A/n: Hey everyone! Thanks to those of you that have commented and sent messages! I kinda forgot that was a thing, and it was definitely an unexpected boost. So far all positive reviews, which was very exciting for me.

Just so everyone knows, I have rough drafts through chapter 30, with the outline ending somewhere around 45. I'll edit and upload chapters pretty quickly here at first, but I don't want to lose momentum with the rest of the story, so after chapter 10 or so I'll switch to uploading one every few days while I work towards finishing. Having the buffer should allow me to maintain a decent schedule, as long as life cooperates.

I work full time and I'm also the random 35 year old in sophomore year college classes, so my schedule is a bit hectic, but writing has been a great escape over the past few weeks. Definitely a chance to breathe (insert Leo pointing at the tv meme) in a chaotic world, and something I've really enjoyed so far, so hopefully I'll be able to keep up the pace!

Thanks again for the kind words, and on we go!

Chapter 4

June 26, 1995

"So the Sacred Twenty-Eight doesn't actually mean anything," Harry mused, sitting across from the Black patriarch, who was 'all-business' during the boy's lessons.

"It means that twenty-eight families have respected tradition and protected their status since their beginnings," Arcturus responded heatedly, not appreciating the boy's tone.

"Right," Harry conceded with a shrug, unconcerned by the man's temper. "But beyond tradition and status, the families don't have any power that a non-twenty-eight person in their position would."

"Correct, but many of those families have been allies for generations. There are three unofficial factions in the Wizengamot; the traditionalists, progressives, and neutrals. There are families in all three factions that are part of the twenty-eight, but the majority of the twenty-eight which have members currently in the Wizengamot would be considered hard-line traditionalists.

"And because of the bond many feel by being part of the twenty-eight, those traditionalists will be able to sway the undecided members relatively easily," he finished bitterly.

"No disrespect intended, but it sounds like most members will have their minds made up before any issue is raised before them," Harry said with frustration. "How did it get like this?"

"Inaction," Arcturus spat. "Weak-willed members who would rather be liked than right. I spent my first ten years reforming that damn Chamber into something to be respected, unfortunately my daughter didn't have the same influence. When I abdicated my seat, they were back to their old nonsense in no time."

"How'd you do it?"

"Slowly, which isn't an option available to you."

"What options do I have?"

"Only two, so far as I can see," the reply was almost gentle from the abrasive man. "Show them you are a man to follow, regardless of factions, and rally them to your cause."

"Or…" the boy prompted when Arcturus seemed to hesitate.

"Revolution."

The now-familiar smirk was sinister, and Harry knew which option the elder Black preferred.

Harry knew today's hearing would hinge upon his ability to rally others to his cause, and that Sirius was unlikely to get a fair shot if he failed. The status quo had been unchanged for too long, and the traditionalists wouldn't want another wrench thrown in their plans, like Harry himself had been. He knew it would be up to him to make sure they didn't get their way. What should have been an easy decision, would likely be, at best, a headache.

Harry took his seat with a nod to those around him as Dumbledore gaveled the Chamber into session. After the formal introduction, the Chief Warlock began.

"We have the power to undo a great disservice to a good man, a respected family, and to this body itself. Does anyone have an issue to raise before we bring in the accused Mr. Black?"

Corban Yaxley, close on Harry's right, stood and was recognized.

"Chief Warlock," the man intoned seriously. "Respected members. We were all present at the circus of a session just two days ago. Because of our hasty actions, we now have a fourteen year old boy in a seat of the Faithful Eight, a national hero dead, and a member of our own body on the run because of a crime of passion."

Harry, not appreciating the way it was presented, chose to look on the bright side. Two of those things were technically fact. He watched as a few members around the Chamber nodded in agreement to the 'Lord'.

"Haste has never served us well," he continued. "Haste allowed for war to break out with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, when it could have easily been avoided. Haste led us to offer our young men to lose their lives in a war with Grindelwald on the Continent, when our home would have remained safe. Haste, just this year, allowed for a mere boy to participate in a tournament with an incredible history, instead of declaring the tournament void and reselecting champions. That haste has led us to where we are today."

Harry couldn't fault the man for the last argument. If the tournament was voided after his name was drawn, Cedric would likely still be alive. He scanned the room for Amos Diggory and didn't find him. He couldn't decide if that would work in favor of Sirius' vote or against, but he knew the man needed time.

"Let us not act in haste, this evening. The Black family is well-known for their talent in the arts of the mind. Lord Potter says the accused is innocent. I say it's equally as likely that Black's crimes are even worse than we currently know. How easily could the man have influenced the boy's mind, and poor Peter's? None of us present, save for Lady Black perhaps, know what kind of talents the accused possesses. Lord Potter would have us believe that we have been wrong for years. I would rather believe in this body's shared wisdom than that of a boy barely out of diapers.

"A child has entered this Chamber, smug and offensive from the start. He disrespected valued members of our society, and we sat by and watched him do it. He spat on our traditions, on our history, and on things we know to be true. And we allowed it. Because his ancestors were great witches and wizards.

"I believe the Potter family are looking down, ashamed of the boy who represents their name, and I suggest we rectify our mistake by acting as we know best, instead of in haste, based on the words of an overly dramatic child," Yaxley finished with a look of disgust at Harry.

Harry returned the look with a smirk, hearing the applause of many of the gathered members. Yaxley was the first to look away, and Harry stood.

"Chief Warlock," Harry began, the crowd silent, expecting to hear his argument in defense of himself. "I, Harry James Potter, challenge Corban Yaxley to a duel two months from today."

Harry breathed deeply, giving the chance for the furor he knew his words would cause to quiet. When it did, he continued.

"His disrespect and derision of me is offensive to generations of Potters, and I'll be damned if I'm the Potter to let that behavior stand."

"Boy, I would murder you," Yaxley interrupted with contempt.

"I believe it's Lord Boy." Harry's quick response earned a snort of laughter from Robert Boot, seated between the two standing Lords.

"A perfect example of your immaturity. Why would I fight a child?" spat Yaxley, clearly confused by the turn this had taken.

"Why not?" Harry retorted. "How about this; to sweeten the offer we will both stake our family's fortune. If I'm not mistaken, the Potter fortune would go a long way to refill what your vault misplaced a few days after the Dark Lord's defeat."

Harry knew that most members would remember that Yaxley was accused of being a Death Eater, and had somehow not gone to trial. Having spoken to Arcturus about it, he knew this was the easiest way to put his mark on the Wizengamot quickly.

"Lords," Dumbledore interjected, not being privy to Harry's plan. "Perhaps the haste that was mentioned has reared its head again."

Yaxley and Harry ignored him, both standing and glaring at the other. Harry could see the man thinking quickly, the offer of the Potter fortune clearly had him interested.

"Where?" The man asked shortly.

"As I named the 'when', you may name the 'where'," Harry offered with a smile.

"Hogwarts quidditch pitch. To the death."

The man clearly expected Harry to shy away from such a stipulation, and was disappointed by the nonchalant shrug he received in response. The only surprise was the suggestion of neutral ground.

"That works," was Harry's only response, before turning his attention quickly back to the gathered members, changing topics so quickly many people appeared to have mental whiplash.

"Esteemed members, Lord Yaxley's words were impassioned and thorough. They even had a little theme to them that I quite enjoyed. Haste. In response, I'll ask this," Harry's eyes found Fudge's. "Minister Fudge, were you able to produce the documents from Mr. Black's trial and sentencing from the days following Halloween, 1981?"

Fudge stood with a scowl at the teen, clearly hoping his promise of an investigation would have been forgotten. "I was not," he answered shortly before returning to his seat.

"As our eloquent Minister is aware," Harry continued. "That's because the records do not exist. Sirius Black, heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, wasn't given a trial. Or an official sentencing. Despite the calls for protocol to be followed by our Chief Warlock, Black was sent directly to Azkaban Prison. For life. Lord Dumbledore's argument fell upon deaf ears, and the late Bartemius Crouch Sr., along with then-Minister Bagnold attempted to sweep it under the rug.

"As you can see, they succeeded. Perhaps it was the end of the war, or the tragedy that befell my parents, but the public was happy to move on. And Mr. Black was left to rot."

Harry took a moment to see if his words were having any effect. The shock from his confrontation with Yaxley seemed to have passed, and it seemed he had quite the captive audience.

"My question to those assembled today is this; why would we allow such a disservice, done by the previous administration, to continue without attempting to correct their error? It wasn't Minister Fudge who made that decision, nor Lord Yaxley. And the fact that Mr. Black was never brought to trial means that not one person in this room was able to affect the outcome! Nor are they safe from such mistreatment!

"Will we simply allow such a travesty to continue? If it's your heir who next finds themselves in a similar situation, will you be content for the government to lock them up without an investigation? Or should we, as the leaders of our incredible nation, demand that appropriate justice be served?"

Harry could tell he had the momentum, as even Fudge appeared to be optimistic that he may get out of this situation unscathed.

"What would you have us do, Lord Potter?" asked Augusta Longbottom, seated to his immediate left.

"We bring in Sirius Black for questioning," he said simply.

Lucius Malfoy stood and was recognized, as Harry took his seat. "That doesn't solve the problem that the man's ability in the mind arts may be influencing this discussion."

Harry could tell the man was growing desperate, clearly not wanting Sirius to regain his freedom.

"Question him with Veritaserum," Harry said, standing once more. "Add in a truth spell for good measure."

"And if he's able to overcome both?"

"Question me under Veritaserum. Question the Chief Warlock. Minerva McGonagall. Arthur Weasley. Remus Lupin. Ron Weasley. Hermione Granger," Harry rattled off quickly. "If you think it possible that Sirius Black is controlling all of us with some 'super secret mind magic', then him being granted his freedom is irrelevant. He would have already taken the Ministry with that kind of talent."

"Exactly how many people are harboring a fugitive?" Fudge demanded from his seat.

Harry couldn't help but grin. "He won't be a fugitive if we simply do the right thing here, Minister."

"I propose we call a vote," Malfoy offered, clearly not wanting Harry to continue.

"Seconded," added Yaxley.

"Very well," Dumbledore agreed. "All those in favor of questioning Sirius Black, under the effects of Veritaserum and a ministry-sanctioned truth spell, please raise your wands."

Harry's wand raised immediately, as did all in the Faithful Eight seats except Yaxley and Narcissa. Harry looked around the room, and realized the vote was going to be too close for comfort. He did, of course, have a backup plan, but fomenting a revolution would be much more taxing on his free time.

As Percy Weasley, functioning as the court scribe, began tallying the votes, Harry noticed Lucius glaring in not-quite-his direction. Following his gaze, he saw that Narcissa had raised her wand, and was avoiding her husband's glare.

Percy finished tallying the votes and stood. "Of the forty-seven possible votes, due to the Dumbledore, Diggory, and Rosier seats being vacant," he began pompously, clearly enjoying his moment. "Twenty-four are for questioning the accused. The vote is passed."

Harry sat back in his seat with a sigh of relief, glancing quickly at Dumbledore who offered him a wink. Yaxley was visibly furious, and just beyond him, Narcissa sat completely still, her eyes focused on her lap.

Harry knew she needed to be figured out, and made a mental note to get Sirius to help once he was cleared. He was confident that not even this Wizengamot could deny his innocence once he was questioned.

β€”

Just under an hour later Harry and Sirius exited the Chamber, the latter a free man once more. With a grateful hug to his godson, Sirius moved to the Disapparition Point, attempting to avoid the reporters following behind them.

Harry, sending one last confused look towards Narcissa, followed quickly. He celebrated internally, knowing he had kept his promise to Arcturus. The man would be proud of him, though he'd have sooner died again than say it aloud.

β€”

"Harry," Dorea Potter said softly, breaking the boy's concentration.

His eyes opened after a moment, assuming he would have his shields tested for what felt like the hundredth time today. His aunt was a strict taskmaster.

"I wanted to speak with you," Dorea began gently. "It's impossible to not catch glimpses of your past when I'm in your mind."

Harry sighed, knowing he had been lucky to avoid this conversation so far. His great aunt, despite being a Black by blood, was a very caring soul. She was beautiful, with long, glossy, black hair. Her eyes seemed to shift between gray and light blue with changes in light, and at the moment they looked at him with concern.

"I'm fine," Harry quickly responded, having practiced the line for years.

"You are, Harry. For now. But you're holding it together through sheer stubbornness, and that won't last forever."

Harry, trying not to get frustrated, ran a hand through his hair.

"I'd bet on my stubbornness over most things."

"I would too," Dorea said with a smile. "But I've seen this before. The trauma you've dealt with isn't something that goes away, Harry. When I was fresh out of Hogwarts, I had to watch the love of my life go off to war. He didn't come back."

Charlus had shared the story of how the two had met at school, and the difficulties they faced from being in competing houses and from diametrically opposed families. His eyes quickly clouded in confusion.

"That's not what I mean," Dorea said before Harry could voice his thoughts. "Physically, Charlus did survive the war. But when he returned, he wasn't the same man. The open, honest, and trusting man that I loved more than life itself had been replaced. Instead, he was completely closed off emotionally.

"He refused to talk about his experiences on the Continent, as did my cousin Arcturus. He was drinking every night, and stopped making an effort when he readied himself in the morning. He tried to continue our relationship to the best of his ability, but I wasn't prepared to love a man who wouldn't speak to me about the things that mattered.

"One evening, around midnight, my family was woken by someone at the door, and it was a very drunk Charlus, Arcturus in tow. My father called me to the door, none too pleased. Right there in the entranceway, Charlus stumbled down to one knee, and slurred the worst proposal I'd ever heard, Arcturus grinning like an idiot behind him. I said no."

Harry's eyes were wide as his aunt shared this heartbreaking story. He would never have guessed at her history with her husband, as they seemed so in love when they were together now.

"I told the two of them to go home, and sleep it off. They left, and my heart was broken. I felt so disrespected, disappointed, and completely alone. In a house full of family, I was completely alone in that moment. Charlus sent a long letter the next day, which I refused to read. He always had a way with words, and I knew if I read it, I would rethink my decision. Instead, I used his owl to send a note of my own. It read, 'Charlus, if you love me at all, get help. You, as you are now, have broken my heart.'

"I didn't hear from him for months, Harry. But one day, a few weeks after I sent him that note, a school-friend came to visit. She said she had seen Charlus at St. Mungo's, and that he was leaving the office of a mind-healer. And five months later, the man I loved knocked on my front door. Without even saying a word, I knew he was back."

"That's amazing, Aunt Dorea," Harry said honestly. "I'm glad it worked out for you both."

"So am I," Dorea said smiling. "But it wasn't easy. Charlus is a very proud man, and the stigma around mental health was even worse then than it is now. Looking back, I wish I had found a way to be there for him, but at the time I hadn't a clue how. It took immense courage for the man to admit he needed help. And when I asked him how he did it, his answer was simple."

"'My life, without you, is as good as forfeit'," Charlus' voice interrupted from the doorway. "'What good is pride or reputation if I'm already dead?'"

The man, his love for his wife in his eyes, moved to sit next to her on the couch.

"I'm sorry to intrude, Harry, but this sounds like an issue on which my experience may be beneficial."

Harry, a bit uneasy talking about the turn in conversation, merely nodded.

"I would have lost her. I had already lost myself. What we went through in that war was hell, and trying to forget it was somehow easier than remembering. My first few sessions with the Healer felt counterproductive. It brought everything I had locked away back to bear. It was like living that nightmare a second time over.

"But, eventually, talking about it didn't hurt so much. Remembering those that I lost felt more manageable. For months, by that time, everyday when I woke in the morning, I was disappointed by the action. It would have been easier to be gone. But slowly, I realized that I had things to live for. A person to live for."

He reached out to squeeze Dorea's hand, his eyes not leaving Harry's.

"I shoved things down. Deep enough I thought I could ignore them. That's not possible, Harry. Those things will always resurface at the worst possible times. Learn from my mistake, my boy. Save yourself the heartache that I couldn't."

"But I haven't been through half of what you had."

"That doesn't matter, Harry," Dorea said gently. "Your experiences don't need to be the same, if the way you're handling them are. In all your time with us on this side, how many times have you mentioned Cedric? Or the Dursley's?"

Harry shook his head in response, not wanting to talk about it.

"There it is, Harry," Charlus said softly. "I recognize that look, because I did it for years. That's you pushing those moments deeper into yourself, so you don't have to think about it. That's what will kill you before some Dark Lord can even get close to you."

The teen, not wanting to believe but seeing the sincerity in the couple's eyes, eventually relented. He hated the idea of a mind-healer, or talking about things that weighed on him, but he trusted the pair.

"How would I do it?" he asked quietly, staring at his feet, his knee bouncing in anxiety. "There's not a St. Mungo's around the corner here."

The couple smiled at him proudly, something the boy didn't catch.

"Luckily for us," Charlus began. "After my lovely wife finally agreed to be so, she was inspired by the change I underwent, and began training to be a mind-healer. On top of being a Master Occlumens, she was also the best Healer of our time."

Harry, looking up from his feet to his slightly blushing aunt, saw the truth in his uncle's words.

"Okay. How do we start?"

"You go home," Dorea answered, shocking the boy. "This isn't something we need to rush. It's been a long day for you already, go flying with your Dad. Go tell you Mum you love her. We'll begin when you're ready."

"And Harry," Charlus said before he could leave. "When you get back to the other side, find someone that understands you, who loves you enough to demand the best version of you, and who won't hesitate to kick your ass when you need it. When you find them, hold on to them. That person will become your world."

Harry nodded, smiling at the loving look the man sent his wife.

β€”

June 29, 1995

Harry couldn't help smiling as he remembered Dorea. She was a brilliant, patient, and loving woman and his time spent with her as a mind-healer had done wonders for him. Charlus was right, however. The first few sessions of talking about Cedric or his time with the Dursley's, made everything feel completely insurmountable. After each of those sessions without fail, he had immediately sought out his mother, who would silently make him a cup of tea, sit next to him on the couch, and lean her head on his shoulder. No words were spoken or needed, just the closeness of someone who loved him unconditionally.

Slowly, the sessions began to help. Mind-healing was a lot like muggle therapy, but with the added benefit of magic. Dorea was able to help Harry pull repressed memories out, and view them from an outside perspective. She was able to use Legilimency to help organize those memories, which helped him deal with them more healthily. Of all the things he did and learned on the other side, Harry knew his time with her was one of the most important.

After all she taught him, he felt prepared for this terrible day. Cedric's funeral was held earlier this morning at a cemetery near the Diggorys' home. It was limited to close friends and family, but a remembrance was being held on the Hogwarts grounds this evening. The students would head home for the summer tomorrow, so the atmosphere was a weird combination of sorrow and repressed excitement.

Harry exited his dormitory dressed in his formal robes, and nodded to Ron and Hermione who waited for him in the common room.

"I'm supposed to meet Fleur and Viktor," the boy told his friends as he approached. "Fleur thought it would be a good way to honor Cedric. The Champions standing together, and whatnot."

"Of course, Harry," Hermione said with compassion, knowing this would be hard on her friend. She moved in for a hug, which he returned firmly.

"We'll see you after, yeah?" Ron asked as he squeezed Harry's shoulder.

"Absolutely," he answered, making his way through the portrait hole and out to the grounds.

He quickly spotted the blonde hair of the Beauxbatons Champion, Krum standing awkwardly beside her. As he approached, Fleur turned and gave him a brief hug. Viktor nodded to him and extended a hand which Harry shook, and the three turned to watch the gathering crowd in silence.

Dumbledore began the ceremony, his elegant words almost doing justice to Cedric's memory. Harry spotted Cedric's father seated in the front of the rows of chairs, and the man seemed as if he had no more tears available to him. He sat in stony silence, his hand holding his wife's. Cho sat a few chairs to Amos' left, quietly crying, her friend Marietta gently rubbing her back with one hand.

Dumbledore was followed by Professor Sprout, who was also fighting tears as she spoke. Cedric's best friend, Sean Casey, followed the distraught witch. The young man did his best to lighten the mood with a few funny stories about Cedric, but his heart clearly wasn't in it. As Sean finished, Dumbledore stood once more.

"As we say goodbye to one of the best young men I've had the pleasure to know," he began. "I only ask that you carry his memory with you. He lives on in each of us. If everyone would please raise your wands."

Everyone gathered did so, lighting the tip of their wands, creating a powerful image in the last moments of dusk. Harry looked up, noticing Fawkes winging his way towards the dais, singing softly. The phoenix's song was melancholic, but still had a boosting effect on the assembly. After flying a few laps around their heads, the bird disappeared in a flash of flame. The somber congregation took this as a cue to rise, and began moving back towards the castle.

"You must write to me over the summer," Fleur said to Harry and Viktor, tears in her eyes.

Harry nodded, accepting a second hug from the girl and a kiss on both cheeks. She repeated the action with Viktor before hurrying to her school's carriage. Harry turned to Viktor, who looked like he wanted to say something but didn't know where to begin.

"When do you leave?" Harry asked helpfully.

"Tonight," the gruff young man answered. "Karkaroff has gone."

"Good. Durmstrang is better off."

"You write if you have need of me, Harry," the man said seriously. "Not all Durmstrang is dark wizard."

"I know that Viktor," Harry smiled, extending a hand. "I would never call a dark wizard a friend."

Krum shook Harry's hand with a rare smile. "See you soon, da?"

"I hope so."

Harry watched as the man ambled back towards the lake, wondering if he had said goodbye to Hermione. As Harry scanned the dwindling crowd, he noticed Amos Diggory hadn't moved a muscle. Mustering his courage, Harry made his way to the man.

As he approached he saw Dumbledore remained on the dais, comforting Professor Sprout. The Headmaster noticed what Harry was doing, and gave the boy a small smile.

"Mr. Diggory," he began softly. The man in question slowly turned his head, his eyes growing cold. "I just wanted to say, to you and your wife, how sorry I am about Cedric. He was a great wizard, and a great friend."

Amos stared harshly at the boy for a long moment, before his wife reached out and softly touched the man's leg.

"Thank you, Potter," he relented.

Harry, not wanting to insert himself where he wasn't wanted, nodded slightly and walked away. He couldn't blame the man if he thought Harry was at fault for his son's death. The whole story hadn't come out, and all he knew was that the center of his world was gone. Dumbledore mentioned that he had spoken with the man before today, but Amos wasn't yet ready to listen.

Harry hoped he would be able to get through to the man, but wasn't sure how to. He would hate to have him as an adversary, for Cedric's sake.