The meager supply of money that was left in the manor had been all but exausted. Things would have been dire indeed, if Tippy hadn't taken to liberating coins from unsuspecting muggles in the village. She was saved from any moral considerations because, after all, they were only muggles. Seeking Sirius' release, under the law was impossible without exposing that Harry was still alive. Until he knew who the beyrayer was, that was no consideration.

The only way Charlus could think to assist Sirius' escape was for Harry to act on his own. To do that, he would have to learn magic. That was how a barely four year old Harry found himself under the baleful eye of a painting, fidgeting over an empty cauldron in the middle of their makeshift sitting room.

"I thought children weren't to do any magic?" Harry asked.

Charlus frowned. "Underage wizards are forbidden from doing any wand-based magic until they turn eleven, at which point they get their wand. However, there are many different types of magic that cannot be detected by the Ministry of Magic. Potions, runes and many ritual-based magics are possible, even for thick-skulled miscreants like you."

"Why can't I use grandfather's wand? Tippy got it from upstairs. Couldn't I use it?" Harry asked.

"I've told you a thousand times, you ignorant little whelp, children your age cannot use wands. Even if our wards prevent magic from being detected, your magical core is far too unstable to do any significant magic!" Charlus huffed.

"But I did the lumos spell just the other day!" Harry whined.

"Simple charms are easy." Charlus indignantly explained. "Complex magics are quite beyond your meager abilities, I assure you. Until your core stabilizes, you will just have to satisfy yourself with what I teach you."

This time it was Harry's turn to huff. "Fine! But I'm not thick-skulled. Tippy says I'll be a great wizard someday, just like Mum and Dad were."

"Tippy has all the brains of a flobberworm. What does she know?"

At this, a devlish smile appeared on Harry's face. "She told me she knows where some turpentine is!" he crowed. "She says it's great at removing paint and other tricksy stains!"

Charlus rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't dare. Who then would tell you tales of lusty adventurers and wild beasts?" he asked.

"Well," Harry considered, "will you tell me a story about Baldric the Bold?"

"Only if you complete your potion." Charlus replied.

"Right." Harry said, pointing to various jars of potions ingredients set out on a nearby table. "Which one is Boomslang skin?"

Harry, as it turned out, was far from a potions prodigy. His four year old temperament was unsuited to give brewing the proper care and attention. Nevertheless, under Tippy and the painting's watchful eyes, he gradually learned the beauty of the slowly simmering cauldron. After several months of practice and not a few explosions, Harry was finally able to complete a useable polyjuice potion. Neither he nor his erstwhile guardians were aware that he was the youngest person to ever brew this difficult potion. Harry was immensely gratified when upon ingesting some that had been infused with hairs Pippy had liberated from a brush found in the Manor, he morphed into an exact replica of Peter Pettigrew.

Charlus too, was virtually beside himself with glee. The boy had proved himself an adequate brewer and would only get better with time. Polyjuice was no easy brew, he knew, but it was extraordinarily useful. It would allow Harry to escape the confines of their basement home and gain experience in the greater world, without risking discovery. Obviously, he could not do so in the guise of Pettigrew, who was supposedly dead. Even if, as Charlus suspected, he really wasn't. But the hair from any muggle would do, and would allow him to travel unremarked. The hair from Pettigrew was far from useless, however. Pettigrew was careless to leave such a remnant at the house following one of his many overnight stays with the Potter family. He wouldn't understand the repercussions from such a innocent act until it was far too late. If Charlus was right in his suspicions, if Peter was really the secret keeper, then his doom was sealed. The first stage of the liberation of Sirius Black had begun.