DISCLAIMER: That part of this world and those characters you've seen before belong to their Creator: JKR. The rest is mine - although I cannot quit my day job as I make no $$$ from this…
A/N: Pace beginning to pick up…
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: MINERVA'S WEEK
MONDAY, MAY 30, 1988 - HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY, SCOTLAND, U.K.
Minerva McGonagall waited in her classroom with three others just after classes had finished for the day. The three others were not members of the faculty or staff, but had been requested by Minerva for this meeting as she was acting Headmistress of the school while her boss was out of the country on business. She knew it would intimidate the three students she had called in for an immediate meeting, but if the information Sensei had provided her was correct, she could care less.
Three red haired students entered. All were obviously concerned and the youngest who was carrying a small cage with some kind of animal in it looked terrified. The tallest of the three was William Weasley who preferred to be called "Bill." He was a sixth year Prefect from Gryffindor House, the House that Minerva was in charge of for all matters. The next was a shorter and stockier lad in his fourth year at school. Charlie Weasley was the younger brother of Bill and was the best player on the House Quidditch team, the only sport played at the school. With Dustin Corbenroth slated for graduation in but a few weeks, Charlie was the first pick for next year's team Captain. The last boy was shorter than any of the others - for now. He had recently turned twelve. Percy was a first year and he looked terrified. The older two noticeably paled seeing the three other adults in the room. The youngest looked like he was about to lose his lunch, breakfast and any scrap of food left in his system.
"I see you brought the pet as requested," McGonagall said in her stern voice.
"Yes Professor," Bill Weasley replied. "Is something wrong? Did my little brother do something to embarrass our House or worse our family?"
"No, Mr. Weasley. So far as I am aware, Percy is the first Weasley who made it this far into First Year without losing so much as a single house point or seeing a single hour of detention. If only my other students were so compliant. I thank the stars he has not followed either your's or your younger brother's example - at least at that age. Then again, perhaps the fact that he has not led his year in detentions may be an embarrassment?"
"How many Howlers have you received from Mum?" Bill asked his younger brother Percy.
"Better yet, Howlers not related to grades?" Charlie added.
"None," Percy said meekly.
"None?" Bill asked. "Not a one?"
Percy shook his head.
"You pulled no pranks?" Charlie asked.
Percy shook his head again.
"We apologize for our brother," Bill said. "Despite our best efforts, it is clear he has a learning disability."
"Unlike the twins," Charlie added. "They'll make us look like model students, they will."
"You guys got in trouble?" Percy asked.
"Loads!" Charlie replied. "Least through third year."
"Since then not so much," Bill added. "Or better yet we learned how not to get caught. Trick is, little bro, always keep your grades up, but learn how to have fun too. Otherwise you are wasting your time here!"
"Professor?" Charlie asked. "We promise that in the few weeks left Percy here will uphold the honor of our family!"
"He will make history for a prank of epic proportions," Bill added.
"That will land him in lengthy detention!"
"And earn a well deserved Howler from our humorless Mum!"
"And thereby uphold the Weasley name!"
"Is that what you wanted to see us about, Professor?" Bill finished.
"Do you honestly think I called you in here to encourage misbehavior?" McGonagall asked.
"Well, no not really," Bill replied. He then turned to Percy and added: "But just because Professor McGonagall said that does not give you the excuse to skive off pranking! Dad considers it an essential part of your educational experience."
"He never said that to me," Percy protested.
"He only gives that talk after you get your first Howler from Mum," Charlie said, "and then, only when Mum cannot find out about it."
"Oh."
McGonagall shook her head and tried to suppress a smile. The older Weasley boys pranks had been very amusing. It had been hard to scold them, place them in detention and dock points, harder still doing so with a strait face.
"No, actually we are here because there have been some complaints from some other students about Percy's rat."
"Scabbers?" Percy said. "But he doesn't do anything."
"This is not about what he may have done," McGonagall said. "It seems that someone has complained that you have an unauthorized and unregistered pet."
"But Professor," Percy protested, "you said I could!"
"I know, I know. This is just a formality I assure you. Ms. Pierson here is from the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Pet Licensing Bureau. She's here to make sure your little friend is properly registered and legal, okay?"
Percy nodded.
"She'll be asking a few questions and will check out your rat to make sure it's what it appears to be."
"So," Ms. Pierson asked, "how did you get your rat?"
"Found him," Percy said. "He was freezing in the garden at our home after a snowstorm just after Christmas."
"Took a shine to the boy," Charlie added.
"When was this?" Ms. Pierson asked.
"I was five then," Percy said. About six and a half years ago."
"Really? Interesting. Even in captivity, rats such as yours typically do not live more than about four years. Perhaps it is magical?"
"He doesn't seem to be," Percy said.
"Well, let's find out then," Ms. Pierson said drawing her wand. She cast a silent spell which impressed the boys and then frowned. "This is no rat," she said.
"What?" several voices asked.
"I could be wrong, but unless I am, this is an animagus."
"One way to find out," a tall dark skinned man said. "Place the cage on the ground, if you please," he asked of Percy as he drew his own wand. Percy complied and went pale as the rat began to squeal and seemingly try to chew through the wooden cage in terror. A spell was cast and the cage exploded as the rat transformed into a raggedly dressed balding man. His watery eyes looked at the others in terror. But before he could even think of fleeing, he found himself bound in ropes.
"Peter Pettigrew," McGonagall gasped! Her opinion of this Sensei had just jumped.
"I have nothing to say," the man squeaked.
"We shall soon see about that," the dark skin man said calmly. "I am Kingsley Shacklebolt with the Auror's office, Death Eater. With me is Amelia Bones, Chief Prosecutor for the Ministry of Magic. I assume you know what Veritaserum is?"
"I have nothing to say!"
"Madam Bones?"
"Do you duty, Auror Shackelbolt."
Over the next several minutes a full confession was obtained from Pettigrew, all duly noted for the record. He had hated James Potter and his close friends Remus Lupin and Sirius Black for years. He hated the fact they were better than he was at everything, a loathing that had driven him to join the Death Eaters right out of school. To earn his mark and the recognition of the Dark Lord, he first lied about his blood lines and then killed several muggles for sport. By chance, he was named the Secret Keeper to protect the whereabouts of the Potters once the Prophecy about Harry Potter had been told to Voldemort. Despite this, it had taken him over a year before he could finally betray the Potters. After the murder of the Potters it was Sirius Black who tracked him down and cornered him in a muggle market. Pettigrew blew the place up and escaped as a rat leaving a very innocent Black to take the fall and rot in prison.
"Will the Ministry release him?" McGonagall asked about Black.
"The Minister recently reopened the case against Black following Dumbledore's failure with the Potter matter," Amelia Bones said. "He was scheduled for a real trial, but with this evidence? My guess is he'll be transferred to St. Mungos this week for evaluation and therapy and then, in a couple of months or so, he'll be released."
"He will be exonerated?"
Ms. Bones nodded. "We could have had an acquittal without Pettigrew. Now? Not even the press can question his innocence!" With that, Pettigrew was hauled away and after the Ministry officials left McGonagall dismissed three very stunned Weasley boys.
MONDAY, MAY 30, 1988 - GRINGOTTS BANK, LONDON, U.K.
Later that evening, McGonagall had finished her initial meeting with Ragnok, Director of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Ragnok was a goblin as were most of Gringotts' employees, yet he seldom ever met with mere humans. He made an exception for Minerva solely because she was now the guardian over his bank's most favored account - the Potter Estate. Minerva had the impression after the meeting that Ragnok was far more impressed with her than the prior estate guardian: Dumbledore. She commented on that fact and was told that she bothered to treat the goblins with respect and as equals. In Ragnok's opinion, Dumbledore acted as if he had no equals.
As with Hermione, Harry and Clarice had trust funds set up to pay for their education and their day to day expenses. Minerva was shocked at the amounts. Hermione's trust was worth about 100,000 Galleons. That was 500,000 Pounds at Gringotts exchange rates and over ten million if said Galleons were exchanged on the open market as each coin was one once pure gold. Each of the Potters' trust accounts was worth at least fifty times as much. The trusts were set up solely to provide for Harry and Clarice until they reached the age of majority or were otherwise declared adults. The initial trust funding was one percent of the total value of the estimated Potter Estate. Harry and Clarice were quite wealthy.
After a couple of hours, Minerva was convinced that the Potter estate was generally well managed. The Trust accounts earned very favorable returns and the main estate seemed to be doing as well. Confident in the finances, she broached her main concern - the desire for the Potters and Hermione to attend the Watanabe School of Magical Studies in Japan. To Minerva's surprise, Hirayuki Genda had traveled to Gringotts to discuss the application.
Genda was the Dean of Admissions for the international summer session. Minerva had met him before at several international magical education conferences and she knew him well. As a professor, she knew that Genda was considered and expert and exceptional teacher in mind and wandless magic - two courses that were not taught in British schools.
"It is a pleasure to meet you again, Professor McGonagall," Genda in flawless English said as he bowed. It was always a little unnerving for McGonagall knowing he was Japanese and hearing his flawless, if American accented English.
"The pleasure is mine, Gendasan," McGonagall replied returning the bow. "Honestly, I am surprised that you are here."
"I was in London on business, Minerva," Genda replied. "I received a note from Gringotts that someone was interested in sending their children to our school. It's been over twenty years since anyone from this country applied, so naturally I was intrigued. I was unaware that you had children."
"They are not mine per se," McGonagall replied. "One is my Great-granddaughter. Her name is Hermione Granger and she's eight. I am her magical guardian. The other two are under her parent's care and I am their magical guardian as well. One is Harry Potter, age seven and the other is his younger sister age six."
"Harry Potter?" Genda asked. "Not the one all those insipid books are about?"
"He is, although he is nothing like the fictional character in those books. The books are slanderous to say the least. I am quite certain he never killed a dragon - and certainly not at the age of three and a half."
"Indeed," Genda nodded. "Now perhaps you might tell be about these three applicants?"
McGonagall spent the next several minutes telling all she knew about the three children, with emphasis on their academic achievements to date. She tried to be as objective as possible in assessing their abilities and potential, but felt as if she was failing miserably. She could not help it, she thought. In her opinion each of the three were quite admirable in their own way.
Genda nodded. "A most impressive group, Minerva," he said finally. "I know you may be a little biased, but I do not doubt the veracity of your assessment. I'm sure they would do quite well in Kyoto. Might I inquire as to whether you would like them to attend this Summer Term?"
"Is it possible?"
"Today is the last day for submitting an application," Genda said. "As Dean of Admissions, I can accept the application verbally. All I need is their mailing address, payment of the tuition in advance and proof that they can acquire the necessary passports if they do not currently have one."
"What is the tuition?"
"25,000 pounds per academic year. They will progress through five such years each summer that they are in attendance up to a maximum of twenty years. For this summer, that would be 125,000 pounds - 500,000 for the full term of four years."
"Pounds?"
"Actually, they will be converted to Yen. Japan is in many ways the opposite of Britain. We do not hide away from our non-magical neighbors as you do here. We do not have an economy totally separate from that of our neighbors. As such, we use non-magical currency. Galleons, as you use here, are only valuable as commodities, in other words if they are sold for their gold.
"Our magical society is very open as compared to Britain. Oddly, our non-magical society is comparatively closed as compared to non-magical Britain. Our non magical countrymen do not trust foreigners. Of course, that's not true for everyone, but it is the prevailing attitude dating back centuries. Our concession to the isolationist tendencies of the vast majority of Japanese is that we teach foreigners during the summer. True, we will have a fair few Japanese students as well, mostly from magical families or progressive non-magical ones."
"And what kind of education are we talking about?" McGonagall asked. "Forgive my ignorance, but I am afraid your assessment of magical Britain may be charitable. I regret I know little about magical education outside of Europe and what little I do know is in no small part due to the wonderful seminars of yours that I have had the pleasure to attend in the past."
"As I understand it," Genda said, "here in Britain and throughout much of Europe, children do not begin their magical education until the age of eleven?"
McGonagall nodded.
"Pity. And I also understand they are not required attend non-magical schools at all before hand?"
She nodded again.
"Over the centuries, we have found that to maximize one's potential in life, there must be harmony between the mind, magic and body. The earlier the child begins to learn such harmony, the more they can learn and the better they will become. Our children begin their studies at the age of six and they study non-magical courses in addition to magic. They learn to read and write, learn languages, math, and the sciences, history, art and literature. Once they complete their non-magical secondary education, they may continue on to the University level. Among the required course at that level is three semesters of philosophy, again to expand the mind.
"Magically, we teach the same studies as you do here as we are signatories of the ICW Educational Treaties and our students are expected to sit for the ICW O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. examinations. Your children should sit for their O.W.L. exams at the end of this summer term and their N.E.W.T.s about mid way through their second summer."
"And after that?"
"Depending upon their N.E.W.T.s, of course, they can continue to study for Masters Level certifications. Most students obtain at least one, many more than one. In theory, depending upon the Masters Levels they seek, a student can attain as many as five by the end of their fourth summer."
"Five?" McGonagall asked in shock.
"Few are that ambitious," Genda said. "Three Masters Levels are about average."
"Even three is more than most," McGonagall said. "So far as I know, only Albus has that many."
"Indeed," Genda said. "From an educational standpoint, we do not think highly of Europe. You all seem to place little emphasis on formal education for your magical children as compared to the East and the Americas."
There was no denying that, McGonagall thought as she nodded. "Why do you start them so young?"
"We teach wandless magic, non-verbal spell casting and various forms of mind magic. We find the young are better able to learn and master theses than adolescents. Relying upon wands suppresses the natural abilities such that if those skills are not learned by the time the child is in their late teens they can never be mastered."
"You said the body is part of the training?"
"Indeed. Physical health and fitness, speed and agility enhances magical ability. We teach our students the martial arts of our ancestors and emphasize physical fitness and sports."
"So they play Quidditch?"
"Quidditch is foreign to Japan," Genda said. "Part of our philosophy is to teach the children how to interact with the non-magical world. The sports they learn and play are the same they would be exposed to in the non-magical world. Besides, Quidditch is not nearly as effective in building a fit body."
"Interact with the non-magical world?"
"They will be exposed to non-magical technology, including the use of computers and telecommunications technologies. Aside from driving a car or flying an airplane, when they complete school, they could easily live in the non-magical world. My guess is that is not truly the case here?"
McGonagall nodded. "So," she said after more thought, "how do we get them enrolled?" With that, Genda and McGonagall filled out the necessary paperwork that would enroll the students for the summer, pay their tuition, get their passports and tickets for a flight to Japan on June 28th, and the return flight on July 30th, along with a ticket for an adult to accompany them to and from Japan.
TUESDAY, MAY 31, 1988 - AZKABAN PRISON, THE NORHT SEA
In a dark, cold and damp windowless room, a large dog was lying on the stone floor trying to catch some sleep. It was not easy, it never had been as the dog's room was not sound proof. Around it were the moans and wails of humans in despair. This dog did not care, it just wanted them to shut up so it could get some sleep.
The dog was not what it appeared to be. It was, in fact, a wizard. He was an animagus and had quickly learned how to transform from his human form to his canine and back again without a wand not long after he was thrown into this dark prison cell. His dog form had significant advantages in this prison.
The prison had two kinds of guards, human and inhuman. The human guards were around only four times a day. Two times to feed the inmates and the other two to take an inmate from their cell to their weekly shower or exercise period. In total, if the human guards were in the cell block more than ninety minutes in a day, it was rare. The rest of the time, the evil Dementors patrolled the block, sucking whatever hope or joy the inmates had from them. Oddly, the Dementors had little effect on him as a human and none when he transformed into a dog. Most of his neighbors, none of whom he had ever seen, much less spoken to, were now quite mad, stripped of whatever humanity they may have had. The dog, however, was still fairly sane, or so it thought.
The wizard had learned when the Dementors arrived and learned to transform into his dog form when they did. The dog had learned to sense the Demetors and to sense their absence when he could safely change back into human form. The human knew that he had to be human during meals and twice a week - once for a shower and the other for an hours exercise. The rest of the time, he was a dog. He didn't mind. It was a lot warmer with his coat of fur than with the rags his human form wore and the Dementors could not torment him as a dog. He reasoned the reason he was not barking mad - pardon the pun, he thought - was largely because he could avoid the Dementors mind attacks as a dog.
The dog sensed the Demetors leaving and knew a human was soon to enter the cell block. It stood up and transformed back into its human form and decided to sit on the concrete slab that passed for a bed to see what the human guards were up to. It was not yet mealtime, he reasoned. He also knew he was not scheduled for either a wash or an exercise period, which meant most likely that this hell hole was about to entertain an new guest.
To the prisoner's surprise, the keys were inserted into the door to his cell! There was a routine in prison and that routine was really the only way to measure time and achieve any sense of normality. Surprises could never be good.
The Cell door opened and the prisoner shielded his eyes from the light of the torch the guard carried.
"On yer feet Black," the guard demanded.
The prisoner complied slowly and in surprise. "What's goin' on?" he asked in a voice hoarse from un-use.
"Warden wan's ter see yer," the guard growled.
"'Bout what?"
"How would I bloody know? Not like the Warden an' I is best mates hoistin' pints down a' the pub now, is it? On yer feet, Black. Warden's a busy man - least tha's what 'e says."
Sirius Black had spent over six years in the hellhole known to magical Britain as Azkaban prison. He had no idea himself what day or month it was. All he knew was it seemed he had been there forever. The routine of prison was all he could clearly remember and this sudden change from that familiar routine confused him and scared him a little. Thoughts raced through his head as he was ordered to shower. Was he finally going to get his trial? That had to be it.
When he finished showering, he noticed his soiled prison garb was gone and regular clothes awaited him. It was not much, nothing fancy. There was new underwear, blue jeans, a button down plain tan shirt, socks and a pair of not so dressy shoes. Another surprise and one that convinced him it must be a trial. After dressing, he was led to a room he had never seen before. There a barber waited and his hair was cut and his beard shaved for the first time since he had arrived. Somehow, he actually felt lighter when finished.
He was finally led to a Spartan office somewhere in the upper levels of the prison. The office, he noted, had a window and sunlight streamed in. It was the first sunlight he had seen since he arrived here years ago. A short, bald man with wire rim glasses was seated at the desk browsing through a file. A name plate on the desk introduced him: Cadmus Archer, Warden.
"'Ave a seat, Black," the guard said.
Tentatively, Sirius sat in a chair before the Warden's desk.
"Sirius Orion Black," the man said in a deep voice. "Sent here 5 November 1981. Charged with the murder of one Peter Pettigrew, mass murder of some twelve muggles, accomplice to the murders of Lily and James Potter, conspiracy to murder one Harry Potter and suspected Death Eater activities. Says here you were never tried. That true?"
Sirius could only nod.
The Warden merely shrugged his shoulders as if to say: typical. "Before my time," he said.
"What d-day is it?" Sirius asked in a hoarse whisper. His voice was emotionless, a trait he learned in prison as the Dementors fed off of emotions.
"Yes," the Warden said scrutinizing Black, "I guess you would have no idea, would you? It's May 31st, 1988."
"Bloody hell!" Sirius had no idea he'd been here that long. "My godson, Harry Potter?"
"Ah, the famous boy-who-lived?"
Sirius stared at him blankly.
"That's what the press called him," the Warden said. "Bloody stupid name if you ask me, but the Daily Prophet is hardly known for its literary acumen. According to said Prophet, if you're one to believe the rubbish they print as so called news, he died in a house fire a couple of weeks ago."
Sirius was too stunned to reply. He had only two reasons to live, one was his god children and the other was to see the day that Peter Pettigrew finally met the long arm of justice. The godchildren were the more important reasons.
"Well," the Warden says, "seems some idiot at the Ministry finally did their bloody job! You're being transferred, Black."
"W-what?"
"St. Mungo's. Couple of months at least and then - then you're free."
"What? Why?"
"You think you were guilty of the crimes that stuck you with us?"
Sirius shook his head. He knew he was innocent.
"Seems the powers that be agree," the Warden said. "They caught that supposedly dead Pettigrew chap yesterday. Got a full confession out of him under Veritaserum. Open and shut case for the rat - he's been living as a rat - some kid's family pet for years it seems. Minister for Magic herself signed your Exoneration Papers last night. Now, let's see what we have here." The Warden began looking into a bag.
"Why St. Mungo's?" Sirius asked.
"We've never freed a long term prisoner before, Black," the Warden admitted. "Bit of a first. You came in weighing 191 lbs. Your weight is now 105. Goodness knows what other health issues you may have acquired under our care. You're going there until the Healers give you a clean bill of health, mental and physical, okay?"
Sirius could only nod in reply.
"Your personal effects," the Warden continued pulling items from the bag. "Wand, key to a Gringotts vault, set of various other keys, money pouch containing: 47 Galleons, 12 Sickels, 15 Knuts as well as 157 Pounds and change. Underground pass card, expired. Wallet containing another 48 Pounds and change, motorcycle license and registration, both expired and a passport, again expired. I believe that's everything."
Sirius stared at the meager possessions.
"Go on!" the Warden said. "Gather up your stuff. Auror Shackelbolt is waiting to escort you to the Hospital and I don't have all day!"
Sirius stood and started to gather his things, still without understanding what was happening.
THURSDAY, JUNE 2 1988 - ST. MUNGO'S HOSPITAL FOR MAGICAL MALADIES AND INJURIES, LONDON, U.K.
Sirius had finished his dinner and was lying in his hospital bed reading a book. He had learned that among the various physical problems he had spent while being "a guest of the Ministry," he now needed eyeglasses to read. The book was a work of Muggle literature that he preferred over magical authors. It was called The Count of Monte Cristo, at was about a good man imprisoned for a crime he did not commit. The irony was not lost on Sirius.
"Mr. Black?" a soft feminine voice called from the door.
Sirius looked up and over the top of his glasses. Smiling from the doorway was a young, petit blonde he learned was named Sophie Tompkins. She was a Healer in training. Sirius guessed she was about twenty years old. He was twenty-eight, but felt much older and he was sure he looked older too.
"Sophie," Sirius said, "I've told you to call me Sirius, even if I'm not. Mr. Black makes me feel old."
The young women blushed and smiled at him. "Are you finished eating?" she asked softly.
Sirius nodded.
"And did you take all your potions?"
Sirius rolled his eyes at her and then decided to flirt just a little. "Of course," he said truthfully. "Far be it for me to fail to take my meds. You might then find reason not to visit."
She blushed again. Sirius did not really understand it, but she looked adorable when she blushed. "I'll just clear away your mess then," she said. "Oh, you have a visitor. I'll send her in when I am done." She then smiled at Sirius.
Still got the mojo, you old dog, Sirius thought to himself. She cleared up quickly and gave Sirius a smile before leaving. She's a bit young, Sirius thought, still…
The door opened and the visitor appeared. Sirius again looked up and immediately recognized the woman who had entered. "Professor McGonagall?" he asked.
She smiled at him in a way he had never seen her smile before. "Please, Sirius. I am not here in any kind of official capacity. Please call me Minnie."
He tried not to laugh. "Minnie?"
"It's what family calls me."
"Family? But we're not family."
"Don't be so sure, Sirius."
"What do you mean?" Sirius asked. "I have no family! I've either disowned or been disowned by my blood relations…"
"Not Andromeda."
"Okay, maybe not her, but the others. Harry is dead and Clarice is missing and no one knows where she is - if she's alive at all and…"
"What makes you think that?"
"They told me! They showed me the Daily Prophet! No one even knows about Clarice at all!"
"What did you do with Clarice that night?"
"What Dumbledore said," Sirius replied. "I took her to my girlfriend. She worked for Muggle social services and promised me Clarice would be adopted by someone."
"Indeed," McGonagall replied. She then reached into her purse and pulled out a photograph and handed it to Sirius.
"It's a Muggle photo," she said, "taken last Sunday."
Sirius looked at the picture. Three children were lying in what looked like a hospital bed. In the center was a boy with messy black hair, green eyes and glasses, a miniature version of his best friend James but for the eyes which were clearly reminiscent of Lily. He had a huge and genuine smile on his face. On his left was a girl in hospital robes with long black hair and the same eyes, smiling and with her cheek pressing against the boy's. On the boy's right was another girl with curly brown hair and matching eyes, also with a huge smile on her face as well and pressing her cheek against the boy.
"Harry?" Sirius asked.
McGonagall nodded.
"Who are the two girls?"
"Can you guess - at least about the one to his left?"
"Clarice?"
McGonagall nodded again.
"They're together?" he asked with tears in his voice.
McGonagall nodded.
"And the other girl?"
"My Great-granddaughter Hermione."
"B-but your family was wiped out in the War."
"All but her."
"I - I don't understand."
McGonagall then told him about everything that had happened. She told him about Clarice losing her adoptive parents, the circumstances of Hermione's adoption by a muggle couple and what had happened to her last granddaughter and her husband. She then told about Harry's life and how he had been sent to live with the Dursleys.
"Hold on!" Sirius protested. "Harry and Clarice? James and Lily made it clear they never were to meet the Dursleys! Who did that?"
" It was only Harry, but it was Dumbledore who sent him there."
"Dumbledore? But we trust him!"
"The more I learn about that time, the less I trust the man at least when it comes to the best interests of Clarice and Harry. They should never have been separated and Harry should never have been sent to the Dursleys. He went through hell there."
"Hell?"
"Honestly, I think you may have had an easier time in Azkaban than Harry had as a child at the Dursleys." She then described the abuse and how Harry had wound up in a hospital.
"I'll kill them!" Sirius said. "I'll kill the bastards!"
"They're already dead," Minerva replied. "They died in that house fire the Prophet reported."
"What's to become of Harry and Clarice? I can take them in."
"No Sirius," McGonagall said.
"Why not? I can afford…"
"It's not that! You're going to be here a while. They need a home now! Even after you are discharged, you will need time to get - well - back to normal. You cannot expect to do that with children in your house! The Muggles have assigned Harry and Clarice to the Grangers - Hermione's adoptive parents. They know about our world and that Harry and Clarice are magical. They have raised Hermione into a fine young lady and the three are now best of friends. It would be wrong to separate them now."
"So I will have no part in their lives?"
"On the contrary, Sirius. I expect you to have a significant role in their lives, just not as their primary caregiver. When you are well and have a place, I expect you to be their friend - all of them including Hermione."
"And Dumbledore?"
"Will know nothing about this! He wanted to 'groom' Harry for a martyr's death. I will have nothing to do with that! As far as these three children are concerned, Dumbledore is EVIL!"
"But he is the leader of the light!"
"And these children are but pawns in his chess game - pawns get sacrificed!"
"What makes you so sure?"
"Who should the children have gone to on their parents death, Sirius? You know that James and Lily would have sent them to you. You were thrown in prison without trial. As their Godfather, I know you could not have betrayed them to Voldemort. So does Albus, and he had it within his power to stop you incarceration - and yet you rotted in prison. Why? He could have prevented the miscarriage of justice with a word, yet it was only recently that you were exonerated and that was my doing and not his. I think that the only reason you are here and not still in Azkaban is that Pettigrew was caught and confessed while Dumbledore was out of the country and could not influence the Minister for Magic - who wanted to reopen your case by the way - to keep you locked up!"
"Does Dumbledore know that Harry and Clarice are alive?"
"No he does not. I have not told him and will not! They are dead to him and to our world - for now. Oh, people still remember Harry, but they no longer believe he was real. For the time being, only you and I really know about Harry, Clarice and Hermione. No one else does and I think we should keep it that way for now. They deserve to have a life, don't you think?"
Sirius nodded. "Can I see them?"
McGonagall nodded. "Soon, Sirius. Maybe not this week, but I will see to it that you see them soon. I think they would like that and I know you would."
"Thanks," Sirius said. "I really want to. Thinking about them kept me going, you know."
"I know," she said softly. "That's why I've told you about them."
Sirius was crying now. He could not know if it was sadness, disappointment in the one man he admired or joy in learning the children were alive, but there were tears none the less. "Remus?" he asked after several minutes.
"I'll see if I can find him, Sirius."
"Thanks - er - Minnie."