Echoes of the past

'Are you sure we shouldn't call more people, boss?' asked Boris, throwing a branch after a yapping racoon.

'And why haven't we reported this to the ICW, sir? This is extremely irregular; we'll get into so much trouble for acting out of our mission parameters,' said Fujiwara, her voice wavering.

'Forty years. Forty years! Think, the both of you! Do you honestly think I'm the first person to notice that we've been guarding an empty prison?! I remember the courtyard. There wasn't any sign of human presences disturbing the place for decades!'

'You mean some of the old geezers know Grindelwald escaped?' asked Boris, disbelief leaking from every word. 'There sure were a lot of different opinions about how to deal with him but – surely – they all wanted him gone, right?!'

'All those seated within the ICW are extremely powerful Occlumens – for obvious reasons. And only the most senior members of the select committee are aware of Grindelwald's,' Antonius kicked angrily at a tree that – to both of his subordinates' concern and disbelief – shook visibly, 'imprisonment. Someone's been covering this up! The special committee, chairmen – someone is keeping this under wraps. Remember, there was supposed to be a permanent checkpoint as well. I'm going to make it my business to find out who and why! And where the devil Grindelwald's off to! I'll find the bastard if it's the last thing I ever do.'

'But what are we supposed to do?' asked Boris, gesturing wildly. 'They'll come after us! If – and I'm not saying I believe it – if there really is a traitor, we'll never be able to make a case! They'll drown us in red tape! One veto is enough to–'

'Yes,' agreed Antonius grimly, trampling through the undergrowth. 'Which is why we need to gather as much evidence as possible before making it all public. We'll start with an unofficial, covert investigation, tracing possible leaks while we're at it. I've already petitioned for special leave for us three and a few guys I've called in from headquarters. Officially, we're on a training camp. Remember your counter-infiltration training? We'll do it by the book – just don't bother writing any reports for now.'

Fujiwara nodded. She was still rather pale. 'I … I just can't believe he escaped. I don't even feel the Memory Charm! I'm not doubting you, sir, but …'

'You wouldn't if it really was him. He was always a bit … special … with spells,' spat Antonius. 'You needn't think any less of yourself because of it.'

'Who did you call from headquarters, boss?'

'Just a couple of people. Ahuja, Mao, Sterling, and Glücksburg.'

Boris groaned. 'Not him! He's a prat!'

'Yes, him,' retorted Antonius briskly. He could almost hear Fujiwara scowling at her colleague. 'I'm not going to make the same mistake again. We need all the expertise we can get – and Glücksburg knows more than even I'm comfortable with. Not surprising given his family background. Careful now, we're almost there. We'll stay at least one mile clear this time – I don't want to trigger anything unpleasant and wake up with another bleeding headache.'

In truth, Antonius wasn't at all happy to call Glücksburg and Sterling. So far, he had been able to avoid relying on anyone with ties to British families, but it seemed like it couldn't be helped. What he needed right now was the best his squad had to offer – and that, unfortunately, included Glücksburg, a man who was related to practically everyone, including the British queen, as well as Sterling, the Irishman who'd won the European Duelling Circuit at age twenty-seven.

'Sir?' asked Fujiwara.

Her tone of voice made Antonius stop in his tracks. She sounded thoughtful, worried. And even though his only Japanese subordinate was worried more often than not, she was still a damn fine officer with a good head on her shoulders. 'Yes?'

'Sir, what about the book?'

'Book?'

'The book, sir,' repeated Fujiwara patiently. 'The book that put us on,' she shuddered, 'his trail. Don't you think the person who smuggled it into our collection and the person besmearing the Ministry floor have to know? Assuming they're two different people, of course.'

Antonius rummaged in his belt pouch until he produced the shrunken copy of Historiography of Omens of Magic – DoM. Speaking of treacherous … 'Or maybe they wanted to do away with us.'

'Wha–?'

'Oh, I see,' said Fujiwara, nodding. 'It stands to reason that … he … left more defences than mere Memory Charms. But then again, they should have known that the boundary was warded by memory spells, shouldn't they? So what was the point? With all due respect, sir, you're anything but an unknown factor in certain circles. Anybody who's anything would have known that you were specifically selected because you stood a chance against some of … his … magic. Sir, if we do this, if we're really going to do this, we need to investigate the Unspeakables. It could have been one of them who smeared the paint on the marble after the invaders left. And even if it's not – it could still be someone with connections to the department. How else could they access restricted knowledge?'

Antonius grunted in acknowledgement. 'Say, why are you only a corporal again, Fujiwara?'

She smiled rather shyly for a woman in her thirties. 'Because I can't bring myself to bellow at people, sir.'

Memory Lane

Hogwarts' student body had never been particularly close-mouthed. Except for that one delightful attack on Prewett's character, Harry never bothered with rumours and gossip, considering it a waste of time in the best of cases. It was quite distasteful, really. But, sadly, he couldn't deny just how many people seemed to keep the giant wheels of the rumour mill going. Hearsay would be such a delightful weapon – if only it were possible to harness it. But whatever those eternal wheels were grinding, the wheat of truth seemed unwilling to be separated from the chaff of fancy and lies.

Even as the first fortnight passed, all the students of Hogwarts could talk about was the incredible prison break someone had orchestrated, and theories and conspiracies were running wild. From foreign agencies trying to destabilise the country to old Grindelwald supporters avenging and freeing their comrades – every oh so unlikely thesis (though Harry thought of them more as wild guesses than anything) found its proponent. Some Gryffindors, the Weasleys chief among them, told anyone who'd stop to listen that it was all a plot of the government to increase the budget for the DMLE.

Privately, Harry suspected that they just wanted to annoy their uncle.

But when all the chatting, babbling, blathering mouths finally shut up about the mysterious force that had attacked the prison ('If there even is one – if you know what I mean', Harry heard Fred Weasley tell a few Gryffindor first years during dinner), they started asking questions about the escapees – which was why Harry found himself accosted more often than not by curious Ravenclaws and Slytherins. House Gryffindor soon lost interest in banalities like the worst prison break in a thousand years, and Hufflepuff was utterly convinced of his family's involvement, so at least Harry didn't have to suffer those fools bothering him with inane questions all the time.

'I mean to say,' continued his fellow third year Slytherin Yaxley, who had grown even more wiry and annoying over the last summer, 'Sirius Black is your godfather. And he's from your family – presumably! At least he's called Black. And we all know there's something between the Lestranges and your family … Lucky break, isn't it, that there's also a Lestrange among those not found yet. Come on, you can tell me.' He gave Harry a conspiratorial shove, shivering with barely suppressed excitement. 'I promise I won't tell!'

Harry politely pretended to consider this for a second. 'Leave me alone,' he said eventually, trying to concentrate on his astronomy charts again.

'Come on, man! I'm dying to know!'

'Bugger off!'

'Just a hint. Hey, how's this?! You nod, just a bit, and that's it. No speaking required. Clever, ey?'

'Do you speak English?' asked Harry, pronouncing every word with great care as if he was speaking to a half-deaf foreigner. 'Get lost!'

Yaxley was about to really test Harry's patience when Amy simplified the matter by jabbing one of Harry's straight edges very roughly into Yaxley's celiac plexus. The boy coughed, barely staying conscious, sinking to his knees and fighting for breath. Amy coldly shoved the heaving boy out of the way with her foot.

'I see what Leo meant,' she said as she took a seat next to Harry, ignoring the wheezing, whimpering boy. 'They are being a bit annoying.'

'Tell me about it,' said Harry with an exasperated sigh. 'How are things on your end?'

'Oh, fine! They learned not to bother me with boring stuff like that.'

'I'm sure they did. Where's the rest of the bunch?'

'Draco's out flying, and Leo's watching. You know – Quidditch tryouts.'

'Oh, yeah. Forgot about those. Or tried to forget maybe. And the girls?'

'I'm a girl, too,' replied Amy with the ghost of a smirk.

Harry waved it off. 'You know what I mean.'

She shrugged, leaning back with her hands behind her head. 'No clue. Chatting about something or other no doubt.'

The door to the common room opened. Hermione, struggling to uphold her newly improved posture under the burden of all the books she was wont to carry around, walked over to them.

'Hey,' said the Muggle-born, nodding at them in greeting. Harry was pleasantly surprised that she'd finally let go of the habit of waving at people from across the room. 'What are you up to?'

'Nothing much,' said Amy, poking Yaxley between the ribs with her boots until the boy crawled away.

Harry saw Hermione trying and failing to ignore Yaxley's state. 'Well,' she said, coughing to collect herself, 'I thought you might be able to assist me a bit if you've got the time? My teacher said I should take notes on things I've been wondering about as a sort of homework.'

Amy rolled her eyes but didn't say anything.

'Who is that teacher of yours again, Hermione?' asked Harry.

'I told you already I'm not supposed to say. They might both end up in trouble because of this!'

'So, it's actually two teachers?' said Harry with a bit of a smirk.

Hermione glared at him. 'Anyway,' she huffed, producing not so much a notebook but a note-tome. 'There were a few questions I wanted to ask you specifically. Question one–'

'What is this supposed to be?!' said Amy with a snort. 'Some kind of test? Wizarding World Entrance Level, maybe?'

'Question one,' repeated Hermione pointedly. 'What is your opinion on the distribution of wealth in magical society?'

'Tough luck?' suggested Amy.

Harry tried not to laugh, choosing to answer seriously. 'Well, any system with strong hereditary leanings tends to concentrate assets on a smaller portion of the population, but it's not an integral part of wizarding society, is it? I'm hardly an expert, but weren't peerage and the church the wealthiest institutions for a good few centuries in the Muggle world? I mean, the Muggle monarchy is still of the opinion that it's entitled to all of Britain, so …'

'But it's the crown!'

'Your crown maybe – figuratively speaking of course,' said Harry with a lightning fast grin. 'Who am I to deny others the right of self-deprecation. Definitely not my thing, though. Anyway, money accumulates; that's just how it is.'

Hermione frowned, rustling with her papers. 'Just because it's always been that way doesn't make it right. The world isn't a cake to be shared between the powerful!'

'Way of the world, little Miss Mudblood,' said Amy, closing her eyes. 'Way of the world … If you're smart, you'd better stop asking silly questions and get your plate already.'

'Question two,' said Hermione, ignoring Amy's comment. 'What – in your opinion – is the point of political clans.'

Harry answered most of Hermione's following questions, leaving only a few unanswered that too blatantly crossed the line about spying on his family like question twenty-three: 'What families do you see politically aligned with the Blacks and for what reason?' It was tiresome, but he couldn't resent anybody for their willingness to learn.

Amy slept through the entire afternoon on the couch next to him. Only when Hermione had finally thanked Harry and made off with her notes did the elder Lestrange open her eyes again. 'Oops – slept through Transfiguration. Ah, whatever. Granger's sounding you out, by the way,' she said, stretching her lithe limbs.

Harry raised an eyebrow, looking at his cousin. 'I don't think she's got the cheek.'

'Maybe. Maybe not. Is it true she's going to meet with her teachers next Hogsmeade weekend?'

'I think so. She told Tracey and Draco yesterday at breakfast.'

Amy stood up, yawning like a lion. 'This year is boring. Maybe I'll have a look and see what they're up to.'

Harry shrugged. At least Amy wasn't in the habit of making other people part of her little adventures – in contrast to Leo.

Memory Lane

With Amy in tow, Harry walked towards the Great Hall. He liked walking with Amy. While he felt slightly embarrassed about some Hufflepuffs calling the siblings his goons (if anything or anyone was capable of controlling the elder sister, neither Bellatrix nor Harry knew of it), he rather liked how uncomplicated they both were once you knew where they stood. Amy, for instance, was as uncomplicated as a frenzied bull – and probably just as short-tempered.

And even though he would never admit it to Hermione, he kind of enjoyed Amy scaring all the annoying people away.

Sometimes, however, her presence could also spell trouble.

'Miss Lestrange. Miss Lestrange!'

Harry and Amy turned as Professor McGonagall stormed in their direction.

'Blasted …' muttered Amy.

'Well, better get it over with quickly, I say.'

Amy shrugged, putting her hands in her pockets. 'I'm used to getting shouted at from home anyway.'

Harry fought the urge to grimace.

'Miss Lestrange!' McGonagall came to a stop right in front of them, holding onto a suit of armour to stand her ground against the tide of students. 'Where were you this afternoon?!'

'Madame Pomfrey–' began Amy, but the Transfiguration Mistress cut her off.

'… reported to me only minutes ago that there have been no incidents yet!' McGonagall's nostrils flared, her lips a thin line of displeasure. 'Ten points from Slytherin for lying to a professor!'

'Got lost underway?' suggested Amy with yet another shrug.

Harry winced. Sometimes she simply didn't care.

Professor McGonagall glowered. 'And another ten points as well as a detention!'

'All right,' said Amy blandly. 'Will that be all, Professor?'

McGonagall hesitated for a second. Then she nodded curtly, pointing a finger that was quivering with anger in the direction of the Great Hall.

Amy ambled down the corridor without another word, hands still in her pockets.

'Really,' said Professor McGonagall. 'That girl …' She cleared her throat. 'Anyway, I wanted to have a short word with you as well, Black.'

'Me?' asked Harry, bewildered.

'Indeed. But we needn't hold our conversation in the middle of the rush for dinner. Unless I'm mistaken, you have Friday afternoon after your Transfiguration class off?'

'Yes, Professor.'

'Very good. And now hurry along.'

Harry nodded, diving into the crowd to follow Amy.

When he'd finally battled his way through the throng of hungry students, he found Amy already seated with Draco and Leo at the Slytherin table. And judging from Draco's smug look …

'… so it was only natural that it turned out to be me. Best choice, really. Still, I don't like our chances against some of the other teams like this. I'm an improvement – the ace of the team, really – but the others have a much larger pool to draw talent from. I'm thinking about asking Father to buy us some brooms. What do you think, Leo? Oh, hey, Harry!'

'Ho there, dear cousin! Congratulations, I suppose?'

Leo choked on his pumpkin juice, but Draco seemed extremely pleased.

'Why, thank you, my good chap!' he said importantly.

Amy casually smacked Draco on the back of his head. 'Stop that nonsense!'

Draco grinned. 'Anyway, I already told Leo everything obviously–'

'… even though I was there …' mumbled Leo.

'–so you might want to listen to how exactly I got selected!'

'Er, yeah. But I'll be eating in the meanwhile,' said Harry. 'That's okay, right?'

'I suppose. As long as you listen!'

And Harry tried to listen. He wasn't particularly big on Quidditch but Leo and Draco were. With a sigh, he resigned himself to having to watch Draco's matches from now on.

He was saved from Draco's third re-enactment of how he'd swiped the Snitch from under Higgs' nose when an owl flew across the Great Hall, circling above him once before landing unceremoniously on his plate.

Harry raised an eyebrow. He didn't recognise the owl.

'Who's that from?' asked Amy.

'No idea.'

Before he had the chance to open the envelope, a second owl swooped down, almost hitting him round the head with another letter.

'Damn! What the–'

With a frown, Harry looked at the latest letter. Again, there was no hint about the sender – unless the few splotches of mud identified his secret correspondent as the literate mud-monster.

'Er, Harry? There's another one,' said Leo, pointing towards a third owl that came crashing down towards his dessert.

Harry gently caught the bird. It hooted thankfully, let go of the envelope it had clutched with its talons and flew off at once. Perplexed, he stared at the three letters.

'Well? Are you going to open them or what?' asked Draco, slightly miffed at how his dramatic acting had been interrupted.

Amy and Harry shared a brief look. As one, they produced their wands, inspecting the suspicious letters.

'Can't find anything,' said Amy, sounding almost disappointed as she prodded the second letter once more. 'Maybe it's fan mail?'

'Fan mail?' repeated Harry, aghast.

'You're right,' said Amy with a grin. 'The Spoiled Midget Appreciation Club?'

'Haha,' grumbled Harry, choosing to ignore Draco's laughter and Leo's somewhat plain attempt to keep the smile off his face.

He tapped the first envelope, and it opened smoothly.

'Harry,

I know I'm probably the last person you expected or wanted to hear from, but I had to let you know that I'm back in the country. I've been … hearing things, bad things about the break-out. I know you don't trust me. I know you must probably hate me. I don't want to waste your time telling you how sorry I am.

All I'm asking you is to be careful. Something's wrong. I don't know what it is but something …

If anything comes up, don't hesitate to ask Dumbledore for help. I know you've got your differences, but he's nothing if not sympathetic to the children under his care. He's a great man. If you cannot trust me, maybe you can find it in yourself to trust him.

I'll write again once I know more,
Remus Lupin'

Harry stared at the letter for half a minute. With a sigh, he threw it over his shoulder where a well-aimed charm lit it on fire. If only he could purge his memory as easily.

'What was it?' asked Leo curiously.

Harry scowled. 'It was from Remus.'

'What?!' asked Amy, her eyebrows in danger of vanishing in her fine, curled hair. 'You mean the werewolf?! Come off it! What does he want – a pat on the head and a dog biscuit?'

'Not exactly,' said Harry with an amused grin. 'He wants me to me to become best friends with Dumbledore.'

Amy snorted. 'Great advice,' she said. 'You should also register your wand with the DMLE while you're at it.'

Harry smiled at her. 'Well. It's none of my business what he wants.'

Curious, he produced the second envelope, glancing at the hasty scribble – and his heart skipped a beat. He recognised the script. It was from Sirius.

'Harry,

I'm in hiding and safe. Had to let you know. Will probably stay where I am for a while to wait out Auror patrols around the coast. Procured a wand, but it's not working too well. Maybe I can break into another home to use the Floo or something, but Hogwarts might be watched. Don't send an owl! But had to let you know. Listen, Bones is trouble, but maybe you can do me a bit of a favour and ask for a Lazarus at the DMLE? He was a great friend of your father's, too. Maybe he could help.

Hoping to see you soon,
S.

P.S. Please don't involve my family in this. You know how I feel about them.'

What the hell is going on?! Was Rabastan wrong?!

Harry's smile slowly turned sour. Sirius didn't know – didn't know that his family was Harry's now as well. With a complicated wiggle of his wand, he created a little bubble around the four of them to keep out eavesdroppers. 'It's from Sirius,' he muttered, confused why the letter didn't make him happier.

'WHAT?!' yelled Draco, Leo, and Amy all at once.

'He got away?!' asked Draco.

'Is he – you know – at your home?!' asked Leo excitedly.

'No, he–' Harry frowned, re-reading the passage of the dirty letter. 'He's in hiding. Didn't say where. Probably afraid the letter might get intercepted.'

'At least he got away,' said Amy. 'Not too shabby for a blood-traitor.'

'Very tactful,' muttered Leo.

'Did he have advice for you, too? I mean, he must want help to get to safety, right?' asked Draco.

'Well, he–' Harry scowled, looking at the last lines of the short letter for the third time. 'He actually does want me to get in contact with an old friend of his or something.'

Amy looked at him shrewdly. 'And why is it that confuses you so?'

Harry looked up, staring at his cousins. 'That man's apparently working for Bones.'

'WHAT?!' they yelled out in unison again.

'An Auror or a Hit Wizard?' asked Amy, her eyebrows seemingly vanishing for good from surprise. 'Has he gone totally nuts?!'

'Well, he has been in Azkaban for almost ten years,' said Leo gently. 'Maybe he's a bit … confused.'

'Thing is, I don't think so,' said Harry, looking at the steady handwriting. 'Look, the writing is dirty, a scrawl, and has been done in a hurry, but it looks quite normal otherwise.'

'It's been some time since his escape,' said Draco thoughtfully. 'Maybe he's been laying low and recovering?'

'Must have been,' said Harry with a shrug.

'But you're not actually considering contacting an Auror, are you?' asked Amy with a hint of alarm.

Harry faltered for a moment, but then he shook his head. 'I don't know. Maybe? But it sounds insane!'

'Yes, it does!' said Amy emphatically. 'Harry, I'm the last person to call someone out on being a little quirky – even unhinged. But that's full-on harebrained! Why would you risk so much to help someone who discarded your family like a piece of trash?'

'I think so, too,' opined Leo. 'Even though I wouldn't have put it quite like that.'

'He did rescue me,' said Harry somewhat defensively.

'Yeah, that's great and all, but he's asking you to contact an Auror,' Draco made a face, glancing at the letter in Harry's hands. 'Have you ever heard about that person?'

'No, but I don't know anything about what Sirius or … James Potter did at the Ministry. They never talked about it. I mean, it could well be that this … Lazarus person is a friend of theirs.'

'Even Aurors have friends – probably,' conceded Draco.

'That's nuts, Harry! No sane person would ever advise you to contact the DMLE,' repeated Amy seriously. 'Least of all to help an escaped inmate!'

Harry shrugged, folding the letter carefully and putting it in his robes. 'I'll have to think about it. Well, at the very least I suppose there's no chance the last letter can be any more confusing than the first two.' He gave a weak chuckle as he opened the last letter.

He read the first few lines. Then he read them again. Then a third time. He stopped smiling.

'Hey, Champ,

You won't remember me. The name's Peter Pettigrew. I don't spend much time in uptight, little ol' Britain these days, but a friend of a colleague of my best mate's landlord heard that, unless I'm tragically misinformed, you either already have or are about to get some very unexpected mail.

There's some stuff you don't know. I know it, and I'm willing to sell. A man's got to earn a living. I'm sure you understand. You're with the Blacks now, right? You've got to have loads and loads of dough.

James Potter was kind of an ass, but he was a loyal ass – I'll give him that much. If you've got any brains at all (not that I'd blame you if you didn't, considering your progenitor), you better start questioning stuff right now. Better trust nobody than one person too many. This is a world of snakes, and don't I know it.

If you're interested in hard truths, you can contact me via my solicitor. Slytherins make great solicitors, by the way; paranoid and devious! I left his card in the envelope. If you involve the DMLE, Dumbledore, or anyone else I haven't approved of, the deal's off. Looking forward to a richer future for the both of us (and that greedy son of a … solicitor, I guess). Well, us being richer and you richer in knowledge. One man's trash is another man's treasure, am I right? No hard feelings.

Your new best buddy,
Peter'

Harry looked into the faces of his friends. 'Okay, I admit it: this year got weird really fast.'