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Her works include A Cadmean Victory by M.J. Bradley, Seventh Horcrux by Emerald Ashes, Alexandra Quick by Inverarity, and many more.
WARNING: Description of PTSD under torture. I have had PTSD and I have family members who haven't recovered fully from it in over fifty years. It is different from anxiety and depression, which you can also have on top of it, but my heart goes out to everyone dealing with any level of PTSD. You are not alone, and whatever you're experiencing, I wish you all the strength and love to live beyond it. The torture itself is more psychological than physical, but please take care.
Thank you, Sakkiko!
P.S. Though this is obviously not a fix-it, there will be consequences for villains' actions, not just the heroes'. Be patient with justice, this story has a happy ending.
Chapter 17 - Detention
James didn't sleep much these days, and when he did, it was typically during the day when he could fall asleep and wake in daylight.
Apparently, Sirius had been the same, though according to Remus and Malcolm, Sirius had been sleeping far more soundly since James had returned.
That wasn't surprising to James. Sirius had slept more often on their sofa when they had moved to Godric's Hollow than at his own flat he had shared with Peter.
Not when one considered that Sirius's mental health had not been fantastic even before Lily's death, before thirteen years in Azkaban. James returning, looking as he did, seemed to be the only thing Sirius didn't seem half panicked and half lost about.
For Sirius it just clicked; James was supposed to be here.
Which was nice because James was panicked about almost everything.
Remus…
Remus was still on the same downward spiral he had begun since their graduation.
If winning a war looked this bad, James could only imagine what would have happened if Lily hadn't stopped Voldemort on Halloween.
James flicked his wand to clothe and then levitate Remus off the ground. The Wolfsbane Potion was possibly the most positive thing about the future. Remus didn't have a single major injury on him.
James knelt to pick Sirius up in his arms, bridal style. Sirius didn't wake, just curled into his chest.
Both his friends were worryingly underweight.
Malcolm held the door open for them when he reached the cottage house, leading the way upstairs to Remus's room.
"Sirius sleeps in the other room," Malcolm said as James transfigured pyjamas onto his friends after placing them both on the sheets.
James smirked, "They don't need separate rooms, they need to get out of their own way." He flicked his wand to tuck them in.
Not a moment later, Sirius and Remus, still deeply asleep, curled in toward one another, seeking warmth and an escape from their perpetual solitude.
Malcolm smiled and turned to follow James out to the kitchen.
"You don't have to make me breakfast," James said.
Malcolm shook his head, "I enjoy it. Miss it, truly. My children don't visit often and the grandkids are caught up in their last years of school."
"They are attending Hogwarts?"
Malcolm shook his head as he pulled out ingredients. "No, my son married an American and my daughter moved to Japan."
"Oh," James said. "I'm grateful I didn't miss all of Harry's life. His being at Hogwarts already is hard enough."
Malcolm gave him a sad smile, "You were robbed of much, my friend. At the very least, I don't believe your son will ever be eager to create distance between him and yourself."
James sighed, "Small mercies."
Malcolm met his gaze, "You are not alone, James. You are a father but you are also young. Try not to take on too much blame for yourself."
James let out a breath, "I just— I feel like I time travelled. I feel like I've fallen into a nightmare where everyone I know is struggling, dead or worse." He shuddered at the memory of being told what happened to Alice and Frank. "Lily's gone and Harry… I can't begin to understand all he's been through. Lily saved his life, but it still feels like we failed him, like we didn't do enough."
"Do you blame Sirius?" Malcolm asked.
"Of course not!" James snapped. "I tried to kill Peter and I don't have—"
The words caught in his throat, Sirius's issues.
Family was everything to Sirius. When James had lost his own parents, Sirius had been just as devastated. Hells, he had cried harder than James had when Harry was born. For Peter to betray them the way he had…
No, James didn't blame Sirius for entrusting Harry to Hagrid and Dumbledore to track down the rat.
How it had turned out had been… extremely unfortunate.
James had nearly kicked Peter to death, then had actually murdered him by burning the house down around him.
He felt no guilt about Peter's end. It was hardly enough for the cowardness and evil he had participated in.
Lily would have done worse and James knew that she would have fully endorsed Sirius's attempt to go rat hunting.
"Whatever empathy you feel for your friends," Malcolm said, drawing James from his shadowed thoughts, "I would ask that you spare a shard of empathy and compassion for yourself."
James inclined his head, feeling a tad chagrined for being so transparent and needing the check, "Thank you."
Malcolm placed down a cup of coffee before him, "You're welcome, James."
He clung to the hot mug, trying to convince himself that if he could remain anchored in the moment, everything would turn out alright.
oOo
Harry saw Umbridge in the hall and tried to disappear into the crowd only to hear:
"Mr. Potter!" she called. "If you don't stop, it will be a hundred points from Gryfindor and Slytherin."
Harry cursed silently, waving Hermione and Luna off ahead of him, "It'll be detention then. I won't let her hurt me."
Luna glared at Umbridge over his head.
Harry brushed his hand against hers before turning away, not wanting to give Umbridge an excuse to up the consequences.
Harry was in enough hot water with his classmates without taking away house points and pouring accelerant on everyone's fears of either a new war or a new dark lord.
"You skipped today's class," Umbridge said as she led him to her office.
"Yes, I was with Headmaster Dumbledore," he said coolly, not pointing out that Hermione had skipped today's period with Umbridge also.
"You must not tell lies, Mr. Potter."
He didn't dignify that with a response, already reaching for his wand.
Harry was all too familiar with Umbridge's office, with the cats trapped in their plates, mewing down at him. He had never thought of it before, but it almost sounded like they were crying.
Figures Umbridge would enjoy the suffering of not just her students but the suffering of animals as well.
Yeah… that sounded about right for Umbridge.
Harry was expecting tea, threats, and maybe some letter writing.
He was not, however, expecting Aurors to jump him.
Harry dropped the first with a stunner, his spellwork was just that much faster, but the one who had been hiding behind the door, outside his line of vision, caught him with a body-bind curse.
Umbridge lifted his chin with the toe of her heel, forcing him to look up at her. The angle improved neither her appearance nor her sneer.
"You have escaped me all year, but not this time, Mr. Potter," she said in her sickly sweet voice.
Harry was tempted to say, just wait until my father hears about this, but he was more focused on channelling his magic to overcome the bindings.
The Auror who had hidden behind the door like a coward unfroze his friend. Both Aurors were large men that dwarfed Umbridge physically, yet they still seemed to be licking her boots.
The one he had stunned kicked Harry onto his back before yanking him to his feet.
"You are under arrest, Mr. Potter."
Harry coughed before saying through gritted teeth, "What for, being born?"
"Admittedly," Umbridge said with a sequin smile. "That would be enough, given who your father and godfather are, but no. You see, Mr. Potter, you've been found guilty of Cedric Diggory's death."
Harry's gut turned on that one, he did feel responsible for Cedric's death, but not so guilty to go to prison for a crime he had not purposely committed.
"I love your view of the legal system," Harry spat. "Conviction before a trial."
The Aurors grabbed his arms, still bound, with enough force to bruise.
It reminded him of Uncle Vernon and Dudley's gang.
His heart rate increased as the dawning sensation of an impending beating fell onto his awareness.
He couldn't fight and he couldn't run, he began to struggle, the increasingly painful grip on his bound arms just made him struggle harder.
Worse than the pain was sitting through it, being trapped.
Umbridge laughed at him and he hated her.
Hated that she or anyone could make him feel this way.
Kill her, a voice inside his mind hissed.
Harry shook his head, closing his eyes and trying to even his breath.
He was angry enough to kill someone, possibly, but that hadn't been his thought.
His scar burned like the Torture Curse and his knees buckled, the Aurors saving him from landing face first on the stone floor in their restrictive hold.
Due to his eyes being closed, he didn't see what was used, but he recognised the pull of a portkey at his navel as Umbridge tittered about her maniacal plans.
Harry wasn't so out of it as to think she wouldn't pay for this.
Either the Weasley Twins, Hermione and Luna or Dumbledore would make her pay.
The last time Umbridge went this off the rails, Dumbledore had no longer been Headmaster, and with Harry's recent interactions with the man, he had a greater faith in his capabilities.
As Harry was squeezed through space, he only just kept from being sick when they landed in a darkened room. In his mind's eye, he saw Cedric's empty expression.
He barely had time to get his feet underneath him as he was hauled up off the floor and thrown into a chair.
He had no idea where he was. It looked like an office, likely he was in the ministry, even if the large room with tall bookshelves and pricy wooden desks looked more formidable than Mr. Weasley's office had looked.
He knew his reaction time was slow, it was difficult to see, or rather to focus his sight, past the pain cutting through his forehead.
Harry began to panic when he saw the vial in the darker-haired Auror's hand.
Veritaserum.
It had to be Veritaserum.
He began to sit but the chair clamped shackles around his limbs and ankles.
"No!" he yelled, struggling harder.
A large hand clamped down on his jaw, prying his mouth open.
Harry stilled as the liquid was poured into his mouth.
The darker-haired Auror sneered down at Harry, his hand dropping from around his jaw.
Harry spat the liquid at the man, into his flat blue eyes.
It was worth the back-handed slap that nearly knocked him and the chair to the ground.
Harry was seized by the throat and another potion was jammed past his lips to the point he nearly choked on it. Only this time, his mouth and nose were held shut until he was forced to swallow.
Fear swamped him even as his body went quiet, his consciousness seeming to go distant, as if he was dreaming. As if the pain he felt didn't hurt because nothing was real.
It caused more panic, because Harry had felt this before.
This distance.
This intense emotion experienced by someone he was merely witnessing, almost like an out of body experience, only he was trapped.
Trapped inside himself.
It took a while for him to realise people were talking to him.
He wondered, a tad hysterically, if this was like the Imperius Curse.
"Where is Sirius Black?" the Auror who had force-fed him the potion asked.
"Fuck you," Harry spat.
Oh, Harry thought, realising what this was. He couldn't lie, so he would say the first thing on his mind.
He was either fucked or these Aurors were about to have a rather frustrating afternoon.
As Ron had once remarked, he was a sarcastic shit when he got pissed.
He almost giggled at the thought.
"Where is James Potter?" the Auror asked.
"According to the paper, he's here," Harry drawled, riding the panic like a wave of adrenaline when he was on the Quidditch pitch.
Or more like when he was reaching for the snitch as he was thrown off his broom.
Or maybe like taking an egg from a dragon.
"Where is Sirius Black?" the Auror asked again.
"Behind the Veil," Harry answered, a fresh rush of panic flooding him.
He really hoped they didn't ask him if he was a time traveller.
That would be bad.
Wouldn't it?
Hermione's words rang through his head, Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time, Harry.
He began to hyperventilate.
Would he go to prison?
Would Luna?
Would the fairy who helped them be hunted down?
"Behind the Veil? Is Sirius Black?"
Harry curled in on himself, hindered by the restraints. "It's my fault," he whispered.
The Auror's voice was shocked. "You killed Sirius Black?"
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Is he dead?" the man repeated.
Is Sirius Black dead? The question echoed in his mind.
Yes.
No.
He did die.
But he wasn't dead.
It was his fault, but he wouldn't let it happen again.
Could someone die twice?
"This is confusing," Harry murmured, opening his eyes, watching Pen climb up toward his shoulder.
Where were they anyway?
When was he?
"What are you talking about?" the Auror asked, reminding him briefly of Moody.
Moody had probably done worse than this to Death Eaters.
"Start talking, Potter," the Auror threatened. "Or you'll regret it."
Harry looked up and laughed.
"Why are you laughing?" the man asked, looking disgusted.
"This is absurd," Harry answered. "Is this even legal? I didn't do anything. When you realise Voldemort is behind this, you are going to grovel."
He was back-handed again, making his ears ring.
Harry laughed harder.
It was laugh or cry.
Crying would please them.
Laughing would upset them, so Harry didn't attempt to stop himself from spiralling into hysteria.
He wondered if they could tell; his laughter sounded wrong and mirthless to his own ears.
Or maybe that was the ringing.
"Where is Sirius Black!?" the man shouted.
"Not here," Harry bit out.
He couldn't lie, but truth was not in itself the answer.
"You little—" the man growled out. "Proud to be the spawn of evil, are you?"
Harry's laughter cut off and he arched a brow, "Spawn of evil? I'm not proud of your stupidity."
The man's jaw ticked, "Your father and godfather murdered people."
"It was Voldemort," Harry answered, then added loftily, "I'm not lying."
The man bared his teeth, "How do you know it wasn't James Potter?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "My father didn't have his wand with him when he was buried, he didn't have his wand that night because Peter Pettigrew was the traitor, the secret keeper, and a literal rat."
He growled the last word.
The Aurors looked between themselves.
Harry couldn't tell them apart any longer. The room was still poorly lit save for a lantern in the back of the room and his vision was beginning to blur.
One of them said, "I didn't think you would be capable of resisting Veritaserum."
"I didn't think you could give it to someone without their consent or outside of a courtroom," Harry retorted, his body beginning to tremble.
Apparently, it was like muggle drugs, not that he had had many save for the few times the school nurse had given him some pain pills when he nearly fainted during class. Or the sleeping pills he had stolen from Aunt Petunia once when Uncle Vernon broke his wrist.
Fight the high, work past the need to rest and you were going to go on a terrible, nauseating trip.
Veritaserum was the strongest thing he could ever remember taking and being conscious through.
He hoped he would puke, he hoped he would puke on the Auror who had slapped him.
The Aurors seemed unnerved by Harry citing the law on them, which was dumb.
But then, they were treating him as if he was an orphan, muggleborn, and stupid.
Harry was none of those things.
Not even an orphan anymore.
"Peter Pettigrew was a hero," one of the Aurors said.
"No, he was the Secret Keeper," Harry snarled as the room began to spin as he was hit with vertigo. "They switched at the last moment and he cut off his own finger to make it look like he was a victim. He turned into an animagus, his true form, a rat. He lived with Percy Weasley and then my friend Ron. Pettigrew, Wormtail, is a disgusting excuse for a wizard."
Harry closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the influx of pain coming from his scar. He must have looked like a mess.
"Did you kill Cedric Diggory?" the Auror asked.
Harry shook his head, which made everything worse, "No, Peter Pettigrew did on Voldemort's orders."
And as if his name really were cursed, as if he had been summoned, Voldemort's voice whispered through his fevered mind, Harry Potter.
Harry began struggling against the restraints, "No, no!"
Voldemort laughed, pressing raw power against his mind, exponentially increasing the pain splitting his skull.
Harry screamed.
Nothing had ever hurt like this.
Nothing, the Torture Curse sucked, but this was worse, this was pain tearing apart not just his body but his mind.
Tearing him apart.
oOo
Pen the Bowtruckle was your average sort of Bowtruckle.
Average until he met two entirely unaverage humans.
He had seen humans before of course, had volunteered to go to their class, to try and teach the Loud Ones something of worth.
A pointless activity, really.
Until then.
Luna and Harry.
Holding him gently, not like he was a stick or a worm, but a being.
And he had been given a name, Pen, like pencil, which is what the humans called the drawing sticks.
Pen had always secretly wanted to be more, to have the option of living outside the forest and meet bowtruckles from another forest, one that was perhaps not so dark.
Not so gloomy.
Pen was always determined to learn how to draw like Harry.
These were Pen's grand ambitions, to travel with unlikely friends.
Human friends.
It was mythical.
Pen spent most days with Harry.
An extremely kind human who didn't sleep enough and other humans treated quite poorly, aside from Luna, naturally.
It confused Pen just how hostile the humans were to his Harry, pushing him to violence when violence was not who he was.
Pen was terrified when they entered the room of felines. Luckily they were fake felines.
Unluckily, there was something far worse waiting for them.
Adult humans.
Evil humans who liked to cause pain.
They didn't even know Pen was there and they managed to hurt him too.
Magic was good, but humans tainted it.
Pen felt as if he were being ripped apart and things did not get better when they landed.
He knew he was too small and that the magic he possessed was not the kind that mattered when it came to dealing with humans.
As best he was able, Pen escaped out of Harry's clothes.
He needed to find help.
Slipping under the doorframe. He looked up at the window of the door, memorising the squiggles there.
Squiggles were sometimes very important to humans.
Sticking close to the wall, Pen darted to the other side of the corridor, toward the lights.
He found a room with tables in it and two people. One was a very large bald man and the other a strict-faced woman. They were poring over pages, looking very frustrated indeed.
But nothing they could be looking at could matter all that much or that greatly because Harry was hurt.
And Harry was rare and important.
Because he was a good person.
A good being.
Pen climbed up on the table.
"What—?" the man asked, straightening in his seat.
"Is that a bowtruckle?" the woman asked, not sounding angry, just curious.
Pen snatched the writing stick from the man's hand and repeated the squiggles on an empty spot on the page of squiggles.
Pen underlined it and stabbed the writing stick at the end so the ink splashed at the end.
"Room 595?" the woman asked.
Pen took the writing feather in both hands and stabbed it down into the paper and yelled at them.
Not that they understood.
Humans couldn't understand Bowtruckle, they didn't listen well enough to grasp the nuisances of their language.
"Alright, little one," the man said, holding out his hand. "We can go for a walk across the hall. We needed a break anyway. I'm Kingsley and this is Amelia."
Pen squeezed Kingsley's thumb, silently asking him to please hurry.
Kingsley laughed, "Alright, alright, we're going."
The man's legs were much faster than Pen's, though it still felt like a century passed for them to cross the divide.
There was no sound coming from behind the door, until it was opened.
And then… it was as if a hurricane was born from the void of silence.
"What are you doing!?" Kingsley yelled, shielding Pen against his chest.
"Is that Harry Potter!?" Amelia cried. "Are you torturing a child!?"
Pen tried to see beyond those figures, but the shattering of glass and a wash of wind knocked Kingsley and Amelia clean off their feet.
The impact was jarring and Pen was consumed by greater concern than he had ever felt for his human.
He was not well.
It was a relief when a burst of flame announced the presence of a phoenix.
Phoenixes were good.
Scary, because fire, but good.
Very good.
oOo
If you are interested in sponsoring editing and an audiobook of this story, please tell us in the discord for us to launch the project.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, Maiasaurs, or feedback, pretty please