Chapter 5

Dear Harry,

If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven p.m. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays.

If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way. I shall explain this more fully when I see you.

Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Friday,

I am yours most sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

And at precisely eleven p.m. on Friday, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore arrived at Little Whinging.

After receiving a not exactly warm welcome from the Dursley's, Dumbledore and Harry soon made themselves comfortable in the sitting room of number four Privet Drive, behind closed doors and silencing spells as what Dumbledore needed to say required immense privacy. And Dumbledore was positive the Dursleys were not ones to offer that privacy willingly.

It was while the Headmaster was placing his wand in his pocket, after erecting said silencing charms, that Harry noticed that Dumbledore's hand was blackened and shriveled; it looked as though the flesh had been burned away.

"Sir – what happened to your –?"

"Later, Harry," Dumbledore dismissed, and it was left at that. "Onto pressing matters. A difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By us, I mean the Order of the Phoenix. But first, I must ask if you have spoken with Sirius recently?"

And Harry's expression brightened immediately at the mere mention of his godfather.

"I got a letter from him yesterday," he replied. "Said he's really enjoying Sunnydale. He's starting to think of it as a second home."

Dumbledore smiled and nodded thoughtfully. "Such a remarkable town Sunnydale. A place where Muggles and magic live efficiently side by side."

It may be done with an extra healthy dose of denial, but the Muggles in Sunnydale knew that there was something extraordinary about their little town; even in those frightening near-world-ending moments, Sunnydale was still there home, even if it was a little different than other towns.

"Not to mention it's a Wizarding blind spot," Harry said with a slight smile.

"Beneficial to underage wizards and wizards in hiding alike," he said, the twinkle in his eye disappearing as soon as it had come, and in its place was a solemn expression. "Harry, as much as Sirius is enjoying his time in Sunnydale there is a crucial reason he has been, and will continue to stay there, for the remainder of the summer. After what had occurred in the Department of Mysteries, the Order, with Sirius's permission, has come to a decision. For his protection, for the time being, we've decided it would be best if everyone believed Sirius never returned from the Veil. It's imperative that the Ministry, that the rest of the world, believe that Sirius Black is dead."

A cold feeling settled in Harry's stomach. The idea of pretending that Sirius was dead bothered him. Having felt the loss and pain of his godfather's passing, even for a few hours, still lingered. And Harry hated the idea of having to pretend that he wasn't alive, no matter the reason. Why would he need to? Sirius wasn't a fugitive anymore. He didn't need to hide.

"But I thought it was alright now," questioned Harry. "The Ministry realized Sirius was innocent all this time, didn't they?"

"Yes, the Ministry knows they were mistaken, but it is still a very complicated matter," he said gravely. "Although they know of Sirius's innocence, he has yet to be formally cleared of all his charges. He will most likely be placed back into Azkaban until his innocence has been officially proven."

"But that's not fair!"

"It is, however, the most logical conclusion. Though, if he is to return, I believe his holding conditions would be vastly improved, and I am assured that there will be no Dementors involved. But that is the least of our worries." As worrisome as it was of Sirius's possibility of returning to Azkaban, there was someone else who needed to be protected much more. Someone whose secret identity could be unraveled with just a pull of thread if not careful and would most assuredly be put under Ministry surveillance if they were to discover the truth. "The Veil of Death is a mysterious thing, Harry. We know so little but so fear its power. We all know what happens when one passes through it, but it has never been thought possible that one could return from its archway. What Buffy and Sirius have done is more than a mere curiosity, and the Ministry would press to know more if they knew the truth, revealing information some of us would rather keep hidden."

And that little treasure trove was named Buffy Summers.

A witch and a Vampire Slayer, a secret very few knew in the Wizarding world – despite Buffy's grumbles that the whole world knew her so-called secret by now. And it was a title Cornelius Fudge had been informed of six months ago, and if the lack of interest in Buffy Summers was any indication, Cornelius Fudge still kept that secret to himself, despite stepping down from office. But nobody was willing to take the risk or the chance that whispers might be heard if the Ministry were to find out the truth about Buffy and Sirius's return from the Veil. Not only was it a curious thing having the first witch-slayer in centuries, but it would also put Buffy's abilities into question. Abilities that had very close ties to Voldemort, and how close those ties to Voldemort were knotted. Something everyone was desperate to avoid.

"What about Buffy?" Harry asked, her face coming to mind, knowing she was the one Dumbledore was referring to about information having to be kept hidden. Because Buffy and secrets went together like brooms and flying, cheese and crackers, trouble and, well, Buffy. "She passed through the Veil, too. Does that mean she's also dead?"

"No, Buffy Summers is still very much alive to the world. She never passed through the Veil as far as the Ministry is concerned."

Harry furrowed his brow. "I don't understand."

"It is a rather confusing situation, and we would have kept all this a secret had it not been for the fact that there were witnesses to Buffy and Sirius's return from the Archway."

Harry didn't need to be told who they were, and his jaw clenched. "Death Eaters."

Dumbledore nodded. "And they were more than willing to share all their information with the Ministry in hopes that it could have provided some sort of leniency, any sort of distraction, but as you can imagine, the Ministry was not quick to offer any kind of mercy toward any followers of Voldemort."

"So, the Ministry didn't believe them about Sirius and Buffy?"

"They questioned it, but their investigation into every accusation was very limited due to the circumstances of the situation, and they let the matter be. However, we soon realized that Sirius's presumed death provided us with a great opportunity to protect both Buffy's secret and let Sirius keep his freedom."

A great opportunity it was but what a horrible way to achieve it, although it did provide Sirius with anonymity from the Ministry a bit longer, and there was no better freedom than being invisible and right under the noses of the very people who were looking for you.

"Does everyone else know about this? The Order?" asked Harry.

"Yes, and no, those who need to know have been informed in one way or another, but I thought it best to convey the message to you myself."

Harry wished he could see them both. The last time he saw Buffy was in Sunnydale, post-apocalyptic battle, and the last time he saw Sirius was when he, in Padfoot form, and Mad-Eye dropped him off at the Dursleys. Harry would give anything to be in Sunnydale right now. To eat dinner around the table with them. To walk, carefree, around the town. He'd even go hunting for vampires with Buffy…if she let him of course.

"…must tell you about Sirius's will and that he left you everything he owned."

Harry had only been half listening to Dumbledore talk while he let his mind wander, but his attention focused sharply on the Headmaster on that last sentence.

"Will?" asked Harry.

"Yes, in order to keep the pretense of Sirius's passing we must follow through to the tiniest of details. He has of course, as I have mentioned before, agreed to all of this," said Dumbledore and then proceeded to list all of Harry's new acquisitions. A large amount of gold that had been added to his account at Gringotts (which Harry had no plans of touching), and the inheritance of all of Sirius's personal possessions (which Harry also planned on never touching), there was, however, a slightly problematic part of the gifted legacy.

"Our problem," Dumbledore continued to Harry, "is that Sirius also left you number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Though it was used as Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, we, along with Sirius, have vacated the building temporarily."

"Why?"

"Well, Black family tradition decreed that the house was handed down the direct line, to the next male with the name of 'Black.' Sirius was the very last of the line as his younger brother, Regulus, predeceased him and both were childless. While his will makes it perfectly plain that he wants you to have the house, it is nevertheless possible that some spell or enchantment has been set upon the place to ensure that it cannot be owned by anyone other than a pureblood."

Harry briefly recalled the shrieking portrait of Mrs. Black that hung in Grimmauld Place and he frowned. "I bet there has."

"Quite," said Dumbledore. "And if such an enchantment exists, then the ownership of the house is most likely to pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would mean his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange."

"No," he denied firmly.

"Well, obviously we would prefer that she didn't get it either," said Dumbledore calmly. "The situation is fraught with complications. We do not know whether the enchantments we ourselves have placed upon it, for example, making it Unplottable, will hold now that ownership has passed from Sirius's hands. It might be that Bellatrix will arrive on the doorstep at any moment. Naturally we had to move out until such time as we have clarified the position."

"But how are you going to find out if I'm allowed to own it?"

"Fortunately," he replied, "there is a simple test. You see if you have indeed inherited the house, you have also inherited –" Dumbledore flicked his wand. There was a loud crack, and a house-elf appeared. "Kreacher," finished Dumbledore.

"Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't!" croaked the house-elf, stamping his long, gnarled feet and pulling his ears. "Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, won't –"

"As you can see, Harry," said Dumbledore loudly, over Kreacher's continued croaks, "Kreacher is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership."

"I don't care," said Harry again. "I don't want him."

"Won't, won't, won't, won't –"

"You would prefer him to pass into the ownership of Bellatrix Lestrange? Bearing in mind that he has lived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year?"

"Won't, won't, won't, won't –"

Harry stared at Dumbledore. He knew that Kreacher could not be permitted to go and live with Bellatrix Lestrange, but the idea of owning him, of having responsibility for the creature that had betrayed Sirius, was repugnant.

"Give him an order," said Dumbledore. "If he has passed into your ownership, he will have to obey. If not, then we shall have to think of some other means of keeping him from his rightful mistress."

"Won't, won't, won't, WON'T!"

Kreacher's voice had risen to a scream. Harry could think of nothing to say, except, "Kreacher, shut up!"

It looked for a moment as though Kreacher was going to choke. He grabbed his throat, his mouth still working furiously, his eyes bulging. After a few seconds of frantic gulping, he threw himself face forward onto the carpet and beat the floor with his hands and feet, giving himself over to a violent, but entirely silent, tantrum.

"Well, that simplifies matters," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "It means that Sirius knew what he was doing. You are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and of Kreacher."

"Do I – do I have to keep him with me?" Harry asked, aghast, as Kreacher thrashed around at his feet.

"Not if you don't want to," said Dumbledore. "If I might make a suggestion, you could send him to Hogwarts to work in the kitchen there. In that way, the other house-elves could keep an eye on him."

"Yeah," said Harry in relief, "yeah, I'll do that. Er – Kreacher – I want you to go to Hogwarts and work in the kitchens there with the other house-elves."

Kreacher, who was now lying flat on his back with his arms and legs in the air, gave Harry one upside-down look of deepest loathing and, with another loud crack, vanished. And that settled that matter.

"Wait, if Sirius can't go back to Grimmauld Place, where is he going to stay? He will be coming back, won't he?" Harry asked, nearing panic at the thought of not seeing his godfather in the foreseeable future.

"Yes, as enough time has passed away from all this, he will return to England once school starts again. He'll want to be as close to you as he possibly can, I imagine," Dumbledore assured him. "I believe he will be staying with Joyce. She has a lovely home in the countryside with fresh air, lots of space, an abundant amount of privacy and plenty of quiet."

Harry breathed out in relief. "Good. He'll really like that."

Alas, there was one last inheritance matter that needed to be dealt with, and its name was Buckbeak. Hagrid had been looking after him since Sirius had 'died,' but Buckbeak belonged to Harry now, and Harry preferred that Buckbeak, or Witherwings as he was now known to be called for his safety, continued to stay with Hagrid, knowing both Hippogriff and the half-giant would prefer it that way.

All legal matters and clarifications were now settled, and it was time to depart, however, before they left Privet Drive, Dumbledore relayed one final statement to the Dursleys, whom they had found standing awkwardly in the hallway outside the living room.

"Now, as you already know, the wizard called Lord Voldemort has returned to this country. The Wizarding community is currently in a state of open warfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions, is in even greater danger now than the day when I left him upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own." Dumbledore paused, and although his voice remained light and calm, and he gave no obvious sign of anger, Harry felt a kind of chill emanating from him and noticed that the Dursleys drew very slightly closer together. "The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house 'home.' However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen; in other words, at the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this: that you allow Harry to return, once more, to this house, before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protection continues until that time."

None of the Dursleys said anything. Uncle Vernon looked as though he had something stuck in his throat; Aunt Petunia, however, was oddly flushed.

"Well, Harry…time for us to be off," said Dumbledore at last. "Until we meet again," he said to the Dursleys, who looked as though that moment could wait forever as far as they were concerned, and after doffing his hat, he swept from the hall.

"Bye," said Harry hastily to the Dursleys, and followed Dumbledore, who paused beside Harry's trunk, upon which Hedwig's cage was perched.

"We do not want to be encumbered by these just now," he said, pulling out his wand. "I shall send them to our final destination to await us there. However, I would like you to bring your Invisibility Cloak…just in case."

Harry extracted his cloak from his trunk and stuffed it into an inside pocket of his jacket. Dumbledore waved his wand, and the trunk, cage, and Hedwig vanished. Then waved his wand again, and the front door opened onto cool, misty darkness.

"And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."