The Rumor:
Everyone was talking about it. It was the scandal of the year, even barring the Fudge/Umbridge story Rita Skeeter had "unearthed" last August (it had been a particularly slow month for gossip).
But this was better, no, worse, much worse than that had been. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the only one ever to survive the Killing Curse, the extraordinary baby who had destroyed Voldemort himself, had been kidnapped! By Sirius Black, no less!
People would look around nervously when talking about it, as if expecting a murderous Sirius Black to jump out of the shadows if they so much as whispered his name, but they'd talk nonetheless. "Did you hear?" They'd say, rhetorically, of course, everyone had heard. "Poor little Harry. Only three years old, and kidnapped by that...that monster!" The other person would nod in agreement and in the same hushed whisper "It's so strange he didn't kill Harry's relatives right there, on the spot." The other person would offer an answer. "They say he didn't want to attract attention, that he wanted to bring poor little Harry Potter to You-Know-Who." The person would then shudder delicately.
The other would nod, too, that was the best theory the Aurors could come up with, that Black was insane and thought You-Know-Who to be still alive. Although it was still bizarre. Still, what could you expect from a mass murderer? "It's so horrible." They would say. "I can't imagine how terrified poor, poor little Harry must be. Did you see the picture? He's crying, I think, that's what it looks like, but it's hard to tell what with it not moving. I don't know how Muggles deal with that." The only picture anyone could come up with was one a muggle had shot, and thus, did not move.
"The Ministry is so incompetent." One would add, sniffing expressively. "I could do better than them. It's been two weeks, and no one has seen hide nor hair of Black or Harry." Then the conversation would move on to rumors about what had happened to that poor little toddler, how Black had escaped, anything to keep the gossip fueled.
But they'd catch Black, wouldn't they? After all, even the muggles were on alert. Surely someone would see those two widely broadcasted faces. They had to, didn't they? ...Didn't they?
The Truth:
Rumors were flying, but no one could seem to come up with anything more strange than the truth, even one pesky Rita Skeeter. For the truth was very strange indeed.
Actually, Sirius Black and Harry Potter had been sighted several times. As a rather ragged large black dog carrying a dirty (conveniently toddler sized) package, heading towards anywhere uninhabited.
Sirius Black was innocent, as he would have pleaded, had he gotten a trial. Peter fucking Pettigrew (as he was called by all who knew the full story, currently including one Sirius Black...and that's it..) had committed all crimes attributed to him, except the current kidnapping charge and escaping from Azkaban. That had been all him-making use of his Animagus form, an emaciated black dog. He slipped through the bars, somehow managed to swim across the moat, and ran for Number Four, Privet Drive.
A few simple Glamours concealed his...well, general appearance, and a few other charms made him look very much the part of a businessman interested in buying drills. It was simple enough to snatch the boy from under the Dursley's very noses after he got in. Very sad how easily the wards could be tricked-as he technically didn't have anything but Harry's best interests in mind, they let him through. Although he supposed it was unlikely Voldemort would simply drop by to wish Harry a good birthday sometime...
By that time, Sirius was more than a little tired (after all, he hadn't practiced proper health or magic at all for almost two years, and wandless magic was exhausting in the best of health). He was 'spotted' only a minute or two after he took off the various Glamours on his person-not the smartest thing he'd ever done. The muggle snapped a picture before he could do anything-after that he ran.
It took a while, but eventually a very tired dog and a very hungry toddler made it to a forest that was relatively unoccupied. By this time, Sirius had nicked a few Galleons, enough to buy a shady wand from a shadier dealer. He hadn't been an Auror for nothing, either, as soon as he got a little strength back by hunting various forest-dwelling creatures (Harry adjusted to raw meat and berries and such pretty easily) he put his Auror training to good use and made a Portkey to France.
They stayed there for a while, recuperating, but eventually moved on to Germany, the Netherlands, Belgium, Switzerland, anywhere, really. They stayed in Germany for quite a while, comparatively-two years.
For a few years, they only just managed to survive on spit and prayers. Harry was definitely the one with the steady income. As soon as he could walk without tottering unsteadily, he was out on the streets, begging-and later stealing. He made friends easily, even at that age. He caught on to languages quickly-by the time he was seven, he knew an odd hodgepodge of Dutch, German, French, Spanish, and smidgeons of Romanian, Italian, Greek, and, strangely enough, Gobbledygook. It was a good story, but unfortunately, there is not enough time to tell it at the moment. Sirius, who had a little more trouble learning new languages that quickly, often had to have the young child interpret for him, which earned him a few strange looks. Sirius didn't care. He was used to being stared at.
When Harry was seven and a half (and four years had passed since Sirius had kidnapped his godson) they headed back to Great Britain. Sirius was a bit homesick, and with the aid of a few Glamours, no one would recognize them anyways.
~*v{o}v*~
Despite technically being homeless and nomadic the whole time, four years out of Azkaban had done Sirius loads of good. He once again resembled the man who had joked and laughed with Lily and James on their wedding day-and not at all one accusatory muggle photograph. And his mental health had improved dramatically, too. Oh, sure, he still woke up in a cold sweat sometimes, but better that than waking up screaming every night. He had forgiven himself-mostly.
So Sirius Black decided to take a major risk and commit another crime, to keep company with the charges of thievery, kidnapping, escaping from Azkaban, and, oh yeah, murder. Quite the list he's got going here, isn't it?
He tracked down one Remus Lupin fairly easily. Privacy standards were much lower for werewolves. Remus had been hiding out in the muggle world, working odd jobs for anyone who's hire him-he'd really have preferred to teach, but it's not very easy to get a teaching job without a degree, and a degree without ever having gone to high school. Conventional high school, that is...
Moony hadn't set up wards around his house-werewolves were banned from doing so. Along with the privacy standards, this really boded well for Remus should anyone ever want to kill him. Hell, next thing they'd probably be banned from eating, drinking, and using the toilet! But that was besides the point, anyways. It worked to Sirius's advantage, just this once. And that one time in sixth year, too, but that didn't count.
Sirius told Harry in his, "This is really and truly serious, so serious I'm not going to make The Pun" voice to stay in the town near Moony's house, if he wanted his head when he came back. Harry had nodded and grinned and looked meaningfully at some wallets practically begging to have their money liberated. Sirius had sighed, rolled his eyes, and went to make up with an old friend, not even bothering to lecture Harry on why other people's money should technically stay theirs. Harry always managed to out-logic him anyways.
Sirius knocked, having given himself blond eyes, blue hair, and a totally different face structure. He explained that he needed to talk to one R. J. Lupin, and could he possibly come in? Remus ushered him in, of course, always the polite and not paranoid host. Mad Eye-Moody would have been horrified-with good reason, as it turns out.
The second the werewolf had turned his back on his rather mysterious visitor, to pour some of the tea he had coincidentally been brewing, Sirius had body-locked him, silenced him, and set him gently on the couch.
Remus, who never kept his wand on him anymore-he hadn't used it for years, why should he now? Would have probably scowled at Sirius, shouted at him, and then decapitated him, not necessarily in that order, had he had the chance. As it was, though, he had to settle for simply scowling as Sirius removed the various Glamours on his person, revealing a rather handsome face.
"Those are really uncomfortable, you know." Sirius commented to Remus, who was trying to convey his wish to murder Sirius then and there through the limited body movement available to him at the time. It came through pretty clear, considering the circumstances.
"Don't look at me like that!" Sirius said, catching the visionary death threat. It would have been hard not to, actually. "I come all the way here, risking life and limb, and what does he do? He looks like I kicked his puppy." Sirius muttered. Remus just continued glaring and tried to think of a spell that would get him out of this mess. And get him a chance to murder the betrayer.
Sirius, apparently reading his mind, continued right on with his monologue. "Okay, so I'm going to explain why I'm here before you find a way out of that spell and throttle me." He cleared his throat nervously, suddenly looking a lot less confident than roughly five seconds before. Funny what a difference a few moments can make.
"Basically," Sirius started, "I'm innocent. That bastard Peter fucking Pettigrew was the real traitor-I convinced James and Lily to switch. I was too obvious, I said. No one will suspect poor little Peter Pettigrew!" Here he gave a bitter laugh. Remus, who was trying desperately to block out the explanation, because that couldn't be true, just couldn't, looked shocked, with good reason. "He was already the fucking spy. Peter was already the fucking spy!" Sirius glared balefully at the threadbare carpet, breathing heavily, before continuing.
"So I'm visiting Peter, but he isn't there. I was worried for the fucking rat, and I flew to Godric's Hollow, on my bike, you know, the motorcycle, to make sure everything was fine." Here Sirius snorted. "Fine, right. Definitely. Just fine."
"They were dead, of course. I think I was the first one to see them. I thought Harry was dead, too, I..." Sirius choked back a sob. "But then I found him, crying. Hagrid came, and I lent him my motorcycle and let him take Harry. No reason to keep the motorcycle, but I've regretted letting Harry go for years. I was going to get revenge on Peter fucking Pettigrew. I should have just hung on to Harry."
"So I tracked him down." Now Sirius was speaking quickly, almost feverishly, desperately needing to tell this story, to get it off his chest after all these years. "I tracked him down, and the bastard cuts off his finger, yells to the world that I killed them, and blows up the street, turning into what he truly is, a rat. And skitters off to freedom." Sirius's face was twisted into an expression of utter contempt. "That is what the famous Sirius Black went to prison for."
Remus was ashen white. Quickly, almost carelessly, Sirius lifted the Petrificus Totalus and the Silencio, having made his point. There was a very awkward silence as Remus processed how terribly wrong he had been. "I'm sorry." Remus finally whispered, looking, for lack of a better word, very sad, with plenty of shock still lingering in his woeful eyes. "I know that will never cut it, but I'm sorry. So sorry. It was just so damning, you know? I think, for once in his life, Wormtail may have outsmarted you, Padfoot." Remus was smiling, but it did not reach his eyes, which were sparkling with tears. Sirius smiled too, but no smile could reach into the dark abbess of Azkaban that was haunting those jewel black eyes now.
There was a heart wrenching silence as both thought about the terrible events of long ago. Finally, Remus whispered, "Where is he?"
Startled, Sirius asked, "What?" Remus grinned humorlessly again. "Harry. I assume you didn't cut him into pieces and eat him?" Sirius looked a bit shocked, and Remus added, "That's the best of the rumors, you know. Some have you eating him alive." Sirius looked genuinely horrified, and Remus chuckled. "I know. That's what I thought."
Sirius grinned, and a little of the sparkle returned to his dead eyes. "He's in Gerton." Sirius said. "He's not to leave under pain of decapitation. Then again, maybe I should change it to being eaten alive, keep up with the times, you know."
Remus grinned. "Where'd you go?" He asked curiously. "As far as the Ministry is concerned, after that photo, you dropped off the face of the Earth."
"Nah." Sirius said, waving away the question casually. "Just toured France, Germany, Belgium, Switzerland, the Netherlands, and a couple of other small countries round there. I think we stepped over the border into Spain once, but I'm not too sure, actually. I wasn't really paying attention."
Remus smiled. "Trust you not to pay attention to which country you happen to be in. Bet Harry knows more languages than you." Sirius nodded. "He does, way more. You should hear his accent..actually, you should! I'll bring him over tomorrow."
And thus a friendship was rekindled. Harry got another unofficial godfather, and Remus got an unofficial godson, not that he technically hadn't been Harry godfather before, barring stupid Ministry werewolf discrimination laws. Not to mention Sirius and Remus got each other back. They spent a month or two hanging around before Sirius announced that he and Harry were moving on, and not to tell anyone that they existed, or, more accurately, were still alive. Remus had demanded to go with them, at which Sirius had pulled out his "Really?" look and Remus had deflated visibly. They visited each other often, even years later. In fact, the only real reason Sirius and Harry weren't currently residing with R. J. Lupin was because they would put themselves and him in danger by doing so. Mostly because Remus currently resided at Hogwarts, as the DA teacher.
So where were they living, if not there? Well might you ask...
~*v{o}v*~
Harry and Sirius actually lived in a pretty nice apartment. After Sirius had gotten over his paranoid streak (not even Azkaban could erase the memories of Moody pouncing on one, yelling in one's ear to be CONTSANTLY VIGILANT!) and they had headed back to Great Britain, Sirius had immediately withdrawn a huge amount of money from his account as the Head of the Black Family (in capitals, of course). It wasn't like the goblins were going to tell, even if anyone bothered to question them when both Sirius and Harry were considered dead. Plus, goblins were notorious for not giving a crap about wizarding authority. Those wizards that were not mindless sheep rather agreed with them on this policy.
The only reason they hadn't settled in Germany or something is while it did technically have branches of Gringotts, there was no way you could persuade goblins anywhere to let you withdraw money from another country. There were outposts of Gringotts all over Britain, and in any of these places you could withdraw most anything from your personal vault-apparently somehow the goblins had it rigged so the carts could take you to your vault from anywhere in England-but not in, say, Switzerland. Even Harry hadn't had any luck, and he liked goblins. Goblins liked him, too, as a matter of fact. It was very strange. Especially as goblins didn't like anyone, ever.
Harry had gotten sick, that was the truly the reason they had moved back. Sirius was a little homesick, of course, but he had more bad memories than good of Great Britain, why would he honestly want to go back? Yes, Harry had gotten sick. He'd gotten over it, and it was nothing a creative godfather couldn't fix, but it got Sirius worried about problems he couldn't fix that they wouldn't have the money to pay for, at least in whatever country they happened to be in at the time. Besides, Harry's career of liberating fat rich people of objects of value earned more than half their income. All of it, as a matter of fact.
So they moved back to Britain. Sirius, as stated, removed an obscene amount of money from his vault and bought a very nice apartment in Wizarding London, in Horizont Alley, as a matter of fact. That took a great deal of discussion with a seven year old Harry Potter. Harry insisted on a large city, and what better city than London, arguably the center of the British Wizarding World, as far as anyone could tell, at least. He got his way in the end, without a compromise, even, though it had taken lots of scowling and quite a few puppy dog looks, plus a couple of whining sessions. Pitiful, really, that Sirius could be swayed so easily, but stronger men had fallen to the infinite cuteness factor of young children. Besides, what could he say? Harry was cute when he wanted to be.
The house, or apartment, really, was pretty interesting. It was the top floor, something else Harry had insisted upon, and it had a balcony. What's more, the house across the street also had a balcony that you could climb onto if you were good enough at climbing-in true "We have to be completely 1700s" Wizarding style. The streets were so narrow and the buildings so poorly built that they actually leaned into each other. This just added to the charm for certain young children, although certain adults found it repressive not to be able to see the sky.
Of course, once they had gotten moved in, which took about fifteen minutes, seeing as they had been homeless for several years prior, Harry promised to stay off the streets and be a good boy.
That lasted for a very short amount of time. Harry got bored, and within ten minutes had snuck past Sirius and was off to rob unsuspecting citizens.
Sirius did a little better, but he, too, missed his old habits-he, being the very responsible adult he was, had taken on the very responsible responsibilities of "person who finds us a place to sleep tonight" and travel planner", as Harry already had "food provider" covered.
Sirius eventually managed to get a job as a menial laborer for the Ministry. Why he was even working for the Ministry as it had basically been the reason he had been sent to Azkaban for several years without a trial was unknown, but technically he had already done so before, being an Auror and all. Although that time he hadn't had the Azkaban experience.
Harry, sadly, never managed to get rid of old habits. Alas, he remained a klepto and probably would forever. Such is life.
~*v{o}v*~
Harry lounged on the steps of The Enchanted Sphinx, a bar well known as a good place for meeting people. He was staring at one of his best friends, Draco Malfoy, incredulously. "You want me to what? He repeated.
Draco dutifully said, :You need to go to Hogwarts this year. C'mon, you must have gotten a letter..." Harry frowned. He hadn't, in fact, gotten a letter-Siri must've found a way to heat the system, or more accurately, Remus. But it didn't really signify. He wasn't going to go to Hogwarts, whether he wanted to or not. To tell the truth, he rather did, but again, it didn't matter. He wasn't going. "No." He said, after a short pause. "Why?" Draco whined-yes, whined. You would think he would have grown out of it by now-he was, after all, a twelve year old. "I've been your best friend forever, and you still won't tell me. Trust me, Hogwarts is a hundred times better than being home-schooled." Draco then made a face as if homeschooling was the worst thing that could possibly happen to one-in his mind, it probably was.
"And why would I trust an overgrown brat like you?" Harry said, grinning. Draco just whined again, "Why?" Harry quipped, "I'll tell you when you're older." Draco glowered. "I'm older than you." He growled. Harry smirked. "So?"
Draco really was sad, Harry reflected. Even though they'd known each other for five years and been friends for three, Harry could still wind him up in five comments or less. He needed to get a thicker skin, or get a little wittier.. Currently, said boy had lapsed into a furious silence as he tried to convey to Harry just how much he hated him with a single glare. It quickly developed into a staring contest as Harry glared right back.
Their impromptu staring contest was interrupted when Neville, an overly cheerful boy who Harry had befriended two years ago, spotted them. Neville didn't like Draco-nor did Draco think much of Neville-but with Harry insulting them both constantly, it all worked out.
Neville yelled "James!" upon spotting his friend. James White (or James-No-Last-Name, depending on his mood and how much he liked the person he was talking to) was the alias Harry used. James for his father, White to go match Sirius. His name was Patrick as a reference to Padfoot and White as an effort to piss off any lingering traces of his dead parents. Although why they'd choose to linger around Sirius was beyond him. More likely to flock to Azkaban to talk to Bellatrix. Sad how much of the family had ended up there...
The slightly chubby boy hurried over to his friend, smiling brightly, at least until he realized exactly whom Harry was consorting with. The smile abruptly turned into a frown. "Hi James." He said, and less enthusiastically, "Hi Draco." Draco nodded curtly.
"Insert awkward silence here," Harry said, grinning. This always happened. Draco rolled his eyes and said distastefully, "I was just telling this moronic lump that somehow passes as a person that he should go to Hogwarts this year."
Neville nodded, for once in agreement with his arch nemesis. "Yeah! You really should, James. It'd be fun!" Harry shook his head steadfastly. "No thank you." He said breezily.
"You're nicer to him than you are to me." Draco noted. Harry nodded. "That's because he's not a moronic lump."
"You stole my insult."
"So?"
"Uncreative alert!"
"Prat."
"Shove it."
"Why should I?"
"Git."
"Berk."
"Prat."
"Who's reusing insults now?"
"Shut up."
"Only if you do first!"
"Prat!"
Neville, for his part, watched the exchange in amusement. Banter was always amusing, especially between these two.
"Right then." He said, grinning. Both swiveled to glare at him in perfect unison. "Who invited you to interrupt us?" Harry said irritably. Harry liked a good banter, especially as there was no one amusing to practice on, usually. Sirius refused to banter with him for some reason.
"Merlin." Neville shot back. "But, seriously," -for some reason Harry grinned, as he always did when he heard that particular word- "we should go get ice cream at Florean's, my Gran's probably freaking out."
Neville was a rather timid boy by nature, but around friends (which he grudgingly acknowledged Draco as, when he wasn't being a ponce) he relaxed and was much less shy. That was the case now as he practically dragged Harry and Draco back to Diagon (they had been in Diurn). The three shot friendly insults back and forth as they went, not paying a terrible amount of attention to the world at large.
They were in the busiest part of the Alley when Harry started running, to make his mock show of terror for the wand Draco was brandishing threateningly (with a huge smile on his face) more believable.
Which just happened to be the moment he ran into one Severus Snape.
"Watch where you're going, boy-" Said man, looking rather like an overgrown bat, stopped suddenly as he caught sight of exactly who he was addressing.
"James?" He whispered, looking terrified.
Until "James" bolted.
~*v{o}v*~
Harry didn't know why he ran. Instinctive response, he supposed. He knew Snape, of course. Neville was terrified to death of the man (he seemed to have it out for the poor Hufflepuff) and Draco seemed to be rather fond of him. Siri had told him stories about him, once about how he'd almost murdered him-which had been kind of sort of an accident, except for the fact that it wasn't. Still, it didn't change anything, and it wasn't very important when all his frickin' secrets were three seconds from being revealed!
Snape, with instincts that just kind of went with living in a war, had caught the back of Harry's shirt. Of course he had. Harry spun around with the best glare he could muster. "Who are you and why did you just grab my shirt?" He demanded, deciding ignorance was the best policy.
His friends simply watched, at the moment too shocked about the whole James-just-ran-away-from-something incident to make any comment on the Professor's identity.
Snape, however, simply tightened his grip, not at all effected by the strange boy's attitude. The strange boy who just happened to resemble someone who had been dead for years. "Professor Severus Snape." He said softly, noticing the the boy did not look in the least affected by his name. Either he had known all along or he had never heard of him before. Most likely the former. "And I grabbed your shirt because you look astonishingly like an old friend of mine." All this was spoken in a whisper-soft, I'll-kill-you-if-you-make-a-wrong-move voice. "Would you mind?" He asked Draco and Neville sweetly, noting their faces so he could question them later. Still too shocked to make any protest, they simply shook their heads dumbly, on automatic for the moment.
"Now, how adverse are you to Floo powder?" Snape said, once Neville and Draco were lost in the crowd. Harry tried to wrench out of his grip, and spat, "Absolutely love it. Fantastic. Two thumbs up. Best way to travel."
"Good." Snape hissed, jerking the boy into the Apothecary. The shop owner was good friends with Snape, if only because he was his best customer, and readily allowed him to use his fireplace whenever the Professor needed it needed it.
Harry was roughly dragged to the fireplace, where Snape threw Floo powder rather harder than was absolutely necessary into the fire and wrenched Harry towards the now-green flames, spitting, "Hogwarts, Headmaster's office."
~*v{o}v*~
Dumbledore had been having a strange day.
In the morning, Severus had disappeared without notice, probably to go get more potion supplies for the school year. Normal enough.
Madam Sprout had reported that she had gotten a shipment of plants (on time, for once.) They were herbs, which they grew as the house elves appreciated not having to buy everything, as long as they still got to care for the plants. Herb shipments weren't so unusual, either, they received herbs throughout the year.
There had been no news from Minerva today. Albus assumed she was relaxing in her room. A little abnormal, as the teachers seldom ever got a chance to simply sit back even in the summer, but still, nothing too strange.
Trelawney had "predicted" yesterday that she would be retiring to her rooms the next day (in other words, today) so they hadn't heard any death predictions all day. As Trelawney often stayed in her room, this was normal also.
Binn had made no appearance, preferring his classroom. Filch had stalked the hallways but had not yet accused anyone of being a Parselmouth, a spy, a Ministry official, or, surprisingly, a dirty pig. Sometimes Filch could rival Mad-Eye Moody with the conspiracy theories.
Filius had been his usual cheerful self, and had not reported any strange incidents.
Madam Pomfrey had not not reported anyone with mortal injuries, except for Remus. It had been a full moon recently, and despite the newly developed Wolfsbane, which apparently helped greatly, Remus still had a hard time of full moons. It truly was a pity that his old friends were not there for him, Albus remembered how they had helped Remus greatly. But alas, two were dead by Voldemort's hand, if one was indirect, and the other was anywhere from dead to stark raving mad, wandering around an icy tundra somewhere. Not that Albus had ever really believed Sirius was dead. And the wards around Harry seemed to be, impossibly, intact, however weak. The wards were basically ineffectual and untraceable when he had been far away from blood relatives for so long, but they were still up. There was a mystery there...
But he was getting off topic. In short, everyone in the castle, including himself and possibly not but probably including Severus was having a normal day.
It was very worrying.
~*v{o}v*~
Once Harry had recovered from arriving rather unpleasantly, being on his knees and hacking up ashes at the time, he said to Snape, politely, considering the circumstances, "I could sue you for this, you know."
He sneered-a Level Seven out of ten, Harry believed. Pretty impressive. He'd developed a Sneer scale after a conversation with one Luna Lovegood. She had some highly entertaining theories. He was planning on submitting the Sneer Scale to the Quibbler sometime. It could come in handy sometime, such as, a goblin asks you exactly how much they're sneering or something, and plus, The Quibbler was the only news-thing he ever read. It made him laugh. All other newspapers made him depressed. On another note, Harry had also patented the "Stare" scale, "Glare" scale, and various others.
"Oh, really? The supposedly dead Harry Potter is going to go to court?" Snape asked, still sneering. Harry promptly answered, "I'm not Harry Potter. What planet do you live on? Everyone knows Harry Potter died a gruesome death as a baby at the hands of the notorious Sirius Black!" He gave Snape his best 'innocent' look, smiling brightly. "My name is actually James White. What's yours?"
Snape glared at the very innocent looking child before him, earning him another seven, except this time on the Glare Scale.
This was all watched, of course, by an extremely astonished Dumbledore. Not an emotion he was terribly used to-he was usually ahead of the game, it had something to do with being over a hundred years old, with experience aplenty, as one would imagine.
But who wouldn't be shocked? Despite the fact that he knew Harry had survived, actually seeing him today was very, very unanticipated.
Well, what was to be expected? Normal days never went well.
~*v{o}v*~
It took quite a while to persuade Harry to say anything.
Firstly, he kept on insisting he was alternately "James White," "Peter Pettigrew," "Voldemort," "Cornelius Fudge," and even once "Severus Snape." He seemed to delight in driving the Professor insane.
Finally, after Snape threatened to apply Veritaserum and Harry promptly replied it was illegal (Thank God for Draco Malfoy and his tendency to get Harry very boring but admittedly helpful books for birthdays and Christmas, which he eventually read because Draco forced him to), Dumbledore gently suggested that Severus really should be getting the potion supplies he'd set out for in the first place. He was looking a bit stressed.
As soon as Severus had exited, Harry sighed and plopped into one of the armchairs that Albus had conjured near the beginning of the ordeal but as of yet had not been sat in. "Thank god that's over with. I can only antagonize people for so long." He then grinned lopsidedly at Dumbledore. Despite everything, Dumbledore's heart lurched, that was exactly the way James had smiled the many times he had been brought to this office, and later, too, though by then smiles were rare.
"Would you mind explaining some things now that Severus is gone, Harry?"
Harry inspected his nails. "Even if I knew someone named Harry, which I don't, no, I don't think I would." Dumbledore sighed. Drastic measures must be taken.
"Alright then, whoever-you-are," -Harry gasped dramatically at being assigned yet another hyphenated name- "Desperate times..."
He gently pushed against Harry's mind, only to find himself pushed back and Harry suddenly looking not nearly so friendly. "Legilimency? Really? You think Si-you think I wouldn't pick some stuff up? I know Occlumency, and I'm not afraid to use it!" The muggle reference made a whooshing noise as it flew over Dumbledore's head, along with the fact that he'd almost said Sirius.
Dumbledore held up his hands in a placating way. "I'm sorry, Harry, but as you seem dead-set against sharing anything, and I need answers before I can let you go, I wanted to...have a peek, as it were."
"Without my permission?" Harry said, sounding highly affronted. "You're really racking up the crimes, you know." Another seemingly useless book Draco had bought him on his tenth birthday was all about Occlumency and Legilimency-apparently many "Dark Supporters" learned both. Harry had actually read those without being forced into it, then he had shown Sirius. Shortly after, they had both started learning Legilimency, as the book explained that without an actual teacher/attacker, Occlumency couldn't be learned. Legilimency, however, could, and afterward they could attack each other. Both were equally horrible at both skills, but Harry and Sirius could each protect their mind from a weak attack and launch a weak attack of their own. It also clearly stated that both were illegal and the person wishing to practice such arts better be pretty damn careful about not getting caught.
Dumbledore looked guilty, and Harry cheered silently about guilting him into not attacking again. God knows he couldn't protect himself against anything even marginally strong.
"Harry, won't you-" Harry cut him off. "No. You won't believe me, and besides, why should I? Like I said, you've broken a whole bunch of laws... And I haven't broken any." That you know of. Except the Occlumency thing.
Dumbledore suddenly got a steely look in his eyes. Harry suddenly got a decidedly nervous look in his eyes. "You will tell me," Dumbledore enunciated clearly, "Because although I'm sure you'll put on several layers of unbreakable Glamours as soon as you go home, people are bound to have seen you before. And they'll be plenty willing, I'm sure, to report having seen the famous Boy-Who-Lived-For-a-While."
Harry froze. He couldn't do anything. There was absolutely no way to wheedle his way out of the situation. He couldn't Apparate, even if he knew how, because of the wards, it's not like he kept a Portkey handy at all times (plus, he wasn't even sure that would work in Hogwarts) and Floo was out of the question-even if he did manage to get to the powder before Dumbledore stopped him, the Headmaster would clearly hear wherever he went and just follow him there. Plus, he could very well follow through on his threat, and had no current reason not to. Which also ruled out killing or obliviating him, as Snape had seen him too. Crap.
Very, very reluctantly, Harry mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "Fine." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled like crazy and Harry was tempted to make a snarky remark about them, but now was not the time. Maybe later.
Harry took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll tell you. Basically, Bastard One AKA Voldemort recruits Bastard Two AKA Peter Pettigrew, who is already secret keeper for my parents as my idiotic godfather Sirius has convinced them that he's too obvious a choice for secret keeper. Bastard One murders my parents then can't kill me for some obscure reason that no one really understands, Sirius Black who shall be known from this point forward Idiot One goes off to murder Bastard Two for betraying my parents, Bastard Two is smart for once in his fucking life, cuts off his finger, blows up the street, turns into a rat as he's secretly an illegal Animagus, and blames Idiot One for everything. Idiot One goes to Azkaban, and after being stupid for a while, finally breaks out as he's also an illegal Animagus-he's a big black mutt, and I'm talking entirely about the Animagus thing-and rescues me. We flee to France and migrate around in Europe for a while. We move back because poor old Paddy needs the comfort of home and yeah. Happy?" Harry peered up hopefully at Dumbledore.
He had fainted.
"Great!" Harry exclaimed happily. "This saves me a lot of trouble." He whipped out a wand from somewhere, and said with an evil grin, "Of course, we still must take precautions, of course."
With that, Harry Obliviated what was hopefully most of their conversation, hopefully still letting dear old Dumbles know that they had had the conversation/monologue at all, and Flooed home. He had a lot to tell Sirius.
It turned out rather comedic for a while, I'm afraid. Reading fifty chapter humor stories does that to you.