Nothing is mine.
As I mentioned, the chapters for this one are a lot longer - mostly because it's not a raw harrowing trudge through the Underworld toward Elysium. And in this one, Harry gets a letter.
Let No Mournful Word Be Said
The sharp, citrus scent of grapefruit filled Aunt Petunia's kitchen, mixing with the rich smell of coffee, the smell of washing-up liquid, and the faint tang of burnt toast. Dudley, armed only with a small teaspoon, soldiered his way through his breakfast beneath Aunt Petunia's sharp gaze, eating each pink segment of grapefruit one after the other with an air of utmost resignation and great injustice.
Harry watched on from beside the sink, wiping the plates clean with a fresh green sponge as he breathed in the smell of the kitchen, and smiling a little more with each long sigh and grimace Dudley made in his great battle against his new breakfast diet. Dudley, Harry rather felt, was every bit as upset about this new travesty as he had been about getting his soul nearly sucked out, or, perhaps, Harry suspected, it seemed like a little too much injustice at a time to Dudley, who'd never really known any form of justice, in or otherwise.
'Boy!' Uncle Vernon yelled from the hall. 'What did I say about your kind sending letters here in weird ways!?'
Harry glanced up from the sink and laughed. 'Honestly, all I remember is something about there not being post on Sundays and then the entire house being full of letters. I think you tempted fate.'
'Today is Monday.' Uncle Vernon stomped back through and slapped the letter down on the side. 'Just get rid of the damn thing. Popping up like that out of nowhere, it nearly gave me a coronary.'
'Yeah—' Harry dried his hands on the tea towel hanging off the oven door handle '—you'd really think, with how many Muggle-born students there are, that they'd just use Royal Mail; it's got to be way cheaper than keeping all those owls to send them our way.'
Uncle Vernon eyed him with an air of faint suspicion. 'Exactly. It's just common sense. Can't have governments wasting money on every bloody silly fancy. Keep it simple. Look after your money and it will look after you.'
'Is that the letter, Harry?' Dudley asked.
Aunt Petunia's lips pursed. 'What letter, Dudley?'
Harry ripped the letter open. 'Some dementors came by to visit yesterday, which was a bit of a surprise, given they're not meant to be allowed anywhere innocent people are. Dudley didn't like them very much.'
Uncle Vernon growled. 'What the ruddy hell is a… one of those?'
'Well, apparently you can't see them, so to you they'd just be this sense of sudden indescribable fear and crushing despair. But to me, they look like a kind of withered skeleton floating around under a big black cloak.' Harry grinned to himself. 'Don't pull back the hood because one, their faces are complete nightmare fuel, and two, they might try and kiss you.'
'Kiss—' a strangled choking noise escaped Uncle Vernon and his face turned puce '—you made them up, boy. Enough of your oddness!'
'They guard a wizard prison, Vernon,' Aunt Petunia murmured. 'He told Lily about them. When we were kids.' Some of the colour had drained from her face. 'But they're monsters. They're awful—' her breath hitched '—oh, Dudley—'
'It's okay, mum,' Dudley said, studying his grapefruit as if all the answers to life, love and the universe were contained within the last segment on his spoon. 'Harry killed them.'
Uncle Vernon twitched. 'Killed?'
'Well, I wasn't actually expecting the spell to kill them, but it seemed vaguely wrong to let them suck Dudley's soul out so I did try and stop them.' Harry laughed to himself. 'Maybe some of those long lectures about being grateful you didn't leave me to freeze to death on the doorstep as a helpless baby or whatever else stuck after all. Good work, Uncle Vernon, excellent parenting; my mum and dad would be very appreciative, I'm sure.' He skimmed his letter. 'I appear to have been expelled from Hogwarts for the improper use of magic. And they're coming to snap my wand. That's nice of them, to send someone instead of just magically doing it right away—'
A second letter sprang from the air and floated down to Harry's feet.
Aunt Petunia sniffed, patting at Dudley's shoulder with a trembling hand. 'They're throwing you out because you didn't let Dudley get his soul sucked out?'
'Yes, but the wizarding world is just stupid like that.' Harry shrugged. 'It's really the least of my problems. Actually, I might even be safer if I'm not at Hogwarts, because Voldemort usually nearly kills me somehow basically every year when I'm there.'
'What?' Uncle Vernon's face turned a slightly brighter shade of purple.
'Yeah… there was Fluffy the giant cerberus, that troll, Voldemort possessing Quirrel, the giant snake that can kill you by looking at you, the werewolf teacher who forgot to take his anti-werewolf potion, that time they tried to protect all the students from one escaped convict who was actually innocent by putting hundreds of soul-sucking dementors all throughout the school, and then the Triwizard Tournament, that was like ten different things, but we'll just say it's one because I can't be bothered to list them all other than the dragon that tried to both set fire to me and eat me.' Harry ticked them off on his fingers. 'Oh, and Voldemort coming back to kill me and presumably everyone else he doesn't like in really disturbing ways. That's still ongoing, though, and not really school specific, so maybe it doesn't count. I'm not sure.'
A long silence hung over the kitchen.
'Why the fuck do you go back?' Dudley blurted.
'Dudley,' Aunt Petunia hissed. 'Language.'
'Bad Diddums.' Harry wagged his finger at him. 'I have no idea. Actually, it's probably because you guys told me nothing about my parents and I was so desperate to be part of their world, I'd risk dying for it. Repeatedly, apparently.' He laughed. 'Which, you know, at any other school, they'd probably drag me out of classes into a load of serious meetings to get me help, like James Harrison at primary after his Dad died in that car crash, but at Hogwarts you just get house points for not dying… It is quite a lot of house points, though, so, you know, not an entire disaster.'
Uncle Vernon squirmed in his chair, exchanging a swift awkward look with Aunt Petunia. 'But doesn't anyone check what's going on there? What about Ofsted?'
Harry doubled over with laughter, gasping for breath. 'I think… they'd say… it needs… improvement. Can you… imagine…' He brushed tears from his eyes. 'I'm sorry, Professor Dumbledore, but until the forty-foot child-killing snake is removed from the premises, you can't have an outstanding rating. Also, stop sending children who got detention for going into the Forbidden Forest into the Forbidden Forest for their detention, it doesn't make any sense.'
Aunt Petunia pursed her lips. 'What does the second letter say?'
Harry poked a finger through the corner and ripped it open, unfolding it and skimming through the neat, green-inked lines. 'Oh, I'm now not expelled. And my wand isn't going to be snapped. Not yet. There's some kind of special emergency hearing I have to go to in London instead to determine whether my use of magic was improper or not.'
'Well…' Uncle Vernon patted at his moustache. 'We'll take you. No barmy socialist government busybody is going to pass judgement on someone for saving my boy's… soul.'
'Vernon,' Aunt Petunia murmured. 'They won't let us in. They don't want us in their world, remember?'
He shifted in his chair. 'Well, they should have thought of that before they keep sending us these bloody letters, Pet. You can't have it both ways. Drop a baby on us that can explode glasses when it cries without so much as a by your leave or any kind of advice or help, then say no, you can't come here. It's not right.'
'I exploded glasses?' Harry quirked an eyebrow at Uncle Vernon. 'When?'
Uncle Vernon's jaw twitched. 'The first year we looked after you, boy, you cried every bloody second of the day; nothing we tried or bought you would stop you, and when you got really angry, everything started bloody exploding. All the windows. All the glasses. The mirrors. Everything. Ruddy terrifying. And then it would all bloody fix itself a few minutes later and start over again.'
'You wanted Lily, but she wasn't here,' Aunt Petunia whispered. 'I came in to try and get you to sleep one night, and you reached out with one small hand—' a shudder swept through her '—I felt my whole face shift like someone had just dug their fingers into my cheeks and moved me around like clay. You made me look like Lily and froze me on the spot until you fell asleep.'
'Bloody good thing you grew out of that,' Uncle Vernon muttered. 'Had to keep you at the far side of the house from Dudley just in case.'
'That sounds like one of those creepy child horror films.' Harry laughed. 'What was that one you nicked from Blockbuster, Diddiekins? The one where the girl's head turns all the way around.'
'The Exorcist,' Dudley mumbled. 'And stop calling me that.'
'Yeah, that's the one.' Harry glanced between the three pale-faced Dursley's. 'Anyway, cheerful childhood nostalgia aside, this letter is a portkey, and I'm about to disappear with a loud—' a deafening crack rang in his ears and he stumbled out into the Ministry Atrium '—noise.'
'Oops.' He balled the letter in his fist. 'Oh well.'
A gleaming ring of golden statues stood in a knee-high marble fountain, shining water pouring from their palms, and within their circle rose a simple, marble column marked with a glowing golden hand. Above them, across a ceiling of shifting midnight blue, flowed a sea of runes that shifted back and forth between webs of strange triangular patterns.
'It's Saruman's gaudier older brother, who abandoned the family profession of betraying Middle Earth to pursue his dream of ever so slightly phallic architecture.' Harry cast a glance around him, taking in the rows of emerald fires along the walls and the smooth white marble beneath his feet. 'I hope there's some kind of reception.'
A loud crack rang through the empty atrium and a short, thickset man with thinning brown hair in a long, brown leather coat appeared before the fountain. 'Harry Potter.' He beckoned with his left hand. 'My name is Dawlish. Auror Dawlish, second-class. I will take you to your hearing.'
Thick dark-red robes wrapped around him beneath the long coat; a far cry from the loose, flowing brightly coloured choices of Professor Dumbledore, these clung tight over Dawlish's stomach and chest, seeming near twisted tight around him in concentric layers of deep-red cloth, but moving easily as Dawlish gestured Harry toward him.
'Wonderful.' Harry wandered forward. 'I don't suppose you'd also tell me what's meant to happen?' He peered down into the fountain as he passed. 'Or if it's possible to kill dementors?'
Dawlish straightened the small bronze sword pinned to the lapel of his jacket. 'Dementors cannot be killed. Lethifolds of all types are dark creatures that are loosely considered undead because of it.' He pressed the button for the lift. 'But if you are found to have used magic improperly, they won't send you to Azkaban. They will snap your wand.'
'And then what? I just roam free?' Harry laughed to himself, feeling that Voldemort would be more than a little pleased to learn he could just pull up in a white van and swipe Harry off the pavement.
Dawlish's face tightened. 'That depends. If you were under the age of twelve, we would obliviate you and return you to the Muggle world under various monitoring charms. As you are older… it gets more complicated.'
'Well, they're not going to find it was improper, so I guess it doesn't matter.' Harry followed him into the lift with a grin. 'Do you keep track of the dementors? Like, do you give them names or numbers, so you know where they all are and how many there are?'
The lift dinged and whirred, sinking down into the bowels of the Ministry.
Harry admired the glowing golden buttons, tucking his hands behind his back to resist the urge to press all the rest of them and abandon Dawlish to an exciting trip up and down the various floors. 'I take it that's not something people are meant to know about.'
Dawlish sighed. 'They cannot leave Azkaban without Ministry permission or assistance, but they are not tracked and there is no accurate count of them.'
'That's good. I suppose nobody wanted to get close enough to put a tracker bracelet on them or anything. I can't blame them, they're not very pretty, or that friendly.' He laughed to himself. 'They're a bit… frigid.'
The lift jolted to a stop.
'The third door on your left,' Dawlish said, motioning him forward. 'I am not permitted to enter, but the session was already ongoing, so just step in and you'll be told what to do.'
Harry strode forward, past two neat wooden doors to a third, and twisted the handle, poking it open with one finger.
Row upon row of old wizards and witches in sharp, high-collared, formal black robes marked with bright blue spirals upon the chest stared down at him like crows perched upon a telephone wire.
'Hi.' He flashed them a smile and a wave. 'I feel like I might be in the wrong room, but Auror Dawlish definitely said this one.'
Fudge stood up from the front row, wearing the same neat pinstriped formal robes as Harry had last seen him in. 'Mister Potter. This is the correct room. Please take a seat.' He gestured at the iron chair in the middle of the floor. 'We will begin in a moment.'
The door thudded shut behind Harry.
'Does it come with a cushion?' Harry asked, dropping into it; the cold of the metal seeped through his jeans into his skin. 'Or a warming charm?'
Someone cleared their throat.
'I'll take that as a no.' He smiled to himself, staring up at the stark stone ceiling. 'So, do you guys all ask questions, or do I just get an audience because there's a big scar on my face?'
Fudge coughed and lifted a blue-ribbon-bound stack of parchment onto the bench before him. 'Harry James Potter, at precisely… thirteen minutes past eight, last Sunday, you are recorded to have performed a patronus charm in a Muggle area. This is, of course, a violation of the Statute of Secrecy, and your second offence with regards to the improper use of magic.' He patted the stack of paper. 'Seated Representatives of the Wizengamot, you may contact Mafalda Hopkirk should you wish to scrutinise the records in question, but I assure you they are all in order.' Fudge glanced to his right. 'Dolores, as the most senior undersecretary, I trust that the official record is proper and correct.'
'Yes, minister,' a flabby-faced, short woman at the far end of the front row in dark pink robes replied. 'The ICW have requested a copy be sent to them, given the matter to which it contextually pertains…'
A low murmur rippled through the room as Harry briefly pondered what on earth the ICW might be before deciding, with a shrug, that he'd probably find out at some point if it ever became important.
Fudge's face creased into a deep frown. 'So be it. The record will alleviate their concerns.' He turned to Harry. 'Do you deny the use of this charm?'
'No, I don't.' Harry patted his sleeve. 'I definitely did it. I have very vivid memories of doing it, actually.'
Fudge blinked. 'Well—' he fiddled with the end of the blue ribbon '—that keeps things a bit simpler. Would you please provide the reasons that you believed casting a patronus charm was a proper and lawful response to your situation?'
The woman in pink cleared her throat. 'Please include all details pertinent to the incident for the record, so that the ICW has any and all information they might—'
'Actually.' A severe-faced, monocled woman with auburn hair stood up from the rows of the Wizengamot. 'If I may, we seem to be without Mister Dumbledore. While a single vote is of little importance, since we're here only as witnesses, he is the headmaster of Hogwarts, and his insight into the character of young Mister Potter might well prove valuable in this hearing.'
Fudge squirmed a little. 'Yes. Well. Unfortunately, Seated Representative Bones, Dumbledore was unable to join us today, and, as you know, I believe it to be of paramount importance that Harry Potter's… character be observed and tested by the full body of the Wizengamot.'
Seated Representative Bones pursed her lips, but sat.
'The question, Mister Potter,' Fudge said. 'It can be repeated if need be.'
'No need.' Harry offered him a smile. 'Well, I went out for a walk in the rain and came across my cousin, Dudley, who was on his way back home from some house party he wasn't supposed to have gone to and was emptying out his pockets so his parents didn't find out he smokes. I said hello. Told him he was in trouble—' he chuckled '—his mum found the magazines he keeps under his bed, and I'm pretty sure the girls in them aren't wearing all that much—'
'Mister Potter,' Fudge burst out. 'We have to send these records to the ICW, can you please… phrase things with the appropriate level of decorum.'
Harry laughed. 'Well, we talked for a bit. He wasn't happy with me because I could have hidden them better for him, but didn't. And then he got all scared and accused me of doing some magic.'
'And you then cast the patronus at him?' Fudge asked. 'To scare him?'
'No.' A snort of laughter escaped Harry. 'I laughed at him because I very obviously wasn't doing anything and he was acting pretty scared for no reason.'
'Why then did you cast it?' Fudge demanded.
'Because two dementors came floating through the underpass.'
Fudge scoffed. 'Dementors? Really. Dementors cannot leave Azkaban without the assistance and permission of the Ministry, Mister Potter. I think it far more likely you tried to scare your cousin after your argument escalated, thereby revealing the use of magic and violating the law.'
'Revealing the use of magic?' Harry quirked an eyebrow at him. 'Dudley's known about magic for years. All the Dursleys do except Aunt Marge, who found out about it very briefly a couple of years ago, but no longer remembers any of that.'
A stir swept through the Wizengamot.
Fudge wilted a little behind his stack of paper. 'Be that as it may, the use of the patronus is still improper—'
'They were going to suck his soul out, so I stopped them,' Harry said. 'We don't exactly get on, but still, if I wanted to scare him, I wouldn't cast a patronus; a corporeal patronus radiates positive emotions. It wouldn't even work.'
'Right, yes—' Fudge shuffled his papers '—but given we have no definitive statement on that from an auror—'
Seated Representative Bones stood up. 'As head of the department to which aurors belong and a former first-class auror, I can offer a statement, minister. A corporeal patronus cannot be cast with malicious intent of any kind. It is simply impossible. I would question whether any fifteen year old can cast a corporeal patronus, but I believe there was some mention of it being observed prior, minister…?'
A rather crestfallen Fudge stared down into his stack of parchment. 'Yes, Seated Representative Bones. It has been proven Mister Potter can cast the spell. We collected that proof in anticipation there might be some disbelief of his capability.'
'Then he cannot have cast it with malicious intent,' Seated Representative Bones replied. 'Which means either he believed dementors were there from the unexpected reaction of his cousin and cast the charm in error — my niece is at Hogwarts, and remarked on several occasions that the dementors placed there against my advice seemed to target Mister Potter for unknown reasons, so it would not be beyond the realm of reason for him to feel a little paranoid — or he cast it to impress or cheer up his cousin.'
'Or they were actually there,' Harry suggested. 'Since, you know, they were. Floating about being all withered and creepy and trying to suck out Dudley's soul before I got to watch him be grounded and eat grapefruit every morning.'
Seated Representative Bones shot him one short glance. 'Every time a dementor is brought from Azkaban, Mister Potter, it is a matter of departmental record in my department. No such record exists.'
'Couldn't someone have taken them out without that?' he asked. 'Because I'm very sure they were there. I saw them. And I was wearing my glasses, minister, I promise.'
A slight titter rang through the back benches of the Wizengamot.
A small flush crept up the back of Fudge's neck. 'And who would you suggest sent them, Mister Potter? A long-dead wizard, perhaps?'
Harry thought it over. 'No. I'm pretty sure he'd want to kill me himself. Probably very slowly and painfully to get back at me for the whole failed-to-kill-a-baby incident, because it must be kind of embarrassing for him. Maybe he'll pull off all my arms and legs like Igor Karkaroff.'
Seated Representative Bones stiffened. 'Mister Potter, may I ask who told you about the death of Igor Karkaroff?'
'You may.' Harry leant back in the chair and crossed his ankles.
Fudge scowled.
'If you would, then?' Seated Representative Bones asked, a touch of terseness creeping into her tone.
'I saw it.' He scratched the back of his neck as heads in the Wizengamot snapped up to stare. 'Voldemort lifted him up in the sky and ripped his arms and legs off. And then he… he stuck them onto him like wings; wings of blood and bone.'
'This is nonsense,' Fudge snapped. 'Mister Potter is here for his hearing, Seated Representative Bones.'
'My apologies,' Seated Representative Bones murmured. 'I was just surprised to hear it. Igor Karkaroff was only discovered yesterday morning, exactly as Mister Potter has just described. Very few individuals are even aware of his death, let alone any of the details.'
A ripple of disquiet passed through the Wizengamot and low whispers spread through the rows.
'Dumbledore must have told him,' Fudge declared. 'It doesn't matter.' He lifted the stack of parchment and dropped it with a loud thud. 'Principal Undersecretary Umbridge, strike those last remarks from the record; they do not pertain to the hearing.'
The pink-robed woman gaped. 'But minister… The ICW…?'
'They are not relevant to the hearing and therefore should not be present on the record of it,' Fudge blustered, twisting the ribbon into a tight knot in white-knuckled hands. 'Mister Potter, in either of the realistic cases proposed by Seated Representative Bones, you would be found to have improperly performed magic before a Muggle. Since the Muggle in question is aware of magic and the improper use is a minor one, you will receive your second verbal warning.' He drew himself up. 'A third such warning will result in a fine, unless the case of improper use of magic is found to be so serious that a more severe punishment is warranted. In the meantime, you are free to—'
The door creaked open.
'Oh excellent—' Professor Dumbledore's voice carried through the room '—I feared I would miss the whole thing, but I seem to have arrived just in the nick of time.'
'Dumbledore,' Fudge gritted. 'Welcome. We have just come to the conclusion of the hearing.'
'Splendid,' Dumbledore declared, stepping in; the hem of loose lilac and yellow robes swept after him across the bare stone floor like the world's worst choice of wedding dress train. 'But, as I was away tendering my resignation as Britain's advisory representative to the ICW, perhaps someone would be so kind to… as they say… fill me in.'
A low mutter rang through the room, a noise of slightly fearful dismay. And, as Harry swept his eyes across the faces of the Wizengamot faces, he picked out Lucius Malfoy, not triumphant as he'd expected to find him at the sound of Dumbledore suffering some setback, but caught in a deep discontented frown.
Principal Undersecretary Umbridge cleared her throat. 'After reviewing the details of the incident, it has been determined that Mister Potter has committed a lower sixth case breach of the regulations of the improper use of magic by minors, and has thus been issued with a warning… ad verbatim.'
'Thank you, Dolores.' Professor Dumbledore extended his lilac and yellow striped arm. 'Well, Harry, since it has all been resolved, perhaps I can help you to your destination. It is all resolved now, minister…?'
Fudge glowered at the blue ribbon as he wound it back around the stack. 'Yes. Yes. Take him away, Dumbledore.'
'Thank you, and good morning, minister.' Dumbledore crooked a finger at Harry.
Harry hopped out of the chair and drifted out, pulling the door closed behind him. 'Sir…?'
'Yes, Harry?'
'What was that about?'
Dumbledore paused, offering a small nod to Dawlish. 'That, Harry, was Fudge attempting to smear your character before the entire Wizengamot, the legislative body of Magical Britain. I believe he was hoping that if you could be shown to be untrustworthy on something as small as the improper use of magic, nobody would credit your voice when it comes to other matters.'
Harry mulled that over. 'I suppose that makes sense, assuming he wants to discredit me, although I can't think why.' He gave Dawlish a cheerful wave. 'Bye.'
Dawlish grunted.
'Well, the why probably pertains to the ICW and the fact that people are generally most keen to avoid facing a reality they find uncomfortable,' Dumbledore said, stepping into the lift. 'But let's get you back. I believe there are a few people who are keen to see you after a long summer.'
Harry squeezed in through the closing doors. 'Sir, the ICW? What's that?'
'Ah, the ICW.' Dumbledore ran his fingers through his long silver beard. 'The ICW, Harry, if you will forgive me for offering you a short answer to what is a very very long question, is an international council of wizards and witches who for many centuries have decided on and enforced various laws for all magical peoples. Their official mandate is to keep the wizarding world safe. And although I cannot say I agree with all of their rulings, or perhaps even some of their motives, I have often been able to reach a satisfactory compromise when it comes to important matters.'
'You're part of it?'
'I was, Harry, until today at least, one of the selected advisory members to it,' Dumbledore said, as the lift jolted to a stop at the atrium. 'Since my defeat of Grindelwald many years ago, the ICW has trusted my views on certain matters, particularly pertaining to Britain and Europe, and I have always believed it is better to be in the conversation where one might have the chance to voice their views, than locked outside it watching on in hope.'
'Who's Grindelwald?'
Dumbledore stepped out of the lift, striding through the atrium at a brisk pace. 'He is, to most, a Dark Lord more terrifying than Voldemort has ever been. I defeated him just as he began to gain the strength to challenge the ICW directly, and he remains to this day imprisoned in his own seat of power at Nurmengard.'
'He's still alive?' Harry blinked. 'But…? I mean, Barty Crouch Junior got kissed by a dementor for doing a lot less than it sounds like this guy did.'
'He is the same age as I, a not immodest number, if not perhaps in quite such good health as I have the fortune to remain in, so he has yet to embark on his next great adventure. The ICW, however, was afraid to execute him.'
'That doesn't make any sense,' Harry replied. 'Surely he's more scary alive than dead.'
'Perhaps,' Dumbledore murmured. 'I believe the ICW feared that by killing him, they would make a martyr of him to those who believed in him and only strengthen their opposition in any future conflict, or perhaps that he might somehow return and gain an even more fanatical following. In either case, it is not something that needs to worry you, Harry. Not for many years to come, I hope.' He held out his hand. 'Now, I do believe that your arrival is expected elsewhere.'
Harry reached out and took his hand. 'Where, sir?'
'That I cannot reveal here, I'm afraid, but hold on tight, Harry. It has been a very long time indeed since I last splinched myself and it would be best if it remained that way. At my age, splinching can be slightly harder to fix and I do yet still have a few things I feel I need to do.'
'Splinched?'
'Let us hope a longer explanation is not needed.'
The golden statues and green flames of the atrium vanished with a loud crack, and for an instant, Harry felt himself bend and squish, as if some great cosmic force had stuffed him through a very small hose pipe and spat him out again into a hallway of dark, dust-coated wallpaper and sun-weathered wood. A faded splendour hung in the air with the must of old, cold stone, lingering like a line of footsteps stretching along the shore into the distance; the weight of it rested in the thick silence of that hall, heavy on Harry's shoulders.
'Halfbloods,' a sharp, haughty voice snapped. 'You are unwelcome in the house of my fathers.'
'Good morning, Walburga,' Dumbledore said, easing his arm from Harry's grip and turning around to face a pair of tattered, moth-ravaged purple curtains. 'As ever, the hospitality of your family is much appreciated.'
A proud, dark-haired woman glowered back with familiar sharp grey eyes in cracked paint and canvas. 'Do not good morning me upon the threshold of my own home, Albus Dumbledore, not as you traipse these worthless urchins through its halls. What do they know of our traditions and ways? There is no place for them amongst us, we who have lived, waited, and worshipped here since Merlin's murder.'
'Oh, another stuck up Pure-blood.' Harry waved at her. 'Hi. Sorry, the guy you're all so fond of died when he tried to kill me as a baby; it's mostly his own fault.'
Walburga fixed him with a withering stare. 'He died, brat, and then he was reborn.'
Dumbledore shot Walburga a piercing look, his blue eyes bright and stern, and the purple curtains swept shut. 'Walburga is Sirius's mother, Harry. I would not encourage you to make conversation lightly, she is… wedded to an older view of the world.'
'She's a rotten old hag, you mean.' Sirius stepped out of the kitchen, brushing fluff off a very Weasley-looking jumper onto his baggy jeans. 'What did that miserable little quill-kisser, Fudge, want?'
'To convince the Wizengamot that Harry should not be believed,' Dumbledore said. 'We will discover the extent of his success, if any, soon, I am sure, but most importantly is that Harry formally only received a second warning for the minor improper use of magic and therefore retains his wand and will not be expelled from Hogwarts where he is safest.' He straightened his robes. 'Now, I shall leave you to settle in here, Harry, and see you when term starts in a few days.' Dumbledore vanished with a loud crack.
Harry mentally ticked off the times he'd nearly died at Hogwarts with a small snort of laughter.
'Off the hook!' Sirius stepped forward and seized Harry in a tight hug, smelling rather strongly of paint. 'Good work, kid. Your old man would be proud, wriggling out of trouble in front of the whole Wizengamot.'
'Harry!' Hermione darted down the stairs. 'Are you okay?'
'I'm completely fine,' he said, escaping Sirius's grip only to find himself in Hermione's own warm hug; she smelt of something faintly fruity and buttered toast, and absolutely refused to let go of him for some reason. 'Which is more than can be said for Dudley, who is riven by anguish over his new grapefruit diet.'
'Who the ruddy hell is Dudley?' Ron leant over the bannister a floor up and yawned.
'His cousin, Ronald.' Hermione rolled her eyes and released Harry from her grip. 'Do you ever listen?'
'Not to you,' Ron replied. 'No point listening to the middleman, might as well just read Hogwarts: A History myself and save the time.'
Hermione tutted. 'Harry could have been expelled.'
'Or killed,' Harry chimed in, laughing as she fumed. 'Those dementors were a bit weird, though.'
'Dementors?' Sirius stiffened up, a dark gleam rising in his sharp grey eyes. 'Where?'
'In Little Whinging; that's why I cast the patronus charm. They were going to kiss Dudley, and as tempting as it was to leave them to it, I thought I should probably stop them.'
'Did they go back to Azkaban?' Hermione demanded.
'I think they died.' Harry grinned. 'Either way, they're not a problem now. It's back to worrying about being murdered by Voldemort like normal.'
'Much better, that,' Ron reckoned with a small grin. 'Can't be messing up Hermione's timetable with unscheduled near-death experiences. She's only got you pencilled in for those on Thursdays.'
'Nobody likes Thursdays—' Harry shook his head '—Hermione, this is all your fault.'
'Boys.' Hermione huffed. 'I don't think you can kill lethifolds, Harry. I looked them up in third year and it says they're undead, and that means they're not alive to kill to begin with. They must have just gone back to Azkaban.' She broke out into a bright smile. 'Still, at least you seem cheerful, I was worried you were going to be broody after a whole summer alone and after everything last year.'
'I was doing a lot of brooding,' Harry admitted. 'And having nightmares all the time. But actually, I woke up just before those dementors turned up feeling really cheerful for some reason. I had a pretty weird dream; I think my brain just got sick of it all and said enough.' He paused. 'Actually, I left all my stuff at Privet Drive…'
'Oh, Dumbledore sent someone,' Ron said. 'Some auror chick.' He shrugged. 'She'll get it. She was a first-class auror; you don't mess with first-class aurors if you want to stay in one piece. They're scary.'
Sirius nodded. 'You got that right. Little Nym's one of my cousins. Takes after my other cousin who was supposed to become a first-class auror before Voldemort popped up; I wouldn't want to tangle with her. The other cousin, that is, but she's in Azkaban, so that's probably not going to happen.'
Harry snorted. 'I mean, that basically guarantees it's going to happen, doesn't it, you saying that.' He clapped his hands together. 'Okay, so, is this everyone? Did Ronniekin's mum really let him go off to wherever this is all by himself?'
A snort of laughter burst from Hermione as Ron scowled. 'No. Everyone else is upstairs. Mrs Weasley is trying to clean up the house.'
Sirius scoffed. 'Waste of time. If it wasn't useful to the Order of the Phoenix, I'd burn the whole place down.'
'The what order?'
'Dumbledore's group,' Ron said. 'Mum won't let us join because we're too young.'
'We don't do much anyway,' Sirius said. 'And you're going to be at school.'
Hermione nodded.
'Come on, mate,' Ron said. 'We've got a room two floors up. I'll show you where it is and which bathroom we're all using.'
AN: Follow the linktree to find Discord for a few more chapters of this one or follow it to other places to find all my original works (there are loads) and about twenty more chapters!
linktr . ee / mjbradley
