Chapter Forty-Two: The Cupboard Under the Stairs
Harry made a face at the taste in his mouth. His head felt funny; he tried to raise one hand to rub at his eyes, but found his wrist strapped down.
Breath escaped him in a whimper. He jerked at his legs, but they were secured as well. He forced open his eyes, squinting at the bright lights, the white walls, white sheets, white everything.
Sounds echoed oddly in his ears. He heard the door open and the swift click of heels on the tile floor. "The patient is awake, Healer Fondorn," a woman's voice said. "Shall I gather the equipment?"
"Yes, please, Marsha. Thank you." The man's voice neared, causing Harry to squirm on the bed. The room was starting to resolve into clarity; whatever drugs that had been in his system fading bit by bit.
"Ah, Mr. Potter," Fondorn appeared next to the bed, his large hand resting on the metal guardrail that the restraints were attached to.
"You can go to hell," Harry's tongue felt clumsy in his mouth, still lethargic.
The man's smug smile grew by a fraction. "Now, now, Mr. Potter. I am the head Healer for your case. Any good Slytherin should know that antagonizing the man in charge is bad business."
Harry's jaw hurt from clenching it. "Let me go."
"Don't you remember, Mr. Potter? We've already had this conversation."
Harry opened his mouth to retort, but caught up short when murky memories began to burble up to the surface of his mind. Sirius had come to Hogwarts. He had yelled at Umbridge – and the he – and then he had –
Harry writhed on the bed as the memories slammed into his head with the touch of the Healer's wand. Sirius had had a port key. Remus had left him with the animagus, knowing he had a port key. The werewolf had joined them later – later – when – when Sirius had – had –
Had taken Harry straight to St. Mungo's, to where Fondorn had been waiting, patient like a gargoyle on the steps, watching their approach. Harry had fought his godfather, fought and wriggled and scratched and begged for the man to let him go, told the man that he would be good, he would be perfect, just wanting Sirius to stop, to turn around and take him away from Fondorn's smile and Fondorn's glittering eyes…
The Healer had injected something into Harry the moment he was close enough to touch. Harry had lost control of his body then, arms and legs dangling, but mind awake and screaming. He mumbled in tongues and baby-speak, mind attempting to stop the nonsense babble, but unable, unsure as to what the hell was going on and terrified because he could not move.
Sirius had done nothing but hold Harry's hand while Fondorn made the animagus sign sheet after sheet of hospital forms. Sirius had paid little attention to what he was signing, content with crooning at Harry that everything would be all right, that Sirius would fix everything, that he would make Harry healthy and whole again…
The worst part, even as tears had leaked out from Harry's eyes and soaked the thin mattress they had him strapped to, was that Harry could see that Sirius believed what he was saying, that he believed that committing Harry would cure him of whatever ailment Fondorn had told him of that time.
All the remaining trust Harry had left intact for the animagus had shattered in that instant. The small hope that had sheltered in his heart had withered and blown away like ash on the wind. That was when he had started screaming, when Remus had arrived, amber eyes sorrowful, but resolute, when Harry knew, knew, that there would be no heroes to save him that time.
There had been a rush of nurses and all the while Fondorn, standing there with a large hand on Sirius' shaking shoulders, the animagus' wail of "I've failed you, James!" being the last thing Harry remembered before the drugs pulled him under.
Fondorn pulled his wand away from Harry's temple and the memories stopped. He lay there, panting for breath and trying not to cry.
"I thought…you were just a…regular Healer," Harry managed.
Fondorn's smile grew a little more. "I have passed all the necessary requirements for this position."
"Legally?"
"Now, now, such cheek. Sirius had been telling me of your progress and I had hopes you would need little reprogramming. Keep this up…" The healer shrugged.
Harry's stomach felt like he had swallowed a lead ball. "What reprogramming?"
"Why, Mr. Potter, don't get ahead of yourself," Fondorn tutted. "We have much to wade through before we reach that stage of your recovery."
"Wade through what? Wait –," Harry was cut off by the nurse returning. She held a tray full of vials and other sharp, needle-like instruments. A bevy of other Healers were clustered near the door, like starving hounds waiting at the gate for fresh meat.
"Yes, of course," Fondorn picked up one of the long, thick needles. "You are the last living case of a person who has taken the Vision Potion and survived." Fondorn touched a familiar-looking vial. Harry's bones turned to ice. "We need to test your spinal fluids for their current levels and, of course, run more tests." A hint of teeth showed in the man's smile. "We have much work to do, Mr. Potter, and no time to waste. Your godfather signed a forty-eight hour hold for us, but that was all. He will insist on being here for your recovery and we cannot subject one of our highest paying contributors to such…experiments."
Harry took a breath to scream bloody murder. The nurse slapped a sweet-smelling rag over his mouth and nose, causing him to choke and cough. His screams were muffled by the rag, the whimpers dying away as the other Healers flooded into the room. The goddess' dark laughter, the last Otherworldly creature he could remember, echoed in his ears.
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Slytherin House was abuzz with activity. Dumbledore stood to one side of the hearth, watching as Harry's housemates scrambled to do what they could for their missing friend.
Sirius had picked the best time to take the boy, Albus admitted with a sigh. Albus had not been aware of the animgus' plans until he had disappeared, activating a portkey that should not have been able to work on Hogwarts' grounds and, yet, still had.
Slytherin House had exploded into action once the alarm had been raised. Lupin had left the grounds before Albus could question him. Only when word had come through a contact of Madam Pomfrey's had they learned where Harry had been taken.
No one at the Ministry could be reached. All offices had been closed by the time Sirius had acted. Harry was under a forty-eight hour hold, their contact had said. Not even Sirius could break the poor boy out of there now.
Albus remembered how young Draco's face had looked when he had asked Severus if they could bribe the Healers, a janitor, anyone, to get Harry out of the mental ward. Albus also remembered how old Severus had looked when he had dashed the children's hopes to the ground. There would be no easy escape for his dark haired lad this time.
Do be sensible, Albus, his conscious scolded. You knew this was a possibility when you gave the boy the Vision Potion – even before then. Harry has been your redeemer for Tom and Grindelwald – no use in fooling yourself now, old man.
Albus felt his age that Saturday afternoon. The few windows that the dungeon allowed showed a bleak gray sky and heavy snow, snow so thick the teachers kept the students inside all day. The chill permeated the castle – even the roaring fires in the Slytherin common room could not dispel the cold.
Lucius Malfoy had arrived before sunset, porcelain white with rage, a vision of what young Draco would look like given enough time. The Slytherins were in the middle of a planning session – nothing had been accomplished the Friday night that Harry had disappeared. They had all returned with vigor the next morning, all of them throwing out ideas as to how to get Harry back from the hospital's clutches. They were in the middle of a brainstorming session when Draco clutched at his head and emitted a muted scream. He doubled over, forehead to table, as the others panicked around him. Lucius' hand was so tight on his wand his knuckles had blanched white.
Albus strode forward as Draco struggled for breath and looked up at him with pleading eyes. Albus chased off the hovering students, but allowed Lucius to stay – as if he could have gotten the old viper to move from his son's side. Albus placed one hand on the crown of Draco's head and let the excess magic around him go. It created a gentle wind in the room, an almost audible hush. Draco went limp, caught by his father before he could slide to the floor in a boneless heap.
Severus' eyes were wide as he guided Albus to a seat. He was shaken, perhaps too old for such heroic gestures – even the elder Malfoy watched their progress with eyes a touch wide, even as he clutched Draco to his chest.
"Albus?"
He blinked, realizing that Severus had been speaking to him. "Ah, I am an old man, Severus. I will be fine."
"Are you sure?"
Albus' gaze landed on Draco. He felt the temporary bond between them, the thick rope that connected Draco's spirit to his body, bonded with Albus' own magic and boosted, thrown out as a lifeline to a boy they all cared about. Draco's cry of jubilation had been silent to the rest of the room, but as loud as a dragon's roar in Albus' mind. The blond was gone in a flash, shattering wards and ancient barriers in his wake.
"It will be all right, Severus. Young Mr. Malfoy has a healthy constitution – he will be fine," he paused a moment to breathe, feeling the push and drag of air in his lungs. "We, however," he turned to the Potions Master hovering at his side. "We have much to do, Severus."
"We do?"
"Ah, yes." He held onto Severus' hand as he rose, feeling the world tilt a little on its axis. "We cannot let young Mr. Potter stay where he is. Draco shall only be able to stay with him for a short amount of time. We must prepare."
"Are you –"
"My approval was necessary for Sirius' decision to commit young Harry to the ward. I cannot take Harry from the hospital until Monday morning – which we shall do as dawn breaks and the hold is legally cancelled. Then we shall strip Sirius of his guardian rights." It hurt Albus to say it. "I had hoped Sirius would not come to this. I had hoped he would see the light."
"Sirius Black could be bathed in the light and he would still be too blind to see it," Severus snarled.
Albus sighed, but refrained from chiding the younger wizard – they were all still young men to him. Young men he had failed, in so many ways.
"Come," he said instead. "We have much to do and I'm afraid I shall need your help with most of it."
"Of course, Albus," Severus said. "We'll help Harry every way we can."
I know you will, my boy, Albus closed his eyes for a moment. I know you will.
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The world was shattered; Harry huddled in one corner of his mind, the last bit of his sanity that he had managed to cobble together, hands pressed over his ears and eyes screwed shut. It was the only way to block it out.
The Healers had forced another dose of the Vision Potion into his system…he thought, but wasn't sure. There had been a host of other potions, but Harry had been half-blind from the pain of the needles extracting spinal fluid to notice which ones were forced down his throat or injected into his veins.
If it was the Vision Potion – then he had either acquired an immunity to it or it was poorly made. He had tried to slip himself into the Otherworld – anything to escape the pain – but found his way out blocked.
Perhaps that was what the other potion was for, Harry worked his jaw, the phantom taste of strawberries and molasses lingering in his mouth. Instead of fleeing to safety, Harry had found himself trapped in his own mind as the Healers worked over his body in shifts.
It was strange to think he had never been there before, at least not consciously. He remembered Voldemort's mind, the way the walls were tacky with thoughts and memories, the way the thought tendrils would wind their way through the air like clouds of smoky incense.
Harry's mind was different. When he had first tried to escape from the Healer's agonizing hands and spells, he had found himself in a small, dark space. Cramped, curled into a ball, his heart had thundered in his chest until he had realized that nothing had attacked him. Yet.
When he had gathered enough courage to reach out and explore the area, his eyes had gone wide with shock. He'd reached up and found the dangling string, as he had expected. A sharp tug and the cheap bulb filled the Cupboard Under the Stairs with weak yellow light.
It was not what he had been expecting.
At first, it was fine. Harry had tried the door to the Cupboard and found it unlocked. Instead of exiting out into the Dursley household, however, the door had opened up to the Slytherin common room – that wasn't quite right. It had the Slytherin colors, the mirrors on the walls and the double giant fireplaces, but bits and pieces of the Gryffindor common room were there as well. The low table where he and Ron had played countless games of wizard's chess was pushed up against the hazy picture of a Christmas tree – the first one he had seen in the common room when he was a first year and had gotten presents from Ron's family for no reason except that he was their son's friend and that they cared.
Pushing those painful memories away, Harry had explored the curious combination of rooms. There was one door that led out to a hall that was the exact replica that led to the Headmaster's office – but he had not dared to step foot out of the room. He had been wracked with terror the moment he had opened the door, teeth chattering as his body shook – he wasn't sure if it was the Healers or his own sense of preservation that kept him from that hall. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know.
The mirrors had started to show Harry what was happening to his real body after a while. There was much of Fondorn and blood – Harry couldn't figure hot why everything had to be bloody with him. But he guessed if they had fed his body another Vision Potion, then he was probably reacting the same way as he had before and all the other times.
It always surprised him how much blood a body could hold.
It was when the room had started to crack that Harry had began to worry. The first cracks he had missed; they ran across the vaulted ceiling, out of easy to spot access. Then the one that came that had gotten Harry's attention – there had been a rumble and then a tremendous crack as the largest mirror in the room splintered from one corner to the next. It had stayed in its gilt frame, even as one after the other mirrors had began to shatter. It wasn't until all of them were ruined that the pieces had started to fall out.
After the frames were empty, the walls had started to buckle. Strange things, wild shouts and moaning sobs had whispered their way into the room. Harry thought he had seen fingers, sometimes ghosts, sometimes spiders, crawling at the edges, looking for a way in.
Harry had backed into the Cupboard Under the Stairs and pulled the door shut tight behind him. On one level he knew it was dangerous – but another part of him was more terrified of the strange images – his, he knew – that were taking shape in the outer room.
He was losing his mind and he knew it.
So he had clapped his hands over his ears to block out the screams – part memory and part hallucination from the things he had seen, and scrunched his eyes shut so he would not have to watch as the Healers literally shattered his world around him.
The door to his Cupboard rattled. Harry drew his knees to his chest, pressed as far into the corner of the closet as he could fit. The door rattled again, with more force. He thought he heard his name being called – but attributed it to another chimera his mind had conjured up from its darkest depths.
The door gave another violent rattle, and then cracked, one hinge hanging loose. Harry tucked his forehead to his knees and gave a small whimper. If he was lucky, it would be fast.
"Harry?" A voice said instead. Harry froze. His mind couldn't – it wouldn't be so cruel as to – "Oh, Harry, what have they done to you?" Gentle hands touched his arms, causing him to jump and attempt to merge with the wall at his back.
"Harry? Harry, please, I know you probably think I'm a – a dream or whatever they are doing to you, but I'm not," hands tugged at him, trying to get him to look up. There was a roar – it sounded like a cross between an irate Ron and Voldemort – and the whole place shook.
"Piss off!" The familiar voice snarled. Harry heard a muffled commotion as he was rocked to the side as a body collided with his. He opened his eyes.
Draco had his back to Harry's shins, his feet holding the Cupboard door closed. A wand was held tight in his hand. He aimed and fired a curse that hit the broken door and held it against whatever was trying to get in.
"D-Draco?" Harry clutched at his knees. He felt dizzy, a little sick to his stomach. His eyes felt odd, from being squeezed shut for so long.
The blond turned so he faced Harry. He lunged forward, startling a squeak from the dark haired boy, squashing them into the corner, knocking the breath from them both.
Harry wound his arms around Draco's neck. "H-Hi," he hated the hesitancy, the stutter, but his world was falling apart at the seams. He couldn't even fight against it.
"Harry," Draco said into the soft skin of his throat. Harry shifted so they weren't as squished. It wasn't a very big cupboard for one growing boy, much less two. "Are you all right?"
Harry snorted, the laughter bubbling up before the rage could force the scream from his lungs. "No," he said, catching his breath between giggles. "I don't think so."
Draco drew back to stare into his face. The weak bulb had stuttered out sometime when Harry had had his eyes shut. Draco's light spell bathed them in blue witchlight, causing the Malfoy heir to look even paler than his normal complexion.
That struck Harry as funny, too. He stuffed his hand over his mouth in an attempt to control his laughter. He could feel his eyes begin to tear – but from hilarity or hysteria, he wasn't sure.
Draco reached out and touched Harry's cheek. "You…" He let it trail off into a sigh. "Can you tell me what they've done, so far?"
Harry risked dropping his hands from his mouth. "It's really you, right?"
"Yes, Harry. It's really me."
Harry reached out and took handfuls of the blond's shirt, using it to anchor his queasy stomach. "I – I'm not too sure what they're up to now. B-Before," he gulped own an unsteady breath. "Before, Fondorn wanted to run tests on me." He swallowed hard. "They p-put needles into my spine to get fluid. They were testing something, I don't remember."
Draco inched closer to him, curling around Harry so his body was between the door and the dark haired boy.
"I – I think they wanted to dose me with the Vision Potion again," Harry continued, feeling the other boy tense at the mention of the Dark potion. "But s-something went wrong – or maybe right, I don't know – the nurse put this rag over my face and everything went really blurry. They gave me other potions, but I tried to get away, you know? Slip into the Otherworld, but I ended up here instead."
"It's the wards here," Draco ran a soothing hand along Harry's arm. "They keep spirits away and in, it seems."
Harry shuddered. "When I first came here, I was here, then I went out there," he nodded at the door. "It was a mix of the Gryffindor and Slytherin common rooms. I – I couldn't leave. There was a door, b-but I was so scared to go out and I don't know why…"
Draco shook his head as their light gave out. "It doesn't matter now, Harry. I'm here. I don't know for how much longer, but I'm here and I'll protect you. I swear."
"D-don't make vows you can't keep."
"Harry…"
"How'd you get here?" He interrupted the blond.
"The Headmaster," Draco shifted against the hard cement ground of the cupboard. "Blimey, Harry. Where are we?"
"My cupboard. What do you mean, the Headmaster? How'd the Headmaster send you here?"
"He's the Headmaster, Harry. And what do you mean, my cupboard?"
"It's my cupboard," Harry blew out a sharp breath. "It was my bedroom growing up, the place where I was safe, all right? How did the Headmaster get you here, Draco? Don't avoid the question."
"Harry…" Draco's hands tightened on Harry's arms and then relaxed. "Never mind. The Headmaster knows we're connected, right?"
"Yes, but you said the wards…"
"He's the Headmaster, Harry. He's the strongest wizard ever. He connected his will, his power, to mine. We had found out where you were. The Headmaster gave me the boost I'd need to clear the wards. Merlin, I probably shattered them."
The rumbles and screams had died away from the other room. "You think so?" Harry rested his head against Draco's shoulder.
"It would have the Healers distracted. Of course, if they could ever prove it was Dumbledore who wrecked the protections…"
"They'd arrest him?"
"They could try," there was a note of awe in Draco's tone. "I've never thought much of the old man, but Merlin, Harry. He let go of his shields and it was like you couldn't breathe, the magic was so thick."
Harry let out a soft laugh. "Yeah, that's the Headmaster."
"Hey," Draco wound an arm around Harry's middle, settling them more comfortably. "So why are we here, then?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why are we in your…cupboard?"
"It was the safest place I had." Harry let out a stuttering breath. "I guess my mind still thinks it is, too. Aunt Petunia couldn't reach me in the corner and Uncle Vernon couldn't fit inside, so I was safe."
Draco's arm tightened around him. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It's saved me so far. Now you're here and it can save both of us."
"Hey, now. I'll protect you just fine, thank you."
Harry huffed a laugh into Draco's shoulder. "It's rather funny, though."
"What is?"
"We're here in the dark, in what could be called a closet."
"What?"
"…I really need to educate you in some muggle sayings."
"What are you on about now?"
Harry swallowed down another laugh. "Forget it," he said instead.
Silence settled around them. Harry listened to the familiar creaks and groans of the cupboard, remembering years past when the sound of the house settling down would be his cue to finally, finally relax and let go.
"Draco?"
"Yes, Harry?"
The thought had been festering in his mind since meeting the nameless goddess and it had been his lonely companion before Draco had came. And now that he had Draco here…
"Harry?"
"There's something wrong."
"Here? Now?" Draco tensed.
"No, not exactly."
"What do you mean?"
"Feathers."
"…Feathers?"
"I keep seeing feathers and people keep giving them to me. I think something has happened to the Morrigan."
"Are you sure? Has she come to talk to you again?"
"Not for a while, which is weird. But she was hunting for something, Draco, and if it found her first…We all know something is wrong, but it's like we've gotten stuck in a rut and nothing's happening."
"I know, Harry."
"And I think," Harry drew in a breath. "I think I've been just as bad about it. The goddess – the one that came to me last – she said the Path I was on was fading, that the Paths all over were fading."
"…Fading?"
"Yeah," Harry sighed. "That's one more thing, don't you see? The gods are waking up, but that means all gods are waking up, even the bad ones."
"You think we're up against a god, Harry?"
"What else could it be?" He shivered, moving closer to Draco. "The goddess – she said she saw a future that shattered, that broke and wiped everything out. She said she saw me blind myself and run into the Dark."
Draco growled under his breath. "I won't let that happen, Harry. I won't."
"It will happen if you die," Harry felt oddly calm.
"I will not die, Harry."
"I think we've been going at it all wrong," he turned his cheek against Draco's shirt.
"Going – what?"
"We need a change."
"Change what? Harry, you're making no sense. What are you talking about?"
Harry blinked in the dark, seeing the strands flash and shudder in front of his eyes. "Everything," he said. "We need to change everything."
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Sirius paced outside St. Mungo's, checking his watch every other step. The hospital was closed on Sundays to all visitors and he had stayed as long as he had been allowed on Saturday.
He had not wanted to send Harry to the mental ward. He absolutely had not wanted it to come to such an extreme. But the boy, his kiddo, was so messed up inside…He paused in his relentless pacing, shoulders sagging as he sighed. He had failed James so much, he couldn't even meet his own eyes in the mirror.
Fondorn had warned him. Had given him articles and essays from journals the Healer proscribed to. Sirius hadn't wanted to believe him, had not wanted to think that Harry was going mad – mad from too many years as the solo hero, the Boy-Who-Lived, the boy who had to do everything alone. The press was having a field day – Remus was ready to strangle most of the news rags for their vicious articles about Harry and the so-called reasons they had had him 'committed'. They hadn't had the boy committed, it wasn't that bad, not yet, Fondorn would have told them if it was that bad, right?
Remus had been angry with him for not reading all the papers he had to sign, but he'd told Moony, he had to get Harry treatment. Fondorn was on their side, he wouldn't let anything happen to Harry, Fondorn had always looked out for Sirius, he trusted the older man with his life. Even if he didn't agree with the Healer, but still, a Healer had to be objective about things, unemotional – Fondorn couldn't risk an emotional attachment to Harry and now Sirius was beginning to realize why. His kiddo was so tangled up inside he probably didn't even know he was hurting. Sirius wanted to smack himself in the head – he should have listened to Fondorn in the fall and all of this, everything, could have been avoided.
The predawn air was bitterly cold, but Sirius' charmed coat and gloves kept the worst of it away. There was no one on the street in front of the hospital – Sirius was relieved. He was afraid there might have been press and the last thing his kiddo needed was more harpy reporters clamoring for his attention, demanding answers for things Harry had no possible way of knowing.
Honestly, the rate of sightings of gods had risen over the months. Ancient shrines to Greek gods had risen out of the Mediterranean Sea. Temples in Egypt, Syria, even China, had been discovered, some even destroying whatever newer complexes that had settled over the ancient sites. The muggle world was in an uproar. The wizarding world was divided. People were still disappearing from muggle London – and all the reporters could think to write was that Harry – his frail, sick little kiddo – somehow had a hand in all of it. He hated them all with a passion – it was partly their fault Harry had this little complex of his that Fondorn had deducted. Sirius clenched his teeth, feeling them grind together. Harry's housemates certainly had not helped, either. Sirius knew the Malfoys, he knew Snape. They would push and push Harry until they got him right where they wanted him. They would never take no for an answer.
Then there was that Defense Against the Dark Arts professor – Umbridge. A Slytherin if he had ever seen one – she'd had no right, no right to use corporal punishment on Harry. Sirius had sent the Headmaster an angry letter – too pissed and too worried about Harry to go there himself. He knew, he just knew Snape was behind the whole thing. He had to be. If the Malfoys and the whole Slytherin House really cared that much about Harry, then why had they not helped him? Why had they let him get injured in the first place? Sirius could guess at an answer; the more Harry was hurt, the more vulnerable he became – the more malleable he became. Sirius could just bet Snape had planned it all from the moment Sirius had rescued Harry from the Malfoy Manor that summer. Snape needed Harry hurt to reshape his mind. Fondorn had been the one to connect it all, to show them the plan from step to step. Remus had been forced to go out onto the Black Grounds to destroy some old tree stumps to cool down his anger. Sirius had taken out his own ire on the shrieking portraits in the upstairs picture gallery.
He needed to see Harry. He had vowed to James to take care of his son, to care for him, to protect him – and he had failed, failed so many times and so many ways. This time he would get it right. He would be there for Harry, every step of the way. He would stay with the boy every second they let him in the hospital. Sirius would make sure his kiddo got the gold plate treatment. No expense would be too much – he had to get this right. He had to save Harry, even if it was from himself.
The soft chimes of the bells on the clock tower began to ring. A thrum went through the animagus. The hospital would open its doors the second after the bells stopped chiming. He was minutes away from seeing Harry.
The last bell chimed. Sirius whirled to face the doors of St. Mungo's – and found his feet glued to the pavement in shock.
Albus Dumbledore stood in front of the doors, dressed in the most somber robe Sirius could ever remember the wizard wearing. The expanse of black was stark, making the bushy beard even more prominent.
"Albus?" Sirius found his feet and took a step forward. "What's wrong? Why are you here?"
"Ah, Sirius," the Headmaster looked frail in the cold morning pre-dawn. The weak yellow light from the street lamps created shadowy hallows on the old wizard's cheeks. "I am so disappointed in you, my boy."
"W-what?" Sirius rocked back on his heels. "What do you mean?"
Before the Headmaster had a chance to answer, the sharp sound of someone running broke into the tense atmosphere. Sirius turned to see Remus pelting up to him. "Moony?"
"Sirius!" Remus skidded into the animagus. A bundle of papers were in his left fist. His wand was in his right.
"Remus?"
"They've taken him away!" The werewolf's fists hit Sirius' shoulders. "They've declared us unfit guardians and they've taken Harry away!"
"What?" Sirius turned to the Headmaster, who had not moved from his spot at the door. "You did this, didn't you? You've never wanted Harry to get better, you –"
"Sirius Black," Albus Dumbledore intoned, making both younger wizards shrink back. "You have done a terrible thing. You have broken Harry's trust for the last time. Yes, I have taken Harry from your care. I should never have allowed him to enter your care in the first place, not if I had known…" Dumbledore sighed, looking all of his years for one long moment. From behind his back he brought forth a stack of papers. "Before you howl and scream, young Sirius, I want to you to read these papers, these tests and plans your trusted Healer Fondorn had in his private office. Along with those records are the reports of what young Harry has been forced to endure here, at your insistence."
"But…"
"No," Dumbledore's free hand slashed through the air. "No excuses this time, Sirius. I will not hear them." He paced down the handful of steps between them, thrusting the folders to the animagus' chest. Sirius took them on autopilot, mind still reeling from shock.
"But I – where's Harry? What do you mean – you can't take him from me! Not now! I've failed him, Albus! I've failed James yet again! This was supposed to –"
"Yes, you have failed him, but it was Harry who you have really failed, not James," Dumbledore cut in. "You have failed him in more ways than you will ever know. Harry Potter is now my ward and will stay at Hogwarts until he comes of age. Any attempts by you to see him must be forwarded through to me for approval."
"You can't do this!"
"Yes, Sirius, I can." Dumbledore frowned down at them, the bushy eyebrows shading the blue eyes and hiding the non-existent twinkle. "This should have never have come this far, Sirius. All you had to do was trust Harry, was that too much to ask?"
"But…"
Albus didn't stay to hear Sirius' protest. The animagus watched the old wizard walk away, not even glancing back at his frantic calls. Remus began tugging on his arm, trying to get him to move. Sirius recognized the growing crowd that was gathering on the street. A few flashes went off – Remus turned and began shouting at the reporters. It was all white noise in Sirius' ears.
I've failed, was all he could think or hear. Oh, James. I've failed you again!
End Chapter Forty-Two