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Stars
Chapter 22: The Supernova
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Summary: What if Harry wasn't taken in by Petunia? What if, instead, he was taken in by another wizard who moved into number four after Petunia forced her family to move to avoid taking in the freak? Neutral!Harry
Beta: Cauchy! Big thanks to her for being my beta! This means less confusing words and spelling errors and brains flying around.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own character. Including the several lines I did take from the book.
A/N: A big apology to all my fans. But entertaining people is hard work over Thanksgiving!
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"This house?"
Sam leaned over his friend's shoulder, blinked twice and looked at the house again. It was just an ordinary house, if you discounted the fact that the house next to it looked exactly the same. In fact, it looked like someone had copied and pasted the same house for the entire street. Quite honestly, Sam wasn't sure if he wanted to hurl or laugh at the sight. These people had no sense of individuality.
The entire neighborhood reeked of ordinary and boring. If it wasn't Rick driving them here then Sam would have thought that it was all a joke.
"Number four. Yep, that's it," Rick said, nodding.
"What's your strange fascination with this guy?" Sam asked. "He's just a bloke that got lost."
"People don't visit friends without an address, Sam," Rick said. "He said that he lives alone with his son at boarding school, but when we arrived, the lights were on."
"Maybe his friend dropped in. You're seriously stalking this guy because you think he's got something to hide?" Sam asked, slightly disbelieving. "Has anyone ever told you you're paranoid as-" he broke off as a white haired man exited the house heading to his mailbox to check the mail. "Whoa! His hair is really white."
"It comes with the package of being in the army," Rick said dismissively.
"That was, what? Ten years ago?" Sam said. "Should have worn off by now. Okay, so, other than having really white hair, how else is he weird?"
"His friend didn't drive here. There were no cars in the driveway or on the street near his house," Rick said, watching Cygnus carefully as Cygnus absentmindedly sorted through the mail.
"Big deal. They could have just walked," Sam said, rolling his eyes.
"Then why didn't Cygnus call them and ask them to pick him up?" Rick asked.
"Mate, you think he's a drug dealer or something?" Sam asked, looking at his friend. "You're seriously obsessed with this bloke."
"I never said that," Rick said, turning to look at Sam. "I simply stated he has something to hide. Not that he was a drug dealer or a criminal of any sort."
"Why are we following him then?"
"Look, Sam, putting all of the odd occurrences together: the fact that he had gotten from Surrey to Little Hangleton without any idea where he was going, no car or taxi, and the whole friend breaking into his house issue," Rick said. "You gotta admit; that's pretty weird. Plus it was pretty late in the evening. Ergo, he must have something to hide."
Sam looked at the white haired man and then at his friend. "So you're stalking him for that reason? Rick, you're one messed up bloke."
"What's he doing?" Rick asked, leaning forward to watch Cygnus as Cygnus walked back to his house.
"Walking back to his house?" Sam offered, clearly not excited at the prospect of watching some guy
"What happened to his mail?"
Sam blinked, then leaned against the window, his brow furrowed. Sure enough, Cygnus' hands were empty. In this warm spring morning, the man was dressed very lightly so there was absolutely no way that he could have stashed it into his pocket without them seeing the outline of letters.
"What the…?" Sam asked, looking a little shocked. "Maybe he dropped them. Yeah…" Sam scanned the ground for the letters, trying to find some reasonable explanation for the missing letters. He had been tempted to give a frustrated "forget the letters" but Rick's paranoia was apparently contagious. There was no sign of any sort of paper on the ground; nowhere for Cygnus to drop the letters to hide them between the driveway and the mailbox.
The two men sat in the car, puzzling over the mystery of the missing letters for quite some time, even after Cygnus had re-entered his house.
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Cygnus shut the front door, sighing deeply.
The talk with Snape last night had bothered him.
"Faking your death would give you the freedom you desired."
Snape had said it calmly, as if it were the most obvious thing on the planet. Cygnus had shot him a withering look and pursed his lips in anger.
"Only thing stopping me is that I have a kid who will be vastly unprotected if I am to keep up the appearance of being dead."
If it had been solely his own life, Cygnus would have seriously considered it. As it was, Cygnus couldn't possibly just drop everything and plan out his own death, then proceed to carry it out.
Cygnus' brow furrowed as he thought about it.
Planning his own death was not the same as executing it.
Besides, he was pretty sure he wasn't going to survive the potential backlash from the goblins if he upped and died. The goblins had been distraught when he had to take a week off from wizard flu.
If you called the goblins popping into his home to visit and Gornuk bring him an offering of some kind of "potion that goblins use when we do not feel well" simple 'distraught', that is. Cygnus had graciously accepted, but had not taken the potion, as it was bright orange, bubbling, and smelled of vomit. Goblins had a different customs they partook in when someone was ill so to willingly participate in a human custom was almost unheard of. Cygnus had been flattered that the goblins cared about him.
The truth was, Cygnus wasn't sure what he should do. He wasn't even sure there was a safe way out of the madness of the upcoming war.
The other issue that Cygnus had been tearing himself up over was his kidnapping.
It terrified him how easy he had fallen for it.
It had started with a simple handshake. A "hello there! I'm new to the area. Nice to meet you". Then he was being apparated away to Little Hangleton and meeting a deformed Voldemort. It had been both unnerving and informative, but it was a stomach churning experience Cygnus was not willing to repeat. Though how he should prepare against this measure was a bit of a mystery.
Seeing how rituals required patience, Cygnus was sure that he either had over a year before war really broke out… or Voldemort was going to botch the ritual.
And Cygnus had a feeling that Voldemort was going to botch the ritual over waiting for the opportune time. Considering how they had kidnapped and revealed their presence to him, Cygnus was sure that Voldemort was getting desperate.
Muffling a sigh, Cygnus wondered how he was going to explain this to Harry. While it wasn't completely necessary to tell Harry immediately, it would be better if Harry heard of this so he could prepare for the danger coming. The last thing Cygnus wanted was for Quirrell or Voldemort to get Harry the same way they got to him.
On the other hand, Cygnus really wanted to forget the incident and never speak of it again.
He looked at his wand. He hadn't actually attempted actual magic with it and hadn't really been tempted to. Even with Voldemort a mere five feet from him, he hadn't thought about pulling out his wand, thinking more about his knife and how much time it would take him to get out. The only times he used his wand was with Snape during their lessons. So far, those had ended in almost complete failure. Cygnus suspected it was the result of a mixture of his age, magic, and own reluctance for the subject.
He passed his mail in the hall, having whisked it into the house wandlessly. Using his wandless magic was a bit of a relief from his normal lessons with Snape. It felt far more natural to him than attempting battle magic.
Furrowing his brow, Cygnus contemplated on asking the goblins what to do. Goblins had their own brand of wandless magic, after all. But as he passed the sitting room, his eyes fell on Dobby the House Elf as Dobby was folding clothes.
Dobby was a House Elf, capable of his own brand of magic. He would come when called and his Master's orders were absolute. Cygnus had yet to ask Dobby of anything but simple housework, but maybe it would be alright to request Dobby for another favor.
Perhaps asking goblins was a bit premature.
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Draco laughed as they exited their last exam for the year, stretching. Harry slapped him on the back, looking into the afternoon sun.
"So your dog, the one that's in our dorms right now, is Sirius Black?" Draco asked for the millionth time. "Wow, Harry. How do you manage to get yourself in these kinds of situations?! Did you see the post this morning? With Peter Pettigrew and everything. And he's a rat?"
"Uh," Harry paused. He hadn't really told Draco that Pettigrew had been in Hogwarts for most of the year. The post didn't say where he was captured; just that he had been turned in to the Ministry and Harry wasn't sure how Draco would react with the knowledge that a mass murderer had been in the dorms. "Yeah. They're going to investigate how he escaped Grim, right?"
"Yeah. But other than that, they need to obtain a statement from Black on what happened that day," Draco said. "But he's… kind of missing from prison." Draco gave Harry a pointed look and Harry blushed.
"He's been looking out for me, okay?" Harry defended. "I'll show him the paper later tonight. Maybe he could sneak out of Hogwarts to give his statement."
Draco eyed Harry and said, "Why are you so… unaffected by all this? Pettigrew betrayed your parents, didn't he? Doesn't that bother you?"
"I guess it would, if I ever got to know them," Harry said reasonably. "But the only parent I've ever remembered is Cygnus. I guess I don't have much of a connection to my birth parents. I might have never known Cygnus if I was raised by my birth mum and dad." He scratched his head and grinned at Draco. "And you might not have been my friend that way."
"Well, good thing then," Draco said, nodding. "Not that I'm saying it's good your parents died or anything…"
It wasn't until the next morning when the post arrived that Harry had noticed something had gone horribly wrong.
Peter Pettigrew: Honored with Order of Merlin, First Class
Harry spat his pumpkin juice all over the table. Several students shot him disgusted looks, but Harry barely noticed. He snatched the paper out of Draco's hands and whispered a soft "no".
Draco, in equal amounts of shock, merely sat, frozen, staring at his owl and then at the paper. Theo, who was sitting on Harry's other side, leaned over for some bacon that wasn't covered with Harry's orange juice and looked at the paper.
"'Peter Pettigrew, formally known as the Potter's close friend, has been awarded Order of Merlin, First Class, for his attempt on apprehending the wizard Sirius Black twelve years ago. Originally given posthumously, this Order of Merlin award was awarded when Mr. Pettigrew was found to be alive'," Theo read off, over Harry's shoulder. "You okay, Harry? You look like you're going to murder someone."
"That sniveling little-" Harry snarled darkly, looking absolutely murderous. "I bet they let him walk right out, scott-free, huh? Of course."
"What happened?" Draco asked, dazed. "Harry, what is… that?!" He pointed at the paper, looking absolutely horrified and disgusted.
"He lied, of course. The Ministry accepted it as the truth and Pettigrew got off scott-free with an award," Harry said. He glanced up at the Head Table, noting that Snape was looking thunderous as he read through the paper. "I should have known. We should have dosed him with a truth serum before dropping him off."
"But he was an animagus. An illegal animagus. How could they just…?" Draco asked, looking quite alarmed.
"Ignore it? Quite easily," Harry said, looking at Draco. "He was honored remember? They would just register him and let him go. Probably long gone by now."
"Bollocks!" Draco snorted. "A mass murderer hanging around. Great."
Harry could practically feel the sarcasm on every word. Theo looked between the two, confused. "Am I missing something?"
"Well…" Draco looked at Harry who looked back at him. Harry hesitated before tipping his head to Theo, debating on telling him the news.
"I thought we already had a mass murderer hanging around. Sirius Black, remember?" Theo said. "But why are you two so shocked? Surely you knew that Peter Pettigrew was honored with Order of Merlin, First Class after he supposedly died. He was considered a…" Theo gave a distasteful sneer. "…hero for bringing down the Dark Lord's greatest supporter."
Draco gaped at Theo and then at Harry. It was clear that he wanted to tell Theo what was going on, but wasn't going to unless he had Harry's expressed permission.
Not for the first time, Harry was glad that he didn't take his dad's advice when he befriended Draco. He smiled at his friend, then beckoned to Theo as he got to his feet. "We should discuss this in private. Are you done with breakfast? We have about twenty minutes before meeting Professor Snape for the end-of-year-talk so we can fill you in during that time."
"Harry? Draco?" Theo prompted, getting up as well. "Dorms?"
"Yeah. It should be empty now," Draco said, getting up as well, but not before snagging another sausage from the tray. "Most people are in the library, cramming if they still have exams, or in here, eating breakfast."
They didn't speak until they were in the Slytherin Dorms, though it was obvious that Theo really wanted to say something. Grim gave them a curious look as they passed the Common Room, but didn't get up from his spot in front of the fireplace.
"Harry," Theo said, in a very even voice despite the poorly masked rage playing over his face, "Do you have some hidden talent in getting in these kinds of messes?" He sighed, closing his eyes, and ran a hand through his hair, trying to control his temper. When he opened his eyes, all the anger had bled out of his face. "Okay. Sirius Black is innocent, Pettigrew is the mass murderer and was your parent's Secret Keeper. How do we fix it?"
"Fix it?" Draco echoed.
"Well… yeah? I wager you want your godfather by your side instead hiding away, right Harry?" Theo said. "Ergo, we need to do something about this situation. I can tell you right now, my father might work in the Ministry, but he's not going to help you in the slightest."
Harry smiled. He could honestly say that he felt lucky to have friends like these. "Is there anything else you can think of?" he asked the two, fishing for ideas.
"Other than find evidence against Pettigrew… But the only evidence would be Black's word against Pettigrew," Draco said. "And since the Ministry's already bungled this up, I seriously doubt that they would be willing to admit fault easily. Blaming Black for lying would be far simpler, even if Black is an innocent man."
"Or learning tricks from the Dark Lord," Theo added. "So, unless you somehow threaten them, they're not going to budge."
"If my father…" Draco started. Then he broke off, looking at Harry. "I don't know if my father has your best interests in mind, Harry. Otherwise, I could ask him from help." The apology wasn't said verbally, but the look that Draco sent Harry got the message across.
"What kind of evidence was presented at Sirius' trial? Maybe if we could figure out what they had convicted him with, we could bring new evidence into light," Harry asked, looking at the two.
Draco and Theo exchanged glances. They seemed to communicating non-verbally for a few minutes but finally Theo spoke.
"During the last war… there was a man by the name of Bartemius Crouch," Theo began. "He was Head of the Department of Magical Law enforcement." He paused and sighed.
"You probably don't know this, because your dad wasn't here for the First Wizarding War but things back then… well, they were a right mess," Draco said, taking over. "People were missing or disappearing on both sides. Everyone was suspicious of everyone else. It didn't matter which side they were on."
"So Crouch took some… ah… more drastic measures," Theo said. "He fought violence with violence."
"You can't beat a monster unless you become a monster," Harry murmured, nodding a little. "There's a muggle saying that says as much."
"Something like that," Draco said, nodding. "So… he kind of… started killing and throwing people in Azkaban. A lot of people didn't get trials and weren't allowed to defend themselves."
"Well, if you think about it, it kind of makes sense," Theo said. "It was probably so that wealthy families like Black wouldn't be able to hide their heirs away. Either way, it was a really popular notion back then. A lot of people supported Crouch in his decision in the war."
"Of course, then you have people like Sirius Black who didn't do anything and was thrown into Azkaban. The problem is, the Ministry is trying to cover their past mistakes," Draco said. "Proving one person innocent would mean that there could definitely have been others. Pettigrew probably wasn't even asked 'Oh, yeah. Why did you spend twelve years as a rat?' Typical."
"They won't take it well if someone were to just storm in and question their legal system," Theo said. "To boot, Black is a pureblood family. Noble and ancient. If it became public that the Black heir was thrown into Azkaban without a trial, there would be an outrage. The current Minister relies on the support of the pureblood families for his re-election."
"So it would be useless to try," Harry concluded.
"Well, not necessarily," Draco said, leaning against the wall. "It depends really. Say, theoretically, it became public knowledge that Black never got a trial. There will be uproar from the pureblood families and they will probably demand a trial. In, said trial, Black gets found innocent. What do you think will happen?"
"Black will be set free and then it'll be all over the newspapers?" Harry suggested.
"Good, but more than that, the more prominent families won't let that stand unchallenged," Draco said reasonably. "There would be a lot of 'how did this happen' and 'if Black is one, then how many more are there?' Everyone in Azkaban would be set for a trial. If you're trying to prove the Ministry's incompetence, then that's the way to go."
"Well, that's good isn't it? Everyone has a chance to defend themselves," Harry replied, looking at Theo and Draco, wondering how that was a bad thing.
"The thing is… there are a lot of pureblood families who might try to get their heir off. And, knowing that the Minister, Fudge, he'd let them off if it meant that he would get re-elected," Draco said. "And… well… to put it lightly… a lot of people deserve to be in Azkaban."
"Crouch's son was thrown in Azkaban," Theo added. "For being a Death Eater. Crouch threw his own son in prison with the barest of trials. That's why he was never elected for Minister. A lot of people felt sorry for Crouch Jr. because his father neglected him."
"They deserve to be in Azkaban? Without a trial?" Harry asked, incredulously, shocked at his friends nonchalant attitude towards imprisoning people.
"I have an aunt named Bellatrix. She's… crazy," Draco said hesitantly. "She would torture and kill for fun. It was a sport to her like Quidditch is to the Wizarding world. I often heard stories about her from my father and mother. They used to say she was justified—that it was in the name of the Dark Lord that she did it; therefore it was an honorable act. But not since your dad met my dad."
"Funny thing is, when you grow up with learning that it's okay to hate on muggleborns and muggles, you believe it," Theo said. "I did too. Until I met you, that is."
Harry blinked as Theo gave him a pointed look. "Me?"
"Yes," Theo said. "Well, okay. I didn't really like you all that much at first, but you knew Parseltongue. That's what sparked my initial friendship with you. And now that I know you, you aren't so bad. You mum was muggleborn but, hey, you turned out fine."
"Are you implying that I would have turned out messed up?" Harry said, his eyes wide.
"Implying? I thought it was a given," Draco said, a slow smirk spreading on his face. "Goody-two-shoes Gryffindor."
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"Well done, Wormtail," Voldemort hissed, staring at his servant. "Bring him here."
Paul was staring around wildly. He had been bound and gagged by some deranged rat man, all while asleep and had woken to the foul scent of something rotting.
It wasn't every day that he saw men with wands and waving them like magicians but he had always been a somewhat reasonable man. Clearly, the man had some kind of magic because he was conjuring sixteen buckets out of, quite literally, thin air. Observation was the easiest way to prove something.
Paul lifted his head a little and croaked out, "Why am I here?"
"You are here, Paul Winston, because I have need for your expertise," a cold voice replied. Paul felt his stomach churn as he stared at the deformed baby. "You are a nuclear physicist, are you not?"
Paul felt his skin crawl at the baby's words. Before he could reply to that-though he wasn't sure if he was going to deny it or agree to it, he heard a squeaky voice.
"Imperio!"
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"Sam, I think I've figured it out!"
"Rick?" Sam's voice sounded exhausted as he mumbled over the phone. "You know it's like ten at night, don't you? I have to get up early tomorrow for a meeting."
"Never mind that! I've figured out what's been bothering me about Cygnus Rowan's house. You know, the one on Privet Drive?" Rick said hurriedly into the phone. He had rushed home after another hour of watching the house, trying to pinpoint why he had felt so uneasy.
"You're there again? Mate, it's been two weeks and you haven't found anything. Lay off the poor bastard," Sam sighed, feeling a bit exasperated at his friend's antics.
Rick thought that Sam was going to hang up on him until Sam said, "Let's hear it then. You'd probably tell me next time we meet otherwise."
"The grass doesn't grow!"
Rick's excited voice echoed into the phone but Sam didn't reply.
"Okay, hear me out!" Rick said, having realized that Sam wasn't going to reply without him elaborating. Or perhaps, Sam was shocked stiff from what he heard. "It's been two weeks. And the grass on either side of this house has grown. But not number 4."
"Rick, have you been drinking? Is this another one of your drunk calls?" Sam asked after a couple more minutes of silence. Rick sputtered disbelievingly before growling a harsh "No!" into the phone line. "Did you get into an argument with Rich then? Did Lucas give you the cold shoulder?"
"Listen!" Rick said exasperatedly. "Don't you find that odd?"
"Someone else's lawn holds little interest to me, Rick," Sam replied in kind. "Has it crossed your mind that maybe the man hires someone to tidy his lawn when you're at work?"
"Yeah, but it would look neatly cleaned up," Rick said. "It doesn't. It looks the same as it did yesterday, and the day before, and the day before! And, the guy hasn't left his house for two weeks now. Doesn't he work? No friends visit?"
"You work half the day. Who says he doesn't go out?!" Sam said. "Rick, honestly, you're scaring me right now. What is up with your insistent fascination with the guy?"
Rick paused, thinking about the question. He opened his mouth to answer, but found that he couldn't answer the question without sounding like a fool. "I don't know," he said finally, his voice echoing in the car. "Something feels off about him. Something… wrong. You know what I mean?"
Sam went quiet as well, and then he sighed into the line. "No, Rick, I don't. But you can tell me later, when you're not half delusional and pointing out things like 'the grass on his lawn doesn't grow'. I need to sleep and you do too. You're probably tired from work."
Rick let Sam hang up without another word and then got out of his car. He tapped the door handle to his car several times, debating on whether or not to confront the odd man named Cygnus Rowan, but then slowly climbed back in his vehicle. He didn't have nearly enough to information to pressure Cygnus into telling him his secret.
And he was sure that, whatever secret Cygnus had was a big one.