Disclaimer: See Stave 1
-oOo-
Stave 3
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December 25, 1994
Hogwarts, Scotland
Albus jolted in his chair. The clock over the mantle was chiming a pleasant tune. It took him a few seconds to realize it was the tune for midday or midnight. Shaking his head, he was surprised to feel something wet on his face. Putting a hand to his cheek, he was confused to realize it had been a tear.
The visions of his dream were still vivid and unbelievable. Looking at the still half-full glass and nearly full decanter, he was wondering how many spirits he had had at the ball?
The clock started to chime the hour.
Albus shook his head. "It is just the witching hour," he said in a sentiment from his mother that he had stopped believing in a century ago.
Leaning back in his chair, he allowed himself a rare moment of weakness. He hated to admit it, but he was starting to feel his age on evenings like this. Reaching for the bourbon, he downed the rest in the small crystal goblet. A small amount was left when he investigated the goblet, and he swirled it around as he pondered the dream. It had been a long time since he had had any doubts or nightmares. It had also been a long time since he had thought about Arianna. She had looked just the way he remembered, but he didn't remember her being so cynical or insightful.
Albus was wondering why he would have such dreams. It was important for him to have no doubts with Voldemort gaining power again and, if things worked the way he suspected this time, the prophesy would soon be fulfilled.
As he thought, he closed his eyes. Perhaps he only needed more rest? This year was proving to be a little stressful between the tournament not going exactly as planned, Voldemort looking to be coming back into his full powers and Harry acting more like a moody teen than ever.
While his eyes were closed, he thought he smelled something good.
He did smell something good.
Opening his eyes, he suddenly found himself in the great hall. He was sitting in his golden throne. The staff and house tables were groaning with food. Next to him was a corpulent man eating a thick turkey leg and drinking from a huge flagon.
Albus blinked at the man, recognizing him but unable to place him. The man had a head of thick brown hair, brown eyes, a large belly and looked to be in his early thirties.
"It has been such a long time since I could enjoy myself, my son," the man said with a smile.
"Do pardon me, but I profess not to know you," Albus said, reaching for his wand.
The man gave a belly jiggling laugh in his brown robes. "In the century or more we have known each other, you have never asked. Friar John Tuck," the man said, extending a greasy hand.
Albus was dumbfounded. "The Fat Friar?"
"We all sin. I must confess that gluttony is mine. Perhaps you could confess to yours by the time the night is done? Now, if you don't mind, I would enjoy this for as long as I can. At the crack of dawn, I must go back to my eternal watch."
Albus stared at the man. He shook his head. "I must have eaten something wrong tonight."
The man washed down the food in his mouth with a large swig. "You ate nothing wrong, headmaster. I know my duty, but if you could give me just a few more minutes?"
Albus regarded the man again. He was solid in form, but still had a slightly ethereal quality to him as though he was still part ghost. "And what is your duty this evening?"
He took up a few olives in his hand. "As my younger spirit showed you the past, I must show you the present. What you make of it is your own."
Albus sighed. "I suppose there is no hope of me waking from this dream? Perhaps a nightcap is not the best for now on?"
The man laughed. "This is no dream, headmaster."
Albus pretended not to hear and closed his eyes. A moment later, he felt the jarring effect of standing when he wasn't prepared…
-oOo-
December 15, 1994
Little Whinging, England
"Pet, what is this!" a large, beefy man said angrily as he entered a rather fastidiously kept kitchen. Albus looked around and thought it looked too spotless.
"What is what, Vernon?" a rather thin woman with a long neck asked. Albus looked down to see her scrubbing the floor.
"This!" the large man said in an angry tone. "Isn't it enough we give him a place to stay? That barmy old codger wants us to send the freak a present again."
The woman made a rather disgusted face. She huffed. "I'll send fifty pee tomorrow. It's more than he's worth."
"Too right," the big man said with a nod. Albus felt a little disgusted to see the flab on the man's neck move as he did so. How could this man be so corpulent when Harry was obviously not? "Now, do you remember what game Dudley wanted again for that Nintendo thingy?"
"Duck Hunt with the gun," she replied.
Vernon nodded. "I'll stop on the way home. Marge is coming this weekend."
"That dog of hers is not staying in this house again," Petunia stated.
"I can see the Christmas Spirit is alive and well here," Friar Tuck commented.
Albus frowned. "Do they truly not see Harry as family?"
"They give him room and board. Is that not what family is supposed to do?"
Albus looked around the house. When he had seen that night terror of Harry being flung into the wall, Albus had not looked around. As the two Dursley's discussed more presents for their son, he didn't hear anything about Harry.
He caught sight of pictures in the sitting room. Walking out of the kitchen and into the other room, he looked at the pictures. "A happy family. Is there any greater gift?" the Fat Friar enquired.
"None greater," Albus agreed. He felt a pang at the loss of his own family. As he looked at the stationary muggle pictures, he saw a smiling younger boy in many of them. He was well on his way to be as large as the father. Vernon was smiling or looked pleased in many of the photos. Petunia had the same glower in many of them, but when she was smiling or looking pleased, all the pictures had Dudley in them.
He turned to see the rest of the photos and the room. There were signs of Petunia's knitting and needle work. The magazines on the table looked like they would be of interest to the larger man. There was no sign of any younger activity, but that didn't seem off. What did seem off was that there were no pictures with Harry.
"Yes, a truly happy family. Their son looks well taken care of. I must confess though, I know not why we are here," the Fat Friar said as he looked around.
Albus frown deepened. He stepped out into the hallway. Out here were more formal pictures. The three Dursleys were in nice muggle clothes. As he took it in, he realized that the Dursleys were always in nice clothes that fit them. Very unlike Harry. He had thought what he wore was a muggle fashion thing, but as he pondered the nice clothes, he was getting an extremely uncomfortable feeling.
A glance at the door under the stairs showed the same bolts and chains he had so recently seen. They were not locked.
"A very fine-looking family. Though, I would say that the son and father have a bit of my sin. Greed too, perhaps? They look like they like the finer things in life." Friar Tuck was leaning into a picture to take a closer look.
"Yes, the finer things," Albus agreed, looking closer and seeing the obviously finely made clothing, jewellery and shoes. He had never seen Harry dressed so nicely accept when he was in his school clothes.
The uncomfortable feeling was starting to niggle at him. Hadn't Molly said her sons had to rescue Harry from bars on his windows? And Arabella had said the boy looked particularly unkempt and underfed at times.
He walked past the Fat Friar and up the stairs.
The hallway had six doors. The first was a loo. The second had a series of locks and a cat flap in it. That sinking feeling grew. The third was a linen closet. Across from it was a fairly large room full of muggle toys, contraptions, and a messy bed. He was surprised at the clutter and the way many items looked ill-used. The fifth room looked like a nicely furnished guest room with a large bed. The last door led to the master bedroom. It was clean and organized, like the rest of the house. He had avoided opening the second door, but as he looked, there could only be two possible places that Harry could call his own here.
He wasn't sure if he felt queasy or not.
Not wanting to believe that the boy lived under the stairs, he approached the room with a half-dozen locks on it. "What do you think they are keeping in here? It seems out of place," the Fat Friar commented. "Do muggles keep dangerous things in their houses?"
Uncomfortable things started to squirm in Albus. "I don't think it a dangerous thing," he said, knowing Harry.
When he finally had the courage to turn the doorknob, he was slightly relieved to discover a rather bare room. There was a dresser, an armoire and a bed. None of the furniture looked new. Actually, they all looked rather battered and used. The bed had a thin, thread bare blanket on it and a rather flat pillow. Unlike the other rooms, there was nothing on the walls, no sign that the room was used, no sign that another boy lived in the house.
Friar Tuck peered into the room. "What is so dangerous in here that there needs to be so many locks?"
"It is nothing dangerous, just something feared," he said with great sadness.
"Well, if you are done with this, we have other things to see. I sense a party at the next destination," the man said with some cheer. Albus felt the man's hand on his arm…
-oOo-
December 21, 1994
Hogsmeade, Scotland
The crowd in the bar tonight was a little more raucous than usual. Dozens of witches, wizards, hags and others were filling the tables. Behind the bar was an old man yelling as many expletives as greetings at the patrons, many of whom laughed or gave back as good an insult as they received. It was obvious that spirits were high and the alcohol that was freely flowing was most likely the reason. Many of the dregs of their society, usually downtrodden and beaten, were celebrating.
"What is the occasion?" Albus asked.
"It is the solstice. Why should the wizards not be celebrating?" Friar Tuck said happily as he moved towards the bar.
"Why indeed?" he put to no one in particular. He was not aware that the old holidays were still so revered. He had thought the old ways dying.
He followed the Fat Friar toward the bar. Abe was smiling and enjoying himself as his clientele slapped sickles and knuts onto his counter. Albus had thought it a waste of his brother's talents when he had settled on this place more than seventy years ago. He had such potential, but after being in and out of trouble with the Aurors for decades, he had finally bought the old Rover's Landing and renamed it the Hog's Head. It had been an extraordinarily successful inn that had been a rival to the Three Broomsticks. Now it was a seedy place that only a certain clientele visited.
"You are a martyr and a saint," a middle-aged woman said. Albus figured she was a Muggleborn. By the looks of her, she had been on tough times for a while.
"Don't give me that tripe, Sally. Go see old Higgins if you want your bar bill paid," Aberforth told the woman.
She gave a toothy grin. Half her teeth looked rotted. The cut of her robes showed more of her ample bosom than was decent. "Give me another two shots and I'll get your cut."
"That's what I keep you for," Aberforth said with a grin. "Gwen, that man looks lonely too."
"Right, gove'nor. Want me to bleed him too?" a woman in her twenties asked in a way that sent a shiver up Albus spine.
"Don't do anything that will scare him away. He's a good payin' customer," Aberforth warned. The woman gave him a wink as she sauntered towards a rather loudly singing man who looked sloshed.
Albus's already dower expression grew longer. The conditions at the Dursley's were bad. Seeing his brother being a peddler of loose woman was disturbing.
A dingy looking man that Albus recognized as Mundungus Fletcher walked up to the bar. Abe gave the man a hard look. "I'm not peddling tonight, Fletcher, and you better not be peddling in my bar again."
"Do I look like a man that would abuse your hospitality?" Mundungus said with a crooked smile.
Abe snorted. "You'd abuse it and then steal from me. Unless you have coin, come back tomorrow."
Mundungus looked around furtively. "Come now, Aberforth, surely you wouldn't throw me out? Not when I have this."
Mundungus took out a silver goblet. Albus recognized the crest on it as that of the Potters. "This must be worth drink for the night? And a little coin?"
Aberforth looked at the piece. "I don't know where you are getting these."
Mundungus gave his crooked grin again. "Your brother has me evaluating a few properties. Nothing much."
Aberforth snorted in mirth. "My brother is a fool that trusts the wrong people. I said only coin."
Albus didn't miss that his brother took the silver goblet and then poured the dirty looking man a frothing glass of goblin ale. A few galleons and sickles were put down next to it. Mundungus had those disappearing before anyone else could register what was happening.
"Much obliged," Mundungus said as he picked up the glass and saluted his brother.
Albus stood there with his mouth open. He had asked Fletcher to keep an eye on the old Potter estate in Wales and the cottage in Godric's Hollow. He had never given the man permission to get in. He couldn't even fathom how the man had gotten in. The wards should still have been active. He just needed Mundungus to drop by occasionally, to ensure that no one else stole things.
The Fat Friar came up to him, his face a little red and a steaming mug of his own in his hands. "This is fine mead. Nothing like this when I was alive. You should have some," the Fat Friar said.
Albus shook his head. "I would rather leave," Albus told him. He was praying to the goddess and the horned god that this was all a horrible dream.
The Fat Friar tipped the glass up and downed the mead. Some spilled over onto the spirit's brown robes. When he was done, he slammed it onto the counter, then burped. Albus didn't notice the man's middle year features were starting to age.
"Very well, headmaster," the spirit said in a loud cheerful manner, grabbing his arm…
-oOo-
December 24, 1994
Outside of Hogsmeade, Scotland
Albus stumbled into a rock wall. He took in a hissing breath as his shoulder was jarred. In his older age, the pain shot down his body. He straightened out.
"Where are we?" Albus asked.
"Observing the confessions of those that feel guilty," the Fat Friar said rather sombrely.
Albus looked at the man. He knew that Friar Tuck had been a religious man. At one time, the church and magic got along. Then the dark times came. Friar Tuck ignored Albus. He noticed for the first time the Fat Friar was looking older. The hair on his head had mostly fallen out and what was left was going white. The man's cheeks were still flush from his brother's seedy bar.
The Fat Friar ignored Albus and moved to kneel before a figure that Albus hadn't noticed. There was a small fire going in the cave. A man wrapped in dingy robes was leaning against the wall. His hands were out to the fire as he shivered in the cold. He was muttering to himself.
Albus's frown grew even more.
The man was Sirius Black.
He didn't understand why Sirius was here. Last he had heard from Remus, Sirius had left the country to go live at a property that the Black's owned in the New World. He knew the family had gold mines somewhere in South America. Why would he be here?
The Fat Friar made the sign of the cross. "I hear your confession, my son. The Lord grant you peace."
Albus's frown moved to pursed lips. They were almost as tight as Minerva's when she was livid. He moved closer to Sirius. The once young, vibrant man was thin, emaciated and his eyes were filled with a sick light of something that was keeping him alive.
"Harry is in Hogwarts. I must kill all rats. Peter will not get him. Harry is in Hogwarts. I'm sorry, James. I should have been there to protect him," Sirius said in a broken way. He could hear the man's pain.
The pain that had been niggling at Albus's heart finally made itself known. He had not wanted to see the man free. Harry needed the protection of the blood wards and his family… though he was starting to doubt that safety.
"Your sins are forgiven, my son," Friar Tuck said.
"Why isn't he at his family's house in the New World?" Albus questioned.
"The sins of pride and wrath can be heavy burdens. The virtues of diligent and kindness are the basis of love. As dark as this man has become, the light of love still guides him," Friar Tuck said.
Albus closed his eyes. How had he not realized that the love Sirius had for Harry would have him here, shivering on this cold December evening, in the hopes of being close enough to help his godson? Was it not his own belief that the capacity of love was one of the greatest powers, and drivers in this world?
Friar Tuck made the symbol of the cross again before getting up. "The penance this man has paid is more than enough to earn him forgiveness."
Albus opened his eyes and looked at the wretched figure.
After a few moments, the Fat Friar put a hand onto his arm. "Are you alright, my son? Do you need to confess? The sins can weigh us all down and lead us down paths that take us from the path of the righteous."
Albus warred within himself. Was this man, and his sister, trying to tell him that all he had seen was his fault? That couldn't be right. He had always done what was right. It wasn't always easy. Seeing the suffering of others to make the Greatest Good was never easy. But what was the cost of the Greater Good?
"Don't let pride keep you from repenting, my son. It is one of the deadliest sins. As is inaction. Being slothful has led to many great catastrophes. When great men do nothing to stop great evil, they fall to evil themselves," the Fat Friar said.
Albus's eyes opened wide. He was a man of action, but there was so much he just let happen.
"People and god can forgive many things, but to earn it, you must repent and pay penance."
Albus looked into the man's brown eyes. They were getting older. The Fat Friar was starting to look quite aged. "What is happening to you?"
The Fat Friar gave a smile. "The present is only here for but a heartbeat. It is the only place that I, that anyone, can influence. The past is an anchor for our future. The future is yet to be written. Even prophesy is not set in stone. I pay my penance for my hubris and sins. Will you pay yours in the here and now, or in the future?"
A dawning sense of horror was starting to come over him. "Friar Tuck, you don't mean…"
The Fat Friar squeezed his forearm and the world blinked…