Kings Cross
"Dad, this is Harry Potter," said Hermione.
"Harry the famous orphan with the dramatic luck?"
"Oh," said Harry, "Then you've definitely heard about me."
"I was telling you last summer he had to run away from home."
"Had to?" said Mr Granger staring Harry in the eyes.
"Martial arts training dictates:" said Harry, "Better to remove yourself from a situation than to make it worse by escalating, especially against civilians."
Mr Granger's flat expression of masked dubiousness changed to appraising. "Quite. What was the situation that you were … avoiding escalating?"
"My uncle's sister doesn't know that my parents were war heroes and died protecting me, she only knows what my aunt and uncle told her: that they were bums and addicts."
"Ah, the classic 'don't think too hard about magic' excuse: it's just mushroom users and schizophrenics arguing about the colour of the inside of their brain?"
"That's all well and good while they're talking about me," said Harry, "But when they started to talk about my parents," Harry shrugged, "It seemed safer to leave before I had a bout of accidental magic."
"That rule is called, 'don't speak ill of the dead,' it is considered more than merely impolite, though … sometimes it must be done in order for politics and ethics to progress," Mr Granger swallowed, "When was your last bout?"
"December 18th, 20th, and 22nd."
Hermione giggled.
"That recently?" said Mr Granger, "They say you should be over accidental magic by now?"
Harry shrugged.
"What was the predominant emotion causing the bout?"
"Um," said Harry, "I don't know, exactly."
"You don't?" said Hermione, "We're talking about your hair growing two feet in less than a week, mostly in your sleep?"
"Yeah."
"From what you described, I think that emotion is called trust or affection, not sure which one."
"I know what trust is," said Harry, "This was mostly something else, you think … holding Nim or Hedwig, but stronger."
Hermione nodded, "letting someone touch you."
"Not the touch," Harry shook his head, "someone offering to serve me, and letting me have permission about it and, knowing that I'd have trouble trusting, and knowing that I'd notice serving, different from gifts or compliments or listening or anything."
Hermione gave him a really weird look.
Mr Granger looked very angry.
"Is it very weird?" said Harry.
"Yes," said Hermione, "serving is—"
"No," said Mr Granger, "it is not weird. Families help each other with things all the time, it's a more practical and everyday way of showing affection than gifts or compliments, the fact that at thirteen years old the feeling startled you enough to cause a bout of accidental magic, tells me exactly what Hermione meant about your home life."
Oh, he's mad at Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon,
Harry nodded, "Yeah, but … no one in the magical world asked their permission about dropping me off."
Mr Granger raised an eyebrow, "Ok, well now that's just pathetic." He said in disgust, "They should have been asked, but even so: reasonable adults would have said 'Yes,' at least about a niece or nephew, at least if they could afford it."
Harry nodded, "Well they can afford me now. But … I'm not certain that was always true. At any rate, they still resent the wizarding world in general for not being normal, and especially for dumping me on them."
Mr Granger nodded, "That is a reasonable emotion, but attacking you, either verbally or physically or merely ignoring you for something someone else did is just the same kind of nonsense as any other form of prejudice or racism."
Harry blinked, "sure. I knew that … but, thanks for saying so."
"I understand," Mr Granger nodded.
"And regardless of whether they could afford to feed you. There's no excuse for them there's no excuse for starving you or any child of the proper amount of respect and affection. And I'm under the impression that government programs exist to help with the food."
"Harry! There you are," bellowed Uncle Vernon, "What are you doing way over here?"
"Talking to Mr Granger."
"Mr Granger, this is my Uncle, Vernon Dursley. Uncle Vernon, this is Mr Granger, my friend Hermione's father."
"He one of your type?" said Uncle Vernon.
Nope, one of your type, thought Harry. Instead, he said, "No, a perfectly normal and respectable dentist."
"Oh!" said Uncle Vernon, "Trigiene Dental Supplies?"
"For some things, why?"
"I represent Grunnings Drills."
"Oh!" said Mr Granger, "good to meet you."
They shook hands, Mr Dursley much more enthusiastic than Mr Granger.
After a few more pleasantries, Uncle Vernon turned to Harry, "Dentistry's another practical profession for you to consider."
"Good point," agreed Harry.
"Now then," said Uncle Dursley, "err… what did I interrupt?"
Any bets he almost just asked how soon we could get on the road, then decided to be polite?
No bet, master.
"I wanted to invite Harry over for part of the summer," said Hermione, "but … well now you're here, so we can discuss it with you too."
The two men exchanged looks. Then crossed their arms and looked like they were going to start a staring contest.
"Oh, come on," said Hermione.
"Hermione told me that Harry ran away last year, and wasn't sure he was welcome anymore."
"Well!" said Uncle Vernon, then he turned to Harry, "An exchange of letters would have been enough to set him straight on that."
"M'sorry," said Harry.
Uncle Vernon shrugged, "I think he's going to be grounded for two weeks, but after that, he can go visiting if he feels like it. You people know how to use a phone right?"
"I haven't forgotten yet," said Hermione. Harry wasn't entirely sure it wasn't a joke.
As they walked away Harry glanced back to see a look on Mr Granger's face that he'd only ever seen on Hermione. He wasn't sure what it meant, He wished he did.
But watching him wipe his hand on his pants over and over made more sense.
That answered two questions. Whether he'd shake hands with just about anyone in order to appear polite. And whether he'd like it.
.
As soon as they were in the car Uncle Vernon said, "I don't like the hair, I particularly don't like the hair."
"I didn't really expect you to," said Harry, "I'm not certain I'll like it now that I'm somewhere warmer than winter and Scotland."
"Point," said Uncle Vernon, "but what I was getting to, is this: It makes you look like an English tramp instead of a Japanese tramp, sticking up every which way."
"Um?"
"So it's marginally more acceptable, to me. But you'll have to take it up with Petunia."
"Oh," said Harry, "Alright."
"Are you going to apologise or make excuses or anything about running away?"
"I didn't want to kill Aunt Marge's dog."
"You don't need an excuse for that. (though I wouldn't have blamed you.)"
"No," said Harry, "That is my reasoning, I was losing my temper, so I ran outside so I wouldn't kick that stupid dog, the dog didn't deserve it, Aunt Marge did, for calling my parents things. But she didn't deserve it either because no one told her the truth about them, so she didn't know better, though she could have been polite enough not to err 'speak ill of the dead' but she didn't know she was lying, and—" Harry slumped back against his chair. "And I especially didn't want to have accidental magic with Aunt Marge around, so I ran away. Then I didn't know how to say sorry, because I wasn't sorry, I did the right thing, or the best I could think, but I didn't … um … know how to explain. Still feels like I'm skipping important parts I don't have words for."
After a long silence, "Alright, I accept your explanation. I don't want an apology about that."
Harry sighed.
"But I think you owe your Aunt an apology for not calling and giving that explanation back in August."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, "I wish I had anywhere close to that many words ready back in August."
"I expect you to be doing your training exercises."
"I have been, sort of."
"Have you really?"
"Twice a week," said Harry. Also Quidditch weight training, which is about strength and stamina, not about reflexes and coordination.
"Ah, alright then," said Uncle Vernon, "We'll see how well you and Dudley remember boxing, then I'll decide how soon to re-enrol you at the dojo."
"Hmm," said Harry.
"You changed your mind about hunting criminals later?"
Harry shrugged, "That Sirius Black that escaped?"
"Yeah? The one they never mention which nut house he escaped from."
"He's a wizard, he escaped from their jail, the first escape in forever, everyone told me that he was coming to kill me, and to stay away from him."
"Oh, nice to get fair warning, eh?"
"For once, yes. But not just that," said Harry, "more like, there's the instinct when you know you're being hunted to go turn yourself in and get it over with, I'm sure they warned me over and over because they didn't want me to be giving in to that instinct."
"Sure."
"But he's gotten near the school a whole bunch of times, and never came after me, it's enough to make me curious."
"Sure is."
"And come to find out he was my Dad's partner cop, and might have gone rogue trying to get revenge on my parents' killers. Rather than that he'd already gone rogue and had helped my parents' killers."
"Muddying the water, what's their point? What's your point?"
"My point is that I've had a whole lot of practice this year, being very curious, and keeping my promise not to go in person looking for answers. It's made me re-think a lot of things about what the best way to help society is."
"Give me an example."
"I could be an investigative detective without being a cop, I could be a lawyer. I could be an engineer, or the magical equivalent, though I'm going to have to figure out how to catch up to get back into the math class."
"I've wondered about that. But seriously a lawyer? That's like just about the most time-wasting job there is and still make a decent salary."
Harry shrugged, "Maybe, anyway, with this title I'm supposed to inherit, I might have to take the classes anyway, might as well try to really understand the material well enough to keep myself and my friends safe, right?"
"Humph, if you ever get a chance, find the law for keeping magic a secret, and see if you can get it changed so that the requirements for normal people who know about it become a lot less schizophrenic."
"I've got the original treaty in my history book, but I've never looked at how Great Britain implements it into law."
"Hmm."
"I wouldn't be surprised if it's got clauses on clauses that make it end up a lot less … err schizophrenic than you're imagining it."
"Bloody likely," said Uncle Vernon, "Why can't lawyers write what they mean nice and simple, so that everyone can understand them? You should take engineering just in case, give you a better idea how to express yourself, clean straightforward like product specifications, that's the ideal."
"Yes, Uncle Vernon."
"Humph," Uncle Vernon adjusted his mirror, "What the!" he swerved a bit and checked his mirror again, "Where the bloody hell did that cat come from?"
Harry looked back, "Oh, that's Nim, she's mine."
"She looks like a monster."
"She's a mix of kneazle and serval."
"What are those?"
"Servals are small African wildcats, known for hunting in both grasslands and swamps and not minding water. Kneazles are a large European domestic breed. The combination is … mildly like Labrador retrievers in temperament regarding water and following at heel unless given something else to do."
"So you ran away from one dog, and come home with another?"
Nim perked up and vibrated her tail.
"Come home with one of my own," said Harry, "also she's smarter and more mature than any dog I've met."
Nim relaxed.
"Is she really?"
"Or maybe I'm just biased because she's mine."
Uncle Vernon let out a snort, "of course, of course."
"Anyway," said Harry, "sometimes I feed her table scraps, but mostly she feeds herself with her mouse and rat hunting."
"It's fine by me if she clears out the squirrels too," said Uncle Vernon, "Your owl was making decent progress on it last summer, but didn't finish the job."
"Um," said Harry, "alright."
"If you give her catnip, is she a happy drunk, a sleepy drunk, or an angry drunk?"
"I haven't checked, but… Nim, did you understand the question?"
Nim glared for a while before she sent images that corresponded to hunting, purring, sleeping.
"Yes, that was the question," said Harry.
The same images again, but this time interspersed with an image that meant breathing and repeated therefore meant the passage of time.
"She says it's supposed to be a progression from hunting to happy to sleepy."
More images.
"And that if I look for that kind of toy I should get one in leather, or it will probably die before she finishes her first dose."
"What?"
"Claws," said Harry.
"Oh, hell no," said Uncle Vernon, "Does she mark her territory?"
"Huh?"
"She doesn't pee up walls like a boy cat?"
"No, she's definitely a girl. And does not do that."
"Does she claw furniture to mark it as her own?"
"She never has," said Harry, "She's always known that I don't have territory or furniture except for my trunk, therefore she doesn't have territory or furniture except for my trunk and my shoulders."
"Your shoulders?"
"I got leather armour made for my shoulders."
"Just for when she decides to claw you up?"
"More like, so that I can indulge her habit of riding on my shoulder."
"Like a massively oversized parrot?"
"Yeah."
"Does your owl do that too?"
"Sometimes, not as often. Sometimes at breakfast, or if she notices me outside at night, like for astronomy class."
"Yes, I see," he said, "Where does your cat sleep?"
"Across my ankles, between my shins, against my knees, on my back, wherever. Really it depends on which way up I was sleeping when she comes in from hunting her fill."
"Are you going to get up and let her in at midnight?"
"I was thinking about building a cat trellis up to my window, If that's alright."
"As long as it doesn't look so much like a ladder as to invite house robbers."
"Hmm, good point," said Harry, "And it wouldn't be too difficult to build it too weak to support a full-grown human."
"Good," said Uncle Vernon.
"Also," said Harry, "I was thinking about building Hedwig an owl-house and putting it in the tree by my window, in case I leave my window closed by accident."
"That's fine."
"And maybe something similar in the shed for Nim."
"You're going to be wanting to make yourself an office in the shed again?"
"Yeah, if you don't mind."
"Humph, how are your studies coming?"
"I think I'm proficient enough at potions to work alone without blowing anything up, but … it's still a lot of clean up, also fire, I think I'll stick to just reading the book again this summer."
"Good plan."
"Runes are … well it's my first year at it, so I still blow up things a lot, but that's tiny little poofs most of the time, and I'm getting better, but, I think I'm still at the stage of 'no novel projects without teacher supervision'."
"Sounds appropriate," said Uncle Vernon, "How much does that leave?"
"Transfiguration and charms," said Harry, "Transfiguration is considered 'no novel projects without teacher supervision' until after fifth year anyway, that's not just an explosion problem, that's a 'chemistry is everything and everything is chemistry' and 'what? Were you thinking you could manipulate materials poetically and not have the underlying chemistry take over as soon as you let go?' Charms are considered 'flashy don't do in front of muggles, except in an emergency,' sort of subject, so … that would only be inside the shed, at most, anyway."
"Hence the warning notes the summer before last."
"Right," said Harry, "I have heard back that that house elf might be insane, and regardless, he might have been manipulating his magic specifically to get it mistaken as mine, to get me expelled."
"Humph, can he come back?"
"I don't know," said Harry, "I convinced him that I prefer warnings rather than 'help' or 'rescuing,' so that might be sufficient to keep him … behaving acceptably."
"Will he stay convinced?"
"No idea. I hope so."
"Agreed."
...-...
Aunt Petunia
Aunt Petunia stared at him for several seconds, maybe just long enough to verify who he was and memorise his new hair. Or to decide if Nim was a threat, or just very big for a house cat, and how the hell she fit on Harry's shoulder. Then she looked away. Pointedly away.
Harry took his things to his room, unpacked all his non-magical belongings, and one runic pet door, which he tacked to the wall under his bed. Then took the rest of his things to the shed. After looking around he only tacked a pet door to the side of his trunk where it had been at school.
After a while, he realised he was dithering, just like he had been for 10 months.
.
He returned inside. Aunt Petunia was watching TV. Acting on impulse he went and knelt beside her chair.
She looked over, "What do you want?"
"I want to apologise for not letting you know where I was, and for not explaining that … that I was afraid of doing accidental magic to Aunt Marge, or even in front of her."
"She's not your Aunt, technically."
Harry shrugged, "I still wanted her to stop talking, and I still couldn't figure out how that could happen, and I didn't want her hair to turn blue or something, because that would just make her talk more."
Aunt Petunia snickered, "Yes, I suppose it would." Then she was angry again.
"So, I'm saying sorry," said Harry, "because I am sorry."
"And why are you on the floor?"
Harry shrugged, "It felt right this time."
"Humph," said Aunt Petunia, "why don't you do something productive instead?"
"Like make supper?"
"Yes, Like make supper, but first, lemonade."
"Alright," said Harry.
.
After taking Aunt Petunia a lemonade and fixing supper, he was allowed to sit and eat with everyone else without anyone questioning it.
He decided to wash dishes without asking questions.
Then Harry went to the garage to put in some quality time with the punching equipment. It wasn't the training that he'd been keeping up with, and it showed. It didn't take long for him to find himself sore, though not out of breath. His other exercise seemed to have helped his stamina somewhat.
Dudley came in after a bit and watched him.
"You're out of practice, Harry."
"I know," said Harry, "there's plenty of space to run, and lots of stairs to hurry up and down between classes. And there are weights available at school, but no punching equipment."
"Can't you just magic some up?"
"Maybe one of my teachers could," said Harry, "I didn't think to try."
"What good is that?" said Dudley.
"Good point," said Harry.
Dudley smirked like he'd been waiting 13 years to win an argument with Harry, and just had. Which might be true.
Dudley put on gloves and started in on the lighter bag.
After half a minute of sustained blows, Harry said, "That's impressive."
"I know," said Dudley, "I've been practising this, but not running, I should have been doing both. Dad's talking about a diet, but … I don't think Mum's got the right idea of what kind of diet he means."
"I'll try to keep it lean and mean," said Harry, "but yeah, you might want to burn some calories before she does something drastic in the wrong direction."
"What do you think counts as drastic in the wrong direction?"
"You want to burn off some fat, right?"
"Somewhat, mostly I want more muscle."
"Agreed, and to make muscle you need protein."
"I know all that."
"And to burn calories faster than you are, you don't just need to move, you also need more muscle than you have."
"Oh, I see."
"So, you want to exercise until you feel the burn, and keep eating protein, just cut back on the starch and fat."
"No more potatoes?"
"Maybe just fewer potatoes and less bread and cereal, no cake."
Dudley blinked at him, "Oh, is that all?"
"Huh?"
"I can deal with less bread and cereal, you think giving up cake is better than giving up meat, which is what she's talking about."
"Definitely, give up cake right away, cut back on the butter too. Keep enough cereal and greens that … err number two doesn't stop working."
Dudley grumbled a bit but kept whacking away at the light punching bag.
"I've only been running twice a week," said Harry, "I need to pick that back up, what time of day is best for you?"
"Mornings before it's hot is the ideal," said Dudley, "It requires going to bed on time."
"Which is also good for hormone balance or something," said Harry.
"What's that?"
"Don't know exactly," said Harry, "But I think Sensi said not having it is supposed to be a risk for fat and cancer."
"Oh."
"And if I'm going to be cooking breakfast, I want to run before that, or after breakfast."
"Let's try after breakfast," said Dudley, "see how that goes before we do anything drastic."
Harry snorted.
When they'd tired themselves out they went in and showered. Harry dressed for bed, then sat and read with Nim until his hair was dry enough to brush, then on second thought, he took his hairbrush downstairs to find Aunt Petunia.
She was watching telly with Uncle Vernon. Uncle Vernon was having a monologue about the earthquakes in Java and Colombia, then Bolivia and now Mexico. Harry wondered if that was really as suspicious a progression as it sounded. He'd never heard of magic to cause true earthquakes, but there were plenty of kinds of explosions possible by accident or on purpose.
Harry walked over and knelt next to Aunt Petunia's chair again.
"What this time?" said Aunt Petunia.
"Would you brush my hair?"
"What!"
"Would you like to brush my hair?" said Harry, "It kind of has to be, to stay tame."
Aunt Petunia stared at him, for a second Harry thought she was going to smile, or even burst out laughing, but she didn't, she just nodded and held out her hand for the brush.
Harry handed it over.
"Turn around," she said, then set to work.
When she got far enough to the side that she had to sit forward, Harry became aware that her knee pressed to his side was both the largest area and longest duration of physical contact he could remember receiving from her. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry that Aunt Narcissa had touched him more in two weeks than Aunt Petunia had in 14 years.
.
When Harry and Dudley returned from their after breakfast run, Aunt Petunia told Dudley to mow the back yard and Harry would mow the front yard after.
On the one hand, that was hardly equitable, the backyard was a third as big once you accounted for flower gardens and the shed. On the other hand, making Dudley do any of it at all… just 'What?'
As soon as she heard the mower running, she told Harry to make more lemonade for Dudley, and then bring her his hairbrush.
He did as ordered.
She told him to sit down, and let her brush his hair again.
"Usually it only gets brushed in the evenings," said Harry.
"Just in time to look tame for bed?" said Aunt Petunia, "No, in the morning makes more sense."
Harry shrugged, "I think it does something magic."
"I wondered about that," said Aunt Petunia, "Tell me how that is supposed to go."
"No one has said, only that it's common knowledge that '100 strokes is sufficient,' I'm not sure if that means, there's a correct amount to care for hair, and a correct amount to start the magic so it will work in my sleep, and stopping at one might not trigger the other, or if it means something else."
"And what do you think?"
"It's not hard to tell when most of the twists and knots are out. But …"
"But you don't know what starts the magic?"
"I don't know how much starts the magic, it might be different for different people, hence the hundred strokes to be more than enough."
"And you don't know what the magic does?"
"Only that it unpaused my hair from where it got stuck after you cut it."
"Ah, I wonder if it unpaused anything else."
"I don't know."
"Does it tame you?"
Harry shrugged, "Not that I've noticed. But um I think having Nim to take care of…"
"Hmm?"
"I've had chores to do, and friends to rescue before, but knowing that Nim wants and needs more than just an occasional rescue or collaboration on homework. That means something."
"Ah," said Aunt Petunia, "and the owl didn't teach you that?"
"Hedwig never needed rescuing, and owls are solitary. Some cats are solitary, but Nim has a sense of pack, and wants to be part of one. And … needed me to take responsibility."
"Hmm," said Aunt Petunia, "well having someone dependant on you is known to tame many young men, almost to the point of being cliche."
"Humph," said Harry.
"Almost as much as looking for a girlfriend is known to make them wild, and having a girlfriend is known to settle them down again."
"Humph," said Harry.
"Do you have a girlfriend, or prospects on one?"
"No," said Harry, "There are some girls I've noticed being pretty. And there are some girls I've noticed being smart or skilful. And a few I've noticed being good or kind or polite or honourable, whichever she happens to care about. And there's some girls I've noticed … Nim noticing being powerful, though I don't entirely trust I know what she's talking about when she talks about humans."
"Nim talks?"
"Nim puts pictures in my head, sometimes they just mean, 'this is the thing I'm looking at or hunting,' sometimes they just mean 'this is where I am,' but often it means things she's thinking about, or responses to things I'm thinking about."
"Does she understand English?"
"She understands a lot of things I say, which might only be because I'm the one saying them. Often enough she understands things people say to me, which might be her understanding English, or it might be understanding what I'm thinking again."
"Ah."
.
"You were telling me about candidate girlfriends."
"Oh, yeah," said Harry, "I don't know what else to tell you."
"Are there any girls in all those categories?"
"Hmm," said Harry, "Maybe three, one who hates me but is polite anyway, one who I barely know but who knows an uncomfortable amount about me, and one in most of my classes." That makes it sound inevitable.
"Ah, tell me about them."
"The one who hates me is a lord's daughter or something, she's in two of my classes, the one who knows too much is in a different two classes and niece of some kind of top law enforcement person, I'm not clear if she's a police chief or a prosecuting attorney. And the third is in all my classes, and her parents are dentists."
"Better and better."
"And I was hoping to visit her on Tuesdays to work on homework."
"Ah!"
"Is that alright?"
"We'll see."
"Uncle Vernon told her I'm grounded for two weeks for running away, or for not calling and explaining why sooner, and then you and he would decide, or something like that."
"Yes, I see."
And then she tied off his braid and sent him out to finish the yard.
.
Dudley had made … decent progress on the backyard, not finished, but more than halfway. In fairness, he probably had to spend a certain amount of time getting the sticks up first. Though Harry was suspicious whether Dudley had a clear idea what sized twigs the mower even cared about.
And Harry was probably less miserable mowing with his hair already pulled up.
And yet, he wasn't strictly sure whether he should be thankful to Aunt Petunia for that consideration. Or … reprimanded that he was not 'acceptable to be seen in public' with his hair down.
He'd have to watch her more closely. If he could figure out what her preferences were, then he could try to figure out whether meeting them was worth the effort.
And he still wasn't sure if … whatever that was had been an interrogation or some kind of small talk that he'd never witnessed before, so he hadn't had any idea what his obligations in it were. It definitely didn't match what other people had wanted to talk about while fixing his hair.
.
...-...
Animagus
It took him only two repetitions to figure out that finishing his chores as rapidly as possible would usually not be 'rewarded' with yet more chores if he hid in his shed quickly enough afterwards.
Which gave him a lot more time to read than he'd expected. (Not that he hated all the chores, and he could appreciate how much better the yard and especially the back garden looked after he was done with it. Only it was nice to be out of the worst of the sun before afternoon.)
One lazy afternoon after the flowers and shrubberies were weeded, and after last year's textbooks were read to the end (regardless of how far the professors managed to guide them through), Harry was at a loss for what to do next.
He had even read all his Christmas presents already, though a few might deserve another pass.
He'd collated a list of all the charms he knew and verified that he could still cast them from memory. And realised that a flash card system might be better.
He went through his trunk to see if there were any books he'd forgotten or even any runes projects that he could work on (on muggle paper with a ballpoint pen, of course) nothing that would be engraved on flesh or stone. Nothing that would explode in his hands and ruin a quill. How Professor Babbling had berated him for starting to wear his dragon hide gloves while scratching out rune projects.
Harry had thought it a very practical precaution, as well as sucking magic from the runes as he drew them and keeping them from activating until he was ready.
She had been … irritated and bemused and …
Oh, I'm the Neville of my runes class. Huh.
But I have lots more fun in runes than Neville has in potions.
And vaporised parchment doesn't smell that bad, really.
I probably owe some of my classmates an apology of some kind.
What else do I even have in this trunk to work on?
Ah, animagus vision potion, ten doses. Though one, three, or seven were more commonly called for.
Nim, does it matter how far apart the visions are, before my first attempt to transform?
Not that I've heard. Fast classes are often once every day, given out at one class, and all used up by the next day or next week's meeting, slow classes are often once per week, during class, and then journaling about it, and meditating on memories every day until the next class.
So I could take one now, just to see, and it wouldn't imply I should do anything immediately after, to keep from ruining my chances to learn or anything?"
The whole point of that potion is to 'just see.' Pay attention, journal about it is good, meditate on what you saw and what it means and what it will feel like to transform, and especially what transfiguration techniques you'll need to master to be able to change yourself later.
I'm bored, and kind of want to, is this like doing drugs?
Very like doing drugs. I think you should.
Well … that's reassuring.
Lots of kinds of vision quests, this one is to learn if you have an animal inside, maybe you get to know it well enough to show it. Maybe knowing it will be enough and you never feel the need to show it.
Huh, hadn't thought of that.
Andromeda said her other shape was a rusalka: legendary for their beauty, and powers to cause healing or drowning, and didn't see the need to change.
Who is Andromeda?
Narcissa's middle sister, a healer at St. Mungo's, Their mother didn't like her friends: too smart, not powerful enough, and made her go away.
That bad?
Very sad. Narcissa and Bellatrix weren't fun any more.
What about Narcissa?
You know that Narcissa is a queen spider.
Oh, what about Bellatrix? Was she something else merfolk related, and just swam out of her clothes? She might be in Australia by now.
Bellatrix was oldest, boldest, and best! What about you Master? What can you be?
Good question. Thought Harry, and knocked back one draught of the potion.
.
And screamed in pain and disorientation, though he was almost certain it was all in his head.
A triple vision, black and white and heat, a dulled sense of smell, with a heightened sense of taste, and a horrible feeling of limbs unable to move.
Black and blue and yellow and white, an overpowering smell that predators were nearby, though none were on the horizon, long strong limbs that could pound into the ground at great speed and not hurt from the sharp impacts.
Black and blue and green and white, the smell of a monkey nearby, and a female in the neighbourhood who might be worth keeping track of. Heavy powerful limbs, fingers that bent the wrong way at the tip, claws.
Sounds that travelled through the belly as well as the ears.
Sounds of grumbling metal boxes.
Sounds of breathing prey.
Nowhere to go except a crack of hot light under the door, and an impossibly cold breeze from near the cubic black mass in the corner. Strange balance and no legs to walk on.
A window but with fabric draped across it. It could be broken with a well-placed hoof, but bounding through after would take precise timing, and might end up with cuts even after all that trouble, perhaps my mouth could turn the door knob?
I am trapped in a wooden box. Could I pop it open with my shoulder?
The cold rectangle seems most inviting, but without the use of my limbs, I'll have to roll and inch and wiggle to get over there.
I try the doorknob, repulsed by the alien sent and taste of human sweat, while also realising that it is my own. I get it open and the world outside is yellow and blue and bright and I am safe in a fenced-in garden with plenty of flowers and grass to eat, and when winter comes there will still be bushes sticking up above the snow.
Why should I break out of this wooden box? It is my den and refuge, where the humans who fear me will not look upon me and ask me to be ashamed that I make them afraid. I place a foot onto the fluffy chair, until it buckles and drops the cushion part onto the floor, I curl up and lounge against my improvised throne.
Wiggling is more natural than I would have thought, with no limbs to drag and slow me down I make it into the cool dark under my bed, I wiggle farther through the cat door that still smells vaguely of food and onto the even cooler tile. The taste of smells bothers me, but I am on a mission, I climb up the handles and doors onto the sink then devise how to raise my head without unbalancing, and look in the mirror.
After several mouthfuls of juicy flowers, I realise I'd like a drink and wander out of the fence and down the road to where I know a stream passes beside the park. There are no cars on the road and no humans in the park. I make my way over to the stream and catch a glimpse of myself.
I sigh and lick my nose, and recognise the shape of my nose, and the texture of my tongue. I shake my head and hear and feel the shape of my hair.
I am an adder.
I am a row deer.
I am a lion.
What?
I am a human boy in a shed with the remains of something glass crushed beneath my hand.
"Ugh," said Harry, "that was awful."
Do you know what you are, master?
An adder or a deer or a lion.
All three?
It seemed so.
That is very unusual.
The sorting hat told me I could do well in any house, is that a similar kind of odd?
I presume so.
That just figures.
As a cat myself, I'm partial to the lion. By the reputation of your father, the deer seems natural. The adder doesn't even make sense, except you can speak Parseltongue. But I'd have guessed laughing grass snake before adder.
Why?
They play dead.
Huh?
According to legend, so do you.
Harry sneezed. I think I'd better go get my hand cleaned up.
You do that, Master.
Nim dropped to the floor and flowed through the runic cat door on the side of the trunk. Harry took the long way across the yard and through the house.
After the blood was washed away, and all the glass splinters he could find were pulled out, he found himself staring into the mirror.
Nim?
Yeah?
Dumbledore said I'm a parselmouth because the dark lord left magic in the scar on my forehead.
That doesn't sound likely.
Being a parselmouth is rare enough that everything about it is unlikely.
True.
Same for being an animagus I think.
True. But not the same way, most everyone is boring and content to stay the shape they are. Even though they have another shape, they never look for it.
Harry sighed and went searching for bandage material. By this point in his life, he'd grown inured to injuries and only worried about infection, not really worrying about healing speed. He'd just washed his cuts, after all, right? He just wrapped cloth bandage tape around and around his hand until every cut was covered and none could bleed onto anything important later.
Boy snake or girl snake?
I didn't notice.
Boy deer or girl deer?
I think girl, there were no horns, and I didn't notice anything um back there, but I'm not sure I paid attention.
Boy lion or girl lion?
Male, and full mane already, still faint rosettes, that might mean not full grown yet.
Did you notice anything back there?
I didn't pay attention, I was thinking about other things.
Like what?
Whether any of my monkeys would try to brush my hair.
Of course, Master. They will when you let them. But …
But what?
Are you sure you are a lion?
I'm sure that in that part of the vision I was a lion.
And in the other parts, you were a deer and an adder?
Yes.
This is very peculiar. Did your mother ever become an animagus?
I don't know. Professor Lupin said her patronus was a deer.
Did she do any interesting dark arts?
That is not the reputation anyone ever shared with me about her.
That is what I thought. Did she ever … did she ever … When she married your father was it … unusually fast?
Are you offering an alternate explanation of why they married and possibly where I came from?
No, some rituals damage parts of your magic or soul, the iconic one is murder in cold blood, but there are several others, betraying a friend to their death, being raped by someone you trusted as a family member, and then being blamed for it, though that might just be a special case of the next: being shunned, especially for something you didn't do, especially if enough of the people you respect and depend on are among the group that shuns you.
And why is that topically important?
If you were a love child, and your mother's husband agreed to marry to protect her and you, and perhaps your breed father if that happened to be someone else. Even if she didn't suffer public disgrace, facing the certainty that she soon would, might have done similar injuries to her soul. That could hint at an unusual resource your mother might have used to save you.
Oh.
With the result that her magic is also left inside you.
Which we already suspected from my supposed ability to undie and lose scars?
Perhaps.
So … you're suggesting that my own animal is the Lion, and the others are echoes of the other two?
That is what I suspect.
Hmm.
Or … let us state it with even less confidence. It is my current best theory.
I think I understand.
So you are a lion.
So I am a lion.
Yes.
And you're sure that the lion isn't just because of taking care of you and one of the others from taking care of Hedwig, and I don't know whichever it is for being myself?
No, I don't think so. I think taking care of me and Hedwig are symptoms of the fact that you are and have been a lordly lion, watching out for neighbours to protect.
Oh.
What did the animals want?
The snake wanted to go somewhere cooler, then to look in the mirror.
The deer wanted to be safe, then eat and drink.
The lion wanted to be sure of its surroundings, and then … wait for dusk, to hunt.
I will enjoy hunting with you, I think, do you know of the stream down the street?
Yes, that is where I went as a deer to drink.
Ah.
...-...
Diagon Alley
"Boy, were you going shopping with your girlfriend the day after tomorrow?"
"Shopping yes, girlfriend … I'm not ready to claim that yet."
"Humph, whatever, just don't bring home any more mouths to feed, don't you know."
Harry choked. Dudley laughed at him.
Harry kicked him under the table.
Dudley laughed harder.
Harry decided to redirect attention before Dudley decided to retaliate.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon."
As soon as he was free, Harry called Hermione to synchronise, then scratched out a note to Amelia Bones:
.
To Amelia Bones,
Department of Magical Law Enforcement,
I'm hoping to travel to Diagon Alley on Tuesday morning and meet Hermione Granger in Flourish and Blotts, we might shop some but probably we'll spend most of our time in the alley browsing in Flourish and Blotts.
Is that acceptable?
Thank you for your time,
~Harry Potter
.
Hedwig brought back a reply that read only:
.
That is acceptable, an Auror will be on hand near the entrance of the alley. Two more will be available for the early part of the afternoon, I'd prefer that you do most of your walking about when they can escort you.
.
Harry called Hermione back and that was that.
.
Tuesday dawned overcast but without the sharpness that hinted at rain later, Of course, when he stepped into Diagon the weather was clear. Hermione was already in Flourish and Blotts and they picked through what were sure to be the next year's textbooks.
It seemed that Hagrid had returned to the standard curriculum this year. And oddly enough there were histories of Europe's rival magical schools shelved with the textbooks.
"Oh," said Hermione, "Did I mention I visited Beauxbatons last summer."
"Really? Why?"
"Hello? Just petrified by a basilisk, my parents were hoping for somewhere safer, and I was hoping for somewhere that danger would get less in the way of my studies."
"Oh, that makes sense. But you're staying at Hogwarts."
"Yes," agreed Hermione, "Hogwarts might suffer from a faculty that shows evidence of either politics or career nepotism in just about every case, but it is a school. Beauxbatons is an academy."
"What's the difference?"
"One educates students, one produces soldiers."
"Oh," said Harry.
"We fought one troll, one. And it was nominally an accident that we even saw it. But the third year, summer, remedial defence class had to take one down, in class."
"Like Lockhart and the pixies?"
"Yes," said Hermione, "Lockhart's lesson plan … or rather his practicals would have been acceptable at Beauxbatons, but to get a teaching position there, I think he'd have had to show himself capable of doing all his practicals by himself…"
"Oh, wow. More like Professor Lupin then?"
"Yes," said Hermione, "I almost wish I could take their defence class, but there's no way I'd be content to walk around school always with our class, always in straight lines, etc. And never able to make my own choice about spending this free hour or that between library or working out."
"Ugh," said Harry, "I had enough of that in primary school."
"Right," said Hermione.
They made their selections and made their way to Hermione's favourite table, where Mrs Granger had already picked out something, Beside their table was a cat tree, which Nim agreed to investigate after only a little prompting. But shortly after she noticed Harry sitting still with a book, she came back down and occupied his lap.
.
About an hour later he and Hermione traded books. And another hour later they got up to make new selections. Harry found Survey of Wizengamot Law: Regularisation of equality between Clan, Fief, and House and Survey of Ministry Regulation: Maintaining Order, Quality, and Safety. The books for the law elective that he couldn't take until later unless he declared himself to be the Head of House Potter.
Amusingly: unlike the battered copy in the library, this edition had that very procedure and the form letter required in the last appendix of the Wizengamot law book, marked fairly obviously in the table of contents.
"Hermione," said Harry, "what percentage of our textbooks have tables of contents?"
"Not nearly enough, why?"
"I think, someone is playing a joke on us all. The law textbooks both have a table of contents, and I don't know how old they are, but what they cover is older than most of our practical course books."
"Doesn't that just figure," said Hermione, "but just because the topic is old doesn't mean that's when it was first published."
"I suppose," said Harry, "Never mind, sorry to bother you."
Just for the fun of it Harry twinned out the form letter and filled it in except for his signature and a date. Then he put that away and started to read the book in earnest. There wouldn't be any reason to take the class if he understood the book perfectly well, or found it completely incomprehensible. It was only in the margin between, that help from a professional or a study group would be a definite good investment of effort.
It was fairly straightforward material, all things considered. But then it was a survey of the law, not the law itself. The difference might be stark, once he opened a real law book. But having an idea of how the laws worked, and which ones were about what, should make it easier to look up the one he needed, if he already knew its name.
When Hermione was ready to switch he declined and let her have the ministry law & regulation book while he kept reading the Wizengamot treaty & law book.
.
For lunch they went to Fortescue's, (with Auror escort, Mr Melanson, and Mrs Jakarta), Then Mrs Granger chose to return to Flourish and Blotts, and her history book. While Hermione and Harry went to visit Mr Engelbart's leather shop, though today the windows were clean enough Harry realised that the sign in the window proclaimed it 'Leathers: Superior and Beastly.'
"Ah, Mr Potter!" Mr Englebart said, "How have you been? Going for the classic gentleman look now?"
Harry shrugged, "I've been well enough, have any of my friends or benefactors been by?"
"Just your professor," said Mr Englebart, "I had a devil of a time finding a dye that pleased him, but he should be coming by tomorrow for a final fitting."
Harry nodded, "Several of the others mentioned that they expected it would be wisest to wait until they stopped growing before they came in for a fitting."
Mr Englebart nodded gravely, "A wise precaution, given the magic resistance of the material. Are you making the same choice?"
"Probably," said Harry, "I came to get a new set of straps for my shoulder pads."
"Of course, of course."
When Harry took off his shirt to let Mr Englebart measure him for straps, Mr Englebart paused and lifted his arm to examine the maker's brand on his wand holster.
"You take that from here last August?"
"No, sir, I received it for Chri—Yule."
The Aurors were paying attention.
"Who from?"
"Um," said Harry, "It was unsigned. So was the Firebolt, come to think of it, the invisibility cloak two years before was signed 'Santa Claus'."
"Oh dear," said Hermione, "But the note on the invisibility cloak said it was your father's, did either of the other things have a note?"
Harry blinked, actually both were signed with paw prints, but that …
Nim?
Happy Yule?
Did you steal it from here?
No, I paid for it.
Really? How much?
How many yellows it said on the tag.
How did you do that?
Magic.
Really? How?
Magic. I'm a magical cat.
Alright, whatever.
"Was anything else stolen?" said Harry.
"A pair of dragon hide boots, and three more wand holsters, went missing the same night."
"Um," said Hermione pulling up her sleeve, "Was this one of them?"
He examined it, then nodded, "Yes, where did you get it?"
"It was on my pillow, the evening of my birthday last year," said Hermione, "not wrapped up or anything, I thought Harry had bought it for me, and was too shy to sign his name or write a note."
"Hermione," said Harry.
"What?" said Hermione.
"I don't know when your birthday is."
"Oh," said Hermione, after a second's frown she turned to the shopkeeper, "should we pay for them?"
He snorted, "No, they were paid for, just not in the customary manner, with a by-your-leave, and coins on the counter, and a handshake. Apparently, my customer and your benefactor is very shy."
"Oh," said Hermione.
Nim, where did you get the yellows to pay him?
That is not your business, they are gifts to pack members.
Nim!
Nim will answer whatever Master asks, but not the right time for Master to ask.
Harry sighed.
.
"Well," said Hermione as they walked away, "That seems like an interesting mystery."
"It is," agreed Harry, "but our leather-smith friend didn't seem to want it solved too quickly, if it scares away a customer with a habit of buying his things for his other poorer customers."
"Neither of us is especially poor," said Hermione.
"Coming from non-broke families isn't the same as being non-broke."
"Agreed," said Hermione.
"Anyway, I already have most of a theory of what happened, but I have a few more details to figure out before I can say I've solved it."
"Really?" said Hermione and started glancing around, then straight at Harry.
Harry put his finger over her lips, "This is not the place to talk about it," he said, "And wild accusations are for gossip rags and complaining to your lawyer before he sets you straight and tells you whether you can win your tort, not for theorising in front of your nice Auror escort."
Their nice Auror escort snorted and said that they were front-line order keepers, not crime investigators.
However that applied.
.
As they were passing the crossroads to Knockturn Alley, Nim grunted and darted away at a dead run.
"Huh," said Harry, "I've never seen her move that fast outside of a dream."
A few moments later she came back with a squealing rat in her teeth.
"Well!" said Hermione, "I don't think I've ever seen her hunt in daylight."
"Neither have I," said Harry.
[Box], where?, [red cat-wizard]'s, [toy rat]. [I, Nim] [hunt]. [I] [bring]. [I] [put away in] [box]. I follow orders Master. Treat?
"You found Scabbers?" said Harry, "Um, Auror Melanson, could you conjure a rat cage?"
The Auror grunted, but shortly enough held the rat cage down, so Nim could place the rat into it. The door was snapped shut and they crowded in to see what was caught, and how much damage Nim had done to the creature. There was surprisingly little blood, though there was enough that Harry knew that Nim had bit hard enough to break skin to make her point, before the rat stopped struggling.
"Good job Nim, you do get a treat, when we get home."
Nim purred two breaths then jumped up on Harry's shoulder to look closer too.
"Merlin," said Mrs Jakarta, "That's Pettigrew! The animagus that escaped the holding cells last November."
The rat squealed and morphed into a man, shattering the cage. They all stepped back. The Aurors drew wands. The man's wand was already out. But Nim was already jumping on him, a paw on his shoulder and front. This time she wasn't careful where she put her claws. One paw raked his wrist closer, just as she jumped off in the direction of his wand hand, and dropped to the ground yards away, wand in teeth.
The reflection of her momentum sat him down hard. Hiccoughing sobs shook him and he clutched his wrist, likely where he was losing the most blood.
"Mercy," he whimpered, "I'm down, I'm unarmed."
"That remains to be seen," said Auror Melanson, and the two Aurors exchanged hand signals, then Auror Melanson started frisking him for another wand or who knows what else.
"Harry!" pleaded the man, "Please! I was your father's friend. I was your friend's pet. You can protect me."
Harry started to turn away, he didn't have anything to say to a traitor who couldn't stick around for a trial, on the other hand … there might be extenuating circumstances, on the first hand, turning him over to the Aurors again, just to have them 'accidentally' let him go a second time, or was it up to three? (Depending on how you counted the confrontation between Black and Pettigrew all those years ago) Sometimes, If you want an investigation done right, you had to do it yourself.
Auror Melanson, took a 'potions knife' out of the man's sleeve, "Now he's unarmed."
Though why a law-abiding citizen might want to carry one of those there, rather than a real self-defence knife, was open to interpretation.
"Peter Pettigrew," said Harry, "Are you Pleading the Mercy of House Potter?"
"Yes," said Peter Pettigrew.
The Aurors froze.
"Keep your wands on him for now," said Harry.
"Mr Pettigrew," said Harry, "Do you realise that I am underage and would need to sacrifice my status as a child to offer you that 'Mercy'."
Mr Pettigrew hung his head, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Are you asking for me to 'investigate and judge the crimes for which you are accused, under the Wizengamot Statute of Law Between Houses, and my own conscience,' rather than let the ministry handle your hearing, and hypothetically, trial."
"I … I guess."
"Are you ready to promise on your magic, that if I try your plea and sentence you, you will abide by my sentence, understanding that I do not have the power to execute you or send you to Azkaban, but may be required to turn you over to the ministry for sentencing, if I believe that is the only appropriate sentence. And if you don't like my sentence your only recourse is to go to the ministry to request for re-sentencing, or retrial, in any of those cases, do you promise to abide by my sentence until the ministry sees fit to adjust my findings and or sentence."
A long, long pause, "Yes, I understand."
Harry sighed, "I know by tradition this is supposed to happen fast, with an on-paper limit of no more than a year and a day of investigation and a year and a day of trial … but … what sort of lower limits are considered polite?"
"The lords around Godric's Hollow used to take turns to provide justice in the amphitheatre there, two or three trials a day, back when my mum was young, but I never saw a Pleading."
"Causing a little traffic is considered good tourism, blocking traffic is considered poorly done. Blocking traffic such that a single being needs to take a shortcut across Gringotts steps, is a treaty violation."
"And we're nowhere near Gringotts," said Harry, "are you encouraging me to do this here?"
Auror Jakarta shrugged, "Technically we're not encouraging anything. He just thinks it will be fun to say he witnessed the Pleading of the Decade at the crossroads of Diagon and Knockturn, Lord Harry Potter presiding."
"Oi," sighed Harry, "at least I'd be a spectacle for doing something traditional, rather than unique."
Hermione muttered something mildly sympathetic.
"I assume I'm not allowed to administer veritaserum?"
"You're not even allowed to possess any veritaserum to administer," said Auror Jakarta.
"Is there anything similar I am allowed to do?" said Harry.
"You're allowed to demand him and any accuser or witness to promise on their magic to tell you only truth for the duration of your proceedings. If he or an accuser refuses, you're sort of expected to refuse the case, if a witness refuses, you're expected to ignore the witness."
"Understood," said Harry.
"You're also allowed to request permission to use legilimency on everyone in those three categories, but it's rare that anyone trusts that on adults, and almost as rare to let children promise on their magic."
"Understood," said Harry, "Mr Pettigrew, If I accept your plea, would you be willing to promise to tell me only the truth?"
Peter Pettigrew took a long time to answer, but in the end, he said, "Yes, Lord Potter."
Harry sighed, and looked around again, "Would you mind conjuring me a desk?" said Harry.
"Certainly," said Auror Jakarta. And instead of the half-meter-by-meter desk Harry would have conjured if he'd been allowed the use of his wand, she conjured a huge office desk with inlay panels, and a desk chair to rival Lord Malfoy's, except it had a straight back and only upholstered on the seat. Encouragement to not take too long?
Harry placed his knapsack on the desk and pulled out the parchment for claiming his headship, signed it and passed it to Auror Melanson, "Does this look correct?"
"Ok," said Auror Melanson, "Now I know this is a setup. Yes, this is correct and—" he took Harry's quill and notarised it, "now it's valid.'
Harry shivered.
And Auror Melanson grinned and stood to the side.
Harry got out a clean piece of parchment, dated it, and wrote out an explanation that it was the record of "Peter Pettigrew's Plea for the Mercy of House Potter."
"Do you want to borrow a dict-a-quill?" said Hermione.
"In this crowd?" said Harry, "No."
"Do you want me to take dictation?" said Hermione, "So you can concentrate on talking, and you can copy the important parts to the official filing letter, after everything is concluded?"
"Oh, alright, sure," said Harry, "In that case you sit and I'll walk around."
Hermione shrugged, and they traded places.
"Alright Peter Pettigrew, of what crimes are you accused?"
"I don't know," said Peter Pettigrew.
"I see," said Harry, "The accusations I know of are: breaking troth with the House of Potter, revealing secrets of the House of Potter, conspiracy with an organisation known as The Death Eaters, (a charge which I may be ineligible to try, or sentence for, not sure), performing magic in the presence of muggles, the 'needless slaughter' of twelve muggles by magical means in a muggle area, public endangerment et cetera, destruction of public property, et cetera, Did I miss anything?"
"He's an unregistered animagus," said Auror Melanson helpfully.
"Right," said Harry, "failure to register as an animagus, (That might be a ministry regulation not a law of Wizengamot treaty,) but trespassing in a pureblood home using a magical disguise is against Wizengamot treaty, which I believe includes animagus forms."
"Merlin, Double standards!" muttered Hermione.
"Quite," said Harry, "is there anything else I'm missing?"
"Escaping ministry custody," said Auror Melanson, "supposedly as an unregistered animagus."
"Also not my purview," said Harry, "Mark down that it's a known charge but I won't be investigating it."
"Got it," said Hermione, "slow up a bit … … alright, I'm caught up."
"Mr Pettigrew, how do you plead?"
"Um?" he squeaked, "one at a time?"
One of the Aurors held up a hand as if to get his attention.
"What am I missing now?" said Harry.
"Oath on your good name and the standing of your house, that you're going to investigate to the best of your ability. His oath that he will abide by your sentence if any, oath that he will tell the truth."
"Oh," said Harry. He drew his wand and made his promise. Then he took Pettigrew's wand from the ground. He held it in a tight grip around the middle and bent to hold it against Pettigrew's chest under the man's chin, "Make your promise."
"I promise, on my magic, to tell only truth," said Pettigrew
"And to give warning when you're leaving out things that you're not allowed to tell," prompted Harry
"And to give warnings, when I leave out things that I'm not allowed to tell."
"Good," said Harry, "Now promise to abide by whatever sentence I hand down, if I hand one down, until it is complete or until the British Ministry for Magic pardons you or changes your sentence."
He did.
"Hermione, list the charges one by one? Pettigrew, state how you plead for each."
"Breaking troth with the House of Potter?"
"Not guilty."
"Revealing secrets of the House of Potter?"
"Guilty, but I couldn't help it."
"How so?"
Peter Pettigrew held up his left arm, "Once one of them had put this on me, I couldn't keep Him out of my mind, it wasn't torture, I mean there was torture before that, but after I just couldn't keep him out anymore."
Nim grunted and wandered up to him and sniffed the mark.
What are you looking at?
It's not a thrall mark, it's just a tattoo. But it's an inactive rune. If it were active, it might have some kind of effect like he talked about. I didn't realise that they weren't all thrall marks.
What's a thrall mark?
A rune that appears on your property when you tell it that it's yours and it agrees with you. And you ask if it will obey, and it promises that it will.
Do you have experience with that?
Of course.
Is this one of those you 'have to say it three times' things?
Of course.
Is it one of those weird rituals where something gets sacrificed?
Of course.
And his mark isn't one of those.
Yes, he can still disobey the thing that pretends to be his master, but if he's telling the truth, it breaks his mind protection.
I need to learn occlumency don't I?
Yes. Get the book and I'll help you learn. Like I always do.
Where?
Grown-up section of the bookstore.
Remind me later.
I'll try.
"Nim says it's a runic tattoo, not the result of a thrall ceremony."
"And you're accepting the expert testimony of your kneazle?"
"About what magic is in his arm, yes, about what that means, not without more help. What's the next charge?"
"How do you want me to write all that?"
Harry shrugged, and summarised. "Sort of guilty, but not an act of volition, I'll have to research what the rules are. And if they change if there are various kinds of wars or feuds going on. Or promises related. What's next?"
"Conspiracy with an organisation known as the Death Eaters."
"I didn't, I wouldn't, I …"
"The truth, Mr Pettigrew."
"I did not cooperate with you-know-who nor with any death eaters before your father died."
"Oh," said Harry.
"And I'm leaving something out."
"Would you like to give any hints about what you're leaving out so that we trust what you could tell us better?"
"I … I didn't cooperate with any death eaters before Sirius escaped."
"That's twelve years more," said someone in the gathered crowd.
"Did you cooperate with any death eater before last Christmas?"
Pettigrew stayed quiet.
"Did you cooperate with any death eater before you … disappeared from Hogwarts last Halloween?" said Harry.
"No," said Pettigrew.
"Was one or more death eaters involved in your escape from the ministry?"
Pettigrew didn't say anything.
"Did the death eater think you were a loyal death eater?" said Hermione.
"Yes."
"Are you?" said Hermione.
"Why would I be?" said Pettigrew, "they'd just tortured me and put a tattoo I didn't ask for on my arm, and they try to blackmail me, and …" he started to sob.
"Have you got all that?" said Harry, "Not that I can do anything about it, but it might become relevant for him later."
"Just a minute," said Hermione, "close enough."
"What was the next charge?"
"Performing magic in the presence of muggles?"
"Guilty?" said Pettigrew, "But self-defence."
"Write that as just pleads self-defence, I think," said Harry, "next charge."
"Killing twelve muggles," said Hermione.
"Self-defence," said Pettigrew.
"Not against the muggles it wasn't," said Hermione.
"Sirius wasn't going to listen to reason!" said Pettigrew, "I had to … I had to fake my own death until Remus found me and would listen to reason."
"Oi," said Harry, "and Professor Lupin believed their story and didn't come find you."
"Yeah," said Pettigrew.
"Alright," sighed Harry, "That's where my conscience is currently against your perspective, but we'll come back to it later. What's the next charge?"
"The fact that the killing happened by magical means in a muggle area," offered one of the Aurors.
Pettigrew sniffed and didn't even speak out loud.
Harry sighed, "How different is that from just magic in front of muggles, and why?"
"Because of emotional state," said Auror Melanson, "random things happening that you can't explain are easier to forget or ignore than people dying."
Right, because people dying is frightening, and your subconscious is more likely to review the memory repeatedly until you're sure you've learned all you can to not become a victim of the same danger.
"Ah, I get it. They're both statute of secrecy violations, but one is more likely to lead to a persistent breach?"
"Yes."
"Ugh," said Harry, "I'm afraid you're not going to get out of that one, Mr Pettigrew."
Nim, could you hear what he said?
He said he did that.
Harry sighed, "Put down that he pleaded guilty. Self-defence."
Pettigrew looked up.
"Put down that I intend to dispute it, later. If it's even my jurisdiction."
"It's not," said Auror Jakarta, "The Statute of Secrecy is an ICW treaty between nations, not a Wizengamot treaty between Houses."
"Alright," said Hermione, "next is Public endangerment."
"Self-defence," said Pettigrew.
"I also doubt that holds up," said Harry.
"Destruction of Public Property," said Hermione.
"Self-defence," said Pettigrew.
"Explain," said Harry.
"I had to get away."
"You weren't fighting a death eater," said Harry, "I doubt there were anti-apparition wards up."
"I had to fake my death," said Pettigrew, "I told you he wasn't going to listen to reason."
"Humph," said Harry, "When the law allows for violence in self-defence, it generally recommends escape rather than escalation."
"That is correct," said Auror Jakarta.
"And when it permits violence, it generally permits that violence targeted at the aggressor, not the surroundings?"
"That is a foible of muggle law," said Auror Melanson, "using the environment for a weapon or shield is a valid duelling tactic, at least if the encounter has already turned lethal."
"Is faking one's own death a commonly allowed method of escaping violence."
"Not generally, but you must admit it was effective, also I notice that it falls in the 'escape' strategy rather than in the 'retaliate' strategy. Though by the amount of havoc generated, it entirely misses the point of why escape is generally preferred to retaliation."
Interesting point.
"Is faking one's own death commonly accepted as a sub-goal of escaping a violent confrontation? Or is it best done in private and without endangering one's neighbours?"
"Would anyone have believed a non-violent death?"
Oh, we have hecklers now, I should have expected that.
"Oh," said Harry, "I just remembered another charge, conspiracy with Sirius Black to murder 12 muggles and conspiracy with Sirius Black to fake the death of Peter Pettigrew."
"That's two?" said Hermione.
"Write them as two charges."
"Not guilty," said Pettigrew, "On both of those."
"Ah," said Harry, "so it's 'Not guilty,' rather than 'guilty but it was self-defence to get away from the death eaters'?"
"I'm telling the truth," said Pettigrew, "Do you want to test my magic?"
"We'll do that after we get through all the charges," said Harry.
"Oh," said Pettigrew.
"What's next?
"That he's an unregistered animagus," said Hermione.
"Guilty," said Pettigrew.
"That using that ability as a disguise, he entered a pureblood home unannounced."
"I was taken into a pureblood home," said Pettigrew, "I fought back, but … well, until I got used to it."
"But you didn't change back to explain," said Harry, "Hence in disguise, under false pretence, you entered into a pureblood home."
"Yes," said Pettigrew.
"Put that down as guilty?" said Hermione.
"Yes."
"Self-defence," said Pettigrew.
"Needing to create or keep up a false identity or whatever can be a valid kind of security or self-defence in certain circumstances, but we're looking at the reverse here, a false pretence for self-defence is still a false pretence."
"I might be guilty," said Pettigrew, "But I insist that it was necessary for self-defence."
Harry sighed, "Write down that he said so."
"The last charge is: escaping ministry custody, possibly as an animagus."
"Not guilty," said Pettigrew, "I was released."
"By whom?" said Auror Jakarta.
"I'm not allowed to tell."
"By a death eater?"
"I'm not allowed to tell."
"Leave it alone, it's not something I can sentence him about anyway," said Harry.
"Alright," said Hermione, "Then that's all."
.
"Do you need your wand to turn into a rat and back?"
"Of course I do."
"Nim, watch him. Mr Pettigrew, I'm going to hold your wand so that you can touch it, I want you to cast the light charm, and only the light charm, can you do that?"
"Yes."
They made the test. Mr Pettigrew still had his magic.
"Let the record show that Mr Pettigrew has not lost his magic, therefore he plead truly to the best of his knowledge. Any alterations to his pleading, if any, will tend to be questions of law according to his lack of understanding of the law or the circumstances, not questions of lying about his involvement in given acts."
"Oh, is that what kind of setup this is?" said Auror Melanson, "I didn't see that coming."
"I haven't seen anything yet," said Auror Jakarta.
"Pettigrew isn't the one on trial here," said Auror Melanson, "Sirius Black is."
"So much for not trying conspiracy, he's merely not sentencing on them."
"We'll see."
Even my Auror bodyguards are heckling me.
Poor master.
What the heck do I do now?
Either accept that everything was self-defence and let him go, or cut off his snake tattoo, and let him go, or cut out his tongue and eyes to keep him from revealing any more secrets, and let him go, or turn him into a mouse, put him back in his cage, and take him home while you read books until you can prove he shouldn't have murdered the muggles and blown up things, so that you can fine him money that he will never pay, and then you'll let him go anyway.
You can cut off a dark mark?
You can't cut off a thrall mark, once the life and magic leave the severed flesh, it will just form again somewhere else. You can cut off a tattooed rune.
Cut off his hand? or shave the skin off his wrist until the ink is gone too?
Whichever master feels like. It is a murderer. And the mark's magic broke the hole in his mind that let your parents die, he might be glad to lose a hand to get rid of it.
And if the next death eater he meets just tattoos on another one?
Then he already knows he can cut it off to get rid of it.
Harry sighed, "Peter Pettigrew, can you afford to reimburse the muggle government the several thousand galleons it took them to repair the street you blew up?"
"No."
"Can you afford to pay off the standard price of about a million galleons per muggle to their grieving families that you allowed to die as collateral damage because you couldn't pick a different street to blow up?"
"No."
That had got a lot of surprised mutters.
"(Because that is close to the standard price muggles charge each other for accidental deaths.)"
"Can you afford to register as an animagus, and probably pay the ministry fine for not registering already?"
"Yes."
"Can you afford to pay for several of the children of a pureblood family to visit a mind healer, for finding out that they let a stranger sleep in their room."
"But I didn't do anything."
[Dozens of images, a black-spotted lion and a white-spotted lion, who were sometimes two cat people, (neither of which was redheaded)]
Are you accusing him of something, or suggesting what you'd do if it was you?
What I'd like to do.
Thought so, we'll discuss it later.
Yes, I'll remind you. Master.
"You trespassed under false pretence," said Harry, "If you'd done it as a ministry spy against death eaters, you'd have a completely different set of rights and arguments on your side, than that you were lying to children, lying to children is always a fraught topic. Even when the topic is not sex, consent is worthless if it is not informed consent."
Lots of catcalls. And jeers. And disgust.
(Though how much of the disgust was about the Pettigrew, and how much was at the inappropriateness of the catcalls would be difficult to determine.)
"No, I can't afford that," said Pettigrew.
"Can you afford a minor operation at St Mungo's?"
"Maybe?"
"Get your arm cut off just above the tattoo, unless they can shave off just the tattoo. Don't work for you-know-who or any death eaters ever again. And promise on your life not to get another dark mark anywhere on you."
"I couldn't stop them last time," said Pettigrew, "Why could I stop them next time?"
"I don't expect you to be able to," said Harry, "I'm offering you a fast and relatively painless way out if they try."
"Oh," said Pettigrew, he cursed and sobbed a little, and then asked who would be the binder. Auror Jakarta agreed, and he made the unbreakable vow.
"The last pieces of your sentence are these:" said Harry, "Since you say you cannot pay reparations to their families for their accidental deaths, I want you to try to track each of them down, and kneel alone for two hours by each of their graves. Maybe in time, you can become the sort of being who will not need to spend excessive amounts of time in your afterlife repaying debts."
His eyes widened but he started to look like … maybe he could become something other than the trapped and hunted creature he'd been for vaguely 13 years or whatever.
"And last, You may not use magic on muggles without their consent, or against their property. Not even in self-defence."
Pettigrew trembled and whimpered something that didn't sound like words.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"I recommend you learn a non-magical form of self-defence, just in case. So that if you ever do have to use it, it doesn't count as a violation of this sentence and disappear taking your magic with it. It might be wise to learn it from a muggle, and then learn refined techniques from a squib."
"Yes, Lord Potter," said Pettigrew.
"I also recommend you send in your animagus registration form as soon as you can, someone might even be generous and waive the fine, though I don't know why they would, 20 years is a long time to avoid registering. I'll write you a note that you're under my sentence to visit St. Mungo's next, so they don't stop you until you're done getting you-know-who's rune off your arm and out of your head."
"Yes, Lord Potter," said Pettigrew.
"Peter Pettigrew, You're free to go," said Harry.
"Thank you, Lord Potter."
"Aurors, do you think that will be enough? Will he have trouble? Will he be better off with one of you to escort him?"
"I sent in a message a bit ago, there should be some backup here soon. Then one of us will go with him, and one will stay with you."
.
Harry was pleased to realise that Hermione had kept transcribing all the way to the end of his sentence and recommendations. They'd barely finished cleaning his stationary back into his knapsack when four Aurors and Amelia Bones arrived.
"Merlin's left tit, Potter," she said, "just 'maybe do a little shopping?' I hate to see the crowds you draw when you set out to really do something."
Harry shrugged, "Do you want to read this raw, or after I try to learn the proper format and file the complete report?"
She glanced over it, "This is good. This is coming back with me to Headquarters, you'll visit sometime in the next week and get it transferred into the correct format."
"Understood, I'll try. I don't know my way into the ministry actually."
"Well," she said, "Would you like me to have someone show you the muggle entrance right now? The Diagon Alley entrance?" she'd kept reading. "What I wouldn't do for most of the suspected death eaters to have received the same sentence. Do you really believe him about the dark mark?"
Harry shrugged, "I don't know, I guess we'll see if it really comes off. And you might consult Professor Snape, Lord Malfoy, and/or other suspected death eaters, though I'm not clear which kind of mark either of them has."
"Alright," said Mrs Bones, "Do you have anything else to tell me?"
"I really really wanted him to answer the first three charges differently," said Harry, "I wanted to cut out his tongue and eyes and force him into animagus form and feed him the potion to remove his alternate form, and feed him to Nim. But … the sentence is supposed to fit the crime not the temper of the judge. Also, I don't think the anti-animagus potion works like that."
"To my knowledge, it does not," said Mrs Bones, "but while such a potion might be possible, how often would there be an ethical use?"
Harry shrugged, "it could be considered a form of suicide, I'm not sure. If I were to develop it, I'd hesitate to test it on anyone except snake animagus volunteers, so that I could get reports on what its effects really are, there are several other problems though."
"No doubt."
Harry sighed, "Is chocolate the recommended potion for this kind of jitters too?"
"Beef or beef broth I believe, actually."
"I'm fine with that," said Harry, "Oh you probably want this parchment too." Harry dug out the headship claim and handed it over.
"I certainly do," she said, "I'm pleased that you even knew to file it. Not tried to re-enact all this from a fairy-tale."
"I have never heard of anything like this in a fairy tale," said Harry.
"Go have your early supper, and go home and rest, send an owl when you're ready for an escort to my office."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Jameson, Torner, you've got them back to the leaky, probably then to the book store and back to the leaky."
"Yes, Madam Bones."
"I don't want your eyes off Potter until he's entered the knight bus or a muggle vehicle under his own power and volition."
"Understood, Ma'am."
...-...
{End Chapter 1}