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Chapter Text

Chapter One: The true character of a society

October 1988

The chiming of the school bell ringing broke whatever control Ms Harper had managed to establish over her unruly classroom of Year Four students, who quickly scrambled to charge for the door to enjoy their lunchtime on a rare sunny day in Surrey.

“Wait one moment I did not dismiss you all yet!” the young teacher called out exasperatedly, her words falling deaf on the backs of the children. Running a hand through her curly black hair she resigned herself to collecting the writing tasks off the desks of her students, wondering not for the first time why she had put herself through becoming a teacher. Let alone a primary school teacher.

Distracted by her own thoughts she nearly had a heart attack when she reached for a writing task only to have a small hand offer it to her instead.

“Oh my-!” she gasped, cutting herself off from saying anything unsavoury in front of a child. “Mr Potter! What are you still doing here?”

The little boy, the smallest in her class, was sitting silently at his desk, having remained behind while the other children had left for lunch. The oversized t-shirt he was wearing was nearly slipping off one of his bony shoulders as he offered his writing task to her.

Ms Harper was not one to judge a family by their financial situation, but the state of the boy’s clothes was really quite concerning. She would not be so fixated on it had the boy’s cousin, Dudley Dursley, not always been so well dressed. It was quietly known among the staff at the school that Mr Potter’s aunt and uncle had custody of him, but the exact circumstances of this arrangement were unknown.

Ms Harper had not actually met Mr and Mrs Dursley yet, as they had declined to attend Harry’s orientation evening at the start of the school year last month. But she was certainly confused why their son Dudley was properly dressed and their nephew seemed to come to school in clothing reminiscent of rags. His round spectacles were even taped together, and looked ill-fitting for his head.

Her colleague, Mr Simmons, taught the Dursley boy in his class and often complained to the rest of the faculty in the staff room during breaks that the boy was an absolute terror, prone to bullying other children on the playground. There had been a few interventions, but apparently Mr and Mrs Dursley - who had deigned to meet Mr Simmons - were insistent their son was innocent and it was the cruel lies of other children who were jealous of his popularity.

If Dudley Dursley was a terror, then Harry Potter was an absolute delight to have in her classroom. He was always polite, completed his work at an excellent standard, and listened to her instructions.

The only concern Ms Harper had was that the poor child seemed to have no friends.

“Here you go Ms Harper,” the boy said quietly, absent-mindedly adjusting his ridiculously oversized t-shirt as it still threatened to slip off his shoulder.

It was at that moment Ms Harper noticed something peeking out from underneath the gaping collar of the boy’s shirt. Her heart just about stopped.

Whilst it is a well-known fact that children can be quite active and can pick up bruises for all sorts of reasons, seeing a rather nasty looking bruise that looked like it wrapped around a child’s shoulder was cause for concern.

Ms Harper had only had Harry Potter in her class for a month or so now, but seeing that bruise suddenly forced a few things into sharp realisation for the young teacher. His thin frame, the ill-fitting clothes, the isolation from the other children, his unerring obedience to authority that bordered on strange for a child of his age.

It was just a hunch, she didn’t have any concrete proof, but at that moment Ms Harper knew with absolute certainty that this was a child who needed her help. Taking a calming breath, Ms Harper made sure to smile gently at the boy, crouching down to his height and taking the offered paper off him.

“Thank you Harry,” she said quietly. When the boy remained at his seat, fiddling a little nervously with his hands, the teacher put the papers down and took a seat beside Harry, the low furniture made for children making her look a bit silly as she perched on the seat.

She was rewarded for the action with Harry letting out an involuntary giggle as she balanced herself a little precariously, but just as she was grinning back at him his face suddenly froze and he tensed as though he thought he would be in trouble for laughing.

No, Ms Harper realised suddenly seeing how the eight year old hunched in on himself and leaned away slightly, as though he thought he was about to be hit.

Ms Harper was ready to go to war.

“Harry, would you mind me asking you some questions?”

Louisa Abbott, senior manager at the Child Protection Authority of the Ministry of Magic, was preparing to Floo home for the day when an alarm went off in her office. Standing in complete shock for a moment, the witch recovered after a moment and scrambled to drop her briefcase and move over to the alarm trilling away.

Against the back wall of her office was a detailed map of Britain, and currently, there was a red glow emitting from the county of Surrey.

For all the eight years Louisa had been working at the CPA, she had never once seen this particular type of alarm actually go off.

The Trace on every underage witch and wizard had the dual purpose of not only detecting any underage magic being performed, but also alerted the CPA if any magical child had come into contact with Muggle authorities for any reason.

Louisa had dealt with cases in the past of underage wizards and witches coming into trouble with Muggle police after magical pranks had gone wrong, but those alerts glowed amber on the map. She had never seen a red light, had honestly hoped she would never see it.

A magical child had just been brought to a Muggle child protection agency.

Waving her wand over the red light, Louisa waited tensely as the enchantment on the map activated. The red light intensified briefly, causing Louisa to look away to protect her eyes, before it dimmed, and a long sheet of parchment unfurled itself from the map.

Louisa deftly caught the long piece of parchment, frowning slightly at the quantity that had just been produced. Turning her eyes to the top of the parchment Louisa searched for the name of the child who had just presented at a child protection agency.

Harry James Potter.

Louisa had an urgent call to make to the head of her section.

Harry was feeling overwhelmed to say the least.

Earlier that day, his teacher had started asking some weird questions about the Dursleys and what it was like living with them. He didn’t understand why Ms Harper’s face got all pinched like Aunt Petunia’s sometimes did when he told her about the cupboard under the stairs.

Next he was being taken to the principal’s office, and he had been filled with dread thinking he was going to be expelled. Ms Harper had tried to assure him he had done nothing wrong and he wasn’t in trouble, but Harry knew as soon as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon caught wind of this they would have him locked in the cupboard without dinner and maybe without breakfast too.

Ms Harper had spoken privately with the principal for a bit while the school receptionist had smiled at Harry and offered him a wrapped candy. He had been too nervous to accept.

Then Ms Harper was bringing Harry into the principal’s office, who had asked Harry more questions about the Dursleys. Harry had answered reluctantly, not wanting to lie to the principal, but as the man’s face had increasingly grown tense Harry had fallen silent. The resemblance to Uncle Vernon frightened him.

Ms Harper had asked gently about the bruise on his shoulder, and how he had gotten it. Harry noticed the principal had been carefully taking notes the whole time, which made him feel awkward and embarrassed.

But with Ms Harper giving him a reassuring smile, Harry had quietly told them that it was from Uncle Vernon.

It all happened quickly after that – the principal was on the phone with lots of people, and Ms Harper was telling him how brave he was and how proud she was of him.

Then a lady in a business suit was walking into the office and introducing herself as Claire Peters. She said she was a person called a social worker, and she wanted to bring Harry to her office to answer some more questions.

Harry had always been told not to go alone with strangers, but Ms Harper and the principal told Harry it was okay to go with Claire.

Before he left with Claire, Ms Harper crouched down to Harry’s eye level and had told him it was going to be okay.

Claire had taken Harry by car to her office, and he was put in a room that had loads of toys and a super comfy couch that Harry had nervously sat down on. Claire made him a cup of hot chocolate and sat with him.

She asked him about his hobbies, and Harry was embarrassed to admit he did not to have any. Claire shared with him some funny stories about when she was his age, and then offered to make him another hot chocolate when she noticed he was finished with his first.

Claire had left the room briefly to go talk to some people, and then entered the room again with a man in casual clothes. He introduced himself to Harry as a police officer, but assured him he was not in any trouble.

He said he was a special officer who looked after children who had been treated badly by adults, and that he needed to ask Harry some more questions. Claire stayed in the room while they talked.

Harry had asked them if they had spoken to his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon yet, and the officer and Claire had given each other a long look. The officer told Harry that his aunt and uncle were being interviewed at the police station by the people he worked with.

Harry had been horrified that what he had said had led to his aunt and uncle being in trouble with the police, already dreading the punishment that would be in store after this.

When Claire had seen his face she had gently explained to Harry that he would not be going home with his aunt and uncle that night, and might not be for a while.

Harry hadn’t been able to hide his sheer relief.

The police officer in casual clothes left after taking a photo of Harry's shoulder bruise. Claire asked Harry what he would like to eat, saying she could make him a sandwich. Harry had been starving, having missed lunch, but too scared to voice his hunger. He was used to that resulting in a sharp word from Aunt Petunia about being ungrateful.

Claire left to make him up a sandwich, and Harry sat in silence on the couch. Although Claire had said he wouldn’t be going home that night with his aunt and uncle, that left the question of where he was going.

Throughout all of this, Harry felt the urge to cry but he didn’t know what he wanted to cry about. He felt empty after talking for so long to all the adults.

At the sound of the door opening Harry looked up, expecting to see Claire coming back in with food, but instead he saw an unfamiliar woman entering. She had light brown hair pinned up in a pretty knot at the back of her head and kind brown eyes. The man following her was wearing a very fancy looking suit and had dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes. When he looked at Harry though, those eyes seemed to soften.

Uncertain, Harry chose to remain silent.

The man spoke first, seeming to be in charge.

“Hello Mr Potter, my name is Gareth Greengrass. This is Louisa Abbott, we work together.”

Ms Abbott smiled at Harry, giving him a small wave.

“Hello,” Harry replied quietly, unsure what else to say but wanting to be polite.

“Is it okay for us to come in, Harry?” Ms Abbott asked.

“Of course,” Harry replied and the two entered the room properly, shutting the door behind them. For a moment Harry thought he saw Ms Abbott pull something out of her sleeve, but as he leaned forward Mr Greengrass blocked his view. Ms Abbott quickly followed and took a seat where Claire had been previously sitting beside Harry on the couch, while Mr Greengrass remained standing, hands clasped loosely behind him.

“Before we begin, Mr Potter what have your relatives told you about your parents?” Mr Greengrass asked carefully.

“They told me dad got drunk and killed he and my mum in a car crash,” Harry intoned dully, as though the story had been hurled at him many times.

Ms Abbott breathed in sharply in shock, gaze cutting across to Mr Greengrass, who looked furious for a moment before his expression gentled once more. Although Harry usually felt uncomfortable around people who were angry, he felt strangely safe with these people.

“What else did they tell you about your parents?”

Harry thought hard for a moment, trying to think up any other scrap of information his relatives had ever told him about his parents.

“My mum’s name was Lily and she was my Aunt Petunia’s sister. I don’t know what my dad’s name was.”

“I see,” Mr Greengrass stated calmly, but there was a glint of fury still in his eyes. “Ms Abbott, it seems we do indeed require the Muggleborn Introductory Package, so you were right to bring it along.”

“Yes sir,” Ms Abbott murmured, and Harry was surprised to see the woman seemed to be quite shaken.

His surprise turned to outright shock as the woman reached into her handbag, and sunk down to her elbow, pulling out a miniature wooden trunk. She laid it on the coffee table before the couch, face turning to Mr Greengrass as though waiting for a cue.

“Mr Potter,” Mr Greengrass said, capturing Harry’s attention from where he had been staring in shock at where Ms Abbott had somehow pulled a small trunk out of a tiny handbag.

“You are a wizard.”

Ms Abbott pulled a thin stick out from under her sleeve and tapped the miniature trunk on the coffee table, which immediately expanded before Harry’s awed eyes into a proper trunk, covering the whole coffee table.

She waved her stick across the front of the trunk and it opened on its own, revealing a case packed with books, strange writing supplies, including what looked like an old-fashioned quill, and all manner of assorted lollies and snacks.

Harry felt quite sure this was all some kind of horrible mistake. A wizard? Him? He’d spent his life being bullied by Dudley and abused by his aunt and uncle; if he was really a wizard then why hadn’t they been turned into toads every time they tried to lock him in the cupboard, denied him food or pushed him around?

“Mr Greengrass,” Harry said quietly, “I think you’ve made a mistake. I don’t think I can be a wizard.”

The man looked at Harry carefully, and said softly, “Have you ever made things happen when you were scared or angry, Mr Potter?”

Harry thought about it for a moment, recalling times when Dudley had been playing a game he liked to call “Harry Hunting” and Harry had always somehow managed to slip away unnoticed by his cousin and his goons. He also remembered the most recent unusual incident.

“Aunt Petunia cut my hair the summer before school started. It was awful…I remembered going to sleep dreading what everyone would think about it. But when I woke up the next morning it had grown back the way it had been before.”

“Your hair grew when you wished it so?” Mr Greengrass mused interestedly. Suddenly feeling the urge to impress the man further, Harry added, “I’ve done other stuff too. Once when my cousin was chasing me I wished I could be far out of his reach and I was suddenly on the school roof.”

“Accidental Apparition” Ms Abbott murmured, looking impressed.

“Magic, Harry,” Mr Greengrass impressed on him. “You are a wizard.” He then gestured to Ms Abbott and explained, “Ms Abbott here is a witch, and I am a wizard. Your mother, Lily, and your father, James Potter, were part of our world too.”

James. Harry savoured the name he had just learned.

“You mother, Lily, was what we call Muggleborn – she was a witch born to two Muggles – non-magical folk. Your aunt, her husband and your cousin are all Muggles too.”

“Why was I never told any of this?” Harry asked, suddenly starting to feel a little bit angry.

“It should have never been kept from you,” Mr Greengrass insisted, Harry’s anger reflected in his own eyes. “Truly, you should have been raised in the wizarding world. You should never have been left with those Muggles, regardless of you being related to them.”

“Sir,” Ms Abbott said quietly, a note of warning in her voice.

“Yes, Ms Abbott, I am aware that might be seen as a controversial opinion, and this is all being recorded, but I stand by my opinion. You see where the decision to leave Mr Potter with his Muggle relatives has led to,” Mr Greengrass declared widening his arms to encompass the room they were in.

Ms Abbott sighed, but seemed to accept what Mr Greengrass was saying.

“Mr Potter, because you are a wizarding child you now fall under our protection. I am the senior manager of the Child Protection Authority – or the CPA. Mr Greengrass is the head of the section,” Ms Abbott explained patiently. “Under our laws – wizarding laws – your Muggle relatives are no longer fit to take care of you. Until we identify your closest relatives in the wizarding world, you will be a ward of the Ministry of Magic – that is the government of our world.”

“As the head of the CPA I have the power under our laws to assign any ward of the Ministry to a temporary foster family until their next of kin are located,” Mr Greengrass added. “I intend to take you in myself, Mr Potter, until we have found blood relatives to take custody of you.”

“I – I have family? Other family than the Dursleys?” Harry questioned, shocked.

“Your father, James Potter, was an only child. As was his father, your grandfather, Charlus Potter. However, your grandmother, Dorea Potter née Black, certainly had siblings. You do indeed have family, although distant, in the wizarding world,” Mr Greengrass explained. “Mr Potter, would you find it suitable to be placed temporarily with my own family until we have identified your closest living relatives?”

Harry looked up at the man who had flipped his whole world on its head in the span of a few minutes.

“Anything to get me away from the Dursleys,” Harry breathed.

A dangerous look flitted across Mr Greengrass’s face and he promised, “If I have it my way, you will never see those Muggles ever again.” Rather than scare Harry, it reassured him.

“Please take me with you.”

That evening in Privet Drive a flustered Mrs Arabella Figg watched the dramatic scene unfolding on the front lawn of Number 4. A wailing Petunia Dursley was held back by a red in the face Vernon Dursley as their son was bundled into the back of a car with a stern faced woman in a business suit.

Seeming for once uncaring of what the neighbours must be thinking, Petunia was crying out so loudly that Mrs Figg could hear it from inside her house, “No you can’t take my Diddy-Kins away! Vernon, do something! Stop them!”

Throughout all this commotion there was no sign of one Harry Potter.

Mrs Figg rushed to her telephone - being a Squib, she was unable to use magic to get in contact with the person she had in mind.

Albus Dumbledore needed to know immediately that something was terribly amiss in the Dursley household.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: Complicated conversations

Two hours later Harry had a rudimentary crash course of the wizarding world. The various books in the Muggleborn Introductory Package contained further reading for him to cement his understanding of the history and basic rules of their world.

He had been particularly excited by the informative pamphlet on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which Ms Abbott had informed him his parents had put his name down for from birth. He would be able to attend once he turned eleven in three years. The pamphlet had contained moving images, including one of people in different coloured uniforms riding broomsticks of all things.

Mr Greengrass had explained they were playing a wizarding sport called Quidditch, which was very popular. Apparently, Hogwarts offered it as a co-curricular activity, and there were even professional teams domestically and internationally, like football.

Harry couldn’t wait to try flying on a broom for the first time.

The snacks and lollies in the package were each explained to Harry as being popular treats that were enjoyed by children who grew up in the wizarding world. It was a recent inclusion to the Muggleborn Introductory Package in order to familiarise newcomers to popular foods.

Mr Greengrass had gently encouraged Harry to try a wrapped cauldron cake, which Harry had eaten eagerly, as he had been starving.

There were also various latest editions of magazines and newspapers – Mr Greengrass explained the package included the most recent editions of every major publication to introduce individuals to popular culture and current events.

Both adults had assured Harry there was no rush to understand everything, and that he could take his time reading the books on the history of their world and the basics of magic that would be taught at Hogwarts in his first year.

Harry had glanced at the door a few times, confused why Claire had never reappeared and they had not been interrupted. Mr Greengrass had caught his eye movements and explained that when they entered Ms Abbott had cast a spell with her wand to ensure they would have privacy while they talked.

Harry was in awe of the world that had just been opened up to him.

Sensing that Harry had probably had enough of a basic introduction, Mr Greengrass suggested they leave for his family home, as it was approaching late afternoon.

Ms Abbott was remaining behind to finalise the paperwork that would smooth things over with the Muggles and to put tabs on the Dursley family’s child abuse case that would be unfolding over the coming months.

It would have to be left to the Muggle justice system to determine what was to be done with the Dursley couple. Ms Abbott would be monitoring the case – as far as the Muggles were aware she was now Harry Potter’s official caseworker. A copy of all of Mr Potter’s disclosures to his teacher, the police and the social worker were already copied to his file in the Ministry. The eventual outcome of the investigation and any charges levelled against Petunia and Vernon Dursley would also be automatically added to Harry’s file.

Before Mr Greengrass took Harry with him Ms Abbott asked Harry quietly, “I will be stopping by your former home after I am done here – what would you like me to collect for you?”

Harry thought about it for a few beats before replying, “I don’t know what there would be to collect Ms Abbott…maybe my clothes?”

Mr Greengrass interjected gently, “Do you have any special possessions - perhaps ones your parents left you that arrived with you when you were delivered to your relative’s home?”

“I don’t have anything like that – my aunt told me she found me wrapped in a blanket on the doorstep when she went to put the milk bottles out in the morning,” Harry told them.

Ms Abbott gasped and asked, “You were left alone on a doorstep all night? You were not delivered directly to your aunt and uncle?”

“My aunt said I was left at some point in the night. I don’t know how I got there.”

Ms Abbott and Mr Greengrass shared a long look between them.

Harry said quietly, “I shouldn’t have been left on a doorstep, should I have?”

“No, Mr Potter,” Mr Greengrass said, determinedly trying to keep his voice level. “The people involved in your transfer to your Muggle relatives will be questioned in due course why they acted in the way they did. For now, we’ll have Ms Abbott collect your clothes and anything else she finds that belongs to you.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, ever polite.

“I’ll drop your belongings around to the Greengrass home later today,” Ms Abbott told him.

“Floo is fine Ms Abbott, I will have your fireplace approved for my family home,” Mr Greengrass said. Before Harry even had to ask Mr Greengrass explained patiently, “The Floo Network is a form of wizarding transportation. You can connect your fireplace to the network with the permission of the Ministry, and travel from one fireplace to another connected fireplace. You do so by stepping into a connected fireplace, then you speak the name of the place you wish to go to, and you drop a handful of Floo Power. You’re transported almost immediately to the place you have said – if you have permission of course.”

“Will we be travelling by Floo to your house?” Harry asked, keen to experience this magical transportation.

“I’m afraid not today, Mr Potter. There are no connected fireplaces nearby. I’ve arranged a Ministry car to take us to my home – I live in London with my wife and two daughters.” With a fond look in his eyes Mr Greengrass said, “My wife, Rosalind, knows you’re coming. I believe she’s planned a feast for you when you arrive – I hope you’re hungry?”

Harry’s stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, reminding him he had not yet had lunch.

“We can take that as a yes,” Ms Abbott said, laughing gently. “I’ll let you two get going. Mr Greengrass I will be around later this afternoon via Floo, thank you.”

Harry and Mr Greengrass left the building, Harry holding a scruffy rucksack that acted as his school bag. He felt a little embarrassed at how underdressed he was in his oversized t-shirt, ratty jeans and broken trainers compared to Mr Greengrass in his fancy suit.

An old-fashioned dark green car was parked in front of the office building, and as they approached a man got out of the driver’s seat. He was dressed in an emerald velvet suit that was drawing the attention of people passing by.

“Lord Greengrass,” the man said, bowing his head briefly.

Harry looked sharply up at the apparently “Lord” Greengrass, suddenly fearful he had missed some cue and should have bowed to the man too, or been more respectful. Was he a noble of some sort?

“To my home please, Edward.”

The man in the emerald velvet suit, Edward, nodded to Harry too and then stepped up to open the passenger door for them.

“In you go Mr Potter,” Mr Greengrass said, gesturing for Harry to slide in before him.

Edward inhaled sharply; gaze suddenly intense on Harry, who felt very uncomfortable. The man seemed to be examining his forehead.

“Edward need I remind you that you have signed a non-disclosure agreement when you became my personal driver?” Mr Greengrass said conversationally, but there was a note of warning in his voice.

The man almost choked in his rush to assure his employer, “I would never breathe of word of this regardless of the privacy contract, Lord Greengrass. I’ll have you both to your residence as quickly as possible.”

“When you’re ready, Mr Potter,” Mr Greengrass said, and Harry startled as he realised he’d been hovering by the open door watching the confusing interaction. He noticed Mr Greengrass was careful to not touch him to get his attention, standing a respectful distance away.

It was a small, thoughtful gesture, but one that Harry deeply appreciated. He was used to unexpected touches turning to rough pushes from his aunt and uncle or a punch or kick from Dudley.

“Sorry, sir,” Harry said quietly, rushing to enter the car and slide over to the far seat, tucking his rucksack down by his feet.

Mr Greengrass entered the car after him, somehow making it look effortlessly elegant. As Edward shut the door behind Mr Greengrass and opened the door to the driver’s seat, Mr Greengrass said, “You may call me Gareth, Mr Potter. You will be staying with my family as my temporary ward, so there is no need for such formalities.”

“Please call me Harry then,” Harry offered, and the other man graciously dipped his head agreeing, “Harry it is.”

“Gareth,” Harry began, as the car smoothly pulled away from the curb. “Why did your driver call you Lord Greengrass?”

“Ah, that would be my formal title,” Gareth replied, one finger tapping his thigh as he pondered how to further explain. “In wizarding Britain there are twenty-eight families who are known as the Sacred Twenty-Eight. The Greengrass family are one of these so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight. Ms Abbott’s family is actually also one. The heads of our families bear the title of lord or lady.”

“So you are the head of the Greengrass family, which is why your driver called you lord – but why didn’t Ms Abbott call you lord?” Harry asked.

“I do not use my title while working – Mr Greengrass is perfectly acceptable for my colleagues. However, in most other settings, Lord Greengrass is technically the correct title.”

Seeing Harry’s visible confusion Gareth chuckled and said, “This is all taught to the children of Sacred Twenty-Eight families from a young age – I know the etiquette classes are a personal bane for my eldest daughter, Daphne. Some children of other wizarding families are also taught, depending on the personal preferences of their parents.”

“So are the Sacred Twenty-Eight like wizarding nobility?” Harry asked, curious.

“Of a kind,” Gareth replied. “We are certainly among the oldest families in wizarding Britain, and so that inevitably means we have stockpiled wealth and influence over the generations. However, times have changed – I fear the old ways are dying. Among our families we maintain the traditions our ancestors have long practiced, but I’m afraid our practices are not taught anymore to newer wizarding families and certainly not to Muggleborns.”

“Why is that?” Harry asked with confusion. He had only just become aware of the magical world, and here he was finding out parts of it were being lost.

“That is a significant question, Harry, and one that does not have a simple answer,” Gareth replied cautiously. “Perhaps we had best leave that conversation for another time.”

Before Harry had a chance to feel embarrassed Gareth smiled and added, “It is reassuring to see one so young and new to our world so willing to ask questions and learn.”

Harry smiled back, pleased at the praise. He noticed distractedly that whilst the car they were in seemed like a perfectly normal car, it seemed to be slipping between gaps in the traffic that it should not have been able to.

“Can I ask something else, Gareth?”

“Certainly, Harry.”

Picking at a hole in the knee of his baggy jeans, Harry glanced uncertainly at the back of Edward’s head, wanting to ask about the earlier interaction but not wanting the man to overhear.

Gareth, ever intuitive, said, “There is a privacy spell in effect between the passenger seats and the driver section. It’s standard in all Ministry cars. Edward can only hear us if I make the charm drop.”

Sure enough, as Gareth spoke, Edward did not so much as twitch away from his focus on the road and weaving through increasingly impossible seeming gaps in the backed up traffic on their way into London.

“I noticed when you said my name that Edward seemed quite shocked – like he recognised me?”

“He did indeed recognise you Harry,” Gareth confirmed. He turned in his seat so that he was facing Harry more directly, a complicated expression on his face. “I have been considering what exactly to tell you, as it is perhaps an overwhelming conversation, and you have already been put through over two hours of an introduction to our world.”

“I would like to know the truth,” Harry said quietly.

Gareth nodded, and Harry was pleased the man was taking him seriously and actually listening.

“Edward did not so much recognise you, as he recognised your name. Your name, Harry Potter, is famous in our world. You are also known by another name – The Boy Who Lived. There is likely not a witch or wizard alive who does not know who you are, Harry.”

Harry was flabbergasted. “But – why? Why does everyone know who I am? What did I do?”

“You became famous on the night your parents died. And I assure you Harry they did not die in a car crash as your Muggle relatives lied to you. Do you wish me to continue? I understand if this is a painful topic,” Gareth stated quietly.

“I want to know,” Harry said, trying to sound as firm as possible. His shaking hands betrayed him though.

“Your parents were killed by another wizard, Harry, one we refer to as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or You-Know-Who. There is great fear around the name of this wizard. In his rise to power twenty years ago he styled himself as Voldemort. However very few feel comfortable saying that name, and so I advise you be cautious whom you speak that name in front of. His true identity is unknown.”

“Why did he murder my parents?” Harry whispered.

Gareth looked upon Harry sadly as he replied, “No one knows exactly why Voldemort targeted your parents. They did oppose his rise to power though, so it could have been political. Our world was at war, you see. Battle lines had been drawn, and there were those who supported Voldemort and those who fought against him, including your parents. On the thirty-first of October in 1981 – almost seven years ago to the day, he came to your family home and cast the Killing Curse on your parents. Only, when he tried to cast it on you too, he failed. He disappeared, and has not been seen or heard from since. They say the only mark left on you was a scar.”

Harry reached up almost reflexively, touching the strange lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

“But why would he try and kill me? I was just a baby.”

“Why indeed,” Gareth murmured, eyes looking distant.

As Gareth spoke, Harry was suddenly reminded of the times he had woken up from a dream of a flash of green light.

“Is the Killing Curse green?” Harry asked, feeling a little bit numb.

Gareth looked at him sharply, and replied, “Yes, it is.”

“I think I - I think I remember parts of that night. I remember a bright green light.”

Gareth seemed to not know what to say in response to that.

After a moment of silence, Harry continued, “You said he disappeared – so there’s a chance he’s still out there somewhere?”

“Yes,” Gareth told him honestly. “Though some believe he might have died that night when he failed to kill you.”

“But how could I have survived the same curse that killed my parents? What could I have done as a baby to have killed him as those people think?”

“That is unfortunately a mystery, Harry. There is no known counter-spell for the Killing Curse.”

“Then it must not have been me,” Harry insisted, suddenly desperate. “Could my mum and dad have done something that night? You said they were fighting against him – could they have set some kind of trap for him?”

“I do not know what kind of trap could have protected you that night and resulted in Voldemort’s death or disappearance – but I certainly would not rule out the possibility that it was your parent's actions that had some impact that night.”

A sudden dreadful thought came across Harry’s mind. “If there are people out there who think it was me who defeated him – those who call me The Boy Who Lived – what if Voldemort believes that too and comes after me for revenge, or just to prove everyone wrong?"

His heart was racing, already feeling crushed with the weight of responsibility on him and the fear of the unknown.

“Harry,” Gareth said firmly, but gently, breaking Harry out of his spiral. Harry looked at him, green eyes desperate behind his broken spectacles. “You are under my protection, and when we find your closest relative, you will be under their protection too. It is not your job to worry as to Voldemort’s whereabouts, or what he might be thinking. And if he does return, those around you will handle it, and keep you safe. You deserve the chance to live a happy life, to have family and friends, and an ordinary childhood.”

“What if everyone expects me to do something though? Seeing as everyone thinks I apparently did something that night to defeat him?” Harry asked worriedly.

“Then they would be foolish people to expect a child to solve the issue. Your only job is to be a child - to grow in a supportive and healthy environment. The problems in the wizarding world are for adults to solve – and anyone who might try and force responsibility on you will have to go through me to do it,” Gareth insisted. He looked at Harry directly and said gently but firmly, “You owe people nothing.”

It felt like some of the weight on Harry shifted and fell away after hearing an adult he was beginning to trust assure him.

“What was the war even about?” Harry asked, wanting to understand what his parents had died for.

“I must give you a simple answer as you are young yet, and much of the political issues are complicated to understand. I do not say that to patronise you, Harry. But the explanation of what gave rise to the war is best explained when you are old enough to appreciate it fully,” Gareth explained.

“Best to leave for another time, like the conversation about why wizarding traditions are dying out?” Harry asked, remembering the conversation they had just had about the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

Gareth looked at him shrewdly, a glimmer of respect in his eyes as he said, “Precisely, Harry. Voldemort initially gathered supporters by promising them he would lobby the government to bring back the old traditions, and he would protect wizarding culture against what he saw as a Muggle threat.”

Harry felt taken aback, not having expected that to be the platform of the man who had killed his parents. But then he remembered Gareth warning him it was complicated, and figured that was the most simple explanation.

“My family, among many of the Sacred Twenty-Eight were hesitantly interested in what he had to say,” Gareth admitted, watching Harry carefully as though worried he would react strongly and negatively to this confession.

But Harry was nodding along, already having appreciated how important it must be to the oldest families in their world to honour their ancestor’s way of life and traditions. It would no doubt have been tempting to follow a person who promised to protect those traditions.

Seeing Harry was not about to panic at sharing a car with someone who had at one point considered Voldemort’s rhetoric in a positive light Gareth continued. “However, something went terribly wrong with the man himself. His plans changed from a peaceful lobbying of the government to outright war against the government and any who opposed him. He grew unstable, almost like he was losing his grasp on reality. Before too long it was outright war, and he and his followers were committing increasingly unforgiveable acts.”

“Did he go mad?” Harry wondered. It would explain why he had tried to kill a baby. 

“That is one theory. Perhaps only his inner circle of followers would know the answer to that,” Gareth mused.

Something suddenly occurred to Harry, and he said quietly, “It must have set back any hope to protect the old wizarding traditions.”

Gareth confirmed, “It did indeed. Any families who might have been on the fence about it, now associate the movement with Voldemort. There are even some within the Sacred Twenty-Eight who have turned their backs on the old ways in protest of Voldemort.”

“But that’s just unfair,” Harry pointed out. “Voldemort might have used the movement to gather his followers, but it sounds like what he did after that had nothing to do with the actual movement.”

Gareth stared at Harry, blue eyes gleaming. “If more people were like you Harry, and could see past their fear and prejudice, then our world would be a very different place.”

“I want to learn more,” Harry insisted, painfully aware of just how little he actually understood. “I know you said I was still a bit young to understand why wizarding traditions are no longer being taught, and why they were so important that Voldemort was able to gain so many supporters, but I want to learn.”

“I will teach you as much as I can, in the time that you are in my care,” Gareth promised.

Harry visibly seemed to wilt, hands coming back to play with the hole in his jeans. “And then I have to go with another family – whoever my closest relatives are. What if they are the type of people who don’t want to talk about wizarding traditions?”

Gareth smiled reassuringly and told Harry, “I mentioned earlier that your grandmother was a woman called Dorea Potter née Black. The Black family are one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. I am certain your living relatives will be delighted by your interest.”

“I’m glad,” Harry said honestly, already feeling a little bit better about his eventual parting from the head of the Greengrass family.

Watching Harry Potter, Lord Greengrass could see the potential of the boy plain as day. He was intelligent and mature for his age, and due to his Muggle upbringing, he was practically a blank slate, so keen to learn.

The Slytherin side of Lord Greengrass noted this all down in a calculating way, but it was tempered with a developing fondness for the boy. And a genuine desire to protect him after all he had been through. Gareth had no need for a job with his family wealth, but he chose to work because he was genuinely passionate about what he did at the CPA, protecting the next generation of witches and wizards. 

Harry Potter was perhaps the breath of fresh air the wizarding world needed to finally come to its senses.

At the very least, he was looking forward to the boy rattling the foundations of the Black family, who were long overdue to catch up with the rest of the world before they faced extinction.

Harry Potter might not be the saviour of the wizarding world, but he could certainly become the saviour of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: The grass is greener on the other side

Gareth patiently entertained every question that came to Harry’s mind about the wizarding world, their conversation in the car shifting from topic to topic as they drew closer to their destination.

During the car ride as Harry had adjusted his glasses, Gareth had offered to fix the child’s obviously broken glasses, and re-size them so they would fit his head better. Harry had readily accepted and with a quick spell and a wave of his wand Gareth had completely mended Harry’s glasses and they shrunk slightly to fit his head.

Aunt Petunia had picked the glasses up from the chemist at a discount without taking Harry to the optometrist to have a pair correctly prescribed or fitted. Now they sat properly on his face, but Harry still couldn’t see that well with them. But there was no way he was complaining after Gareth had just magically fixed them.

The increasing congestion as they entered London proper did not seem to deter Edward, who skilfully manoeuvred the car with little difficulty. Eventually the heavy traffic outside the car began to decrease as they entered a quiet pocket filled with stately townhouses and dotted with shady green parks.

Harry had never been to London before – his aunt and uncle had taken Dudley on a few occasions, but Harry had always been forced to stay with their neighbour, Mrs Figg, who had done nothing but show him photos of her cats.

His eyes were wide as he watched the beautiful homes flash past their car, thinking how sick with envy the Dursleys would be of the occupants of such stately houses.

He noticed suddenly that the car was slowing down, and then turning into a small cul-de-sac. The narrow road was lined with beautiful plain trees, which cast dappled shade over the car as they drove underneath their ancient boughs.

Straight ahead through the windshield at the end of the cul-de-sac Harry could see a freestanding three-story manor house with grand columns surrounded by a high wall and a huge ornate iron-wrought gate. He could just see a glimpse of a long driveway winding towards the mansion, and a manicured front lawn spotted with all manner of flowers.

It was like something out of a fairy tale.

“Welcome to my home,” Gareth said, gazing fondly upon the stately house. “It has been the home of the Greengrass family for generations.”

“It’s beautiful,” Harry complimented earnestly, though a little intimidated by the imposing wealth behind such a property.

Edward slowed when they reached the ornate iron-wrought gates, and Harry watched as the head of the Greengrass family reached for his wand and waved it, causing the gates to swing open slowly. Edward moved the car forwards as the gates opened.

“Most wizarding properties have what are called ‘wards’ around them,” Gareth explained, already knowing Harry would be curious. “Depending on how old the property is, they can be very complicated. My family’s house is protected against all manner of intrusion – no one can Apparate in or out except for me and my wife Rosalind. When my daughters are old enough to Apparate they will be keyed into the wards too. There is also a Muggle-Repelling Charm to deter any Muggles from seeing or approaching the property. Only myself or Rosalind can permit anyone entry.”

“That’s very useful,” Harry mused. A sad expression crossed his face and he asked softly, “Would my parents have had wards around their home when Voldemort attacked them?”

Gareth’s face grew grave at the serious question and he replied, “They most certainly would have. Wards offer a great deal of protection, but a powerful enough witch or wizard can break them down. Usually done in a group, but it is not unheard of for a singularly powerful individual to bring down wards alone.”

He hesitated, aware that the car was slowly rolling closer to the front doors of the house and they would soon be exiting. “I will also tell you this; the papers reported that your parents were under an additional protection – something called the Fidelius Charm. It is an extremely powerful and ancient form of concealing magic.”

Seeing they had pulled up at the front doors, Gareth waved his wand and said, “We just need a moment Edward, if you don’t mind?”

Edward replied, “Of course not, Lord Greengrass, take your time.”

Gareth waved his wand again, no doubt reactivating the privacy spell.

“The Fidelius Charm is immensely complex to cast – there are very few individuals with the power to cast such a spell. It involves the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The secret, in the case of your parents, was the location of their home. That person who carried the secret, the Secret-Keeper, could not be forced by any means to give anyone the information. If the Secret-Keeper refuses to speak, then the secret can never be discovered.”

“My parent’s Secret-Keeper betrayed them, didn’t they,” Harry murmured quietly, realising what Gareth was hinting at.

“Yes,” Gareth confirmed. “Your parents put their faith in a close friend, who gave the location of their home to Voldemort.”

“Who was it?” Harry asked, a slow anger beginning to burn in him. Whoever this person was, they had done something unforgiveable by betraying the people who trusted them. They might not have killed Harry’s parents, but they had certainly helped.

“The man they say did it, was Sirius Black,” Gareth informed Harry slowly.

“Black?” Harry gasped. “As in, my last living wizarding relatives? The family I am going to be living with?”

“The same,” Gareth confirmed truthfully. “You must understand though Harry that it is unconfirmed if Sirius Black really was the Secret-Keeper. He is serving a life sentence in Azkaban – the wizarding prison – not for the betrayal of your parents but for the murder of another wizard, Peter Pettigrew, and twelve Muggles. Peter Pettigrew was in fact another close friend of your parents.”

“So I am going to be living with a family where one of the members of that family is at the very least a known murderer, and possibly the one who betrayed my parents?” Harry asked, aghast.

“In the interests of full disclosure Harry, Sirius Black is not the only Black to be serving a life sentence in Azkaban. His cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange née Black, is also serving a life sentence for another reason. She was in Voldemort’s inner circle.” Gareth told him.

Harry appreciated the man’s sheer honesty, but was seriously starting to rethink how glad he would be to be part of the Black family.

“Gareth, I don’t know how comfortable I am being put with that family,” Harry said, a little desperately.

“Perfectly understandable,” Gareth assured Harry. “You will be remaining with my family until we have thoroughly screened any potential guardians for you from the Black family. There will also be a trial period where you will spend time with a potential guardian under supervision. I swear to you not all members of the Black family have criminal backgrounds. It is wise to not judge an entire family based on the actions of one or two members.”

Harry blushed slightly, aware he had been quick to disavow the whole family without knowing anything else about them. “I’ll…give them a chance,” Harry muttered eventually after mulling it over for a few moments.

He was still shocked at the knowledge that one of the members of the family – a distant relative no less – had apparently betrayed his parents. At least he was in that wizarding prison for life.

“That’s all that I ask of you Harry. And if you’re still unhappy with a proposed guardian, we can look further than the Black family for other potential candidates, though the Black family likely do have first right to custody over you.”

“I understand,” Harry confirmed, relieved that he could veto an option if he really felt unsafe. He was also pleasantly surprised that Gareth had actually told him the truth, and had been so forthcoming.

“Now, I’m sure my wife Rosalind must be wondering what we’re doing sitting in the car still. Let’s go inside, shall we?” Gareth said, forcing his tone to be more upbeat to counteract the seriousness of the conversation they had just had.

As he spoke he waved his wand, lowering the privacy charm. Edward had already jumped out of the car and had the door open for Gareth, allowing the man to exit the car as gracefully as he had first entered.

There wasn’t so much as a wrinkle in his suit, the man looking perfectly put together. Meanwhile Harry scrambled awkwardly out, trying to adjust his shirt so that it sat a little less crookedly on his frame. He gripped his rucksack tightly, and watched as Gareth instructed Edward he would no longer require his services for the day and he was free to return to car to the Ministry and go home for the day.

Edward bowed his head again. “Good day Lord Greengrass, Mr Potter.”

“Thank you for driving us,” Harry called out politely.

Edward looked surprised but pleased, tipping his matching emerald green hat to Harry before hopping back into the car and steering it off around the turning point of the driveway and looping back to the exit.

Gareth lifted his wand again to allow the gates to open, and the Ministry car exited, quickly disappearing from view as it flashed down the street.

As the two approached the grand set of double doors leading into the house they swung open slowly and silently. A strange little creature was standing in the foyer of the house, with large, bat-like ears and huge eyes. It was dressed in a neatly pressed dark green uniform of sorts, which draped around its tiny body and was trimmed in gold.

“Welcome home Lord Greengrass and Mr Harry Potter!” the little thing squeaked excitedly, curtseying. “Pimsey is delighted to welcome Mr Harry Potter into the Greengrass home.”

“Ah, yes thank you Pimsey,” Gareth said, before turning to Harry and explaining, “Pimsey here is what is known as a house elf. House elves are bonded to an institution or home. Pimsey is bonded to the Greengrass home and she takes care of the property, keeping it neat and orderly, and also watches over my daughters.”

“And Pimsey takes care of Lord and Lady Greengrass too,” the elf said primly.

Gareth laughed lightly and confirmed, “Yes, Pimsey certainly looks after us too. We’d be truly lost without you.”

The house-elf positively lit up, crying out, “Lord Greengrass is too kind! Now, Lady Greengrass asked Pimsey to take you to the kitchen, she and Pimsey have prepared a welcoming feast for Mr Potter.”

“Thank you Pimsey, after you,” Gareth replied.

Pimsey pottered off down a corridor to the right as Harry and Gareth followed behind. Harry was in awe of the house around him, admiring the polished wooden floors and panelling along the walls and the heavy expensive looking drapes at the wide, airy windows. It all made him feel even more out of place.

He was also feeling incredibly nervous to meet Lady Greengrass, although with the fond way Gareth spoke about her, Harry hoped she would prove to be kind. There were also the man’s two daughters to consider – his eldest daughter, Daphne, was apparently the same age as Harry and his younger daughter, Astoria, was two years younger. Harry had never spoken much with girls, but the ones at school had always laughed at him and his terrible clothes and whispered mean things to each other about him.

The corridor opened up in a space with very high ceilings that was positively awash with light from the afternoon sun streaming in through the windows lining the back wall and the French glass doors.

Through the windows Harry could see a beautiful garden that stretched further than his eye could see, including an impressive fountain and what looked like a maze of all things in the distance. It seemed the property was a lot bigger than it looked from the outside.

There was a large, round table in the centre of the room that was laden with all manner of food, and a huge kitchen that seemed to be an interesting mix of modern and old fashioned.

Standing next to the table, having just finished levitating a large platter onto it, was a tall, willowy looking woman. She had long, blonde hair that was braided and pinned up elegantly at the back of her head, and cheerful hazel eyes that creased softly as she smiled at Harry.

She was in a lovely, expensive looking dress but had a sensible apron thrown over it that had a dusting of flour and a smear of what looked like a sauce of some sort on it.

“Welcome to our home, Harry,” the woman said, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair that had come free behind her ear. “I’m Rosalind Greengrass, but please call me Rosie. I hope you’re hungry!”

Turning to her husband, who had approached, Rosie offered a cheek to him, and he placed a gentle kiss upon it.

“Where are the girls?” Gareth asked, looking around the room and towards the windows overlooking the back garden to see if he could spot them.

“Picking flowers for our guest,” Rosie replied, looking fond. She pulled out the nearest chair and gestured for Harry to come over. “Please, come sit down Harry, you can put your bag down beside the table.”

Harry nervously walked over, sitting down at the table and tucking his rucksack beside it as directed. Gareth took the seat next to him as Rosie turned to Pimsey and said, “Would you mind beginning to serve refreshments, Pimsey? I’ll go find my wayward daughters.”

“Of course Lady Greengrass, Pimsey will take care of it,” the house elf replied, waving her hand and causing a silver tray to pop into existence.

Rosie removed her apron, flicking her wand to send it flying into a cupboard in the kitchen, and moved outside. Her voice carried as she called out, “Daphne! Astoria! Our guest is here!”

Harry was watching Pimsey as she wandlessly and wordlessly conjured a teapot and fine china cups out of seeming nothingness. A pitcher of fresh juice appeared too and some glasses.

Gareth leaned over beside Harry and explained, “House elves have very different magic to witches and wizards. They require no wand to perform it. Many underestimate them as they are bonded to wizarding homes and other institutions and their magic usually centres on house related activities. But there is no creature in this world that is better to have by your side than a house elf.”

Harry nodded fervently, committing that piece of advice to heart.

As Pimsey served Gareth a coffee and Harry a glass of orange juice, two small figures came running across the garden towards the back door. In a blur of colourful dresses and loud chatter the two girls, the taller blonde and the shorter brunette, burst into the room.

The taller blonde girl came right up to Harry just as Gareth warningly said, “Daphne, your mother spoke with you about-”

“Hi Harry, my name is Daphne, I got you these flowers to say welcome,” Daphne stated, shoving an armful of random flowers into Harry’s arms.

“Daphne!” Rosie cried out as she caught up behind her daughters, looking thoroughly unimpressed. There was a subtle curve to her mouth though that betrayed her amusement.

The smaller brunette girl stamped her foot from where she was hovering by her mother and yelled out, “Daphne they’re from both of us, and I helped pick them too!”

“Well it was my idea, so I get to give them to him,” Daphne insisted, flicking her blonde hair behind one shoulder. “Do you like them?” she asked, blue eyes intent on Harry.

“Er, yes, thank you, no one has ever given me flowers before,” Harry said, awkwardly juggling the stems, trying not to crush them.

“I can get you some whenever you want!” Daphne offered happily. “We have loads.”

“Please ask myself or your father for permission if you’re going to go ripping the flowers out please Daphne,” Rosie interjected. She smiled warmly at Harry though and added, “Though Daphne is right, you can have some from the garden whenever you want if you like them.”

Harry leaning in, smelling the flowers. He had always enjoyed working on the Dursley's garden – it was the one chore he had actually enjoyed.

“Thank you,” he said again, smiling tentatively at the blonde girl.

“Alright, Pimsey, would you mind arranging a vase for those flowers – we can send them up to Harry’s bedroom,” Gareth suggested.

In a flash the flowers disappeared from Harry’s arms, and Pimsey said, “Pimsey has put the flowers in a vase beside Mr Potter’s bed.”

“I have a bedroom?” Harry blurted out.

“Of course, silly, you’re staying with us for awhile,” Daphne said with a giggle, not registering the stillness of her parents.

“After our late lunch, I’ll take you on a tour of the house,” Rosie said softly, running a hand through her younger daughter Astoria’s hair. “We do indeed have a bedroom set up for you, Harry.”

“Thanks,” Harry whispered, feeling strangely choked up, like there was a thickness in his throat. He suddenly feared he was about to start crying.

“Let’s eat,” Gareth said to break the silence.

“I’m sitting next to Harry!” Daphne yelled, sitting down on his other side.

“I wanted to sit next to Harry!” Astoria yelled back, pouting.

“Calm down girls, Harry is not a toy you can fight over,” Rosie said sternly as she guided Astoria to sit beside Gareth, taking the remaining seat between Astoria and Daphne. “And you’re both being far too loud for the table, remember your manners.”

Both girls sat up primly in their seats at that like a switch had been flipped, both chiming in unison, “Yes mum.”

“Please eat, Harry, have as much as you want,” Rosie told him.

Harry was nervous at having so much food in front of him, still a little emotional after being told he had a bedroom.

Daphne leaned over and whispered, “I recommend the roast, it’s really good! Do you want me to serve you some?”

Finding his voice Harry mumbled, “Yes, please,” and watched in a daze as the girl grabbed his plate and piled it high. She added some fresh vegetables too, whispering to Harry that her parents always said she and Astoria needed to eat more vegetables so Harry should too.

She put the stacked plate in front of Harry, with a flourish, smiling warmly at him, eyes creasing like her mum’s eyes did.

Harry ate cautiously, almost in a daze as no one took his plate away, or told him he should have less. The Greengrass family ate slowly, taking small bites, not like the ravenous way Dudley and Uncle Vernon fell upon their meals.

They talked casually, Rosie telling Gareth about what Astoria and Daphne’s tutor had said about the girl’s lessons, and Astoria excitedly talking about progressing to the next reading level.

Perhaps noticing Harry was a little overwhelmed, they avoided drawing attention to him as he slowly ate through his mountain of food, more than he’d ever had in his life in one sitting.

Daphne occasionally leaned over to whisper to Harry about what her parents were discussing so he wasn’t totally out of the loop. The blonde girl also heaped another serving of mashed potato and roast onto Harry’s plate when he was nearly done, whispering, “Have as much as you want, Harry! But also mum made a Victoria sponge cake so make sure you leave room for that with tea.”

Harry didn’t even know what a Victoria sponge cake was, but judging by the reverent way Daphne talked about it, it must be something special.

For the first time in his life Harry felt properly full as he carefully scraped the final bite of food off the plate into his mouth, nervously glancing around to double check no one was going to make a nasty comment about how much he had eaten.

But no one was looking at him, instead Daphne was laughing at the mess around Astoria’s mouth as Rosie grabbed a napkin and gently wiped her youngest daughter’s mouth.

Gareth was talking to Pimsey, and a moment later their plates were sparkling clean and spotless. Pimsey came around with a fresh tea service, and Harry copied Daphne who asked for a peppermint tea when Pimsey asked him what he wanted.

As they sipped their teas Rosie declared it was time for cake, causing Daphne and Astoria to yell excitedly, until a stern look from their mother shushed them.

She levitated a cake stand from the kitchen to the table, displaying a magnificent looking cake layered with cream, jam and it also had fresh strawberries on top.

With a simple spell she had cut five slices, which were levitated down onto each of their freshly cleaned plates. A little dessert spoon appeared beside Harry’s plate to help him eat it.

“Enjoy,” Rosie said cheerfully, digging into her own portion.

Harry scooped up a mouthful, picking up some cream and jam with the cake. He put it in his mouth and had to close his eyes in pure bliss at the amazing taste.

“This is delicious,” he said aloud after finishing his mouthful, even though he was feeling shy.

“Thank you Harry,” Rosie said pleasantly. “It's my mother’s recipe. I am happy to make it again for you if you like it.”

“Oh Morgana, Harry you have got to insist mum makes this again, please,” Daphne whisper-shouted, being clearly heard by her parents who gave her twin looks of disapproval.

“I’d like that, Rosie,” Harry said, hearing Daphne and Astoria both whisper, “Yes!” under their breaths.

Feeling like he was in some kind of fairy tale dream, Harry finished the cake and his peppermint tea. Pimsey snapped her fingers causing all of their plates, cutlery, glasses and cups to spontaneously disappear once they were all done.

“Time for a tour,” Rosie declared with a gentle clap of her hands.

“I want to help with the tour!” Daphne declared. “I want to show Harry the secret garden.”

“I want to help too!” Astoria called out.

“You can both come on the tour,” Rosie agreed exasperatedly. “But we need to show Harry his bedroom and the basics of the house before dragging him around the grounds.”

“Bedroom and house first, then the secret garden,” Daphne declared.

“I thought the secret garden was a ‘girls only’ club,” Gareth stated with a wry grin.

“It was, but we have Harry now so it’s ‘kids only’” Daphne stated firmly. She turned to Harry and said, “Astoria and I didn’t even let Draco see our secret garden when he came to visit – but you’re different because you’re living with us so you’re part of our club now.”

Harry wasn’t sure who ‘Draco’ was, but assumed he was being given a high honour and so shyly mumbled, “Thanks Daphne, Astoria.”

“I have some work to finish off, but I leave you in Rosie and the girl’s capable hands Harry,” Gareth said. “Ms Abbott will be around within the hour I expect with the rest of your things. She’s Flooing in,” Gareth added making eye contact with Rosie, who nodded.

“Pimsey please be alert for our guest, Ms Abbott, arriving in the parlour room via Floo and please offer her refreshments when she arrives,” Rosie requested.

“Pimsey will be doing as the Lady Greengrass asks,” the house elf confirmed, curtseying before disappearing with a quiet pop, startling Harry slightly.

Seeing this, Rosie said, “House elves have the ability to appear and disappear like that. If you ever need anything at all Harry, just call for Pimsey and she will appear for you. She can also go fetch Gareth or I if you need us. Or give you directions if you get lost.”

Harry nodded in understanding, and they all stood up from the table, Gareth exiting down a different corridor to head towards his study.

Rosie led the trio of children back down the same corridor Harry had first entered, and into to the entrance foyer, where she began leading them up the grand staircase that took up most of the back of the space.

Astoria clung to her mother’s hand as they walked but Daphne walked beside Harry, telling him excitedly about the time she and Astoria rode down the stairs on mattresses.

“And nearly gave me a heart attack when I caught you doing it,” Rosie said with one eyebrow raised.

“Pimsey saved us at the bottom!” Astoria added excitedly.

“Thank Morgana for house elves,” Rosie muttered.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: To test a man’s character, give him power

Gareth waited until he heard the excited chatter of his daughters and the more muted voices of his wife and Harry fade away as they toured the house, and then moved to the parlour room.

“Pimsey,” he said aloud, watching as the house elf popped into existence. “Can you please fetch me my dark blue robes with the gold trim?”

“Yes Lord Greengrass,” the elf stated, already snapping her fingers and procuring the robes immediately.

“Thank you Pimsey, I have a meeting at the Ministry, however, I should be back around the same time we are expecting Ms Abbott. Please tell Ms Abbott if she arrives before me that I apologise for my tardiness, and I am meeting with the Minister.”

“Pimsey will be telling Ms Abbott,” the elf said with a curtsey.

Gareth quickly put the wizarding robes on over his suit, Pimsey having already ironed out any creases from the robes.

A grand fireplace tall enough for him to stand upright in took up most of the back wall in the parlour room, which he walked towards once he was presentable. Taking a handful of Floo Powder out from the wooden box on the mantel, Gareth stood in the fireplace, dropped the powder and stated clearly, “The Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

He was quickly sucked away by the green flames, his vision temporarily obscured until he arrived at his destination, stepping smoothly into the receiving chamber on Level Two. As the head of a section of the Ministry, he was permitted to Floo directly into any department, as opposed to taking the Floo to the atrium on Level Eight.

Exiting the room he made his way to the wing that hosted the Auror headquarters, the heavy wooden doors opening up for him automatically as he entered. Inside was a large open area divided into small cubicles, one for each Auror.

Most of the Aurors had put their heads down after a cursory once over of Gareth, quickly recognising him as the head of the Child Protection Authority, sharing the same floor together as mutual divisions of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or the DMLE.

However, one particular Auror kept his gaze level on Gareth as he walked the length of the floor towards the door that led to the office of the head of the DMLE, Amelia Bones.

Gareth fought off a sigh of exasperation as the electric blue prosthetic eye of one Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody glared at him. The man was a brilliant duellist, and possibly the greatest Auror to grace the Ministry right now in terms of raw talent, but the man was simply a nightmare to deal with.

He had a hatred of anything dark that bordered on fanatic, which was rich considering he had freely used the Unforgiveables during the war. They had been temporarily legalised for Aurors to use by Madam Bones’ predecessor, Bartemius Crouch Senior. Moody used dark magic when it suited him, but if anyone actually dark-aligned used their magic, they were a threat.

Yes, Moody had quite the skill in hunting down the Death Eaters who had followed Voldemort, but he seemed to have a rather hard time distinguishing between Death Eaters and law-abiding dark witches and wizards.

Gareth gave a polite nod to Moody, acknowledging the man’s attention on him. Moody sneered back, his scarred face twisting up into an even more unpleasant expression than it already was.

The Greengrass family were a known dark family, a dying breed in this part of the world. They followed every rule and regulation that was passed, taking every new restriction on their rights and freedom to practice their magic with gritted teeth and an unaffected façade to the rest of society.

Gareth felt the piercing gaze of Moody follow him all the way to Madam Bones’ door, and even after he had knocked and entered the office after hearing Madam Bones’ invitation to come in, he suspected the man was using his magical eye to watch through the door itself.

“Lord Greengrass, I received your emergency missive requesting I attend a meeting between yourself and the Minister,” Madam Bones said, a frown marring her brow. Amelia Bones was an excellent head of the department, a marked improvement from her callous predecessor who had been demoted after failing to run a successful campaign against the current Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

“Yes Madam Bones, I’m afraid earlier today we had an alert of a wizarding child presenting at a Muggle child protection agency. The child is now in my temporary custody under section 17 of the Child Protection Act,” Gareth informed her promptly, knowing the woman had a keen knowledge of the ins and outs of their legislation.

Madam Bones was taken aback at the news but recovered swiftly, rising from her desk and stating, “I saw the Minister had agreed to see us both at four o’clock – if we leave now we will be right on time.”

Gareth had no obligation to inform the head of the DMLE about any of his cases, as the CPA operated mostly autonomously, however, given the identity of the child now in his care he saw fit to inform Madam Bones and the Minister of the situation. 

Gareth nodded in agreement, opening the door for the head of his department to exit in front of him, closing the door behind them both.

Moody was not so overt in his hateful glare as Gareth crossed the floor with Madam Bones by his side, but he could still feel the man’s penetrating stare burning a hole in the back of his head. Gritting his teeth, Gareth pushed aside his frustration and focused on following Madam Bones, who strode forward at a brisk pace towards the nearest elevator to take them up one floor to the offices of the Minister for Magic and his support staff.

They arrived to a silent corridor lined in plush purple carpet and mahogany walls. Closed doors lined the corridor with nameplates marking the individuals who occupied the various support positions to the Minister.

At the very end of the corridor was the Minister’s suite, which they approached without issue. Madam Bones was the one to knock on the door, and the familiar voice of Cornelius Fudge called out for them to enter.

Inside the lavish office Gareth observed the Minister sitting behind his desk in a pinstriped suit he so favoured, but was surprised to see an unfamiliar woman seated at a smaller desk to the side, parchment and quill at the ready.

“Ah yes, Madam Bones, always a pleasure – and of course Lord Greengrass, welcome, welcome,” the Minister fussed over them, gesturing for them to take a seat in the two finely upholstered armchairs before his desk.

“Forgive me, Minister, but who is this?” Gareth asked, with a polite nod to the woman in the room with them.

“Ah yes! Forgive me for not doing proper introductions. This is my new Senior Undersecretary, Madam Dolores Umbridge. She’ll be sitting in to take notes for this meeting – you made it sound important,” the man said with a chuckle, but there was a nervous glint in his eyes.

“A pleasure to meet you both,” the squat woman said with a simpering smile.

“Minister, I’m afraid this must be a closed meeting between us – I appreciate you wish to have your new Undersecretary present however-”

“Senior Undersecretary, Mr Greengrass,” he was sharply interrupted.

Gareth stared at the woman in shock for a moment; unable to believe she had just interrupted him over such a small thing. Not to mention her failure to refer to him by his proper title - whilst Gareth had no issue with his colleagues not using his title in the course of their jobs, it was generally considered polite to use it when meeting a lord or lady for the first time.

Madam Bones quickly spoke up stating firmly, “Regardless of Madam Umbridge’s position, Minister, this needs to be a private meeting.”

Fudge quickly caved to the two putting pressure on him, apologetically waving Umbridge out of the room. The woman had a rather nasty look about her as she passed by Madam Bones and Gareth, and Gareth made a mental note to look into her. He'd never heard of her before.

He took his wand out and cast an anti-eavesdropping charm, noting the sour expressions on the portraits in Fudge’s office. You never knew where the allegiance of a portrait lay, and where else they might be connected.

“Well, now that you’ve sent my staff away, what is this emergency meeting about?” Fudge asked, tapping a hand agitatedly on his desk.

“At approximately 12 o’clock today my employee, Ms Abbott, received a red alert – a wizarding child had presented at a Muggle child protection agency. Ms Abbott saw fit to inform me immediately, and together we travelled to the site. There we found the Muggle authorities had begun an investigation after the child had made disclosures of abuse to his primary school teacher, and later to a social worker and a police officer. Copies of those disclosures are now on his file in my office,” Gareth explained.

“I am sorry to hear that,” Fudge began carefully. “But forgive me – what part of that required an emergency meeting with the Minister for Magic?” He chuckled, but neither Gareth nor Madam Bones joined him. His chuckle petered out awkwardly.

“I would think it would be enough that this is the first case of a wizarding child being abused in a Muggle setting in over a decade, but if you need any more convincing, then it is the identity of the child that is significant.”

Fudge leaned forward at that, and even the straight-faced Madam Bones looked interested.

“The child we removed today from his Muggle relatives was Harry Potter.”

“Merlin’s Beard!” Fudge exclaimed. A calculating look came across his face and he started to mutter, “What is to be done…the press will have to be notified…perhaps a statement from the boy – he is a ward of the Ministry now, yes? We can spin that in a good light…”

As the man muttered away Madam Bones turned to hiss at Gareth, “Harry Potter? Being abused by his Muggle relatives?”

“I confirmed it myself,” Gareth told her quietly. Then raising his voice to capture Fudge’s attention he continued, “What they were doing to that child was vile. Under section 17 of the Child Protection Act, Mr Potter is now in my temporary custody, until we identify his nearest suitable blood relative.”

“Well, we must organise a press conference right away! There will be an inquiry no doubt, the public will demand it, I’ll have Madam Umbridge back in here now to discuss strategy, send missives out to the reporters-”

“Absolutely not!” Madam Bones snapped.

“I beg your pardon,” Fudge spluttered in shock.

“This cannot become some media circus, Minister. The proper protocols must be followed. Confidentiality is key until the boy is placed with his future guardian. If they so wish, they may organise a statement to the press to explain their custody of Mr Potter. At this stage, our only responsibility is to ensure Mr Potter’s safety, and to locate the most appropriate guardian,” Madam Bones fumed.

“Madam Bones is correct. Mr Potter has been through enough trauma without his abuse being splashed across the tabloids,” Gareth stated curtly.

As Fudge continued to gape, trying to come up with some valid reason to still take the news to the press, Madam Bones continued in a more level tone, “It’s the law, Minister. We must protect Mr Potter’s privacy as a matter of priority.”

“Ms Abbott is the only other person in my section who is aware of the situation. She is arranging for the boy’s belongings to be delivered to my home, and is ensuring the correct follow up is done on the Muggle child abuse case.” Seeing Madam Bones’ tight expression Gareth added softly, “I will supply a copy to you.”

Madam Bones nodded stiffly in thanks.

“My wife is aware of the circumstances that brought Mr Potter to us, and my two daughters know nothing other than Mr Potter will be staying with us for now. However they all know not to say a word of Mr Potter’s presence in our house to anyone. My personal driver also knows Mr Potter is staying with me, however, he is under a strict non disclosure agreement.”

“It sounds like you’ve taken all the correct precautions,” Madam Bones affirmed.

“Yes…well…how soon will Mr Potter be placed with his guardian? We simply cannot keep this hidden from the public for too long – the backlash-” Fudge blustered.

“This cannot be rushed,” Gareth said sharply. Softening his tone to appease to the flustered politician he added, “I will be arranging a St Mungo’s Healer to come do a house-call tomorrow, and complete a full physical assessment. I will also contact a Mind Healer to provide some counselling to Mr Potter. I expect regular sessions will be required. Once he has settled, we will perform the Heritage Test on Mr Potter to identify his next of kin.”

Madam Bones was nodding approvingly to everything being said, but Fudge still seemed determined to get something concrete out of Gareth that he could feed to the press.

“You could make a statement, Lord Greengrass, as Mr Potter’s temporary guardian. Perhaps just a short press release explaining the Ministry has become involved-”

“I am sorry Minister, but that would be an abuse of my power as a temporary guardian. Any press releases must wait for the permission of Mr Potter’s future, permanent guardian.”

Fudge looked frustrated, and fearing he might do something impulsive, Gareth stated firmly, “From the Ministry’s end we are doing everything correctly and by the book. When the public do find out, there will be nothing but praise for our careful, discreet handling of the situation.”

“I- yes I see – a bit of discretion now and the payoff will be even better in the long run,” Fudge mused.

Gareth could sense rather than see Madam Bone’s disgust, and he shared the sentiment, but an appeased Minister was a safe Minister.

“Yes, exactly right Minister,” Gareth forced himself to say.

“Very well, you will keep me in the loop yes Lord Greengrass? Let me know when you are planning on doing that Heritage Test and when Mr Potter’s guardian has been selected. You have a VIP guest staying with you after all!” Fudge joked.

Gareth could barely hide his grimace but forced a tight smile on his face as he said, “You’ll be the first to know Minister.”

He stood, keen to leave and get home to his family. Madam Bones was close behind him, uncaring of political niceties when she sternly told Fudge, “Absolute discretion Minister, until Mr Potter is settled with his new family.”

“Yes, yes Madam Bones, the press won’t hear a peep out of my office,” the man said dismissively.

“Or anyone else other than myself or Lord Greengrass,” Madam Bones pushed.

“Yes, Merlin’s Beard, Madam Bones, you can be quite intense, of course I understand,” Fudge said with a nervous chuckle, eyes straying to Gareth as though looking for an ally.

Gareth was already at the door, but he dipped his head to the Minister and said, “I’ll be in contact, Minister.”

Without waiting to be dismissed Gareth swept out of the office, nearly walking straight into that unpleasant Umbridge woman who had been hovering by the door, no doubt trying to eavesdrop. Unsuccessfully, as Gareth had cast an anti-eavesdropping spell.

“Madam,” Gareth said, nodding to her while looking down his nose at her like she was a particularly unpleasant insect.

“Mr Greengrass,” she replied with false sweetness underpinned with acid.

Madam Bones didn’t even bother to acknowledge the woman as she left, jerking her head to wordlessly ask Gareth to walk with her.

They fell into step, quickly putting the Minister’s suite behind them. Neither said anything, all too aware of the invisible eyes and ears around them.

“My office,” Gareth murmured, and Madam Bones nodded in silent agreement.

They made it quickly to his office, where Gareth set up the same privacy spell around them both. He nodded to Madam Bones when he was done, signalling it was safe to talk.

Madam Bones, in an uncharacteristically emotional outburst declared, “That man is truly insufferable! A child has been abused, and all he cares about is how he appears to the bloody press!”

“That’s his breed of politician for you,” Gareth murmured, moving over to his wall of files to pull Harry’s out. To an outsider the name on each file was incomprehensible – but to Gareth the file said Harry Potter.

Gareth tapped the file with his wand, creating an immediate duplicate. He cast a spell nonverbally over the new copy to have it receive any new correspondence too. He put the original file back in its spot and passed the copied file over to Madam Bones, who took it almost reverently.

“Thank you, Lord Greengrass.” She hesitated for a moment before saying, “My niece, Susan, is the same age as Mr Potter. The thought of anything of this nature having happened to her...is disturbing.”

Gareth knew that Voldemort’s followers had killed Madam Bones’ older brother, his wife, and their children. Her younger brother and sister-in-law had survived the war to have a child, Susan, it seemed. Madam Bones clearly understood the preciousness of children, having lost her other nieces and nephews.

“He will be safe with my family until we identify his next of kin through the Heritage Test,” Gareth assured her.

“Mr Potter’s nearest relatives would be the Blacks, yes?” Madam Bones asked uncertainly, revealing what she had been building up to asking.

Gareth was surprised briefly that the woman knew that information, before silently chastising himself for assuming just because someone was not pureblooded that they did not pay attention to family bloodlines.

“Yes, Harry Potter’s paternal grandmother was Dorea Potter née Black. I believe she has two surviving siblings, Pollux and Cassiopeia Black.”

“Do you truly think Pollux Black would consent to taking Mr Potter in, given who his mother was?” Madam Bones asked cautiously. “The Blacks are pureblood fanatics. Pollux Black has quite the reputation for Muggleborn hatred.”

“To be candid with you Madam Bones, I rather have my hopes set on Cassiopeia Black as a possible guardian, not her older brother. She never married, and has had no children of her own, but she reportedly had a successful career in mainland Europe as a Curse-Breaker. I understand she only recently returned to England in her retirement.”

“Cassiopeia Black?” Madam Bones asked, frown on her face. “I don’t think I have ever heard of her.”

“I think we can both agree that is a good thing that you have never heard of her. She has never done anything to draw scrutiny upon herself. I believe as Harry’s great-aunt, she deserves the chance to prove herself a suitable guardian,” Gareth said firmly.

“Very well,” Madam Bones said, “I have my reservations about Pollux Black, and his son, Cygnus, too for that matter. But if this Cassiopeia Black passes all the necessary background checks, then there should be no issue with her taking custody of Mr Potter.”

“If that is all, Madam Bones, I should be returning to my home as I am expecting Ms Abbott to arrive with the remainder of Mr Potter’s belongings.”

“Yes, of course I won’t keep you any longer,” the woman replied, dipping her head to Gareth and turning on her heel to leave.

As Madam Bones departed, Gareth wondered distractedly how much backlash there would be from the public at placing Harry Potter with a Black, regardless of being blood-related to them. Even Madam Bones, generally a fair person, had expressed her concern. 

The name Black had suffered a tremendous fall from grace since Voldemort’s defeat seven years ago. The life sentences of Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange née Black had put the family in the spotlight for all the wrong reasons, and the remaining individuals who bore the surname Black were all elderly or aging into obscurity.

Not to mention, like the Greengrass family, the Blacks were one of the last true dark families in wizarding Britain. Once something to be celebrated, it now put a target on their backs.

Gareth steeled himself as he left his office and started heading back to the designated fireplace to Floo home. Regardless of the backlash, he would put Harry with the most appropriate guardian, no matter their family name or where their magical allegiance lay.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five: The ache for home

Harry quickly found himself disoriented in the Greengrass home, despite the careful and thorough directions provided by Rosie. There were three floors, not including the extensive basement and wine cellar.

The rooms gradually began to blur together, the various bedrooms, bathrooms, studies, sitting rooms and even a grand ballroom melding together. Harry suspected he would be calling Pimsey frequently to ask for directions in the extensive home.

He had been in awe of all of the moving paintings on the walls around the home – he had seen moving pictures in the materials that the Muggleborn Introductory Package included, but to see paintings come to life was a whole other experience.

Rosie had explained that the various people in the portraits, who either waved or politely said hello as they passed, were relatives of both she and Gareth. Apparently it took months for a person to sit for a magical portrait, and only specially trained artists could truly capture the idea of a person. It meant that even after a person died, their personality and likeness lived on in portrait form, and you could speak to them.

People and animals in portraits could even move to other frames, and Rosie had informed Harry that some of the portraits in their house were connected to frames in their holiday home on the Isle of Wight. It meant that the people in the portraits could freely move between properties they were tied to, and could even be asked to check up on the other property and anyone inside.

Harry thought it was brilliant.  

On the top floor of the house were the the family bedrooms – there was a luxurious master suite for the Greengrass couple and two bedrooms each with an ensuite attached for their daughters.

Daphne and Astoria had been delighted to show Harry their bedrooms, excitedly tugging him in and showing him their spaces. Both of the girl’s bedrooms were large enough to fit the entire top floor of the Dursley's home inside.

One floor down there were a number of guest bedrooms, and it was here that Rosie led Harry to a door and pushed it open to reveal a beautifully decorated room with a king sized bed, a reading nook with an empty bookshelf, and a huge window overlooking the back garden, complete with a window seat. One door led through to what looked like an ensuite bathroom, and another door was closed.

Sitting on one of the beside tables was a crystal vase filled with the flowers Daphne had given to Harry earlier.

“This is your bedroom,” Rosie told him, walking inside and gesturing for Harry to follow her. She pointed to the closed door in the room and said, “There is a walk in wardrobe through there where you can put your clothes when they arrive.”

Harry was shocked in silence. When he had been told he would have a bedroom he had assumed it would be a small space, perhaps something the size of Dudley’s second bedroom if he was very lucky.

“The bookshelf is empty so you can put whatever books you want there!” Daphne said excitedly.

Watching the afternoon light streaming through the wide window and silently taking in the space that was apparently his own, Harry was mortified to realise he could feel the tears welling up, and this time he felt he would not be able to stop them as much as he tried.

“Daphne, take your sister to your bedroom, please,” Rosie said gently but firmly.

Rather than argue, a rather subdued Daphne took Astoria by the hand and pulled her out of the room, blue eyes worried as she looked at Harry.

Rosie sat down on the upholstered bench at the end of the bed, arranging her skirts around her, before gently patting the spot next to her. Harry stumbled forwards, blinking away tears furiously as they obscured his already poor vision. He sat down shakily, reaching up to take off his glasses and wipe his eyes with the back of his hand.

A blurry white object appeared before him, and Harry blinked in surprise, squinting as he realised it was a handkerchief. He took it gratefully, wiping his eyes with the soft fabric, which smelled faintly of lavender.

“We are so happy to have you here with us, Harry,” Rosie told him softly. “I don’t know everything that you have been through, but I am determined while you are here with us that you will know nothing but comfort and safety in our care.”

Harry buried his face in the handkerchief; worried if he spoke he would start to cry in earnest.

“If you want to talk about what you’ve been through, you can do so at any time. It is nothing to be ashamed of. I am here if you need anything,” Rosie promised. “I want you to consider our home, your home too.”

At that, Harry could not hold back the tears anymore and he let out a quiet sob, partly choked off. Earlier that day he had woken up in a cupboard under the stairs, had been pushed around and forced to cook breakfast for his relatives even though he was barely tall enough to reach over the stovetop. He was now sitting in the most beautiful house he had ever seen, in a bedroom of his own, being told that he would have a home here, if only for a short amount of time until his closest relatives were identified.

Harry appreciated that even while he cried Rosie didn’t try and hug him, just sat beside him, a warm and comforting presence. He couldn’t recall the last time he had felt so safe.

Eventually he calmed down, tired both physically and emotionally from the tears. When he offered the damp handkerchief back to Rosie, adjusting his glasses back into place, she smiled and told him, “Let me show you a handy spell.”

She pulled out her wand and took the damp fabric in her other hand. For Harry’s benefit she spoke the incantation slowly and clearly, and offered it back to Harry who touched it lightly, feeling it was now dry again.

“I love magic,” he whispered, meaning it with all of his heart.

“In less than three years you can get a wand of your own, and soon you’ll be learning all the magic you want,” Rosie told him with a warm smile.

Harry frowned slightly, curious as he asked, “Gareth and Ms Abbott explained to me that witches and wizards channel their magic through their wands. But how is it that I’ve been performing magic without one, and without saying any spells?”

“It is very common for children to perform accidental magic, which they grow out of as their magic stabilises,” Rosie explained. “It is wandless and wordless because it is driven by the emotions of the child, and is consequently unpredictable.”

“Is it possible though when you get older to still do magic wandlessly and wordlessly?” Harry asked. “I’ve seen Gareth using wordless magic when we entered the property.”

“You will be taught nonverbal magic in your last couple of years at Hogwarts – it is quite tricky to get the hang of, and many witches and wizards continue to speak their spells aloud – although some spells are easier than others to perform nonverbally.”

“As for wandless magic…” Rosie trailed off, looking thoughtful. “It takes a powerful witch or wizard to be capable of performing any magic without a wand. I’ve heard of some cases, but it is very rare for an individual to be able to perform spells without a wand, let alone to be able to perform consistently without a focus.”

Harry nodded absent-mindedly, curious at what point he would grow out of his accidental magic. He wondered if he could experiment with it while it lasted, seeing as he wouldn’t be able to get a wand until he turned eleven.

Seeing Harry had fully calmed down, Rosie asked him, “Are you ready to continue the tour? We can explore the gardens before the sun sets, or we can leave it to tomorrow if you would prefer?”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing the gardens,” Harry said shyly, “My favourite chore at home was being in charge of looking after the garden.”

Rosie’s face tensed at the mention of Harry’s living situation, unhappy at the thought of a child looking after a whole garden, quite possibly unsupervised. But she schooled her expression and said lightly, “You are welcome to play in the garden whenever you want – I know Daphne and Astoria are keen to show you their secret garden.”

Harry left his rucksack in his new bedroom, pulling out the miniaturised trunk that had been given to him. Rosie got him to place the trunk against a wall of his new bedroom and she tapped it with her wand to return it to its true size.

Harry couldn’t wait to get to read the books that came with the Muggleborn Introductory Package, but he was also keen to see the gardens.

Rosie called out for Daphne and Astoria outside of Harry’s room, who came thumping down the stairs eagerly at the sound of their mother’s voice. Astoria went back to clinging to Rosie’s hand as they made their way down through the house to the back doors leading out to the garden, but Daphne again stuck close to Harry. She ducked her head in close and whispered, “Are you okay?”

Touched at the girl’s genuine concern Harry mustered up a smile for her and said, “I’m okay, Daphne.”

To his surprise the blonde girl gasped, looking strangely delighted. As Harry looked at her in confusion she declared, “You smiled! That was the first time I saw you smile.”

She was beaming at Harry now, and Harry couldn’t help but to continue smiling back.

As they left the house and walked out into the beautiful garden, with the last of the afternoon sun on his face, Harry let the smile grow even wider. He felt truly happy.

They spent about twenty minutes exploring the garden, which Harry decided was his favourite part of the whole property. The girls took him to the maze towards the back of the garden, past the elaborate fountain Harry had seen earlier, with Daphne telling her mum to wait at the entrance.

According to the girls the secret garden was at the centre of the maze, and as it was their private space where no parents were allowed.

Harry recalled that this was the secret garden that had once been ‘girls only’, and was shyly pleased that he was being included. No other kids his age had ever really played with him, all too afraid of Dudley to be nice.

He had discovered that a statue of a girl in a ballerina dress guarded the secret garden. Daphne said to Harry to say the words, “Rose bloom” and he had watched as the white marble statue smiled at them all and spun gracefully to the side. Her marble hand made a pulling gesture and what had been a plain hedge seemingly melted away to reveal the secret garden.

Inside the space were flowers of all kinds, including types Harry had never seen before. But what grabbed his attention was the huge, old oak tree in the middle, which had been somehow hidden from sight when outside of the secret garden itself.

The oak tree had a swing set roped to it, and best of all, there was a tree house perched between the boughs. A ladder led up to it, and inside the tree house were comfortable pillows and throws.

They had barely begun to settle into the tree house when Pimsey appeared with a pop.

“Sorry to be interrupting the young ladies and Mr Potter, but the Lady Greengrass be sending me to get you all. Ms Abbott has arrived.”

“We’ll play more together tomorrow Harry!” Daphne promised. Then she explained, “Harry take one of Pimsey’s hands – Astoria you take the other.”

As they followed the girl’s instructions, Daphne stepped between them and took Astoria’s free hand and then asked, “Can I hold your hand Harry?”

“Sure,” Harry said, taking the girl’s hand.

“Pimsey will be taking you all to Lady Greengrass now,” the house elf explained. Then, seemingly for Harry’s benefit she added, “Pimsey will take you over in a second with her magic.”

Harry nodded in understanding, excited to experience house elf teleportation.

The last thing he registered was a pop as the house elf disappeared with them all in tow, and then suddenly he was standing in the kitchen. Rosie came forward and fussed over them all, wiping Daphne’s cheek that had a smear of dirt on it and waving her wand over all three children to straighten their clothes magically.

“Daphne, stay in here with Astoria while Pimsey watches you both. Harry, if you’ll come with me to meet with Ms Abbott?”

“Why can’t we come?” Astoria asked with a pout, hazel eyes staring up at her mother imploringly.

“Ms Abbott is here for Harry only, to have a talk with him. I hope you will both respect Harry’s privacy?” Rosie said.

That caused both girls’ backs to straighten, and Daphne insisted, “Of course we respect his privacy.” She turned to Harry and she said, “When you’re done let’s go play together more before dinner?”

Harry nodded in agreement, giving both girls a small smile. “That sounds good. Thank you for showing me your secret garden.”

“It’s our shared garden now,” Daphne stated. Astoria nodded along happily.

Harry felt a blush cross his cheeks, beyond happy at being included. “Thanks,” he mumbled again shyly.

He followed Rosie out of the kitchen and back down the corridor while Pimsey stayed behind to watch Daphne and Astoria.

She told him as they approached the front parlour room that Ms Abbott had brought his belongings with her. Harry was grateful, but also a little bit embarrassed, because he knew that meant Ms Abbott had seen the cupboard. Feet dragging a little, Harry trailed after Rosie towards the front room.

Inside there was a massive fireplace, the biggest Harry had ever seen, which stretched across the back wall.

Ms Abbott stood up from the couch she had been sitting on as they entered, a smile on her face. She had an unfamiliar black bag next to her.

“Hello again Mr Potter, and thank you for having me in your home Lady Greengrass,” Ms Abbott said, with a respectful nod of her head to Rosie.

“You are most welcome Ms Abbott. How is your mother?” Rosie asked pleasantly.

“My mother is very well, thank you Lady Greengrass. She is about to send out invitations for her sixtieth birthday, which you and Lord Greengrass are of course invited to attend. I know it’s not for another couple of months, but mother has always been very organised,” Ms Abbott said.

“We would be delighted to accept Lady Abbott’s invitation,” Rosie said. Then turning to the matter at hand she said, “You have Harry’s belongings?”

Ms Abbott’s kind brown eyes dimmed slightly before she forced a smile and reached for the black bag beside her. “I couldn’t find anything to put the belongings in, so I used this bag I brought with me. I have collected all of the clothes I found…where you were staying,” Ms Abbott said hesitatingly.

Harry ducked his head, embarrassed.

“No one was home at the time, so I was in and out without issue,” Ms Abbott said, more for Rosie’s benefit, who nodded understandingly. Her husband had told her Harry’s aunt and uncle had been taken to the local Muggle police station for further questioning, and that their son would be staying with a family friend while Muggle child protection investigated the situation.

Ms Abbott gently handed the small, black bag to Harry, as Rosie said, “I will help you resize the bag when we take it up to your bedroom, Harry.”

Ms Abbott’s face tightened and Harry hunched his shoulders almost reflexively. Ms Abbott said quietly, “I didn’t have to shrink anything – everything from the home is in that bag.”

Rosie was aghast in silence for a moment, staring at the black bag the size of a backpack. A cold fury started to burn inside of her. She had been told by her husband that Harry’s Muggle guardians had been neglecting and abusing him but had not given her any specific details.

A picture was beginning to shape up for Rosalind Greengrass, and she didn’t like what she was seeing.

“Is Lord Greengrass home?” Ms Abbott asked carefully. “I have a fair bit I need to discuss with him.”

“He is at the Ministry right now but I-” As Rosie spoke the fireplace suddenly flared brightly with green flames, startling Harry, who clutched the bag to his chest tightly.

Gareth strode out of the flames, blinking in surprise as he saw his wife, Harry and his employee all standing in the room.

“I apologise for my lateness, I was at the Ministry,” Gareth said, brushing a bit of soot off his interesting looking clothing.

Harry wondered if that was what magical folk usually wore, and was fascinated by the clothing. It certainly looked a lot better than the rags he was currently dressed in. Harry recalled Aunt Petunia complaining loudly when Dudley had missed out on a scholarship to a fancy school – apparently a scholarship meant you did not have to pay any fees and could even get an allowance for other spending. He wondered if there was a scholarship he could get for Hogwarts to afford his books and buy some new clothes.

“Ms Abbott, if you would like to follow me to my study?” Gareth suggested, before looking over apologetically at his wife and Harry. “Harry, if you wouldn’t mind going with Rosie to your room, and perhaps setting up your things?”

Harry nodded, fighting back a desire to ask to stay to listen to the conversation between Gareth and Ms Abbott. He knew they were going to be talking about him, and that made him uncomfortable. But he also knew that’s how it was with adults – they often had conversations kids weren’t allowed to listen to. Daphne and Astoria hadn’t been allowed to come meet Ms Abbott.

“Okay,” Harry agreed softly, with one last lingering look at Gareth and Ms Abbott who both smiled at him as Rosie led him back out of the room. He had a tight knuckled grip around the handle of the black bag that contained all of his possessions.

“Let’s go straight up to your room,” Rosie said, sensing Harry wouldn’t want her daughters to be watching over his shoulder as he unpacked.

Harry nodded appreciatively, following the woman up two flights of the stairs to the second floor of the house. Inside his bedroom it was starting to get dark as the sun was setting. Rosie waved her hand over a small engraved panel on the wall and all of the wall sconces glowed with a soft amber light, illuminating the room.

She explained to Harry, “All of the lights in the house can be activated with a wave of a hand in front of one of these panels. So you can turn the lights on and off without a wand.”

Harry awkwardly placed the bag on the bed, eyeing Rosie nervously. He didn’t really want to expose the contents of the bag to the woman, no matter how kind she had been. The sight of his ugly hand me downs might upset Rosie, and he wanted to avoid that.

Seeing Harry obviously hesitating about opening the bag, Rosie said carefully, “As you are in our care, if you will be needing anything new, we are more than happy to purchase anything for you to make your stay more comfortable here.”

“I don’t want you spending any money on me,” Harry said hastily.

“It actually would not be our money,” Rosie said, still cautious. “There is a fund set aside by Gareth’s department for situations like this, where a child is removed from their former guardians and has not yet been placed with their future family.”

Seeing as Harry had not reacted negatively other than his continued awkward silence, Rosie continued, “The fund is maintained to ensure all children that come through the Child Protection Authority have medical appointments paid for, and also to give them an allowance for new clothing and other essentials. You’re entitled to it.”

Harry wanted desperately to say yes, and take the woman’s offer to buy new clothes that actually fit him, but he wanted so badly to not be seen as a burden.

“Thank you Rosie, but I am okay for now,” Harry mumbled.

Rosie’s heart just about broke, sensing that Harry really wanted to say yes, but felt obliged to say no. She was determined that by the time Harry was leaving her care he would not be afraid to accept nice things for himself.

“Very well Harry, if you change you mind you only need to say so.” Changing tactics she added, “My girls are growing so quickly that I have become quite adept at charms to alter clothes. I can’t change the base fabric but I can re-size the clothes and modify them a bit. It would be excellent practice if I could work on yours too – would you mind?”

Harry stared at her, surprisingly shrewd green eyes observing her behind his glasses. But he eventually seemed to cave, nodding his head and saying, “Yes, you can practice on my clothes if you want.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Rosie said with a grateful smile. “I’ll let you unpack in peace – come back down to the kitchen when you are done. If you get lost, remember to just call for Pimsey.”

Rosie left the room, pausing before shutting Harry’s door slowly. Before she had shut it fully she peered inside to see Harry staring blankly out of the window, the bag sitting on the bed beside him.

Gareth was right, they would need to have Harry see a Mind Healer as soon as possible.

Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk at home later that night, carefully writing a letter directed to the head of the Child Protection Authority. He had arrived at Privet Drive earlier in the evening after receiving an alarming call from Mrs Figg that something was amiss at the Dursley residence.

He had Apparated to Mrs Figg’s home in time to see Petunia and Vernon Dursley’s son Dudley be driven away in a car, and the couple making quite a scene on their front lawn, obviously very distraught.

He had waited while the couple had been given paperwork by two stern faced individuals in plain suits, and those individuals had driven off in a car of their own. Vernon had all but hauled his wife into the house after that.

Dumbledore had reached out with his magic to brush over Number 4 Privet Drive, and had been concerned to find no trace of Harry Potter present in the home.

He had made his way over, knocking politely on the door. Vernon Dursley all but yanked it open, and had yelled obscenities at Albus to leave them alone, and keep his unnatural meddling away from them.

Petunia had appeared then, snarling at Albus that it was all his fault for leaving the ‘freak’ with them, and it had led to them losing Dudley.

Dumbledore had interrogated them as to what had happened, but Vernon had begun to slam the door on him. It was rather the wrong thing to do, but Dumbledore had always been a rather accomplished Legilimens. And desperate times called for desperate measures, even if it was on the improper side of things.

It had been a simple matter to slide into the man’s head and quickly glean the information he needed.

A very grave Albus had returned to Mrs Figg after the door had then been slammed in his face. He had told her to expect a summons soon, as the Order of the Phoenix would potentially need to have an emergency meeting.

Harry Potter had been taken from his Muggle family, and was now possibly in danger.

Albus put the finishing touches on the letter, which should be received soon by the head of the section. The man needed to be made aware of the crucial importance of Harry remaining at the Dursley residence due to the unique protection around the home, and his need to be returned with haste to their care.

He added that if the department had concerns about the home environment or how the Dursleys were raising Harry, that a strongly worded warning would likely sort things out. He conceded that some regular check ins by the department to keep an eye on things in the home would not be remiss. Albus had not approved of the language Petunia had used to refer to Harry – ‘freak’ she had called him.

It was an awful thing to call a child, and it did make Albus wary to insist on the boy going back. However, it was crucial – Voldemort was still out there, and Harry was safest at the Dursleys given the powerful protection around the home.

With a flourish he signed off with his name, and for good measure, inlaid a powerful spell into the parchment so it could not be copied and it would destroy itself after the intended recipient had read it.

He did not trust Lord Gareth Greengrass. The man was a dark wizard, and had no business having responsibility for Harry Potter’s placement. Hopefully this would all be smoothed over soon and Mr Potter would be back where he belonged.

Chapter Text

Chapter Six: Made by the storms you walk through

That evening, Rosie ensured Harry was tucked comfortably into bed after a filling dinner, and that he knew he could ask for she or Gareth at any time of the night. She then left his room, shutting the door softly behind her.

She walked upstairs, past her daughters’ rooms, ducking her head in to whisper good night to them both. Gareth had already settled them both into bed while she settled Harry.

Arriving at the master suite she steeled herself for a no doubt upsetting conversation, and walked inside to see her husband pacing the bedroom.

“He’s settled?” Gareth asked.

Rosie nodded, watching her husband’s agitation with concern. He had been waiting to talk to her after meeting with Ms Abbott, but dinner had come first, and then they had to get the children ready for bed.

“How bad is it?” Rosie asked, shutting the door behind her and taking out her wand to put up an anti-eavesdropping spell just to be absolutely safe.

“He was sleeping in a cupboard, Rosie,” Gareth whispered, finally sinking into an armchair by the window.

“Excuse me,” the woman said calmly, but her eyes promised violence.

“Ms Abbott found his bed – if you can even call it that. It was a lumpy old mattress with a sheet and a blanket on it, in the cupboard under the stairs. The bastards even had a four bedroom home, and they were using one of the spare bedrooms to store their son’s belongings and the other was left untouched while they shoved Harry into that cupboard like he was the dirt beneath their feet,” Gareth snarled.

Rosie could feel her hands shaking, and she clenched them into fists. “Does it really have to be left to the Muggles to decide their fate? Can they not be charged and tried under our laws?”

“We can’t do anything to them,” Gareth confessed wearily, running a hand through his dark brown hair.

“They dared abuse a wizarding child,” Rosie hissed, eyes flashing. “And they will escape with a slap on the wrist by the Muggle system no doubt.”

“Ms Abbott sent me a missive to say it is likely their son will be removed from their care for some period of time and sent to live with his paternal aunt while the matter proceeds through the courts,” Gareth said. “It seems they treated him very well though – it was only Harry they abused and neglected.”

“Why?” Rosie asked desperately. “Why would they hurt that sweet child?”

“They know about our world,” Gareth admitted. “They were skirting around the questions of the Muggle authorities, but according to the copies of the interviews we’ve been receiving they have been hinting at knowing about our world. They called Harry a freak.”

Rosie was speechless for a moment, before she began pacing, an echo of what her husband had just been doing before. She forced her blind fury down into a tight ball of burning emotion and put her mind to work.

“If they knew about our world, and they have such an obvious hatred for it, why in Morgana’s name was Harry put with them? What was in his CPA file regarding the background check done on the Muggles? Who signed off on his placement?”

“My predecessor, Elphias Doge. A file was automatically opened when James and Lily Potter were reported dead. They named Sirius Black as their preferred guardian for Harry in their will, however with him having been arrested, Harry's next of kin were indeed his Muggle relatives. Doge signed off on the file to confirm a background check was done on the Muggles as is standard procedure when a wizarding child is placed in Muggle care, but there is no record of any check actually been done,” Gareth said in frustration. He added meaningfully, “Doge is reportedly a close friend of one Albus Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore,” Rosie hissed, with venom. “I do not like that man. He meddles. He meddles in our education system, our politics, and worst of all he meddles in people’s lives. He is a dangerous man.”

“Which is why we must handle this with utmost caution. Ms Abbott is quietly collecting information on Doge’s misconduct, which was no doubt egged on by Dumbledore. We are doing what we can to investigate how exactly Harry went from his parent’s home in Godric’s Hollow to a doorstep in Surrey.”

“A doorstep?” Rosie asked incredulously.

“Whoever left him with the Muggles abandoned him on their doorstep. Harry disclosed to me and Ms Abbott that his aunt found him when she took the milk bottles out the next morning.”

“You might not be able to go after the Muggles, but by Morgana you had best go after Doge, Dumbledore, and whoever else was involved with Harry being placed with those beasts, and in such an irresponsible manner,” Rosie insisted.

“I will,” Gareth promised his wife sincerely. “When we have enough evidence we will go to Madam Bones to escalate the matter. There will be criminal charges laid no doubt.”

“Dumbledore had best lose his position as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot,” Rosie muttered. “He’s only in that position because Fudge put him there. If the man is exposed for the irresponsible, meddling fool that he is, hopefully Fudge will remove him from his post.”

Traditionally, the Wizengamot was only for the heads of each section of the Ministry and the Minister’s support staff. The Minister normally sat as the Chief Warlock, and together the council of witches and wizards drafted and voted on bills to make into new laws. The Wizengamot also presided over trials. Gareth held a seat, being the head of the CPA.

Dumbledore's presence on the Wizengamot was the doing of Fudge. The Minister had the discretion to name anyone, even someone not appointed to a Ministry position, as the Chief Warlock. And so, even without working for the Ministry, Dumbledore had still found a way to meddle in their politics and laws, while also controlling the educational content fed to the new generation of witches and wizards as headmaster of Hogwarts.

“It will certainly be a step in the right direction if Dumbledore is removed from the Wizengamot. Time will tell if Fudge sees reason – he has always idolised Dumbledore,” Gareth said disgustedly.

As he said those words, the couple were both startled as Pimsey suddenly appeared, a letter in her hand. She curtseyed to the couple saying apologetically, “Lord Greengrass be telling Pimsey if any letters arrive from Dumbledore that she be bringing it to him right away.”

Rosie and Gareth shared a disconcerted look. Speak of the devil.

“That didn’t take long at all,” Gareth sighed. “This practically confirms his close involvement in Harry’s placement with the Muggles, if he already knows Harry is no longer there.”

Knowing Pimsey would have already carefully scoured the letter for any nasty surprises – as much as it would be unlikely Dumbledore would do anything so overtly illegal – Gareth took the letter.

Rosie came to stand by him to look over his shoulder and read the letter with him. Pimsey remained in the room in case the couple needed anything from her after reading the letter.

Gareth swiftly opened the envelope and pulled the single sheet of parchment out, eyes flicking carefully over the words. Rosie read along with him, her hand tightening on his shoulder in a vice grip as she processed what she was reading.

As they both got to the end of the letter, Rosie exclaimed, “What in Morgana’s name is-”

Just as the letter spontaneously disintegrated.

Gareth let go in shock, the ashes of the parchment drifting down.

Pimsey gasped in dismay, hands covering her mouth as she wailed, “Forgive Pimsey! I did not see that magic on it.”

“There’s no harm done,” Rosie was quick to assure the distressed house elf. “It was simply a spell to destroy the parchment after it had been read.”

“Powerful magic,” Gareth admitted grudgingly. He waved his wand carefully over the ash now scattered on the floor, before shaking his head in frustration. “I can’t repair it. It was only intended to be read once, and not copied.”

“And Pensieve memories are notoriously difficult to demonstrate things that you have read – words are blurred upon review,” Rosie hissed.

She softened as she saw Pimsey still standing there in horror, gently telling the house elf, “Truly, it is okay Pimsey. You’ve done such a wonderful job today helping us take care of Harry and making him feel welcome.”

“Thank you Lady Greengrass,” the house elf whispered, twisting her uniform in her hands. She popped away, and Rosie lost her soft demeanour, tensing up again.

“I will go under Veritaserum if I have to,” Gareth stated calmly. It was an extremely invasive potion that forced the user to answer anything truthfully. There was no way to filter what was said either – the person who had been dosed would even be driven to volunteer information beyond what they were being asked. It was why it was a restricted substance under the Ministry, and only permitted to be used on a witness or accused with a lawyer present, who acted as intermediary and asked the individual pre-approved questions.

It was rumoured that a true master of Occlumency could resist the effects of Veritaserum, and although Gareth was trained, he was by no means a master. 

“Damn that man,” Rosie snarled. Forcing herself once more to calm down she asked Gareth, “Does what he wrote have any merit?”

Gareth considered it, carefully running through everything he had read. “Dumbledore claims there is a powerful protection around the Dursley home, which is somehow tied to James and Lily Potter. He’s deliberately vague on the specifics. But he truly seems to believe this protection would be impenetrable to Voldemort.”

“Did Ms Abbott detect wards or any other magical protections around the home when she collected Harry’s belongings?” Rosie asked.

“She confirmed there were standard wards around the property,” Gareth replied with a frown. “But it makes no sense for those wards to have anything to do with James or Lily Potter. Any magical protection they might have cast on the Muggle’s home would have died with them. I suspect Dumbledore cast those wards himself. The story about the Potters having done something is likely a lie concocted by Dumbledore to get the boy back with his Muggle relatives.”

“But what if it’s not a lie?” Rosie said suddenly, unexpectedly. There was a contemplative look on her face. “What if there is some kind of unique protection on the home?”

“I would think you would be the last person to advocate for Harry being given back-”

“I would never!” Rosie interjected. Then she lowered her voice and continued in an apologetic tone, “I’m sorry, my love. Regardless if there are special protections, I would never accept Harry being sent back to those beasts. But Dumbledore must have a reason to want to send Harry back so desperately. You yourself said he was being deliberately vague in his letter about the nature of the protection. What if it’s not because he’s lying, but because he doesn’t want it made public what kind of protection is in place?”

Gareth stared back at Rosie, a dawning look of realisation on his face as he realised what his wife was hinting at. In a voice tinged with disbelief he asked her, “You think James or Lily Potter were dabbling in the Dark Arts?”

Rosie started pacing again, a frown crossing her face as she collected her thoughts. “There are branches of the Dark Arts we know nothing about, because the knowledge is being lost with each generation. Within the known branches of dark magic there are ways to hide its presence from standard detection. You agree that no known protection Lily or James Potter could have cast on the property would have survived their deaths. But what if the protection on the house is dark magic - obscure magic we don’t know about, and that is why Dumbledore does not want it made public?”

Gareth considered her words for a moment. “But we have to return to the simple fact that it means James or Lily Potter practiced the Dark Arts. James might have had a dark witch for a mother, but his father was surely neutral. I never heard anything about James showing any aptitude for the Dark Arts. Considering too he kept company with Sirius Black, who was so against the Dark Arts – it seems unlikely James would have ever practiced it. And Lily was Muggleborn. There is enough said there – they are all neutral from birth,” Gareth replied.

“James and Lily Potter might have taken their secrets with them to their grave,” Rosie admitted, frustration colouring her tone. “But I think it is worth considering even the remote possibility that there is a protection in place, one that was powerful enough to survive the Potter’s death.”

“Regardless of any obscure, powerful protections, the law is clear – Harry was rightfully removed from his Muggle relatives and there is nothing Dumbledore can do to change that. The wards of whatever home he ends up settling in will have to be enough for Dumbledore, because there is no way in Morgana’s name that I will allow that child to go back to where he came from,” Gareth said firmly.

Rosie relaxed at that clear assurance, and then asked quietly, “Are you going to write back to him?”

Gareth considered it before replying, “I will send the standard response – that I cannot discuss the matter with him at this stage.”

“What if he takes it to the press?” Rosie asked suddenly, concerned. “He knows Harry has been removed – what if he gets to the press first and spins the story to make it look like Harry has been stolen from a loving family simply because they are Muggles?”

“He wouldn’t dare,” Gareth said calmly. “He knows by now we have enough evidence of abuse to justify removing Harry. If he goes to the press, we can counter with clear proof that we made the correct decision.” The man’s face fell and he added, “Though it would involve having to expose Harry’s situation to the public.”

“If he knows abuse has occurred, how can he even think to insist Harry be put back?” Rosie asked exasperatedly.

“Because,” Gareth said calmly but with fury in his words, “Albus Dumbledore has always done what he thought was right for the greater good. Even if that means putting a traumatised child back with his abusers. He thinks he knows what is best. And that makes him dangerous.”

The following morning Harry woke up in the most luxurious bed he had ever slept in, wrapped in soft sheets that weren’t itchy, and he was able to sleep in without being woken by the sharp banging of a fist against the door to the cupboard or the thumping of Dudley storming down the stairs.

He rubbed his eyes blearily, relieved that it had not been a dream, and he was actually here with the Greengrass family and free of the Dursleys.

With a quiet pop, Pimsey appeared in the room, and Harry was only slightly surprised this time, already starting to get used to her appearances. He reached quickly for his glasses on the bedside table, though they really weren’t much use.

“Good morning, Mr Potter!” she called out cheerily. “Lady Greengrass be sending Pimsey to Mr Potter when he woke up. Breakfast is on the table.”

“Thank you Pimsey,” he said, adjusting his glasses.

The house elf beamed and disappeared with another quiet pop. Harry walked over to his walk in wardrobe, which was depressingly empty. His clothes from the Dursleys were folded neatly on a couple of shelves.

Harry bit his lip as he considered what to put on. He eventually selected a button down shirt that he usually saved for when he tried to dress a little more nicely. It was simply too big for him though, hanging down to his mid thigh.

He selected a pair of trousers, rolling up the bottoms with practiced ease. He grabbed the one belt he owned, looping it around his waist tightly. He had had to modify the original holes to make it even tighter to fit around his waist.

There was a full-length mirror in the walk in wardrobe, and Harry took a moment to examine himself despondently. His hair was a rat’s nest, black hair sticking up in all directions. It had always been brittle to the touch, probably because he so rarely got to take care of it properly. He had learned in school that eating properly helped your hair, skin and nails be healthy too, so it would probably explain why he had always struggled with it.

Harry eventually pulled himself away from the mirror and tugged on his trainers, the only shoes he owned. With a sigh, he wondered if he should take Rosie up on her offer to get him some new clothes.

He just felt so embarrassed about it.

Harry walked downstairs, meeting Daphne on the stairs who greeted him enthusiastically. If she thought anything about his clothes, she said nothing, and just smiled at him.

Harry couldn’t help smiling back, his mood already lifting.

It lifted even further when they arrived in the kitchen to find the table laden with food. Gareth was reading a newspaper with a cup of coffee, and Harry recognised the paper as the Daily Prophet.

Rosie was sitting next to him, sipping from her own cup of coffee. A sleepy look Astoria was next to her mum, but when she caught sight of Harry she perked up right away and called out, “Harry! Sit next to me today!”

Harry smiled indulgently at the little girl, taking the seat next to her as Daphne slid into the spare seat on his other side. Pimsey appeared and offered Harry and Daphne tea or juice with breakfast, while Rosie asked them both how they slept.

“Better than I’ve ever slept before,” Harry told Rosie earnestly.

“I am happy you had a comfortable night with us,” Gareth said, folding the newspaper up and putting it to the side.

They all chatted lightly over breakfast, which consisted of a selection of cereals, toast, and hot options like bacon and eggs.

Harry still felt a bit shy, but after having enjoyed lunch and dinner with the family the day before he was starting to relax. They were good people, and no one made him feel ignorant or uncomfortable when he didn’t understand something.

As breakfast wrapped up Daphne declared, “Let’s go to the garden! You didn’t get to experience it properly yesterday.”

As Harry made to get up with her and Astoria, who had already leapt up from her chair, Gareth spoke up, “Ah, just a moment, Harry. I have something to discuss with you.”

Feeling a bit nervous, Harry sat back down slowly.

Daphne pouted and sat down too, asking her father, “Will it take long? Astoria and I have so much to show Harry still!”

Gareth smiled fondly at his eldest, and turned back to Harry to say, “I have arranged for a Healer to come over today. They are like what the Muggles call doctors.”

“I’m not sick,” Harry said, a little uncertainly.

“The Healer will check to make sure you have received all of your vaccinations – both Muggle and magical. The Healer can also take a look at your eyes and teeth, and make sure you are healthy,” Rosie explained.

Harry still looked uncertain but then Daphne chimed in, “Mum and dad have me and Astoria checked once a year! It’s normal to get a check up.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly. If it was normal to have a Healer check you, then it wouldn’t be too bad surely.

“Excellent,” Gareth said, “Go play with the girls for now, but I will send Pimsey to fetch you when the Healer arrives.”

The trio of children stood up then, Harry’s uncertainties about the upcoming Healer visit pushed aside quickly enough by the delights of the Greengrass garden. He lost track of time playing with Daphne and Astoria, mostly in the secret garden, but eventually the girls took him to see a different part of the garden with a pond. Ducks swum peacefully by, stirring the surface of the water.

They sat by the edge of the pond, Daphne braiding her little sister’s hair deftly as she chatted away to Harry about how when she was little she used to pretend merpeople lived in the pond.

In the light of everything he had learned over the past twenty-four hours, Harry was not surprised merpeople were real and not just a fairytale. That admission led to Daphne telling Harry all about other magical creatures, including dragons, hippogriffs, unicorns and phoenixes.

Harry had been entranced at the girl’s different descriptions. Astoria had piped up to say, “Harry, you should borrow my copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them!”

“I’d like that,” Harry told her.

Just as Daphne was tying off the end of Astoria’s braid, Pimsey appeared to announce, “It is time for Mr Potter’s appointment. Pimsey will be taking Mr Potter inside.”

Harry nodded, swallowing tightly. Before he reached for Pimsey’s hand the house elf turned to the girls and said, “Lord Greengrass says you’re excused from your tutoring this afternoon.”

The girls cheered, and Daphne said to Harry, “Come back and play with us when you’re done!”

Harry nodded, trying to smile but it came out more like a grimace due to his nerves. He took Pimsey’s hand and felt the familiar smooth shift as they instantaneously appeared in a comfortable sitting room Harry recognised as being on the ground floor.

Rosie was present, as was an unfamiliar woman Harry assumed was the Healer. The woman was wearing bold lime green robes and her brown hair was tied back in a neat bun out of her face.

Harry was prepared for a similar reaction to what he had experienced with Gareth's driver, Edward, after Gareth's explanation about the fact he was apparently famous. But the woman had clearly been warned beforehand; her sharp brown eyes betrayed no shock as she politely told Harry, “Good afternoon, my name is Healer Lycoris. I work at St Mungo’s Hospital. I’ve been asked to perform a house call today to do a full physical check up of you.”

“Hello,” Harry said politely, hands feeling a bit sweaty.

“Lady Greengrass will remain in the room, but it is your decision if she waits behind a privacy screen or sits with you,” Healer Lycoris told him.

“I – I don’t mind,” Harry stuttered. Then he admitted, “I’ve never done this before.”

“You’ve never had a doctor examine you before?” the Healer asked neutrally.

Harry shook his head. He couldn’t ever remember the Dursleys taking him to see a doctor, although he knew Aunt Petunia had taken Dudley a couple of times to a clinic.

“I’ll tell you exactly what I am doing then, every step of the way,” Healer Lycoris promised him. “To start, I’ll have to get you to just stand there relaxed while I cast a general diagnostic spell on you. This will tell me if you are suffering from any illnesses or deficiencies. You won’t feel anything.”

Harry nodded, standing still as the Healer took out her wand and a blank sheet of parchment. She waved her wand slowly over Harry’s body from top to bottom. Although she had said Harry wouldn't feel anything, he thought he could maybe feel a tingle of something moving from the top of his head down to his toes. It did not hurt at all though, so he said nothing. The Healer then tapped the parchment in her hands after she was done.

It immediately filled with writing. The Healer examined what was on the paper carefully, her expression remaining calm. After reading the full page she tapped it, making a copy, which she handed to Rosie. She put the original in a folder, which she set to the side.

She explained, “You are not suffering from any illnesses or diseases, but you do have a number of deficiencies including iron, calcium, Vitamin A, Vitamin B12, Vitamin D and magnesium. You’ve likely noticed you tire easily, but other impacts include brittle hair and nails, and weak bones.”

Harry gulped at the long list, but then the Healer said, “I will prescribe a nutrient potion for you, which you are to take every night with dinner for three months. Along with a good diet, you should make a full recovery and not require further intervention.”

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief that it was all fixable.

“Now I am going to run a diagnostic spell that will tell me what vaccines you’ve had,” the Healer continued, waiting for Harry to nod before repeating the process of waving her wand over Harry’s body and then tapping a fresh sheet of parchment.

This time she frowned a little bit as she saw the results. Again, she made a copy for Rosie, who looked down at the paper herself, mouth tightening.

“Mr Potter, you have had your initial vaccines that all infants get – your parents ensured you were fully vaccinated. However, you have not received any vaccines since then. We will have to administer a universal vaccine to cover you for the Muggle vaccines you missed. You also were due for your Dragon Pox booster a few months ago. I can administer both today,” she said, with a glance towards Rosie.

“We can do them at the end of the appointment,” Rosie suggested. “They’re important to get, they keep you safe from diseases that can kill you,” she explained to Harry, who nodded in understanding.

“I can see you wear glasses, Mr Potter,” Healer Lycoris said. “You’ll be happy to know that a successful cure for poor eyesight has been recently developed. It was approved last year for the market, and the reports have all been glowing. With your guardian’s consent, I can prescribe you the eye drops to fix your vision.”

“I won’t need glasses anymore?” Harry gasped.

“You won’t,” the Healer confirmed. “However you’ll have to administer a drop of the potion in each eye every morning when you wake up and every night before bed, for two weeks.”

“We’ll take the prescriptions for both the nutrient potion and the eye drops,” Rosie confirmed. “In the meantime could you please ensure the glasses he is wearing are the correct prescription?”

Healer Lycoris gently tapped her wand to Harry’s glasses, and examined the parchment again, before she shook her head and said, “They’re certainly not the right prescription. I would be surprised if you could see much of anything with the state of your eyes. I will amend the prescription for you right away.”

“But my eyesight will be fixed soon,” Harry said awkwardly.

Healer Lycoris looked at him directly and said firmly, “Regardless, it is important you can see properly now.”

Rosie nodded in agreement, and said, “Please amend the prescription, Healer.”

Healer Lycoris took Harry’s glasses with his permission and waved her wand over the glasses again, this time muttering a quiet spell. She double checked her parchment again, and seemingly satisfied, returned the spectacles to Harry.

He was in shock as he looked through the lenses, everything suddenly in sharp clarity. He wondered if this was what it would be like when his eyesight was fixed.

“Now, before I administer your vaccines, I need to perform a physical check. I will offer again if you would like to go behind a privacy screen. You will have to strip down to you underwear.”

Harry flushed in embarrassment and murmured, “I’d like the privacy screen please.”

Rosie smiled encouragingly at him before she disappeared behind a light blue screen that appeared at the wave of Healer Lycoris’ wand.

The Healer then took an armchair and tapped it with her wand, and it seemed to twist and morph until it turned into a flat bed, transformed by her magic.

“Please strip down to your underwear, Mr Potter, and then lay down on the table.”

Harry suffered silently through the next bit, as Healer Lycoris turned her back to give him some privacy as he stripped down and settled himself on the chair turned table. When he quietly said he was ready, Healer Lycoris turned and professionally examined him.

She only touched him when necessary, a fresh sheet of parchment hovering in the air beside her. She paid close attention to the bruise on his shoulder from when Uncle Vernon had shoved him into a wall, and an old burn scar on his lower arm from when he was cooking on the stove.

She appeared to be documenting each mark, the parchment not only filling with words but as Harry glanced over with his enhanced eyesight he saw magical photos were taken too beside the writing.

Healer Lycoris then calmly went through each little mark she had catalogued, asking him how he had received each. Harry told her truthfully, as she nodded, more information going down onto the paper. Some marks Harry could not remember how he had received them. When they got to the scar on his forehead Harry told her he believed he got it the night his parent's died. She had added a photo of the lightning-shaped scar to the growing dossier.

She directed Harry to dress again, waiting until he called out to say he was fully dressed before she dropped the privacy screen. She turned the bed back into an armchair too.

Rosie was waiting a little nervously, holding out a hand to accept the copy of the report Healer Lycoris gave her. This time she didn’t look at it, but tucked it carefully away with the other sheets of parchment she had been given.

“I am also prescribing a salve for that bruise on your shoulder, and scar reducing ointment to be applied once a day on the affected areas of your body until the marks have faded,” the Healer said. "I do not believe the scar on your forehead will reduce though, as it was caused by magical means." 

Rosie’s face darkened, hands clenching the papers a little tightly, before her expression smoothed out and she said, “Are we ready for the vaccines now?”

Healer Lycoris confirmed it was time, explaining to Harry as she got him to take a seat on a couch that the universal vaccine would sting a little, and his arm would be a bit sore but he otherwise would not have any reactions. However, she added the Dragon-Pox booster was known to burn, and he could develop a fever by that evening. She was adding a fever-reducing potion to the long list of things Harry was being prescribed.

They did the universal vaccine first, which Harry didn’t even flinch at as the needle went in. Healer Lycoris put a small plaster on his arm afterwards. Then she injected the Dragon Pox booster, and Harry winced as it went in, a sharp burn starting in his arm at the injection site. He could almost feel it as it ran through his veins, spreading from the point it had entered.

Healer Lycoris put another plaster on his arm, looking impressed as she said, “You were very brave. I’ve had grown adults getting their Dragon Pox vaccine and boosters who cry from the pain.”

“I'm good with pain,” Harry said with a shrug, missing how Rosie’s face fell, as he was curiously watching the needles be disposed of in a bright red bag, which disappeared with a wave of Healer Lycoris’ wand.

“You’ve been an excellent patient, Mr Potter. I will assure you, as I assure all of my patients, that this house call, and everything we discussed today is strictly confidential. I am bound by my Healer vows to not discuss who I treat.”

Harry nodded, realising this was the woman’s way of assuring him even though he was famous, the public wouldn’t be finding out about anything about his appointment. Harry wasn’t sure when he would feel ready to go out into the wizarding world, given how people might react. For now, he was content to live with the Greengrass family in the oasis of calm that was their home and stay out of the public eye.

“Please make out your invoice to the CPA,” Rosie stated, reminding Harry that all of this must have cost a lot of money. He bit his lip, but stayed quiet. He knew getting the vaccines was important, and he had other issues to treat too. But getting his eyes fixed was optional.

Before he could dwell on it too long, Healer Lycoris was nodding her head politely to Harry, who nodded back.

“Thank you,” Harry said.

“You are most welcome, Mr Potter,” Healer Lycoris said.

After the Healer had handed over the many prescriptions to Rosie, and a prepared bottle of fever-reducing potion in case Harry needed it urgently, Rosie called for Pimsey, asking the house elf to escort the Healer to the fireplace to Floo out.

“I’m proud of you Harry,” Rosie said with a smile, straightening the many papers in her hands. “I’ll get these prescriptions filled out now, and you can take your first doses tonight.”

“Thanks Rosie,” Harry said. He rubbed the arm where the Dragon Pox booster had gone in absentmindedly and asked, “Can I go back and play with Daphne and Astoria?”

“Of course – but if you start to feel sick call for Pimsey right away, okay?” The woman fussed over him.

Harry felt a sudden swell of warmth at being fussed over. Almost like having a mum, who cared about him.

“I promise I will,” he assured the woman.

He was rewarded with those hazel eyes creasing as the woman smiled, and she said, “Go have fun.”

As Harry exited the room to go play with her daughters, the smile dropped off Rosie’s face and she glanced down at the papers in her hands. She lifted a shaking hand to her mouth, blinking away tears furiously.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven: He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight

A few hours later Harry started to feel a bit off, and when Daphne pointed out he was flushed in the face and a bit sweaty, Harry hesitantly called for Pimsey. The house elf had immediately whisked him to his bedroom, ordering him into bed while she disappeared to go fetch Rosie.

Harry found himself on enforced bed rest for the rest of the afternoon, being fed the fever-reducing potion that Healer Lycoris had given them in case of such a reaction to the Dragon Pox booster.

Daphne and Astoria came in quietly for a bit, Astoria bringing the book 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' by a wizard called Newt Scamander.

Harry had avidly read the book until his eyelids had drooped more and more, and finally he fell asleep, the fever-reducing potion having a mild sedative effect.

Rosie had ducked her head in, seeing Harry fast asleep with his glasses perched on his nose and an open book beside him. With a fond expression on her face, she gently plucked the glasses from his nose, folding them on his bedside table. She took the book and placed it face down on the table beside the glasses, to keep Harry’s position.

While Harry had been resting she had travelled to Diagon Alley to pick up his prescriptions, and she now had them all. When Harry woke up she would explain what each one was.

Leaving his room, she called Pimsey quietly to ask where Gareth was in the house. The house elf informed Rosie he was in his study, and offered to take the woman straight there. Rosie usually walked – the temptation to Apparate everywhere or get your house elf to transport you was always there, but generally she saw the benefit of walking. This time though, she accepted the house elf’s offer, and teleported straight into her husband’s study.

Gareth looked up in surprise as she appeared, before his face smoothed over. Pimsey curtseyed and disappeared again, leaving the Greengrass couple alone.

“I’ve added Healer Lycoris’ notes to Harry’s CPA file,” Gareth told her quietly. “How is he doing?”

“Fast asleep –the fever-reducing potion got to work,” Rosie replied, taking a seat at one of the plush armchairs in her husband’s study, tucking one leg behind the other gracefully. “Did you reply to Dumbledore?”

“I did,” Gareth confirmed. “So far I have not heard anything back.’

Rosie nodded before saying; “You cancelled my brother coming over this afternoon to teach the girls. Did he refuse to sign the non-disclosure agreement?”

“No, he agreed and has signed it, but I have informed him we require extra lessons in wizarding traditions and the history of magic. He is preparing new lesson plans today. I intend for Ezra to add Harry to Daphne’s general lessons, as they would hopefully be at a close level of literacy and numeracy. And I think it’s time we introduce Daphne properly to her heritage. Harry seems interested in learning about wizarding traditions, so I intend for your bother to teach them both.”

“Harry is interested?” Rosie asked, surprised.

“He is. It would be a waste to not foster that interest,” Gareth explained.

“Did Ezra say he would be ready to resume tutoring tomorrow?” Rosie inquired.

Gareth nodded and confirmed, “He’ll tutor Astoria, Daphne and Harry first for two hours, moving between the three of them, and then he’ll take Daphne and Harry alone for an additional hour focusing on wizarding traditions and the history of magic." 

“And have you found a suitable Mind Healer to come speak with Harry?” Rosie asked. Her face darkened and she said, “After what came to light today, I want him to talk to a professional more than ever.”

“Yes, I've selected a highly recommended children's specialist. His name is Specialist Healer Grace. However, I want to discuss it with Harry first and explain why we want him to talk to a professional,” Gareth affirmed. “His first session can be as early as this weekend.”

“Good,” Rosie nodded. Changing topics the woman continued, “He refuses to let me buy him new clothes. At the very least I am going to modify what he has so they are the correct size.”

“You could hardly take him to Twilfitt and Tattings for a fitting. Until he is placed with his eventual family, it cannot be known that he has been removed from his Muggle relatives. It could jeopardise his placement if the public get involved – you know there will be enough protest as is that we will be likely placing him with a member of the Black family,” Gareth warned.

“I know that,” Rosie responded sharply. “But he deserves to have clothes of his own and not rags.”

“Perhaps his reluctance to have others do things for him can be discussed with Specialist Healer Grace in his counselling,” Gareth murmured. For good measure he added, “I am as frustrated as you are that we have to keep him in our property. It feels uncomfortably like we are keeping him in a gilded cage.”

“We will keep him entertained as best we can. Lessons with my brother, and Daphne and Astoria’s company, ought to be enough for now to distract him. Once the Heritage Test is performed and you select his guardians he will be free to see more of our world.” A soft look crossed the woman’s face and she said, “I hope he might become friends with the girls and continue to visit us. Daphne in particular has never been particularly taken with the other children in her social circle.”

“He does seem to enjoy the girls’ company,” Gareth smiled approvingly.

Rosie echoed his smile, equally pleased Harry had settled in so well with her daughters. Then remembering another matter on her long list of things to discuss with her husband, Rosie commented, “I am planning on extending my leave from work too – I think indefinitely, until Harry is out of our care. You can hardly take leave yourself, given you’re managing Harry’s file right now.”

“If you wish – but you know I would support you if you wanted to return – wasn’t there a conference in Paris coming up?” Gareth asked.

“There is, but it is not for another month, so there will be plenty of time to prepare for it,” Rosie affirmed.

“You will be sorely missed no doubt,” Gareth said, unable to prevent the smirk from crossing his face, and the glint of pride in his eyes.

Rosie chuckled, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she said, “The beauty of being an independent contractor is that I have no boss and I can set my own hours. My clients will just have to wait.”

And wait they would – Rosalind Greengrass was one of only three runes experts in Britain. The youngest woman in history to have been awarded the title of Runes Mistress, she could afford to be selective of who she worked for.

When Harry woke up around dinnertime he was treated to the unique experience of being served dinner in bed, Rosie insistent that he needed to take care of his health. She had also ensured he took his first nutrient potion right after dinner, which was a slightly bitter tasting liquid. Harry had washed it down with some peppermint tea.

Under Rosie’s watchful gaze he had also put a single drop of the ocular treatment into each eye with the pipette provided. There was no sensation of pain, but there was a brief tingling feeling behind his eyes for a moment before it faded.

Rosie had told him quietly he could apply the bruise salve and the scar ointment that night, or first thing in the morning. Harry decided to leave it to the morning.

After Rosie had left he continued to read the book written by Newt Scamander, astonished that there were so many magical creatures in the world, and that the Muggles seemed so oblivious of their presence.

He had asked Gareth, who had been taking a turn checking in on him, who explained to Harry there were the occasional incidents of a magical creature running amok in a Muggle community, and those who witnessed it were Obliviated.

Harry had been unsurprised, given how wide the world he had been introduced to was, that there was a spell to remove or modify memories. It made sense how the Muggles had remained ignorant of the wizarding world for so long. Harry felt a rush of relief that he knew this world existed, and that he was one of the fortunate people who had a connection to magic.

Harry continued reading the book so voraciously that he actually finished it, finally putting it down with a satisfied feeling. He could never read when he was locked in the cupboard under the stairs because it was always too dim to see the pages properly.

If Dudley ever caught him reading out of the cupboard he would steal the book and rip the pages. Harry had stopped loaning books from the school library because the librarians had been furious at him for bringing back damaged books.

It was so nice to read uninterrupted.

Seeing as no one had told him to go to bed yet, and having had an afternoon sleep, Harry contemplated the other books on his bookshelf, lined up waiting to be read. The six books on the otherwise empty shelves were all from the Muggleborn Introductory Package.

With a grin, Harry decided he might do some more reading, starting with the book titled ‘Wizarding Britain: An Introduction’. He was about to climb out of bed to get it off the shelf, when he paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

After his conversation the day before with Rosie about accidental magic, he had been curious about testing if he could actually control it. Frowning with concentration, green eyes narrowed behind his glasses, Harry locked his gaze on the book he wanted.

Mentally in his head he commanded the book to come to him.

Nothing happened.

Frown deepening, Harry tried to visualise the book sliding slowly off the shelf and hovering over to him, levitating like he had seen Gareth and Rosie do with their wands and Pimsey with her own magic.

Again, nothing happened.

Harry stretched his arm out towards the book, crooking his fingers like he was coaxing an animal to come nearer. While he did that, he visualised the book moving in his head.

The book stayed stubbornly still, completely unaffected.

With a huff Harry dropped his arm, feeling a bit silly at having even tried. He had just wanted to practice magic so much! Now that he knew it existed, and he had the potential to do it, he couldn’t wait to finally begin learning.

Harry wondered how he had managed to grow his hair overnight after a bad haircut, and how he would sometimes get away from Dudley when he was being chased. Gareth and Ms Abbott had said that was magic. He had just wanted it to happen, and it had happened. Rosie said accidental magic occurred when a child was experiencing strong emotions.

Harry thought ruefully that wanting to move a book off a shelf probably was not enough to trigger his accidental magic.

The problem, Harry thought, was that he did not know what his magic felt like. He assumed when he got a wand it would immediately connect him to his magic. But he wanted to know if there was a way to connect to his magic without a wand, even if he couldn’t control it in any meaningful way.

A certain survivor’s instinct had developed in Harry, born of his terrible treatment at the hands of the Dursleys. The thought of becoming reliant on his wand, and then being separated from it, was uncomfortable for Harry.

Harry calmed himself with the knowledge he still had three years to figure this all out before starting at Hogwarts, which seemed to be around the time most accidental magic stopped.

For now, he needed to get up and go get the book himself.

There was still time to figure all of this out.

The next morning crept in with heavy grey clouds, scattered showers, and an emergency missive stamped with a heavy seal bearing a silver W.

Gareth gripped the notification, which had arrived at dawn in his letter tray that had been enchanted to receive direct communication from the Wizengamot.

The message was short and simple.

Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards

Order of Merlin (First Class)

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,

hereby calls an emergency sitting of the Wizengamot at 1 o’clock sharp in Courtroom 10.

It is further declared that this will be a closed court.

Dumbledore hadn’t gone to the press - he was taking this to the top. By declaring a closed court, each member would be bound by the vow they took when they were appointed to the Wizengamot, to not speak a word of what occurred in the meeting.

If this was not about Harry Potter, Gareth would eat his shoes.

Morgana, damn that meddling man.

He and Ms Abbott were still building their case on the improper transfer of Harry into the custody of his Muggle relatives. If you called leaving an infant on a doorstep a transfer of custody. They weren’t ready to present their findings, and Gareth had a gut instinct if they rushed to accuse Dumbledore of anything now, he would find a way to weasel out.

Gareth was truly confused sometimes how Albus Dumbledore had ended up in Gryffindor and not Slytherin, with the way the man played these games of calculation.

His mind raced as he analysed what the best course of action would be to take for the meeting. He might have no choice but to submit the evidence of Harry’s abuse to the Wizengamot, to protect Harry from being forced back to the Muggles. At least it was a small blessing that the court would be closed, so no members of the press would be present, and every person there would be bound to silence by their vows.

Gareth’s eyes narrowed as he recognised that Dumbledore of course knew the CPA had a compelling child abuse case – so what was the gambit here? There was no way he could convince a council of reasonable witches and wizards that the Muggles were still suitable guardians once they had heard the evidence.

Gareth bit off a groan as he realised what Dumbledore’s strategy was.

He was trying to control which wizarding family Harry would be put with. He would know that the Blacks were Harry's next of kin, and the purpose of this emergency meeting was no doubt to convince the Wizengamot to veto the family in their entirety as an option.

Or perhaps to ensure Harry would be placed with Cygnus Black’s disowned daughter, the one who had married a Muggleborn. The woman’s estrangement from her family, and her relationship with a Muggleborn, would ensure Harry would remain ‘safe’ from any dark influences.

Gareth realised with a genuine lurch of concern that Dumbledore could even get the Wizengamot to vote to remove Harry from he and his wife’s care while a decision was made about who Harry's eventual guardian should be.

“Gareth?” Rosie called quietly from the doorway to his study. Her hazel eyes betrayed her caution as they flicked from the Wizengamot notification in his hand to his no-doubt stressed expression.

“Dumbledore’s on the warpath,” he told her, slumping into his desk chair.

Rosie took the offered notification, reading it quickly. She handed it back to her husband, lips tight with displeasure.

“He’ll push to remove Harry from us,” Rosie scowled. “Can’t have the saviour of the wizarding world living with a dark family, even temporarily.”

Gareth nodded; already exhausted at the prospect of the uphill battle he had ahead of him.

“You’ll fight for Harry,” Rosie declared, eyes flashing passionately. “Promise me you’ll do everything in your power to keep him with us.”

“Even if I win that battle, Dumbledore will push to ensure Harry ends up with a neutral or light family as his eventual guardians, you know this,” Gareth muttered.

“If they will provide Harry with a good home I don’t care what their magical alignment is,” Rosie professed. “His wellbeing is the most important thing.”

“It is for us, but not for Dumbledore. He won’t care where Harry ends up, as long as it’s not with a dark family,” Gareth said calmly, but with fury underneath his words. “And we both know even a suitable neutral or light family would be…persuaded to see Dumbledore’s side of things. If Harry is with a family such as that, they will trust Dumbledore to know best. They will let him use Harry.”

“You could request a convening of Morgana’s Court for advice,” Rosie suggested quietly.

“And tell them what? Over half of them are former Death Eaters, or they are related to one, Rosie!” Gareth exclaimed. He softened slightly when he added; “Regardless, I cannot discuss Harry’s situation unless with his future guardian, or in a legal setting such as the Wizengamot.”

“What will you do then?” Rosie asked tautly.

“I cannot confront Dumbledore at this time – to do so with a weak offence would only give the man ammunition against me and weaken my own position. I will have to play his game,” Gareth stated.

Rosie replied shrewdly, “Play his game, but cheat under the table?”

“Precisely, my love,” Gareth responded with a sharp smile. “Dumbledore is not the only person who has been building alliances across social and political divides.”

Harry could sense something was wrong when he came down for breakfast, the way Rosie’s smile didn’t quite touch her eyes, and the tightness in Gareth’s fingers where he was gripping his copy of the Daily Prophet. Astoria happily munched away on her toast, and Daphne was concentrating on buttering hers, neither of the girls seeming to notice anything was off.

Harry leaned over to Daphne and whispered, “Is everything okay with your parents?”

Daphne looked up in surprise, quickly turning to look at her parents. She examined them thoughtfully for a few moments then whispered back into Harry’s ear, “They look a bit stressed. But that happens sometimes. Don’t worry about it!”

She went back to buttering her toast, calm in the way children were who had had a stable upbringing. But Harry’s instincts, honed from years of violence, were on high alert.

He watched the couple with wary eyes, only eating one piece of toast due to his distraction and nerves. He didn’t think he could stomach any more than that.

Rosie noticed his lack of appetite, worriedly asking, “Did the potions yesterday upset your stomach, Harry?”

Startled at having someone notice, Harry mumbled back, “Oh…no they didn’t. I’m just not very hungry right now.”

“If you feel a bit more hungry later just ask Pimsey to bring you something,” Rosie said gently, without pressing the matter. Harry was glad.

Gareth put his copy of the Daily Prophet to the side and leaned forward, capturing not only Harry’s attention but Daphne and Astoria’s too.

“Daphne, Astoria, your uncle will be around at the usual time after lunch for your tutoring. Harry, I will be having you join them both. We don’t want your education to be interrupted any further. The lessons are simple – just literacy, numeracy, history and geography. After your normal lessons conclude, your Uncle Ezra will be staying longer start a new class, just with Daphne and Harry,” Gareth explained.

Astoria pouted asking, “Why can’t I join them?”

“You can when you’re a bit older,” Rosie cut in.

“What kind of new lessons?” Daphne asked keenly. Then just as quickly her eyes narrowed in suspicion and she said, “You’re not making me take etiquette classes again are you? You promised I only had to take a class once a year!”

“You will not be taking etiquette classes,” Gareth said, causing Daphne to sigh in relief. “Your uncle will be teaching you and Harry about wizarding traditions, the history of magic, and magical theory.”

Daphne groaned dramatically and exclaimed loudly, “That sounds boring!”

Her parents both frowned at her and Rosie said, “I assure you it is not boring. It is part of this family’s legacy.”

Daphne quietened at that, while Harry listened interestedly. Gareth looked at Harry as he said, “The lessons will cover our traditions, and Ezra will instruct you both on understanding more about the types of magic there are, and magical cores.”

“What are magical cores?” Harry asked. Daphne was listening attentively now, clearly not knowing the answer herself. Astoria was looking between the speakers, hazel eyes wide.

Rosie and Gareth shared a look, wordless communication passing between the married couple. Seemingly coming to an agreement, Rosie said, “Every witch and wizard is born with a magical core. It is the source of your magic. Magical cores differ between people, not just in terms of power, but also the type of magic you are naturally aligned to.”  

Both Harry and Daphne opened their mouths to ask more questions, but Gareth lifted hand and said quickly, “Keep any questions you have for your teacher, please.” For Harry’s benefit Gareth said, “Rosie’s brother, Ezra Yaxley, usually teaches at another magical school, Durmstrang, this time of year. But he’s taken two years off to write an academic paper, and has been tutoring his nieces on the side.”

“Uncle Ezra is awesome, you’ll like him,” Daphne declared.

“I hope his tutelage will prove useful,” Gareth mused, watching Harry. “Make the most of this lesson today.”

Another wordless look passed between Rosie and Gareth, and Gareth said carefully, “Harry, if you’re done with breakfast, Rosie and I needed to discuss something with you.”

Feeling his stomach drop, Harry swallowed tightly and nodded.

Rosie didn’t need to tell Daphne and Astoria to give them privacy – after the day before yesterday with Ms Abbott and yesterday with the Healer, both girls seemed determined to prove they were mature enough to give Harry privacy without needing to be asked. “We’ll stay here and play,” Daphne said, causing her parents to smile approvingly.

Harry trailed after the Greengrass couple, feet dragging heavy. He had a feeling bad news was coming.

He was led to a smaller sitting room, a lot cosier than some of the other spaces in the house. Rosie got Harry to sit next to her on the chaise lounge, and Gareth sat opposite them.

Without leaving Harry in limbo for any longer, Gareth said, “I received a notification this morning that a meeting of the Wizengamot had been called. Do you remember what Ms Abbott and I told you about the Wizengamot?”

Harry nodded, recalling his crash course on the basics of the new world he had found himself a part of. He had been told that the witches and wizards who were the heads of each section of the Ministry were part of a council called the Wizengamot. Together, they voted on new laws, and presided over criminal trials. Harry knew Gareth had a seat, being the head of the CPA.

“Although I cannot be certain, I strongly suspect the reason this emergency meeting has been called this afternoon, is to discuss you.”

“Me?” Harry asked nervously.

“The Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore, called the meeting. He is also the one we believe put you with the Dursleys, after your parents' deaths,” Gareth explained. “He wrote to me last night, having become aware that you had been removed. I do not know exactly how he knew – only myself, Rosie, Ms Abbott, the Minister for Magic and the head of Magical Law Enforcement, have been informed of your situation. I suspect he had some way of keeping an eye on your Muggle relatives. He wrote to me to return you to them.”

Harry flinched back, a look of horror on his face. “You can’t,” he croaked.

Rosie rushed to assure him, desperately wanting to gather him in her arms, but aware it would be inappropriate to touch him without permission. “You will never see those Muggles again, Harry. I would sooner break the law than put you back with those beasts,” Rosie declared.

“There will be no need to break any laws,” Gareth said calmly. “We have enough evidence that no matter what Dumbledore says you will never be put back with your Muggle relatives.”

Harry relaxed slightly at that, before a look of realisation crossed his face. “If this Dumbledore put me there, and was keeping some kind of eye on me, then why didn’t he help me? Why didn’t he intervene when they – when-,” Harry broke off, unable to finish the sentence for hurt and anger. He blinked back sudden tears that had sprung up in his eyes.

“I am in the process of investigating why Dumbledore placed you with the Muggles, and why my predecessor at the CPA signed off on it without performing a thorough background check. You should never have been put with them,” Gareth said quietly, but fiercely.

“So this meeting – Dumbledore is going to try and convince the Wizengamot to put me back with the Dursleys?” Harry asked, aghast.

“We think he won’t try that, given the evidence against them,” Rosie interjected softly. “We suspect he will attempt to control which wizarding family you are placed with. Both in the near future for the selection of your guardian, but…also now.”

Harry processed what Rosie just said, eyes widening behind his glasses. “He’ll take me away from you.” His face fell, looking positively heartbroken. “But…I love it here. I’m happy. For the first time in my life I feel safe. I feel-” Harry couldn’t finish.

“We are going to fight for you,” Gareth promised him. “Believe me, when I say I will do everything in my power to keep you with us. I do not know what will end up happening with your eventual guardian, but I will also work hard to ensure no matter who they are, they are worthy of you.”

Harry removed his glasses, wiping his eyes of tears. A familiar handkerchief appeared in front of him, and Rosie’s sweet voice whispered, “How can I help, Harry?”

Harry reached for her blindly, and was immediately enveloped in her embrace, receiving a hug for the first time he could remember.

Rosie whispered in his ear as he cried into her shoulder, “You’ll always have a safe place here Harry. I don’t care about our laws – if they try to take you away today, I won’t let them.”

“Neither of us will,” Gareth said, hearing his wife’s words. She looked up, locking eyes with him. An understanding passed between them.

Dumbledore might be on the warpath, but the Greengrass couple were ready for a siege.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight: In matters of style, swim with the current

The hushed murmurs of the congregated witches and wizards reverberated around the antechamber outside Courtroom Ten, each individual clad in identical plum coloured robes marked with a silver W over the left breast.

Gareth Greengrass hung back from the bulk of the crowd, waiting near the edge of the antechamber as his eyes quickly scanned the crowd. As Tiberius Ogden moved forward to shake the hand of Lord Ahmed Shafiq, the sudden gap that it created revealed Amelia Bones, who strode forward purposefully towards Gareth.

“I got your letter,” she murmured quietly, steely grey eyes surveying the other members of the Wizengamot as she stood by Gareth’s side. There were a fair few curious looks cast their way, but no one approached. “I don’t understand why you asked, but I will support you if it comes to a vote. I know Rufus and Diana will give you their support too.”

Madam Bones referred to Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Auror Office, and Diana Macmillan, head of the Improper Use of Magic Office. Together with Gareth they were in charge of the three sections that sat under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which Madam Bones headed. There was a generally positive collegial working relationship between the four leaders of the DMLE branch.

Gareth nodded his head gratefully at the woman, watching Ivan Nott and Lord Xavier Parkinson talking together on the other side of the chamber.

“But why do you think it will come to a vote?” Madam Bones asked.

“I can’t say much,” Gareth murmured back. “But as you’ve worked out, Dumbledore knows. I can’t think of any other reason why he would call an emergency meeting.”

Madam Bones nodded before asking sharply, “Why do you think he intends to intervene?”

“He sent me a letter last night,” Gareth admitted. “Tried to convince me to put him back, regardless of what they were doing. Claimed there was a unique protection around the home.”

“Do you have evidence of this letter?” the woman hissed, her grey eyes focusing on Gareth.

“The letter destroyed itself after I read it. But I would be willing to testify under Veritaserum, if I had to, as to its contents. When I sent back a letter informing him I could not discuss the matter with him, he called this emergency meeting,” Gareth snarled, unable and unwilling to hide his anger.  

“You believe you will need to testify before the Wizengamot?” Madam Bones asked shrewdly.

Gareth looked at her for a long moment, wondering how much he could trust her with. She looked back, face determined. Madam Bones was a fair woman, always trying to remain neutral. She was also the person best placed to back Gareth with any case he might put forward in the future against Dumbledore.

Mind made up, Gareth subtly cast a privacy spell around them both, to prevent anyone eavesdropping. 

“There’s an investigation underway as to how exactly Mr Potter ended up with his Muggle relatives in the first place. I am not yet ready to bring forth any allegations. I want an airtight case before coming forward. But when I am ready, I think that letter I received will form part of the evidence,” Gareth told her.

Madam Bones read between lines, as he knew she would, a furrow forming on her brow. Gareth was going to go after Dumbledore for misconduct, but she did not yet know how valid his concerns were. She asked slowly, “Will you share the results of your investigation with me when you are ready?”

Gareth nodded, having already planned to do so. “For now, your support is what I need today to protect the child in my care.”

“He can’t send him back – not a single person here would allow it, even without all the information we know. But do you truly believe he will call a motion to remove him from you? I would think this meeting would be about his eventual permanent guardian. You are the head of the CPA – who better than you to take care of a child?” Madam Bones mused.

“Trust me, madam,” Gareth said bitterly. “He will call a motion regardless. I am a dark wizard. My wife is a dark witch. In his eyes we are a threat.”

“I would not be so quick to assume, just because Dumbledore is a light wizard, that he would deem you and your wife unsuitable guardians,” Madam Bones stated, a disapproving look on her face.

Gareth looked back at her with a resigned air, and replied, “We shall see.”

“Indeed we will,” the woman nodded. She spotted something across the room and said, “Ah, I see the Minister with that unpleasant Senior Undersecretary of his. He looks rather unwell.”

“I would imagine so - he would have worked out what this meeting is about too. No doubt panicking about having kept Dumbledore out of the loop,” Gareth replied with a smirk.

“As he should have,” Madam Bones said primly. “Dumbledore had no right to get involved and send you that letter. And I think too that this meeting is a waste of the Wizengamot’s time and resources.”

“I agree entirely, madam,” Gareth told her.

“Speaking of, I don’t even see Dumbledore yet,” Madam Bones commented, pulling out her pocket watch to check the time. “We’re supposed to start in ten minutes.”

“Madam Bones!” a wizard Gareth recognised as being newly appointed as the head of the Broom Regulatory Authority under the Department of Magical Transport. He couldn’t quite recall the man’s name – it would be his second or third Wizengamot meeting.

Madam Bones sighed under her breath, turning to Gareth to say, “I will save you the absolute tedium of Mr White and go over there by myself.”

“Your sacrifice is duly noted,” Gareth told her with a straight face.

He was rewarded with a rare, tiny smile that quirked the sides of Madam Bones’ lips, before she resumed her usual stony expression and headed in the direction of Mr White.

Gareth dropped the anti-eavesdropping spell as he watched her go, feeling a little lighter after the assurance she had taken his letter he sent her earlier that morning seriously, and that he had his department’s support behind him.

“That looked like an interesting conversation, Lord Greengrass.” The dulcet voice appeared suddenly from behind Gareth’s left shoulder, causing him to have to turn almost entirely to face its speaker.

The woman standing there was observing Gareth with an enigmatic smile on her face. She had rich brown skin, and her black hair was woven into intricate braids. Her dark eyes were curious as she continued to smile at Gareth.

“Madam Rowle,” Gareth said, nodding his head respectfully to the head of the Department of Mysteries.

Unlike the other departments, each with a senior head and then three clear subdivisional heads, the Department of Mysteries had always operated outside of the system. Regina Rowle, at thirty-two, was the youngest ever head of the Department of Mysteries, and she alone represented her department in the Wizengamot. No one knew exactly what subdivisions even existed in her department.

“Everyone is wondering what this emergency meeting is about,” she commented. “But you and Madam Bones don’t seem all that curious.”

Gareth stayed silent, unwilling to give anything away. Madam Rowle was the eldest daughter and heir of the current Lord and Lady Rowle, members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. The Rowles were a traditionally neutral family, however it was publically known that both Madam Rowle and her younger brother, Thorfinn, took after their father, who was a dark wizard.

Madam Rowle’s paternal aunt was Lady Elizabeth Lestrange née Rowle, now widowed, both of her sons serving life sentences in Azkaban for the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom. Lady Lestrange and her brother, Lord Rowle, had inherited their dark alignment from their mother, Dowager Lady Audelia Rowle née Malfoy.

As though reading his mind Madam Rowle continued conversationally, “My aunt sends her regards.”

Gareth mentally checked his Occlumency shields were in place. Assured they were, he replied, “I hope to see her soon. Please pass on my regards to her.”

Madam Rowle dipped her head in acknowledgement. “As for the meeting – are you willing to give me a hint? I am quite good at keeping secrets.”

Gareth had no doubt – the woman headed the Department of Mysteries after all. The people who worked for her were called Unspeakables for a reason. Nevertheless, Gareth told her apologetically, “We will have to wait and see what Dumbledore has to say.”

“Nothing good,” Madam Rowle muttered. She peered over Gareth’s shoulder and informed him, “Ivan Nott is making his way over here.”

Gareth turned to see the tall, thin man, head of the International Magical Office of Law, weaving through the crowd to join them. Ivan’s father was the widowed Lord Cantankerous Nott, a relic of the past and quite set in his fanaticism towards pureblood ideals. Rumour has it Lord Nott had been the one to anonymously publish the infamous Pureblood Directory in the 1930s, which had caused quite the uproar in the wizarding community with its not-at-all veiled derision towards Muggleborns.

The Pureblood Directory continued to record the individuals who joined the ranks of purebloods – the standard being that seven generations without Muggle ancestry would make an individual a certified pureblood.

The Notts were a dark family, like the Greengrass family, but they had always been highly vocal of their belief in pureblood supremacy. They utilised exclusionary tactics to shut Muggleborns and other non-purebloods out of their social circles.

Ivan was not as intense and outspoken as his father, and Gareth believed that was owed to the man’s wife, Lady Cassandra Rosier-Nott. As head of the Rosier family after her parents, brother and sister had been killed during the war, she had stepped into the responsibility of pulling together the tattered remains of a once noble house of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. That had included a fair amount of rebuilding a positive public image.

Gareth had a deep respect for Lady Rosier, as was her proper title despite taking her husband’s name.

“Lord Greengrass, Madam Rowle,” Ivan said with a nod of his head to both.

After exchanging normal pleasantries, Ivan admitted in frustration, “I had to cancel a conference with my German counterpart to attend this meeting. I hope it is truly an emergency.”

Madam Rowle slyly glanced at Gareth to see what his reaction was. He concentrated on keeping his face perfectly neutral. Ivan missed the subtle interaction, continuing, “I was just talking with Lord Parkinson now, that our work gets interrupted enough by Dumbledore’s regular meddling without him calling Wizengamot meetings during our work hours.”

Lord Xavier Parkinson worked alongside Ivan as the head of the International Magical Trading Standard Body. Because Dumbledore was Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, he was heavily involved in the work done in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, despite not working for the Ministry.

“I suspect even Lord Shafiq is exasperated with Dumbledore most days, and he’s a damned light wizard himself,” Ivan said scathingly.

“The Shafiq family are light, but they are wise enough to see right through Dumbledore,” Madam Rowle commented softly, but there was a warning tone in her voice as she locked eyes with Ivan. She also showed the two men her wand, as she nonverbally cast an anti-eavesdropping spell around them, to be safe. “Lord Shafiq works more closely than anyone at the Ministry with Dumbledore, being the head of the International Confederation of Wizards Office. He knows exactly the type of person Dumbledore is.”

“I salute his patience,” Ivan said waspishly. “Between Dumbledore and Crouch breathing down my neck at any given moment like I’m about to cast an Unforgiveable in front of him, I don’t have the luxury of coming from the right kind of family.”

Gareth was relieved Bartemius Crouch Senior was no longer head of the DMLE and had been demoted to the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation after losing to Fudge for the position of Minister. Although it might seem like an equivalent position to an outsider, the DMLE answered to no other department. Only the Department of Mysteries held that same honour.

The thought of working under the man was detestable, especially after the way he had handled the aftermath of the war. The Wizengamot had been suspended under emergency powers, and Crouch had essentially held a dictatorship, all trials of known and suspected Death Eaters being conducted in closed courts with only a handful of approved spectators permitted to attend.

“Did I miss the memo that this is where the dark witches and wizards were meant to be gathering before the meeting?” a sultry voice suddenly spoke up, visibly startling Ivan.

Madam Rowle smirked, clearly having seen the other woman coming from her position and choosing to not alert the men with her. Gareth looked over to see Lady Helena Burke sashaying up to their group.

An only child, she had inherited the title of head of the House of Burke from her late father, and remained unmarried now into her thirties. Not for want of suitors - as the head of such an ancient house, she was well sought after. She was also the head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and an extremely competent witch.

“I think the four of us standing here is about to give Doge an aneurism, Helena,” Madam Rowle said, grinning with too many teeth to be friendly at the elderly man who had been shooting glares at their group. “Maybe go stand with Levi Selwyn, it’ll make him think you’re luring Lord Selwyn’s favourite grandchild to the dark side.”

“Regina darling, I already am,’ Lady Burke said with a satisfied smile. Her green eyes glittered as she informed the group, “Levi will be courting me by Yule.”

“Does Mr Selwyn know that?” Gareth asked drily.

Lady Burke laughed throatily, tossing her long auburn hair behind one shoulder at the same time. Gareth noticed more than a few eyes stray their way at the action, including the unsuspecting Levi Selwyn, head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

Gareth honestly thought they would not make a bad match – they were close in age and both were heads of departments, so they were clearly ambitious and career driven. In addition, both came from similar backgrounds, being from Sacred Twenty-Eight families. Lady Burke might be an openly dark witch and Levi Selwyn from a traditionally neutral family, but that was no real obstacle unless Mr Selwyn harboured any prejudice against those who were dark aligned.

“But honestly, what are you three doing here lurking about?” Lady Burke asked with one delicate eyebrow raised.

Ivan spluttered, clearly not knowing how to respond to the forward woman.

“Trying to work out what this emergency meeting is about,” Madam Rowle volunteered. Then, deciding to throw Gareth to the wolves she added, “Lord Greengrass knows and is remaining tight lipped about it.”

He found himself pierced by those intense green eyes as Lady Burke asked curtly, “Well? What new mess is Dumbledore going to drag us all into now, Lord Greengrass?”

Gareth was saved from having to fend off the woman, by Dumbledore himself of all people.

In a burst of activity and colour the man came sweeping into the chamber, clapping his hands to draw all of their attention. Despite the rules of the Wizengamot mandating the plum coloured robes be worn by all members, the Chief Warlock could bend the rules as he saw fit.

Today Dumbledore was gracing them with his presence in eye shockingly crimson red robes, trimmed with canary yellow.

“Morgana have mercy,” Lady Burke muttered.

Madam Rowle dispelled the anti-eavesdropping spell around them as Dumbledore declared to the room that had fallen silent at his arrival, “Friends, I apologise for my lateness! Let us commence the meeting.”

He swept through the crowd, which parted for him as he passed. Gareth noticed Elphias Doge, who had been glaring at their group just before, fall into step beside his friend. Gareth was still furious at Doge’s involvement in Harry’s placement with the Muggles. After leaving the CPA, the man had taken up a position as head of the Gobstones League, a subdivision of the Department of Magical Games and Sport, which meant he still held a seat on the Wizengamot.

Fudge was quick to fall into step on Dumbledore’s other side, trying to look like the man’s equal but somehow falling short. It was obvious to everyone who really held the power.

“Let the circus begin,” Madam Rowle whispered just loud enough for the other three to hear her.

Let the first battle begin, Gareth thought privately.

Putting aside their Slytherin preservation instincts that were honed from years of being part of the most ostracised house at Hogwarts, the four dark wizards and witches quickly separated as they filed into Courtroom Ten, choosing to spread out amongst the other members.

Gareth saw Ivan sit with Lord Parkinson and Lord Shafiq, Lady Burke sit beside Tiberius Ogden, head of a subdivision under her, the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, and Madam Rowle sit with Griselda Marchbanks, head of the Department of Magical Education.

Gareth made his way over to sit beside Madam Bones, who had left a space open beside her. Rufus Scrimgeour sat on her other side, hard faced as usual, though he offered a curt nod to Gareth as their eyes met. As he crossed the floor he felt keenly the scrutiny of Albus Dumbledore from where he had taken his elevated Chief Warlock seat.

Not looking at the man, Gareth continued across the floor, noting where the Minister and his three support staff were sitting to Dumbledore’s right. Fudge looked sweaty, nervously pulling at the neck of his robes while attempting to fake a smile as he spoke to an animated Ludo Bagman diagonally behind him, head of the Department of Magical Games and Sport.

Gareth noticed that Umbridge woman sitting by the Minister’s right hand, a smug look on her face as she basked in her position beside the Minister.

Settling in beside Madam Bones, Gareth steeled himself, looking over from his vantage point that now put him directly opposite Dumbledore. Usually Courtroom Ten was set up so that an accused sat facing the Wizengamot. The tiered seating was now configured to cover the entire room, meaning the courtroom now resembled an amphitheatre.

Gareth looked across the empty space of the amphitheatre towards Dumbledore, only to find the man was looking straight at him, wizened face unreadable behind his half moon glasses.

Refusing to look away, Gareth maintained eye contact, even as his colleague, Diana Macmillan, slid into the seat beside him, and he offered her a polite hello.

With everyone now seated, Dumbledore rose from his elevated seat, drawing all eyes to him regardless of his crimson red robes. He finally looked away from Gareth in order to make eye contact with the gathered members of the Wizengamot.

“My esteemed colleagues. I thank you all for attending today on such short notice. I would not have convened such a meeting if it were not of the utmost importance. But I fear that today I must bring grave news to you all. It is for this reason that I declared this court closed, and hold you all to your vows to not repeat anything said in this meeting, to anyone not of this honourable council.” Dumbledore paused to let his words sink in.  

A hushed murmur rose up from those attending before it was just as quickly silenced, some leaning in, giving the man their undivided attention. Elphias Doge in particular seemed to be hanging onto every word that came out of Dumbledore’s mouth, but there were a few other witches and wizards scattered around the court that were likewise enraptured. Dumbledore had undeniable influence.

“It has come to my attention, that two days ago a wizarding child presented at a Muggle child protection agency.”

Many eyes quickly glanced straight to Gareth, being head of the Child Protection Authority. He could see Madam Rowle looking at him knowingly from across the room, having correctly theorised he was aware of what the meeting would be about.

“Lord Greengrass,” Dumbledore said, using Gareth’s correct form of address in a formal setting, “Attended with one of his employees, Ms Louisa Abbott. They confirmed there were grounds for removal of this child from his Muggle relatives, and took him into Ministry custody.”

That was one way to describe finding obvious child abuse and neglect, Gareth thought furiously.

Despite Dumbledore’s shallow explanation of why they had removed Harry, Gareth noted with satisfaction that many in the room seemed furious at the implication that a wizarding child had, had to be removed from Muggles, and that the CPA had even needed to become involved. There were darkened expressions scattered throughout the room, and a mutter rose up, whispers of concern and discontent echoing around the chamber.

“Lord Greengrass and his division are no doubt making all the proper inquiries into the situation,” Dumbledore said, placating the crowd, but also putting Gareth back under the scrutiny of the room.

As people looked between Dumbledore and Gareth, Dumbledore continued, “Lord Greengrass saw fit to invoke section 17 of the Child Protection Act, which allows the head of the Child Protection Authority to place any ward of the Ministry into the temporary care of a guardian of their choosing, until such a time the child’s suitable next of kin are identified.”

Dumbledore looked around imploringly at the room as he continued, “This emergency meeting is not to discuss the circumstances that caused a wizarding child to be removed from their Muggle relatives. But rather, it is to discuss the hurried placement, without consultation, of that child by Lord Greengrass.”

Gareth gritted his teeth – under section 17 he did not have to consult anyone, not even the Minister of Magic, when deciding a placement. But with the way Dumbledore was spinning it, it might look like Gareth was abusing his powers.

“For you see, ladies and gentlemen, the child in question is uniquely vulnerable. His situation is like no other child’s in our world. The child is Harry Potter.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before a roar of noise rose up as witches and wizards clamoured to be heard all at once. Dumbledore waved half-heartedly to quiet them all, but his blue eyes glittered as he watched the chaos that he had just unleashed, like setting a kneazle loose among the pixies.

Diana Macmillan gasped from beside Gareth spinning to face him and demand, “Is it true Lord Greengrass? Why in Merlin’s name didn’t you consult anyone?”

Hearing that, and observing the chaos, Madam Bones rose to her feet and with a simple Sonorous spell she said cuttingly, “Order in the court.”

The hubbub died down, the last few loud mutterings silenced with a sharp glare from Madam Bones.

“Permission to speak, Chief Warlock,” Madam Bones said tightly.

Dumbledore examined Madam Bones over his half moon spectacles, and in an entirely too grandfatherly manner said, “Of course, Madam Bones. The Wizengamot will hear from you.”

“I want it made known to this council that I was made aware of Mr Potter’s removal from his Muggle relatives, and Lord Greengrass’ invoking of section 17. As was the Minister for Magic,” Madam Bones said clearly and succinctly.

Fudge wilted slightly under the sudden scrutiny of this announcement, quick to rise to his feet and say loudly to the court, “If I could clarify – I was informed after Lord Greengrass had already removed Mr Potter, and placed the boy with himself.”

Fudge knew exactly what he was doing letting that information loose at the moment he did. The thunderous round of noise rose up again, this time almost entirely directed at Gareth. He could hear accusations being called out about abuse of power, placing the Boy Who Lived with himself.

In this mess no one was going to ask how exactly Dumbledore knew all of this information.

Gareth stood up, utilising the Sonorous spell like Madam Bones to cut across the noise and ask, “Permission to speak, Chief Warlock.”

Dumbledore took his time to respond, letting the noise continue to roll around the room, people getting angrier and feeding off each other’s heightened emotions.

“Yes, the Wizengamot will hear what Lord Greengrass has to say,” Dumbledore called out at last.

The noise died down as dozens of angry eyes focused on Gareth, demanding answers from him. Gareth saw Ivan’s pinched expression, Lady Burke’s perfectly blank face that gave nothing away, and Madam Rowle’s narrowed eyes as she leaned forward to listen.

Gareth knew he needed every scrap of his charisma to get through this.

“I saw an abused and traumatised child who needed a home, not a Ministry bed. I invoked the section so I could take a hungry, frightened boy home to stay with my family, to be fed and given a warm bed to sleep in.” Gareth paused, letting those words sink in. He could sense, rather than see Diana relax at his words, a tentatively apologetic posture displayed in his peripheral. Others in the crowd softened too in their fury, but there was a pocket around Dumbledore whose eyes continued to spit fire.

“I notified Madam Bones and the Minister for Magic a short time after I brought Mr Potter to my home, within a couple of hours. Yesterday I arranged for a Healer from St Mungo’s to perform a house call. I intend on booking a Specialist Healer to provide counselling for Mr Potter, after what he has been through. I take my duties as head of the Child Protection Authority with the utmost responsibility. My eldest child is Mr Potter’s age. I did what any parent would do.”

With those words Gareth saw a few in the crowd nodding, and he sensed there was a general sentiment emerging from the gathered witches and wizards that Gareth had justified his actions, based on their understanding looks and sympathetic postures.

“I thank Lord Greengrass for enlightening us all with his decision making behind placing Mr Potter with himself,” Dumbledore called out pleasantly, but there was danger lurking between his words. “I am sure all gathered here are relieved that Mr Potter is receiving the appropriate care. However…”

Dumbledore trailed off, leaving the word hanging. Gareth waited, prepared for what was going to happen next. He could feel Madam Bones stiffen beside him as she sensed what was coming, and realised Gareth had been right.

“I feel given the unique position of Mr Potter in our world, that the decision of where he is living, even temporarily, should not be left for one person to decide. We are all grateful for you stepping in, Lord Greengrass, but now that Mr Potter is settled, I think there is no better body of reasonable people than those gathered here today to pick a temporary placement for him.”

Those around Dumbledore were nodding in agreement, but Gareth noticed a fair few people were looking a bit sceptical or confused at the suggestion. To Gareth’s surprise, Lord Ahmed Shafiq rose, requesting permission to speak.

Dumbledore smiled warmly at the man, inviting him to share his thoughts.

Lord Shafiq gathered his thoughts for a moment before asking the room, “Why can Mr Potter not be left in the care of Lord Greengrass? Considering his placement was legal and his guardians are suitable, I see no reason why Mr Potter should be uprooted from the home he has been staying in for the past two days.”

A murmur of agreement buzzed around the room as Lord Shafiq retook his seat, dark eyes watching Dumbledore closely. Gareth felt a surge of gratitude for the other man. Even more so seeing the minute tightness around Dumbledore’s eyes, before he smoothed out his expression. Lord Shafiq might be the head of a light family, but as Madam Rowle had claimed earlier, he was no fool.

“You raise an excellent point, Lord Shafiq,” Dumbledore said genially. “As excellent a job I am sure Lord Greengrass and his family are doing, I do think this is a matter for the Wizengamot to consider, given Mr Potter’s importance. I can think of many wonderful families who could provide an equally excellent environment.”

Madam Bones rose sharply, asking for permission to speak through gritted teeth. Dumbledore allowed it with his smile in place, but tension in his shoulders.

“Chief Warlock, are you making a formal motion to have this council vote to remove Harry Potter from Lord Greengrass’ care? Knowing that this will result in Mr Potter being immediately taken out of the home he has been living in, and made a ward of the Ministry on the spot with effectively no home until we can reach a consensus on where else to put him.”

Silence descended over the room as everyone looked to Dumbledore. The man surveyed Madam Bones, before saying, “I can see your concern, Madam Bones, and it is one I too share. Of course, I would not suggest a scenario where Mr Potter ends up a ward of the Ministry again, when there are so many families who would be willing to open their homes to him.” The pocket around Dumbledore was smiling and nodding, reassured at Dumbledore’s words.

“Then what exactly are you suggesting, with all due respect,” Madam Bones replied, grey eyes narrowed.

Abandoning his course of action in the face of Madam Bones’ calm shredding of his plan and Gareth’s speech to the Wizengamot that had won the sympathy of the majority gathered, Dumbledore opened his arms to encompass the counsel and declared, “I would suggest we all begin to consider where it is that Mr Potter will eventually end up being placed.”

As the crowd began quietly discussing potential future guardians for Harry, debating his family lineage and who could be related to him, Gareth breathed out heavily, sensing he had won the battle to keep Harry with him.

Madam Bones leaned in and said quietly, “Forgive me for doubting you.”

Gareth replied ruefully, “This prejudice is what myself, my family, and my ancestors have dealt with for generations.”

“It’s time for change then,” Madam Bones declared fiercely.

“It is,” Gareth agreed with her earnestly.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine: In matters of principle, stand like a rock

“Permission to address the Wizengamot, Chief Warlock,” Elphias Doge asked with a convivial smile to his friend.

“The Wizengamot will hear from Mr Doge,” Dumbledore responded with a warm smile in return.

The stout man cleared his throat as the noise in the room dropped and declared loudly, “As the former head of the Child Protection Authority, I find myself in a knowledgeable position as to the inner workings of the CPA.” Doge locked his beady eyes on Gareth, who kept a stony expression in place. “The next step is to have a Heritage Test conducted, to identify Mr Potter’s next of kin. A list will be generated, and the CPA then screens all of the potential candidates, and selects the most appropriate. I make a formal motion that Lord Greengrass provide the full list of candidates to this council, and that we vote by majority who amongst the potential guardians should get custody of Mr Potter.”

Doge sat down with a satisfied air about him, many heads nodding in agreement at his words. Gareth rose, asking Dumbledore, “If I might address the Wizengamot again, Chief Warlock.”

“You may,” Dumbledore allowed, blue eyes watchful.

“Mr Doge is correct in his recitation of the CPA's procedure. I want it known that I do not object to this council voting by majority who amongst the suitable guardians should gain custody of Mr Potter.” Gareth was rewarded for his statement by the visible surprise of the contingent around Dumbledore. Doge’s mouth fell open – no doubt he thought Gareth would have dug his heels in about retaining the right to pick Harry’s guardians. “However, as head of the CPA I do reserve the right to deem any potential guardians as unsuitable during the screening process. These individuals will be excluded from consideration during the eventual voting process.”

There was more nodding around the room, the overwhelming majority finding this to be a sensible and fair approach.

“I request that the full list of potential candidates be supplied nonetheless to the members of the Wizengamot,” Dumbledore interjected. “An oral argument can be put forth by Lord Greengrass to justify the reason why he found any potential candidates unsuitable. This council will retain the right to vote by majority to reinstate any of these potential guardians for consideration. Let us vote on this course of action.”

“As the Chief Warlock pleases,” Gareth called out, seeing Dumbledore’s visible surprise. “I do not oppose your suggestion. But we may vote on it nonetheless, as you have directed.”

Dumbledore was truly prejudiced if he believed Gareth would try and exclude any light or even neutral leaning candidates, just because he was a dark wizard. Anyone he excluded would be removed because they were truly unsuitable - there was no ulterior motive. 

After a quick show of hands it was unanimously agreed that the full results generated by the Heritage Test would be supplied to all members of the Wizengamot, and that they would have the ability to vote by majority to reinstate any candidates Gareth excluded during the screening process.

Doge quickly got back to his feet and stated, “I make another formal motion to vote for this council having the ultimate decision on which of the candidates Mr Potter is placed with.” Not finished the man added, “Mr Potter’s grandmother, Dorea Potter, was born a Black. I am sure we all have concerns about certain members of that family.”

Noise spilled forth again around the courtroom, whispers of ‘Sirius Black’ and ‘Bellatrix Lestrange’ echoing around the chamber. Some seemed to be horrified at the realisation that the man who betrayed the Potters, would be a potential guardian of their child. Notwithstanding that he was serving a life sentence in Azkaban and was incapable of being an option.

Gareth noticed that many seemed unsurprised at Doge’s announcement – the members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight who were present were included in that number; Lady Burke, Bartemius Crouch, Marshall Fawley, Diana Macmillan, Ivan Nott, Lord Parkinson, Regina Rowle, Levi Selwyn and Lord Shafiq had expressions on their faces ranging from neutral to displeased.

Members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight knew their bloodlines inside and out. They would have already known Harry’s grandmother had been a Black.

This time the vote was not unanimous – Gareth refused to raise his hand, as did Madam Rowle, Lady Burke, Ivan Nott, Lord Parkinson, and a handful of other people, some of them surprising such as Tiberius Ogden and Diana Macmillan, who leaned over to whisper to Gareth, “I wouldn’t trust some on this council to tell their head from their ass, let alone decide what is in the best interests of a child.”

Gareth read the implication in those words, that Madam Macmillan actually trusted him to make the right decision. Gareth nodded appreciatively to the woman, who although coming from a traditionally neutral family was open to the idea that Mr Potter might end up being placed with a dark family.

Madam Bones, who had slowly raised her hand in support of the motion, said quietly to Gareth, “I do have some concerns with a couple of the potential candidates of the Black family, and I think with a majority of the Wizengamot in agreement of a guardian, the public would have more faith in the placement.”

Gareth acknowledged her reasoning murmuring back, “I understand, madam.”

Scrimgeour voted in favour too, face hard at the prospect of the Blacks getting their hands on Harry Potter. Being head of the Auror Office, he had spent most of his career hunting people with similar backgrounds to the Blacks.

“The motion passes by majority,” Dumbledore announced, satisfied. The genial smile was firmly on his face. “Lord Greengrass will conduct the Heritage Test without delay and supply the full list of candidates to this council. The screening process will be conducted by the CPA, and the outcome will be confirmed by Lord Greengrass. I will then set a date for the Wizengamot to select Mr Potter’s new guardians. Lord Greengrass, what kind of timeline do you anticipate?”

Gareth rose, feeling the eyes of the room on him. “Chief Warlock, I had intended to conduct the Heritage Test in two weeks when Mr Potter is scheduled in for his next Healer check up.” Healers were responsible for conducting Heritage Tests, as a small amount of blood was required to perform it.

“Can an appointment be scheduled sooner – perhaps this Friday?” Dumbledore asked cordially. Gareth gritted his teeth – that was in two days, today being a Wednesday. The man obviously wanted the list generated and the screening process commenced without delay, no doubt to get Harry away from the Greengrass family as quickly as possible.

“If you insist, Chief Warlock,” Gareth replied mildly, but privately seething. “As for the screening process, the time it will take varies depending on the nature of the candidates identified by the Heritage Test. The average screening process takes around a month, but it could be shorter or longer than that.”

Madam Bones rose before Dumbledore could reply to no doubt put pressure on Gareth to make a decision faster. Getting permission to speak the woman said firmly, “It is crucial that this is all done by the book. No corners can be cut in pursuit of getting Mr Potter placed more quickly with a family. It is in his best interests that the screening process is done thoughtfully and carefully, without pressure from this council to speed things up.”

She resumed her seat, Gareth shooting her a grateful look.

“Quite right, Madam Bones,” Dumbledore admitted at last. “We will await the results of the Heritage Test on Friday, and then leave the screening process in the CPA's capable hands.”

“If I might raise a concern…” Fudge said, standing up. “I did raise this with Madam Bones and Lord Greengrass when the situation was brought to my attention, but I must say that I am of the opinion that a statement should be made to the press.”

Umbridge nodded along, a simpering smile on her face as she watched the Minister. Fudge continued, “I understand this is a closed court of course, so nothing we have decided today can be made public, but surely people have the right to know the Ministry has become involved with Mr Potter, and that he is currently living with Lord Greengrass, pending his final placement with his next of kin?”

Some in the room seemed to agree, but many seemed uncomfortable with the suggestion of taking things to the press.

“If I might speak, Chief Warlock,” Tiberius Ogden stated, rising to his feet. After Dumbledore had granted him permission Ogden said cautiously, “I find myself hesitant to agree with that course of action. The public would want to know exactly what circumstances led to Mr Potter being removed from his Muggle relatives. Should Mr Potter’s privacy not be respected at this time?”

Griselda Marchbanks rose up then, getting permission to add her opinion and say tentatively, “I note that this council has not even been provided a copy of Mr Potter’s CPA file. I understand that this information will remain confidential, as it must contain extremely sensitive content.” The elderly woman’s face was heavy with sadness at the thought of what information might be in the file.

Dumbledore spoke up then, a terribly grave expression on his face as he said softly, “We are all aggrieved to imagine what Mr Potter might have experienced.”

Gareth fought off a scowl – the man didn’t need to imagine – he knew.

“I believe the decision of when to go to the press, and what exactly should be said, should be left to Mr Potter’s eventual guardian to decide,” Dumbledore explained to the Wizengamot.

Gareth agreed with that course of action, but he suspected Dumbledore wasn’t saying it out of any genuine desire to protect Harry’s privacy – he was concerned about his own involvement coming to light. The man seemed to think there would be a potential guardian among Harry’s next of kin who would be appropriate by Dumbledore’s standards, and someone he could control to dictate exactly what the press were told.

With an unsettled feeling, Gareth realised he knew very little about the family backgrounds of Harry’s great-grandparents, Fleamont and Euphemia Potter. All he knew was that both had been in the Pureblood Directory, Fleamont in fact a first generation pureblood, the first Potter to be entered after having seven prior generations clear of Muggle ancestry. He did not know Euphemia’s maiden name.

The Heritage Test did not produce an indefinite list of names – it only produced a person's family tree up to seven generations back. For guardianship matters, the Heritage Test could also identify the thirteen closest living relatives who were of age.

Gareth resolved to investigate the Potters more closely – for Dumbledore to be so keen to intervene with whom Harry was to be placed with, there must be some connection to a family who were loyal to Dumbledore.

“Are you suggesting the Ministry keep this all a secret?” Fudge asked incredulously, laughing a little nervously as he added, “Is Mr Potter to be kept a prisoner in the Greengrass home until he is placed with his eventual relatives?”

Seizing on the opportunity Dumbledore said, “It is certainly an undesirable situation, Minister, you are very right to point that out. Which is why it is so crucial that the Heritage Test be performed swiftly, and the screening process conducted with due diligence, but also due haste given the situation.”

The Minister sat back down, pleased at having been praised by Dumbledore.

“For now, I remind you all again to keep to your vows. We will await Lord Greengrass’ correspondence to us all by close of business on Friday with the full list of candidates that will be generated by the Heritage Test.” With a flourish of his hands, crimson robes draping back, Dumbledore declared, “If there is no further business, I will call this emergency Wizengamot session to a close.”

As the meeting concluded, the noise broke free again, a sweeping tide that rushed around the room as everyone turned to their neighbours to loudly discuss everything that had just come to light. Unable to discuss with anyone not on the Wizengamot, the only opportunity to gossip was with his or her fellow members, in a private setting.

Dumbledore swept from the room as the Minister nearly stumbled in his haste to speed after the man, his three staff trailing after him as the Minister tried futilely to grab Dumbledore’s undivided attention.

“Do you need me to run interference?” Madam Bones asked Gareth quietly, seeing the members beginning to make their way over to Gareth, no doubt to interrogate him on his choices and perhaps to glean some information about what Harry Potter was really like.

“Thank you, madam, but that will not be necessary. I have nothing to hide, and I welcome any of their questions,” Gareth said firmly. There was enough doubt around him being a dark wizard, without him absconding straight after a meeting where it had been revealed he had temporary custody of the so-called saviour of the wizarding world.

Moulding a polite expression on his face, Gareth prepared himself for the onslaught. He noticed Ivan Nott, Lady Burke, and Madam Rowle gathered together near the exit to the courtroom, nearly obscured by the crowd of people making their way towards Gareth.

The three of them were watching him calmly, but pointedly.

Yes, Gareth had a lot of explaining to do.

But for now he twisted his wedding ring three times around his finger, feeling it warm slightly before cooling back down to its normal temperature. Rosie had engraved runes to the inside of their wedding bands to allow certain forms of communication between them across any distance.

Rosie would now know all was well, and could give some assurance to Harry.

Rosie had stayed with Harry that morning after Gareth left, remaining by his side on the couch until he had calmed after the revelation that he could possibly be taken away that day. He had been unsettled even after he said he was fine to go play with Daphne and Astoria, but he did feel reassured from Rosie and Gareth’s promises that they would protect him.

Harry didn’t have much trust in adults, but Rosie and Gareth had been nothing but kind and reasonable, never treating him like he needed to be coddled and sheltered. They had even decided to tell him about the Wizengamot meeting, so that he could be better prepared.

Considering the bleak weather and the rolling showers passing through, Harry had joined the girls in Daphne’s room, where she introduced Harry to a game called Exploding Snap. It had not been quite enough to distract him from his heavy thoughts, but for the sake of the girls who were so excited to teach Harry a wizarding game, he had played along.

Pimsey appeared to fetch them for an earlier lunch, as the girls’ uncle, Ezra Yaxley, was arriving soon in order to commence their tutoring on time at 1 o’clock.

Between meeting someone new and starting tutoring, and his anxiety over what would be happening that afternoon at the Wizengamot, Harry was worried he wouldn’t be able to stomach anything at the lunch table.

However, as he sat down and the smell of the delicious meal Pimsey had prepared reached his nose, Harry figured he could probably eat something, even it was something small.

Under Rosie’s watchful eyes Harry ate, the woman making a concerted effort to keep the mood light at the table, engaging all of the children in conversation.

As lunch was magically cleared away Harry cast a few nervous looks at the grand clock on the wall of the kitchen, which indicated it was a quarter to 1 o’clock. Gareth had already left for the Ministry, intending on speaking to a few of his colleagues before the meeting.

The people who would be deciding Harry’s fate were gathering at that very moment.

The quiet pop of Pimsey appearing in the kitchen startled Harry out of his thoughts, the house elf announcing, “Lady Greengrass, your brother, Mr Yaxley, be arriving in the parlour room.”

“Thank you Pimsey, we’ll all head over there right away,” Rosie replied, standing and smoothing down her skirt.

Harry followed Rosie, Daphne and Astoria down the now familiar path to the front parlour room where the grand fireplace that connected to the Floo system was located.

He peered into the room a little shyly from behind Daphne, having heard so much about ‘Uncle Ezra’ from the girls. They seemed to think he hung the moon and stars with the way they talked about him.

The man was facing slightly away from the group, gazing out of the window to the heavy rain now falling across the grounds. He wore dark blue wizarding robes that looked nearly black, which were trimmed with silver. From what Harry could see his hair was blonde like Rosie’s, and he wore it long, tied back in a low ponytail at the back of his head.

“Uncle Ezra!” Astoria squealed, charging forward.

The man turned around, beaming as he proclaimed, “My little Aster!” He opened his arms wide and let the small brunette girl jump into his arms as he swung her around with a laugh.

Harry noticed that his eyes were an identical shade of hazel to Rosie’s, and they creased as he smiled, just like Rosie and Daphne’s did.

Not to be outdone by her younger sister, Daphne walked forward at a more sedate pace and lifted her arms for a hug too. “And my sweet Daph,” the man said lifting Daphne up in his other arm with a surprising show of strength.

“You'd think it had been months since they last saw you, not days. They never greet me or Gareth like that anymore,” Rosie lamented.

“Careful Rosie, I might just steal your daughters one day,” the man said seriously, but with a smirk on the edge of his mouth.

“You could just settle down and have children of your own,” she said pointedly.

“What, do exactly what mother and father expect of me? Absolutely not,” Ezra said with another laugh.

As his laughter faded he looked curiously over at Harry, who hovered awkwardly in the doorway, subconsciously leaning slightly behind Rosie.

“I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance, young man,” Ezra said politely, placing his nieces gently down. He walked over slowly, offering his hand for Harry to shake.

“My name is Ezra Yaxley, and I’m the girl’s uncle and tutor,” the man said, shaking Harry’s hand with his grip not too firm or relaxed. “I’m also the better looking twin of the family.”

“Ezra!” Rosie gasped as the girls giggled.

“You’re twins?” Harry realised, looking between Rosie and Ezra.

“Unfortunately,” Rosie muttered. Then turning serious she said quietly, “Ez, Gareth got you to sign the non-disclosure agreement because Harry here will be staying with our family for awhile. I hope you weren’t offended we made you sign – it’s not that we don’t trust you, you’re family, but the NDA will protect you against anyone trying to force information out of you.”

Ezra watched his sister closely, his carefree and joking presence turning as equally serious as his sister. Rosie leaned in and whispered something so quietly to her brother that Harry couldn’t make out what she said.

He looked back to Harry, examining him with an assessing air. His hazel eyes widened slightly as he seemed to work something out, flicking up to where Harry’s scar was hidden underneath his mop of black hair.

“It’s nice to meet you Mr Yaxley, I'm Harry Potter.”

“Please, Mr Potter, you may call me Ezra,” the man said slowly, clearly taken aback.

“Then please, call me Harry.”

“Harry might be famous but he’s our friend, and you shouldn’t treat him any differently,” Daphne suddenly declared, moving to stand supportively by Harry’s side.

Rosie smiled softly at her eldest, eyes revealing her pride as her daughter stood up for her new friend.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Daphne,” Ezra promised, smiling reassuringly at his niece. He turned that warm smile to Harry and said, “It will be a pleasure teaching you, Harry.”

He looked back at Rosie, seemingly having a wordless conversation about something with his sister. Harry noticed the twins’ mouth both tightened in the same way when they were unhappy about something, their expressions mirroring each other.

“Let’s get you all settled,” Rosie declared into the silence that had fallen in the parlour room.

She led the way to a room on the ground floor that Harry vaguely remembered being a study – although where there had been two desks there were now three, one against each wall.

The girls walked to a desk to the left and right respectively, obviously being their usual study spots, and so Harry walked over to the desk before the sweeping windows overlooking the front lawn of the property.

The heavy drapes at the windows had been pulled back to let in what little light was available on such a bleak day. Rosie waved her hand before the light switch to further illuminate the space with the warm glow of the multiple wall sconces.

“If you all need anything, please call for Pimsey,” Rosie said, fussing with the drapes at the window in order to quietly whisper to Harry, “Gareth will send me notice of the outcome and I will come tell you right away when I know.”

Harry swallowed heavily, nodding in understanding. Rosie smiled at him, and added, “Call for Pimsey to get me if you want to leave your lessons early – but I think it will be a nice distraction.”

Harry agreed – the thought of sitting doing nothing while he waited for news sounded agonising.

Rosie left the room and Ezra took over, quickly explaining to Harry as Daphne and Astoria reached for certain books sitting neatly upright on their desks that he usually spent thirty minutes with Astoria while Daphne reviewed her last activity. Then while Astoria began a new task he would spend thirty minutes instructing Daphne, and now Harry too. He would do this with the girls for two hours. The nature of the lessons changed every day – today was literacy.

“Gareth told me to bring a basic literacy and numeracy test with me – I promise you it is no issue if you find it difficult. It is just to work out where you are with your studies, so I can tailor the lessons to suit you,” Ezra explained, as he handed a few sheets of parchment to Harry.

Harry noticed Daphne and Astoria pulling out quills and pots of ink from the stationary kits on their desks, and Harry blanched realising he had no idea how to write with a quill. Ezra pulled out a normal looking pencil from the leather satchel he carried, handing it over to Harry.

“I’ll assign you some writing exercises to practice writing with a quill – but for now, best to stick with a pencil,” Ezra said kindly.

“Thank you,” Harry replied earnestly, turning his attention down to the test. Taking a deep breath, he put his pencil to the parchment and concentrated on answering as many questions as he could.

He noted absently that as Ezra sat with Astoria to begin instructing her, he could see their mouths moving but not hear anything – it seemed there was a spell up to avoid disturbing he and Daphne while they worked quietly on their own.

Thirty minutes went by in a flash as Harry threw himself into the test, occasionally rubbing answers away with the eraser on the end of the pencil and re-writing things to be a bit more specific. He finished with time to spare, taking the time to carefully re-read what he had written, biting his lip nervously.

“How are we doing over here?” Ezra asked, coming to stand over Harry’s shoulder. Harry noticed neither Astoria nor Daphne looked up from where they had their heads down working. Harry was grateful for the privacy spell being up.

“I think I did okay,” Harry said shyly, handing the test up to Ezra.

The blonde haired man took the sheet of parchment, asking Harry, “Do you mind if I mark it quickly now and discuss with you?”

Harry shook his head and the man quickly scanned through the papers, face neutral. He made a few notations on the paper with the pencil he borrowed from Harry, and Harry could feel his heart sink as that meant he must have made some mistakes.

Finally Ezra put the papers down, looking up to smile at Harry and say, “You did exceptionally well, Harry. You must have been a top student at your old school.”

He slid the parchment over, where the top of the paper now displayed a clear 45 over a total of 50 marks. Harry breathed out a sigh of relief, and Ezra said, “I just need to assign a task for Daphne, but I will come back and we can go over the ones you got wrong. In the meantime feel free to look through your workbooks.”

Harry did as Ezra instructed while he waited, reading the spines of the books set up on his desk. It looked like there were books on literacy and numeracy for someone of a Year Four level, but there was also a book on geography and one on wizarding history.

Harry eagerly pulled the book on wizarding history to him, curious as it looked different to the book he was reading from the Muggleborn Introductory Pack. That book was called ‘Wizarding Britain: An Introduction’. The book on his desk was far thicker, and as Harry scanned the table of contents he breathed out excitedly as he realised this history book covered the histories of other magical cultures around the world.

He couldn’t wait to learn about it all.

“I see you’re an avid reader,” Ezra said with a grin as he came back to the table to find Harry already deep into, ‘A History of the Wizarding World’.

“There’s so much I need to learn,” Harry mumbled shyly.

Ezra’s mouth tightened in that familiar way that Rosie’s did, and he said gently, “Yes, my sister said you were...new to the wizarding world.”

Harry nodded, feeling a little embarrassed. “I am here to answer any questions you have,” Ezra told him reassuringly. “For now, let’s discuss the answers you got wrong on the test, and then I’ll assign you some literacy tasks.”

Ezra took his time to carefully explain to Harry the right answers to the five questions he had gotten wrong, three numeracy ones and two literacy based. The man was really good at explaining things, somehow not making Harry feel silly for the wrong answers. Once satisfied Harry had a handle on it, Ezra set him some literacy tasks that suited his level of learning.

As Harry buried himself in the activity, he lost track of time, but was jerked back to reality by the sudden appearance of Rosie in the doorway to the study. Harry dropped his pencil, green eyes wide behind his spectacles as he gave her his undivided attention.

“You’ll be staying with us for a while longer, Harry,” Rosie told him with a relieved smile.

Harry breathed out shakily; picking his pencil back up with fingers that trembled slightly.

“I thought Harry was always staying with us for awhile,” Daphne said confusedly.

“It’s official now,” Rosie explained gently. “But the information that Harry is living with us must still be kept a secret.” The latter bit was directly mostly at Daphne and Astoria.

Astoria pouted saying, “Ella Travers invited me over for a sleepover this weekend – can I still go if I promise I won’t say anything?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Rosie said cautiously. “Just for now, I want both of you girls to remain at home to be safe and avoid any accidental slips.”

Harry winced; expecting Astoria to melt down at finding out she couldn’t go to her friend’s house, all because he was imposing on her family. Bracing for her anger to be directed at him, Harry was shocked when the brunette simply sighed in a disappointed fashion and declared, “I guess Harry will have to have a sleepover with me instead. You will, won’t you Harry?”

“Harry lives with us, silly,” Daphne cut in. “It’s not a sleepover if you already live together.” Then deciding something she added, “But if the three of us set up a tent in the backyard we can pretend we’re going camping!”

“Yeah!” Astoria agreed excitedly, kicking her legs under the desk.

Harry was stunned at the girl’s easy acceptance that they couldn’t see their own friends while Harry was staying with them.

“All right, I will let you all get back to your studies, I apologise for the interruption,” Rosie said, eyes lingering on Harry.

He gave the woman a small smile, letting his relief shine through. She echoed his smile, looking over at her brother who had watched the whole interaction silently. He tilted his head slightly and Rosie answered wordlessly with a nod of her head, which seemed to satisfy Ezra.

They continued working after Rosie had left, beyond the usual two hour mark as they had, had an interruption and a delayed start with Harry needing to take the test beforehand. Finally, Ezra declared that Astoria was free to go, but the girl hovered by the door with a pout, asking again why she couldn’t stay for the extra lesson Harry and Daphne were getting.

Ezra finally convinced Astoria to leave and settle for missing out on the lesson by promising to get her some of her favourite Honeyduke’s chocolate. With a satisfied look, Astoria had waved goodbye to her sister and Harry and skipped off.

“Rosie is going to kill me,” Ezra muttered, but he didn’t look like he felt that bad.

Pulling his wand out, he nonverbally moved Astoria’s desk to the centre of the room, taking a seat on one side and gesturing for Daphne and Harry to sit on the other side of it after summoning their desk chairs over.

The two sat down facing Ezra, curious what they were going to learn. Ezra pulled two new books out of his satchel, which the two children took, Harry particularly keen at the sight of a new book. Each book was bound in black leather, simple gold lettering on the front stating the title was ‘Magical Cores: An Introduction’.

“Today we are going to cover a simple introduction to this topic. Usually these lessons will go for an hour, but it’s been a big afternoon, so we will keep things short today,” Ezra told the two children.

“Let us begin.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten: If you’re going to live, leave a legacy

“I understand neither of you know anything about magical cores, other than the fact that every witch and wizard is born with one, and it is the source of your magic,” Ezra began.

Harry and Daphne nodded, recalling Rosie’s brief explanation the night before.

“Many in wizarding Britain do not know much about magical cores, if anything, even as adults. This is because children are not taught about it at Hogwarts. The information is usually passed down in the old families, the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but also certain families who still teach the old ways of the wizarding world.”

Harry raised his hand a little uncertainly, and Ezra smiled telling him, “No need to raise your hand Harry – if you have a question in my classroom you may ask it freely.”

Lowering his hand quickly, Harry asked, “Why are we not taught about it at school?”

“As far as I understand it, there was an introductory class taught to first year students as late as the 1960s at least. However, as it is associated with the traditional wizarding movement, the class was removed from the curriculum totally by the early 1970s. You see, the traditional wizarding movement grew to be associated with Muggleborn prejudice and pureblood supremacy ideals. So anything to do with it, including the study of magical cores, is now discouraged.”

Harry frowned hearing that, remembering what Gareth had said about wizarding traditions dying out, and knowledge being lost over time.

Ezra pulled out a clear glass blown pyramid from his satchel, about the size of a football, placing it not flat side down, but rather putting it tip down. The pyramid stayed upright seemingly by magical means, not so much as wobbling.

As Harry looked into the pyramid he saw it was not entirely clear – there were actually three sections within the pyramid, two side by side at the top and then the third section at the bottom.

“There are three types of magic in our world,” Ezra began. “Light, dark, and neutral magic.” As he said each type he tapped a different section of the pyramid with his wand.

The light section glowed warm white-gold, the dark section swirled with a diaphanous black smoke that curled along the edges, and the neutral section frosted over so that it was no longer see through, like a blank slate.

“The vast majority of magic is neutral in nature, with certain distinct branches of magic being classified as either uniquely light or dark. I will talk more about these branches of magic in a later lesson, but for now, know that just as there are three types of magic, there are three corresponding magical cores in this world.”

Ezra looked over Daphne and Harry to ensure they were following his explanation. Both stared back keenly, fascinated with what he was revealing to them.

“You are born with a certain magical core, and it stays the same for the entirety of your life, no matter what kind of magic you practice. Those born with light magical cores have the potential to develop a true mastery over all forms of light magic. However, witches and wizards born with light cores struggle to perform any kind of dark magic, finding it naturally difficult, if not impossible. Likewise, witches and wizards with dark magical cores can master dark magic, but struggle in turn with performing light magic. Lastly, those born with neutral magical cores can perform either light or dark magic, but they will never achieve a true mastery of either. All three types of individuals have the potential to perform neutral magic equally well.”

“Why is most magic neutral?” Harry asked curiously.

A troubled look crossed Ezra’s face and he admitted, “It is believed that many branches of both light and dark magic have been lost to time, as the traditions were not passed down. In particular, dark magic has suffered a significant loss of knowledge over the past century. Two Dark Lords within the span of a century wreaking destruction on the wizarding world has negatively turned public opinion of dark magic.”

“My parents have dark magical cores, don’t they,” Daphne said suddenly. Her shoulders were hunched slightly, lips downturned. “Does that mean I do too, and Astoria?”

Ezra told her calmly, “Yes, you are correct in guessing your parents both have dark magical cores. I am certain you have heard them talking over the years. As for whether you and Astoria have inherited it, the answer is undoubtedly, yes.”

Daphne tensed and Ezra was quick to insist, “This is nothing to be ashamed of, Daphne. You should be proud. You carry a special legacy with you, one that your father’s family have carefully safeguarded over centuries.”

Daphne still looked uncertain so Harry said quietly, “I don’t see why light, dark or neutral magic should be viewed any differently from each other. It’s all just magic.”

Ezra stepped in and continued, “It’s the choices a person makes, not the type of magical core they are born with that show who they are. Seeing as you brought up magical inheritance, let me demonstrate.” Ezra tapped the pyramid, causing it to grow clear again.

“This section represents your father,” Ezra explained, tapping one of the top sections. The diaphanous black smoke grew into the clear space, curling like a contented cat as it lazily swirled. “This section is your mother,” Ezra said, tapping the other top section. It joined with the section beside it, both blending into a symphony of shadows.

Harry watched the dance of shadows, entranced.

Ezra tapped the bottom of the pyramid, and said, “This is you, and your sister too.”

The shadows dripped down into the section below until the entire pyramid was dancing with the dappled shadows.

“Now let me demonstrate an alternative situation,” Ezra stated. He cleared the pyramid except for one section at the top, which remained dark.

“This represents my father, your grandfather, Daphne.” Next he tapped the section beside the dark one, which frosted over, reflecting a neutral magical core. “This is my mother, Daphne’s grandmother. She is a neutral witch.”

Ezra now tapped the third section, causing smoke to drip down on one side, and the frost to creep down to cover the other half. The bottom section was now half dark, half neutral.

“Children that are born of one dark and one neutral parent, or one light and one neutral parent, have an equal chance of being born with one of those cores or the other. Rosie inherited our father’s dark magical core. I inherited our mother’s neutral core,” Ezra explained, tapping the pyramid and causing the frost to spread across the bottom section, and the shadows to curl back into the section above.

“Is there a way for me to learn what my magical core is?” Harry asked eagerly.

Ezra nodded, telling Harry, “There is a rare item that was once commonplace – a magical device called a Mirror Sphere. It can determine what magical core a child has been born with once they are past the age of seven days. I will discuss with Gareth about having you tested, if you wish.”

“I want to know,” Harry said determinedly. He felt it was important to understand where his magic naturally leaned, in order to be capable of performing to his best ability.

“So, if one parent had a dark magical core, and the other a light magical core, the child could be either?” Daphne asked.

“Let’s see,” Ezra said, banished the frosted glass from the pyramid and still leaving the shadows in one of the top sections. He tapped the other top section, which began emitted a golden glow. Then he tapped the bottom section.

Harry and Daphne leaned forward, watching the shadows drip and the light creep down, the two clashing in the section below and twisting and vying for control. There was a twisted dance of light and shadow, neither side seeming to budge, before greyness seemed to bleed out from where they met. The section slowly frosted over until it was a blank slate – a neutral magical core.

“They cancel each other out,” Harry murmured.

“The child of a dark and light parent will always have a neutral core,” Ezra confirmed. “It is for this reason that certain families in the wizarding world do not intermarry with each other. It is to protect the legacies that have been passed down. Light families will make connections with other light families, and likewise the dark families will make connections with other dark families to ensure there is no loss of this heritage.”

“Are you talking about the Sacred Twenty-Eight?” Harry asked suddenly.

Ezra looked impressed as he said, “I am indeed, for the most part. I will mention though, Harry, that because your mother was a Muggleborn, she was certainly born with a neutral core. All Muggleborns have neutral cores. Your father’s magical core is a mystery though – his mother was a dark witch, having been born a Black, but his father’s core is unknown. If Charlus Potter was a light wizard, because he had a child with a dark witch, your father is certain to have had a neutral core in that case. If Charlus was a dark wizard, your father would be one too. Lastly, if Charlus was a neutral wizard then your father would have had an equal chance of being a dark or neutral wizard. What this means, is that your father could not have been a light wizard, and because your mother had a neutral magical core as a Muggleborn, you do not have any potential for a light magical core,” Ezra explained.

Harry nodded in understanding, excited that he still had the potential for either a neutral or dark magical core.

Ezra pulled out a pocket watch to check the time, asking the two children, “Would you like me to continue, or stop the lesson for the day to let you both process this new information?”

“Continue please!” Harry and Daphne called out at the same time.

Ezra gathered his thoughts, dispelling the magic on the glass pyramid and putting it back in his satchel. He rifled through the satchel before pulling out a leather bound tube. He unscrewed the end to pull out a very old looking, slightly tattered parchment, which he unrolled across the table so it was facing Harry and Daphne.

At the top of the parchment in sprawling old-fashioned handwriting it stated ‘Families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight’. There was a grand tree on the old parchment, and it appeared to have names scrawled over it. It was set out in an unusual way, with a line of fourteen family names down the trunk of the tree, and then seven family names to the left and seven family names to the right.

Ezra traced a finger down the middle of the trunk, reciting from heart, “Avery, Bulstrode, Burke, Carrow, Crouch, Flint, Macmillan, Parkinson, Rosier, Rowle, Selwyn, Slughorn, Travers, Yaxley.” He lingered on the last name, tapping his own family name affectionately.

He glanced up at the two children and told them, “These are the names of the traditionally neutral families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. They intermarry with the other families freely, producing neutral, light and dark witches and wizards through the generations.”

He turned to the right of the parchment, where seven family names dropped from the boughs of the tree like fruit.

“Abbott, Fawley, Longbottom, Ollivander, Prewett, Shacklebolt, Shafiq. These are the seven families who declared themselves for the light, a thousand years ago, or so the stories say. They made a pact amongst themselves that they would strive to marry only light witches and wizards, and neutral witches and wizards if they had to, in order to keep their legacy secure.”

Harry eyed the spot where the name Abbott was, realising that Ms Abbott must be a light witch. It went to show there was no real clue who was light, dark or neutral.

Finally, Ezra turned to the seven names on the other side of the tree.

“Just as there were seven families who declared for the light, there were seven families who declared for the dark all those centuries ago. Black, Gaunt, Greengrass, Lestrange, Malfoy, Nott.” He paused, having only read out six names. Harry squinted at the last name on the left, below the name Nott. The branch of the tree the name was connected to, looked strangely withered and dead. The name was difficult to read, like the bough had died and taken the name with it.

“Weasley,” Ezra said at last. There was a complicated expression on his face.

“I’ve heard of the Weasleys,” Daphne said quietly. “I’ve heard my parents call them blood-traitors. There is no lord or lady of the Weasley family either I don’t think.”

“The Weasley family declared for the dark. They made a pact with the other dark families that they would strive to produce dark witches and wizards in their bloodline and safeguard their dark legacy,” Ezra told the children. “But within the last century, there was a head of the Weasley family, Lord Bilius Weasley, who chose to break that pact. He married a light witch, and as a result, all of his children were born with neutral cores. He turned his back on the Dark Arts, and refused to teach any of his children, who went on to marry light and neutral witches and wizards themselves. He turned his back on the dark. His lordship was stripped from him for betraying his vows.”

“Why did he do that?” Daphne asked, shocked.

“I imagine he was scared of the changing times. I’ve mentioned how public opinion was turning against dark families, and any who practiced dark magic. He did what he thought was best to protect his family,” Ezra said, fairly.

“At the cost of breaking the pact with the dark families,” Harry murmured. “And so all the Weasley descendants are still called blood-traitors? Is that fair considering his descendants had no part in their ancestor’s choice?” Harry questioned.

“I know there is still a fair bit of anger, particularly as the Gaunts are now extinct, and the remaining five dark families in Britain are shrinking. Amongst the dark families, it was a betrayal of the highest order. It is said that the pacts made by the seven dark families and the seven light families were made to magic itself. In traditional wizarding culture, magic is a divine power; a living entity that blesses us all. The magic within each of us is a gift from a greater source, which connects us all. It is said that magic rewarded those families for their vows by blessing them with mastery of the magic they chose. To turn their backs on the dark, the Weasleys betrayed not only their own blood, but their magic too. The promise their ancestors made, no matter how far in the past, still echoes in the modern day. Such was the binding nature, and the reason why the other half of the Sacred Twenty-Eight chose not to make any vows. All descendants of the Weasley clan are, by definition whether they made the choice consciously or not, blood-traitors.”

“If the Weasleys were to return to the dark, if they re-married into dark bloodlines, would all be forgiven?” Harry asked.

“I doubt any of the dark families would welcome them back right away, let alone agree to intermarry,” Ezra began cautiously. Seeing Harry frown, Ezra quickly added, “But dark witches and wizards exist outside of the remaining five families who originally declared for the dark. My sister, Rosie, is an example of that – our family is traditionally neutral, but our paternal grandmother was part of the Lestrange family. Because light and dark families could not exclusively marry each other, as that would have caused terrible inbreeding, they have occasionally married neutral witches and wizards over the generations. Many of the Sacred Twenty-Eight then marry into new wizarding lines, and this is how witches and wizards have emerged with dark and light magical cores outside of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

“Like my grandmother, Dorea Black, marrying my grandfather,” Harry murmured.

“Exactly,” Ezra said. “I suspect even with neutral magical cores that the Weasley descendants are in some way called to the dark. It’s in their blood. If they were to intermarry with dark witches and wizards again, and truly embrace their heritage, then I think there would be grounds for acceptance and forgiveness. They might even be able to reclaim their lost lordship.”

Harry nodded, reluctantly appeased by that explanation.

Daphne traced a finger over where the name Greengrass rested and she asked her uncle uncertainly, “I know I am going to be the Lady Greengrass one day. But does that mean I must have children with someone from a dark bloodline, to protect my family’s legacy?”

“You don’t have to,” Ezra assured his niece. “You are much too young to be already worrying about marriage and children, Daphne, but I want to ensure you understand there is no pressure for you to marry a certain type of person. There is not even any pressure to marry, if you don’t want to. There are some in the dark families who believe they should only marry dark witches and wizards. And that they should only marry purebloods too for that matter. We are called the Sacred Twenty-Eight, not because we don’t have Muggle ancestry, or because there is some rule that we cannot marry Muggleborns or half-bloods, but because we are simply among the oldest families in wizarding Britain.”

Ezra focused clearly on the two children when he stated clearly, “Marrying into new bloodlines is essential for our survival. It is the only way that light and dark magical cores can be shared amongst the wizarding population, and continue to exist in the future.”

Both children nodded in understanding.

“I think that’s a good point to stop for the day,” Ezra commented, checking his pocket watch. He gestured to the book he had given both children and said, “Could you both please read the first chapter tonight? It will give you a review of what I covered today.”

Daphne and Harry nodded; taking the book that had each been provided. Ezra rolled up the parchment with delicacy, putting it back in its sealed tube and tucking it into his satchel.

“Ezra,” Harry began as he held the new book to his chest. The man looked up, waiting to hear what Harry was going to ask. “I know you explained that this is all considered to be part of the traditional wizarding movement, and because that’s now seen as something bad, they don’t teach it at Hogwarts.”

Ezra nodded patiently as Harry considered what to say next.

“How do we change that? How do we show that learning about magical cores is important to understand yourself and how your magic works best?”

“We need to change the system that is built on prejudice towards those with dark magical cores,” Ezra started. “We need people in power who are willing to stand up for the rights of dark witches and wizards to practice their magic freely. People who can change what is taught at Hogwarts, and how it is taught.”

Then Ezra looked considering as he said, “It’s a two way street though too. The dark families in particular have grown more reclusive and elitist in a bid to protect their dying bloodlines. They need to be open to change too, to let go of out of date notions of pureblood supremacy.”

“I want to help,” Harry said softly.

“Me too,” Daphne confirmed determinedly.

Ezra smiled at them both, glancing up to see his brother-in-law Gareth standing in the open doorway, having heard Harry’s questions and Ezra’s response. Gareth smiled at Ezra, a proud look in his eyes as he looked over at his daughter and his ward.

Change would come, and the wise had best be prepared to adapt.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven: Blood is inherited and virtue is acquired

When Ezra left, Gareth came and found Harry up in his room, quietly reading the chapter he had been assigned from ‘Magical Cores: An Introduction’.

After asking permission to enter Harry’s bedroom, Gareth sat down in one of the armchairs in the room. Harry stood and came around the side of his bed, sitting down on the edge of it, facing the man.

“Because the meeting was a closed court I cannot tell you what was discussed,” Gareth began, an apologetic expression on his face. “But as Rosie told you, you will be staying with us for now.”

Gareth collected his thoughts, obviously working out what his Wizengamot vow would allow him to say. “I need to talk to you about something called a Heritage Test, which I intended to request Healer Lycoris to perform when she was returning for your two week check up of your eyes. I have now booked her in to attend on Friday, in two days. She will be coming in the morning to perform the test.”

“Will it identify my closest living relatives?” Harry asked.

“Yes, it will,” Gareth confirmed. “After that, I will begin the process of screening the potential candidates, as I have previously discussed with you.”

“How does the Heritage Test work?” Harry asked.

“A Healer is always the one to perform it,” Gareth began. “A small amount of blood is drawn from you. The Healer takes the blood to a special enchanted document – when your blood is placed on this document it will create your family tree for the past seven generations. Because your test is for the purpose of working out potential guardians, your nearest relatives who are of age will also be produced in a list at the bottom. The test will only list your closest living thirteen relatives.”

“And not all of them will be suitable,” Harry said, remembering at least two of his relatives were in Azkaban.

“Correct,” Gareth replied. He paused for a long moment before saying, “I can’t tell you much else about the placement process, only that it has changed from how I would normally operate.”

“Dumbledore’s meddling?” Harry guessed, a sour look on his face.

Gareth said nothing, his vow rendering him silent. He was very impressed though that Harry had hit the nail on the head.

Harry sighed, saying quietly, “I know you can’t say anything. But thank you for keeping your promise to me. I am happy I can stay here for now with you and your family.”

“We are happy too, believe me,” Gareth said with a wry smile. He leaned forward in the armchair, eyes glancing to the book left on the bed, as he said, “Ezra mentioned to me before he left that you indicated you wanted to have your magical core tested.”

“I do,” Harry confirmed, sitting up straight.

“We test magical cores with what is known as a Mirror Sphere. The Greengrass family have had one in our possession for generations – it’s in my study. We could do the test right now, before dinner,” Gareth offered.

“Yes please,” Harry breathed, green eyes alive with excitement. He would find out sooner than he thought what kind of magical core he had.

“Very well, come with me.”

Harry followed Gareth downstairs to the man’s private study, his bare feet curling slightly on the cold hardwood floors of the home. He felt strangely nervous; fiddling with the hem of his now properly fitting shirt after Rosie had modified it. She had gone through all of his belongings with his permission that afternoon while he had been in his classes, shrinking them to the appropriate size. She had also mended all the holes. Harry thought honestly he didn’t look half bad now.

Entering Gareth’s study for the first time, Harry looked around curiously at the lavishly decorated room. The carpet was warm and plush under his cold toes, the dark panelling of the room making everything feel cosier. The crackling fireplace helped too, lending a quiet ambience to the room.

Gareth walked over to a display cabinet against one of the walls, touching the glass. At he did so, it melted away like he had never been there.

“Only I can open this cabinet,” the man explained to Harry. “I had it magically customised when I commissioned it to only respond to my touch.”

“That’s brilliant,” Harry said.

“The company that made this also make special trunks – I intend on buying some for Daphne and Astoria when they start at Hogwarts. It works in a similar fashion to this cabinet – it will only open for you. Plus they can add other features like an undetectable extension charm to allow you to fit as much as you like in it,” Gareth said conversationally.

Harry thought longingly of how useful that would be to take to school, but it sounded like it would be wickedly expensive. “Maybe I will get one if I can save up enough,” Harry mused.

Gareth blinked in surprise at Harry, before a look of realisation crossed his face. “Morgana, Harry, I am sorry I realise I have forgotten something important to tell you.”

Harry looked at the other man with confusion, head tilted to one side.

“Your parents left behind an inheritance for you. I’ve made an enquiry with Gringotts, a wizarding bank, as your temporary guardian to seek an indication of what is in their vault, and what instructions your parents put in place for the handling of their finances in the event of their deaths,” Gareth explained. “I am anticipating a response from Gringotts tomorrow – but rest assured Harry, your parents ensured that you would be taken care of.”

Harry gaped at the man, unable to believe he had actual money to his name.

Seeing Harry’s shock, Gareth offered, “I understand your great-grandmother, Euphemia Potter, was a Potions Mistress. It is a rare title to achieve. Her husband, Fleamont, used his business know-how to set up a potions empire, profiting from his wife’s talent. That is how the Potter family made their fortune. Your grandfather, Charlus, sold the company for a large sum. I understand he had many business investments – this must be true, as Gringotts are taking some time to compile a full report on the status of your family’s accounts.”

Harry felt even more shocked now. He not only had money, but apparently a lot of it by the sound of things. Focusing on what Gareth said about his great-grandmother being a Potions Mistress, Harry asked, “Is a Potions Mistress a similar title to a Runes Mistress, just in a different field?” Seeing Gareth’s surprised look, Harry said, “Daphne told me today that Rosie is a Runes Mistress. She tried to explain it to me but I don’t fully understand.”

“You are correct – a Potions Mistress is the equivalent to a Runes Mistress – it means one has become an expert in their chosen field. Centuries ago, before wands became commonplace, witches and wizards would use runes to focus our magic. Runes are symbols, which have specific meanings. Carving certain runes into objects and activating the arrays with our magic was how our ancestors once channelled their power. Although wands are the norm now, there is still great merit in the study of runecraft,” Gareth explained patiently.

Harry’s eyes widened with interest at the topic, but he also looked longingly at the cabinet where Gareth stood beside it, ready to get the Mirror Sphere out and conduct his magical core test.

Gareth laughed softly and said, “Let’s do the test first, and then why don’t we go find Rosie to answer all the questions you have about runes. You can even take the subject as an elective at Hogwarts in your third year.” Gareth paused before reaching into the cabinet, muttering almost to himself, “Actually I should get Pimsey to bring Rosie here. She would be very cross with me if she missed this.”

Gareth called for Pimsey, who quickly left to fetch Rosie and bring her there immediately. Rosie appeared soon after with Pimsey in tow, who curtseyed before she disappeared again.

“What’s this about?” Rosie asked, turning slightly to see Harry standing there.

“Harry wants to have his magical core tested. I thought you might want to be here too.”

Rosie’s eyes widened and she replied, “Of course I want to be here!” More gently she told Harry, “It’s a special moment for a person’s magical core to be tested.”

Gareth pulled a sphere out of the cabinet that was the size of a cricket ball. He showed it to Harry, who looked at it with interest. It looked alive, swirling with shadows.

“It only looks like this because I’m touching it,” Gareth explained. “It is mirroring my magical core right now.” Harry looked at the man in awe, then his gaze darted back to the sphere, which was reflecting the inner working of the man’s magic.

“That’s amazing,” Harry said softly.

“Let me put it down on the desk so you can see how it normally looks,” Gareth offered, walking over to the desk. He placed the Mirror Sphere down, moving his hand away and the shadows immediately faded like they had never been there, the ball now completely clear and reflecting back Harry’s own face as he peered closely at it.

“Now, before you touch it Harry, allow me to explain that your magical core develops as you grow older - your magic gets stronger. If you touch the Mirror Sphere now and it does not reflect much of anything, do not be concerned,” Gareth told him. "It can take years for a Mirror Sphere to capture an accurate recording of a person's potential, and they actually don't work at all on newborns until they are at least seven days old."

Rosie added, “When we tested Daphne and Astoria as babies, we saw only the faintest glimpse of shadows around the edges of the device. This was because their magical cores were so young.”

Harry nodded in understanding, itching to discover in what direction his magic lay. He knew he had the potential for a neutral or dark magical core.

“Take a seat perhaps, and then take the Mirror Sphere in your hands,” Gareth suggested quietly, taking a seat himself in his leather-bound chair. Rosie took a seat opposite, beside Harry.

The couple were both watching Harry closely.

The only sound as Harry slowly sat on a chair of his own was the crackle of the fire burning. Harry swallowed, throat feeling dry. He continued to wonder why he felt so nervous about this. It was a momentous occasion though as Rosie claimed.

He reached forward, the slight tremble of his fingers betraying his nerves. Steeling himself, Harry touched the surface of the Mirror Sphere, curling his fingers around it and lifting it up towards his chest.

Where his fingers wrapped around the base there was sudden movement, and Harry stopped breathing.

Shadows spooled out from his fingers across the surface of the sphere, stretching and weaving together into a veil of darkness across the entire sphere. Enraptured, Harry moved his hands to see the sphere better, tilting it from side to side as he watched the darkness shift and swirl like it had when Gareth was touching it.

“Praise Morgana,” Rosie breathed.

Harry blinked, jerked back into reality as he looked up, gaze cutting between Rosie and Gareth.

Rosie eyes were shining, creased with joy as she smiled from ear to ear, one hand over her heart. Gareth was astounded, mouth open in a rare show of genuine shock.

“I’m a dark wizard,” Harry stated, needing to say aloud what he now knew.

His nervousness in hindsight, had not been entirely because of the unknown – he had been nervous because he already knew which type of magic he felt an interest in, and he had hoped his magical core aligned.

“You’re powerful,” Gareth croaked, blue eyes locked on the almost entirely black sphere.

Harry blinked in confusion, and Rosie said gently, “You’re only eight, Harry. For your magical core to be this developed already, it means you still have time to grow in strength.”

Looking down into the sphere, which reflected the heart of his magic, Harry felt nothing but warmth and excitement.

“When can I start learning dark magic?” Harry asked suddenly, eyes keen. “Will it be when I get my wand?”

Rosie and Gareth exchanged startled looks with each other. Rosie bit her lip whilst Gareth looked suddenly wary. “I cannot express to you how happy we both are at this turn of events,” Gareth started. “To have another young dark wizard in our midst, particularly one as powerful as you, is a true blessing of magic. However, I must warn you that most forms of dark magic, or the Dark Arts as it is known, are illegal in this country.”  

Although Harry had come to understand there was a lot of prejudice against dark magic, and certain things weren’t taught at school, it had not occurred to him that practicing the magic itself would be illegal.

“So I can’t even learn anything?” Harry asked, crestfallen.

“No branches of the Dark Arts are taught as part of the Hogwarts curriculum. They do have a class called Defence Against the Dark Arts, but none of the spells taught are dark, even though dark spells are very effective at counteracting other dark spells,” Gareth told him quietly. “If you want to learn, you must find a teacher of the Dark Arts outside of school. They will be able to teach you what is legal to learn in this country. Sadly, very little of it is legal.”

“But I want to learn,” Harry whispered, despondent. “My magical core is dark, I should be allowed to practice the magic that suits me best.”

Rosie and Gareth shared a long look between themselves. A wordless debate seemed to rally between the two, obviously disagreeing over something.

“You wouldn’t be able to begin learning until you have a wand,” Gareth said slowly, still locking eyes with his wife, who had narrowed her hazel eyes. “I don’t know yet who you will end up with for a guardian, Harry, but if they are not…sympathetic to the dark, then I swear to you I will teach you. Even if we have to arrange lessons under the guise of you visiting Daphne and Astoria.”

“So you’ll teach me what few spells are legal?” Harry asked dejectedly.

“Harry if you want-” Rosie began to say, before Gareth cut her off with a sharp, “Rosie.”

She glared at her husband, but stopped whatever she had been about to say.

“Let us discuss the specifics of training you in the Dark Arts when you are older,” Gareth said calmly. “For now, I must impart something utterly crucial to you.”

Harry looked up in surprise at Gareth, who had a grave expression on his face.

“You are a dark wizard, who is living in a society that is currently working against people like you. The world has expectations of you, Harry, and you being a dark wizard certainly does not fit any of their preconceptions about you. I would advise you keep the information about your magical core, to yourself. Tell no one. If you truly wish to learn the Dark Arts when you are older, then the lessons should be done in secret,” the man said sombrely.

Harry looked back at the man, silent for a few moments.

Finally, he tilted his chin up proudly and asked, “Should I be ashamed of who I am?”

Gareth was stunned to silence.

Rosie smiled proudly and told him, “No, Harry. You should feel proud to carry this legacy. I see no reason why you should hide who you are. Wear it like a badge of honour.”

“There may be backlash when the public finds out,” Gareth warned.

“I can hardly do anything to improve our situation if I hide what I am,” Harry said firmly. “People look to me as some kind of hero. If they know that their hero is actually a dark wizard, then maybe it will make them consider another side to the Dark Arts.”

“I will support you, no matter what you decide to do,” Rosie declared. She pinned her husband with fierce eyes.

“You will always have the Greengrass family behind you Harry, but we walk in the darkness with you. If you want to create change, you are going to have to win over the light and neutral witches and wizards,” Gareth advised.

Harry nodded determinedly.

Realising something he asked, “This means my dad was a dark wizard, wasn’t he? Because my mum was Muggleborn, her core was neutral. So the only way I have a dark core is because of my dad.”

“It seems so,” Rosie said. “There was always a possibility, what with his mother being a Black. Though, to my knowledge, James Potter never once displayed any inclination towards dark magic.”

“Perhaps he kept it secret, because he was ashamed,” Harry wondered quietly.

The room grew silent.

“We will do something tonight to celebrate,” Rosie declared suddenly. “We’ll make all of your favourite foods for dinner and dessert. This is a joyous occasion, after all.”

Harry gave her a tiny smile, appreciating her attempt to focus on the positive in the situation.

He looked back down at the sphere that was still in his hand, watching the mirror of his magical core. The shadows seemed to nearly reach out of the orb, like they were striving to touch him. Although one might associate the dark with the cold, Harry could only feel warmth.

It was the safety of a blanket over you, the gentle embrace of sleep when you shut your eyes at night, and the respite from the spotlight when you needed time to withdraw and recharge.

Harry looked into the darkness and felt only warmth.

Later that night Rosie and Gareth prepared for bed, after a full evening of celebrating Harry’s magical core discovery. With his permission, they had informed Daphne and Astoria, who had been over the moon. Daphne had excitedly chattered all evening about she and Harry taking lessons together when they turned eleven, and learning more about their shared dark heritage together.  

“I suppose I might be right,” Rosie mused as she pulled back the bedcovers.

“Hm?” her husband asked.

“I think I am right about the Potters - I theorised one or both might have practiced the Dark Arts. That they left some kind of lasting protection on the home of the Muggles – the unique protection Dumbledore was so insistent justified Harry being put back with them,” Rosie stated.

“It’s obvious now that James was a dark wizard, but we have no evidence that he ever practiced it,” Gareth replied. “He and Lily were in Dumbledore’s pocket – I just can’t see them turning around and practicing the Dark Arts under the man’s nose.”

“We know nothing about them, really,” Rosie pointed out. “They were younger than us at Hogwarts, neither of us had anything to do with them.”

Gareth tilted his head in acknowledgement of that. Changing the subject he asked, “What have you told Ezra about Harry’s situation?”

“I told him you had removed Harry from his Muggle relatives – he knows your job, he understood the implications of that. I also told him Harry knows very little about our world, but he is keen to learn. But I haven’t said anything else, I know how important it is to maintain Harry’s privacy where possible,” Rosie said.

Gareth nodded in agreement as he slid into bed beside his wife. He commented, “Did you know Ezra said Harry is above average for his expected literacy and numeracy levels? He wants to see about pushing him up a reading level.”

“Oh, I see what’s happening, my conniving twin is attempting to lure Harry down the Ravenclaw path,” Rosie said amusedly.

“What House do you think he’ll end up in?” Gareth asked curiously. “His parents were both Gryffindors, and Harry certainly has courage, far more than most children his age.”

“He could end up a lion,” Rosie considered. “And as annoyed as I would be because of Ezra’s smugness, he could also easily be an eagle, with his love of learning.”

“What about a potential in Hufflepuff or our own Slytherin?” Gareth asked.

“I see a deep loyalty in him to those he cares about. He’s terribly patient with the girls – he could be placed in Hufflepuff,” Rosie pondered.

“Can you see him in Slytherin?” Gareth prompted again.

“Absolutely,” Rosie confirmed. “He’s ambitious - you know he wants to improve the situation for dark witches and wizards. He would make a strong leader. The house of snakes would suit him well.”

“So, really, all this is to say that he is equally suited for any of the four houses,” Gareth said with an amused look on his face.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Rosie replied with a laugh.

They were interrupted suddenly by the arrival of Pimsey, who said urgently, “Lord and Lady Greengrass be coming with Pimsey right away to Mr Potter’s room.”

Harry had finished reading the prescribed chapter Ezra had assigned, reading it even more closely now he actually knew where his magical alignment lay. He had been tempted to read ahead, but had decided to put the book down. He enjoyed the way Ezra explained things, and he would rather hear the explanation first, and then supplement his understanding with the readings.

Harry had gotten dressed for bed, brushing his teeth in the bathroom as he observed himself in the mirror. He couldn’t wait to no longer need glasses.

After rinsing his mouth Harry fiddled with his hair, which continued to stick up at odd angles due to the brittle quality of the hair itself. He hoped with the nutrient potions his hair would start to look and feel healthier.

Touching his hair with an absent minded air, Harry was reminded of the time he had managed to almost entirely regrow it when Aunt Petunia had cut it so horribly. Something about the situation with his hair struck a strange chord in Harry. He had been embarrassed, yes, but he would hardly classify feeling embarrassed as being enough of a trigger to cause his accidental magic to react and grow back his hair.

When he had escaped from Dudley all those times, he had truly been terrified. It made sense why his accidental magic would have reacted then. There were plenty of times he had been equally mortified at school or at home, and his magic had never done anything.

When he had grown his hair back, he had been wishing strongly that his hair looked different. He had pictured how he wanted his hair to look, and had gone to bed. By the time he woke up, it had been back to the way it had originally looked.

Curious, and in a half joking way, Harry closed his eyes, picturing his hair growing out long and blonde like Ezra’s. He rather liked the way Ezra styled his hair. He imagined how he would look with the same haircut and colour.

Harry wasn’t really sure if blonde was his look though. Laughing at himself, he opened his eyes back up.

Blinked. Shut his eyes. Opened then again.

And then he yelled for Pimsey.

Rosie and Gareth appeared moments later, in their nightclothes, having been teleported straight into Harry’s bedroom by Pimsey. Their faces were concerned, no doubt deeply alarmed by being summoned to his room. They quickly focused on Harry standing in the middle of the bedroom.

The couple blinked in shock.

Harry was blonde.

His hair now fell just below his shoulders, and was the exact same shade of blonde as Rosie’s own. In fact, squinting slightly, Rosie rather thought it looked like her brother’s hairstyle.

“I think I did accidental magic…but on purpose?” Harry told them, eyes wide.

“Tell us exactly what happened,” Gareth said interestedly, moving to circle Harry, noting that the hair was fully transfigured the whole way round.

“I’ve been trying to see if I can use magic without a wand – to control my accidental magic,” Harry confessed in a rush. The couple looked amused but not surprised.

“Many children do,” Rosie told him indulgently. “I put a stop to Daphne's attempts when she tried to jump from a tree to see if she could fly.”

Her brows furrowed though and she murmured, “It seems though that you have actually successfully controlled it. This should not be possible.”

Gareth finished his inspection, moving back in front of Harry. “Accidental magic,” he mused, “or something else?”

He gave Rosie a pointed look. She looked back, perplexed, before something registered and her lips parted in surprise.

“Metamorphmagus,” she breathed.

“What?” Harry asked, confused, and a little worried.

“This is truly wonderful,” Gareth told him with a reassuring smile. “A Metamorphmagus is a witch or wizard with the ability to change their physical appearance without needing to use a spell, or take a potion. It is extremely rare. And a prized trait of the House of Black. You must have inherited it through your grandmother.”

“How do I turn myself back?” Harry asked, realising suddenly what he had done on a whim might be difficult to undo.

“Not much is known about Metamorphmagi, what with them being so rare,” Rosie said apologetically.

“I think it has to do with your will – you have to really want to turn your hair back to the way it was before. But I am certainly no expert,” Gareth confessed.

Harry nervously shut his eyes, imagining his hair returning to its original state. He opened his eyes, to find the Greengrass couple both shaking their heads.

“Still blonde,” Rosie told him ruefully. With a smile she said, “You look so much like my brother.”

“Before I transformed, I was thinking I liked his hairstyle,” Harry admitted with a blush. “I was just joking around really, I imagined what I would look like with his hairstyle and then I opened my eyes and I was blonde.”

“Pimsey could you please fetch a book from my study, the one called, ‘Hereditary Magical Traits’ – should be on the fourth shelf,” Gareth murmured as Rosie assured Harry he looked fine as a blonde.

Pimsey popped away, and Gareth turned back to Harry to say, “I am having Pimsey get a book that details the various magical abilities that are heritable. I know there is a section on Metamorphmagi in there.”

Pimsey returned a moment later, book in hand. Gareth thanked her, opening the book and flipping through until he found the section he needed. He scanned it quickly, blue eyes speeding backwards and forwards across the page.

“It says here that Metamorphmagi are affected by their emotional state. Strong emotions like shock, grief or fear can interfere with their ability to control their powers. It seems you need to be calm and in control of your emotions, to use the ability,” Gareth concluded, eyeing Harry, who was very clearly not calm.

“Come and sit down with me,” Rosie said gently, holding out her hand. Harry took it, being led to the seat at the end of his bed.

“I want you to close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing. I’m going to count to seven and I want you to breathe in with me as I do so. Then hold your breath, and release when I say so, to the count of seven,” Rosie murmured.

Gareth closed the book quietly, letting his wife handle the situation.

As she talked Harry softly through the simple breathing exercise his shoulders visibly loosened. After about a minute, Rosie said, “Keep up your breathing, but I want you to imagine in your head how your hair looked before.”

Harry breathed in to the count of seven, and then exhaled, his hair shrinking back into his scalp as it returned to its normal length. “Good, just keep breathing,” Rosie said.

She shared an awed look with her husband, having never seen a Metamorphmagus use their abilities before.

On his next inhale his blonde hair bled black, returning to its original colour.

“You did it,” Rosie praised him.

Harry’s eyes flew open and he reached up to touch his hair, getting up to rush to the bathroom and check for himself in the mirror. He sighed in relief.

He came back out of the bathroom, rather sheepish at the whole situation. “I’m so sorry I got you both out of bed for something so silly.”

“You just discovered a unique magical ability, Harry, we are glad you informed us,” Rosie insisted.

“I can make some enquiries if you like, to see if I can find anyone who could teach you how to control the ability?” Gareth offered, mind already racing to consider any connections that might know of a Metamorphmagus who would be suitable to teach Harry. There was a rumour that the disowned daughter of Cygnus Black had, had a daughter with the ability, but even if that were true she was only a teenager herself.

“If you could find someone, I would appreciate it,” Harry replied. “I would like to learn how to control it.”

Gareth nodded in agreement, vowing to investigate every avenue to find a Metamorphmagus who was suitable to teach Harry, or alternatively someone with enough of a theoretical understanding to instruct.

“Take this book for now,” Gareth said, passing over ‘Hereditary Magical Traits’. “Some of the language in the book is rather advanced, but if you have any questions you can ask Rosie or myself to explain.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, hugging the book to his chest.

“I think it is most certainly your bedtime now,” Rosie fussed, and Harry let himself be led gently to the bed and tucked in. Rosie took the book off him, placing it on his bookshelf beside his other books. “This is still much too empty, Gareth, we need to get him more books,” Rosie muttered.

Harry smiled fondly at the woman, his smile growing as she turned away from the bookshelf and smiled warmly down at him.

“Sleep well, Harry. You’ve have had not one, but two big magical discoveries today.”

“Goodnight Rosie, Gareth,” Harry said, now fighting off a yawn.

The couple slipped out of the room, Gareth waving his hand to turn the lights off.

Walking back to the master suite, the Greengrass couple were silent, but buzzing with the knowledge of what they had learned that day. Harry Potter was not only a powerful dark wizard, but he had inherited the treasured Black family Metamorphmagus ability.

Rosie suddenly laughed as they entered their bedroom. Gareth looked over at her, one eyebrow raised.

“The Blacks are going to have kittens when they find out.”

Gareth threw back his head and laughed with her.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twelve: Tradition is not the worship of ashes

The following morning the rain had cleared though the sky remained overcast. Over breakfast Harry had told Daphne and Astoria what had happened the night before. Both had all but fallen over themselves begging to see a demonstration of his new abilities, but Harry had explained he wasn't entirely sure how he had done it, and he didn’t want to risk messing around again without a proper teacher.

He had sheepishly told the girls he had been stuck with blonde hair, and Rosie had, had to talk him through turning himself back to normal.

Although Daphne and Astoria had tried to lure Harry outside to the garden after breakfast, he had told them he wanted to read up on the Metamorphmagi ability in the book Gareth had loaned to him the night before.  

When both girls had turned morose faces to Harry, Rosie had intervened saying gently but firmly, “If Harry wants to spend his morning reading, he can.”

Before leaving, Daphne had whispered in Harry’s ear, “If you change your mind we’ll be in the secret garden.”

Harry had nodded, but he did plan on reading quietly until lunchtime.

Now upstairs in his bedroom, Harry settled in the reading nook on one of the comfiest chairs he’d ever sat in. He had the book ‘Hereditary Magical Traits’ open in his lap, but also a dictionary to the side – Gareth had warned him the language in the book was a bit advanced. Harry had to read slowly, using the dictionary to help him with the words he didn't recognise. 

He started first by reading the section on Metamorphmagi's, which took up about four pages. There was a beautifully detailed moving drawing on the first page beside the title. It depicted a person, showing them shifting from a red haired, blue eyed woman to a dark haired, dark eyed man.

Harry read slowly through the four pages, confirming what Gareth had said the night before about his emotional state impacting the ability. The author had also put a section at the end of the passage outlining known families to have the ability.

There was an acknowledgement of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black under the subheading of Europe. However, the Blacks were not the only family to have the ability – there was another family in Russia, and families in Ethiopia and Korea who also boasted the ability.  

Finished with the section, Harry flipped back to the start of the book, reading the preface from the author, Dewi Hidayat. She was a witch from Indonesia, and had been inspired to write the book due to her own family’s hereditary magic.

The author had the magical ability of Occlusion. Harry had, had to pull out the dictionary to understand what the word ‘occlude’ meant. The book was in alphabetical order of known hereditary abilities, so Harry flipped to the ‘O’ section, and found Occlusion.

The drawing beside the title showed the inside of a woman’s head, her mind seemingly protected by a silvery shield, which pulsed and wavered in the moving image.

Harry learned that those born with Occlusion were naturally immune to any form of mind magic. Apparently there was a branch of magic called Occlumency, which allowed a witch or wizard to shield their thoughts and close their mind from outside attack. It was apparently very difficult to master; so to be born with Occlusion was no doubt extremely useful.

The author mentioned briefly that the opposite branch of magic to Occlumency was Legilimency, which allowed a person to enter the mind of another person, read their thoughts, and even affect their emotions.

The author’s family in Indonesia were one known family to have Occlusion, but Harry was surprised to see a name he recognised under the European heading – Malfoy. It seems they were another British family who had a hereditary magical trait.

Flipping the page to see if there was more to the section on Occlusion, Harry saw the next page started the ‘P’ section, and the first title was about the Parselmouth ability. He paused over the moving image of a large snake with its head reared back and fangs bared.

Curious, he started to read the section. Apparently, those born with the Parselmouth ability could speak the language of snakes, Parseltongue. They could even control snakes.

The author noted that not only could those with the Parselmouth ability communicate with ordinary snakes species, but also all magical species of snake. Harry recognised two of the magical species listed, runespoors and basilisks, from Newt Scamander’s book.

At the end of the section the author listed the known families who possessed his ability. There was a family from India who had the ability, and another from Egypt, but the part that caught Harry’s eye again was the family listed under the European section.

The author wrote that the Slytherin family of Britain had carried the ability, and that their descendants in the Gaunt family had also carried the ability beyond the Slytherin family going extinct in the late 1800s. However, she added that the Gaunt family was also understood to be extinct now, the last living descendant of the Gaunt family dying sometime in the 1950s.

That was now three dark families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight with hereditary magical abilities.

Harry thought it was a shame the Slytherin and Gaunt families had gone extinct, and there were no more people with the Parselmouth ability in Britain.

Stretching his back, Harry glanced out of his bedroom window to see the sun was peeking hesitantly out from behind the clouds. Deciding to take a break, he put a bookmark in on the Parselmouth section before leaving his room, heading for the outdoors to join Daphne and Astoria before lunch, and then their lesson with Ezra.

Gareth had known his fellow dark aligned colleagues from the Wizengamot would want answers from him, but he had not been entirely prepared for the intensity of the anger that awaited him at the Burke family manor in Yorkshire when he arrived.

Unable to discuss what had come to light at the Wizengamot meeting with anyone other than a fellow member of the council, Lady Burke had invited Gareth, Ivan Nott and Regina Rowle to her manor house to talk privately.

“You should have convened Morgana’s Court,” Lady Burke began bluntly once they had been seated around the grand mahogany table in the opulent dining room of the Burke manor.

Ivan and Madam Rowle clearly agreed with the woman, watching Gareth with thinly veiled frustration.

“Why didn’t you?” Ivan asked. “You had Potter in your custody and you didn’t tell any of us. Now we can’t say anything to the Court because of our vows.”

“We can’t say anything - but you could say something to them, even now,” Madam Rowle said quietly. “Because you knew about Harry Potter before the Wizengamot meeting, your vow will not stop you from sharing the news with the Court that he is living with your family.”

Lady Burke and Ivan clearly recognised the truth of Madam Rowle’s words as she said it, Lady Burke leaning in eagerly as she said, “Then let us convene a meeting!”

“I take my work seriously,” Gareth defended himself, “I did not convene the Court for two reasons. The first is because Harry’s privacy must be respected – it is confidential information that he was removed from his Muggle relatives.”

Lady Burke’s lip curled up in distaste at the mention of the Muggles and Ivan sneered. Madam Rowle’s face remained neutral, waiting for his second reason.

“And the second reason is because over half of the Court are former Death Eaters, or have relatives who were! Harry is the reason their leader is gone!”

“Is he really the reason?” Madam Rowle asked calmly, cutting across the angry retorts of Ivan and Lady Burke.

Gareth sighed, pinching his brow as he replied; “No one knows what happened that night in Godric’s Hollow. But you cannot disagree that there are some in the Court who do blame Harry Potter for Voldemort disappearing.”

“Do not say his name so casually,” Ivan snarled.

Gareth looked across the table in a measuring fashion at the other man and said, “You took the mark, Ivan, not me. You were a Death Eater, not me. Voldemort is the name the man fashioned for himself – surely that was because he intended people to use it, and not whatever his real name was?”

Ivan fumed at that, insisting, “He was the Dark Lord. He was going to lead a revolution to restore the old ways, and protect the dark families.”

“And where is he and his great revolution now?” Gareth asked quietly.

Ivan rose sharply to his feet, pulling out his wand threateningly. Gareth lazily lifted his hands in supplication, but his wand was strapped to the holster on his wrist, ready to be pulled if it came to it.

“There will be no duelling in here,” Lady Burke snapped. “This table is imported from Italy. If you’re going to duel, take it outside.”

“I only mean to say, that surely it is time for you, for all of us, to move on from the idea that a Dark Lord will be able to conquer wizarding Britain and topple the old regime.” Gareth looked imploringly around the table. Ivan was still standing, but his posture was not as immediately threatening. “The path of violence was attempted, and it failed. We do not have the numbers to wage open war.”

“We might have, if people like you and your wife had not remained neutral in the war!” Ivan exclaimed angrily. “Even traditionally neutral families like the Burkes and Rowles provided financial aid to the cause, if not fighters.” Ivan jerked his head towards Lady Burke and Madam Rowle.

“We tried peaceful means of lobbying the Ministry for generations, and that did not work either,” Lady Burke pointed out. Ivan gestured in agreement, sitting back down exasperatedly in his seat.

“You say peaceful means, but the things that were being lobbied were hardly peaceful. Pushing for laws to legalise Muggle hunting as sport? Trying to segregate Muggleborns from our society like second-class citizens?” Gareth snapped.

Lady Burke laughed meanly, tossing her auburn hair behind her as she asked, “Morgana, Lord Greengrass, don’t tell me you’re still pushing your pro-Mudblood agenda?”

Before Gareth could demand Lady Burke not use that slur, he was surprised to hear Madam Rowle say coldly, “That word is out-dated, Helena. You’re showing your ignorance.”

“Oh?” the other woman asked, green eyes glittering. “What word would you suggest I call the Mudbloods?”

“Do you even know the origin of that word?” Madam Rowle asked lightly instead of replying.

Lady Burke frowned slightly not responding, but Ivan declared, “Our ancestors rightfully coined the term to refer to those of lesser breeding.”

Madam Rowle laughed, white teeth flashing as she replied, “Ah, I see. A common misconception of the ignorant.” As Ivan flushed red with anger the woman continued, “Did you know who was recorded as the first person to be called a Mudblood?”

The room was silent, no one knowing the answer. Garth himself had no idea – he just did not approve of such derogatory language.

“Morgan le Fay. She was called Mudblood, because of her dark magic. The greatest dark witch that ever lived was the first person to be called a Mudblood. Our ancestors were the so-called Mudbloods.”

“Where’s the proof of that?” Lady Burke demanded.

Madam Rowle eyed her, assessing whether the woman was just asking for the sake of it, or actually wanted to see the proof herself. “I can loan you the book. My ancestor, Titus Rowle, wrote it around 800 years ago based on records from Morgana's time. Family heirloom.”

“May I please have a copy too?” Gareth asked keenly. “Why is the word now associated with Muggleborns?”

“The meaning behind words change over time,” Madam Rowle explained. “As far as I understand it, a couple of centuries ago our ancestors claimed the word for our own, turning it against Muggleborns.”

“Regardless of what we call them,” Ivan interjected. “It doesn’t change the fact that they are a threat to our way of life and our traditions.”

“They don’t have to be,” Gareth insisted. “If we taught Muggleborns about our traditions when they arrived in our world, if we integrated them properly, then when they have children of their own they will pass that legacy down to their own children.”

“And I supposed you think we should intermarry with them too,” Lady Burke guessed, eyes narrowed.

Gareth could feel a headache coming on. It was always like this with the dark families. The pureblood supremacy was so deeply ingrained that it was hard to see past it.

“My point,” he stressed, “is that we need to lobby the government with careful, well-designed policies to promote wizarding traditions and to combat the prejudice against the dark. It’s the only way to roll back the legislation restricting our practices.”

“Not the only way,” Ivan disagreed. “Had the Dark Lord not disappeared when he did, he would have won the war. Then everything would have changed.”

“And so we circle back to one of the reasons I did not convene Morgana’s Court. Harry Potter is seen as an obstacle to the dark families - at worst the reason Voldemort vanished, or at best a poster boy for the light, and therefore a problem.”

“Is he not an obstacle?” Madam Rowle asked, titling her head to one side.

Gareth remained silent. Harry was willing to be open about his dark heritage, but he still wanted his permission to share the information within the dark community. He wanted Harry to understand the implications of doing that.

Before Madam Rowle could put that impressive brain of hers to work, Gareth replied quickly, “He is a child. Curious, clever, and so willing to learn about our world. He is particularly interested in our traditions, which he is now receiving lessons for.”

“At least he’s out of Dumbledore’s grasp,” Ivan muttered.

“For now,” Gareth began cautiously. Seeing the other three look at him sharply, he explained, “We all know the Blacks are his closest relatives. But I’ve been digging into his great-grandparent’s backgrounds. His great-grandmother was a Prewett. We all know the Prewetts are extinct in the male line, but survived through Molly Weasley née Prewett.”

“A blood traitor!” Lady Burke hissed. “She and her husband can barely look after the children they do have, let alone take on another!”

“Be that as it may – I believe Dumbledore will push to have Harry placed with the Weasleys if my guess is correct,” Gareth murmured.

“If that happens, then the boy will truly be an obstacle,” Ivan stated. “Between the Weasleys anti-dark rhetoric and Dumbledore’s access to him, he’ll become a problem.”

Gareth couldn’t explain to the others that Harry was a dark wizard, and would certainly come to him to learn the Dark Arts even if he was placed with the Weasleys. So instead he said quietly, “I am hoping Cassiopeia Black could pass the Wizengamot vote as a suitable guardian. I trust you will all support me in voting in her favour.”

“Cassiopeia cut off the rest of her family when she went to live abroad,” Ivan said with a frown. “She stopped attending meetings of the Court years ago, and though she’s been back in England since the start of the year, she has made no move to reach out to any of us. How do we even know she hasn’t turned her back on the dark all together?”

Gareth could feel that headache truly coming on now. Even when their survival depended on unity, the dark families would always find a way of going after each other’s throats.

“I think we can agree, at least, that Cassiopeia Black would be a better option than Molly Weasley,” Madam Rowle murmured diplomatically.

“Lord Greengrass, I hope you realise once the Wizengamot has placed Potter, and it goes public, that you – and your lady wife, are going to have a lot to answer for to Morgana’s Court,” Lady Burke said silkily.

“I am ready for that eventuality,” Gareth told her calmly.

It would be an excellent time to distract everyone with the news that Harry Potter was a powerful dark wizard, and a Metamorphmagus to boot.

Thursdays were a numeracy day according to Daphne and Astoria, so Harry was unsurprised when Ezra assigned them some mathematical tasks in their tutoring session. The two hours passed relatively quickly, Ezra moving between the three children as he had the day before.

Ezra also gave Harry a few exercises designed to be done with a quill and ink to practice. It was quite messy work, Harry often pressing down too hard by accident and causing ink to spread. Ezra assured him he would get better with practice, and it was important to keep using a quill when possible.

Harry had asked if there was a reason why witches and wizards used quills, and Ezra had explained different quills were harvested from magical birds, and could be imbued with long-lasting magic. In contrast, while a Muggle pen or pencil could be temporarily enchanted, they didn’t maintain the magic as well over time.

Harry had accepted the response, resolving to keep practicing so that by the time he was starting at Hogwarts his writing would be as good as any other student who had been raised in the wizarding world.

Once the numeracy class was finished Astoria headed off and Ezra set the room up the same way he had the previous afternoon, getting Daphne and Harry to sit opposite him again.

“I hear there is some special news you wish to tell me,” Ezra began, looking at Harry keenly.

“I’m a dark wizard,” Harry told him proudly.

Ezra grinned, exclaiming, “That’s wonderful, Harry!”

Harry smiled back, as Daphne added teasingly, “That’s not the only news though.”

“I found out I’m a Metamorphmagus too – I inherited it from my grandmother’s family,” Harry informed Ezra.

The man’s eyes widened in shock.

“That’s fantastically rare, Harry. What an incredible blessing,” Ezra said, hazel eyes shining.

Harry blushed, looking down shyly.

“Knowing I have two dark aligned students, I think it is proper that I focus our lessons on the history of dark magic in the future, although I will still cover light and neutral history to an extent,” Ezra mused. “But for today, since we’ve covered the basics of magical cores, and how they are inherited, I wanted to introduce you next to the tradition of wizarding rituals.”    

Ezra reached into his satchel, and Daphne and Harry leaned forward, keen to see what he would pull out today.

The man drew out a large wooden wheel, with intricate carvings around the rim. Ezra cast a nonverbal spell to make it hover slightly to the side of him, so that the children could see it clearly.

“This is a decorative piece, that I thought would be useful to explain each of the eight sacred days that wizards and witches observe – at least those who honour the ancient ways.” Ezra pointed to the symbol at the top of the wheel, which looked like a blazing fire in a hearth. “This represents Yule, the ceremony that occurs over the winter solstice at the end of the year. On this longest night of the year you gather with loved ones and enjoy a feast together, and give thanks for the year you've had. You burn the Yuletide log throughout the night.”

“I love Yule!” Daphne exclaimed, eyes shining. She explained to Harry, “We always get presents on Yule, we open them by the fire after dinner.”

Seeing Harry’s thoughtful expression, Ezra said, “I understand that Yule is often compared to the Christian holiday of Christmas. At Hogwarts, Christmas is celebrated.”

“But they don’t celebrate Yule,” Harry guessed, figuring if the school had removed an introductory class on magical cores because it related to wizarding traditions, that they must not celebrate any of the wizarding sacred days.

“Precisely, Harry,” Ezra confirmed. “It’s also not celebrated at Hogwarts, because it is the most important time of the year for dark witches and wizards. It is the day we affirm our dedication to our dark magic.”

Harry couldn’t wait for Yule this year, already eager to experience it and affirm his own dedication to learning the Dark Arts.

Ezra moved to the next symbol, which depicted water being poured from a gourd. “This marks Imbolc, held on the first day of February every year. It is a day of reflection on any dedications, pledges, oaths or vows an individual may have made. Any magically binding promises made on this day are said to be the most powerful. It is also a day of purification and healing – usually witches and wizards wake with the dawn and bathe and seek the blessing of magic to heal any ailments they might be facing.”

Daphne didn’t seem to know Imbolc, examining the carving with a titled head.

“As you are young and thankfully healthy, your parents have never had any need to involve you in the Imbolc ritual,” Ezra explained to Daphne. “But now that you are learning about it, if you wish to partake in Imbolc, you may. Both of you,” Ezra added, eyeing Harry.

Harry nodded eagerly; keen to experience every part of the magical world, especially the most ancient traditions.

“Following Imbolc is the spring equinox, or Ostara, which falls during late March.” Ezra tapped the symbol carved into the wheel, which depicted a sun and moon side by side. “It’s a time to celebrate new beginnings, and typically there is a celebration held at dusk. It symbolises the balance between the light and the dark.”

A sad expression crossed Ezra’s face and he said, “In the olden times the light and dark families would come together to celebrate Ostara, usually lighting special lanterns together and having a feast. There has certainly been no true Ostara celebration in my lifetime, or my parent’s for that matter. Instead it’s usually celebrated with family and friends.”

A look of recognition was on Daphne’s face as she said, “The Malfoy’s invited us over with a few other families this year. We each were given a lantern, and Lady Malfoy got all of us kids to write down a wish on a piece of parchment, which we then put in the fire to make it come true.”

Harry wished he could experience something like that, it sounded like it would be a lot of fun.

“You should come too next year!” Daphne told Harry excitedly, as though reading his mind.

“I’d really like that,” he told the girl.

“Next we have Beltane, held on the first day of May every year. You can see the symbol here is a bonfire, and this is because Beltane is a fire festival,” Ezra said tapping the carving. “It’s traditional for a witch or wizard to participate in Beltane for the first time once they have turned seventeen. You leap over the bonfire to have luck with fertility – to have children.” Ezra explained. “Couples hold hands and jump over the fire together to renew their love for each other.”

Neither of the children was particularly interested in that one so Ezra moved on quickly to the next symbol, which depicted a rising sun.

“In late June is Litha, held on the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. It is the most important ceremony for light witches and wizards. However, dark witches and wizards still acknowledge it as a sacred day. The ceremony is held at dawn, with light witches and wizards gathering together to welcome the sunrise. It is a time to renew their dedication to light magic.”

Seeing the children understood, Ezra pointed to the symbol to the left of the sun, depicting a mountain. “This symbolises Lammas, celebrated on the first day of August.”

Daphne seemed to be examining the mountain, before she said, “Mum and Dad took Astoria and I for the first time hiking this year. We had to walk the whole way! My feet were so sore at the end. But when we got to the top of the mountain, dad made a fire, and we sat around it and cooked some food together. It was actually pretty fun in the end.”

“Lammas is traditionally celebrated by making a pilgrimage up a mountain either alone or with your family. You do not use your magic to assist you during the climb, as it is an acknowledgement of your gratitude for having the blessing of magic in your everyday life.”

Harry was intrigued that traditional wizarding traditions included a ceremony that did not involve any magic, but it made sense to have a day to acknowledge your gratitude for being blessed with magic.

“Next in late September is Mabon, held on the autumn equinox. It is marked by a great feast and a large gathering of people. It’s become common for the families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight to take turns throwing the Mabon Ball. A significant day on the social calendar. But it’s not just an opportunity to get dressed up and socialise – Mabon is a day of thanksgiving. You burn some of the feast food as an offering.”

Harry understood now why the symbol for Mabon was a stem of grain crossed with a bunch of grapes.

“And finally, that brings us to Samhain. Arguably one of the most important wizarding ceremonies,” Ezra told the children. His eyes softened as he glanced at Harry and said, “We observe it from dusk on the last day of October until dawn on the first day of November.”

Harry realised why the man was looking at him like that, because it was the day Harry’s parents had been killed.

In a subdued tone Ezra explained, “On Samhain, we honour the dead.”

Harry looked up sharply, a complicated series of emotions rising inside of him. Sadness about his parents’ deaths but also privately wondering about the implications of them having been targeted and killed on the night the dead are honoured.

“On this night the veil between the world of the living and the dead is at its thinnest. We keep a candlelit vigil throughout the night and we also leave offerings of food and drink to appease any wandering spirits. We believe that those we know who have passed on, visit us on this night, and we welcome them.”

The symbol on the decorative piece was a burning candle, obviously reflecting the lighting of candles to keep vigil.

“We always light candles for dad’s parents, my grandmother and grandfather,” Daphne said sombrely.

“Samhain is in a couple of weeks. Harry, if you wanted to join our family on the night, you are welcome to,” Ezra said carefully.

“I want to,” Harry affirmed.

He wondered if it was significant that the first sacred day he would be observing, fell on the same day his parents had died seven years ago.

It felt strangely like it was meant to be.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirteen: Blood is memory without language

Harry waited nervously as Healer Lycoris quietly prepared her equipment for the Heritage Test, seated in a chair that Rosie has transfigured to recline back, in order to make him more comfortable for the procedure. Rosie was seated beside Harry; the only sign of her own nervousness was the agitated tapping of a finger on her knee.

Gareth was examining the thick, blank sheet of parchment that now covered the entire coffee table in the sitting room in front of Harry, the table having been magically enlarged to fit the huge span of paper.

There was an official Ministry seal at the top of the sheet – Healer Lycoris had explained to Harry when she laid it out that every Heritage Test kit had a unique Ministry identifier, which not only proved it was official, but also allowed the results to be put on file, if consented to.

Gareth had asked Harry seriously if he had any issue with the results of his Heritage Test being put on file, and Harry had shook his head – he had nothing to hide. He also sensed that Gareth would need those results based on the test being brought forward suddenly after the Wizengamot meeting.

Healer Lycoris finished her preparation, and patiently explained to Harry how she was going to draw his blood. She came over and stood on the other side than where Rosie was seated, getting Harry to hold his arm out.

The drawing of the blood was as simple as the Healer promised – she encouraged Harry to look straight ahead or turn his head away from her to avoid getting lightheaded. Within moments it was done, Healer Lycoris pressing a small plaster to Harry’s inner elbow.

She checked in on Harry to make sure he wasn’t feeling dizzy, offering him a sweet drink to increase his blood sugar levels. Harry sipped from the cup, finishing the small dose quickly. He looked at the glass vial in her hand interestedly, seeing it was filled with his own dark red blood.

“Now, I will pour the blood on the parchment, and your entire family tree will be created for the past seven generations. Both Muggle and wizarding family members will normally be on the tree. However, I understand today we are assessing only wizarding relatives?” the Healer confirmed, glancing at Gareth.

“Yes, that is correct,” he confirmed. It was the policy of the CPA where a wizarding child was removed from a Muggle guardian, to put them with their nearest wizarding relatives, unless they were Muggleborn of course. The only exception would be if they had non-magical siblings – in the interests of keeping families together, a Muggle guardian would be considered so that the wizarding child could remain with their Muggle siblings.

Healer Lycoris pulled her wand out, tapping the Ministry seal at the top of the parchment. Words dropped down suddenly, and Harry leaned forward to see they read, ‘Muggle’ ‘Wizarding’ and ‘Wizarding and Muggle’.

Healer Lycoris tapped the ‘Wizarding’ option, which remained underneath the seal while the other options disappeared. She affirmed, “Only wizarding relatives will appear on the family tree now. Once the family tree has finished formulating all seven generations, the parchment will identify Mr Potter’s thirteen closest living wizarding relatives who are of age.”

Harry took a deep breath, shuffling forward so that he was as close to the parchment as possible. Rosie leaned forward too, and Gareth came to stand beside his wife, one hand on her shoulder.

Without further ado, Healer Lycoris uncapped the vial and poured it neatly onto the parchment in a steady stream.

For a moment Harry thought that something had gone wrong – his blood pooled in the centre of the parchment where the Healer had put it, staining deeply into the paper.

Then as quickly as the concern crossed his mind, the blood began to move, crawling across the paper in sweeping lines of red.

Names and lines startling unfurling like the leaves of a tree, creeping in a web across the parchment.

Everyone, even Healer Lycoris, leaned in.

The largest and most noticeable name was Harry’s own, towards the bottom of the page. Lines stretched up above his name.

Directly above Harry James Potter were the names James Charlus Potter and Lily Jane Potter née Evans. They were both faded, obviously indicating they were deceased.

Harry blinked, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him, or he was reading the family tree wrong. Because beside James Charlus Potter, connected directly to Harry’s name, was a third line and name. This one was a bold red.

Sirius Orion Black.

He looked up uncertainly to Rosie and Gareth, only to see them both frozen in shock. Healer Lycoris seemed to recover first, breaking the stunned silence by stating, “Mr Potter has been magically adopted by Mr Black.”

Setting aside her own surprise she focused on her professionalism and explained quietly, gesturing to Sirius Black’s name, “For a third, or even a fourth party to appear above a name on a Heritage Test, means they must have adopted the child. Mr Black’s name is to the left of Mr James Potter – James and Lily Potter were the biological parents but Mr Black is Mr Potter’s adoptive father.”

“He’s the one who betrayed my parents. But why…” Harry trailed off, mind racing.

He had a living…parent? But the man was serving a life sentence in Azkaban - he was a murderer. And he had betrayed Harry’s parents. None of this made any sense.  

The family tree continued to grow, the bloodlines of James Potter and Sirius Black intermingling where they shared common ancestry. Lily Potter remained to the side with no connections - being a Muggleborn the test showed none of her relatives as Muggles had been excluded.

“What does it mean to be magically adopted?” Harry whispered uncertainly as the family tree continued to grow.

Seeming to snap to his senses Gareth cleared his throat, blue eyes still intent on the spot where Sirius Black appeared above Harry’s name. “Magical adoption is different to a standard adoption. In your average adoption, one or more individuals legally take responsibility for a child. But when a child is magically adopted, they are adopted not only legally but the blood of the adoptive parent is also shared with the child. It does not change the child genetically - their appearance won't change. But rather, the magic of the adopting parent is shared with the child through the exchange of blood, and the child can then inherit magical traits that are carried through their adoptive parents’ bloodline. Things like family wards would recognise them too, as they are tied to both our blood and magic.”

Rosie interjected carefully too, aware of the Healer in the room with them, “Magical adoption is classified as part of the Dark Arts, from a branch of magic known as blood magic, but it is legal.”

“Yes…this will cause an unexpected issue with the Heritage Test you intended to have completed today,” Healer Lycoris mused. She gestured to the bottom of the parchment, where the thirteen closest blood relatives should be appearing.

Instead there were only two names.

Sirius Orion Black was at the top, and underneath it was the name Arcturus Sirius Black.

Confused, Harry stared at the two names, looking back at the family tree to spot where Arcturus Sirius Black fit in. He found the name quickly above the name Orion Arcturus Black – apparently Arcturus Black was Sirius’ grandfather.

Did that mean he was technically Harry’s great-grandfather because of the magical adoption?

“The Heritage Test will always favour direct ancestors,” Rosie murmured.

Healer Lycoris nodded briskly, and for Harry’s benefit Rosie explained, “You were adopted by Sirius Black by blood, magic, and law. The test recognises him as your parent, and therefore the one with the right to you, with the exception of his criminal situation. It has offered an alternative in Lord Arcturus Black, head of the House of Black. This is because he is now considered a direct ancestor of yours through Sirius Black, and therefore your legal next of kin.”

Gareth turned quickly to Healer Lycoris stating intently, “The Heritage Test will produce no other names, will it? Sirius Black is in prison, so he is not an option, but Lord Black is a candidate. He is the only legal candidate.”

The woman nodded, confirming, “The Heritage Test is designed to find the closest living relatives. Where there are no direct ancestors it generates the thirteen-candidate list we were expecting. However, Mr Potter evidently has two direct living ancestors. No one else will be favoured over direct blood relatives.”

Seeing Harry looking overwhelmed, Rosie suggested softly they bring the appointment to its end. Healer Lycoris, taking the other woman’s cue, excused herself politely, packing up her things. Before leaving, the Healer confirmed as agreed, a copy of Harry’s Heritage Test would be put on file with the Ministry. She also confirmed she would be back in less than two weeks to perform Harry’s follow up appointment to check his eyes had fully healed.

Pimsey escorted the woman out to the Floo, leaving a still shell-shocked Harry sitting before his family tree. With trembling fingers he traced the name Sirius Orion Black.

“He’s probably the reason I have a dark magical core, isn’t he?” Harry whispered. “The reason I inherited the Metamorphmagus ability – it’s a blood trait.”

“It’s quite likely,” Rosie agreed softly, turning in her seat beside Harry to watch him more closely.

A sudden, horrifying thought occurred to Harry.

“Did he adopt me after he betrayed my parents? After they had died?”

“No,” Gareth rushed to assure Harry. He moved to stand closer to the family tree on the table. He explained seriously, “There is a very small window of time when a magical adoption can occur. It must be done within the first seven days of a child’s birth, before their magical core settles. He certainly adopted you when your parents were still alive.”

“Although, it’s unusual,” Rosie admitted uncertainly. “I’ve never heard of a child being magically adopted who already had living parents who intended on being the ones raising them.”

“Why did they do it then?” Harry asked, desperate to understand.

Rosie and Gareth exchanged helpless looks, equally at a loss to explain.

Harry realised suddenly with a cold feeling in his stomach that the only person with answers was Sirius Black, the one who had betrayed his parents. His technical father. Although, Harry wasn’t sure if he was comfortable even considering the man in that way.

“I want to speak to Sirius Black,” Harry said quietly.

Rather than dismiss the request outright, Gareth considered Harry carefully, before saying, “It is illegal for children to visit Azkaban. You would not be able to visit him.”

“Why?” Harry asked, baffled. He might not know a lot about prisons, but he had seen in Muggle TV shows and movies children visiting their parents in detention, with supervision.

“It’s the creatures that guard the prisoners of Azkaban,” Rosie explained, a tight look on her face. “They are effective in preventing any of the prisoners from escaping, but they are extremely dangerous creatures, and so it was made illegal for any children to visit the island. Azkaban is guarded by Dementors.”

Harry flinched, recognising the creature from ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’. “Dementors?” he asked incredulously. “I know what they are, I’ve read about them. Are you telling me that the people in prison are around those things all the time?”

“They are,” Gareth confirmed. “It’s part of the punishment of Azkaban.”

Judging by the dark look in the man’s eyes, he did not approve of the method used as punishment.

“That’s awful,” Harry whispered, horrified.

Dementors sucked all the joy out of a person, the damage from a single short encounter often being enough to leave a person permanently traumatised. They could even remove the soul from a human, known as the Dementor’s Kiss. To imagine there were people, even criminals who had done terrible things, being around creatures like that every moment, was sickening.

“It is,” Rosie agreed firmly.

“For that reason you could not visit – but I could,” Gareth offered.

Harry’s green eyes widened behind his glasses. “You would do that for me? Take all my questions to him?”

“I would, gladly,” Gareth confirmed. “You deserve answers.”

Azkaban visits were limited to immediate family, however, as it now turned out Sirius Black was Harry’s adopted parent, and Gareth was Harry’s temporary guardian. He should be able to get permission to visit the man.

“I have so much I want to say,” Harry whispered.

“Write it all down,” Gareth suggested kindly. “Put all of your thoughts into words, and I will take it with me when I visit him.”

Harry nodded, feeling determined now that he had a plan.

He looked back at the huge family tree, showing all of his relatives over the past seven generations through his father James Potter – and Sirius Black too.

“So I will be put with Arcturus Black – you said he was head of the House of Black?” Harry asked.

“That is not guaranteed until he passes the screening tests for guardianship,” Gareth replied firmly. “If I do not think he will be a suitable guardian, then I will notify the Ministry, and we will consider other options. Lord Black turned eighty-seven years old recently. He is rather reclusive, does not socialise much, and to be frank with you, Harry, neither Rosie nor I know much about him, if anything.”

Harry nodded, trusting Gareth to be thorough and make the right judgement call.

“There are other options,” Rosie added, hazel eyes skimming over the family tree. With a delicate finger she pointed out some names for Harry. “Your grandmother, Dorea Potter née Black, has two living siblings, Pollux and Cassiopeia Black. Cassiopeia never had children, but her older brother Pollux, your great-uncle, had three children. His eldest child was Walburga Black – who is both your adoptive grandmother through Sirius Black, but also a distant relative through James. Although she died a couple of years ago, as did her brother, Alphard, her younger brother, Cygnus Black, is still alive. He is both your adoptive great-uncle through Sirius, and another distant relative through James.”

Harry’s head spun at the complicated family relations – having a parent and adopted parent who came from the same family line complicated things. Harry suddenly remembered reading about medieval royal families, who married their cousins and ended up sick.

“Is it bad that I’ve been adopted by someone who was already related to me?” Harry asked nervously.

“Not at all Harry,” Gareth assured him. “The beneficial thing about your magical adoption, is that you are not biologically the child of Sirius Black. As I said, it is strictly a sharing of magic through blood - not genetics. He only shared his magic with you, and any magical traits that are carried through his blood. Therefore, I would not be worried about the relation between James Potter and Sirius Black. You can technically have a person magically adopt their own grandchild, or nieces or nephews, though I can’t imagine there being any practical purpose to this, as close relatives already have custody rights as next of kin.”

“Would my next closest relatives only be Blacks because of all this?” Harry wondered, looking over the tangled family free.

“Your adoptive great-uncle Cygnus Black has three daughters, Bellatrix Lestrange née Black who is in Azkaban – she has no children. Cygnus Black’s second daughter is Andromeda Tonks née Black, who married Edward Tonks and had a daughter, Nymphadora.” Rosie tapped their part on Harry’s family tree. He supposed they were all his distant cousins on both sides of his family. “The youngest daughter of Cygnus Black is Narcissa Malfoy née Black – she married Lucius Malfoy, and they are Lord and Lady Malfoy. Their son, Draco, is the same age as you and Daphne.”

Harry recalled Daphne mentioning Draco once or twice – they seemed to be friends.

Rosie’s finger drifted above the family tree across to the Potters, pointing out the branch coming from his great-grandmother Euphemia’s side.

“Euphemia was born a Prewett, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. She has a surviving great-niece, Molly Weasley née Prewett. The Prewetts are extinct in the male line now, after Molly Weasley’s older brothers died in the war. She has seven children with her husband, Arthur Weasley.”

Harry’s eyes widened at the amount of children she had, wondering what it would be like to live in a family of that size. Having been so lonely for his life so far, Harry could definitely see the appeal. At the same time though, Harry had come to enjoy peace and quiet, and it sounded like a very busy household.

Pushing those thoughts aside as Rosie continued, finger hovering over Harry’s great-grandfather Fleamont Potter, Harry listened interestedly as she said, “Fleamont had a younger sister, who married into the Diggory family it seems. Her grandson is Amos Diggory, who is married to Teresa Diggory née Fawley, another one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. They have a son, Cedric, who is a couple of years older than you.”

Awed at how many relatives he had, no matter how distant, Harry listened, enraptured.

“Gareth knows more about the Black family than me,” Rosie continued, “His family have close ties to them. He’d be best to take you through your extended family related to your Black relatives.”

Gareth gazed over the family tree, working out who had not yet been covered, and doing mental calculations of who would technically be closest in relation to Harry.

“Your adoptive great-grandfather, Lord Arcturus Black, married Melania Black née Macmillan, yet another member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It looks like Melania’s nephew is the current Lord Marcus Macmillan. He has two sons – I actually work with the wife of his younger son, Diana Macmillan. They have a son the same age as you and Daphne, Ernest Macmillan.”

Continuing a little hesitantly Gareth added, “Your adoptive grandparents, Walburga and Orion Black, were actually second cousins, so they share many relatives.”

Seeing Harry’s expression Gareth rushed to assure him, “It was considered normal at the time they were married. But strongly discouraged now. They had Sirius Black, but also a younger son, Regulus. He died during the war.”

Gareth continued, “Walburga’s mother was Irma Black née Crabbe. She has a surviving great-nephew, Terrence Crabbe, who has a son the same age as you and Daphne, Vincent Crabbe.”

He roved his eyes over the family tree, pausing at Harry’s grandmother, Dorea Black, again. “Your final great-grandparent who married into the Black family that I haven’t touched on is Violetta Black née Bulstrode, the mother of Pollux, Cassiopeia and your grandmother, Dorea. One of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

“Violetta’s great-nephew is the current Lord Bulstrode. He has a daughter, Charlotte, who is a few years older than you, and a niece, Millicent, who is once again the same age as yourself and Daphne.”

Harry was surprised there were so many relatives that were the same age as him, or close in age. It was fascinating to think he would be going to Hogwarts with all of these distant relatives.

“I think that might be enough family history for one morning,” Rosie interjected softly, seeing how quiet Harry had been as he processed everything. “You can keep this original copy, and have a closer look at it whenever you want. It’s your blood, your history.”

“Before I let you take it, I just have to borrow it for a moment, it won’t take long,” Gareth said, face carefully neutral.

Harry guessed he was going to be sharing the copies with the Wizengamot, and gave his permission, watching as Gareth carefully tapped the parchment to roll it up securely.

As the man left the room with the scroll of parchment in hand, and Rosie asked Harry if he would like an early lunch, Harry wondered how much turmoil the news of his adoption would cause.

In the homes and Ministry offices of Wizengamot members around Britain, their enchanted letter trays glowed with the announcement the correspondence they had all been waiting for had arrived.

Madam Bones eagerly pulled the rolled up scroll from her tray in her office in the DMLE, breaking the official silver W seal from the parchment. After a functionary check of the seal at the top to ensure it was an accurate copy of an official Heritage Test, Madam Bones looked straight to the bottom of the huge stretch of paper to see what thirteen individuals would be soon to be voted on.

Her steely grey eyes widened as she saw only two names listed, flicking up to see Harry Potter had not two parents, but rather three.

Lowering the parchment slowly, mind racing, Madam Bones thought wryly that there was no doubt going to be yet another emergency Wizengamot meeting called soon.

Across the building, deep in the Department of Mysteries, Regina Rowle read her own copy carefully, a thoughtful look on her face. Sirius Black and the Potters had dabbled in the Dark Arts it seemed.

Pursing her lips, the woman wondered why given Sirius Black’s vehement rejection of his family and anything dark, and the fact that he, along with James and Lily Potter, had been such close followers of Dumbledore during the war.

Considering the Heritage Test in front of her, a calculating gleam came to her dark brown eyes and a slow smile started to spread across her face.

Suddenly, Lord Greengrass’ insistence that Harry was not an obstacle to the dark families made a lot of sense.

The boy must be a dark wizard.

Marshall Fawley, head of the Department of Magical Transportation, quickly flicked his office door locked with his wand so he wouldn’t be interrupted by his employees. He gripped the results of the Heritage Test tightly, unable to believe what he was seeing.

Had Harry Potter not been adopted, his sister, Teresa, and her husband Amos Diggory would have been in the running as potential guardians for the Boy Who Lived.

Marshall was proud of his legacy as a member of one of the original light families in wizarding Britain, the heir to the lordship of the Fawley family once his father passed on. He did not consider himself to be prejudiced against dark witches and wizards, but he would be lying to himself if he did not have some concern over the fact Harry Potter had dark heritage, possibly twice over.

Once through Sirius Black, a known dark wizard, and possibly again through his biological father James Potter, who may or not have had a dark magical core too, depending on whether he took more after his father or mother.

Marshall hoped privately that Mr Potter had taken after his mother, Lily, and had a neutral core. It would just be easier for the boy to survive in their society.

Marshall reassured himself that Albus would no doubt call a Wizengamot meeting, and would hopefully get some kind of motion passed to have his thirteen closest relatives also considered, despite what their succession laws said.

Teresa was a wonderful woman, and Amos had a good heart, if he could be a bit overbearing about his pride over his son, Cedric. Importantly too, Teresa was a true Fawley, being a light witch, and her son Cedric had taken after her.

It would be good for Harry Potter to be put with a light family, and Marshall knew Dumbledore would agree wholeheartedly.

Dumbledore could go to hell, Lady Helena Burke thought with a cackle, green eyes delightedly roving over the parchment. The boy who lived was a Black. The Potters had dabbled in the Dark Arts, albeit legal Dark Arts.

She did wrinkle her nose slightly at the idea of the Black family now being associated with a Mudblood and half-blood, but that could be forgiven considering the one who had done the adoption had already been disowned.

No, what Lady Burke was truly delighted about was the sheer scandal of this revelation. She could not breathe a word about it to anyone yet because of the blasted Wizengamot secrecy laws, but as soon as the news became public it would be the only thing anyone would be talking about for the rest of the social calendar.

And she got to be right in the thick of it!

Bartemius Crouch Senior was pale as he read, and then re-read the results of the Heritage Test. He was working from home, as he usually was nowadays. His colleagues all thought it was because he was embarrassed by his demotion from the head of the DMLE, but the truth of the matter was currently locked in the basement of his family home.

Bartemius Crouch, caving to the heartbroken pleas of his wife Isabelle, had done something truly unforgiveable six years ago. After sending his only child to Azkaban for life, his wife’s health had failed her.

Her last request to her husband, the only way she said she could ever forgive him for what he had done to their son, was to arrange for her to switch places with Bartemius Junior. On a visit to Azkaban in 1982, a year after their son had been sentenced, Bartemius had allowed Isabelle to take the Polyjuice Potion to take on the appearance of their son, and had fed Bartemius Junior Polyjuice in return to transform him into his mother. He had helped them trade places, using his position as the head of the DMLE to get the privacy to effect the swap.

The final mercy had been a swift and painless poison, so that Isabelle would not suffer for what was left of her life. She died before they had even left the island, and had been quickly buried by the Dementors, while the Polyjuice had still been in her system, forever hiding the fact that the wrong person had died.

With the world believing his son had died in Azkaban, Bartemius Senior had pretended his wife’s health had failed her, and had brought a Healer to attend his house, illegally modifying the man’s memories to make him believe he had pronounced Isabelle Crouch dead at the home.

Thus, he had been able to keep his son hidden in his family home, tended to by their family house elf, Winky. On bad days he had to use the Imperius Curse to keep his son in line. The boy had always had a knack for getting out of impossible situations, so Bartemius Crouch Senior could not take any risks. It would ruin him if the public found out what he had done.

Seeing the name Sirius Orion Black above Harry Potter’s name caused the man’s stomach to swoop with an uncomfortable reminder that he had never put Sirius Black to trial. He had taken Dumbledore at his word that the man had been the Potter’s Secret-Keeper. Dumbledore had also told him Sirius was an accomplished Occlumens. This was significant, as true masters of the art could lie through Veritaserum.

Seeing that the Potters had trusted the man enough to let him adopt their own child, to give him equal rights to their baby, suddenly put into stark realisation that Crouch had never given the man a chance to explain his side of the story. With the emergency powers Crouch had been granted during the war and in its aftermath he had sent many a Death Eater to Azkaban without trial.

Including his own son.

This was not common knowledge, with all of the files, or lack thereof, hidden under confidentiality laws that would keep the matters of Sirius Black, the Lestranges, and his own son under lock and key for 99 years.

Had he been wrong to take Dumbledore at his word?

What if Sirius Black had not been the Potter’s Secret-Keeper after all?

No matter, Bartemius Crouch thought, his actions were hidden and protected under 99-year-old confidentiality laws.

And besides, Dumbledore had been convinced Sirius Black had betrayed the Potters, finally showing his true hand as a dark wizard.

If Crouch was going down for this, he would take Dumbledore with him.

Ivan Nott uncomfortably read over the parchment, torn between dismay that a half-blood was the adoptive great-grandson of Lord Black, and vindictive amusement that Dumbledore’s plans for the boy had no doubt gone up in smoke.

Lord Black was the boy’s rightful guardian; there was really no way around it. Once Potter was formally placed with Lord Black, he could then name any other member of his family as Potter’s guardian.

Ivan’s mind was already racing at the possibility of Lucius convincing Lord Black to place Harry with his wife, Narcissa. With the boy under the control of one of the Dark Lord’s faithful, they would be in the perfect position to give the boy to the Dark Lord when he returned.

Ivan truly believed the Dark Lord would return – the experimentations the man had done had made him beyond human, something else entirely. He could not be killed, and he had told his inner circle as such.

Whatever had happened that night in Godric’s Hollow was insignificant in the big scheme of things. Ivan kept a close ear to the ground for any sign or hint of his lord’s return, as did the remaining members of the original twelve member inner circle, who were not dead, in prison or filthy traitors.

Evan Rosier, the Dark Lord’s right hand man, had died after the disappearance of the Dark Lord, killed by Mad-Eye Moody while protecting his pregnant younger sister. Isadora Yaxley née Rosier had died from her injuries, losing her unborn baby too. It had broken her husband’s heart and spirit – Corban Yaxley, another member of the inner circle had withdrawn after her death and kept mostly to himself now in his grief.

William Avery, cousin to the current Lord Charles Avery, was another inner circle Death Eater, loyal to the Dark Lord but not a dark wizard himself. His family had always been traditionally neutral, however William’s father had been a follower of the Dark Lord’s and had instilled in his son a passion for learning the Dark Arts, even if he could never truly master it with a neutral core.

Lucius’ sister-in-law Bellatrix Lestrange née Black was the only woman who served on the inner circle, one of the most powerful dark witches Ivan had ever known. Her husband, Rodolphus Lestrange, and his younger brother, Rabastan, were also inner circle members, the three of them serving life sentences in Azkaban.

Bartemius Crouch Junior had been a relatively late addition to the inner circle, only being eighteen years old towards the end of the war. He died six years ago in Azkaban, unable to survive the hell of the place.

Regulus Black, the same age as Bartemius and Rabastan Lestrange, had completely disappeared towards the end of the war, and to this day if the Dark Lord knew what befell his follower he did not deign to share that information with the rest of the inner circle.

The final two members of the inner circle were as good as dead, because they had betrayed the Dark Lord, even if they had not betrayed their dark magic.

Severus Snape and Igor Karkaroff.

The last Ivan had heard, Karkaroff had been appointed headmaster of Durmstrang, an honour the bastard did not deserve after throwing so many of their own to the wolves in order to win his freedom from Azkaban.

As for Snape, he was Dumbledore’s man now. Snape had betrayed the Dark Lord, publicly disavowing him and claiming to have been spying for Dumbledore all along.

However, Lucius remained adamant that it was not the truth, that Snape was still loyal to the dark. Ivan believed the two of them to secretly maintained a close friendship, even though Snape no longer attended meetings of Morgana’s Court. Ivan often pointed to this as a sign that Snape had truly turned his back on the dark, but Lucius had insisted it was only to keep up appearances.

Ivan often wondered how much Lucius said just to convince himself that his friend truly had not betrayed them and their cause.

The truth lay in the Dark Mark on their left arms – those who were loyal to the Dark Lord could hide their Dark Marks. It had been the key to Ivan, Lucius, William and so many others escaping any charges – although many claimed the men were Death Eaters, their left arms were blank.

Those who betrayed the Dark Lord could not hide their Dark Marks. It ensured they would be on the run from not only the Dark Lord and his faithful, but from the authorities too for carrying the mark of a Death Eater.

Regardless of all of this, it was imperative that Lucius got control of the boy through his wife. They needed to be ready for when the Dark Lord returned.

Dumbledore sat numb with shock as he stared at the Heritage Test.

With a great, terrible, sinking feeling the man was forced to realise something.

It was possible that Sirius Black was innocent.

He had been so fiercely proud of the boy for shaking off his family’s dark legacy and making his own path in the world, and so his bitter disappointment when he realised James and Lily had been betrayed, had stung all the more.

He had been quick to disavow the man, truly believing him to have been lured back to the dark by Voldemort. Severus had told Dumbledore that there was a spy close to the Potters, but he did not know whom it was.

But what if the spy had not been Sirius? 

What if it had not been Sirius who was the Secret-Keeper after all?

Mind racing, Dumbledore calculated his next move. With Sirius in prison, Harry would go to Arcturus Black. Even attempting to pass a motion to have other candidates considered was risky – their family legislation was clear. Albus was not even certain if he would get the votes to pass it.

No, he needed to do damage control here.

Everyone expected him to rush to call another Wizengamot meeting with this revelation, but he would bide his time instead. Let Lord Greengrass go about his business unencumbered – he would likely rush to screen and approve Arcturus Black, what with him being a dark wizard.

Depending on what happened with Sirius, Dumbledore would call for a motion to investigate the circumstances around his charges and incarceration. If his hunch was correct, and Sirius was innocent, it would go a long way to win back the man’s trust if he secured his release from Azkaban.

It might be too late to put Harry with a loyal family like the Weasley or Diggory families, but if his suspicions about Sirius Black were true, and the man was innocent, then he might still have a chance to put Harry with a suitable guardian.

It was past time Albus Dumbledore sat down for a talk with Sirius Black.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fourteen: The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

Gareth cautiously proceeded with his department’s normal arrangements when a child’s next of kin were identified, the silence from Dumbledore all too ominous. Rather than call another emergency Wizengamot meeting, Dumbledore had sent out a missive to all members confirming Lord Greengrass would be notifying the Wizengamot when he had completed the screening process for Mr Potter’s viable guardian, Lord Arcturus Black.

On the one hand, Gareth could understand the man realising he simply could not force a vote to have other candidates considered, when to do so would be breaching their clear family legislation. It was a wise tactical decision – even some of his own supporters would raise an eyebrow at Dumbledore trying to overturn the rules that clearly dictated a child should go to their immediate relatives.

But the idea of Dumbledore allowing Harry to be placed with Lord Black without protest, particularly given the lord was ageing and might soon have to name someone else in his extended family as Harry’s new guardian, seemed ludicrous.

There was an angle here Gareth could not yet see.

It made every instinct in him scream out in warning.

For now, he was focusing on doing his job, reaching out to Lord Black for an audience, citing official Ministry business as his purpose for meeting. He had never visited the man for a social call – Lord Black was notoriously reclusive, and had been since before Gareth could remember.

Although Lord Black did attend the meetings of Morgana’s Court, he rarely spoke, and never hosted a single meeting in all the time Gareth had been a member. The man was truly an enigma.

He received an owl in return the following day, offering a meeting at Black Castle that Sunday afternoon. Gareth had never actually been to the Black family’s ancestral family home – his own parents had told him tales about the famous castle, but he had certainly never seen it himself.

Lord Black’s son, Orion, had lived in the Black family’s townhouse in London with his wife and their sons. Gareth had seen Grimmauld Place before, but never Black Castle.

Preparing to leave after checking his appearance for the third time, slightly nervous to be meeting alone with the mysterious Lord Black, Gareth ducked his head into Harry’s bedroom after knocking.

The boy was sitting in the window seat, sheets of parchment scattered around him as he made notes with a Muggle pen. Since Friday, the boy had been drafting different versions of letters he wanted to be taken to Sirius Black. Until he was ready, Gareth would be holding off arranging a meeting with the man.

Harry had also had his first counselling session the previous afternoon with the Specialist Healer they had booked. He had emerged from the initial session with red-rimmed eyes, looking fragile. Rosie had been ready to fire the specialist on the spot and banish him from her home, but Gareth had calmed his wife’s fury with the assurance that it was normal for the first few sessions to be difficult.

Specialist Healer Grace had gently suggested he come to visit once a week for a couple of months, and then they could investigate possibly making the sessions less frequent depending on Harry’s progress.

“Are you going to meet with Lord Black now?” Harry asked, putting his crumpled parchment to the side to stand.

“Yes, it will just be an initial meeting to let him know the situation and his rights and responsibilities,” Gareth confirmed.

“When can I meet him?” Harry questioned, fiddling with his lumpy jumper. At least the jumper fit properly now that Rosie had seen to it – but they really did need to get Harry some new clothes.

“Usually we need to screen multiple candidates, but because there is only one, you should be able to meet him soon, if all goes well,” Gareth said.

“I want you to tell him I’m a dark wizard,” Harry said determinedly. Then suddenly uncertain he added hesitantly, “Will that…perhaps help make him like me?”

Gareth cocked his head, observing the boy’s obvious worry. It seemed more than a normal worry of what a stranger might think of you – there was something really bothering him.

“Is there a reason you think Lord Black will not like you?” Gareth asked neutrally.

“My mum was Muggleborn,” Harry whispered. “I’m a half blood right?”

Gareth came to sit down on the seat at the end of Harry’s bed, giving the boy his full attention. “Why do you think that means Lord Black will not like you?”

Harry looked down thinking, before he looked up and said quietly, “On Friday, Ezra was teaching us about purebloods, half bloods, and Muggleborns. I couldn’t help but look at my family tree and see that all of my ancestors who were members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, only married other members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, or at the very least they married purebloods. Ezra said you are classified as a pureblood in Britain if you have no direct Muggle ancestors for seven generations. None of them married half bloods or Muggleborns. Except for my dad. Did he do something wrong?”

“No, he did not,” Gareth told Harry firmly. “Your mother was a brilliant witch by all accounts. And I’m sure she and your father loved each other very much. There was nothing wrong with their marriage.”

Seeing Harry still looked uncertain, Gareth added cautiously, “I’m afraid there is certainly a sentiment among some of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and other older pureblood families that half bloods and Muggleborns should be excluded from marrying into our bloodlines.”

Harry ducked his head, worried that the Blacks were one such family who held these beliefs.

“But it is wrong, and not all share these out-dated beliefs. If Lord Black thinks that you having Lily Potter for a mother is somehow a bad thing, then he is not a suitable guardian for you, Harry.” Harry looked up from where he had been staring intently at the floor, to meet Gareth’s eyes. “Times are changing, Harry. Whilst it is important for the dark and light families to protect our legacies, if we do not share our magic with the rest of society, then we will all go extinct. We need new blood.”

“With families like the Gaunts going extinct though – isn’t there more pressure for dark families to marry into each other to preserve dark magical cores?” Harry asked.

“Do you know what happened to the Gaunt family?” Gareth questioned Harry, leaning forward.

After Harry shook his head Gareth explained, “They were so obsessed with blood purity that they not only refused to marry anyone who was not pureblood, but they also refused to marry into any other family that was not dark. They became plagued with health complications – I know you’ve learned about the dangers of inbreeding. Soon none of the dark families were willing to marry into the Gaunts – they had driven themselves to ruin in their obsession with blood purity. So they started marrying each other.”

Harry grimaced, feeling slightly ill at the thought.

“The last living descendants before their premature deaths were reputedly magically weak, sickly and mentally unwell. The fate of the Gaunts is the same fate that the rest of the Sacred Twenty-Eight faces if we continue to marry only each other.” Gareth smiled ruefully as he added, “I know this is all rich coming from me – I married Rosie, who is not only part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight but also a dark witch. However, make no mistake that Daphne and Astoria are free to marry who they want. Rosie and I will put no expectations on our daughters to marry someone with a dark magical core, or even a pureblood.”

Harry was shocked at the confession that Gareth and Rosie had no intention of even encouraging their daughters to eventually marry people with dark magical cores.

“But…what about your family’s legacy? What if they both end up with people who don’t have dark magical cores, and then none of their possible children inherit any dark magic? Won’t that mean they will have failed to uphold their promise to magic - they'll be considered blood traitors?”

Gareth spread his hands and said quietly, “There is the root of the problem, Harry. It’s the gamble we take when we marry those with neutral cores. The light families have already adapted – for the past few generations they have been carefully marrying into new bloodlines, ensuring the emergence of new generations of light witches and wizards. The dark families have been far slower and more reluctant to do this, so there are very few dark witches and wizards born outside of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. The dark families now walk on the edge of a knife. We risk becoming extinct, or becoming blood traitors in our efforts to stay alive.”

“We need new blood,” Harry echoed Gareth’s words, truly understanding now.

“Yes,” Gareth nodded.

Rising to his feet, aware he had an appointment to keep with Lord Black, Gareth affirmed again, “If Lord Black cannot see past any prejudice he might have towards Muggleborns, then he will not get custody of you. I will not put you in an environment where your existence is seen as anything less than the blessing it is.”

“Thank you, Gareth,” Harry whispered.

Using the coordinates Lord Black had provided in his letter, Gareth appeared with a crack of Apparition, now standing in the middle of the Lake District in north-western England.

He was standing on the edge of Grizedale Forest, the woodland area particularly stunning with splashes of red, gold and green making up the autumn vista. Walking away from the edge of the woodland and into a field of blooming heather, Gareth kept a sharp eye out for what he was looking for.

After pacing forward for about thirty feet from the treeline, Gareth blinked as the windswept moorland in front of him suddenly was cut through by a long thoroughfare, wide enough to accommodate four cars abreast.

The road was lined with dramatic elm trees, and as Gareth followed the thoroughfare with his eyes all the way into the distance he could finally see where the grand avenue was leading.

Black Castle did not disappoint.

The ancestral home of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black seemed to pierce the heavens, now that Gareth was through the wards that kept the property hidden from prying eyes.

Two quadrilateral-shaped building complexes sprawled to either side of a massive circular tower that seemed to watch over the surrounding moorland for miles around. The entire complex was sheltered by imposing walls, topped with battlements.

He paused to take it in, in awe of laying eyes on Black Castle for the fist time. The stories from his parents simply did not do the property justice. The Black family did not just own the castle – they owned all of the grounds leading up to its walls, including the grand avenue Gareth was standing on, which stretched towards the castle for about five kilometres.

According to his parents too, on the other side of the castle was a natural lake, manicured gardens, and sweeping orchards that put the grounds of royalty to shame.

The massive circular tower in the middle of the complex Gareth believed to be called 'Morgana’s Tower' – claimed by the Black family to have been at one point owned by the famous witch. The family had long asserted that after Morgana's death, ownership of the tower had passed between numerous hands until it eventually ended up in the possession of the early ancestors of the Black family, who over the generations had expanded their home into a lower and upper ward, connected to the original tower by stepped curtain walls. Whether it was true or not was up for debate, but the Blacks were certainly proud of their claimed connection to the Dark Lady Morgana.

The thought suddenly occurred to Gareth of how long it was going to take him to walk the entire way up to the grand gatehouse in the far distance. Just as it occurred to him, there was a soft pop and a house elf appeared.

The wizened elf was dressed in a dark green tunic trimmed in gold thread. The family crest was proudly displayed over the creature’s heart – the three ravens on the symbol moving ever so slightly, shuffling their plumage and eyeing Gareth with their onyx black eyes.

“Lord Greengrass,” the elf said with a low bow. “Lord Black sends me to escort you to the Upper Ward, where he will receive you in the Grand Reception Room. If you will accompany Torley?”

Gareth willingly extended his hand, the house elf reaching across to touch one finger to the back of Gareth’s gloved hand. He was instantaneously pulled away by the house elf’s magic, appearing in a grand hallway that seemed to stretch infinitely in both directions.

Although it was lavishly decorated, and impeccably clean, the hallway seemed very dim, and Gareth could not help but notice the curtains pulled over all of the portraits. Torley distracted him from his musings by gesturing to the heavy oak doors and stating, “Lord Black will see you now.”

Without waiting for confirmation, the house elf snapped his fingers, causing the doors to swing open slowly. The room revealed within was illuminated by a huge chandelier that hung suspended across the ceiling.

The back wall was filled with a grand window that allowed natural light to enter the room from floor to ceiling, displaying a breath-taking view of a sprawling green lawn leading to the edge of a lake, that stretched as far as Gareth’s eyes could see, nestled between two mountains.

On one side of the long room there was a large fireplace, where a fire blazed, popping and crackling away. The other side caught Gareth’s attention – the entire wall bore a finely woven tapestry that seemed to display the Black family tree.

Lord Arcturus Black was seated in a finely upholstered chair by the window at the back of the room, dark eyes intent on Gareth as he stood in the entrance to the room. Gareth knew they were equals – they were both lords, both with distinguished magical legacies. He had seen Lord Black before at meetings of Morgana’s Court.

But in that moment, he had the sudden sensation that he was standing before wizarding royalty.

“Lord Greengrass to see you, Lord Black,” Torley stated, bowing even lower than he had for Gareth earlier.

Lord Black waved his hand, and Torley retreated from the room, the heavy oak doors swinging shut behind him and leaving Gareth alone with the Black family patriarch.

The only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire, both men seemingly assessing each other for a moment.

“Thank you for allowing me to visit you, Lord Black,” Gareth said, bowing his head briefly.

“Come, sit,” Lord Black stated, gesturing to the chair opposite his own near the window. His voice was deep and authoritative.

Gareth approached, taking a seat where indicated and settling the sealed leather tube he had brought with him, by his side. He saw those intelligent onyx eyes appraise the item, before they rose back to meet his own eyes.

“What is this official Ministry business you needed to meet with me to discuss?” Lord Black asked, face unreadable.

This was an eighty-seven year old man, with silver hair and a face creased with age, yet Gareth got the distinct impression that if the man felt threatened, he would truly put up a vicious fight.

Sensing the man would value his directness, Gareth replied bluntly, “Your grandson, Sirius Black, magically adopted a child in 1980. The child’s biological parents are dead, and you have been identified as the next of kin.”

Lord Black did not react in any way, his body incredibly still.

“Who is the child,” he demanded, rather than asked.

“Harry Potter.”

Of all the reactions Gareth had been expecting, Lord Black tilting his head back and laughing was rather low on the list. Although he seemed amused on the surface, there was a hoarse quality to the laugh that gave it a distinctly bitter quality.

Uncertain how to interpret the man laughing at the news, Gareth slowly opened the sealed leather tube, pulling out the rolled up parchment from within, in order to show him the results of the Heritage Test.

“Forgive an old man’s antics, Lord Greengrass,” the man said as his laughter tapered off. He glanced at the parchment being pulled out and guessed astutely, “The Heritage Test?”

“Yes,” Gareth confirmed quietly. Unable to resist asking he said, “Why did you laugh when I told you?”

Lord Black assessed Gareth, expression turning completely neutral once more. At last he replied, “Consider it the laughter of a vindicated man, as hollow as the victory is.”

Not understanding, Gareth frowned slightly, turning over the words in his head. In the meantime he unrolled the huge length of parchment, facing it towards Lord Black, so he had a clear view.

There was an elegant ebony table between their seats that was not large enough to display the entire family tree, so Gareth slowly reached for his wand, broadcasting his actions to the other man, as he pulled it out and cast a nonverbal spell to levitate the parchment between them.

Lord Black read over the results in silence, eyes lingering over the name Sirius Orion Black, and specifically the connections linking Harry to the Black family through both his biological and adopted father.

“What happens now?” Lord Black eventually asked, after reviewing the results of the Heritage Test.

Gareth continued to feel wrong-footed, expecting the man to at least put up some sort of resistance to Harry’s adoption into the Black family. Their family motto was Toujours Pur – Always Pure. He was raising no issues with the son of a Muggleborn having been adopted by his grandson, nor the child being potentially placed with him.

Wanting to test some of the man’s boundaries, Gareth said cautiously, “You are the rightful guardian of Harry, regardless of Sirius Black’s disownment from-”  

“He was not disowned,” Lord Black cut in, voice quiet but commanding.

Gareth paused, shocked.

It was one of the most well known pieces of family drama – Sirius Black had run away from home when he was sixteen, and his mother, Walburga, had loudly and publically announced his disinheritance and disownment from the Black family.

But to hear the head of the house, the same one who was head at the time Sirius would have been disowned, denying that to be the case…

“My daughter-in-law might have made a grand gesture in declaring him disowned to all of society, but the power to do so lies with me and me alone. And I saw no reason to throw my grandson out of this family,” Lord Black continued.

“There’s a tapestry in Grimmauld Place that looks like the one displayed on the wall here,” Gareth said, nodding to the tapestry in the room. “On that tapestry, Sirius Black’s name has been burned off, among others.”

Lord Black gestured to the tapestry in the room with them and said, “Take a look at the tapestry here. This is the original – the version in Grimmauld Place is a mere copy. My daughter-in-law could blast off all the family members she pleased, but it does not change the fact that they are still part of this family, if I say so.”

Gareth rose with the man’s permission, approaching the tapestry to examine it. He saw that not only was the name Sirius Black still woven into the tapestry, but so too was the name of his uncle, Alphard Black. Perhaps most shockingly, Andromeda Tonks née Black, her husband, Edward Tonks, and their daughter, Nymphadora, were all present on the family tapestry too.

Lord Black silently approached, coming to stand by Gareth’s shoulder. He reached out to brush a hand over Sirius’ name. “Sirius remains, to this day, my heir.”

Noticing Gareth’s shocked stare towards where the names of Andromeda Tonks, her Muggleborn husband and her half blood daughter were displayed on the family tapestry, Arcturus acknowledged, “My cousin Pollux and his son Cygnus did try to convince me to disown Andromeda and her child. I refused.”

Whatever opinion and assumptions Gareth had made about Lord Black from the few interactions they had, had over the years, was being rapidly unravelled. It occurred to him that he had never heard Lord Black use a slur such as Mudblood in all of the meetings at Morgana’s Court, nor had he expressed any pureblood supremacy sentiments. Admittedly though, the man barely spoke, so it had been hard to get much of an impression of him.

“Did you approve of Andromeda’s marriage to a Muggleborn?” Gareth asked, dumbfounded.

Lord Black looked at him sharply and said, “Approval implies endorsement. That is not the word I would use, Lord Greengrass.”

“How would you describe it then?” Gareth asked incredulously.

Lord Black stared at the woman’s name on the tapestry for a few moments, dark eyes thoughtful. “Our family is not what it used to be. There are so few of us now,” the man murmured. Almost to himself he added, “And I made a promise. To put family above everything else.”

Suddenly Lord Black spoke up, turning away from the family tapestry to look at Gareth and say, “You asked me why I laughed earlier.”

Gareth nodded, replying, “You said it was the laughter of a vindicated man.”

“My son and daughter-in-law pushed their children to ruin. They drove Sirius away when he did not fit into the mould they prepared for him, and then they allowed Regulus to become a Death Eater, dying for that madman. When Sirius ran away, they insisted he had turned away from not only his family, but also his dark heritage. There was not a doubt in their minds that Sirius had rejected every aspect of the Black family and our traditions.”

Lord Black asked Gareth conversationally, “But do you know where Sirius went, after he ran away?”

Gareth shook his head – he knew the man had run away as a teenager but not where.

Lord Black pointed to a spot on the tapestry, where the name Dorea Potter née Black was displayed, alongside Charlus Potter. Underneath was James Potter; with Lily Potter née Evans tied to his name, Harry James Potter underneath them both.

Gareth realised this original tapestry was far larger than the copy at Grimmauld, which only recorded the descendants of the male Blacks.

“He went to my cousin, Dorea. James Potter’s mother. His own parents had no idea where their son went, but I knew, because Dorea told me he was safe with her.”

“Were you close with your cousin?” Gareth asked.

“I was,” Lord Black confirmed, face closing off. His eyes were fixed on Dorea’s name on the tapestry.

Gareth sensed an old grief there, and quickly changed the subject. “So, Sirius continued to live with a member of your family – and you have reason to believe he did not reject his dark heritage too?”

A wry smirk came to Arcturus Black’s face and he said, “The mere fact that Sirius magically adopted Harry Potter, is enough to prove to me he not only did not reject his legacy – but he embraced it. I never lost faith in my grandson, though my son and daughter-in-law did.”

Magical adoption was dark magic, but Gareth was not certain how that proved Sirius was embracing his dark heritage – given it was a legal form of magic and generally accepted.

“Tell me, Lord Greengrass, do you know why Harry Potter is not recorded on this tapestry under Sirius’ name?”

“I assumed it was because this tapestry is not enchanted to record magical adoptions,” Gareth answered honestly.

“You’re right, it lacks the enchantment to record adoptions. But there is a reason why,” Lord Black told him.

The elderly man cocked his head to one side as he examined his own family tree, as it stretched up high towards the ceiling. Gareth stayed silent, waiting for the man to explain further.

“If this tapestry did record magical adoptions, it would be covered in them.”

Gareth looked at him sharply, a question in his eyes.

“Every family has its traditions, Lord Greengrass. Every family has its secrets. And one of ours is magical adoption. It plays a vital role in ensuring our dark heritage is passed from one generation to the next, even when one parent has a neutral magical core. Sirius knew this. So did Dorea’s son, James Potter. That is why they ensured Harry was magically adopted – they were both honouring one of the noblest traditions of this family. They ensured Harry Potter inherited a dark magical core.”

Lord Black looked at Gareth’s face closely, and whatever he saw on the other man’s face satisfied him. He nodded, saying aloud, “Yes, the boy is a dark wizard, I know that. It was guaranteed by his parents actions.”

“Why is this not widely known?” Gareth found his voice at last. “If the Black family has been using adoptions for generations to ensure children are born with dark magical cores, why did they not share this method with the other dark families?”

“Pride, shame and prejudice, Lord Greengrass,” Lord Black murmured. “My ancestors have hidden this tradition, even from our own tapestries, to maintain the illusion that our bloodline is so potently dark and pure that any child born of the Black line is guaranteed to be born with a dark magical core. And because they were ashamed that we have been left with no choice but to marry outside of other dark bloodlines, and have to rely on adoption to ensure our children continue our legacy. Finally, prejudice. We built a narrative, which is shared by most of the dark families, that keeping half bloods and Muggleborns out of our family lines is essential and justified for our survival. But with magical adoptions, you can have a child with anyone, and guarantee they inherit your dark heritage.”

Lord Black continued, one hand tracing gently over the name of his deceased daughter, Lucretia Prewett née Black. “Both of my children were magically adopted, because my wife Melania was from the Macmillan family, and she had a neutral core. My cousin, Cassiopeia, had the honour of becoming my children’s adoptive mother, as she had no intention of having children of her own. This ensured Lucretia and Orion were both born with dark magical cores.”

Gareth blinked in shock, realising that meant Cassiopeia was not only Harry’s great-aunt, but also technically his adoptive great-grandmother. He realised in hindsight that only Harry’s own adoption would show up on the Heritage Test, as it was related to his own blood, and any other adoptions in his extended family would not have been recorded through the test.

Lord Black continued, “My father adopted his brother’s children; Pollux, Cassiopeia and Dorea. They are my cousins, but technically also my adopted siblings. My brother, Lycoris Black, never had any children of his own but he adopted Pollux’s children; Walburga, Alphard and Cygnus. Walburga and Cygnus both married partners with dark magical cores, and Alphard never married.”

“I offered to adopt Dorea’s son when he was born,” Arcturus Black stated calmly, like he was discussing the weather and not revealing the secrets of the Black family. “She refused, not because she was ashamed of her dark heritage, but because she wanted to leave the decision up to magic itself whether her son James would take after her, or her husband Charlus, who had a neutral core.”

Gareth realised the truth as Lord Black was confirming, “James Potter was a dark wizard. I was there when we tested him with the Mirror Sphere as a baby.”

There had always been a possibility James was born dark, but to hear the confirmation turned Gareth’s view on the Potters on its head anyway. “But James was loyal to Dumbledore. He never voiced any support for the Dark Arts,” Gareth pointed out cautiously.

“The fault, I fear, is mine,” Lord Black stated. “I am quick to criticise my son and daughter-in-law for attempting to force Sirius into a certain mould, but I too was guilty of attempting to do exactly the same. When I learned Dorea’s son was dark, I pressured her to allow me to teach the boy when he was old enough. I wanted her back into the family fold. However, she and her husband wanted to raise James free of any expectations that he would learn the Dark Arts, and they refused to let me be involved.”

The elderly man’s face grew regretful. “I tried to force the matter. Dorea rightfully put me in my place, and forbade me from interfering with her son. She grew estranged, and James never went public with the fact he was a dark wizard. The next time I heard from my cousin was years later when she sent me the message to inform me Sirius was safe with her.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Gareth whispered, still in shock with everything that had just been so willingly revealed to him.

“Why hide it anymore?” Lord Black replied. “Any shame I shared with my ancestors of being forced to rely on magical adoptions to keep our dark heritage alive died some time ago. I’m sure Pollux will disagree with my choice in spilling our family secrets, but my dear cousin disagrees with everything I do, so this will be no different. The truth of the matter is that you can have children with anyone, and still guarantee your dark legacy is passed on, as long as one biological parent has a dark magical core, and the adopted parent does too. Harry Potter is the living proof that we can even have children with Muggleborns and ensure they inherit dark magical cores.”

“He is powerful,” Gareth confirmed. “The darkest magical core I’ve ever seen, for an eight year old child. We also recently discovered he has inherited the Black family trait – he’s a Metamorphmagus.”

Arcturus looked pleasantly surprised, before acknowledging, “Given his legacy, I am not surprised he is powerful, but inheriting the Metamorphmagi trait is a wonderful blessing. Both his biological and adoptive fathers were powerful dark wizards in their own right. They knew what they were doing when Sirius magically adopted Harry. They were honouring this family’s traditions, and passing their dark magic onto the next generation. And so, I laughed, Lord Greengrass. Because I remembered the words of my daughter, telling me to put my faith in family, above all else. Telling me I would be a fool to do anything else. She was right of course – Lucretia was always right. And so, my faith in my grandson, and Dorea’s son, was not misplaced, as I had feared. I was right to believe in them both, regardless of what side they took in the war. But it is a hollow victory, Lord Greengrass. James Potter is dead, and my grandson is in Azkaban for life. This family continues to be broken.”

“You have the chance to change things – to give Harry Potter a good home,” Gareth impressed on the man. “He is so eager to learn about his heritage and embrace our traditions. He already wants to start learning the Dark Arts.”

“I am happy to hear that,” Lord Black murmured, a genuine smile curling his lips. “But I am an old man, Lord Greengrass. I don’t know if I have it in me to raise a child. And it should not be me raising him – but Sirius.”

“Sirius is in Azkaban,” Gareth replied cautiously.

Lord Black looked Gareth in the eye and said, “Knowing that James and Lily trusted my grandson enough to let him magically adopt their child, do you truly believe that he is the one who betrayed them, left his adopted child to the mercy of Voldemort?”

Gareth considered his words carefully before replying, “I admit I have been having doubts about Sirius’ involvement with what happened that night in Godric’s Hollow. However, he was formally charged with the murder of twelve Muggles, and of his friend, Peter Pettigrew. There were eye witness accounts that saw him do it.”

“I know my grandson,” Lord Black insisted. “Sirius was not capable of doing what they have accused him of. He’s innocent – he’s told me himself when I’ve visited him in Azkaban.”

“Why haven’t you contested the charges on his behalf then?” Gareth asked, rather than disagree with the other man’s claims.

Lord Black snapped, “Do you think I have not? Do you think I have sat on my hands for nearly seven years doing nothing while my grandson suffers unjustly in Azkaban? I have petitioned the Ministry tirelessly to have his case reviewed. I have asked for the trial transcripts and have been told they are protected behind 99-year confidentiality laws. They only let me visit him once a year - did you know that? I am his grandfather, the only person who is even allowed to visit him, and I am told that they can only accommodate me once a year!”

The man was yelling towards the end, fury and grief palpable on his face. Gareth was shocked once more into silence. Both at the raw emotion the man was displaying, but also the revelation that the Ministry were so restrictive about letting family visit inmates.

Suddenly a few things about Lord Black were shaping up in Gareth’s mind – his reclusiveness, his silence during meetings of Morgana’s Court, his lack of attendance at social gatherings. This was a man who was suffering, deeply and silently. Too proud to voice his helplessness to the other dark families, and perhaps not trusting them to aid him to release someone they saw as having turned his back on the dark.

“I am planning on pulling some strings in the Ministry to visit him. Harry wants answers about what happened that night in Godric’s Hollow. I want you to come with me when I visit him, if you would consent. Depending on what comes out of that meeting, I could attempt to pass a Wizengamot motion to override those confidentiality laws to open Sirius’ file,” Gareth offered.

“Do this, Lord Greengrass, and I will be indebted to you,” Lord Black said quietly, a seriousness to his words that hinted at a magically binding promise of debt.

But Gareth was already shaking his head stating firmly, “If Sirius Black is truly innocent, then he is Harry’s rightful guardian. Harry deserves to be raised by the man who adopted him.” Then adding with a wince, “If his mind is still intact after his years exposed to the Dementors.”

Rather than get upset Lord Black nodded sharply, admitting, “He has always seemed sane to me when we speak once a year. But he is undeniably affected from his time there.”

“I will arrange a visit with my Ministry contacts as soon as possible and notify you once I have a date and time,” Gareth promised.

“There’s something else you should know,” Lord Black said quietly. “Sirius told me that when he was arrested by the Aurors he was brought before Crouch. There was no jury of peers, no legal representation, and they didn’t even administer Veritaserum. He tells me he never got a trial.”

Gareth paled at the implications of that, a sense of dawning dread coming across him. That information, combined with the fact Sirius Black’s file had been hidden for 99 years, reeked of Ministry mismanagement and a subsequent cover up.

That allegation was enough to justify a Wizengamot motion to open the file, and see for themselves if there had been a trial. But first, Gareth needed to hear it from the man himself.

But he also had to ask, “Why did you never raise these concerns with Morgana’s Court? Myself, Ivan Nott, Lady Burke or Madam Rowle could have raised a motion with the Wizengamot on your behalf.”

“I assume the exact same reason you did not convene the Court to inform them you had custody of Harry Potter. Most of them are Death Eaters, or have ties to Death Eaters. Sirius fought against them in the war. I did not trust them with the information, let alone anticipate any help,” Lord Black said curtly.

“There’s change coming, Lord Black. This method of magical adoption to ensure dark inheritances are passed down will be revolutionary for our survival. We must share it at the next convening of Morgana’s Court. The dark families will come to understand in time, as you have, that pureblood supremacy is just an empty façade of a time long gone by,” Gareth declared passionately.

“Ah, but Lord Greengrass you forget I am eighty-seven. I spent most of my life believing the same things the other families still believe. Change is coming, I agree, but it will be slow. I had to learn these truths slowly, through great loss, and over great time,” Lord Black warned.

Gareth dearly wanted to hear the man’s story, to understand how his views had apparently changed so drastically.

“For now, it is important to put aside the family secrets – and to be more forthright in our beliefs and opinions about Muggleborns. Change won’t happen if we all maintain the status quo, and aren’t willing to challenge our peers. Will you support me in this?” Gareth asked.

Lord Black sighed, muttering, “My parents are no doubt rolling in their graves…but yes, Lord Greengrass. I will support you in pushing for this change.” The man looked around the room, back towards the darkened hallway that lay behind the doors.

Gareth sensed this room had been specially prepared for his visit, but usually the man lingered in this dark, empty castle all alone but for his house elves. It was a terribly sad thought.

“It’s time to come out of the shadows,” Lord Black stated quietly.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fifteen: The busiest week of the year

Sirius Black was sitting in the corner of his cell doing much of nothing when the tell tale creeping of cold signalled a Dementor was approaching down the narrow corridor towards his cell.

Gritting his teeth, Sirius steeled himself for the creature's arrival, making eye contact across the way to his neighbour, who had a similar grimace on his own face.

Screwing his eyes shut, Sirius breathed in and out slowly. He knew the creature was right outside his cell when the air seemed to freeze in his lungs, and every breath became painful. He heard the creature whisper in its unnatural voice, “Visitor, Black.”

Striking grey eyes flying open in shock, Sirius looked sharply over to the cell entrance, looking through the bars to see the expected Dementor but also an unexpected visitor.

The Dementor glided away silently, taking that horrific sensation of dread with it.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from you after nearly seven years,” Sirius asked with a voice hoarse from disuse.

Albus Dumbledore stood at the bars of his cell, piercing blue eyes fixed on him from behind his familiar half moon glasses.

The man pulled out his wand, waving it around him and no doubt setting up a privacy spell around them so no one else could see in or hear. Once the space was secure Dumbledore leaned in, catching Sirius’ eyes with his own.

“Were you James and Lily’s Secret-Keeper?”

Maintaining eye contact Sirius replied through gritted teeth, “No. Peter Pettigrew was. He betrayed them.”

Dumbledore used the eye contact to dive into Sirius’ mind, which offered no resistance even though he knew the man to be an accomplished Occlumens. His time in Azkaban had tattered the edges of his mind, and so Dumbledore merely skimmed through what he needed, withdrawing once he was satisfied.

His face immediately fell and he stated mournfully, “Forgive me, my boy. I have failed you most grievously.”

Sirius said nothing, watching the man with a blank expression on his gaunt face. His grey eyes gleamed in the shadows of the cell, haloed in his mass of matted black hair that fell nearly to his elbows.

Dumbledore sighed out like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, raising his hands to grip the bars of Sirius’ cell.

“Will you tell me what really happened that night?”

Sirius rolled his head back so it hit the stone behind him, maintaining unbroken eye contact the entire time with Dumbledore.

“I’ll tell you, if you tell me why you’re here, after all this time, Albus.”

“Harry, is why I am here,” Albus said.

Sirius sat up immediately, any semblance of calm gone.

“Why, is he okay?” he asked desperately, stumbling to his feet. His prisoner rags hung off his thin frame, making him look small even though he was a tall man.

Albus let go of the bars, raising his hands as though he could impress calm upon Sirius at the mere motion. “He is fine, for now. But he is in the temporary custody of Gareth Greengrass, a dark wizard. A Heritage Test was just performed, and it leaves yourself or your grandfather as his possible guardians.” Taking on a gentle, grandfatherly tone Dumbledore asked, “Sirius, my boy, why did you magically adopt Harry?”

“Why does Gareth Greengrass have custody of my godson?” Sirius asked, confused, ignoring Dumbledore’s question about the magical adoption.

Frustrated at Sirius ignoring the question entirely, Dumbledore replied, “It’s a long story Sirius, and I have very little time to explain. All you need to know is that by your action adopting Harry, your grandfather will now be getting custody of him. Unless we get your name cleared.”

Sirius tilted his head to one side, like a predator sizing up small prey. “And will you be getting my name cleared, Albus?”

“Tell me what happened, Sirius. I will share the memory of this conversation with the Wizengamot to have your file reopened,” Dumbledore stressed.

Sirius sat back down on the floor of his cell slowly, collecting his thoughts.

“As you know, James and Lily asked me to be their Secret-Keeper. However, it was my idea to use Peter Pettigrew instead, because I believed it would misdirect people, most who would fairly assume I was the Secret-Keeper, being James’ best friend.”

Sirius stared straight ahead at the wall on the other side of his cell, grey eyes distant and he continued, “When the alarm went off in my house I thought it must be a mistake. But when I arrived at Godric’s Hollow that night I saw the house had been partially collapsed. Peter had betrayed James and Lily to Voldemort. I ran inside. I found…on the stairs landing to the second floor he was…James was-” Sirius choked, pausing to breathe deeply in and out for a moment, his face raw with grief.

“And sweet Lily, she was lying by Harry’s cot. She had thrown herself between Harry and Voldemort. Harry was screaming, his forehead was bleeding, so I picked him up and comforted him. Got his head cleaned up. All I knew was I had to get him out of that house –it was structurally unsound. And his parents were- I needed to get him out.”

Sirius drew in a shuddering breath, still staring at the wall opposite and not at Dumbledore, listening silently.

“By the time I stumbled outside, Rubeus Hagrid had arrived. He told me to give Harry to him, that he had orders to take Harry to Lily’s sister, Petunia. We argued, and I lost my temper. My friends were dead, Harry was crying, and at the back of my mind I knew Peter, that traitorous scum, was probably making his escape while I was held up arguing. So I gave Harry to Hagrid, and gave him my enchanted motorbike too, told him I wouldn’t need it. I was going after Peter.”

Sirius’ hands clenched into fists and he snarled, “I tracked him down throughout the night. I was going to make him pay for what he had done, to his friends. Cornered him in a Muggle town just after dawn. Peter starts yelling like a maniac that I’m the one who betrayed James and Lily, and before I could do anything he cut off his own little finger, and then cast a Blasting Curse between us. I managed to shield myself just in time, but I couldn’t do anything for the Muggles who had gathered around us.”

“By the time I had regained my senses the street had been torn apart, twelve innocent people were dead, and Peter had used the chaos to transform into his Animagus form of a rat, and disappear into the sewers, which had been exposed from the blast. He is an illegal Animagus,” Sirius said, glancing at Dumbledore. Knowing this was going to be used for a Pensieve memory for the Wizengamot he left out his own Animagus ability, and the fact that Dumbledore knew about he, James and Peter’s experimentations. Not to mention Remus, but that was a whole other story.

Dumbledore nodded his head; appreciative Sirius did not elaborate any further on that point, a twinkle in his blue eyes.

“I’ll admit I lost it after that. My best friend and his wife were dead, my other friend had betrayed them, killed more innocent people, and now he’d just gotten away. The Aurors turned up and arrested me, but I couldn’t stop laughing until eventually I was crying. They took me straight to the Ministry. I was brought before Crouch, who sentenced me to life in Azkaban. He didn’t give me a trial. I was dragged away, and thrown in this cell,” Sirius said tonelessly, gesturing at the space around him.

“Are you willing to testify under Veritaserum? Dumbledore asked calmly.

“I am,” Sirius replied. “I’m innocent. All I want is to get out of here, and look after Harry. I adopted him, because James and Lily wanted me to be there for Harry if anything happened to them.”

Dumbledore bowed his head in understanding, a gentle smile coming across his wizened face. “I will share this with the Wizengamot as soon as possible. First, I must inform the Order of the truth, and then gather my allies within the Wizengamot to ensure they will support my motion to have your file reopened. We’ll get you a trial, and then you will be free to take guardianship of Harry.”

A serious look crossed Dumbledore’s face and he said softly, “I hope you might forgive an old man for his lack of faith, Sirius. I rather hope you might still count on me as a friend and ally.”

Sirius met Dumbledore’s eyes, grey fixed on blue as he replied just as softly, “It’s water under the bridge, Albus. You’re making amends by getting me out of here, and back with Harry.”

Those piercing blue eyes remained locked on Sirius for a long moment, the silence stretching between them. Finally, Dumbledore smiled and replied, “Once you are out we will have to re-gather the old crowd, induct you back into the Order.”

“I rather think I’ll need some medical treatment first, Albus,” Sirius said jokingly, but there was a note of tension under his words.

“Of course, my boy, of course your health comes first. We need you well enough to take custody of Harry after all,” Dumbledore assured him.

“I’ll wait to hear any news about my upcoming trial, Albus,” Sirius said, an implied dismissal in his words. Dumbledore’s face tightened slightly, and Sirius added, “I won’t forget what you’ve done for me.”

Expression smoothing out, Dumbledore replied, “I will see you soon, hopefully at your Wizengamot hearing before you are acquitted of all charges. We probably won't even need a trial, if you testify under Veritaserum.”

Sirius nodded his head, watching as Dumbledore hesitated, before turning on his heel to go.

He waved his hand in an impressive display of wandless magic, bringing down the privacy spell as he left, indigo robes swishing around him.

Sirius sat in silence for awhile, until he was absolutely certain the man was out of his section of the prison, if not already on his way off the island.

A sneer curled across his face and he wearily rubbed a hand across his forehead.

“Pleasant chat?” his neighbour across the corridor asked, leaning casually against the bars to his own cell, arms hanging loosely down.

Sirius cast a flat look towards the other man.

His neighbour laughed a little wheezily, which devolved into a chesty cough. His thin frame was wracked for a few moments with the force of his coughs, before he caught his breath. There was still a grin on his once handsome face though, as he looked back up at Sirius. “What did Dumbledore want from you?”

“My loyalty, I think. In exchange for him getting me a trial,” Sirius muttered.

“Morgana, do you think if I pledge my loyalty to him, he’d get me one?” the other man said mockingly, cobalt blue eyes wide.

“Ah, but you’re a dark wizard, Lestrange, and I am a dark wizard who plays nice with the light – I’m afraid we are an entirely different breed,” Sirius replied.

“Shame. Spare a thought for my sorry ass when you’re off gallivanting on the outside again,” Lestrange quipped.

“I’ll do more than spare a thought for you, Lestrange,” Sirius promised quietly.

The younger man stilled, dark blue eyes intent on Sirius. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Black.”

“I won’t,” Sirius said softly.

Rabastan Lestrange stared at him, face blank. He was only twenty-five, having been eighteen when he was arrested for the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom, along with his older brother, sister-in-law and the now dead Bartemius Crouch Junior.

But his time in Azkaban had not been kind to the young man – Sirius was three years older than him at twenty-eight, but he looked years younger. It was thanks to Sirius’ ability to transform into his Animagus form to escape from the presence of the Dementor guards most nights.

Rabastan Lestrange, to his credit, in the nearly seven years they had been neighbours, had never spoken a word about Sirius’s ability.

Sirius was not even ashamed to admit he had come to see Rabastan Lestrange as a friend of sorts. Perhaps because there was no one else to talk to in their section, so there was no choice if they both didn’t want to truly lose their minds.

He was also painfully aware of the fact that Rabastan had been close with his brother Regulus – they’d been in the same year together in Slytherin. Sirius sometimes wondered if Rabastan looked at him and saw his dead friend.

“You deserve a trial,” Sirius whispered into the silence.

“So did Barty,” Rabastan muttered back bitterly.

Somewhere amongst the horrifically cold nights and long, agonising days of their incarceration Sirius had told Rabastan his story, and Rabastan had told him his.

Once furious at the man for torturing his friends, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Sirius now understood Rabastan and ‘Barty’ as Rabastan called Bartemius Crouch Junior, had been nothing more than lookouts that night. Although they had assisted in tearing down the Longbottom wards with Rodolphus Lestrange and Sirius’ deranged cousin Bellatrix, they had taken no part in the torture of the Auror couple. Not to mention, they had both been eighteen, and entitled to sentencing discounts by virtue of being under the age of twenty-one.

It might be too late to help Barty, but Sirius was determined that once he was out, and his godson was safely in his custody, that he would make Crouch pay for his actions.

Dumbledore had seemed satisfied by what Sirius had carefully allowed him to see in his mind, seeing only the damage in his head and not the calculating mind underneath. Sirius had told him it was all water under the bridge between them, but the truth was, Sirius had already decided to burn his bridges with Dumbledore on the day the man had abandoned him to face Azkaban.

If he thought that giving Harry to Sirius would make him more accessible to Dumbledore, he had a nasty shock coming.

Sirius was done with Dumbledore, and there was no way in hell he was letting the old man go anywhere near his godson. 

The passage of time was a tricky thing to wrap one’s head around in Azkaban, but Sirius was fairly certain it had not been long since Dumbledore had come to see him. However, the skin crawling whisper of, “Visitors, Black,” made Sirius wonder if more time had passed without him being aware of it.

Seeing Rabastan’s wide-eyed stare across the corridor, Sirius cocked an eyebrow at the other man incredulously.

Sirius leaned forward intently to see the familiar face of his grandfather, Arcturus Black, and another man beside him who seemed vaguely familiar to Sirius.

“Must be the busiest week of the year,” Rabastan muttered disbelievingly, briefly catching the attention of Sirius’ grandfather and the other man with him.

While Arcturus Black approached his grandson’s cell muttering about the Dementors, and still not being allowed to cast the Patronus Charm on the island, Sirius watched as the familiar man nodded to Rabastan with a polite, “Mr Lestrange.”

“Lord Greengrass,” Rabastan replied coolly, with as much dignity he could muster given his condition.

Sirius straightened at that, grey eyes honing in on the man, who was now turning back to face him. “Why do you have custody of my godson,” Sirius demanded.

Lord Greengrass’ eyes slid almost imperceptibly towards Rabastan, and then back to Sirius. It was obvious he was not going to talk until there was a privacy spell in place.

Rabastan rolled his eyes, retreating further back into his cell as he muttered, “Don’t mind me - just pretend I’m not here.”

Lord Greengrass pulled out his wand, casting the necessary spell around them that would prevent Rabastan, or anyone else, Dementors included, from listening in.

“How do you know I have custody of Harry?” the man asked cautiously, a suspicious look in his eyes as he glanced at Arcturus.

“Answer my question and perhaps I’ll answer yours,” Sirius shot back with a feral smile.

“Sirius,” Arcturus sighed exasperatedly, then reassured Lord Greengrass, “I have not told him anything – as you know I struggle to visit my grandson as is. And inmates of Azkaban can hardly receive any mail. He must have found out from some other source.”

Arcturus pinned Sirius with his onyx eyes, the look a familiar one. It might have worked on Sirius as a child when he had run away from his lessons and his grandfather came to find him, but it hardly impacted him now as a grown man.

As Sirius stubbornly remained silent, the expression on his grandfather’s face darkened, and Sirius actually felt a twinge of old childish trepidation at that look being directed at him. Perhaps it did still have some hold on him after all.

“You’re not the only ones who’ve come to visit me this week,” Sirius bit out grudgingly.

Lord Greengrass’ blue eyes widened in surprise, and he asked, “Who else came to visit you?”

Seeing his grandfather’s intense look in his peripheral, and knowing he had no true power here to threaten Lord Greengrass into explaining why Harry was in his custody, Sirius sighed and replied, “Dumbledore.”

Arcturus spat out a surprisingly foul curse word. Sirius’ mouth dropped open and he murmured, “Grandfather.” He couldn’t resist the shocked laugh that bubbled up at hearing the man swear.

“Close your mouth Sirius, its uncouth,” his grandfather said with a sniff of disapproval, like he had not just sworn like the finest of Knockturn Alley drunkards.

“He came to verify your innocence,” Lord Greengrass stated, rather than asked.

“And verify it he did, though I’m sure he’s taking his sweet time to call on the Wizengamot meeting he promised me, to give me a damn trial,” Sirius muttered.

“It’s true then, you never had a trial,” Lord Greengrass asked, watching Sirius’ face closely. He didn’t even flinch at Sirius’ gaunt appearance, seeming like he was in a business meeting and not standing in Azkaban surrounded by hundreds of Dementors.

“I’ve been over this enough times,” Sirius murmured, suddenly exhausted. He ran a hand through his lanky, matted hair, regretting it immediately. With a grimace of distaste, he wiped his hand on his prison rags and snapped, “I am innocent. I did not betray James and Lily. Peter Pettigrew did. I went after him. He framed me for their betrayal, cut off his finger, cast a Blasting Curse, and transformed into his unregistered Animagus form. He escaped into the sewers, like the rat he is. The Aurors caught me, took me to the Ministry, brought me in front of Crouch who didn’t give me a chance to speak to defend myself before sentencing me to life in Azkaban.”

Sirius spread his arms, and declared, “You’re all caught up now.”

Rather than take offence at Sirius’ curtness Lord Greengrass patiently nodded his head and said, “Thank you. I assume you described this narrative in some detail for Dumbledore, and he told you he will present the memory of your conversation at a Wizengamot meeting?”

“Correct,” Sirius said, grey eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Now, why is my godson in your custody?”

Lord Greengrass looked askance to Arcturus, and then back to Sirius, whose grey eyes had never left his face. “I have not told Lord Black the exact circumstances of how Harry came into my custody. However, given you are both formally acknowledged as potential guardians of Harry’s as his direct next of kin, I am permitted to talk about this with you both.”

Before Sirius could lose his already frayed temper again, Lord Greengrass explained, “I am the head of the Child Protection Authority. I placed Harry in my temporary custody when I removed him from his abusive Muggle relatives last week.”

For a moment, Sirius Black looked like he was carved from stone, for all the emotion and movement he was displaying. Lord Greengrass and Arcturus tensed, ready for an explosion of fury.

Instead a serene look came across Sirius’s face and he informed both men calmly, “I am going to kill them.”

“I would rather you not, if you are to be released from Azkaban soon. It would be a shame for you to go straight back in,” Arcturus commented lightly, but his patrician features were heavy with a cold kind of rage as he heard the confirmation from Lord Greengrass that Harry had been abused.

“I want to know everything,” Sirius insisted.

“We don’t have much time,” Lord Greengrass murmured apologetically. “I can provide his entire CPA file to you upon your release, as will be your right as his adoptive father.”

“Godfather,” Sirius corrected immediately. “He had a father, his name was James.” There was a mulish set to his face. Then suddenly a lost look came across Sirius’ face. “What must he think of me?” he croaked out.

Lord Greengrass observed Sirius for a moment, before reaching into a pocket and pulling out a sealed envelope. He considered the envelope for a time, before stating softly, “Harry has written this letter for you. He wanted to come himself,” here Sirius made a wounded noise, like an animal being kicked. “But of course children are forbidden to visit the island. I don’t know what is inside this letter. He wrote it believing you to be the one to betray his parents, so I hesitate to give it to-”

Sirius came right up to the bars, holding his arm out through one of the gaps, demanding the letter silently.

Lord Greengrass sighed, and placed the letter in Sirius’ outstretched hand. The man quickly brought the letter to his heart, cradling it like it was the most precious object in the world.

“Why has Dumbledore not yet called a Wizengamot meeting if he believes my grandson?” Arcturus asked to break the silence that had fallen as Sirius clutched the letter from his adoptive son like a lifeline, regardless of its contents.

Sirius spoke up to say; “He said he was assembling the Order of the Phoenix first to let them know. Then he was going to contact his Wizengamot allies to get their support first before he makes a motion to reopen my file.”

“The Order is still active?” Lord Greengrass asked intently.

Sirius eyed him carefully, before deciding he really didn’t give a damn anymore, and confirmed, “It seems so. Dumbledore also seems to think he’s going to induct me back in once I’m out of prison.”

Arcturus scoffed while Lord Greengrass questioned Sirius, “You think differently?”

“My first priority is Harry,” Sirius told the man firmly, “and any trust I had in Dumbledore is long dead. I want nothing to do with him, or his Order.”

Lord Greengrass said nothing, but Sirius sensed the man was rather pleased at his announcement.

“So we just sit here and twiddle our thumbs while we wait for Dumbledore for call for a meeting?” Arcturus asked incredulously. “While my grandson suffers unjustly in prison?”

“It’s best for it to be Dumbledore who calls the meeting, and makes the motion to reopen my file,” Sirius said. There was a calculating gleam in his eyes as he continued, “Let him think he’s in control of the situation. Let him be the hero, releasing the innocent man from Azkaban. Let him think I am indebted to him, and keen to take my place back in his Order. It will ensure he does not interfere with Harry being placed with me. And when his guard is lowered, that’s when I will make my move.”

Both men looked at Sirius, his grandfather’s expression a mixture of pride and curiosity, Lord Greengrass’ calculating and intrigued.

Sirius smirked slowly, grey eyes gleaming. “Crouch may have been the one to put me in Azkaban without a trial, but he did it on Dumbledore’s word, I know it. Dumbledore is the only person other than Peter who knew James and Lily were under the Fidelius Charm. He was the only one who knew I was supposed to be James and Lily’s Secret-Keeper. He’s the one who told Crouch I betrayed them, the one who sealed my fate.”

“That’s not the only thing he is guilty of,” Lord Greengrass murmured.

He looked Sirius dead in the eye and said, “He’s the reason Harry ended up with the Muggles. I’m building a case against him right now, for the improper transfer of Harry to his mother’s family – a background check was not even done before placing Harry. And Dumbledore was keeping some kind of eye on the house, yet seemed oblivious to how the Muggles were treating him. The day after I took Harry into my care he sent me a letter, which was destroyed as soon as I read it. He told me to put Harry back with the Muggles, despite knowing they were neglecting and abusing him.”

“I want to rip him apart,” Sirius snarled, “in the same way he ripped our family apart. I’ve had a lot of time to think while I’ve been here. I can do nothing but think. And something I’ve realised is that Dumbledore groomed us all into joining his Order. We were children, and he took advantage of us. We fought his war, James and Lily died for him, for his cause. An old man, sending young people to fight and die for him. When I needed him most, he turned his back on me. And then he sent my godson to those monsters, washing his hands of him until he could use him in the future. When help arrived for Harry, he tried to interfere, and send him back to that hell.”

Sirius shook with rage, grey eyes dark with hatred. “I will never forgive him for what he’s done.”

“Nor should you,” Arcturus declared. “We’ll tear him down from the pedestal our society has put him on.”

“Once I’ve finished building the CPA case against Dumbledore, and you are ready to come forward with your side of the story, we’ll launch an attack on him from all sides. He’ll still have his Order, and possibly might maintain his position as headmaster at Hogwarts, but we’ll destroy him politically with this,” Lord Greengrass theorised.

All three men winced suddenly as they sensed the approach of a Dementor, no doubt coming to bring their short visit to a close.

Arcturus quickly pulled a small object out of his cloak, something he had smuggled in. At the docks on the mainland, human guards scanned all visitors to Azkaban for any illegal contraband or objects that could be used to aid a convict in escaping.

He pressed the object through the bars, tapping it with his wand once it was on the other side. It enlarged into a box, which Sirius took gratefully. He strode quickly to the tattered pile of blankets in the corner of his cell, which acted as a bed, and hid the box and letter from Harry underneath.

He was just in time as their breaths all misted and a Dementor glided into view, hooded face seemingly watching them all, though it was hard to tell. Lord Greengrass dropped the privacy spell around them with a flick of his wand.

“Visit over,” the creature whispered, breath rattling.

“Just a little longer, Sirius,” Arcturus whispered to the man, reaching through the bars to grip his grandson’s hand tightly.

“I’ll be seeing you soon,” Lord Greengrass said with a polite nod of his head to Sirius.

Both men nodded to Rabastan Lestrange too, who had perked up when the privacy spell dropped. He dipped his head back to the two lords, cobalt blue eyes watching interestedly as the Dementor escorted them back down the corridor to the exit.

“Seems like it’s all happening,” Rabastan mused. “You’re getting out of here.”

Sirius said nothing; reaching under his blankets to pull out the box his grandfather had given him.

“Get ready to grab it,” he said, pushing a rolled up blanket through the bars. He skidded it across the floor to Rabastan with practiced ease, who deftly caught it, pulling it into his own cell.

“Cheers, Black,” Rabastan said, unrolling the blanket. Inside were enough nutrition bars to last for months, a hygiene kit, and thick socks enchanted to ward off the freezing cold.

The Ministry had curtly informed Rabastan’s mother, Lady Elizabeth Lestrange, that she could only visit Azkaban once a year. So every second year one of her son’s missed out on a visit from their mother, and was left to fend for himself for the year. It was an off year for Rabastan – so Sirius had asked his grandfather to pack extra for his neighbour.

Sirius unrolled his own blanket, carefully stowing his goods in amongst the old tattered blankets. It was important the Dementors did not notice any improved living situations – Sirius had heard from his grandfather that prisoners who were caught with outside comforts had their whole cells stripped.

Once all of the objects were sufficiently hidden, and the thickly padded and heated blanket was covered underneath the old and worn ones, Sirius finally sat on top of his nest of blankets and pulled out Harry’s letter.

Rabastan eyed it with interest, but took one look at Sirius’ closed off face, and quickly lay down on his own pile of blankets, facing the opposite wall to give the other man some privacy. Sirius felt a surge of gratitude.

With trembling fingers he opened the envelope, which Lord Greengrass must have charmed to disintegrate, so that there was no evidence for the Dementors to find later. The wrappings of the nutrition bars were charmed to do the same once consumed.

It seemed there was a single sheet of parchment inside.

Sirius swallowed heavily, hesitating to unfold the paper. Harry believed him to have betrayed his parents – thought he was writing a letter to a monster. Sirius wondered if he had a masochistic streak to do this to himself, as he slowly unfolded the letter.

It was blank.

Sirius blinked, confused, tilting the paper to the left and right, as though doing so would make some hidden message reveal itself.

He stopped suddenly, as the realisation of what Harry had done hit him.

Harry had nothing to say to the person he believed to have betrayed his parents. He had no words of anger, of sadness, of accusation.

He had sent an empty letter, because that’s all he thought of the person who had caused his parents deaths. Not worthy of his words.

Tears tracked down Sirius’ hollow cheeks as he slowly lowered the blank parchment. He leaned his head back so that it rested against the stone and he couldn’t resist the broken laugh that emerged from his lips.

This was James and Lily’s son.

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen: Three steps forward, two steps back

Harry was obviously distracted during his tutoring lesson with Ezra, doing his geography task absent-mindedly as he mislabelled his diagram. His green eyes seemed distant behind his glasses, his mind clearly miles away.

It had been just over a week since he had been removed from his Muggle relatives and brought to live with the Greengrass family, and in many ways he acted like he had always been a part of the wizarding world, with how he had taken to it like a duck to water.

But as Ezra observed him in his distraction, he was reminded that Harry had a lot on his plate for a child of eight, and there was nothing but change happening around him. The blonde man thought it would do Harry some good to be settled in his permanent home, and build stability around himself and the security of knowing he had found his place.

His twin sister had also warned him today that Harry might be a little distant, as Gareth was visiting Sirius Black in prison that afternoon during their lesson.

Checking the clock, Ezra saw it was about time to call the general lesson to an end. He finished marking Astoria’s quiz, giving his niece a warm smile as he gave her back her results. The brunette girl beamed as she gripped her test, seeing she had only gotten one thing wrong this time.

After explaining what the correct answer was, his little Aster hanging onto his every word, Ezra ruffled her hair, ignoring her exclamation of disdain at him messing up her hair. He dropped the silencing charms between each of the children’s desks with a wave of his wand and clapped his hands gently to get the attention of Daphne and Harry.

Daphne looked over right away, but Harry was so lost in his thoughts he failed to hear Ezra.

“Harry!” Daphne called, waving her hand to catch his eye.

He blinked in surprise, noticing her waving hand and her calling out. He blushed in embarrassment at having been caught not paying attention, looking at Ezra worriedly.

Ezra made sure to smile reassuringly at the boy, remembering his sister’s words to be gentle with Harry.

“Astoria you are free to go – Harry and Daphne you know the drill.”

Astoria skipped away after stacking her books neatly and packing up her stationary kit, while Harry and Daphne were doing the same at their own desks.

Ezra moved Astoria’s desk as usual in the centre of the room after she had slipped out; taking his position and watching the two children take their usual seats.

“As you know, next week it will be Samhain. I’ve spoke with Rosie, and I will be joining you all.” He turned to Daphne saying, “I know you have experienced the Samhain ritual before, but I want you to take on a more participatory role this time. Harry it will be a good opportunity for you to participate too, under my instruction.”

Daphne nodded seriously, but Harry looked a little bit worried. Ezra cocked his head, asking him, “Do you have any concerns, Harry?”

The boy looked down nervously, before looking back up at Ezra and confessing, “I’m worried I might mess it up somehow.”

Before Ezra could offer any reassurance, Daphne turned to Harry and told him earnestly, “I’ll be with you the whole time, Harry! We’ll do it together.”

She smiled at him, blue eyes warm. Harry couldn’t help smiling back, Daphne always managing to bring out his smile from the first day he had set foot in the Greengrass home.

Ezra looked fondly at both children before interjecting gently, “I will be supervising both of you on the night, as I said. I intend to walk you both through the whole plan for the night, today and over the rest of this week so you feel prepared. How does that sound?”

Both children nodded eagerly, and Ezra pulled out his pre-prepared schedules for the evening, which he had already had Rosie look over and confirm suited she and Gareth.

“Alright, our Samhain ritual will start at sunset on the thirty-first of October…”

As Daphne and Harry were packing up, minds no doubt full of information on how the night of Samhain would proceed, Ezra was surprised to find Harry quietly approaching him and asking, “Could I speak with you privately, Ezra?”

Daphne overheard, her ears always sharp. She glanced up, meeting her uncle’s eyes, and said loudly, “I’m going to go find Astoria!”

She winked at her uncle, full of childish charm, as she flounced out of the room.

“Go ahead, Harry,” Ezra said, remaining seated at the desk turned table.

Harry sat back down slowly on the other side of the desk where he had been originally seated for his lesson, collecting his thoughts.

“Is there a way to control accidental magic?” Harry blurted out. He winced, obviously embarrassed at having just blurted it out, and no doubt worried about Ezra’s response.

But the man did not laugh at him. He looked at Harry seriously and replied, “You mean – a way to learn how to perform wandless magic at your age?” He had honed down right to the core of Harry’s thinking.

“Yes,” Harry breathed out.

Ezra looked thoughtful, not answering for a few moments. Harry held his breath, waiting to hear the man’s response.

“Although I have never heard of someone your age being capable of performing wandless magic, it is theoretically possible. If adults with great magical power can perform wandless magic, then it is theoretical that children with great magical power could do the same,” Ezra said at last.

He was quick to add, “There are very few witches and wizards in history who have been capable of wandless magic. It’s very rare. One who was capable of such magic gave you that scar.”

Harry reflexively reached up to touch his forehead, eyes wide behind his glasses. “Voldemort could do wandless magic?”

“Or so the stories say, though they admittedly could be exaggerated by those loyal to him,” Ezra murmured.

“Is there a way to test if you can do wandless magic?” Harry asked.

“I would imagine the only way to test such a thing, is to keep attempting to perform magic without a wand. It will either happen, or it won’t,” Ezra replied honestly.

Harry sighed, disappointed that it seemed there was no way to learn how to do wandless magic, or a test he could take to see if he had an aptitude for it.

“You are obviously interested in wandless magic – might I ask why? Other than the clear answer that it would be extremely useful,” Ezra said with a grin.

“I don’t like the idea of being reliant on a wand,” Harry confessed. “If it’s possible for me to perform wandless magic, I want to learn. I’m worried that when my magical core stabilises as I get older, the window of opportunity to experiment with it might close.”

Ezra frowned slightly asking, “You think there might be a chance that if a child learns to control their accidental magic, that they will then develop into a teenager and then an adult who can perform wandless magic?”

“It could be possible,” Harry said, a little defensively.

But Ezra wasn’t discrediting the idea – if anything he looked intrigued. “It’s true that every magical child has bouts of accidental magic – which in the technical sense is wandless magic. There is so little known about wandless magic. The individuals known to have the ability have never shared anything about their process of discovering the gift. A connection between a child’s accidental magic, and the development of a talent for wandless magic has not been raised academically, as far as I am aware.”

“So it’s possible?” Harry asked eagerly.

“What we need is a study,” Ezra said, hazel eyes blazing with the light of academic interest. He looked at Harry and explained, “I’ve taken two years off teaching at Durmstrang to write an academic paper. I’ve been tossing up a few ideas, but with your permission Harry, I think I’d rather like to explore the theory you’ve proposed. I’ll credit you of course.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open in shock, at Ezra suggesting he do his official academic study on Harry’s throwaway theory that a child’s control over their accidental magic was tied to their ability to perform wandless magic as an adult.

“I- um of course you can do your study on it, if you really want to,” Harry stammered.

“If you’d like to participate in my study, I’ll have to wait until you’re placed with your eventual guardian, and see if they will consent to your involvement,” Ezra explained.

Harry’s face dropped slightly at the reminder of his eventual guardian, obviously remembering Gareth was at that moment meeting with the man who had betrayed his parents, his technical adoptive father.

Seeing this, Ezra added, “Even if you can’t participate, I will share my results and findings with you. Perhaps some of it may be useful to help you experiment safely, under adult supervision, with your accidental magic.”

Harry nodded, feeling a little bit better at that assurance.

Ezra narrowed his eyes and insisted, “You will be safe, yes Harry? I know what happened when you experimented with your Metamorphmagus ability.”

“I learned my lesson,” Harry rushed to say. “I am not going to attempt anything again until Gareth finds me a teacher.”

“About that…” Ezra murmured, a frown crossing his face. “My brother-in-law does have many connections, but I’m not sure how much luck he’s going to have finding you a teacher. The only other family in Europe with the ability are reportedly in Russia, and I don’t think Gareth has any way of reaching out to that family without possibly going through the International Confederation of Wizards when they next meet.”

Harry’s shoulder slumped; frustrated that he might not be able to learn how to control this ability anytime soon either.

“I do happen to know though, that there is a Metamorphmagus living here in England. She’s related to the Black family, like you,” Ezra told him.

“Why didn’t Gareth tell me – does he not know about her?” Harry asked confusedly.

“He does know about her, but he did not say anything because of her age – she’s only fifteen. I only raise her as a possibility now to you, because I think the timeline for learning how to control your ability might be over years, with the lack of teachers available. She could very well be a viable option in a couple of years, once she finishes school.”

“What is her name?” Harry asked, trying to recall his family tree from memory.

“Nymphadora Tonks – she’s the only child of Andromeda Tonks née Black. A distant cousin of yours.”

Harry could vaguely recall her on his family tree – he believed Andromeda was one of the granddaughters of Pollux Black, his grandmother Dorea’s older brother.

“I suppose there is no rush to learn how to control the Metamorphmagus ability – although if I am waiting for this Nymphadora Tonks to graduate because someone underage shouldn’t be teaching me – who taught her?”

Ezra replied, “An excellent question, Harry. I would guess she taught herself, through trial and error. Though, best practice demands we wait for her to be of age, before possibly approaching her to teach you.”

Harry nodded grudgingly, a little frustrated still that he would have to wait; when it was obvious Nymphadora must have taught herself. Though, Harry had been pretty spooked by being stuck transformed for the brief time he had been. He wondered how many times that had happened to Nymphadora, and how frightening it would have been to be alone with the ability over the years trying to teach yourself.

“I can wait,” Harry decided, “If only for a couple of years.”

When Gareth had arrived home from Azkaban Harry had rushed to meet him in the parlour room and ask what had happened, and if he had delivered his letter.

Gareth had confirmed that he had met with Sirius Black, they had spoken, and he had given Harry’s letter to the man, though he did not see him open it.

When Harry had pressed for more details, Gareth had been hesitant. Rosie, who had followed Harry into the parlour room and was listening in leaning against the doorframe, had asked Gareth cryptically if he anticipated another Wizengamot meeting soon.

The man had nodded, eyes on his wife as he had confirmed, “Within days I expect.”

Annoyed at the adults leaving him out of the loop, Harry had lost his cool, already frayed from his frustration at realising he would probably have to wait a couple of years to get a teacher for his Metamorphmagus ability. Not to mention his anxiety at probably being placed with a stranger, Arcturus Black, in the coming month.

“Tell me what is happening!” he had yelled. The instant the words had left his mouth he had regretted it.

Rosie had reached forward to run a soothing hand over his back, and Harry had flinched away, expecting to be smacked. The woman had gone as white as a sheet.

There had been an awful silence, and Harry had felt his heart start to race as he realised he had just upset Rosie terribly, and that the couple were probably very disappointed in him for raising his voice at them.

Harry had turned and fled, following his instincts to get out of the room as quickly as possible. Without even realising where he was going, his feet had taken him outside into the fading light of dusk, and running to the secret garden.

Only once he was buried under pillows and blankets in the tree house of the secret garden, did he allow himself to break down, tears streaming down his face. He wasn’t sure how long he was hiding there for, before a voice tentatively called out from below, “Harry? Are you up there?”

Daphne.

Harry sniffled, wiping his eyes and putting his glasses back on, to try and hide the fact that he had been crying. He considered not replying, wondering if the girl would wander off to keep looking for him.

But Daphne had always been so kind to him – he didn’t want to be mean and ignore her.

“I’m up here,” he croaked out.

He heard the sound of her climbing the ladder, and finally her blonde head peeked over the edge of the tree house. Her blue eyes were wide.

“Can I come in?” she whispered.

“It’s your tree house, Daphne, of course you can,” Harry sniffed, wiping his face again.

But the girl remained stubbornly where she was, only her head visible.

“It’s our tree house. And you’re sad. I don’t want to come in if you want to be alone,” she told him.

Harry thought about it for a moment, before saying softly, “You can come in.”

The blonde girl scrambled up the rest of the way, approaching Harry like one would a skittish animal about to bolt. She sat hesitantly down opposite Harry, grabbing a spare pillow to hug to her chest. Her blue eyes were still wide.

“Did you have a fight with my mum and dad?” she asked.

“Sort of,” Harry said awkwardly. “I think I really upset your mum.”

Daphne tucked her hair behind her ear and told Harry, “I fight with my parents sometimes. So does Astoria. Sometimes I yell, and say mean things I don’t mean, when I’m angry. Mum and dad always forgive me.”

“I yelled at them both,” Harry confessed to Daphne.

She nodded sagely, replying, “It happens. I mean, I know we shouldn’t yell at anyone. But it does happen, and you just apologise and move on. They’ll forgive you.”

“I feel so embarrassed,” Harry whispered. “Your parents have been so nice to me. And I’ve just yelled at them. Your mum actually tried to comfort me, I think, but for a moment I thought she was going to hit me and I flinched. She looked so upset.”

Daphne looked at Harry, with all the seriousness of her eight years and asked, “Why did you think she was going to hit you? Mum and dad have never hit Astoria and me, even when we’re being really naughty. They said if an adult ever hit us, we had to tell them right away, because it’s wrong.”

Harry stared at Daphne with wide eyes, biting his lip. Daphne stared back, blue eyes kind.

“My aunt and uncle used to hit me, when I lived with them,” Harry whispered, scraping the words out from the bottom of his soul.

Daphne gasped slightly, but didn’t say anything, waiting for Harry to say anything else.

“My cousin too – he would chase me around and beat me up. Because of that, sometimes when people move towards me suddenly, I think they’re going to hurt me,” Harry explained.

He looked at the girl nervously, waiting for her reaction. He had explored this with Specialist Healer Grace at his counselling session, but it was the first time he had voiced it out loud.

Daphne whispered, “Harry, can I please give you a hug?”

Harry nodded, and moving extremely slowly, Daphne approached him. She shuffled in closer, watching him closely for any sign he was uncomfortable. Harry opened his arms.

Daphne gently nestled in, wrapping her own arms around him. They stayed like that for a while, until Harry heard a shaky exhale, and a little sniffle.

Surprised, he pulled back, looking down at Daphne, who was crying.

“Why are you crying, did I say something wrong?” Harry asked nervously.

“I’m crying because I’m sad my friend was hurt,” Daphne told him, wiping her cheek with one hand, the other still hooked around Harry’s back.

Touched, Harry hugged Daphne in close again, letting the girl cry into his shoulder, getting his shirt damp.

“I’m far away from them now, thanks to your dad. And I’m getting help, for what happened to me,” Harry assured Daphne.

“Thank you for telling me,” Daphne whispered.

They stayed like that until Daphne had finished crying, both of them wiping wet cheeks and settling themselves.

“I really need to say sorry to your mum and dad,” Harry said mournfully.

“I’ll come with you,” Daphne told him.

The Greengrass couple had been seated at the kitchen table, cups of chamomile tea in front of them. A rather subdued Astoria, sensing the low mood, was colouring in a picture book half-heartedly at the table.

The couple had known where Harry was the whole time, thanks to Pimsey, but had chosen to give him some space. They were also aware of Daphne going after him. As a precaution though they had notified Specialist Healer Grace, who was on standby to come straight to the home if needed. Regardless if he was needed tonight, he would be attending in the morning to talk with Harry about what had happened.

Now the two children walked indoors, Daphne holding Harry’s hand and puffed up like a lioness protecting her cub. Her blues eyes challenged her parents as she guided Harry forward to talk.

“I am really sorry for yelling earlier,” Harry said in a tiny voice, eyes on the floor.

“Your apology is accepted,” Gareth said quickly. He added, “We owe you an apology too, though Harry.”

Harry looked up in surprise. Rosie’s eyes were desperately sad as she said, “We talked over you like you weren’t in the room.”

Gareth continued, “You were clearly stressed, and we failed to realise that. We’re both so sorry, for making you feel like we were ignoring you.”

Harry was speechless, having never had an adult, let alone two, apologise to him.

“I apologise too for approaching you so suddenly,” Rosie said, voice barely above a whisper.

Daphne’s grip tightened on Harry’s hand comfortingly, understanding now why that would have made Harry flinch.

“I forgive you both,” Harry said, meaning it sincerely. The couple both offered him tentative smiles, but Harry could still see the tension in Rosie’s shoulders.

Pulling away gently from Daphne, Harry walked over to Rosie, who watched his approach to where she was sitting at the table with careful eyes.

“Can I have a hug?” Harry asked her.

“Of course,” Rosie whispered, opening her arms and letting Harry nestle in, and in the same way Harry had just held Daphne in the tree house.

Later that night as Gareth tucked his eldest daughter in bed, she told him haltingly what Harry had told her in the tree house. She said she was telling her dad because even though he had removed Harry, she had been taught it was important to tell an adult if a child was being hurt. She wanted to make sure he knew the full story.

Gareth had been filled with both a fierce pride for his caring and responsible daughter, but also a deep sadness that she had been inadvertently exposed to the knowledge Harry had been abused.

He did not blame Harry for one second to have told Daphne.

The only ones responsible here, were the monsters that had abused him in the first place.

But Gareth had made sure Daphne knew she could talk to him or her mother if she was feeling sad or overwhelmed about the information. He also said she could talk to a Specialist Healer, if she would rather talk to someone other than her parents about her thoughts and feelings.

Daphne had shaken her head, assuring her dad that she was fine. Gareth had impressed on her if she changed her mind she could talk whenever she wanted, or if he noticed she was upset, he might ask for her to see a Specialist Healer.

She had promised she would tell Gareth if she needed to talk about it, and would see a Specialist Healer if her parents asked her to.

After kissing her goodnight, Gareth had walked with heavy footsteps to his bedroom, entering and seeing Rosie by the bed, already dressed in her sleeping clothes.

He walked forward, pressing a soft kiss to his wife’s forehead.

Deciding to tell her about Daphne in the morning, rather than make her worry and disturb her sleep, Gareth simply said, “Three steps forward, two steps back, is still forward progress.”

“I know,” Rosie murmured. Then with feeling she said, “That boy deserves the world, Gareth, after what he’s been through. He needs a guardian who is going to fight in his corner, no matter what.”

Thinking back to the fierce grey eyes of Sirius Black, who had so vehemently declared that Harry was his first priority, Gareth told his wife, “I’ll find that for him.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Seventeen: Never mistake the law for justice

Later that week the call finally came – the Chief Warlock sent out missives for another emergency meeting of the Wizengamot on a Friday morning. Yet again it would be a closed court.

Many were confused why it had taken Dumbledore so long to call an emergency meeting, mistakenly believing the purpose of this gathering to be to discuss the results of Harry Potter’s Heritage Test, received exactly a week ago.

Only a handful of people knew the true reason for the meeting.

This time Gareth settled himself beside Regina Rowle in Courtroom Ten, the woman taking the time to turn her head to face Gareth and assess him silently as he lowered himself into the seat next to her.

She sighed almost inaudibly and murmured to him quietly, “Yet again, you seem to know what the meeting is about ahead of time.”

Gareth gave her a small smile, and whispered back, “I think you’ll find it…illuminating.”

Eyebrow cocked, Madam Rowle turned back to face the centre of the courtroom, where Dumbledore was now climbing the stairs to his elevated seat. The chatter around the room quietened quickly as he reached his spot, gazing out across at all of their faces.

“Esteemed colleagues, forgive me for calling a second emergency meeting within a short span of time, but I have come across vital information that must be brought to all of your attention,” Dumbledore called out. He paused for dramatic effect, letting the weight of his words linger. “This past Sunday I visited Azkaban, to speak with Sirius Black.”

A hushed murmur spread through the crowd, everyone intrigued what exactly Dumbledore had spoken with the infamous convict about. They all knew now that Sirius Black had adopted Harry Potter, but there were many other things Dumbledore could have interrogated him for – the betrayal of Harry’s parents included.

Gareth looked over at Crouch, watching the man go pale.

Madam Rowle followed his line of sight, rich brown eyes narrowing as she saw Crouch’s reaction.

“I am afraid to inform you all that a grave injustice has been dealt by this Ministry, to Mr Black,” Dumbledore proclaimed.

There were a few cries of protest around the room, Fudge’s face grew thunderous at the insinuation that his Ministry was in any way at fault, at Crouch was starting to look distinctly sweaty.

As though sensing his fear, Dumbledore turned deliberately to face Crouch where he sat, piercing him with his gaze as he said, “Sirius Black claims to have never received a trial. He was sentenced by Bartemius Crouch Senior, then head of the DMLE, to life in Azkaban with no legal representation, no Veritaserum test, and no formal questioning of what really happened on the night of October thirty-first, 1981, and the following day on the first of November.“

There was an immediate uproar, people demanding to see the evidence of such a claim, others calling for an immediate inquiry into the issue. Others called for Crouch to speak up and explain himself, to confirm if it was true.

“Calm yourselves,” Dumbledore called over the noise, entwining his words with a powerful Sonorous charm. “I have evidence of my conversation with Sirius Black, which I will be making available shortly for you all to view. But for now, let us hear from Mr Crouch on what he has to say about this.”

All eyes turned to a very pale, shaky Crouch, who slowly rose to his feet like a man rising to face the gallows.

Madam Rowle breathed in sharply, hissing to Gareth, “Morgana, its true, isn’t it?”

Gareth said nothing, but Madam Rowle took his silence as confirmation, face tightening with fury.

“The case of Sirius Black remains, to this day, protected under the confidentiality laws enacted during the war,” Crouch called out, his voice surprisingly stable.

Madam Bones rose to her feet, requesting permission to speak. Once Dumbledore granted her permission, she stared down her predecessor and asked him coldly, “Did you, or did you not, give Sirius Black a trial?”

Crouch glared back at her, snapping, “Am I the one on trial here? All I can say on the matter is that I was acting within my authority, granted to me under the emergency laws and procedures during the war.”

Madam Bones straightened her shoulders, in her element as she responded coolly, “I know those laws inside and out. You are permitted to temporarily hold someone in Azkaban before a date for trial is set. But only if satisfied there is enough evidence to hold them temporarily. There is certainly no law to hold someone in Azkaban indefinitely without a trial. Was Sirius Black sent to Azkaban without a trial?”

Crouch fell back on his same argument stubbornly repeating, “The matter is protected under confidentiality laws!”

“I think perhaps now is a good time for the Wizengamot to view the memory I have prepared,” Dumbledore cut in.

He raised his hands and individual Pensieves came levitating across the courtroom from the antechamber in an impressive display of nonverbal, wandless magic. A Pensieve settled in front of each member of the Wizengamot, and as Gareth took his own stone basin, the object settling in his hands, he saw a single vial stoppered at the bottom of his basin.

Madam Rowle had an identical vial in hers, the glass revealing the tell-tale silvery presence of a memory inside.

“I have prepared a copy of the memory for each of you, and invite you all to join me in experiencing my conversation with Sirius Black,” Dumbledore declared.

Gareth lifted the vial and unstopped it, letting the wispy tendrils of the memory drip down into the stone basin, Madam Rowle and the other members of the Wizengamot doing the same, some more reluctantly than others.

Dumbledore participated too, no doubt to review the memory so it was fresh for their discussion afterwards.

Crouch and Fudge among others were hesitating slightly, but Gareth dipped his face into the pool of memory, as did most of the room, about the same time.

Gareth found his mind tugged through by the Pensieve’s magic, everything going black for a moment before the world of the memory came to life. Although there was not much to come to life – the greys and blacks of Azkaban came into focus first.

Gareth found himself in a very familiar corridor, staring into Sirius Black’s cell. Some Pensieve memories could be viewed from a third party perspective, but to save time Albus had shared the memory from his own perspective. Or perhaps to hide his own expressions and physical reactions to the conversation.

Gareth could see Sirius Black straight ahead, who was seated on the floor of the cell, his head resting against the stone beside him.

The first thing Gareth noticed was that by sitting down, Sirius made himself look smaller, less threatening. He seemed lost and despondent, none of the fire in his grey eyes that Gareth had witnessed.

He couldn’t help the smirk grow across his face – Sirius had put on a bit of a show for the sake of Dumbledore and the Wizengamot.

Then Sirius started to speak.

“As you know, James and Lily asked me to be their Secret-Keeper. However, it was my idea to use Peter Pettigrew instead, because I believed it would misdirect people, most who would fairly assume I was the Secret-Keeper, being James’ best friend.”

Sirius stared straight ahead at the wall on the other side of his cell, grey eyes distant and he continued, “When the alarm went off in my house I thought it must be a mistake. But when I arrived at Godric’s Hollow that night I saw the house had been partially collapsed. Peter had betrayed James and Lily to Voldemort. I ran inside. I found…on the stairs landing to the second floor he was…James was-” Sirius choked, pausing to breathe deeply in and out for a moment, his face raw with grief.

This part was certainly not an act. Sirius was baring a piece of his soul to all of the viewers of the Wizengamot, showing them his genuine anguish.

“And sweet Lily, she was lying by Harry’s cot. She had thrown herself between Harry and Voldemort. Harry was screaming, his forehead was bleeding, so I picked him up and comforted him. Got his head cleaned up. All I knew was I had to get him out of that house –it was structurally unsound. And his parents were- I needed to get him out.”

Sirius drew in a shuddering breath, still staring at the wall opposite and not at where Dumbledore must have been standing.

“By the time I stumbled outside, Rubeus Hagrid had arrived. He told me to give Harry to him, that he had orders to take Harry to Lily’s sister, Petunia. We argued, and I lost my temper. My friends were dead, Harry was crying, and at the back of my mind I knew Peter, that traitorous scum, was probably making his escape while I was held up arguing. So I gave Harry to Hagrid, and gave him my enchanted motorbike too, told him I wouldn’t need it. I was going after Peter.”

Sirius’ hands clenched into fists and he snarled, “I tracked him down throughout the night. I was going to make him pay for what he had done, to his friends. Cornered him in a Muggle town just after dawn. Peter starts yelling like a maniac that I’m the one who betrayed James and Lily, and before I could do anything he cut off his own little finger, and then cast a blasting curse between us. I managed to shield myself just in time, but I couldn’t do anything for the Muggles who had gathered around us.”

“By the time I had regained my senses the street had been torn apart, twelve innocent people were dead, and Peter had used the chaos to transform into his Animagus form of a rat, and disappear into the sewers, which had been exposed from the blast. He is an illegal Animagus,” Sirius said, glancing straight at Gareth, even though this was a memory – he must have been looking at Dumbledore.

“I’ll admit I lost it after that. My best friend and his wife were dead, my other friend had betrayed them, killed more innocent people, and now he’d just gotten away. The Aurors turned up and arrested me, but I couldn’t stop laughing until eventually I was crying. They took me straight to the Ministry. I was brought before Crouch, who sentenced me to life in Azkaban. He didn’t give me a trial. I was dragged away, and thrown in this cell,” Sirius said tonelessly, gesturing at the space around him.

“Are you willing to testify under Veritaserum? Came the calm, disembodied voice of Dumbledore.

“I am,” Sirius replied. “I’m innocent. All I want is to get out of here, and look after Harry. I magically adopted him, because James and Lily wanted me to be there for Harry if anything happened to them…”

His voice faded into a whisper and the memory faded around Gareth too, and he found himself pulling back from the Pensieve, aware of his body and the surroundings of Courtroom Ten again.

Madam Rowle was emerging from the memory beside him, and she whispered, “Sweet Morgana.”

Looks of horror were cast across the faces of the Wizengamot as they each emerged from their own Pensieves, and a few people even had damp eyes, overwhelmed by what they had heard from Sirius Black of his recounting of the night at Godric’s Hollow and the following day.

The courtroom seemed suspended in some sort of shocked silence.

As the last individuals finished watching the memory, Dumbledore raised his hands and declared, “I call for a formal vote, to have Sirius Black’s case reopened, and his file made available overriding the confidentiality laws.”

There was barely any hesitation as the room was filled with raised hands, with the notable exception of Crouch, whose cold eyes were dark with anger. Fudge hesitated too for a moment, obviously preferring to have the whole thing buried rather than a scandal come out. But he must have weighed in his mind that it was better to be seen as a Minister who brought justice to a potentially innocent man, and he raised his hand.

The toad-like woman, Umbridge, raised her hand after him.

Madam Bones rose to her feet and after getting permission to speak she added, “I suggest we set a hearing date for Monday morning. And that we notify the press and allow them to attend the hearing.”

That caused a bit of a stir, and Madam Bones elaborated, “The public needs to see justice being done by this Ministry. It will reduce the risk of misreporting too, and ensure accurate detailing of what will happen at the hearing.”

There were a fair few heads nodding, and Dumbledore called out, “Let us vote – all in favour?”

He raised his hand, as did the majority of the room, Gareth included. He saw the benefit of the press being involved at this stage.

“Very well, Sirius Black will be brought before the Wizengamot at 9 o’clock sharp Monday morning on the thirty-first of October,” Dumbledore declared.

Gareth realised in shock that it would be exactly seven years to the day since James and Lily Potter had died – the hearing fell on Samhain.

Dumbledore further stated, “A formal notification will be dispersed to all media companies this afternoon. I understand the DMLE will handle informing Mr Black of his impending hearing and facilitate his access to a lawyer and his transportation from Azkaban to a Ministry holding cell?”

Madam Bones nodded, as did Rufus Scrimgeour beside her, both no doubt getting ready for a busy afternoon and weekend of making preparations for the Monday morning hearing.

“I remind you all that you are bound by your vows of what was discussed today, but the media will no doubt be running articles about the impending hearing, so the public will be aware that something has changed with Sirius Black’s situation. Is there anything else to discuss?”

Marshall Fawley rose to his feet, asking for permission to add something to the meeting. He stated, “I was rather hoping to have an update on the custody situation of Harry Potter. Given the possibility Sirius Black could be innocent, that will mean he will be guaranteed to take custody of Mr Potter. But in the event he is not innocent, I wanted to inquire if Harry will be placed with Lord Black at this stage?”

The man was looking pointedly at Gareth. Dumbledore turned to Gareth too, saying, “If you would not mind providing an update, Lord Greengrass?”

“I am still in the process of screening Lord Black as a suitable guardian. Depending on the outcome of Monday, I may be screening Sirius Black instead. I am not yet in a position to confirm where Mr Potter will be placed until I have more information and all viable guardians have been assessed,” Gareth said firmly.

Marshall Fawley seemed dissatisfied with that answer, face tightening. Like a dog to a bone he pressed, “I am sure many here were surprised and delighted, myself included, to see so many relatives of Mr Potter. Even my own brother-in-law, Amos Diggory, appeared on Mr Potter’s Heritage Test. Will any consideration be given to other members of Mr Potter’s extended family?”

Seeing straight through the man, Gareth offered him a perfectly pleasant smile as he replied, “If Sirius Black is innocent, then he is Harry Potter’s rightful guardian, as his adoptive father, by magic, blood, and law. There will be no Wizengamot meeting called – Mr Potter will be put with Mr Black. However, if Mr Black, and his grandfather Lord Black, are assessed as being unsuitable guardians for Harry Potter, then my department will consider other candidates for guardianship. But this is all speculation at this point, of course.”

Marshall Fawley returned the smile, but it was too tight to come off as genuine. He sat back down slowly, defeated.

Dumbledore asked lightly, “Any other matters to bring forward? No? I call this emergency meeting to a formal end.”

There was a rush of movement as people turned to face their neighbours, everyone keen to discuss what they had just witnessed through the Pensieve memory, and their own thoughts and opinions on whether they believed Sirius Black was innocent or not.

Madam Rowle was silent beside Gareth, her mind clearly miles away.

“Knut for your thoughts?” Gareth asked her, curious what her opinion was.

She looked at Gareth, face perfectly blank as she said, “If Sirius Black did not get a trial, what do you think the chances are that my cousins didn’t either?”

Gareth eyed her gravely as he replied, “I highly doubt if an ally of Dumbledore’s did not get a trial, that the Lestranges did.”

Madam Rowle’s fists clenched in her lap, and she confessed quietly, “I don’t visit my cousins, you know. We never saw eye to eye on most social and political matters. And what they did to the Longbottoms was horrific. But I can’t help but wonder…if they didn’t get trials…whether we know the full story.”

A haunted look was in Madam Rowle’s eyes.

“The truth will come out. Sirius Black is the rolling stone that will start a landslide,” Gareth replied cryptically.

Madam Rowle looked at him sharply, remembering he had seemed to know what the meeting was about before coming in.

Gareth rose to his feet, adjusting his plum coloured Wizengamot robes around him as he told her lightly, “I will see you Monday morning at the hearing, Madam Rowle.”

She dipped her head politely to him, tracking Gareth’s movement across the room as he swept out of Courtroom Ten.

Gareth Greengrass had far too many secrets, and Regina Rowle was determined to discover them.

A special afternoon edition of the Daily Prophet was sent out, the headline in bold proclaiming that a special hearing had been unexpectedly called for Sirius Black, to occur on Monday morning of the thirty-first of October, at 9 o’clock sharp.

The press were going wild with speculation, the theories ranging from new evidence coming to light of further crimes, that Black was going to give evidence against other Death Eaters, or a minority even suggesting he could even be innocent.

Remus Lupin gripped the edition of the Prophet, his hands shaking as he read and re-read the article, amber eyes wildly flying across the paper. He lowered the article down to the table he had been about to set up for the afternoon patrons, having paused to read the copy of the Daily Prophet the owl had unexpectedly dropped into his flat as he was leaving for work.

He had intended to only glance at it, aware he was in a Muggle pub, but after seeing the face of one of his best friends splashed across the front page of the paper he had been unable to resist scouring it.

“Remus, mate, can you give me a hand back here!” the voice of his Muggle co-worker called out.

Remus worked at a pub in Edinburgh, finding that the Muggles didn’t seem to notice his sick leave always lined up with the full moon. Wizarding employers usually started to get suspicious after enough time passed.

“Be right there!” he called back, hoping his voice didn’t sound as shaky as he felt.

He carefully folded and tucked the special edition into the inside of his jacket, fumbling once or twice due to the trembling in his fingers.

It would be seven years since Remus’ world had fallen apart.

He had abandoned everything, cutting almost everyone out to run away to Scotland and immerse himself into the Muggle world, to deal with his grief alone.

But it seemed the past was still finding ways to creep back into Remus’ life, try as hard as he might to run away from it.

Black Castle was seeing more guests than it had experienced in years, as Arcturus called a family meeting on Sunday afternoon before the hearing.

He sat at the head of the grand dining table in the Upper Ward of the castle, as was his right as the head of the family. To his right was his cousin, Pollux, whose face was pinched tight with displeasure at the presence of the two people on the opposite side of the table.

Beside Pollux was the man’s surviving son, Cygnus, whose hair was more grey than black nowadays, showing his age. He was less reserved than his father, anger evident in his dark eyes and in the tense line of his shoulders.

On the other side of Cygnus was his youngest daughter, Lady Narcissa Malfoy née Black. The pale, blonde haired woman was immaculately put together as usual, icy blue eyes intent on Arcturus as she waited to hear what he had to say.

Directly to Arcturus’ left was his other surviving cousin, Cassiopeia Black. Her long silver hair was done up in an elegant bun, dark eyes resting challengingly on her older brother, Pollux, as though daring him to put a toe out of line.

Seated beside Cassiopeia was the main cause of the tension in the room.

Andromeda Tonks née Black had her chin raised proudly, her dark brown eyes, characteristic of the Black family, flashing defiantly at her father and grandfather. She didn’t so much as spare her younger sister down the table a glance.

“Thank you all for setting aside your differences to answer my summons this afternoon,” Arcturus said, his low voice authoritative. “You will have seen in the papers that Sirius is receiving a hearing on Monday morning. I am telling you all now, that it will come out in that hearing that he is innocent of all crimes he is accused of. He will be released hopefully by the end of the day.”

In true Black fashion there were no gasps of surprise or other dramatics. Five sets of eyes drilled into Arcturus, silently asking for more information, reserving judgment.

“Sirius was framed for the betrayal of the Potters and the murders he is charged with, by Peter Pettigrew, the true culprit. My grandson never received a trial – he was sent straight to Azkaban for life by Crouch, on Dumbledore’s word that he was the Potter’s Secret-Keeper. Tomorrow the truth will come out that he is innocent.”

“That is a gross miscarriage of justice, to have given him no trial,” Cassiopeia snapped. “I hope Crouch and Dumbledore for that matter will be taken to task. We cannot let such an insult to this family stand unchallenged.”

“Since when do you care about insults to this family?” Pollux asked his younger sister silkily. “You ran away to Greece when you finished school and turned your back on the family at the first opportunity. You’ve been back in England since the start of the year and have not attended a single meeting of Morgana’s Court.”

“Do not think for one second I turned my back on this family. Just because I wasn’t talking to you does not mean I did not stay in touch with others,” Cassiopeia snarled back.

Arcturus was rather reminded suddenly of them all when they were children, Pollux and Cassiopeia always sniping at each other and getting into fights. Age had not changed them.

“Explain then your absence from Morgana’s Court! Do you even call yourself a dark witch any-” Pollux exclaimed, only to be cut off by Arcturus snapping, “Enough, both of you!”

Looking around the table at the five remaining adult members of their family who were not in Azkaban, Arcturus could only feel a bone deep weariness and sadness that this was what the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had become.

“This family is broken enough without turning against each other,” Arcturus said quietly.

“It is broken because of those who turn their backs on our legacy,” Cygnus spoke up, dark eyes intent on his second daughter, whom he had tried to have disowned unsuccessfully, due to Arcturus’ refusal.

Andromeda glared back at her father, unwilling to take the bait.

“No,” Arcturus stated. “It is broken because we chose that legacy over our own blood. I have come to realise that what matters most is family not tradition.”

Cygnus laughed disbelievingly, asking Arcturus, “Do you plan to have us all befriend blood traitors, Mudbloods and perhaps follow my wayward daughter’s example, and breed with them?”

Andromeda drew her wand sharply, eyes furious on her father.

Surprisingly, it was Narcissa who spoke up, saying softly but firmly, “Arcturus has not finished speaking, father.” It was a subtle admonishment of her father, and a reminder that it was Arcturus who was lord here.

Andromeda refused to move from her aggressive position, wand still drawn. “I will not sit here and be insulted.”

“Nor should you,” Cassiopeia agreed, her eyes spitting venom to her nephew.

“I called this meeting for three reasons,” Arcturus called out, grabbing the table’s attention once more. “The first was to inform you about Sirius’ innocence, which I have done so. The second is to tell you that Sirius remains my heir, and will be the future lord of this house.”

“You claim to value family most, yet your heir is the one who ran away from this family and betrayed his own blood!” Cygnus pointed out angrily. He was clearly frustrated at missing out on the possibility of himself getting the lordship.

“You know nothing of Sirius,” Arcturus said in a deadly voice.

Silence fell over the table, and even Andromeda lowered her wand slightly.

Cassiopeia, knowing more than most, said for the benefit of the others, “Sirius lived with Dorea after he left Orion and Walburga’s home. He kept in contact with Arcturus and myself. He might not have openly practiced his dark magic, but make no mistake, Sirius was and remains to this day, a dark wizard.”

“He fought for Dumbledore in the war,” Narcissa interjected carefully.

“A decision he now regrets,” Arcturus insisted. “Once he is released, he will put family first.”

“So can we expect him to marry a suitable dark witch or wizard, and produce heirs for the future of the house?” Pollux asked dubiously.

“Sirius already has an heir,” Arcturus replied calmly.

Five pairs of shocked eyes fixed onto him.

Andromeda asked uncertainly, “Sirius…he has a child?”

“He does,” Arcturus confirmed. “I will not be saying anything more on the matter, as the child is still in the process of being placed in our care where he belongs. But rest assured, I approve of him.”

“He is a dark wizard then,” Narcissa guessed.

“He is, and a powerful one at that. A Metamorphmagus too,” Arcturus affirmed.

Seeing the mixture of awe, frustration and questions in his relatives’ eyes, Arcturus assured them, “When he is reunited with Sirius, we will arrange a time for you all to meet him.”

“What is the third reason you summoned us here?” Andromeda asked after a pause, obviously keen to escape from the presence of her father. “Unless it was the news that Sirius has a son?”

“The third reason was to give you all a fair warning that I will no longer be hiding the truth behind the Black family’s dark inheritances – the other dark families at least will know we practice magical adoption, and the reason why.”

“Unacceptable,” Pollux snapped. “You cannot go exposing our traditions to-”

“I already have,” Arcturus replied, causing Pollux’s mouth to snap shut. “Times are changing. I am preparing this family to be ready for the future.”

Pollux and Cygnus continued to glare at him, but there were thoughtful expressions on Cassiopeia, Andromeda and Narcissa’s faces.

Arcturus spared a thought to his beloved daughter, Lucretia, and hoped she would be proud of him.

Trying to get through to Pollux and Cygnus, Arcturus added softly, “With what time we have left, I want this family to reclaim our rightful place in society.”

Complicated expressions crossed both men’s faces, both very aware of how little time they had left, for different reasons.

Such was the cruel reality of so many members of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eighteen: Justice is truth in action

The morning of Samhain dawned, a surprisingly sunny day for mid-autumn. Harry sat in the window nook of his bedroom, watching the sun curl over the garden, making the water of the distant fountain glisten and catch the light.

He had not slept well that previous night, tossing and turning and eventually giving up on sleep to sit in the window nook and watch the sun rise.

Gareth had already shared with Harry how his meeting with Lord Black had gone – explaining that the man had claimed Harry’s father James had indeed been a dark wizard as they had suspected, and that he and Sirius had been honouring the Black family tradition by having Harry magically adopted.

However, last Friday too, Gareth had sat him down to explain that Sirius Black would be attending the Ministry on Monday for a special hearing. He had told Harry then that when he visited the man in Azkaban that he had claimed to have not been the one to betray Harry’s parents, nor commit any of the other crimes he was charged with.

Gareth had not wanted to tell Harry at the time, because he did not want to give him false hope, but now that a hearing date was set down and there was enough evidence to call into question Sirius Black’s guilt, he wanted Harry to know before the rest of the public found out.

Sure enough, all the media had been reporting about since they had been notified, had been Sirius Black and his upcoming hearing. Gareth had allowed Harry to read the various editions of the Daily Prophet, though most of their speculation was far off the mark.

Harry felt a little numb to it all, his Specialist Healer picking up on his low mood at their appointment on Saturday afternoon. The man had been careful to unravel the root cause of Harry’s disquiet, and seeing as their sessions were confidential, Harry had told him that there was a chance Sirius Black was innocent. And if he were, that would mean Sirius would be Harry’s guardian, sooner rather than later.

Specialist Healer Grace had asked Harry if that upset him, and Harry had answered honestly that he didn’t know how it made him feel.

He had admitted to the specialist that he was comfortable at the Greengrass home, and that Sirius Black and his adoptive great-grandfather, Lord Black, were both strangers to him. The thought of being uprooted and sent to live with unknown people, after the growing familiarity of the Greengrass family, was what was really bothering Harry.

Specialist Healer Grace had assured Harry what he was feeling was normal, and that there would be a period of adjustment between homes. He would not be forced out of the Greengrass house between one day and the next.

Not only was it the hearing that morning, but at sunset that day Harry would be participating in his first ever traditional wizarding ceremony. He was worried he would be so distracted by the outcome of the hearing that he would mess up the ritual.

Finally, Harry was painfully aware of the fact this was the day his mum and dad had been killed, seven years ago. He had never known the date they had died before arriving in the wizarding world, but now that he knew, he knew the day would never be the same for him.

Today felt like Harry was standing at a crossroads. He didn’t know which path he would go down yet, and he didn’t know what he would find at the end of the journey.

He took a deep breath in, and then out.

Time would tell what the day would bring.

There was a palpable buzz of anticipation in Courtroom Ten as the time approached 9 o’clock sharp. The members of the Wizengamot were ready and seated in their tiered section of the room, looking down at the dais placed in the centre of the floor below. A single, innocuous seeming chair was placed in the middle of the dais, with silver chains wrapped around the legs and arms, ready to come to life to secure the incoming prisoner.

To the right of the room was the press gallery, three rows of seats that were currently packed with reporters and their photographers, quills flying as they documented the proceedings.

To the left of the room was a small box with seating inside, where Lord Arcturus Black was sitting, his cousin Cassiopeia Black beside him. Usually the parents, or partner of an accused would sit there, but as Sirius Black was an orphan, and he had no partner, his grandfather and an additional support person had been permitted to attend.

Lord Black and Cassiopeia Black had their heads held high, ignoring the press as the reporters and photographers craned around each other to get a good view of the reclusive members of the Black family.

Dumbledore sat on his raised seat above the rest of the Wizengamot, conferring quietly with Madam Bones, who was seated to his immediate left as head of the DMLE. The Minister for Magic sat to Dumbledore’s right, nervously adjusting the collar of his plum coloured robes, eyes furtively darting over to the press and occasionally smiling weakly if any caught him looking.

As the clock struck 9 o’clock there was an immediate hush around the room as Dumbledore rose to his feet, his sky blue robes swishing around him.

“Please bring in the accused, Sirius Black,” Dumbledore called out to the two Aurors standing by a sealed door. The man and woman nodded, wands at the ready. One waved their wand, causing the door at the back of the room to swing open slowly.

The Aurors entered the dark space beyond, causing the press and even a few Wizengamot members to lean forward expectantly.

First out of the door was Sirius Black’s counsel; the stern faced Madam Leah Cross dressed in black barrister robes and a starch white jabot at her throat. Her instructing solicitor followed on her heels, carrying a few files in hand. He settled himself at a small desk that had been set up towards the back of the courtroom, after bowing shortly to the members of the Wizengamot.

Madam Cross nodded her head briefly to the Wizengamot, taking her place at the lectern that had been set up nearer Lord Black and Cassiopeia Black. She nodded to the head of the Black family and Cassiopeia too as she settled herself, before looking back to the still open door, waiting for her client to be brought out.

There was an almost inaudible intake of air as Sirius Black entered the room, dressed in a clean prisoner’s uniform, his hair hanging in tangled knots down to his elbows. His grey eyes seemed huge in his gaunt face.

There were manacles around his wrists but not his feet – the two Aurors had their wands trained on him from behind, eyes alert for the slightest hint of trouble.

But Sirius Black moved forward slowly and obediently, eyes immediately going to his grandfather and Cassiopeia, before sliding across to his barrister. He finally looked over at the Wizengamot, offering them a polite nod of his head.

The reporters seemed to get a kick out of that – the room with filled with the frantic scratching of many enchanted quills.

Sirius took his seat in the chair provided, arms held loosely in front of him, wrists still manacled. The Aurors tapped the chains and they came to life, wrapping firmly but not too tightly around the convict’s legs, binding him to the chair. The chains curled around his arms and the manacles disengaged from each other, allowing each of Sirius Black’s arms to be pulled to the armrests and secured.

Once he was settled and the Aurors had withdrawn to the back of the room, Dumbledore stated, “I call on the matter of the Ministry against Sirius Black, for special hearing.”

The barrister spoke up then saying, “Madam Cross, appearing for the defence, Chief Warlock.”

“Thank you Madam Cross. I understand we are to be administering Veritaserum to your client this morning. Does he consent to the administering of Veritaserum?” Dumbledore asked.

“He consents, Chief Warlock,” Madam Cross confirmed.

The press exchanged excited looks amongst themselves, keen to see what would come out of this.

The instructing solicitor approached the nearest Auror, providing a vial of what looked like Veritaserum. The female Auror inspected the vial, casting a few standard scans over the vial. She then approached the Wizengamot, passing the vial to her boss, Rufus Scrimgeour, who was seated in the front row for this very purpose.

He performed his own investigation, including a sight and smell test, before passing the vial up to Dumbledore. After Dumbledore had done a final check of his own, he announced to the room, “I confirm this is a correctly brewed dose of Veritaserum. It may be administered to the accused.”

The vial was passed back down to the Auror, who approached Sirius Black, still sitting calmly in the chair.

“If I might have assurance, Chief Warlock, that only I will be questioning my client today while he is under Veritaserum, using the pre-approved questions?” Madam Cross clarified.

“Yes, Madam Cross. If the Wizengamot wishes to ask any further questions beyond what has been pre-approved, we will place the accused under a silencing charm and discuss how we want a question phrased,” Dumbledore confirmed.

The barrister nodded curtly, making eye contact with the Auror carrying the vial and indicating the woman could administer the Veritaserum.

The Wizengamot pulled their copies of the pre-approved questions out, to read along with the barrister.

The female Auror cautiously approached Sirius Black, who opened his mouth without protest or hesitance, allowing a generous dose of the Veritaserum to be administered. Immediately the tell-tale glaze came across his eyes, and Madam Cross began.

“Is your full name, Sirius Orion Black?”

“Yes.”

“Were you born on the third of November 1959?”

“Yes.”

Madam Cross paused, glancing up to Dumbledore, who nodded, indicating satisfaction that the person sitting in the chair was indeed the accused, and that the Veritaserum was in effect.

The barrister wasted no time in going straight for the jugular.

“Are you currently, or have you ever been, a Death Eater?”

“No.”

An excited stir rose up from the press, leaning forward in their seats. The Wizengamot were listening closely, most of their expressions carefully blank, but some were surprised.

“Are you currently, or have you ever been, a supporter of Voldemort?” Madam Cross asked, ignoring the ripple of flinches that occurred around the courtroom as she used Voldemort’s proper name.

“No.”

It was one thing to not be a formally inducted Death Eater – but to not even be a supporter of Voldemort meant the chances of Sirius Black having been the one to betray James and Lily Potter were growing fantastically slim. The press were nearly pushing against each other in their eagerness to get an unobstructed view of Sirius Black, the tension growing in the room as Madam Cross paused before asking her next question.

“Did you disclose the location of James and Lily Potter’s home to Voldemort?”

“No.”

Pandemonium broke out, gasps of shock echoing around the courtroom and exclamations of surprise as that single word of denial left Sirius Black’s lips. Dumbledore roared over the noise for order in the court as even the Wizengamot reeled at the revelation.

Even with some forewarning that there was a chance Sirius Black was innocent, it was still a shock for many to actually hear it.

Order was eventually restored, though there was an undercurrent of chaotic energy and the press leaned over and into each other, whispering amongst themselves. Even some members of the Wizengamot were still muttering to each other out of the corners of their mouths.

Though they all fell silent as Madam Cross spoke up, asking, “Was Peter Pettigrew, James and Lily Potter’s Secret-Keeper?”

“Yes.”

One reporter’s quill snapped in excitement, and once more there was a roar of noise in the courtroom at the news it had been someone else entirely who had betrayed the Potters. A few of the reporters muttered amongst themselves about ‘grief fuelled vengeance’ postulating Sirius had gone after Pettigrew and killed him for his betrayal, taking out the Muggles along with him.

Dumbledore at this stage threatened to dismiss the press from the courtroom if they could not respect the sanctity of the process, and they were quick to hush themselves, faces hungry for more information, already spinning stories of revenge in their heads.

“Did Peter Pettigrew betray James and Lily Potter to Voldemort?”

“Yes.”

There was less of a reaction this time, people having already figured out as much for themselves. However Madam Cross was doing her job being thorough, and leaving no stones unturned that could be later used against her client.

“On the first of November 1981, did you confront Peter Pettigrew?”

“Yes.”

The peace in the courtroom seemed to hang by a single thread, everyone holding their collective breaths, waiting to see if this would turn into a story of revenge or one many had not expected at all – a story of injustice.

“Did Peter Pettigrew cast a Blasting Curse?”

“Yes.”

The thread seemed to fray until there was barely anything left keeping the chaos at bay.

“Did Peter Pettigrew kill twelve Muggles as a result of casting that Blasting Curse?”

“Yes.”

A wave of noise swelled and burst across the room, and not even Dumbledore’s thunderous calls for order could quell it this time.

Sirius Black was an innocent man.

Sirius Black was an innocent man, who had spent nearly seven years in Azkaban for crimes he did not commit.

This was going to rock the foundations of wizarding Britain.

There had been no other alternative but to adjourn the court temporarily in order to calm emotions and allow everyone a chance to collect themselves. Sirius Black had disappeared back into the room behind the court, after the antidote to Veritaserum had been administered, escorted by two very shaken Aurors.

Madam Cross and her instructing solicitor had followed them into the room, no doubt to discuss a few things privately with their client.

The press had been given a stern admonishment again from Dumbledore that they would be dismissed from courtroom if they continued to interrupt the proceedings after the adjournment.

Lord Black and Cassiopeia Black remained where they were, heads raised just as proudly as they had been before Sirius had been brought in, dark eyes flashing defiantly at the Wizengamot, victorious in their vindication.

Many assembled did not dare meet their eyes.

The press were having a field day, a few photographers capturing the proud faces of Lord Black and Cassiopeia Black, already writing subheadings of supportive family members who had always protested their relative’s innocence.

Eventually Dumbledore called the court to order and had Sirius Black brought back in, with his legal team in tow.

This time he was not manacled, and as he took a seat the chains were not activated, even though technically no formal order had been made to release Sirius Black or to treat him as anything less than a convict.

At that stage, neither of the Aurors were going to raise a hand against him, and no one in the courtroom was going to demand he be restrained after what they had all heard.

Dumbledore resumed by stating, “Mr Black, your Ministry file from 1981 was originally hidden behind 99 year confidentiality laws, however, by a majority vote of the Wizengamot, your file has been produced. I grant permission for copies of the file to be provided to the press for dispersion in the media.”

The press eagerly received the copies of the file that came floating towards them, busily flicking through the documents to see what treasure trove of information had been unveiled.

The members of the Wizengamot pulled his or her own copies out, and Dumbledore asked Madam Cross, “Has your client seen the file?”

“Yes, he has Chief Warlock, as empty as it was,” she stated calmly, but with a note of derision in her voice.

The press seemed delighted at the dry quip, as they continued to pour over the newly revealed documents.

“I confirm that on the first of November 1981 Sirius Black was arrested and charged with the murder of Peter Pettigrew, and twelve Muggles. He was never formally charged with the betrayal of James and Lily Potter to Voldemort, nor with being a Death Eater,” Dumbledore summarised, ignoring the shudder again through the room at the use of Voldemort’s name.

“He was brought before the Magical Council of Law later that day, headed by Bartemius Crouch Senior,” Dumbledore continued.

All eyes turned to find Crouch in the room, who looked distinctly pale and sweaty as he gripped his own copy of the file. He had, had no choice but to be there today – given the chance he would have stayed at home.

“I declare that Sirius Black was never granted a trial. He was not given the opportunity of legal representation. He was not offered the chance to testify under Veritaserum. Bartemius Crouch Senior sentenced him, to life in Azkaban. He was promptly removed and placed in Azkaban within the hour.” Dumbledore looked around the courtroom gravely stating, “A terrible miscarriage of justice has occurred.”

“Chief Warlock, if I might suggest a later date be set down to discuss compensation for my client, once the Ministry has completed its investigation of this miscarriage of justice, as you put it,” Madam Cross put in.

“Certainly, we will be making arrangements for a next hearing date in order to assess the appropriate restitution for Mr Black. And I confirm now that we will be leaving no stone unturned in our inquiry into how this occurred,” Dumbledore proclaimed, more for the benefit of the press, who continued to scribble away excitedly.

Moving on, Dumbledore added, “We have a few more questions to ask Mr Black, as I understand it?”

Madam Cross nodded, and the Veritaserum was brought forward again. There was no need for it to be verified again, because the bottle had remained in clear view of the courtroom the entire time on the instructing solicitor’s desk in the corner.

Once Sirius Black’s eyes glazed over, Madam Cross repeated the initial questions of his name and date of birth, waiting for the nod of approval to delve into her proper questions.

“To your knowledge, is Peter Pettigrew alive?”

“Yes.”

Murmurs spread across the room, before people shushed their neighbours, Wizengamot and press alike.

“Did Peter Pettigrew escape after casting the Blasting Curse, which killed the Muggles?”

“Yes.”

“Is Peter Pettigrew an unregistered Animagus?”

“Yes.”

The ripples of shock continued around the courtroom.

“Is Peter Pettigrew’s Animagus form a rat?”

“Yes.”

“Did Peter Pettigrew transform into his Animagus form to escape on the first of November 1981?”

“Yes.”

“When you were arrested were you offered legal representation?”

“No.”

“Were you offered Veritaserum before the Magical Council of Law to testify?”

“No.”

“Were you given a trial before the Magical Council of Law?”

“No.”

Turning to face the Wizengamot Madam Cross stated, “I have no further questions to ask my client under Veritaserum.”

As the antidote was administered, and Sirius Black blinked, pulling his mind free of the influence of the powerful potion, Dumbledore raised his hands.

“I make a formal motion to immediately release Sirius Black from custody, without delay. I further put it to this council that we clear Sirius Black of all charges. All in favour?” he asked.

Every single member of the Wizengamot raised their hand, even Crouch, though he looked like someone was pulling his teeth out as he did so. The evidence was irrefutable after all.

“I order Sirius Black be released. He is acquitted of all charges,” Dumbledore declared, beaming broadly.

“Mr Black!”

“Sirius Black!”

“Look this way!”

“Is there anything you want to say to the public, Mr Black?”

The press were falling over themselves to yell out questions to the newly freed Sirius Black, who remained seated in the chair, quietly absorbing that fact that he was now a free man.

Seven years to the day since James and Lily had been betrayed and murdered, and he was finally free.

He was aware he should probably be filled with joy that he was going to leave the Ministry today and not be dragged back to Azkaban, but all he could think about was Harry.

Wondering what his godson would think of all of this, how he was feeling about soon having Sirius for a guardian.

All he wanted was to make Harry happy, and keep him safe.

He had made the mistake of choosing revenge over staying with Harry before, on that night in Godric’s Hollow.

He had let James and Lily down.

He would never make that mistake again.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nineteen: Samhain

As Sirius Black was ushered away by his grandfather and great-aunt, getting permission to take a secluded exit to avoid the media, Dumbledore tried and failed to catch the man’s attention. He was no doubt hoping to get Sirius alone, or at least to get him to go home with a member of the Order, but Sirius pretended to not notice, so caught up with being reunited with his family members.

Everything passed by in a blur, and then Sirius became aware of Madam Bones, the head of the DMLE, in front of him before he left the Ministry.

“Mr Black, I wanted to assure you we will be launching a full inquiry into what happened seven years ago, and that I have convinced the Minister to suspend Mr Crouch from his position immediately, pending the investigation into his misconduct,” the steely-eyed woman told him.

“Thank you, madam,” Sirius replied a little hoarsely.

“I will not keep you from being with your family any longer – just know I will not rest until you have been compensated and those responsible have been prosecuted to the full extent of the law,” she promised.

Sirius nodded gratefully, and the woman dipped her head, stepping back to allow the Black family members to take the DMLE private Floo to Black Castle, avoiding the public areas, which were now swarming with media all keen for the opportunity to interview Sirius Black.

It was only once he was safely ensconced in Black Castle, away from the media, the Ministry and meddling old men, that Sirius Black stared down his grandfather, fierce grey eyes daring him to protest.

“I want to see him.”

“You need to see a Healer,” Arcturus disagreed, deep voice stern.

“That can wait, right now all I want is to see my godson,” Sirius insisted.

“I just booked a Healer to make a house call, he’ll be here within the hour,” Cassiopeia called out as she walked into the casual sitting room where Sirius was having a stand off with his grandfather.

Before Sirius could lose what was left of his frayed temper, Arcturus stated firmly, “Do you wish to frighten the boy? He’s eight. What will he think of you if the first time he meets you, you’re still dressed in prison clothes and your hair is tangled down to your elbows? Allow him to meet his godfather, Sirius, not the recently freed convict.”

“A bath, a haircut and a proper meal will do you some good,” Cassiopeia told him gently, dark eyes worried as she looked over him.

“Fine, I’ll get myself as presentable as possible, get the Healer to check me over – and then I’ll see him?” Sirius pressed.

“That’s not up to us,” Arcturus replied cautiously.

Sirius face darkened and he snapped, “So it’s up to Greengrass if I can or can’t see my own godson?”

“Lord Greengrass is doing his job,” Arcturus stated, emphasising the word lord to subtly remind his grandson of the man’s status. “You should be relieved he takes his role so seriously. He is doing what is in the best interests of the child.”

“And the best interests of Harry is to not see me?” Sirius asked incredulously.

“Sirius,” Cassiopeia cut in softly. He looked over slowly to the woman, whose eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “If you want to ensure James’ son is approved to live with you, then you need to show Lord Greengrass you are a good guardian. You need to be healthy, physically and mentally. That means seeing a Healer, and yes, it means seeing a specialist too. You’ve spent almost seven years in Azkaban – that leaves a mark on a person.”

“What do you know,” Sirius whispered, “about what I’ve been through.”

“I can’t imagine,” Cassiopeia breathed out, voice shaky. “But when Lord Greengrass comes to interview you, there can be no doubt in his mind that you are well enough to raise a child. Please, if you won’t do it for us, do it for Harry.”

“I adopted him,” Sirius asserted. “By blood, magic and law he is mine.”

“And I can’t express how happy I am that you adopted him,” Cassiopeia insisted. “When Arcturus told me, it felt like the first bit of good news in years. To know that my little sister’s grandson had someone left, that he would have a parent. But you’ve been through, as you put it, something that I can’t fathom, nor anyone else who has not experienced that hell. You need to look after yourself, so that you can look after Harry.”

“Lord Greengrass is a good man,” Arcturus told Sirius quietly. “During our meetings he has always spoken about Harry with a genuine affection. His wife and daughters seem to adore him. Until you are well enough to take custody of your godson, he is in the safest hands I could imagine with the Greengrass family.”

“I’ve already lost so much time,” Sirius said despairingly.

“Don’t lose any more by arguing over what can’t be changed,” Cassiopeia murmured, “Get your hands on what you can control. Make it your mission to heal.”

She walked over slowly to Sirius, projecting her movements clearly as she lifted a hand to gently brush his hair out of his face. “We’ll be here with you, every step of the way.”

The action was so familiar, reminding him of summers he had spent at her villa in Greece, whenever Dorea had invited him to come with she and James. She looked so much like her sister, Dorea, who had been more of a mother to Sirius than Walburga had ever been.

“I missed you, Aunt Cass.”

The tears finally broke free from the elderly woman’s eyes, and she leaned up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Sirius’ forehead, like she used to do when he was little, though she used to bend down to do it.

“I tried for so long to visit you in that place. But they said I was not a close enough relative. What do they know of family?” she whispered.

“Nothing at all,” Sirius whispered back wrapping his arms around the woman.

“Speaking of family – it’s Samhain tonight. Will you join us?” Arcturus asked his grandson.

“I won’t be lighting candles for my parents, if that’s what you want,” Sirius said defensively.

“I was rather hoping you’d light a candle for your younger brother, for Dorea, and for the parents of your adopted son,” Arcturus replied.

“Then yes, I will join you,” Sirius agreed. Getting a distant look on his face he murmured, “The last time I observed a wizarding ritual was Mabon, in September 1980. Me, James, Lily and baby Harry had dinner together. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was probably the last time we were all relaxed and happy together, before James and Lily had to go into hiding.”

“James and Lily Potter joined you in observing wizarding rituals?” Arcturus asked interestedly, though Cassiopeia glared at her cousin for asking about the deceased couple, worried it would upset Sirius.

Sirius looked at his grandfather before replying carefully, “There’s a lot you don’t know about James and Lily. But the first person I want to talk to about them, will be Harry.”

Arcturus dipped his head in acknowledgement, respecting his grandson’s wishes.

He really did not know much about the couple, but based on what he had started to learn, he was coming to understand their deaths had truly been a loss of a terrible magnitude.

Harry was indeed standing at a crossroads.

As he processed the news Gareth brought to him that Sirius Black had never betrayed his parents, nor had he murdered anyone, he realised he was approaching a time to decide what path he was going to walk down.

He could either be bitter about having to leave the Greengrass family sooner than expected, or he could swallow down his fear of the unknown and embrace his future in the Black family.

Gareth had assured him there would be no rush to put him with Sirius, that the man still had to pass the basic guardianship screening that the CPA demanded, and Gareth would be interviewing him to assess his readiness to take custody of Harry.

But Harry could sense the inevitability of him ending up with Sirius – everyone had told him that magical adoption was the equivalent of becoming that person’s child in the eyes of magic and the law.

The march of change was coming again for Harry, and he couldn’t yet tell what was waiting for him at the end of the journey.

Gareth was visiting Sirius in three days to interview him and make an initial assessment, and then Sirius would be meeting Harry. Although not confirmed, Harry got the distinct impression that it would all happen fast after that – once Sirius had been supervised with him, then Gareth would likely sign off on approving Sirius’ custody and Harry would be whisked away to live with the man.

This process would all be quicker because Sirius was not just any potential candidate for a guardian – he really was legally Harry’s parent.

Before Harry could get too twisted up, Gareth provided the perfect distraction.

He pulled out a carefully clipped section of an article out, one of the freshly published pieces that the media were churning out that afternoon as the news broke around wizarding Britain that Sirius Black was innocent.

Gareth had seen the photo attached to this particular article, and had clipped it to give to Harry. An old friend had no doubt sent it into the media.

Harry took the clipping, staring down at the moving photograph.

Three people were standing together, arms looped around each other. All of them were beaming brightly at the camera.

The man on the left was tall, dressed in a suit and wizarding robes, his hazel eyes shining behind round spectacles. His black hair was rather untidy, sticking up at the back.

Harry’s hand rose instinctively to his own hair, as he realised he was looking at a photo of his father for the first time.

The woman in the middle was shorter than those to either side of her, dressed in a beautiful white wedding dress. A delicate veil adorned her long straight red hair, which fell nearly down to her waist. Her eyes were the exact same shade of green as Harry’s own, and as Harry leaned in closer he realised their eyes were the same shape too.

His mum.

As he watched, his dad looked down at his mum in the photo, and as though sensing his gaze she looked up back at him, smile growing softer and loving. They seemed lost in each other’s gaze, a newlywed couple deeply in love.

The photo looped back around, the two looking back at the camera to smile again.

The man to the right of the photo was very handsome, with striking grey eyes and long lustrous black hair that fell in artful waves to his shoulders. His face seemed full of laughter as he grinned at the camera.

When he noticed the couple beside him getting distracted catching each other’s gaze he turned to glance over at them, face going soft with happiness as he watched his friends.

The caption under the moving photograph read, ‘James and Lily Potter’s wedding, summer 1978. Sirius Black, best man.’

“I’m sorry neither Rosie nor I have been able to track down any photos for you before now,” Gareth told him apologetically.

Staring down at his parents – biological and adopted, Harry could truly see the care and affection between the three. He gently brushed over his mum’s smiling face, and then looked up to say to Gareth simply, “Thank you.”

As night crept over the Greengrass property, the shadows growing long as the sun dipped low, the inhabitants of the stately home began the Samhain ritual.

Led by a nervous Daphne and Harry, under the watchful eyes of Ezra and the indulgent eyes of Rosie and Gareth, they stood opposite each other in an open space of the back garden. A fire was burning between them, having been helpfully prepared and lit by Ezra.

Astoria was holding her mum’s hand, hazel eyes wide as she watched her older sister and Harry take the lead in the ritual she usually watched her parents do.

There were no sacred words to say, no need to use any wands for the ritual, or any of the traditional ceremonies throughout the year for that matter. Ritual magic was ancient, born from a time before wands had become commonplace.

“When you’re both ready,” Ezra murmured, glancing up at the sky and assessing the sun had dropped low enough to begin.

Harry and Daphne made eye contact over the dancing flames, before they each started to walk in a wide circle around the fire, Daphne in a counter-clockwise direction.

They maintained an equal distance between each other as they walked slowly around the fire, having practiced the process with Ezra in their classes last week.

This part of the ritual could be done alone, or with multiple people, however Harry and Daphne were doing it together to share the experience.

The rotation around the fire was symbolic of the cyclical nature of life and death, and as Harry and Daphne returned to their original positions – Harry to the south of the fire and Daphne to the north, they acknowledged how every journey started and ended in the same way. Life and death were entwined.

By circling the fire too, as Ezra had explained, there were creating a ring of protection to ensure that no ill intentioned spirits lingered in this space tonight.

Next, Harry and Daphne each produced a woven bag they had carefully prepared under the instructions of Ezra at their last lesson. Inside each magically preserved bag was a sprig of rosemary for remembrance, a chrysanthemum flower for protection, a stem of apple blossoms for divination, a handful of pomegranate seeds for communication with the dead, a sprig of mugwort for safety in the night, and lastly the berries of a rowan tree to ward off unwanted spirits.

They each approached the fire from their opposite positions, and threw the bags into the fire. As the plants caught alight, the fire surged brightly, hungrily feeding on the offerings.

Harry breathed in sharply, feeling like his skin was buzzing and tingling.

It felt like something deep inside Harry had just stirred for the first time, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he processed the sensation.

Was that his magic?

He stayed staring into the fire for some time, watching the bag he had put in curl from the heat of the fire, as it burned to ash, aware of every inch of his body. It felt like the tips of his fingers were tingling, and every breath felt like it filled him a little more fully.

It was intoxicating.

He became aware of Rosie carefully laying out beside the fire a collection of candles with flat brass bottoms and realised it was time for the next part of the ritual already. He had lost complete track of time staring into the fire.

He knelt down to pick up two candles, their brass bottoms catching the light of the fire. He dipped the two candles into the fire, letting the wicks catch alight.

Then he stepped back, taking a spot a safe distance from the brightly burning blaze, setting down the two candles on the ground in front of him. Around him everyone else was settling down with various amounts of candles – Rosie helped Astoria safely light hers.

Each candle represented a lost soul.

The fire was intended to guide them home, just for the night.

Harry could still feel the buzz under his skin, and it made him feel incredibly alive. As he gazed at the two candles, one each for his mum and dad, he imagined reaching out for them, in his mind asking them to follow the light to come visit him.

They were all silent around the central fire, the night still except for the crackle of the flames.

Staring into the two small flames of the candles, Harry thought he almost imagined the little fires grow fuller. The night deepened, the last light fading until the only illumination came from the bonfire and the candles scattered around the participants of the ritual.

Harry’s mind drifted as he wondered what his parents might say to him if they had been there. He wondered how different his life would have been if they had never died. There was so much he wanted to know about his parents, so much he wanted to say.

A sudden feeling of warmth suffused Harry’s body, from head to toe.

He felt like every nerve was alive, like sparks were about to shoot off his skin.

Harry wasn’t really sure how he knew, couldn’t really explain it if someone asked, but in that moment he was certain his parents were there.

Tears gathered in Harry’s eyes and he stared intently at the two candles, whose flames were burning increasingly bright.

The warmth deepened if possible, and Harry felt like it was settling into his very bones, wrapping him in a protective embrace.

“I feel you,” he whispered under his breath.

He lifted a trembling hand to cover his heart, and for the barest hint of a moment he swore he felt the presence of two hands over his own, sheltering him.

The tears ran freely down his face, and Harry basked in the feeling of being truly connected to his parents for the first time in his life he could remember.

Harry’s tears had long dried by the time Ezra approached him, crouching down to sit beside him, remaining a respectful distance away from the two candles still burning.

“Rosie and Astoria are setting out the food offerings at the back door,” he explained quietly.

Harry realised with a start that he hadn’t even noticed them leave the circle.

Offerings of food were typically left overnight at back doors as a way of feeding any spirits that came wandering by, drawn to the ritual. Apples were a common choice, as they were seen as a food of the dead.

“Do you need help carrying the candles inside, or are you okay with them both?” Ezra asked.

“I can carry them,” Harry replied, reaching forward to pick up the two brass bottom candles. He would take them to his bedroom and the candles were enchanted to keep burning through the night until the first light of dawn touched them.

The idea was that the spirits you called upon would watch over you throughout the night.

“How was your first wizarding ritual?” Ezra questioned softly.

Harry paused, really thinking about his answer.

“The most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced,” he finally said, meaning every word.

“You’ll have many more experiences like this Harry, in the future,” Ezra promised.    

Harry gently lifted the two candles, one in each hand, and added quietly, “I felt connected to my magic tonight.”

Ezra explained as they both walked slowly towards the house together, “This is why our sacred days are so important. When we participate in them, we reaffirm our connection with magic.”

Harry nodded, truly understanding it.

He was determined to never miss another sacred day, if he could help it. Though it sounded like it would be difficult to observe the sacred days when he started at Hogwarts, given time was never set aside to allow students to complete the ceremonies if they wanted to.

“I think I might be ready to experiment a bit more with trying to use wandless magic,” Harry confessed.

“Will you promise to wait to try it until I am present?” Ezra asked. “Not purely for the selfish reason of it being of interest for my study, but I also don’t want you overexerting yourself, or getting into any trouble.”

Harry looked up at the blonde haired man, who was looking at Harry with the same look that his twin Rosie wore when she was fussing over Harry. His heart clenched as he realised Ezra genuinely cared about him.

“I promise,” Harry replied, meaning it.

“Thanks kid,” Ezra said with a warm grin.

That night Harry settled himself into bed, carefully placing the two candles together on one of his bedside tables – it felt wrong to separate them. Beside the candles was the moving photograph Gareth had given him earlier, his parents’ beaming faces looking at him.

The last thing he saw as his eyes slipped shut was the comforting glow of the candles illuminating their features, on one of the happiest days of their lives.

Until the first touch of dawn extinguished the flames, the candles burned throughout the night, watching over Harry as he dreamed.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty: Old friends

On the third of November, Gareth revisited Black Castle in order to formally interview Sirius Black to assess his suitability for custody of Harry. He was escorted by the same house elf as the last time, brought to the same reception room with the Black family tapestry stretching across one of the walls.

Sirius Black was sitting in the same chair his grandfather had been in the first time Gareth had visited – whether that was intentional or not Gareth could not tell. He cut a striking figure backlit by the light of the rare November sunshine behind him, making his silvery-grey eyes glow.

Whilst still unnaturally thin, his eyes looking a bit too large above sunken cheeks and his finely made robes not quite able to hide the sharpness of his bones, he looked a far cry from the unkempt picture he had been in Azkaban and at his special hearing.

A large part of that was owed to his carefully trimmed hair – it now fell to his shoulders and had been tamed to fall in gentle waves. Despite his gauntness there was an undeniable casual air of elegance around him that reminded Gareth regardless of his time in Azkaban, this was the heir to a house of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

Gareth could almost see the echo of the charming young man who had beamed at James and Lily Potter’s wedding ten years ago.

“Please, come in,” Sirius said quietly, gesturing for Lord Greengrass to take a seat – again, in the very same seat he had sat in the first time he had been here.

Gareth noticed as he approached that there was a folder sitting on the ebony table between the two seats. He also saw the new wand holstered to Sirius Black’s wrist, which had become visible as he gestured for Gareth to sit. Generally, any wand a witch or wizard got after their original one would never be quite as good as the first, but there wasn’t much option to be choosy once your wand had been snapped after been sent to Azkaban.

Catching where Gareth was looking, Sirius gestured to the wand with his other hand and said, “Birthday present this morning from my grandfather. He took me out to Ollivanders under Polyjuice Potion so we wouldn’t be recognised.”

“Happy birthday,” Gareth murmured instinctively. The man would be twenty-nine now. “Will it just be us, Mr Black?” Gareth asked as he settled into the chair, admiring the grand view out of the window towards the gardens and the lake in the distance. It was just as spectacular as the first time.

“Yes,” Sirius answered, without elaborating. He didn’t need to – this was about his custody of Harry.

“Very well, let us start by getting through the formalities,” Gareth suggested, pulling a quill, inkpot, and a few forms out from the briefcase he had brought with him.

He already had the basics such as Sirius’ full name, date of birth and next of kin but he had a few other basic questions he was required by law to ask and note down on the forms that would be put in Harry’s CPA file.

“Can I confirm you have no other children to your knowledge, biological or adopted, that need to be considered?”

“Only Harry,” Sirius replied.

“Are you currently single?”

Sirius quirked an eyebrow and replied, “Wasn’t much opportunity to date in Azkaban.”

Gareth murmured back, “I’ll put you down as single.” Moving on he asked, “Where do you intend on living with Harry, should you be granted custody?”

“My grandfather has offered for us to live here at Black Castle with him. Alternatively, I have inherited Number Twelve Grimmauld Place from my deceased parent’s estate. Though I don’t particularly want to live there,” Sirius explained.

“I’ll put down Black Castle as your intended primary residence, with Grimmauld Place as a possible alternative,” Gareth offered, noting it down after Sirius nodded.

Gareth already had the full breakdown of Lord Black’s finances as he had begun the process of screening the man before Sirius had been released. But he was pleased to learn Sirius had come prepared to the meeting – pulling a Gringotts account and asset breakdown from the folder, which he placed on the ebony table. He gave his permission for Gareth to make a copy for the file. It detailed Sirius’ personal finances and assets to his name, which were not inconsiderable, as he had inherited his parents’ entire estate.

“I note before your unlawful incarceration you were employed as an Auror for a short time after graduating from Hogwarts. At this stage, do you intend on returning to work as an Auror?” Gareth asked.

“No,” Sirius responded. “I plan on returning to work at some point, but I haven’t decided yet what I’ll pursue as a career – I just know I don’t want to be an Auror again.”

Gareth nodded, noting down under the man’s last known job that he would be pursuing future career opportunities outside of Auror work.

“I need to ask you now about your health, both physical and mental. This is not solely because you have spent a period of time in custody – we ask all potential guardians these questions to ensure they are fit to be caring for a child,” Gareth explained seriously.

“I understand,” Sirius murmured. “I have two reports with me.”

He pulled out those reports from the folder before him, providing them to Gareth, who once again found himself pleasantly surprised. After Sirius’ attitude towards him in Azkaban he had been expecting more pushback – it seems someone had talked sense into the man that everything needed to be done by the book if he wanted custody.

The first report was from a St Mungo’s Healer, dated the thirty-first of October on the day Sirius had been released from custody. The Healer documented the various physical ailments, and although experiencing malnourishment and a decrease in his eyesight due to the poor lighting within the prison, Sirius would make a full physical recovery. He had been assigned a strict diet plan to follow, including daily nutrient potions for six months to regain his strength, and the exact same ocular treatment Harry was taking to improve his eyesight, to be taken for a few days.

Satisfied, Gareth made a copy of the medical report for the file, and then turned to the second report, which had been written by a Specialist Healer on the first of November. This one was a little bit more complicated.

The Specialist Healer noted the debilitating impact Sirius Black’s extended exposure to the Dementors had, had on his mental state. The expert noted that although Mr Black had the potential for recovering from his experience, he would need to continue seeing a Specialist Healer on a regular basis for the foreseeable future. The specialist recommended Mr Black see him twice a week to start with, and then the regularity of the appointments could decrease depending on how he responded to treatment.

In the recommendations section the Specialist Healer cautiously indicated that conditional upon Mr Black following his strict treatment guidelines set out in the report, he would be eligible to be granted custody of his magically adopted child. However, the specialist also noted that he would strongly recommend if Mr Black got custody, that he would continue living with his grandfather as a condition of that custody, noting that the older man seemed to be a source of stability and support.

“I can see the specialist recommends you continue to live with your grandfather, Lord Black. Is this something you would be willing to do?” Gareth asked.

“Yes,” Sirius confirmed without hesitation.

Gareth nodded approvingly, noting down as much on the form. He had already performed his initial formal interview with Lord Black, so he would not need to interview him again – usually when placing a child, all adult members of the household needed to pass the same assessment. However, Gareth had already done this when considering placing Harry with Lord Black last week.

“Are you prepared to follow the treatment regimes listed by both the Healer and Specialist Healer, for the foreseeable future, as a condition of your custody approval?” Gareth inquired.

“I am,” Sirius assured Gareth. “I told you before but I’ll say it as many times as I have to – Harry is my first priority. If getting my physical and mental health in order is a condition to get custody, then I will gladly accept it.”

Gareth noted down on the form Sirius’ clear willingness to adhere to all recommendations made by his Healer and Specialist Healer, and made an additional comment that Lord Arcturus Black had already passed all checks to also be considered suitable to be around a child, and sharing a home with Harry.

“Very well, I am satisfied based on these reports and from what you’ve confirmed in this interview, that you are suitable to be granted custody of Harry, conditional on you continuing to live with your grandfather, Lord Black,” Gareth informed the man.

Sirius’ shoulders relaxed, and a hopeful light entered his eyes as he asked tentatively, “When can I see Harry? What’s the process from here on out?”

“You had the right to see him from the moment I verbally approved your suitability, given you are now his legal guardian, albeit with conditions attached,” Gareth told Sirius honestly.

Sirius looked to be about to demand to see Harry right away, but then an interesting expression crossed his face and he said slowly as though it pained him to do so, “When would be a suitable time for me to come visit your home, Lord Greengrass?”

Sirius Black continued to surprise him.

“If you could come over tomorrow morning it would be ideal – it would give me time to advise Harry of what happened today and to give him plenty of notice about you coming to see him,” Gareth said cautiously.

Sirius nodded a little tightly but replied politely, “I would gratefully accept your invitation to visit your home tomorrow morning – shall we say ten o’clock?”

“That would be suitable,” Gareth confirmed. Then turning to the other question the man had asked Gareth replied, “The process from here on out is entirely up to you, to an extent. Once I submit this paperwork today you will legally be Harry’s guardian on paper too. However, he is still under my department’s protection given the nature of how he came to our attention.”

Seeing Sirius’ face darken at the reminder, Gareth rushed to continue, “I would advise you to utilise a period of transition to adjust Harry to his new home with you and Lord Black. As the head of the CPA I have the power to keep Harry in my own temporary custody if he displays significant distress at being moved. I assure you I do not say this as a threat – I am merely letting you know that is normal for a child to grow attached to the family they are initially put with, so this must be handled carefully.”

“I understand,” Sirius grit out eventually, after a few moments of silence. “I’m not going to rip him away tomorrow after meeting him. I’m a total stranger to him. I’ll ask Harry what he wants to do, and make a plan with you based on what he wants.”

Gareth’s esteem of Sirius rose greatly with that simple promise.

“Before I go, do you have any other questions of me before tomorrow?” Gareth asked.

Sirius pierced him with those striking silvery-grey eyes and said quietly, “You told me I would be able to see Harry’s CPA file, once I was approved as his guardian. I want to know what he’s been through.”

Gareth was not going to patronise Sirius by warning him of the contents of the file – instead he simply pulled a copy of it from his briefcase, having come prepared for this eventuality. He handed it over, and Sirius took it gently.

“My employee, Ms Abbott, has been finalising the investigation into Dumbledore’s misconduct too. Before we go public you will be informed of all of her findings,” Gareth promised.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Sirius mused, a deadly look in his eyes, “I’ll wait until you’ve gone public with the allegations of misconduct. While he’s getting torn apart by the media I’ll come forward with an exclusive interview. I think it’s about time people know about how Dumbledore manipulated underage students into training for the war.”

Intrigued, Gareth asked, “You were recruited while being underage?”

“He ran these extra-curricular defence classes – they started when I was fifteen. In hindsight, they weren’t just classes – he was training us to be soldiers. We were just kids, but he was already preparing us to be willing to lay down our lives for the greater good,” Sirius snarled. Then with an old grief he added, “And so many of us did.”

“We’ll plan this all out before we take anything to the media,” Gareth suggested. “A coordinated attack will be essential to break the public’s faith in Dumbledore.”

“I don’t want to take Dumbledore down at the cost of Harry’s privacy though,” Sirius commented suddenly. “It sure as hell is nobody else’s business to know about what he’s been through. I don’t want his abuse to be weaponised.”

“I share your exact sentiments,” Gareth assured him. “I would suggest a joint statement from my department and yourself confirming that Harry has been removed from his Muggle relatives and placed with you. I can advise you of the names of a few good reporters who could be trusted to write respectfully of the situation.”

“Thank you,” Sirius replied, “I’ll take those names, and prepare a statement to go out soon. Morgana knows the press have been hounding me for any kind of comment these past few days. But worst of all has been the letters from Dumbledore.”

“What exactly has he been harassing you about?” Gareth asked, face souring at the mention of the man.

“Trying to get me to meet with him and the Order right away. Pushing me to leave my grandfather and stay with a member of the Order, or live alone at Grimmauld Place. Wanting updates on whether or not I have custody of Harry yet. Meddling. The usual,” Sirius finished scathingly.

“You’ll have to give him something before too long or he’ll start to get suspicious,” Gareth warned Sirius.

A coldly calculating smile crept across Sirius’ face and he said with terrifying mildness in comparison to the expression on his face, “I’ll see him soon. First I have a couple of old friends I need to talk with.”

Remus was on lock up duty at the pub that night, his boss and co-workers having already gone home. He rather liked being the last one in the building after the patrons and everyone else had left – there was something soothing about the slow pack up, nothing but the crackling of dying embers from the fireplace to interrupt the peace of the evening.

He hummed to himself, as he wiped down the bar counter, enjoying the menial task without using his magic. There were surveillance cameras inside the building after all – he could interrupt the feed with his magic but his boss might start to wonder why the cameras kept cutting off whenever Remus was alone on shift.

He had been picking up the closing shift the past couple of nights. It wasn’t like he was missing out on sleep – Remus hadn’t had a full night’s sleep since the news broke on Monday.

His hands shook slightly as he wiped down the counter and the man had to pause to breathe in sharply, fighting off the tremors.

What an unfaithful fool he had been.

Remus stayed frozen like that for a few breaths, until he had forced the shaking in his hands to stop. Finishing the task, this time in silence with no humming, Remus took the cloth he had been wiping the counter down to the kitchen in the back.

He blinked blearily in the stark light of the back area, the industrial fluorescent lights momentarily blinding him. Under this lighting the dark shadows under his amber eyes were apparent, revealing his bone deep exhaustion.

Remus headed back into the darker interior of the pub after disposing of the cloth, the door to the back area swinging shut behind him with a familiar creak.

Perhaps it was the years of war-honed reflexes that had been engraved into Remus’ body by years of loss and violence, or perhaps some latent animal instinct as a result of his werewolf condition.

But from one moment to the next his wand was in his hand from where he kept it always holstered at his wrist, and he was pointing it towards the dying embers of the fireplace.

Two figures were sitting by the fireplace, their postures seemingly non-threatening. Due to the light behind them their faces were cast in shadow, so Remus could not make out any discernable features.

But the mere fact he had locked the front door, meant that these two people were trespassers, and considering their sudden appearance, Remus would wager a safe bet they were magical.

Wand pointed directly at the two people, Remus angrily called out, “Who are you? What do you want?”

The figure on the left, the shorter of the two, turned their head slightly to their companion, as though seeking direction. The figure on the right, lifted what could only be a wand, causing Remus to tighten his grip on his own.

The other person did not point his wand at Remus though – instead he pointed it to the fire, and nonverbally cast a spell to make the flames burst brightly to life again, immediately casting clearer light over the two people.

Remus went as white as a sheet.

“Hello Remus,” Sirius Black said casually, spinning the wand casually between his fingers like he used to do when he was bored in class.

Remus physically sagged against the bar counter, his legs suddenly unable to bear his weight. His breath stuttered, and he lost his grip on his wand, letting it clatter noisily to the floorboards beneath him.

Sirius’ face was blank, assessing.

Seated beside him, face uncertain, was the familiar face of Emmeline Vance.

“I told him where he could find you, Remus,” the woman called out softly, apologetically. Her brown eyes glanced between Sirius and Remus, and in a smaller voice she added, “I couldn’t say no after he wrote to me, not after how I’d let him down.”

Sirius glanced over at the woman, who had been in the year above him at Hogwarts, in Gryffindor. She was also a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and had fought alongside them during the war.

“I appreciated the tip, Em. I figured out of everyone you would have stayed in contact with Remus,” Sirius said lightly.

Emmeline tucked her short brown hair behind her ears, a nervous tick Sirius remembered from their school days. She spoke up bravely, “You said when I took you to Remus you’d tell me why you wanted to meet after all this time.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I just wanted to see two old friends?” Sirius asked her conversationally.

“Are we still friends?” Remus rasped at last, finding his voice.

He made no move to pick up his wand from the floor, still leaning against the bar counter.

Sirius looked at him silently.

Emmeline seemed to hold her breath, eyes worried.

“Did you really believe that I betrayed James and Lily?” Sirius whispered at last.

“I didn’t know what to believe,” Remus answered, voice choked.

There was silence again.

“What do you believe now?” Sirius asked, eyes boring into Remus’ own.

Tears tracked down Remus’ cheeks and he whispered, “I believe that I’ve been the worst friend possible, if I can even still call myself your friend. I believe that no amount of apologies will ever earn me forgiveness for what I’ve done. But Sirius…I’m so sorry.”

Emmeline was looking down in her lap, biting her lip. She too had apologised to Sirius when they had initially met, but Remus voiced her own thoughts exactly. Apologies didn’t feel like enough.

“Remus,” Sirius said. The man shuddered, staring at Sirius helplessly, like a person waiting at the gallows. “Em.” Emmeline looked up sharply to the side, shoulders hunched slightly.

“I accept both of your apologies. I know you both really mean it.”

Remus gasped out, like a weight had been removed from his shoulders. Emmeline’s eyes welled with tears, and she reached out a hand tentatively to Sirius. He let her take his hand in her own, clinging onto it like a lifeline.

Sirius wasn’t done though.

“Do you realise we’re all that’s left? There’s Alice and Frank, of course, but their minds are long gone. The three of us are the only ones from school who truly survived – and didn’t betray our own to live,” Sirius added, in reference to Peter.

Sirius looked at Emmeline, and said softly, “From your year level alone, Frank and Alice were tortured into insanity, Benjy Fenwick was obliterated – we only ever found pieces of him. Caradoc Dearborn – we never even found his body to bury, but we know he’s dead. And Dorcas…Em I know how much you loved her.”

The tears fell down Emmeline’s cheeks at the mention of her best friend and love of her life – Dorcas Meadowes. Voldemort had killed her personally.

“You are the only person from your year level in Gryffindor who survived the war intact, Em,” Sirius murmured.

Sirius turned to look at Remus now, who stared back, grief stricken. “We lost Mary Macdonald straight out of school – she was only seventeen. And then Marlene-” Sirius cut himself off, fighting down the wave of emotion at mere mention of the name of Marlene McKinnon. “Her whole family, gone. Then Voldemort hunted her down himself. She was the fiercest woman I’ve ever met. I still remember her funeral like it was yesterday. It was the last time we were all together, before James, Lily, Frank and Alice went into hiding. Together again to bury our friend.”

Sirius looked between Remus and Emmeline, the latter who was crying silently and the former now too numb to shed any more tears at the reminders of everything they had suffered and lost.

“Then James and Lily…” Sirius trailed off. “Even after the war was over for most we were still fighting – Frank and Alice paid an unimaginable price just when everyone thought we were safe.”

“Why are you bringing all of this up?” Emmeline asked desperately, eyes a little wild. “Remus and I might have survived, but it’s not much of a life when everyone you loved is gone.”

“He’s not saying all of this to make us feel guilty for surviving,” Remus cut in quietly, ever astute. His amber eyes were fixed on Sirius.

“Remus is right,” Sirius confirmed. “What I’m getting at is that none of this should have happened. We were kids, playing at being soldiers. We were dragged into a conflict that had been going on since we were children.”

“None of us wanted to sit by and do nothing while Voldemort was building power and murdering innocent people,” Emmeline said fiercely. “I wanted to fight. Dorcas…Dorcas wanted to fight too, for a better world. She gave her life for it.”

“Yes, but why did you want to fight, Em,” Sirius asked her. He held up a hand before she could immediately reply, stating, “And don’t just say because it was the right thing to do. I don’t deny that we were fighting for a honourable cause. I just question why a group of teenagers and then young adults were the ones doing the fighting, when most of wizarding Britain were remaining neutral.”

“People were terrified,” Remus said softly. “Those who could stand against Voldemort did.”

“But why us? Out of our generation at Hogwarts, thirteen of us joined the Order after finishing school. We were all Gryffindor students. All of us were close in age. What else did we all have in common, that everyone else did not have?”

Remus and Emmeline stared at him; Emmeline looked confused where he was going with this, but Remus had a look of quiet understanding come across his face.

“Dumbledore,” Remus whispered. “The thirteen of us were all close to Dumbledore. We were all part of his defence club.”

“Dumbledore is the reason we all joined the war, despite our age. Dumbledore is the reason there are currently only three of us in this room,” Sirius declared.

“But Sirius,” Emmeline said insistently, “all of us joined the Order voluntarily. Dumbledore didn’t force any of us to do anything we didn’t want to do.”

“All I’m saying,” Sirius said wearily, “Is that we were prepared for the war since school. Dumbledore prepared us for the war. Regardless if it was for a just cause, you cannot deny that we fought and died because Dumbledore inducted us into his Order.”

Seeing Emmeline hesitate, Sirius pressed on. “The Aurors were fighting Voldemort and his Death Eaters. The Ministry were handling the situation. Dumbledore crafted the Order as his private army to serve his own interests. Or did you forget the missions he sent us on? The people we hunted down? The people we killed? We operated outside of the Ministry’s jurisdiction. We operated under Dumbledore’s orders. He took advantage of our courage and our desire to do some good in this world.”

“Dumbledore isn’t the one who murdered our friends,” Emmeline whispered.

“He isn’t,” Sirius agreed easily. “But he used them. He used us. None of us had targets on our backs until we joined the Order – then we were all fair game for the Death Eaters."

"We all know Voldemort is going to come back,” Sirius continued with a whisper. Emmeline and Remus stiffened, but neither denied it. “If not him, then a successor pushing his ideals. When that time comes, do you think there’s anything stopping Dumbledore from recruiting the next generation of Order members from the Hogwarts students?”

Silence descended over the room once more.

It was one thing to insist you had joined the war effort voluntarily, and that you had wanted to fight when you were that age. But it put it into a different perspective, as adults, to think of teenagers being recruited to fight in a new war. There was an uncomfortable awareness in the room that teenagers really should not be fighting the battles of old men.

“I wanted to tell you both first,” Sirius told them quietly, the light and shadow from the fire flickering over his face. “That I’m done with being used by someone else for a cause, no matter how great. I’ve got blood on my hands, all of us do. I want to use what’s left of my life to heal, not to fight. I’m out. I want nothing more to do with the Order.”

He could tell he had struck a chord with his old friends – Remus and Emmeline had twin looks of grief and understanding on their faces.

“Will you both respect my wishes?” Sirius asked them both, although he already knew the answer.

Emmeline smiled through her tears, promising him, “I’ve got your back, Sirius.”

Remus whispered, “I won’t ever betray you again.”

Neither made any declarations of their own regarding their positions in the Order, but Sirius knew he had left them with much to think about. He could only hope when Voldemort or the next enemy reared their head again, and Dumbledore assembled the Order, that Remus and Emmeline would remember what he had shared with them tonight.

Sirius couldn’t bear to lose anyone else he loved.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-One: Home is not a place

Harry was so nervous to meet Sirius Black that he got up to change his outfit, coming back downstairs to sit in the parlour room of the Greengrass estate again, glancing at the clock on the wall to see how close it was to 10 o’clock.

His vibrant green eyes were now unobstructed by glasses after having had his two week check up with Healer Lycoris, who had confirmed the eye treatment had been a success, and he would no longer require any glasses.

“You look perfect,” Rosie assured him, from where she was sitting on the couch beside him.

Harry smiled apprehensively back at her, but continued to pick at the seam of his sweater he was wearing, which Rosie had skilfully spelled to not only fit him properly, but was somehow no longer lumpy.

“The Floo connection between Black Castle and our home will activate just before 10 o’clock,” Gareth explained from where he was sitting on an wingback armchair perpendicular to the couch.

Pimsey was supervising Daphne and Astoria upstairs in Daphne’s bedroom, the girls drawing and colouring in to occupy themselves during the meeting.

Harry swallowed, eyes fixed on the clock as he watched the hands ever so slowly move towards the 10 o’clock mark. So intent on watching the clock, Harry jerked in surprise when the fireplace suddenly flared with bright green flames.

Harry sat up straight on the couch – Sirius Black had just arrived.

A tall man stepped out of the fireplace; the green flames dying down to reveal a handsome face despite the slightly hollow features. Harry felt his nervousness rise at the imposing presence of the man, but before he could get too worried a pair of silvery-grey eyes met his own green ones.

Suddenly the man was smiling, and Harry immediately recognised in that face the young man who had wrapped an arm around his mum in the wedding photo and gazed so fondly at his dad.

Gareth and Rosie had risen instinctively but Sirius paid them no mind as he moved forward straight to Harry, who remained seated, a little overwhelmed that this was finally happening.

Sirius kneeled down on the floor in front of Harry so that they were at eye level, his facial expression impossibly gentle. Harry thought distractedly that for having such cold grey eyes, they could be surprisingly warm.

Sirius seemed to be lost for words, eyes roving over Harry’s face, as though committing every piece of him to memory. Harry was looking back just as intently; realising that he was looking at his adoptive father for the first time he could remember. This was the man his mum and dad had trusted to raise him like his own child if they could not. 

“My name is Sirius Black,” he whispered. “I adopted you when you were a baby. Your parents named me your godfather. They wanted me to raise you if anything happened to them.”

Harry said nothing, speechless in the moment.

“There is so much I have to tell you, Harry. But for now…I am in your hands.” Sirius looked at him with a soft smile, but Harry realised suddenly that the man was impossibly nervous – there was tightness to his face and the set of his shoulders. It was somehow reassuring to know that he was not the only one who had been nervous about this meeting.

“Can you tell me about my mum and dad?” Harry asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Sirius’ smile grew more genuine, a sheen of tears in his eyes as he promised, “It would be my greatest pleasure.”

Before the meeting, Harry had been partly worried because he wasn’t sure what he and Sirius would talk about. He had feared it would be awkward, and the conversation stilted between them.

The reality was anything but.

Sirius had come prepared with three photo albums, taking the spare spot on Harry’s other side on the couch and giving him the albums to look through slowly. With every photo Sirius had a story. The man was a wonderful storyteller – he quickly had Harry enraptured with the tales he spun out of every photo.

Sirius had acknowledged Rosie and Gareth rather belatedly, looking slightly embarrassed at having been so caught up with meeting Harry that he had totally disregarded social propriety and ignored the lord and lady of the house.

They had taken his social indiscretion with good grace though, choosing to remain silently in the room and make themselves scarce as Harry bonded with his godfather over the stories of the past.

Sirius had taken Harry through a short album that had been filled with still photos of his mum as a child – being Muggleborn her childhood photos were all stationary. Harry guessed Sirius had removed any photos of his Aunt Petunia from the album – probably not wanting to upset Harry with reminders of the woman. He appreciated the gesture, flipping through the photos of his mum showing her with her parents, Harry's Muggle grandparents he had never met.

As he flipped through photos of her with a missing front tooth as a six year old, standing in front of a model volcano having won first prize at a science fair at school, and a shot of her quietly reading a book outside under a tree, long red hair hanging down to partly cover her face as she was absorbed in her task, Sirius told Harry stories about his mum.

He told Harry about how smart she had been, easily the top of their grade at Hogwarts. He told Harry what she sounded like when she laughed, her favourite colour, the way her nose would scrunch up when she was trying not to laugh at something.

There was a shot of a young Lily with her arm around another boy with pale skin and long black hair that hung in a curtain around his face. Harry waited expectantly for Sirius to explain this one, but the man seemed to be hesitating, struggling with something.

At last he murmured, “That’s your mum’s childhood best friend, Severus Snape. He actually went to Hogwarts with us, but he was in Slytherin.”

Harry looked back down at the photo, a little confused why Sirius seemed so hesitant. He wondered if this Severus Snape had maybe passed away like his mum, and that was why Sirius didn’t want to talk about him. So Harry turned that page soon after, noticing Sirius relax as they moved on. The album of his mum ended with a shot of her parents and a more grown up Lily standing between them.

The next album was filled with photos of his father, James, as a child, and these ones all moved because he had grown up in the wizarding world. As Harry flipped through he realised just how much he looked like his dad – there was a photo of an eight year old James climbing up a tree and grinning cheekily back down at the camera, hazel eyes glinting behind his round glasses. Harry thought there was a lot of resemblance between them.

He had tentatively shared the thought with Sirius, who had agreed softly, “You do look so much like your dad.”

He saw on the next page there was a moving photograph of a very tanned James grinning with who he now recognised as his grandmother, Dorea, hugging him from behind, her dark eyes dancing with mirth as she tugged her son to her chest.

Another woman was standing beside Dorea, bearing a clear resemblance to her. There was another boy in front of this second woman, leaning casually against James. His black hair was like a curly mane around his head and he was just as tanned as James. His striking grey eyes identified him as a young Sirius Black.

Sirius brushed a finger over the photo and murmured, “That was the first summer I went with James and Dorea to visit Aunt Cass – my great-aunt, Cassiopeia Black. She has a villa in Greece. James and I loved visiting her. She would take us on so many adventures.”

“I’ve never left England,” Harry murmured. “I’d love to see more of the world.”

“I’d love to take you,” Sirius said keenly. “Anywhere you want in the world. I’m sure Aunt Cass would be happy to let us stay at her villa too, if she still owns it.”

Harry smiled shyly, turning the next page.

He saw a photo of James and Sirius with their arms slung over each other, dressed in black robes trimmed with red and gold. It looked to have been taken in a hallway, as though the person taking the photo had grabbed the boys before they had walked out the door.

“That’s us in our Hogwarts school robes,” Sirius explained. “Fourth year by the look of it. We were both in Gryffindor. So was your mum.”

Harry continued to carefully turn through the treasure trove of photos of his dad growing up, noting how often Sirius appeared in the photos.

There was a photo of James in scarlet robes trimmed with gold, which Harry now recognised as Quidditch robes, the shot showing him touching down on the grass on a broom, grin on his face. Then there was a flash of movement and a blurred figure ran into him, kissing him unexpectedly on the mouth. Harry realised suddenly it was his mum, Lily, judging by her bright red hair.

Sirius laughed fondly, tapping the photo and saying, “Our friend, Remus, got that shot. Lily took us all by surprise running onto the pitch and kissing him.”

“My dad played Quidditch?” Harry asked interestedly.

“He was amazing, Harry,” Sirius told him passionately. “Played Chaser - Gryffindor didn’t lose a single Quidditch game with James on the field. Are you interested in Quidditch?”

“I haven’t tried riding a broom yet,” Harry confessed, “but I really want to try.”

Sirius grinned, telling Harry, “I have photographic evidence you have ridden a broom before – let me find it.”

He shuffled through the other photo albums, before finding what he was looking for. He opened a different photo album and placed it gently in Harry’s lap over the other album.

“James boasted you were a natural,” Sirius murmured fondly.

Harry looked at the photo, blinking in surprise at the shot of what seemed to him as a toddler zipping around on a tiny broomstick. A pair of feet could be seen running after him.

“I gave you that as a present for your first birthday,” Sirius told him. “Your parents thought it was cute until you actually got control of it and started zipping around the house on it. That’s James in the background of the shot, trying to catch you.”

Harry laughed softly at the picture, watching himself as a toddler grinning cheekily as he evaded James.

“Could you teach me how to fly?” Harry asked Sirius, turning his face up to look at the man.

Sirius’ breath seemed to catch a little as he looked at Harry’s bright green eyes looking at him expectantly, and he rushed to say, “I- yes of course, I’d love to teach you how to fly. There’s a Quidditch pitch at Black Castle.”

Harry watched the moving photograph for a bit longer, fascinated at seeing himself as a baby. He had never seen any photos of himself – his aunt and uncle had never kept any sign of him in their house.

Sirius peeked at what the next photo in this later album showed, and said quietly, “I love this one.”

Harry eagerly turned the page and saw a shot of himself as a toddler again, but this time cradled in Sirius’ arms. Neither of them was looking at the camera – instead they were grinning at each other. Sirius was rocking him from side to side while Harry reached up to touch his cheek.

Harry looked silently at the photo, watching the obvious love and devotion in Sirius’ face as he swayed with Harry, like he was his entire world. It made his heart suddenly hurt, as he realised this is what he could have had up until now – a parent figure that truly adored him – and not the Dursleys who had hurt him so badly.

“I like this one too,” Harry whispered, too shy to look at Sirius.

“These albums are yours,” Sirius murmured. “I picked them up from Gringotts this morning – there are lots of items that belonged to your parents in the Potter family vault in Gringotts. They were collected and stored there. I can take you to see the vault next time to see what you want to have – it’s all yours.”

“That sounds good,” Harry replied, eager to know what his parents might have left behind.

He turned the next page, and blushed to see himself dressed up in a wolf costume, ears, tail and all. A man Harry didn’t recognise was holding him, with a funny expression on his face directed towards the camera, but when he turned to look at Harry his expression softened.

Harry’s dad James was slightly in the background of the shot, frown on his face, but Harry could tell he was joking around because his frown broke and he laughed soundlessly.

Sirius laughed himself, saying, “That’s Remus Lupin, he went to school with your mum, dad and I. Your dad is pretending to be upset because he wanted Lily to dress you up as a stag, but she insisted on a wolf.”

Sirius hesitated, like there was more he wanted to say, but instead he stayed quiet, reminiscing as he looked at the photo.

Harry turned the next page, and his breath caught as he saw a shot of his dad holding him gently, his mum holding one of his little hands and pressing a kiss to it.

“They loved you so much,” Sirius stated quietly.

Harry confessed suddenly, “I reached out for them on Samhain.”

Sirius blinked in surprise, glancing over at Lord and Lady Greengrass, whose faces were neutral as they looked back at him. He hadn’t realised they had already started teaching Harry about the traditional ways.

“How was the experience?” Sirius asked, having no issue with Harry having been taken through a ritual. Harry had technically been participating in them since he was born, so he wasn’t too upset at having missed the first one Harry would probably remember being part of.

Harry relaxed; relieved the man seemed to have no issue with him having participated in a traditional ceremony. “I think I felt them that night,” he whispered. He hadn’t told anyone else that, but it felt right to tell Sirius.

“They’re always with you, Harry. I’m glad you were able to sense their presence that night,” he murmured.

They both looked down at the photo of James and Lily with baby Harry, seeing the life and love in the young couple’s eyes as they looked at each other and their son.

Rosie hadn’t wanted to interrupt, but it was approaching half past twelve. She asked softly into the silence of the room, “Mr Black, would you like to join us for lunch?”

Sirius looked up in mild surprise at the invitation, replying, “I wouldn’t want to impose on you…”

“It wouldn’t be imposing at all,” Rosie insisted firmly. “As long as you don’t mind my daughters interrogating you. I’m afraid they have grown rather fond of Harry, and my eldest Daphne in particular mentioned wanting to ask you some questions.”

A look of amusement came across Sirius’ face and he said with a chuckle, “I can handle an interrogation that comes from a good place.”

Sirius nearly came to regret that statement over lunch as two little girls had pinned him with surprisingly fierce eyes and taken turns interrogating him about where he lived, if they could come visit, if Sirius would let Harry visit them…

The list went on. Lady Greengrass put a stop to it when Daphne had suspiciously asked him if he was married, and Sirius had nearly spat out the mouthful of water he had taken.

The upside had been the bashful look on Harry’s face at the interaction, clearly appreciating the fact the two girls cared enough about him to interrogate a person on his behalf.

Lunch had been peaceful after that, Sirius watching closely as Lady Greengrass gently urged Harry to put more vegetables on his plate, and Lord Greengrass pass a fresh napkin over to Harry who had accidentally knocked his own to the ground.

The more time Sirius spent around the family, the more an uncomfortable realisation started to dawn on him.

Lord Greengrass had warned him yesterday about how children got attached to the family they were initially put with, and a period of adjustment was important to help assist a child in moving to a new household.

But sitting at the Greengrass kitchen table, observing the tightknit family and how Harry so obviously gravitated to them, Sirius decided he needed to discuss this urgently with Lord Greengrass.

Sirius caught the man’s eye over the table, subtly tilting his head towards the exit of the room, and saw the other man nod his head slightly, understanding Sirius wanted to talk privately when there was a good moment.

Once lunch had been cleared by the family’s house elf, Lady Greengrass offered Sirius tea or coffee, but he regretfully admitted he had probably best be returning home. Harry tensed slightly, worried green eyes looking at Sirius. It stung a bit that Harry was scared Sirius might suggest Harry go with him now – but his assumption was quickly proven totally wrong when Harry asked, “When will I next see you?”

Harry hadn’t been worried about Sirius taking him away – he was worried about when he would next see Sirius.

Warm inside, Sirius assured Harry gently, “As soon as you want. You are more than welcome to come visit Black Castle whenever you want. I did promise I’d teach you how to fly.”

Daphne and Astoria gasped, both girls looking at their parents with begging eyes, clearly wanting to be invited to learn how to fly too. But Lord Greengrass said firmly, “Daphne, Astoria you can perhaps visit at a later time, if Mr Black is happy for you to come.”

Sirius found himself with two sets of begging eyes on him and he stuttered out uncertainly, “Er- yes, perhaps soon you could both come visit?”

They squealed excitedly, thanking Sirius, and he looked a little helplessly at Lady Greengrass who shrugged looking all too amused at the situation.

“Harry has tutoring during the afternoons Monday through Friday, but he could spend a morning with you, or a full day on the weekend,” Gareth explained.

Sirius was yet again surprised at the news Harry was being tutored – but it made sense, he was only eight and needed to keep up with his studies. It was one less thing for Sirius to worry about organising for Harry.

“I will leave the decision to Harry – I’ll make time for him whenever he wants,” Sirius replied.

Harry blushed a little, pleased at Sirius’ willingness to have him in his life. “Maybe I could come over tomorrow morning? And then on the weekend too?”

Sirius grinned and said back, “Sounds good, Harry.” Remembering something he added, “Would you mind meeting my grandfather, Arcturus Black, tomorrow? I live with him at Black Castle.”

“I don’t mind,” Harry replied honestly. He was very curious to meet the mysterious Lord Black, who Gareth spoke of so highly now that he had gotten to know him.

“I’ll escort Harry over at 10 o’clock tomorrow morning,” Lady Greengrass offered.

With a plan in place, everyone rose from the table. Noticing the looks exchanged between her husband and Sirius, Lady Greengrass held her hand out to Harry and said, “Why don’t we go see what Daphne and Astoria have been up to this morning?”

Harry hesitated before taking her hand, looking back to Sirius to shyly say, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sirius.”

Sirius waved at him with a warm smile, watching Lady Greengrass gently guide Harry out of the room, her daughters in tow.

Alone now, Lord Greengrass said quietly, “Shall we go to my study?”

Sirius agreed, and followed the man through the stately but still family-friendly home. The Greengrass home was a far cry from the cold, dark corners of Grimmauld Place where Sirius had grown up.

Once they were settled in the man’s study Sirius saw no reason to delay what he needed to say, declaring as soon as they were both seated, “I can’t take Harry away from you.”

Lord Greengrass blinked in surprise, replying cautiously, “You are hardly taking him away – he is yours, legally. I signed off on your custody papers yesterday.”

“You know what I mean,” Sirius said impatiently. “How can I take him to live with me when he so clearly loves being here? He’s attached to you, your wife and your daughters. He loves it here.”

Lord Greengrass considered Sirius carefully before admitting, “I agree that he is quite attached. I confess too that my family have grown to care deeply for Harry in the short time he has been living with us. But you are his rightful guardian. We can transition slowly, get him used to the idea of Black Castle as his new home and you and Lord Black as his family.”

“I don’t want him to resent me for taking him away from here,” Sirius confessed in a whisper. His grey eyes were slightly desperate and he told Lord Greengrass, “He’s been through so much. I read his file; I know what those bastards did to him. He feels safe here. He has a proper family around him; all of his needs are being met. How can I take him away?”

Lord Greengrass said nothing for a few moments, collecting his thoughts before saying anything. At last deciding a course of action, the man told Sirius, “James and Lily Potter wanted you to be the one to raise Harry if anything happened to them. You adopted him – he is your child in the eyes of magic and law. In time, Harry will come to see you as his family, as he should.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” Sirius asked, getting to the root of his concern. “What if I can’t provide him the home and family he deserves?”

Lord Greengrass’ face seemed to soften as he responded; “The fact you are so concerned about it tells me you will work hard to ensure he does have a good home and family with you.” Seeing Sirius about to open his mouth to say something more, Lord Greengrass raised a hand, adding, “But if I can allay your concerns…I have a suggestion.”

Sirius shut his mouth, keen to hear any proposition.

“I mentioned a slow transition – I would suggest we look at a six month period of changeover from my home to yours. With your permission, Harry could spent weeknights with my family – he is being tutored by my brother-in-law, Ezra Yaxley, who normally teaches at Durmstrang but is on extended leave to write an academic paper. On Saturday mornings either my wife or myself could escort Harry to Black Castle, and he could spend weekends with you. What are your thoughts on this proposal?”

“Would you really be willing to continue looking after Harry for a majority of the week? We could work out an allowance of some sort to compensate you for-” Sirius started to say uncertainly, but was cut off by Lord Greengrass.

“No payment is necessary. As I said, my family and I are quite attached to him as he is to us. It would be a pleasure to have him continue to stay with us for a while longer. We can review the situation regularly – perhaps in a month we could move to have a more even split of his time between households? With the eventual goal being that he spends the majority of his week with you,” Lord Greengrass proposed.

“I want to do whatever Harry wants,” Sirius insisted. “If he needs more time, then I want to give it to him. I happily agree to your proposal, as long as Harry is happy.”

“Then we are in agreement, Mr Black,” Lord Greengrass confirmed.

“Call me Sirius – if we’re going to be sharing custody of Harry then we should be more casual,” Sirius suggested.

“Sirius,” Lord Greengrass affirmed, adding, “Gareth then – and my wife goes by Rosie.”

With that out of the way, clearly looking more relaxed, Sirius said, “Can you fill me in on what exactly your brother-in-law is teaching Harry? And could we draft that statement for the press to explain I now have custody of Harry?”

Gareth nodded, settling in for a busy afternoon with Sirius.

Four days after the explosive reveal that Sirius Black was in fact innocent, a statement was provided exclusively to reporter Alexandra Knox, senior editor for the Daily Prophet and a journalist Gareth Greengrass trusted.

The statement was short but made the front page – Lord Gareth Greengrass, head of the Child Protection Authority, confirmed that Harry Potter had been removed from his Muggle relatives by his department. The CPA would not be responding to any enquiries from the press or public as to the nature of the custody change, other than confirming there had been valid grounds for removal. Mr Potter was now formally in the care of his godfather, Sirius Black.

Alongside the statement from Lord Greengrass, Mr Black, in his first official statement since being released from custody, announced that he had magically adopted Harry Potter as a baby. He explained that James and Lily Potter had wanted him to raise Harry as his own if anything happened to them. He politely requested privacy for he and his godson in this time.

A media frenzy ensued despite the request for privacy, with everyone having some sort of theory or opinion about why Harry Potter had been removed from his Muggle relatives, and why Sirius Black had adopted Harry Potter as a baby.

But one thing everyone agreed on – this had been the most explosive week of the year for journalistic news.

But it was about to get busier.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Two: A mother’s love

Rosie escorted Harry to Black Castle the following morning, Harry experiencing travel by Floo for the first time. The fireplace was big enough for him to travel alongside Rosie, rather than having to go one at a time.

They arrived together, Harry squinting his eyes against the bright flare of green flames that temporarily obscured his vision. He blinked as Rosie gently tugged him out of the new fireplace they had arrived in.

The room they stepped into was huge, and Harry's attention was immediately caught by a massive tapestry that covered the wall opposite, which looked like a family tree. The writing at the very top in elegant script stated, ‘The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black’.

He then noticed Sirius standing near a window that stretched from floor to ceiling, and an elderly man seated by the same window, his hair silver and his eyes dark.

“Welcome to Black Castle, Harry,” Sirius said with a grin. The remembering his manners he glanced at Rosie and added, “And Lady Greengrass.”

“Thank you having us in your home,” Rosie replied, nodding her head respectfully towards the elderly man who must be Lord Black.

The man rose to his feet slowly and approached Harry and Rosie where they were still standing near the fireplace. He was as tall as Sirius, and somehow even more imposing despite his advanced age. There was an air of power around him, something about his bearing that demanded attention and respect.

Harry nearly had to crane his neck to keep his eyes on the man as he drew close. Then the elderly gentleman held out his hand to Harry, dark eyes watchful as he said in a deep voice, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Harry. My name is Arcturus Black. You may call me Arcturus, or grandfather, if you wish.”

Sirius looked pleasantly surprised from behind his grandfather’s shoulder.

Harry reached out, taking the hand with a grip he hoped wasn’t too firm or too limp, and replied bravely, “It’s nice to meet you…grandfather.”

He thought about how the word felt to say out loud, and decided he rather liked it. He was rewarded for his reply by those impossibly dark eyes warming.

Lord Black turned to Rosie and asked her, “Would you care to stay for some tea or coffee, Lady Greengrass?”

“I do not wish to interrupt your time with Harry – I will return home to Greengrass Manor unless Harry needs me to stay,” Rosie responded, glancing down at Harry and gauging his expression and level of comfort.

Harry smiled reassuringly at Rosie and said, “I’m okay, thanks Rosie.”

She smiled happily and after confirming Sirius would escort Harry back through the Floo to Greengrass Manor at half past twelve to be back in time for his afternoon tutoring, she left after a final polite nod to both Sirius and Lord Black.

“Come and sit with us, Harry,” Arcturus said gently, leading him to the chairs placed near the wide window.

Harry was awed as he approached the window and saw the incredible view of the rolling green lawn down to a massive lake. Arcturus stood by him silently, seemingly admiring the view with Harry.

“I will never tire of this view,” Arcturus murmured, confirming Harry’s suspicions.

“It’s incredible,” Harry breathed, already keen to explore the grounds. He couldn’t believe this was going to be his home.

“I’ll take you on a tour – but we’re going to need longer than a couple of hours to cover everything,” Sirius said from behind Harry. “But for now, grandfather and I have something important we need to discuss with you.”

Harry turned serious, glancing at both men and asking, “Is this about me living between here and Greengrass Manor?”

Gareth had sat him down yesterday and explained the proposal he and Sirius had come up with, and Harry had been delighted. It had made him even happier at the prospect of living with Sirius, knowing he cared so much about Harry’s happiness that he would let him transition at his own pace between homes.

“No, it’s about something else,” Sirius explained, glancing at his grandfather. “Let’s all sit down.”

The trio took their seats, Harry unable to help his gaze straying outside the window again, still enamoured with the breath-taking view. His attention snapped to Arcturus though when the man said, “Harry, as you know, I am the lord of House Black. Sirius is my heir – when I pass on, he will inherit the title of Lord Black.”

Harry nodded, a little uncertain where this conversation was heading. “At this stage, Sirius has no children, biologically or adopted, other than you.”

Harry’s green eyes widened, looking to Sirius as he suddenly realised where the conversation could be going now.

Sirius met Harry’s surprised gaze as he confirmed, “I don’t have any plans for marriage at this point, or having any other kids. To be honest, when James and Lily asked me to adopt you, I was relieved. it meant I wouldn’t have to worry about starting a relationship with someone and planning on having kids with that person. You’re all I’ve got, Harry. You’re all I plan to have.”

“When I pass, Sirius will become Lord Black, and you, Harry, will become the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,” Arcturus declared.

“But…” Harry trailed off, trying to order his thoughts. “I understand magical adoption means that Sirius is considered my parent. But I’m not really a proper Black am I?”

“You are a Black,” Arcturus insisted. He pointed to the tapestry behind Harry and said, “Take a look.”

Harry glanced to where the man was pointing, suddenly noticing his name, Harry James Potter, woven into the grand tapestry under the names James Charlus Potter and Lily Jane Potter née Evans.

“Truly, you are a Black twice over,” Arcturus explained. “You are descended from my cousin, Dorea, and you are also my own great-grandchild through magic. You are a part of this family, Harry. When you become the heir, you can officially hyphenate your name, if you wish, to Harry Potter-Black. It would be an honour to have you as the future lord of this house.”

Harry couldn’t help feeling shocked. He had been learning so much about the Sacred Twenty-Eight in his lessons with Ezra, and he had already vowed to do something to protect the traditions and legacy of his ancestors, especially having a dark magical core. To hear he would one day be the lord of one of the oldest families in Britain, and one of the original dark bloodlines too, was overwhelming.

Seeing Harry was speechless, Sirius told him gently, “I know it’s a lot to take in, and also a lot of responsibility to put on your shoulders. I know when my father sat me down to talk to me about this as a kid, I lashed out. I never wanted that kind of responsibility, and I had zero interest in having anything to do with this lordship stuff.”

“What changed your mind?” Harry asked him, finding his voice.

“Your mum,” Sirius confessed. Judging by the shocked look on Arcturus’ face, Sirius had not told his grandfather about this.

Sirius hesitated, before saying; “I told you yesterday that there is so much about your parents that I want to tell you. And perhaps a good place to start is with this – it was your mum who encouraged me to not turn my back on my responsibilities. It was your mum who helped me realise it was okay to be a dark wizard. She helped your dad too accept his heritage.”

“Was my mum interested in wizarding traditions?” Harry asked.

“Very much so,” Sirius confirmed. “She studied everything she could get her hands on. When I asked her once why she was so insistent on learning, even about the Sacred Twenty-Eight, she said it was because she was Muggleborn that she was so keen to learn. Lily wanted to embrace the wizarding world in its entirety. She helped me realise how precious my position was. And what’s more…” Sirius trailed off.

He glanced at his grandfather, who was listening in with intrigue at the information coming to light about the mysterious Muggleborn who had won the heart of James Potter and so inspired his own grandson.

“Lily might have been born with a neutral magical core. But she loved the Dark Arts.”

Harry was surprised, but delighted by that news. “How did she learn it?” Harry asked eagerly, wondering how a Muggleborn had been taught. “Did you and my dad teach her?”

“We didn’t, at least not at first, though we showed her some things later on,” Sirius explained haltingly.

Seeing Harry’s confused look, and his grandfather’s watchful gaze, Sirius sighed and said, “She had a friend growing up who was a dark wizard. He taught her everything, encouraged her interest in it, even if she could never master it. They had a falling out as teenagers, but Lily never lost her passion for the Dark Arts. When she became friends with me and James, she couldn’t believe we weren’t practicing it, despite being dark wizards. She made us feel like proper idiots for not embracing our legacies – as she was right to point out,” Sirius said ruefully.

“So my mum got you and my dad into the Dark Arts again,” Harry affirmed. Then a sudden idea came to mind. “Was it my mum’s idea to have you adopt me? Gareth told me that you and my dad organised for me to be adopted so that I would inherit a dark magical core. But was it my mum who asked for it?”

Sirius looked surprised, before he smiled warmly and confirmed, “Yes, it was Lily’s idea. She had a true passion for the Dark Arts, and regretted not having a dark magical core herself. She wanted to ensure her child would have one, and asked me to adopt you.”

“A bright woman,” Arcturus said at last, shocked.

“The best,” Sirius whispered.

He paused, obviously having more to say, but struggling with the words.

“That night in Godric’s Hollow…” Sirius hesitated, grey eyes worriedly seatching Harry’s face as he brought it up.

Harry’s face fell at the mention, but he was determined to hear what Sirius had to say. It felt important.

“I know how you survived,” Sirius whispered, eyes fixed intently on Harry’s own.

“How?” Harry asked breathlessly.

“Your mum was particularly gifted with blood magic,” Sirius murmured. “I’ve never heard of or seen anything of the like – neither myself nor James were capable of doing what she could do with blood magic. When it came to that branch of the Dark Arts, she was probably as close to mastery as she could be, given the limitations of her neutral magical core. Lily used blood magic in order to prepare an additional protection in Godric’s Hollow, a failsafe, in case the Fidelius Charm was not enough.”

Arcturus was leaning forward, Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe as he listened to Sirius’ quiet confession of what had really happened that night Voldemort had been defeated.

“The ritual she prepared was simple but powerful. She used her own blood to prepare it. The magic she performed was a ritual of sacrifice,” Sirius explained.

Arcturus breathed in sharply with sudden realisation, now recollecting something that seemed to him like an old fairy tale. “A life willingly given for another,” he breathed, face awed.

Sirius ducked his head briefly, before bravely looking back at Harry. “Your mother prepared this ritual with herself as the giver, and you as the receiver of the magic of the ritual. If she willingly gave her life for you, then the person who killed her could not cause you any harm, let alone kill you.”

“She sacrificed herself for me. She gave her life so that I lived,” Harry realised.

“Your mother loved you more than life, Harry,” Sirius told him, a little thickly through obvious emotion. “When she allowed Voldemort to kill her without raising a wand in defence, the ritual activated. When he turned his wand on you, the receiver of the ritualistic sacrifice, he could not harm you. The spell backfired on him, and you survived.”

“I know all of this for certain because when I…when I found her,” and here Sirius’s voice grew choked with emotion, but he pushed on, “I saw the runes of the ritual imprinted on her left hand and around her left wrist, activated at the moment she gave her life, where she had given blood for the ritual.”

Harry felt an overwhelming sense of unimaginable gratitude for this woman who he had never had the chance to know. And for his dad, who had fought that night too to protect he and his mum.

“Her love for you was etched into every rune of the ritual. Her protection and sacrifice is now woven into every fibre of your being from the blood magic she performed. Even if Voldemort returns, he cannot harm you. It is old magic, and unbelievably powerful. Your mother’s sacrifice ensured you would be protected from him then, and in the future,” Sirius explained.

Arcturus’ mind was racing, and he said aloud, “It’s why Dumbledore wanted Harry placed with those Muggles. He must have worked out what Lily Potter did that night after seeing the runes on her. Her sister shares her blood. He must have thought by putting Harry with her, he would be maintaining the protection.”

“He knows nothing of the Dark Arts,” Sirius replied angrily. “That is not how blood magic works. Lily’s protection lives on in Harry to this day, and it has nothing to do with anyone else. Regardless of where Harry was put, his mother’s sacrifice continues to safeguard him from Voldemort.”

That reminded Harry of the fact he apparently required safeguarding from Voldemort in the first place. “Why did Voldemort try and kill me that night?” Harry asked. “I was just a baby, I was no threat.”

Sirius’ face grew grave and he visibly hesitated causing both Harry and Arcturus to lean forward with the realisation that Sirius could know the reason why Voldemort had tried to kill an infant too.

“There was a reason why James and Lily went into hiding with you, Harry, in late 1980. Dumbledore believed that Voldemort had cause to target, not your parents, but you. He had heard a prophecy, you see, which was unfortunately overheard by one of Voldemort’s Death Eaters. Dumbledore believed that this prophecy would be enough to send Voldemort after you,” Sirius explained.

Harry frowned slightly and asked, “What is a prophecy?”

Sirius blinked, forgetting with how mature Harry was that he didn’t have the same vocabulary as the adults in the room.

Arcturus explained smoothly, “A prophecy is a true prediction of what will happen in the future. They are foretold by Seers, who are are witches with complete mastery over divination - the art of foreseeing future events and uncovering hidden truths.”

“What did the prophecy say?” Harry asked, desperate to know what the prediction had been, and why Voldemort had been so determined to kill him.

“I only know what Dumbledore told James and Lily – that you were in great danger because the prophecy said a boy, born at the end of the seventh month to parents who had defied Voldemort three times, would have the power to defeat Voldemort. And so your parents went into hiding with you. As I said, a Death Eater overheard the prophecy and delivered the news to Voldemort, who started to hunt for you. But I don’t know the full prophecy – I fear only Dumbledore does.”

“Is there any way to learn the whole prophecy without having to rely on Dumbledore?” Harry questioned worriedly. “I want to hear it for myself.”

Sirius seemed a bit at a loss, but Arcturus murmured, “I have heard rumours that the Department of Mysteries keeps a record of every true prophecy that is foretold by a Seer. But that is nothing but a rumour. And I don’t know how one would even get permission to access a such a record, with how secretive the department is.”

“We can try and make some subtle enquiries,” Sirius suggested. Then he added, “There’s another possibility too…but I’m not sure how successful we would be in getting an answer from this person. But the Death Eater who overheard the prophecy and told Voldemort, later betrayed Voldemort to come and work for Dumbledore.”

Seeing Harry’s sceptical expression, and Arcturus’ reserved face Sirius explained, “The Death Eater used to be Lily’s childhood best friend – Severus Snape. He’s the one who taught her the Dark Arts. They had a falling out as teenagers, as I said, but he must have…held her very dear.” Sirius seemed to struggle in saying that.

He continued, “Snape told Voldemort what he had overheard, but when he realised Voldemort believed it was Lily's son to be one of the potential subjects of the prophecy, he betrayed Voldemort and rushed to Dumbledore to warn him, to protect Lily. He started to spy for us, passing us information.”

“The boy from the photo,” Harry whispered.

“Yes,” Sirius confirmed. “It is his fault that Voldemort learned of the prophecy. But he did start to spy for us. I don’t like the man, I never have and I doubt I ever will like him. But Snape is likely the only person, other than Dumbledore, who heard the prophecy. There's the Seer herself too, but when a Seer foretells a prophecy, she enters a trance-like state and cannot recall what she says.”

“Is there some way we can make contact with this Snape to talk about the prophecy?” Arcturus asked.

“It really shouldn’t be me making contact with him,” Sirius muttered. “We…have a lot of bad blood between us. Besides, it’s probably too risky. He’s loyal to Dumbledore – if we go asking around, he would likely tell Dumbledore we’ve been digging for information.”

Harry fought down his disappointment at the dead end, frustrated that there was a prophecy about him that he couldn’t even hear. He wanted to know the exact wording, wanted to know what had driven Voldemort to come and kill him.

“It’s important that you know this too, Harry,” Sirius murmured, grabbing Harry’s attention. “You were not the only child the prophecy seemed to apply to. Our friends, Frank and Alice Longbottom, also went into hiding, because their son, Neville, was born at the end of July too. Neville is the same age as you, and Frank and Alice had defied Voldemort three times as well.”

Harry relaxed slightly, asking with relief, “So it’s not just me – I wasn’t actually named in the prophecy? There’s at least one other person it could be about, maybe more?”

Sirius nodded stating, “If it really was a true prophecy, there’s a chance it might not even be about you.” His face fell as he added, “It didn’t stop Voldemort from coming after you and your parents specifically though.”

“And he might still come after me in the future,” Harry muttered. “Especially since he was defeated that night my parents died. Even though it was my mum’s magic that protected me and caused his spell to rebound. He doesn’t know that.”

“I won’t let him touch you,” Sirius professed fiercely. “I don’t care what that prophecy says – even if you really do have the power to defeat him for good. It’s not your job to protect the wizarding world from him. You have as much a right as anyone to live a safe and happy life.”

The words were an echo of what Gareth had insisted when he had first told Harry about why he was famous in their world, and Harry had expressed his fears of society putting expectations on him. It was reassuring to know that Sirius was determined to shelter him from those who would want to use Harry.

Ruefully, Sirius added, “Morgana, Harry I am so sorry to have dropped all of this on your shoulders this morning.”

“I am glad you told me,” Harry insisted. “I would have been upset if I learned about all of this later down the track, and I’d been kept in the dark.”

“Perhaps it is time for a short tour around this part of the castle?” Arcturus ventured. “There’s still some time before Sirius will need to take you back to the Greengrass home.”

Harry hesitated, glancing longingly out at the grounds, towards the rolling green lawn and the huge lake.

Sirius laughed softly, and when Harry looked at him confusedly he replied, “I know that look. I saw it enough on your dad’s face when we were stuck in classes. You want to go outside, right?”

Harry blushed at being caught, but also felt warm that he seemed to share mannerisms with his dad. It felt good to have a connection to his parents.

“A tour of the grounds it is,” Arcturus agreed with a gentle smile.

“We won’t have time this morning, but I promise to start teaching you how to fly this weekend,” Sirius said with a grin.

Harry beamed.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Three: We spin our own fates

Sirius arrived at the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts later that day, after Harry had left Black Castle to return to the Greengrass home for his afternoon classes. He had finally accepted one of Dumbledore’s many requests to meet, and had been granted direct Floo access into the office, to save having to walk through the school and be gawked at by the students and staff.

“Sirius, my boy! I have been looking forward to this meeting,” Dumbledore said warmly as Sirius stepped through the fireplace, brushing the soot from his robes.

Easing his features into an amiable grin, Sirius replied, “I’m sorry for the delay, Albus – there has been so much paperwork to get through.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore said sympathetically, gesturing for Sirius to take a seat before his desk. “I was relieved to receive your letter confirming you secured custody of Harry. How is he settling in with you?”

Sirius took the seat gestured to, glancing appreciatively at the phoenix, Fawkes, sitting by the desk. The creature was undeniably beautiful, and it trilled gently at Sirius as he looked over. He smiled gently at the phoenix, who watched him with intelligent eyes. 

“He’s settled in well,” Sirius said, turning his gaze back to Dumbledore who was listening intently. Sirius was of course totally ignoring the fact that Harry was technically living most of the time with the Greengrass family.

“Is he living with you at Grimmauld Place?” Dumbledore asked curiously, hands steepled in front of him.

“Grimmauld Place is a mess right now,” Sirius answered honestly. His grandfather had examined the property and found it in a state of total disrepair – it seemed like the house elf Kreacher had left the place in squalor since Walburga had died a couple of years ago. “My grandfather is starting renovations and seeing how much of the furniture is salvageable. So Harry will be staying with me at Black Castle.”

“I see,” Dumbledore responded, surveying Sirius over his half moon spectacles. With a cautious air about him Dumbledore continued, “So you and Harry will continue living with your grandfather for the foreseeable future?”

“Yes,” Sirius affirmed pleasantly, inwardly seething at Dumbledore’s suspicions of his grandfather. The man had never even been a supporter of Voldemort, and had maintained a low profile over the years.

Quickly changing the subject before Dumbledore could keep pushing his agenda, Sirius distracted him by saying; “I saw Crouch’s interview that was published this morning.”

Dumbledore’s face fell and he asked Sirius quietly, “What do you make of his allegations?”

Sirius let the silence stretch between them, enjoying letting Dumbledore squirm for a bit.

Crouch hadn’t taken his fall from grace lying down – he was suspended without pay pending the investigation into his own misconduct, but it hadn’t stopped him from offering the media an exclusive interview where he detailed Dumbledore’s involvement in putting Sirius behind bars. There were mixed reviews to the interview so far – some dismissed the allegations as the lies of a man desperate to deflect the blame from himself. Others were reserving judgment until they heard from Dumbledore or Sirius on the matter.

“It was still his choice to send me to Azkaban without trial,” Sirius finally said.

Dumbledore rushed to say, “I did not know he did that. I was questioned briefly and confirmed with the Aurors what I knew – that as far as I was aware you had been James and Lily’s Secret-Keeper.”

For all Dumbledore pissed Sirius off, he could tell in his gut that the old man was really telling the truth. It didn’t change the fact though that he had wilfully turned a blind eye to Crouch’s sham of a court – he chose not to attend that hearing, turning his back on Sirius and washing his hands of him. He also never came to visit Sirius in Azkaban and clarify the story for himself. With his influence and power he could have easily pulled some strings – the evidence of it lay in how quickly he was able to get permission to visit Azkaban when he had belatedly realised Sirius might actually be innocent.

“I believe you,” Sirius replied.

Dumbledore smile genially at Sirius, that twinkle back in his eyes as be visibly relaxed, leaning back in his chair. He was obviously pleased that Crouch’s allegations hadn’t shaken Sirius’ faith in him. As far as he knew.

“I was hoping you could help me with something, Albus,” Sirius continued, making sure to put a contemplative look on his face. “I’ve been looking through the Potter vault to see what has been stored there from Harry's parents. And I couldn’t help but notice James’ Invisibility Cloak is missing. The goblins informed me they never received it – I’m a bit worried someone might have stolen it from Godric’s Hollow.”

“Ah forgive me, my boy, the fault is mine I’m afraid,” Dumbledore said warmly with that damnable twinkle still in his eyes. “The Cloak is in my possession. I did not want to leave such a precious family heirloom unattended – so I took it from Godric’s Hollow and it has been in my safekeeping ever since. I intended on giving it to Harry when he arrived at Hogwarts.”

Sirius bit down his fury at the man’s entitlement to just take something that did not belong to him – who knew why he really took it – but Sirius doubted it was to protect the Cloak. It would have been perfectly safe with the other objects in the house, which were all transported to Gringotts to be stored in the Potter family vault. There was no place safer than Gringotts.

“Oh that’s a relief.” Sirius forced himself to smile. “I was rather hoping I could give it to Harry myself.”

Sirius looked at Dumbledore expectantly.

The man smiled back and said, “I will of course provide it to you – Harry is the rightful owner after all.”

He reached into the drawer of his desk of all places and pulled out the familiar bundle of the Invisibility Cloak, passing it into Sirius’ hands.

As he touched the familiar Cloak, under which he and James had shared so many adventures over the years, Sirius felt rather emotional. Not to mention relieved Dumbledore hadn’t dug in his heels about it. Sirius doubted he could have kept his cool if Dumbledore had tried to refuse.

“Thank you, Albus,” Sirius said quietly, staring down at the Cloak.

“Now, I hope you won’t be encouraging young Harry to get up to mischief with this? I wonder if he will follow in you and James’ footsteps - I know you two were always having adventures while you were at school,” Dumbledore said cheerily.

“We’ll see,” Sirius replied with a small smile, which was partly genuine as he thought of the memories of the past. He didn’t know Harry well enough yet to make that kind of assessment.

“Speaking of the past…I am organising a meeting of the Order this weekend. To officially welcome you back. And to discuss Harry,” Dumbledore said, growing serious.

“What is there to discuss about Harry?” Sirius asked, not even bothering to hide his tension.

Dumbledore raised a placating hand and said, “I feel it is a timely opportunity with Harry now in your custody to talk about the future with the Order. You know Voldemort will return.”

“But what does that have to do with Harry?” Sirius grit out.

Dumbledore could clearly see Sirius’ anger, and took a gentler tone as he said, “You know I care about Harry’s safety as much as you do. When Voldemort returns, he will come after Harry. We must start preparing for that eventuality.”

Seeing an opportunity, even through his anger, Sirius asked determinedly, “Why will Voldemort come after Harry? James and Lily told me something about a prophecy. What did the prophecy say exactly?”

This could be his chance.

Dumbledore observed Sirius carefully, before saying, “The prophecy spoke of a child with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. Born as the seventh month dies, to those who have thrice defied him.”

“I knew that much,” Sirius replied, forcing his frustration down. “But it applies to Frank and Alice’s son too, right? It could apply to others we don’t know about as well. So why are you certain it will be Harry he comes after? What else does the prophecy say?”

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, assessing Sirius silently for a few moments. Sirius could feel the brush of Legilimency against his mind and pushed forward thoughts of his desire to protect Harry as he made eye contact.

He hated how often Dumbledore used Legilimency to pry into other people’s thoughts.

Apparently satisfied, the man sighed and informed Sirius, “I believe by going to Godric’s Hollow that night, Voldemort set the prophecy in motion, and marked Harry as the child of the prophecy.” He told Sirius firmly, “What I am about to tell you must not leave this room. I am trusting you with this information because you are Harry’s guardian. It is important for you to know.”

Sirius leaned forward eagerly, having absolutely no intention of keeping this to himself. It was rich of Dumbledore to say that – if he really believed that, then he should have told James and Lily the full prophecy. But he had chosen to leave James and Lily in the dark, and possibly condemned them for it.

Dumbledore shut his eyes briefly, collecting his thoughts. When he opened them again he opened his mouth and recited the prophecy.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...”

Sirius carefully dissected every word in his head, turning over each word.

“Harry’s scar,” he whispered. “That’s why you think the prophecy was set in motion that night. He survived, but was marked.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore pressed. “Harry is the chosen one of the prophecy. He has the power to defeat Voldemort.”

“He’s a child,” Sirius said incredulously.

“For now,” Dumbledore conceded. “But he will grow.”

“And then what? He’ll be used against Voldemort as a weapon?” Sirius asked angrily.

Dumbledore looked at him sadly, murmuring, “I don’t think Voldemort will leave us much of a choice. He will not rest until Harry is dead. As long as Voldemort lives, Harry’s life is in danger. We must prepare him, if only so that he can protect himself.”

“I agree that Harry needs to be protected, but he is a child, Albus. It is not his job to protect himself. It is the job of the adults around him to keep him safe,” Sirius insisted, trying to help Dumbledore understand.

“Of course we will provide him with guidance and protection,” Dumbledore affirmed. “But the prophecy stated Harry would have power the Dark Lord knows not – fate has deemed him to be the one to defeat Voldemort, and has equipped him for it.”

Sirius realised with horror that Dumbledore truly believed what he was saying – he genuinely planned on using Harry against Voldemort. It took every shred of self-restraint in Sirius to avoid lashing out, yelling at the meddling old man to stay away from his godson.

Dumbledore took Sirius’ silence as acceptance, asking, “Can I confirm you will attend the Order meeting? It will be at Elphias Doge’s home, you remember the place, yes?”

“Can I confirm with you later, Albus?” Sirius asked, affecting a downhearted appearance. “I have an appointment with my Specialist Healer, paperwork to sort with Gringotts, and in all honesty I’m not sure if I’m ready yet to face the rest of the Order. It’s been so long.”

He kept his eyes down to hide his gaze, trying to look disappointed in himself and crestfallen.

“Everyone is eager to welcome you back,” Dumbledore pressed.

“I think I need more time,” Sirius murmured, keeping his eyes downcast.

There was a strained silence, before Dumbledore said at last, “Let me know if you change your mind, Sirius. I’d like to think that you consider the Order like your family. We are here to support you and Harry.”

Sirius felt like scoffing – if that was the case why didn’t a single one of them speak up for him when he was sent to Azkaban? And when push came to shove it was clear Dumbledore planned on using Harry as a weapon against Voldemort.

Sirius knew it would be useful to attend that Order meeting to work out what they were up to – but he could only pretend so far. He was at heart, a Gryffindor. If anyone said anything about using Harry he would be cursing him or her quicker than they could blink.

He meant what he said to Remus and Emmeline – he was done with the Order. Dumbledore just didn’t know that yet.

“Thank you, Albus,” Sirius murmured. Then he added, “Would you mind if I took a turn around the school, for old times sake? I loved this place so much.”

He knew he had touched on the old man’s sentimental side – Dumbledore’s eyes softened and he said, “Of course, Sirius. Use that Cloak though, yes? And come back to my office when you are ready to leave.”

With one last inch of patience from somewhere deep in his soul Sirius forced himself to grin back at the man, saying, “Cheers, Albus!”

As he hid himself beneath the Cloak and exited the office, the smile dropped entirely from his face. His hands were nearly shaking with his rage as he thought about Dumbledore’s plans for Harry.

Even if Harry had indeed been marked as the subject of the prophecy, Dumbledore was overlooking one simple thing.

The prophecy said that the child born would have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. Not that the child must vanquish the Dark Lord. Harry had the potential to grow into an incredibly powerful wizard. The result of the Mirror Sphere that Gareth had shared with he and his grandfather proved that much – Harry's core was already so developed.

But Sirius believed in the freedom of choice. He refused to allow Harry to be bound by the prophecy and pushed into becoming a weapon against Voldemort. He was determined to keep Harry safe – not just from Voldemort but Dumbledore too.

Mind set, Sirius made his way down the familiar route from the headmaster’s office to where he remembered Filch’s office to be.

He had a map to take back.

Upon returning to Black Castle, Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder’s Map in hand, Sirius was notified by one of the house elves that an owl had arrived with a letter for him while he had been absent, from Lord Greengrass.

After storing both precious objects carefully, Sirius had the letter brought to him, quickly scanning it. With a victorious glint in his grey eyes he sent the house elf for his grandfather.

It was time.

After a quick fire call to confirm Gareth was ready for him to arrive with his grandfather, Sirius and Lord Black Flooed over to Greengrass Manor. With Harry occupied in class that afternoon, there was no risk of him overhearing the conversation that was about to happen. They would tell him in due course what they were doing, but for now, it was time for the adults to handle the situation and see justice done for Harry.

The Greengrass family house elf greeted the two men with a curtsey and escorted them straight to Gareth’s private study, which Sirius recalled from yesterday when he had discussed Harry’s living arrangements with the man.

Inside the room was Gareth, seated behind his desk with a serious look on his handsome face. Rosie was seated nearest to the desk, one leg tucked elegantly behind the other.

Standing by Gareth's desk on the other side was an unfamiliar woman with light brown hair and warm brown eyes. The final occupant of the room was Madam Bones, the stern faced woman seated beside Rosie.

“Lord Black, Mr Black,” Gareth said politely as they entered the room. He gestured to the seats available, saying, “Please be seated. I understand you are familiar with Madam Bones, and my wife of course, but allow me to introduce you to Ms Louisa Abbott. She is the senior manager of the CPA, and has been in charge of the investigation into Harry’s circumstances.”

Ms Abbott nodded her head politely to both men saying, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Black and Mr Black.”

With the niceties out of the way and the final members of the impromptu meeting present, Gareth nodded to Ms Abbott and she straightened her shoulders and began to speak.

“I apologise for the late notice, but I have just concluded the investigation into Harry’s placement with his Muggle relatives. I will begin first with the contents of James and Lily Potter’s last will and testament. The copy that was in Harry’s CPA file was certified in August 1980. Upon subpoenaing the law firm that was managing the Potters’ legal affairs, they provided a copy certified in June 1981. The firm also confirmed that Mr Elphias Doge, the previous head of the CPA, never subpoenaed them for the last will and testament. They do not know how he received that earlier, outdated, copy.”

“I do,” Sirius said grimly, mind racing at what he had just heard. “Dumbledore witnessed the 1980 one. I know he got a copy. He would have provided it to Doge.”

“That is a complete abuse of process,” Madam Bones said curtly.

“Was there any material difference between the 1980 and 1981 documents?” Lord Black questioned Ms Abbott. There was a dangerous look in his eyes.

The woman nodded tightly, confirming the fears of those in the room. “The 1981 document actually included an acknowledgement that Sirius Black magically adopted Mr Potter. James and Lily Potter made it clear he was to be Harry’s legal guardian in the event of their deaths or incapacity to care for Harry. However an additional section had been added underneath, which I will read out.”

Ms Abbott pulled a document out from her briefcase open on the desk. Looking down at the paper she read out, “We hereby state that Petunia Dursley née Evans, the sister of Lily Potter née Evans, is not to be appointed guardian of Harry James Potter, under any circumstances. If the aforementioned Sirius Black is unable to carry out his guardianship, we name Remus John Lupin as an alternative guardian.”

“Harry should never have been placed with the Muggles. His parents explicitly forbade it, obviously for good reason. We ran a background check on this Mr Lupin – he has no criminal record and he is currently living in Edinburgh. With Sirius sentenced to Azkaban, Mr Lupin should have gained custody of Harry, had the correct paperwork been put on file,” Gareth said quietly.

“Remus is an old friend,” Sirius whispered. “I would have trusted him to look after Harry.”

“Who executed the incorrect will?” Madam Bones asked sharply.  

“Dumbledore,” Ms Abbott informed them all darkly. “He was the executor of the will for the 1980 copy, the one that the CPA had on file. However, in the legal 1981 version they named Sirius Black as the executor of their will, and Remus Lupin, again, as an alternative.”

“Can charges be brought against Dumbledore for this?” Rosie asked keenly.

“It is difficult to say,” Madam Bones admitted. “Doge has clearly breached his duties by failing to subpoena the law firm to confirm the most up to date last will and testament. He will surely face legal consequences for that action alone. However, Dumbledore might escape any charges, given he had what he might reasonably believe to be the most up to date copy. He provided it to Doge, yes, but it was Doge’s responsibility as head of the CPA to confirm its accuracy before putting it on file.”

There was a frustrated tension in the room at the thought that Dumbledore could weasel out of any charges due to a technicality. However, what Ms Abbott said next changed the mood.

“I managed to interview Petunia Dursley last week regarding the circumstances of how Harry came into her custody. I have the Pensieve memory of our conversation prepared." The woman's face tightened as she added, "It was a difficult interview. That woman was unpleasant, and I believe she only cooperated with me because she thought I might be able to smooth things out for her to regain custody of her son."

Ms Abbott shook her head, and continued, "She claimed that she awoke on the morning of the second of November 1981, and put the milk bottles outside. She found Harry wrapped in a blanket on the doorstep. There was a letter on top of him. Albus Dumbledore had written that letter. Mrs Dursley no longer has it – she says she ripped it apart after reading it. But she told me Dumbledore informed her in the letter that her sister and brother-in-law had been killed, and that Harry was now in her care. The letter contained no way of contacting Dumbledore or seeking further information. Apparently though at the end Dumbledore wrote that he would be watching over the house. Mrs Dursley confirmed in the nearly seven years that Harry lived at the house, they never once were visited by Dumbledore, or anyone else from our world.”

“He left an infant on a doorstep all night in the cold?” Madam Bones hissed.

“And he didn’t even sit down to explain anything to the Muggles in person, or to confirm they were prepared or even suitable to take custody of a magical child,” Rosie added.

Sirius was glad this conversation had happened after he met with Dumbledore – he wasn’t sure if he could have hidden his fury for the old man if he had seen him after hearing all of this. Every time he thought he could no longer be surprised by something Dumbledore did, he was stunned to furious silence again.

Gareth explained, “In Harry’s CPA file, Doge signed off on his placement with the Muggles. The standard procedure when a wizarding child is placed, with any family, is for a background check to be performed first. Ms Abbott and I found no official record of one being done when we first opened the file, but Ms Abbot later found a memo attached to the file.”

Gareth paused, letting Ms Abbott take over again, who continued, “Doge noted down that one Minerva McGonagall had performed the background check on the Dursleys on the first of November 1981. This is highly unorthodox though, as McGonagall is certainly not a CPA employee. She is a professor at Hogwarts. Nor was any report filed, as is the correct procedure. So I went to speak with Professor McGonagall myself.”

There were surprised looks around the room, as well as a fair bit of concern – it was no secret McGonagall was loyal to Dumbledore.

“I had her sign a non-disclosure agreement first before we spoke,” Ms Abbot informed everyone, seeing the looks of concern. “Professor McGonagall was concerned and confused when I told her she had been named as having done a background check on Harry Potter’s Muggle guardians. She claims to have done no such thing, at least not in an official sense. Apparently, Dumbledore asked her for a favour, to observe the Dursley’s for a few hours in her Animagus form on the first of November. He came and met with her that evening, and informed her Harry was to be left with the Muggles.

She expressed her concerns to Dumbledore – apparently she had witnessed some alarming signs they were an unsuitable family, even from outside the house itself. However, Dumbledore insisted on placing Harry there. The groundskeeper of Hogwarts, Mr Rubeus Hagrid, arrived with Harry, having travelled across England from Godric’s Hollow on an enchanted motorbike. The three of them left Harry on the doorstep, though Professor McGonagall claims Dumbledore did place a warming charm on the blankets around Harry, and some protective enchantments.”

“The bare minimum,” Rosie muttered.

“Professor McGonagall, as I said, was deeply concerned at the news she had been nominated as having conducted a background check. She confirmed she had not spoken to the Dursleys, had not even seen the inside of their home. She is also well aware that she is not a CPA employee, and therefore was not the appropriate person to conduct a background check as is,” Ms Abbott explained. “To be frank, I think she was actually rather furious at the situation.”

“Will she be willing to testify?” Madam Bones asked.

Ms Abbott considered it carefully, before replying, “I think so. Even if we need to subpoena her to attend a potential trial. But I don’t think it will come to that – she was genuinely horrified that she had been part of a clear abuse of process.”

“So we have evidence no background check was done – again, that’s evidence of Doge’s incompetence and breach of the law. Can we charge Dumbledore with anything?” Rosie asked.

Once again Madam Bones answered, “Professor McGonagall’s testimony will certainly outline that Dumbledore informed Doge she had done a background check, which was not in fact what had happened. And his decision to leave Harry on a doorstep, with only a letter to explain the situation to the Muggles, is neglectful. There’s possibility here for him to be charged with child endangerment, if not interference with Ministry processes too.”

“There’s more,” Ms Abbott said quietly, drawing everyone’s attention. “This is brand new information that I learned this morning – hence the last minute meeting called today. The Muggle child protection workers interviewed a neighbour of the Dursleys, a Ms Arabella Figg, as she had been identified by the Dursleys as an occasional babysitter of Harry’s. Ms Figg made disclosures to the police that she was aware Harry was not being treated properly by the Dursleys. Nothing explicit in the interview. But she seemed to understand he was at least being neglected.”

“Why did she not report it?” Lord Black snarled.

“Here’s the thing,” Ms Abbott said, leaning forward intently. “She told the Muggles that she didn’t have any evidence, so that’s why she didn’t report it. But I did a background check on her. She’s actually a Squib. And according to the scan I did of her property this morning, there’s a fair bit of magical activity that has happened in her home, for someone with no magic.” Ms Abbott looked meaningfully around the room.

“Dumbledore said he would be watching the home,” Rosie breathed.

“Can we subpoena this Ms Figg to attend a wizarding trial?” Gareth asked intently.

“We can,” Madam Bones confirmed. “Squibs might not have any magic, but they are born to wizarding parents, and are therefore not barred under the Statute of Secrecy. She can be called to attend a wizarding trial.”

“If she was planted there to watch over the house by Dumbledore, and she herself confessed to being aware of the neglect, then that means we might have actual evidence that Dumbledore knew to an extent what the Muggles were doing,” Ms Abbott finished with grim satisfaction.

“What is the timeline we are looking at here?” Lord Black asked Gareth and Madam Bones, the two members of the meeting who were on the Wizengamot.

“I will need to review the results of Ms Abbott’s investigation, and observe the Pensieve memories of her interview with Mrs Dursley and Professor McGonagall. With those formalities done, I can prepare the charges against Albus Dumbledore and Elphias Doge. At this stage, they are the only individuals I intend on pursuing charges against,” Madam Bones began. “An initial hearing is usually listed a few days after charges are laid, in order to allow an accused to seek legal representation and prepare their defence. This will be before the Wizengamot. Both accused will have their cases heard together unless one of their lawyers files a motion for severance, to hear their matters separately.”

“Will the media be permitted to attend this initial hearing?” Rosie asked shrewdly.

“Charges are public, so the media will know what my department has accused Albus Dumbledore and Mr Doge of. They won’t know the specifics though. The media will be permitted to attend the initial hearing – however either of the accused can make an application to suppress the media from reporting anything, for the hearing but also for the entire criminal process, if they are successful. However, a majority of the Wizengamot will have to vote to allow the suppression,” Madam Bones explained.

“I don’t want Harry’s abuse to come to light during the course of the criminal process,” Sirius insisted, grey eyes worried.

“Suppression orders can be specific,” Gareth assured the other man. Madam Bones nodded in agreement. “We can file an application to have any information that comes to light regarding Harry’s situation to not be published in the media. The press could report on the criminal proceedings, but they would be gagged from publishing anything about Harry’s personal situation.”

Sirius relaxed, replying, “In that case, I wouldn’t mind the press being present and reporting. A bit of scrutiny and pressure on Dumbledore, and Doge for that matter, will reduce the chances of them getting out of this unscathed.”

“You’ll have to move fast with scheduling that initial hearing,” Lord Black said. “Once Dumbledore receives notification of the charges, every day he has to prepare is a threat to the case. He has undeniable political power – he will use every inch of it to obscure the truth from the Wizengamot.”

“I can have the charges prepared against Dumbledore and Doge before close of business today,” Madam Bones offered. “We’ll be ready to go by Monday with the initial hearing.”

Sirius nearly laughed at the irony – exactly one week after he had been acquitted of his own charges, Dumbledore might be fronting court to face charges of his own.

“Let’s do it,” Sirius said firmly.

Madam Bones nodded, rising to her feet and telling Ms Abbott, “I will require your presence with me, Ms Abbot. As I said, I will need to take copies of your whole investigation, and your Pensieve memories of your conversations with Mrs Dursley and Professor McGonagall.”

Ms Abbott packed up her briefcase, nodding politely to the room as she prepared to exit.

“Thank you,” Sirius told her sincerely. “You’ve done incredible work here.”

“Indeed you have,” Gareth agreed, smiling warmly at his employee.

“I want the truth to come out,” Ms Abbott said firmly. “Harry deserves justice.”

With that proclamation, the two women were led out by Pimsey, leaving the Blacks and the Greengrass couple alone in the room together.

“Do you consent to me informing Harry of what has come to light?” Gareth asked Sirius, wanting the permission of Harry’s legal guardian.

“Of course,” Sirius confirmed. He took the opportunity to add, “I actually just saw Dumbledore, right before coming to this meeting. He tried to persuade me to attend an Order meeting this weekend.”

“You should attend,” Rosie said intently. “When he gets the notification today about what is coming, he might share with the Order how he plans on dealing with the allegations.”

Sirius visibly hesitated, saying cautiously, “I hadn’t planned on attending. It was a struggle to get through the meeting alone with Dumbledore as it was. I honestly don’t know if I would be able to maintain a façade in front of him – I just don’t have it in me.”

Before the others could impress on him the importance of him attending, Sirius said tentatively, “I do know someone who might attend and tell me everything, though. Remus Lupin. We’ve been in contact.”

The others recognised the name of the man the Potters had named as an alternative guardian for Harry if anything happened to Sirius.

“Can you trust this Lupin?” his grandfather asked him.

Sirius didn’t have to think about it, answering firmly, “Yes. Remus will tell me everything, if I ask for it. I have faith in him that he won’t let me down again.”

“Very well, if you say he can be trusted, then we will rely on him to relay the meeting to us,” Gareth declared.

Looking around the room at his grandfather who had remained loyal to him throughout his incarceration, and the man and woman who were essentially co-parenting his godson with him, Sirius decided to share what else he had learned that day.

“I need to tell you all something else.” Sirius glanced at his grandfather, before looking at Gareth and Rosie and telling them, “This morning when Harry came to visit me, I told him the reason why James and Lily went into hiding with him. My grandfather was present for this conversation. I also shared my understanding of how Harry survived that night. And why Voldemort came after them in the first place.”

Gareth and Rosie’s eyes widened, and Sirius added, “But visiting Dumbledore just now, I learned more. I want Harry to be present too for this conversation though, before I tell you what I know.”

Gareth checked the time and said, “Harry should be finished with his lessons soon – if you are willing to wait? Perhaps in the meantime you could bring Rosie and I up to speed on what you spoke about this morning.”

Sirius agreed, and waited for Rosie to summon their house elf Pimsey to tell her to inform them when Harry finished his lessons. Pimsey had curtseyed and disappeared to wait for Harry to be ready.

Having the rapt attention of the room on him, Sirius began telling the Greengrass couple the same story he had told Harry and his grandfather that morning, that it had been Lily’s blood magic sacrifice that had ensured Harry’s survival and Voldemort’s defeat.

Rosie had astutely realised the same thing Sirius had – that Dumbledore had mistakenly believed the blood protection would extend to Lily’s sister and possibly nephew, which is why he had been so insistent on Harry being placed with the Dursley family. He truly knew nothing about the Dark Arts, but that was unsurprising – he was a light wizard after all.

Sirius informed them that Dumbledore claimed to have heard a prophecy that spoke of a boy born at the end of July who would have the power to vanquish Voldemort, and that it applied to Harry, but also to Neville Longbottom, and possibly other children that were never identified.

Sirius also quietly explained that Snape, who was known to have turned against Voldemort during the war and had been acquitted of all charges for being a former Death Eater, had been the one to bring the news to Dumbledore that he had also overheard the prophecy, and had told Voldemort. When he realised Voldemort believed it was the son of James and Lily Potter, he defected to the other side, because he had once been close with Lily and he desired to protect her.

Sirius paused when the house elf reappeared, informing her master and mistress, “Mr Potter be finished his lesson now.”

“Can you please bring Harry here, and tell him Sirius and his grandfather are here too?” Rosie asked her, glancing up at Sirius to confirm he was ready.

Pimsey disappeared, and came back a few moments later with a slightly bewildered Harry in tow. He blinked at the four adults in the room, a tentative smile on his face and he shyly waved and said, “Pimsey told me you wanted to speak with me?”

“Hello again, Harry,” Sirius said warmly, gesturing for Harry to take the empty seat next to him.

Harry did so, looking around the room slowly as he took in the atmosphere. The smile slowly dropped from his face and a slightly worried crease appeared between his brows. “Is everything okay?” he asked nervously.

“I met with Dumbledore today. He told me more about the prophecy,” Sirius explained. Harry stiffened, eyes intent on Sirius as he asked, “What did he say?”

“I wanted to wait until you were here. You, more than anyone, deserve to hear this,” Sirius stressed.

Harry smiled at him gratefully, before his expression sobered up.

“I’m ready to hear it.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Four: Morgana’s Court

The media storm caused by the revelation Sirius Black was innocent, and that Harry Potter was now in the man’s custody, had not even died down when the news hit that yet another special hearing was being called for Monday the seventh of November.

The papers were reporting that the Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, had been formally charged by the DMLE for interfering with Ministry processes, child endangerment and failure to mandatorily report suspected child abuse. The specifics were not yet known to the press, however media were permitted to attend the initial hearing on Monday, where the basics of the investigation into the allegations would be made public.

It was also noted that Mr Elphias Doge was facing charges of abuse of public office and failure to protect a child. He would be attending the same initial hearing on Monday, as the less scrutinised co-accused.

The media storm was quickly shaping up to be a hurricane.

Gossip about the revelations of the past week was on the lips of the men and women gathered in the grand foyer of the Nott family manor house that Sunday morning. As they murmured amongst themselves, it created a hum throughout the room as conversations readily flowed.

The noise was abruptly hushed when the huge doors to the foyer were opened by two house elves, who bowed in unison as a procession of people entered the massive space.

Faces schooled into neutral expressions, Lord and Lady Greengrass swept into the room, Lady Greengrass with one hand delicately placed on her husband’s arm. The handsome couple approached the host, Lord Cantankerous Nott, the grizzled old man scowling as the lord and lady came nearer.

Raising his voice to be heard, though it did not take much as the room was now dead silent, Lord Nott called out, “Lord and Lady Greengrass. How nice of you to grace us with your presence. I hope you are prepared to answer to the Court?”

“Of course,” Lord Greengrass replied calmly.

There was a heavy tension in the room, which was broken when there was new movement at the doors again, which had remained open.

Like royalty, Lord Arcturus Black strode into the room, onyx eyes hard like dark glass. To one side of him was his cousin, Cassiopeia Black, gliding in without a care in the world; like this was not the first meeting she was attending in well over a decade.

The true shock was on his other side.

Sirius Black, dressed in finely made robes, hair styled in artful waves around his face to his shoulders, walked proudly by his grandfather’s side. He still looked unhealthily thin; his face gaunt, but there was no denying the strength in his posture.

Lord Nott seemed to splutter, calling out, “What is the meaning of this, Lord Black? Why have you brought Sirius Black here? He is not a member of this Court!”

Lord Arcturus took his time coming to a halt, flanked by Cassiopeia on one side who looked over at Lord Nott with an unimpressed look, and Sirius Black on the other, blank-faced.

It was not Lord Black who spoke in response to Lord Nott – but rather, Sirius himself. The room imperceptibly leaned in to hear him speak – not even the press had heard from him in person yet.

“Morgana’s Court was established by the Dark Lady for any dark witch or wizard to call upon their community in an equal forum. The Court remains to this day open for every dark witch and wizard to attend. I am a dark wizard. Therefore, I am entitled to be here. Unless I have done something to warrant exile from the Court?” Sirius asked smoothly.

Lord Nott’s face darkened, but before he could lose his temper, his daughter-in-law, Lady Cassandra Rosier-Nott spoke up, voice quiet but commanding as she asked, “You are of course a dark wizard, Mr Black. However, I think the concern here is that you fought for Dumbledore during the war. Perhaps if you could clarify for the Court where your allegiance now lies?”

Recognising a diplomatic approach when he saw one, Sirius turned to face the bronze haired woman and answered, “I cannot deny I fought for Dumbledore during the war." There were a few angry mutters around the room that were hushed quickly. “I dare say I faced many of you on the other side of a battlefield.”

“Why are you here then?” the Dowager Lady Audelia Rowle née Malfoy asked sharply, her once pale blonde hair now gone silver with age. She stood beside her great-nephew, Lucius Malfoy.

“I am here for the same reason you all are. Dumbledore might have led me astray in my youth, but my time in Azkaban opened my eyes to the truth. I am a dark wizard. I want to fight for my right to practice the Dark Arts, and the rights of future dark witches and wizards to do the same,” Sirius explained.

“And what about your feelings towards those in this room who supported the individual who killed James and Lily Potter, your adopted child’s parents?” Lady Rosier-Nott asked directly.

Sirius surveyed her carefully, considering her question before responding. The eyes of the entire room were on him, the silent pressure making him nervous. But Sirius was not a Gryffindor for nothing – he steeled his nerves and raised his chin.

“If the Court can set aside my loyalty to Dumbledore during the war, then I can set aside the loyalty of anyone here to that individual. Make no mistake though,” Sirius added, grey eyes flashing challengingly. “I will never forgive him. I will never support him or his followers. But I am mature enough to realise that whilst many of his goals aligned with the Court, the Court is still a separate entity.”

“It is indeed,” Sirius' grandfather spoke up, looking watchfully around the room to spot any who dared disagree. Any who looked like they might want to argue the point took one look at the challenge in Lord Black’s eyes and quickly looked away. “On that note, I formally declare here before you all that my grandson, Sirius Black, is my heir. He will be the future head of the House of Black.”

The only unsurprised faces in the room were the members of the Black family who had been forewarned by Arcturus, and Rosie and Gareth, who were waiting patiently nearby Lord Nott.

Everyone else was shocked at the announcement, most recovering quickly though and eyeing Sirius with assessing gazes, seeing him now in a new light.

“The presence of the heir of the House of Black is welcome,” Lady Rosier-Nott stated courteously. Her father-in-law and husband looked at her sharply, but neither dared contradict her words. Lady Rosier-Nott was a formidable woman.

Through gritted teeth, Lord Nott stated, “Now that we are all present, presuming we have no further unexpected guests, I suggest we move to the banquet hall for the sitting of the Court.”

As the room slowly began to move in the direction indicated by the house elves, many throwing looks back at Sirius with unbridled curiosity, and some with malicious glares, Lady Rosier-Nott spoke quietly with one of the Nott house elves, obviously giving some sort of instruction. The creature disappeared to do the lady’s bidding, no doubt to ensure the correct amount of seats were placed for the meeting with Sirius and Cassiopeia now in attendance.

The Greengrass couple fell into step with Arcturus, Sirius and Cassiopeia, a clear declaration of allegiance. Pollux Black and his son Cygnus visibly hesitated, before moving to follow Narcissa Malfoy, her husband, Lucius, and his great-aunt, the Dowager Lady Rowle.

Lord Julius Yaxley approached his daughter, Rosie, and greeted her with a gentle kiss to her cheek. His hazel eyes were the exact same shade as his daughter's own. Quietly, so only those immediately around them could hear, the head of the Yaxley family murmured, “I hope you’re prepared, my dear.”

“I am, father,” Rosie assured him.

Her uncle, Corban Yaxley, hung back without greeting the only daughter of his older brother, his face clearly showing his conflict as his eyes drilled into Sirius.

Corban Yaxley was one that Sirius distinctly remembered battling on more than one occasion during the war. He carefully averted his gaze, having no desire to engage the man in conversation or start a fight with Rosie’s uncle in the foyer of Nott Manor.

“Best not to keep them waiting,” Lord Yaxley suggested ruefully. He nodded respectfully to Arcturus and said to the group, “You can all count on my support today.”

He clearly did not promise the support of his brother, Corban – that would perhaps be asking too much of the former inner circle Death Eater.

With that, the man moved ahead, after giving his daughter’s hand a reassuring squeeze. His brother followed closely by his side. Corban offered no words to the Greengrass couple or the Blacks present.

As the two Yaxley men walked away, Cassiopeia sighed with all the weariness of her seventy-three years and announced drily, “Time to face the wolves.”

The five proceeded to the open doors still being indicated by a bowing house elf, Gareth and Rosie walking in beside Arcturus, Cassiopeia and Sirius taking up position behind the trio.

As they entered the banquet hall they saw the grand table had been transfigured into a round table, as was traditional for meetings of Morgana’s Court. All participants were equal here.

History had made much of King Arthur’s famous Round Table, but the truth, as it was understood by the dark community, was that he had drawn his inspiration from Morgana. The Dark Lady had wanted all who gathered in her court to feel like their voices held equal weight.

On the far side of the table from the doors sat Lord Cantankerous Nott, whose eyes glittered menacingly at the group. He was no doubt ready to drag the Greengrass couple through the mud for having kept their custody of Harry Potter a secret from the Court.

To Lord Nott’s right was his son and heir, Ivan Nott. Lady Rosier-Nott sat beside her husband, talking quietly with her former brother-in-law on her other side, Corban Yaxley, who had just taken his seat. He had once been married to her now deceased younger sister, Isadora, who had died from injuries sustained by being caught in the crossfire of the battle between her older brother, Evan Rosier, and Auror Mad-Eye Moody.

Lord Julius Yaxley, Rosie’s father, was seated beside his brother, a long line of spots empty beside him meant for Rosie, Gareth, Arcturus, Sirius, and then Cassiopeia, in that order. Sirius was to sit to the immediate right of his grandfather, as his heir.

The group moved towards the five open spaces, Cassiopeia sliding in beside her older brother, Pollux, sparing him an assessing look. He stared back at his younger sister, saying nothing. There was no snide comment about her finally turning up to a meeting, nothing at all. She noticed that he even nodded his head slightly to her, causing Cassiopeia to blink in surprise at the unexpected respect.

She wondered what had changed between now and their last meeting at Black Castle. Perhaps her older brother had finally gotten his head out of his ass?

It seemed her nephew had no such similar revelation – Cygnus glared at his aunt and at Sirius too from where he sat. He was obviously still smarting from losing the opportunity to have the title of heir.

Narcissa Malfoy sat beside her father Cygnus, back straight and eyes straight ahead, for the most part. Her icy blue eyes caught Sirius’ gaze as he looked slowly around the table, and just for a moment, so fast Sirius wondered if he imagined it, the ice in those eyes seemed to thaw and something in her demeanour softened.

For that brief moment Sirius was looking at his cousin, Cissy, the girl he’d grown up with in Grimmauld Place. Then as he blinked she was Lady Malfoy again, head turned to discuss something quietly with her husband beside her.

On Lord Malfoy’s other side was his paternal great-aunt, the Dowager Lady Audelia Rowle. She was in deep conversation with her daughter, the Dowager Lady Elizabeth Lestrange née Rowle. After her husband Lord Reginald Lestrange died, her eldest son Rodolphus had technically become Lord Lestrange, and his wife, Bellatrix, the Lady Lestrange. However, as both were serving life sentences, the Dowager Lady Lestrange acted as head of what was left of the Lestrange family.

On the Dowager Lady Lestrange’s other side was her older brother, Lord Alexander Rowle, head of the Rowle family. Both of his children had inherited his dark magical core despite him marrying a neutral witch – to his immediate right was his heir, Regina Rowle. Her rich brown eyes watched the Greengrass couple and Blacks closely, a curious look on her face. She was barely paying attention to her younger brother, Thorfinn Rowle, who seemed too nervous to talk to Lady Helena Burke seated on his other side.

The beautiful woman seemed amused by this, curling one long strand of auburn hair around her finger, green eyes glittering. Her uncle, Caractacus Burke, her late father’s younger brother, completed the circle by Lord Cantankerous’ side, the two old men muttering quietly as they glared at the Greengrass couple and Sirius.

Twenty-one dark witches and wizards present. You could attend Morgana’s Court once you turned seventeen, so although there were some teenagers and children who were known to have dark magical cores, they were not present. Sirius had run away from home before coming of age, so although he had known about the Court, he had never attended a single meeting.

The three Lestranges in Azkaban would have bolstered numbers to twenty-four, and there was of course Andromeda Tonks too, but she had stopped attending meetings when she eloped with her Muggleborn husband at twenty. It was unknown if her teenage daughter had taken after her mother or father when it came to magical cores, but given her mother refused to attend Court meetings anymore, she had made her intentions clear that she had turned her back on the dark community. Blood traitor was the name some chose to label Andromeda Tonks with, although she had technically never been officially branded as such. 

Cassiopeia had at least had the excuse of living abroad in her failure to attend meetings over the years. She had always been loyal to the dark, but had taken issue with how Voldemort had infiltrated the Court with his Death Eaters, and had begun twisting the Court to suit his own agenda, threatening the Court’s existence as a body of equal men and women.

Then lastly there was Severus Snape and Igor Karkaroff, both former members of the Court and inner circle Death Eaters. Karkaroff had fled the country after being released from Azkaban, and didn’t dare show his face again at another meeting, after having betrayed so many of his kin to reduce his own sentence.

Snape was known to have been a double agent, and now in the pocket of Dumbledore, perhaps the most notorious light wizard in history. No one trusted a turncoat to be permitted into meetings.

Staring around the room, Sirius was suddenly struck by how small their cohort was. Even if you included those who were in Azkaban, those who had turned their backs on the dark community, and those who were no longer permitted to attend Court meetings; there were still less than thirty known adult dark witches and wizards.

Though considering James had kept his dark magical core a secret, there were possibly many more out there, who hid their heritage out of fear of the public’s reaction. Or those who honestly had no idea they were a dark witch or wizard, because Mirror Spheres were so rare and the introduction to magical cores subject was no longer taught at Hogwarts.

But with only these numbers at hand, Sirius was forced to confront the reality that he, his godson and his extended family were a dying breed.

As the host of the meeting, Lord Nott had the right to call the meeting open, and to preside over it. The grizzled man finished muttering something to Caractacus Burke, and then rose to his feet, drawing the attention of the room.

He announced, “My dark brothers and sisters. This meeting has been convened after the news emerged that Lord and Lady Greengrass had gained custody of Harry Potter, and failed to inform the Court. My son and heir, Ivan, Lady Helena Burke, and Madam Rowle became aware of the situation after a Wizengamot meeting was called, however they were bound by their vows to not speak of the situation until Potter was placed with his eventual guardian, Sirius Black.”

The summary done, Lord Nott turned to the Greengrass couple and said, “The Court will hear from Lord and Lady Greengrass, to justify their actions in keeping such crucial information from our community. What have you to say?”

The old man slowly lowered himself back into his seat.

Gareth rose, a picture of calm as he replied, “I will tell you all the exact same thing I told Mr Nott, Lady Burke, and Madam Rowle.” The aforementioned people looked surprised, probably not having expected Gareth to be so immediately candid with the Court. Lady Burke looked disappointed at not having the opportunity to share what Gareth had told her, if he had kept the information from the Court. She always did like causing drama to unfold.

“I withheld the information that Harry Potter was in my custody for two reasons. The first was because it was confidential information at the time that Mr Potter was removed from his Muggle relatives. It’s my job as head of the CPA to protect the information of the children in my care.”

Most of the room maintained neutral expressions, however there were a few sneers at the mention of Harry’s Muggle relatives.

Caractacus Burke impatiently cut in before Gareth could continue asking rudely, “Is it true the boy was abused by the Muggles?”

A few mutters rose up, grimaces of distaste at the mention of Muggles, but also a few seemed uncomfortable at a child’s potential abuse being raised so carelessly.

“Do not speak so casually of such a thing,” Lord Yaxley rebuked, hazel eyes furious. His daughter Rosie's face beside him was equally incensed. 

Sirius’ face tightened with fury of his own, pinning Burke with a vicious look. Underneath the table out of sight, his Aunt Cass tightened her hand on his knee, wordlessly warning him to keep his cool.

Gareth calmly replied, “I cannot discuss any child’s circumstances with you, or anyone else other than a Ministry official involved in his case, or his legal guardian.” Eyes flicked over to Sirius, before turning back to Gareth. The man continued, “I removed him, because there were valid grounds to remove him. I placed him with my own family until his nearest blood relatives were identified.”

“I still do not see a valid reason why you would not give the Court a courtesy warning that you had taken custody,” Lord Nott insisted.

Gareth narrowed his eyes and continued, “The second reason is because over half of this Court are former Death Eaters, or have close relatives who were. I don’t think I need to remind you all what the public call Harry Potter, and what they think he did that night in Godric’s Hollow.”

“So you chose to protect the boy. You chose to shelter the precious saviour of the wizarding world from your own brethren,” Ivan Nott snarled.

Rosie stood at that point, her husband sitting down immediately with casual grace. The Lady Greengrass looked around the table and said in a deadly tone of voice, “I want to make something very clear, right now. Harry Potter is under the protection of the Greengrass family.” The room was rendered silent, even Rosie’s own father staring at his only daughter in surprise at her vehemence. The Runes Mistress continued, “Judging by your reactions to us not telling you we had custody, we were right to withhold the information. We didn’t trust you with Harry.”

Furious retorts broke free, the calm shattered as Lady Greengrass took her seat, hazel eyes spitting fire at anyone who looked her way in anger or disagreement. Her father closed his eyes briefly, before catching his daughter’s eye and softening his gaze so she knew she still had his support, even after her veiled threat to the Court.

As the noise swelled Lady Rosier-Nott stood fluidly to her feet, bronze hair shining under the lights overhead as she called out, authoritative voice cutting straight over the din, “Silence!”

To her credit, the noise did die down rather quickly. She looked at Rosie in particular as she asked, “Surely you understand the Court could have done nothing to influence Mr Potter’s eventual placement, or endanger his safety. You chose not to trust us with information – you did not disclose a crucial development in our society – the arrival of Harry Potter into our world. The significance of his social and political power cannot be understated.”

Heads were nodding around the room, angry eyes on the Greengrass couple.

Gareth rose to his feet again, and responded, “As I said, it would have been a breach of my professional obligations if I had disclosed Harry’s situation to you all. I could do nothing to risk him being removed from my custody, surely you can understand that? Dumbledore has been meddling at every step to get Harry into his grasp.”

That deflected some heat off of Gareth, people distracted at the mention of Dumbledore.

Lady Burke leaned in then, silkily stating over the mutterings around the table and grabbing everyone’s attention, “Dumbledore’s in a fair bit of trouble, isn’t he? Facing charges of child endangerment and interfering with Ministry processes. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that Lord Greengrass, would you? Does it not have anything to do with Potter?”

Gareth was forced to acknowledge the woman had a sharp mind behind that poisonous tongue. Realising he had to give the Court something to distract them from their anger at he and Rosie’s choice to keep them in the dark about Harry, he replied, “As a matter of fact, Lady Burke, it does have everything to do with Mr Potter.”

Keen looks of interest fixated on Gareth, the room leaning forward with anticipation. Lord Nott impatiently said, “Well? Tell us this much at least Lord Greengrass!”

“Harry should never have been placed with the Muggles. His parents explicitly forbade it in their will. Dumbledore and Doge interfered with Harry’s placement, and abused the process along the way. Dumbledore tried to convince me to put Harry back with the Muggles, even knowing my department had valid grounds to remove him,” Gareth informed the room sombrely.

Before a wave of questions could swamp Gareth, Lord Black added authoritatively over the noise, catching the room's attention “My grandson is Harry’s rightful guardian, as you all know now from the press. He magically adopted Harry Potter when he was a baby. When he was sent to Azkaban without trial, Dumbledore turned his back on him. It was in his power to reopen Sirius’ case, but he chose not to. He sent Harry to the Muggles instead.”

Lady Rosier-Nott commented fiercely, “Dumbledore has much to answer for. I for one will follow his criminal proceedings, but I will not hold my breath for anything to come of it. He has too much power. He has always managed to escape any charges, and protect his allies from the law too. Alastor Moody might have killed a combatant in my older brother, but my little sister was innocent. She was pregnant, and totally uninvolved in the conflict. He’s the reason she and her baby died, and Dumbledore made sure Moody never saw a day in prison for killing my siblings.”

Corban’s face was a picture of grief at the reminder of the wife and unborn child he had lost.

Uneasy silence descended on the room, those present dwelling on people they themselves had lost in the war.

It was Lucius Malfoy who broke the silence, grey eyes glancing calculating over at Sirius as he asked the other man, “You are Harry Potter’s guardian. You sit here, claiming to be here for the same reasons as the rest of us. What do you intend to do with Harry Potter, knowing the kind of symbol he is for the light?”

Lucius Malfoy hadn’t changed one bit – it was still first and foremost about what use he could get out of a person. Ever the man of business, Malfoy.

“My great-nephew raises an important point,” Dowager Lady Rowle said primly. “The boy must be taught to respect our ways. Such an opportunity to mould him cannot be wasted.”

Sirius glared at the blatant dismissal of Harry’s right to be seen as a person, not an opportunity, and ignoring the tightening of Aunt Cass’ hand on his knee, Sirius rose sharply to his feet. He wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to speak yet, or if he had to have some sort of special induction into the Court first, but in that moment he didn’t care.

“Harry is his own person,” Sirius hissed. “He will not be used, not by Dumbledore, and not by the people in this room.”

Calculating looks were his response, but Sirius noted his cousin Narcissa once more lower her guard a little to look at him softly. He always knew she would make a wonderful mother, and he sensed she approved of his protection of Harry.

Sirius’ grandfather caught his eye, looking at him pointedly. Sirius felt like rubbing his face with frustration – he knew it was right to tell the Court, Harry had given his permission, but he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing what he was about to say at this stage.

Another, stronger look from his grandfather and Sirius caved.

“Harry is already learning our traditions, happily and keenly. And not a single one of you here should have any concern that he will be an obstacle to the dark families,” Sirius muttered.

He noticed one of the women at the table, who had been pointed out earlier as Madam Rowle, start to smile slowly. It seemed she had already worked it out.

“My godson is a dark wizard. He will learn the Dark Arts, and share in our mission to protect our heritage.”

Noise broke free, mixed expressions of doubt, delight and shock spreading across the faces of the witches and wizards present.

Not finished, Sirius raised his voice and called out over the clamour, “When Lily Potter asked me to adopt Harry, she was encouraging James and I to adhere to one of the oldest traditions of the Black family. And James, being a dark wizard himself, felt it was a way he could honour his heritage, even though he hid who he was from society.”

Shocked silence descended at the revelation that it was Lily Potter who had asked for the adoption. Sirius could see in his peripheral the tight faces of Cygnus and Pollux Black at what was coming.

“James Potter, a dark wizard?” Corban Yaxley asked incredulously.

“His mother was a Black,” Dowager Lady Lestrange murmured, awe on her face.

Sirius lowered himself into his seat as his grandfather rose and stated, “I am about to share with you information, which until recently, was only privy to the Black family.”

Eyes glanced over at the other members of the Black family present, before focusing back on the patriarch of the House of Black.

“For generations, we have been using magical adoption as a method to ensure our children inherit our dark magical cores.” Lord Black looked around the table, making eye contact unflinchingly with those gathered, who had looks of dawning realisation on their faces. “By having a person with a dark magical core adopt your child, you could guarantee the dark legacy is passed on to each new generation, without fail. Harry Potter is living proof that a Muggleborn parent can have a child guaranteed to have a dark magical core.”

“Sweet Morgana, Arcturus, you’ve been sitting on that one for a while,” Dowager Lady Lestrange snapped, speaking informally as she was an old friend of Arcturus’.

“Seeing Harry adopted and successfully inheriting his biological and adoptive fathers’ dark magical cores, impressed on me that my ancestors were fools for keeping such a method secret from the other members of the dark families. For too long the Black family has hoarded knowledge, to the detriment of the dark community as a whole,” Lord Black informed those assembled.

“Do what you will with this knowledge. But know this,” the patriarch said. “Harry Potter, a half blood, will be the future head of the House of Black.”

“Preposterous!” Lord Nott called out. “A house of the Sacred Twenty-Eight cannot and will not have a half blood for a lord!”

He looked over pointedly to Pollux and Cygnus, as though silently ordering them to protest against the order of the head of their house. Cygnus stayed silent, but his eyes were mutinous, clearly furious at hearing what he had suspected since Arcturus had named Sirius his heir, confirmed out loud.

Pollux stayed silent too, but his expression was neutral, unlike his son, revealing absolutely nothing of his thoughts. He had made his decision it seemed – he would choose to put his loyalty in the head of his house, and would not reveal to any outsiders if he disagreed or agreed. Unity meant strength.

Cassiopeia stared incredulously at her older brother beside her, and he glanced over at his little sister. It was just a flash, but he curled one side of his mouth up as though to say, ‘I can still surprise you.’

Seeing a unified front in the House of Black, albeit furious and forced on Cygnus’ part, Lord Nott looked wildly around the room, as though he could find someone who could order Lord Black to change his mind.

Although there were those who had their reservations about a half blood being the lord of a Sacred Twenty-Eight house, most were still too distracted by the revelation that Harry Potter was a dark wizard.

The implications for the future of the wizarding world were enormous.

Lord Black was not quite finished yet. As though his family had not dropped enough revelations on Morgana’s Court, he added, “Harry has the most powerful dark magical core I’ve seen for a person of his age. No surprise, given his pedigree.” Lord Black meant every word of that, including the implication that having Lily Potter for a mother strengthened him. “Harry has inherited the Metamorphmagus ability. The only other person in my family who has that ability is Andromeda Tonk’s daughter, Nymphadora. Also a half blood. Again, make of that information what you will.” Lord Black said that part rather dryly, eyes fixed challengingly on Lord Nott, who fumed but remained silent.

With the satisfied air of a king claiming his throne, Lord Black resumed his seat.

Gareth rose, using the momentum Lord Black had started to push; “We have a real chance to turn the tide for dark witches and wizards. Not by violence, but by social revolution. We must adapt to survive. Adaption does not mean sacrificing every tradition we hold dear. It means we save what is vital, and we discard what is holding us back from evolving.”

Whilst there were some dubious looks around the room, and dark glares from Lord Nott and Caractacus Burke, Gareth was pleasantly shocked that most seemed to actually consider what he had just said, rather than reject it outright. This was the power Harry held, and it was both humbling and terrifying that a child had so much influence.

Sirius added quietly but clearly, “Harry will not be hiding who he is from the world. He will stand proudly as a dark wizard. You can leave this place today and tell whomever you want. My godson will be fighting for the rights of dark witches and wizards and our traditions.”

It was the truth, but Sirius said that for another, very important reason. That was a special message meant for the Death Eaters in the room. It told them clearly – Harry was not an obstacle to be eliminated.

He caught Lucius Malfoy’s eye, and the man titled his head slightly, long blonde hair shifting over his shoulder at the motion. His silvery eyes were intent on Sirius, and he felt like sighing with exasperation – Lucius wanted to talk. Then he saw Narcissa by her husband’s side, eyes also intent on Sirius, but so much gentler, and Sirius could feel himself soften.

He was at least willing to give Cissy a chance.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Five: We grow in different directions yet our roots remain as one

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, cousin,” Narcissa Malfoy said quietly in the parlour room of Malfoy Manor. Her pale blue eyes gazed with cautious warmth towards Sirius Black, who sat opposite her.

Sirius nonchalantly looked around the opulent room a Malfoy house elf had escorted him into and asked lightly, “Will your husband be joining us?”

Narcissa replied calmly, “He is lunching with some business associates and sends his apologies for his absence.”

Sirius thought wryly that this had been planned on purpose – Narcissa was no fool – she knew Sirius did not like Lucius, and this meeting would go more smoothly if it were just the two cousins.

“What about your son – you have a boy Harry’s age don’t you?” Sirius asked her.

He saw the warmth deepen in Narcissa’s eyes, the gentle pride and love of a mother who held her child so dear. “Yes, Draco. He is Harry’s age. He is having a play date with a friend today.”

“You kept up the Black naming tradition,” Sirius noted, for want of anything else to say. Draco was a constellation – he was surprised that Lucius had allowed his wife to name their only child in the traditional Black way.

“Family is important to me,” Narcissa murmured, locking eyes with Sirius. “It is why I wanted to meet you.”

“Feeling nostalgic for the past?” Sirius asked her, tone blithe.

“We were a family, once,” Narcissa whispered, gaze suddenly miles away. Sirius straightened, sensing the woman’s genuine loss and grief.

“Cissy,” he began, and then stopped, uncertain if it was okay to call his cousin that anymore.  

She blinked, coming back to herself, and smiled at Sirius. “I always liked it when I was called that. Mother and father hated it, said it was a silly name for a silly girl. But it was our thing. You, me, Regulus, Andromeda and Bellatrix.”

“Do you remember when we spelled your dad’s quill so that every time he wrote your name it came out as Cissy and not Narcissa?” Sirius asked her, an old and familiar roguish grin coming across his face.

Narcissa laughed openly, replying, “Truly, I thought he was going to have a conniption. He worked out the counter spell eventually, but he never did find evidence it was us.”

The two cousins smiled at each other, each lost in the memories of the past.

Eventually though the brief humour of the recollection passed, and they were left staring at each other across the beautiful but cold space of Malfoy Manor.

“You said you wanted to meet me, Cissy, because family is important to you,” Sirius prompted her softly.

The beautiful woman folded her hands elegantly in her lap, informing Sirius, “Your grandfather summoned the family together, before you were released from Azkaban. He told us many things – but what stood out to me was what he said about family. He said to us that this family is broken enough without us turning against each other. He said what mattered most was family, not tradition.”

“And what do you think about that, Cissy?” Sirius asked her.

The woman was silent for a few moments, before she whispered, “I think that it was tradition that tore our family apart.” She suddenly asked Sirius, “Do you know what happened after you ran away?”

Wrong-footed at the unexpected question, Sirius hesitated, and then shook his head. He could make a few guesses, but he sensed Narcissa had a story to tell.

“Andromeda had eloped with her high school sweetheart, and then a few months after that, you ran away. Bellatrix was already married to Rodolphus Lestrange, but she had no intention of settling down and having children – she was fighting on the front lines for the Dark Lord. All that was left in that house was Regulus and I. Do you know what happened to us?” Narcissa asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Again, Sirius shook his head.

“We broke,” she whispered. “Regulus under the pressure of your parents, at fourteen now bearing the entire weight of the family legacy and expectations on his shoulders. And me?” Narcissa’s face was bitter. “My father told me it was time I was wed. He ordered me to please my husband and provide heirs as soon as possible. I was eighteen, Sirius.”

“I’m sorry, Cissy,” Sirius replied, meaning every word. “But I couldn’t live in that house any longer. It was a living nightmare. I had to get out.”

“You had an escape,” Narcissa told him sharply. “The Potters took you in, right? You were the lucky one. You and Andromeda both.”

“I would have helped you, if you’d come to me,” Sirius told his cousin desperately.

“You never offered,” Narcissa replied softly. “You never saw what I was going through.”

Sirius was rendered speechless, trying to find the words to explain himself, to justify his actions. Suddenly fearful for his cousin, determined to do something now, he asked her insistently, “Narcissa are you happy here? If you need help, I will protect you and your son, I swear to you. Just say the word and I will take you away from here, if you need me.”

Narcissa laughed, but it was not a mean laugh. There was an affectionate light in her eyes as she assured him, “Sirius, I appreciate your determination. But I am happy here with Lucius, truly. He is a good husband, and a good father.” There was an undeniably fond look on her face as she told Sirius, “When we got married, I was terrified. I barely knew him. But he was gentle and kind. He waited until I was ready to do anything. When I told him I wanted to wait to try for children, he was patient then too. Lucius is a good man, Sirius.”

Seeing there was still a dubious look on Sirius’ face Narcissa stressed, “I know he stood opposite to you during the war. But being a Death Eater does not make one an inherently bad person.”

“I know that,” Sirius whispered.

“Which brings me to what I wanted to ask you,” Narcissa murmured. “Will you let me into your life again? Allow me to know your godson?”

“I trust you Cissy,” Sirius told her straight away. Then he added, “But Lucius…he is loyal to Voldemort. When he returns, which we both know he will, Lucius will choose him. How can I let him into my godson’s life, knowing that he supports the man who murdered his parents?”

Narcissa leaned forward, urgently telling Sirius, “Lucius would never harm a child, Sirius.”

“Even if I believe that, he follows a man who would and has hurt children,” Sirius pointed out.

“Things are different now,” Narcissa tried a new tactic. “Harry is a dark wizard – trust that when the Dark Lord returns he will be made aware of this. Harry is one of our own, we would not hurt him.”

Sirius stared at his cousin, conflicted with what to say. He knew there would be no mercy for Harry – Voldemort would never leave him alone, regardless of his status as a dark wizard or not. The prophecy would drive him to remove Harry as a threat.

“Cissy,” he whispered. “Trust me when I say that Harry being a dark wizard will not stop Voldemort from coming after him. He wants him dead.”

Narcissa stared at Sirius, a terrible understanding coming across her face. “You know something,” she realised. “You know why he went after the Potters. There’s a reason he tried to kill an infant. The same reason he’ll try and kill Harry again, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, Cissy, I wish I could tell you but I can’t. But know that Voldemort won’t leave Harry alone. He will try and kill him when he returns. And your husband will choose his master, as he always has.”

Narcissa’s eyes flashed with anger, and she snapped back, “You know nothing of Lucius and his motivations.”

Sirius looked back at her sadly and replied, “I know he’s in too deep with Voldemort to get out. I know even if he disagrees with every fibre of his being with what Voldemort does, that he can’t lift a finger against him. Because then you and your son will be at risk, won’t you?”

Narcissa paled, saying nothing. But her silence was answer enough. Before that silence could stretch too long, the woman spoke. “So that’s it. You can’t risk letting me into your life again.”

“I didn’t say that,” Sirius replied. “Cissy, I want you to be a part of my life, and Harry’s too. But my issue is with your husband, no matter how good of a man you claim him to be. I hope you would respect my wishes in keeping distance between Harry and Lucius.”

Sirius waited for his cousin’s response. She seemed conflicted, clearly happy that Sirius wanted her in his life, but frustrated Sirius did not want her husband near he or Harry. It would complicate things.

“I agree, on one condition,” Narcissa began slowly. “I want you to at least give Lucius a chance. Let him earn your trust by his actions, not his words.”

Sirius considered Narcissa’s condition, mulling it over carefully. He had gone in with clear boundaries to set with his cousin, but she always had a talent for getting her way, even growing up together as children.

“You win,” Sirius said at last, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll give him a chance.” There was no promise in that after all, that Lucius would be allowed to be a part of Harry's life. Lucius would get a chance to prove himself trustworthy to Sirius, and even if he did, Sirius was determined to revoke permission to be around Harry in a heartbeat if he heard whispers of Voldemort's return.  

Narcissa smiled, the expression on her beautiful features making her appear even more radiant. Sirius couldn’t help smiling back.

“Perhaps we could organise a time for Draco and Harry to meet each other? I hope they might become friends. They are family after all,” Narcissa pointed out. She added, “Draco and I could visit you at Black Castle.”

It was obviously a gesture to continue distancing Lucius from Harry until Sirius had had the chance to formulate an opinion on the man.

Sirius hesitated, before informing Narcissa, “Harry is currently only living with me on weekends. He’s rather settled with the Greengrass family – for now I’m easing him into moving in with me and my grandfather.”

Narcissa took the news in stride, replying, “I don’t want us to impose on your time with Harry in these early days – perhaps in a couple of weekends we could visit?”

Sirius dipped his head in agreement, saying, “Grandfather wants to have the whole family over to Black Castle to meet Harry. Perhaps we could time it so that you and Draco come over beforehand, and then stay for the family gathering?”

“Perfect,” Narcissa said with a smile. Her smile faded slightly and she asked, “Do you think Andromeda and her daughter will come? I’ve…I’ve never met my niece,” she confessed.

Sirius hesitated, uncertain if Andromeda would come, given the animosity between her and other members of the family.

Narcissa commented, “You must think me such a hypocrite, preaching about how important family is, and I’ve never even met my own niece.”

“Have you tried to reach out to Andromeda over the years?” Sirius asked his cousin. Narcissa had been the cousin closest in age to him, whereas Andromeda was a few years older than Narcissa. She, her husband, and daughter had gone into hiding during the war, obviously fearing retribution from the dark families. By the time Andromeda had re-emerged into society, Sirius had already been sent to Azkaban.

Narcissa started cautiously, “I didn’t reach out to her for those first couple of years after she eloped. I was…I was furious, Sirius. I felt like she abandoned me. But then we all found out she had, had a daughter. Nymphadora’s name appeared on the family tapestry. So I reached out to my sister.”

“How did she react?” Sirius asked Narcissa.

“She sent me a letter back telling me it was too little, too late. She told me she didn’t want to see me, and she wanted me nowhere near her, or her daughter,” Narcissa whispered.

“Oh Cissy,” Sirius said gently. Narcissa’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back stubbornly.

Sirius got up, moving over to sit next to his cousin on the couch. He reached out a tentative hand to her shoulder, and she all but melted into his side, wrapping her arms around him. She smelled like rosewater, impossibly delicate in Sirius’ arms, but he knew that soft body hid a spine of steel.

“Thank you for giving my family a chance, Sirius,” Narcissa murmured into his shoulder.

“Alright Harry, I’m going to get you to stick your right hand over the broom, and say ‘Up’ when you’re ready,” Sirius instructed his godson in the middle of the Quidditch pitch at Black Castle.

Harry looked down at the broom lying innocuously on the grass below him, a Nimbus 1700 according to Sirius. He had been informed that the Nimbus brand of broomsticks were the preferred choice for professional Quidditch teams.

Sirius had clearly wasted no expense for this flying lesson – two Nimbus 1700’s were on the grass – Sirius intended on joining Harry in the sky so he could be close at hand, and also to demonstrate certain manoeuvres.

Harry stuck his right hand out as directed, and called out “Up!”

The broom jumped straight into his hand at once, causing him to rock back slightly on his heels in surprise. He felt a thrill of excitement jolt through him, and he looked over keenly at Sirius.

The man was grinning from ear to ear and declared proudly, “See? A natural, I told you. It takes most people a couple of attempts to get a broom to listen to them for the first time.”

Sirius summoned his own broom, which jumped just as smoothly into his hand. Demonstrating for Harry, he explained how to mount the broom without sliding off the end, and Harry quickly copied Sirius’ placement of his hands, watching closely.

“What you’re going to do next, Harry, is you’re going to kick off hard from the ground. Keep the broom steady – just raise a few feet off the ground to start with. To come back to the ground, tilt the broom handle down slightly and the broom will lower. Whenever you’re ready.”

Harry kicked hard against the ground and he immediately rose in the air by a few feet. The broom didn’t so much as wobble beneath him, smooth and steady. A carefree laugh broke free, and he turned delighted eyes to his godfather.

Sirius had quickly risen on his own broom, eyes fixed on Harry with an incredibly fond look on his face.

Harry was filled with a fierce joy – this was fun.

“Can we go higher?” Harry asked keenly.

Sirius replied, “Usually I’d be a bit more hesitant for a first time flier, but you’ve got excellent control over the broom – let’s head up a bit higher! Pull gently up on the broomstick to get it to rise higher.”

Harry did so, feeling the wind brush against his face as he rose higher. He couldn’t resist the exhilarated laugh that emerged from deep within his chest again, instinctively moving the broom so he could begin circling his godfather.

Sirius sat casually on his broom, watching Harry circle him and observing his form, which was rough but nonetheless solid for a brand new flier. He hadn’t been exaggerating – Harry was undeniably a natural in the air.

As Harry sped up a little bit, obviously unable to resist testing the boundaries, Sirius was suddenly struck by how much Harry was like James in that moment. Laughing freely, wind blowing his black hair from his face, eyes shining with the thrill of flight.

Throat suddenly thick with emotion, Sirius watched silently, committing the image of seeing Harry fly deep into his memory.

He wished James and Lily were here to see it.

Before Harry could notice his emotional state, Sirius forced himself to be present in the moment. He grinned at his godson, calling out, “Want to try some basic manoeuvres?”

Harry answering smile lit up his entire face.

They spent nearly two hours out on the pitch, Harry toeing the line with increasingly difficult moves, showing off his quick reflexes and keen sense for the broom. Sirius coached him throughout, and had to reel him in a few times when it looked like he was getting carried away and going into advanced territory that an eight year old should not be attempting.

Finally, Sirius called out to Harry that they should land, realising it was lunchtime. With obvious disappointment, Harry gently pressed down on the handle, the broom smoothly lowering to the ground. He stepped off of it, a perfect landing.

Not that Sirius expected anything less at that point.

When Sirius landed beside him, Harry asked eagerly, “Can we fly some more after lunch?”

Wide, begging green eyes looked up at Sirius.

“Of course,” Sirius found himself answering, almost on automatic. Then he blinked, realising he might have just fallen victim to ‘puppy dog eyes’. Harry grinned at him, a little cheekily, and Sirius chuckled.

He was glad Harry was warming up to him.

When Harry went to hand the broom back to Sirius, the man said softly, “I guess I should have said something when we started. The broom is yours, it’s a present.”

Harry looked down at the broom, awe on his face. His first ever present, at least that he could remember.

Sirius continued a little shyly, “I figured I got you a broom for your first birthday, and I missed your most recent birthday in July…so… “

Suddenly a small body ran into Sirius, one little arm wrapping around his waist tightly, the other gripping his new broom with a white-knuckled grip. Sirius blinked in shock, staring down at where his godson was squeezing the life out of him.

“Thanks Sirius,” Harry said, pulling back bashfully from the hug.

“You’re welcome, kid,” Sirius said, and seeing as Harry had initiated contact, remembering what he had been taught about children who had gone through what Harry had, he carefully projected his movements slowly as he touched the top of Harry’s head. Having no negative response, he messed up his godson’s already windswept hair.

“Sirius!” Harry exclaimed, hands rising to fend to man off his hair. He futilely tried to smooth it down, before giving up. He pouted up at his godfather.

Sirius threw back his head and laughed.

The two made their way back into the castle, storing their brooms and heading to where they were directed by a house elf for lunch in one of the many beautiful rooms in Black Castle. Lunch today was being held in a more intimate space, having a smaller table to suit the relaxed setting. This room had a view of the apple orchard, the trees swaying gently in the breeze outside.

As Arcturus listened patiently to Harry excitedly recount his first flying lesson, Sirius watching on fondly and occasionally adding the odd comment; their quiet lunch was interrupted by the sudden appearance of two house elves, tangled together and clearly fighting. Harry was shocked – he’d never seen two house elves fighting each other before.

One was Torley – Harry recognised him as the head house elf at Black Castle, responsible for managing the other house elves. The other house elf was unfamiliar, dressed in a misshapen grey smock whereas the Black house elves wore neat uniforms bearing the Black family symbol of three ravens on the left breast.

“Lord Black, forgive Torley – he tried to stop the intruder from coming unannounced-”

At the same time the unfamiliar house elf croaked out, “Lord Black, forgive Kreacher, Kreacher be following Master Regulus’ orders-”

“Silence!” Arcturus called out.

Sirius had gone pale at the mention of his younger brother.

“Torley, explain the situation. You,” Arcturus looked pointedly at the other house elf, “Be silent.”

The unfamiliar house elf’s mouth clicked shut, whilst Torley straightened his uniform. He appeared to be holding a locket of some sort in his hand, which he kept far away from the other house elf.

“This one,” Torley stated, pointing an accusatory finger with his free hand at the other house elf, “be disobeying Lord Black’s orders to clean Grimmauld Place. When Torley went to check the progress, Torley found this one hiding items. Kreacher is a thief!”

He held the locket up high, the light from the windows catching the gold on the item. Arcturus seemed taken aback – it was unheard of for a house elf to steal items from the family they were bonded to.

Sirius seemed to find his voice after the shock of hearing his brother’s name, muttering, “Kreacher might be a miserable thing, but he was never the type to steal. He was fiercely loyal to my brother and mother. I suspect he’s still following their last orders. Perhaps one of them told him to keep that locket safe.”

Curious, Arcturus turned to Kreacher and said, “I order you to answer me, Kreacher – are you following the orders of someone other than myself?”

The creature fixed bloodshot eyes on the Lord Black and answered hoarsely, “Kreacher be following the last orders of Master Regulus. Kreacher tried to tell the other elves, but the other elves did not listen.”

“That’s because they were following my orders, as you should be too,” Arcturus said sternly. Not wanting to put on any more of a scene than had already been played out in front of Harry, who was watching the proceedings with wide eyes, Arcturus added, “I commend your loyalty, even beyond death, to my grandson. But you must obey me. That means allowing the other house elves to carry out their business cleaning and renovating Grimmauld Place, and removing all items and furniture to the Black Castle vault for my inspection. Is that clear?”

Kreacher mulishly responded, “Yes, Lord Black.”

“What were Regulus’ last orders?” Sirius asked determinedly.

Kreacher actually glared at Sirius – Harry had never seen a house elf interact with anything less than respect to those around them. The house elf stayed silent.

Again, Arcturus was taken aback. Torley snapped, “That is Master Sirius! He is the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black - you will answer him!”

Sirius muttered, “Kreacher never did like me, even as a boy. He always preferred Regulus.”

“Master Regulus was always kind to Kreacher,” the house elf said boldly.

“Kreacher, you will obey all orders of Sirius. And of Harry Potter, the future heir of this house,” Arcturus added for good measure, gesturing to Harry. Kreacher narrowed those bloodshot eyes on Harry, looking him up and down suspiciously.

Harry felt like straightening his shoulders under the appraisal.

“As Lord Black wishes,” Kreacher grit out, like it pained him.

Repeating what Sirius had asked, Arcturus said, “Kreacher, I order you to tell us what were Regulus’ last orders, that you are still following.”

“Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to tell no one, not even Mistress Walburga,” Kreacher whispered, eyes going wide with panic. He was clearly distressed at the sudden conflict between new and old orders.

Arcturus caught Sirius’ eye, silently communicating that is was time Harry left the room – he didn’t want the boy to witness or hear anything distressing. He was only eight.

“Harry, I promised you more flying after lunch,” Sirius said, forcing lightness into his tone. “Let’s leave grandfather to handle this, and head outside.”

Harry hesitated, clearly reluctant to go, curious what the house elf had to say.

“Harry,” Sirius repeated again, gently but firmly.

“Coming,” the boy whispered, with one last look at the strange house elf. His eyes also lingered over the mysterious locket still gripped in Torley’s fist. He felt strangely drawn to the object, fascinated by how it caught the light.

Shaking himself out of it, Harry stepped away from the table, skirting around the house elves to give them a wide berth, and followed his godfather out of the room.

Once Harry and Sirius were gone, Arcturus threw up an anti-eavesdropping charm for good measure and politely asked Torley to give the locket to him. He knew the house elf would have already scanned it to make sure it carried no dangerous curses.

Kreacher held himself still, but it seemed to almost pain him to watch the locket transfer from Torley to Lord Black. Arcturus accepted the locket, examining it carefully. It was gold, inlaid with a serpentine S made of glittering emerald green stones. It didn’t seem like anything special, but seeing the intensity of Kreacher’s gaze informed Arcturus there was more to the item than met the eye.

“Thank you, Torley. Please leave us – I think best I have this conversation in private with Kreacher,” Arcturus said pleasantly.

Torley visibly hesitated, unhappy at leaving Lord Black with a disrespectful and disobeying house elf.

“I’ll be fine, Torley. Kreacher is loyal to the House of Black,” Arcturus said, glancing at Kreacher as he said so.

The house elf in question puffed his little chest out, a determined glint in his eyes.

“Yes Lord Black, Torley be coming right away if you need him,” Torley promised.

With that, the head house elf disappeared, leaving Arcturus alone with Kreacher.

“Kreacher, you say that Regulus ordered you to tell no one. Did he order you to tell no one about this specific locket?” Arcturus asked, still examining the locket from side to side, to see if there was anything more to it.

He would run some more in depth scans, but he was no artefact expert. He might have Cassiopeia check it – as a Curse-Breaker she had a wealth of knowledge when it came to magical artefacts.

“Yes, Master Regulus be telling Kreacher to tell no one about the locket,” Kreacher confirmed.

“Did this belong to Regulus?” Arcturus asked. He knew he could demand a straight and complete answer out of the house elf, but in his experience, showing kindness to the creatures went a long way to securing their formidable loyalty. House elves were never to be underestimated.

“No it is not Master Regulus’ locket,” Kreacher admitted.

“Whom does it belong to?” Arcturus asked.

Kreacher stared helplessly at Arcturus, before he whispered, “The Dark Lord.”

Arcturus stared back in shock, suddenly keen to get the locket far away from him. He realised at that moment he should certainly not be touching the item, even if it had been scanned for any curses. Who knows what kind of obscure magic the Dark Lord had put into the item, if it did indeed belong to him. Arcturus hastily placed the locket on the table and began casting a web of protective charms around the item to quarantine it. He would move it straight to the vault underneath the castle after this conversation – there was a powerfully warded section where dark artefacts could be held safely.

“I think this conversation needs to wait for Sirius,” Arcturus decided firmly. Kreacher’s expressed twisted with distaste, but he said nothing.

Arcturus called for Torley to return, the elf appearing right away, casting a suspicious look Kreacher’s way. After requesting the elf inform Sirius to meet with him in his study when he had returned from escorting Harry back to the Greengrass family, Arcturus levitated the locket with his wand.

He was unwilling to touch it again.

Later, when Sirius had escorted his godson back to the Greengrass family, and taken a seat in his grandfather’s study, Arcturus summoned Kreacher back to him.

“Why did Regulus have a locket owned by the Dark Lord in his possession?” Arcturus questioned Kreacher once he had appeared and bowed.

Sirius blanched, staring hard at the locket, which was sitting innocently on his grandfather’s desk.

“Master Regulus…for years he talked of the Dark Lord, who was going to bring the dark families out of hiding…and when he was seventeen years old, Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord,” Kreacher began his tale.

Arcturus let him speak without interrupting; making eye contact with Sirius to ensure his grandson would do the same. Sirius’ mouth tightened but he stayed silent.

“And one day, a few months after he joined, Master Regulus came down to the kitchen to see Kreacher. And Master Regulus said…he said…” The old elf’s arms rose to wrap around his little body, rocking from one foot to the other. “…he said that the Dark Lord required an elf.”

Arcturus was curious, but continued to remain silent, nodding to Kreacher to indicate he was following along and to continue.

“Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. It was an honour, said Master Regulus, an honour for him and for Kreacher, who must be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do…and then to c-come home.” Kreacher rocked still faster, his breath coming out sharply.

“So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what they were to do, but took Kreacher with him to a cave beside the sea. And beyond the cave was a cavern, and in the cavern was a great black lake. There was a boat…and there was a b-basin full of potion on the island. The D-Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it…” The elf quaked from head to foot.

“Kreacher drank, and as he drank he saw terrible things…Kreacher’s insides burned…Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord only laughed…He made Kreacher drink all the potion…He dropped a locket into the empty basin…He filled it with more potion. And then the Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island…”

Arcturus knew without a doubt that his grandson would never have so readily volunteered a Black family house elf, knowing what lay in store. Sirius seemed incredibly disturbed by what he had just heard.

“Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the island’s edge and he drank from the black lake…and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface…”

“Inferi,” Arcturus breathed, horror on his face, mirrored on Sirius’ own, “How did you escape?”

Kreacher raised his head and looked at Arcturus with his great, bloodshot eyes. “Master Regulus told Kreacher to come home,” he said.

And just like that, Arcturus understood – the Dark Lord had underestimated the house elf he brought with him. He had not even thought of the power of elf magic – considering it beneath his notice no doubt.

“The house elf’s highest law is his Master’s bidding,” intoned Arcturus.

Kreacher nodded his head frantically in agreement, stating, “Kreacher was told to come home, so Kreacher came home…Master Regulus was very worried, very worried,” croaked Kreacher. “Master Regulus told Kreacher to stay hidden and not to leave the house. And then…it was a little while later…Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard one night, and Master Regulus was strange, not as he usually was, disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell…and he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord…”

A dawning, horrified realisation was starting to coming across Arcturus. They had never found out how Regulus had died – they had discovered he was dead from the family tapestry of all things, recording his death day. It had been only a few months after he became a Death Eater.

He glanced over at Sirius to see he was as white as a sheet, fists clenched in his lap. His body was trembling slightly. Sirius had always believed Regulus had perhaps failed a task for Voldemort, and had been disposed of. Although the rumours had said that Regulus had been in the Inner Circle, in spite of his age and new recruitment, due to his status as a Black.

“Kreacher took Master Regulus to the cave…to the island. M—Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket like the one the Dark Lord had,” said Kreacher, tears now pouring down either side of his snout like nose. “And he told Kreacher to take it and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets . . . ”

“My grandson drank that potion?” Arcturus gasped like the wind had been knocked out of him.

Kreacher started to sob, hands covering his mouth futilely to muffle the noise. “He did,” Kreacher wailed. “And he ordered – he ordered Kreacher to leave-without him. And he told Kreacher-to go home-and never to tell my Mistress-what he had done-but to destroy-the first locket. And he drank-all the potion-and Kreacher swapped the lockets-and watched…as Master Regulus…was dragged beneath the water…”

The elf collapsed to the floor, panting and shivering, eyes swollen and bloodshot and swimming in tears.

Arcturus was stunned to silence, realising what a terrible fate had befallen his youngest grandson. A single, broken sob broke out in the room, which did not come from the house elf. Sirius was crying, shoulders shaking from the pressure of trying not to let any more sobs break free, as he realised what his little brother’s final moments must have been like.

All for a damn locket.

Arcturus looked over at the item, still intact.

“You were unable to destroy it,” Arcturus remarked quietly.

“Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it,” moaned the elf. “Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work...Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he tried again. Kreacher failed to obey orders; Kreacher could not destroy the locket! And his Mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-f-forbidden him to tell any of the f-f-family what happened in the c-cave… ”

“We have to bring him home,” Sirius whispered hoarsely. His grey eyes were wild and desperate, pleading with his grandfather.

Kreacher blinked through his own tears, looking in shock at Sirius, like he was seeing him for the first time.

“It’s too dangerous,” Arcturus disagreed. “I won’t lose another grandchild to that place.”

“My parents buried an empty casket!” Sirius yelled, lashing out in his grief. “I want to lay my little brother to rest, here, in the Black family cemetery, where he deserves to be!”

Sirius shook, imagining his brother’s final resting place, a cold and watery grave, surrounded by the tormented dead, the Inferi.

But Arcturus was shaking his head, replying, “Sirius, I’m sorry. I want to bring Regulus home as much as you. But we can’t risk it.”

“The last words I ever had with him, were words of anger and hate,” Sirius whispered despairingly. “I knew Bellatrix had been persuading him to follow Voldemort, so I asked to meet him in secret – I didn’t tell the Order. He agreed to meet with me. And he showed me his Dark Mark – he was already a Death Eater. I was furious. I said so many hurtful things…we parted ways having severed ties with each other. Now I know the truth.” Sirius looked at his grandfather, equal parts grief and awe on his face. “Regulus turned against Voldemort. I don’t understand why this locket was so important to Voldemort, but Regulus stole it from him, and tried to destroy it.”

Arcturus moved over to Sirius’ side, placing a gentle hand on his grandson’s shoulder. He thought carefully what to say. “Your brother loved you,” he said at last. Sirius’ shoulders curled inwards and Arcturus added, “And you loved him. He knows that. Sirius I promise you he knew that, before the end.”

Sirius leaned his face into his grandfather’s shoulder and finally let the tears come freely, crying for the wasted time with his brother, their hateful parting words, and for the pain and fear Regulus must have experienced when he died.

But Sirius also cried for the two little boys they had once been, brothers who had ended up on opposite sides of a war.

He hoped that Regulus would forgive him.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Six: The price of greatness is responsibility

On Sunday night before the greatly anticipated hearing of Albus Dumbledore and Elphias Doge, Sirius was outside a nondescript door in a Muggle apartment complex in Edinburgh. He had pushed down all of the unearthed grief about Regulus to the bottom of his soul in order to get through the next few days. Seeing this particular person, he needed to keep his guard up if he didn’t want questions about his emotional state.

Remus had always seen right through him.

He glanced down at the piece of paper in his hand to make sure he had the right address, and then knocked.

There was the faint sound of movement inside, before the door swung open to reveal the tired face of Remus Lupin. He smiled hesitantly but genuinely, and said, “Sirius, come in.”

Sirius entered the apartment, looking around curiously at the space his old friend had been living in. It was small, but tidy, with a living room area to the right and a kitchen to the immediate left as Sirius entered. He could see a closed door that must lead to a bedroom, and a slightly ajar door that revealed the tiled floor of a bathroom.

Remus shut the front door and hovered uncertainly by it, amber eyes watching Sirius survey his home. “It’s not much, I know,” Remus muttered.

Sirius turned around quickly, reassuring the other man, “It’s great, Remus.” An amused look entered his eyes and he added, “I remember your first place you had when you moved out.”

Remus laughed tiredly replying, “I have my own bathroom now, so it’s an improvement.”

Sirius grinned back, before his expression sobered up and he asked, “Are you okay, Remus? You look tired.”

Remus sighed, running a hand through his light brown hair as he replied; “It’s the full moon next week.”

Sirius stepped forward, hand moving up on instinct to comfort his friend, before he froze, unsure if he could be that familiar with Remus anymore.

“Do you have somewhere safe to transform?” Sirius asked, concerned. “You can come to Black Castle if you like? We have expansive grounds, and I can modify the wards to prevent you from leaving.”

Remus smiled affectionately and said, “I’m okay, Sirius. Thank you for the offer – but I take a potion now to manage my transformations.”

“A potion?” Sirius asked, confused and a little wary.

“It was invented a couple of years ago – it’s called the Wolfsbane Potion. It’s wickedly hard to brew though; I certainly don’t have the skill for it. And the Ministry regulates the sale of the potion to keep track of werewolves in Britain. So I can’t exactly walk into a shop and buy it off the shelf, if I want to stay under the radar.”

“What are you doing then to get the potion each month?” Sirius asked worriedly.

Remus smiled ruefully and admitted, “The black market, mostly.”

“Remus,” Sirius said softly. “That doesn’t exactly sound safe. There’s no regulation of the quality of the potion, or the price for that matter.”

“Well I don’t have a choice,” he replied stubbornly. “The potion completely subdues the wolf, I can even stay here in my apartment. I can’t hurt anyone when I’ve taken it.”

“You were fine on the full moons you transformed with me and the others,” Sirius pointed out. “Your wolf came to recognise us and even enjoy our company.”

“I’ve been alone for a long time, Sirius,” Remus whispered. “The Wolfsbane Potion is my best chance at a normal life.”

Still concerned for his friend, but knowing how stubborn Remus could be, Sirius reluctantly said, “If you ever change your mind, Remus, Black Castle is open to you.”

“I doubt your grandfather would appreciate you allowing a werewolf onto your property. Or anywhere near Harry, for that matter,” Remus muttered.

“My grandfather knows you’re important to me,” Sirius said quietly. “He would allow it, if I asked.”

Remus blinked in surprise, before his expression softened. “Thanks, Padfoot,” he said, testing the waters with the old nickname.

“Mooney,” Sirius replied, a grin appearing on his face again. Then remembering, he added, “Speaking of Harry – there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What? Is he okay?” Remus asked worriedly, amber eye shining with concern.

Deciding to be direct, Sirius said, “James and Lily wanted you to raise Harry if anything happened to them and to me. You were the alternative guardian they picked in their last will and testament.”

Remus gaped at Sirius, before spluttering, “Wait – what? Me? That can’t be right, I mean really – Sirius I’m not exactly safe to be around a baby, or a kid.”

“That’s not true, Remus,” Sirius said firmly. “You only turn into a werewolf one evening, once a month. Every other day you’re the most responsible person – James and Lily knew that. They trusted you. I trust you.”

Remus was speechless.

Pushing the point, Sirius added, “Lily always said you were the most sensible one of us. She adored you. James too.” Starting to get angry, Sirius muttered, “With James and Lily gone, and me in Azkaban, Harry should have rightfully gone to you.”

“Why didn’t he?” Remus asked, setting aside any arguments about his suitability and wondering why he had never been contacted about custody.

“Dumbledore,” Sirius hissed.

A conflicted expression crossed Remus’ face. “Merlin, he really has made a mess of things, hasn’t he?”

“He’s done more than make a mess, Remus,” Sirius said desperately. “He put Harry in danger by giving him to the Muggles. He failed to keep an eye on him. And now he wants to use him as a weapon against Voldemort.”

“Is it true, then?” Remus asked in shock. “The charges against he and Doge? Are they legitimate?”

Sirius hadn’t told Remus about the investigation, only asked him to attend the Order meeting and agree to tell him what was discussed.

“It’s all true,” he confirmed softly.

Sirius slowly explained everything to Remus, watching as the other man’s face grew more and more furious, a dangerous glint in his amber eyes as he listened to everything Sirius was disclosing to him.

He told him too about Dumbledore contributing to his incarceration in Azkaban, how he had turned his back on him.

Sirius also told Remus about his meeting with Dumbledore the other day, their talk about the prophecy, and Dumbledore’s insistence that Harry was the key to defeating Voldemort.

Remus sat down on his couch as Sirius talked, silently processing everything that was being shared with him.

“Do you understand now?” Sirius asked. “Do you understand why I can’t have anything to do with Dumbledore, or the Order? I can’t put Harry at risk. And I also can’t forgive Dumbledore for the harm he’s caused to Harry. And to me.”

Remus was silent for a few more moments after Sirius added that last bit, and then replied, “I think James and Lily would come back to curse me if I still supported Dumbledore and his cause after hearing all of that.”

He looked up at Sirius, and declared, “I let you down, Sirius. I failed Harry too, running away and not sticking around to make sure he was taken care of. I won’t betray James and Lily’s memory by following the man who allowed their son to be abused.”

Sirius sat down on the couch beside Remus and reached out to grab his hands, asking him intently, “Are you out then, Remus? Out of the Order?”

Remus squeezed Sirius’ hands back and replied softly, “I don’t want to support Dumbledore anymore, but…” He trailed off and added, “It was useful though, wasn’t it? Me attending the Order meeting today. I can tell you now exactly what was discussed. Shouldn’t I keep up the act so I can collect information for you?”

Sirius gaped at Remus, before a delighted expression crossed his face. “Mooney, I didn’t know you had it in you.” Sobering up he added, “I don’t want you to feel obligated out of a sense of guilt to keep attending Order meetings and keeping up a façade. I couldn’t do it myself – I won’t ask you to do anything I can’t do.”

Remus, still unconsciously holding Sirius’ hands, replied firmly, “I want to do this. Not just for you, but for Harry too. We need to keep an eye on Dumbledore.”

“Thank you, Remus,” Sirius whispered.

Remus slowly pulled his hands away, and muttered, “Let me tell you exactly what was discussed at the Order meeting today.”

Sirius listened carefully as Remus relayed a play by play of the meeting, face tightening at the news that despite their conversation, Emmeline Vance had still decided to answer the summons and attend the meeting. Remus had informed Sirius though that she had barely said a word, and had been distinctly withdrawn.

Both Dumbledore and Doge had insisted they were innocent of the charges, and it seemed Dumbledore planned no legal representation, so convinced of his ability to convince the Wizengamot tomorrow to drop the charges at the committal hearing.

According to Remus, both men avoided actually answering any questions put to them by the other Order members about the nature of the charges. It meant there was no forewarning about how exactly they planned on tackling the allegations.

Apparently Dumbledore had also distracted the Order members by bringing up Harry, and telling them that Sirius would be attending the next meeting to give an update on him.

Sirius had barked out a laugh at that.

He had been surprised though to hear that Arthur and Molly Weasley were apparently now official members of the Order. They had been supporters during the war, but neither had actively fought – they had their children to look after. Molly’s older brothers Fabian and Gideon Prewett had been in the Order and were killed in the war – Sirius could understand now in peacetime why she would be keen to take a more active role in the Order. She had suffered terribly with the deaths of her brothers.

It made Sirius angry that Dumbledore would take advantage of her loss to get her and her husband to join the Order.

Dumbledore’s reckoning was coming fast, though.

By the end of tomorrow, wizarding Britain would be seeing Albus Dumbledore in a very different light.

Gareth took his seat beside Amelia Bones in the courtroom, eyeing the empty raised seat where Dumbledore would usually be sitting, with satisfaction. He would be arriving any minute through the doors with Doge, and they would be taking seats in the body of the courtroom, not their usual positions with the rest of the Wizengamot.

A desk was positioned close to where Gareth and Madam Bones were sitting, where the prosecutor the Ministry had briefed was sorting through his notes. Thomas Flint was an experienced barrister, well worth the retainer fee.

Mr Flint said something quietly to his instructing solicitor, and the woman stood up to approach Madam Bones, who leaned over the wooden bannister demarcating the Wizengamot from the rest of the courtroom.

“Madam Bones, we have confirmation both of the accused will be applying for a suppression order in the hearing today,” the woman murmured discreetly.

Madam Bones’ expression tightened, but she did not seem surprised in the slightest. “Thank you for the indication.”

The solicitor nodded, stepping back to re-join Mr Flint at the bar table.

“Do you think the suppression order will get a majority vote from the Wizengamot?” Gareth asked Madam Bones.

“Hard to tell,” the woman replied, steely eyes watching the door to the courtroom for Dumbledore and Doge’s eventual entrance.

Gareth’s gaze slid over to the Minister, who looked distinctly worried, and no amount of fake smiles for his companions around him could hide that fact. Fudge had put his lot in with Dumbledore from the moment he ran for office. He was the reason Dumbledore had a seat in the Wizengamot, the reason Dumbledore had been selected for the delegation to the International Confederation of Wizards, and had subsequently been voted in as Supreme Mugwump. Fudge had not kicked up too much protest at the charges being laid and the initial hearing being called today, but that was largely because Gareth suspected Madam Bones intimidated him. The woman was a force of nature.

But when the man realised just how legitimate the charges against Dumbledore, and Doge for that matter, were, there was every chance he would try and quash the criminal proceedings in order to avoid being dragged down with Dumbledore. Gareth suspected he would be one to vote in favour of the media being prevented from publishing anything.

The rising noise of voices, the loud clicks of cameras going off and a stampede of footsteps marked the arrival of both accused long before they were seen. Two security officers opened the doors, revealing Albus Dumbledore in dramatic indigo robes. By his side was the stout form of Elphias Doge, who had gone for sensible black robes over a suit.

Crushing in after the two co-accused was a swarm of reporters, all falling over themselves to yell out questions, scribbling down notes as their photographers clicked away, capturing images of the men entering the court, and the Wizengamot, their colleagues, waiting for them within.

With the Chief Warlock currently standing accused in the hearing before them, Madam Bones had authority to run the matter as head of the DMLE. The Minister had been all too eager to let her stand in. She rose to her feet, and with a simple Sonorous spell cuttingly commanded, “Silence!”

Like chastened children, the press fell silent, not even an errant camera click to interrupt the sudden calm.

“You will take your seats in the press gallery without delay,” Madam Bones ordered.

While the press filed in to take their seats in the appointed area, Dumbledore and Doge took their seats – at the bar table on the other side of the courtroom to the prosecution. It was where their defence counsel would have sat, had they hired anyone.

As they would be representing themselves they were permitted to sit at the bar table in order to speak to the Wizengamot – otherwise they would have been sitting at the back of the courtroom on seats meant for accused individuals.

Doge nervously placed a briefcase down, pulling out some notes, but Dumbledore sat down and calmly folded his hands in his lap, watching the Wizengamot with piercing blue eyes over his half-moon glasses.

Fudge swallowed heavily, looking sweaty.

Once the press were settled and the courtroom doors had been closed by the security officers, Madam Bones rose to her feet once more. She called out in her authoritative voice, “I hereby call on the matter of the Department of the Child Protection Authority against Albus Dumbledore and Elphias Doge. I will take appearances now.”

She sat down and Mr Flint rose from the table, drawing the attention of the press who watched on keenly. “Mr Flint, appearing for the Department of the Child Protection Authority, Madam,” the man said clearly. He sat back down in his seat after speaking, looking over to Dumbledore and Doge.

Dumbledore rose smoothly to his feet and responded, “Albus Dumbledore, Madam, I will be representing myself today.”

He sat down, a picture of ease. Doge meanwhile rose shakily to his feet, stammering, “E-Elphias Doge, also self-represented.” He all but threw himself back down into his seat.

Dumbledore gave his friend a reassuring smile.

“Yes, we will hear from Mr Flint on the summary of the department’s case against Mr Dumbledore and Mr Doge,” Madam Bones directed. It was procedure that prosecution presented their case first, and then defence could address anything raised in the prosecution case.

Mr Flint fluidly stood, making eye contact with the Wizengamot and the members of the press. With the ease of a talented orator, he began the prosecution case.

“Mr Doge stands accused of three charges of abuse of public office, and one charge of failure to protect a child. Mr Dumbledore is charged with two charges of interference with Ministry processes, one charge of failure to mandatorily report suspected abuse of a child, and two charges of child endangerment.”

The press already knew as much having had the general nature of the charges disclosed to them when they were laid against the two men.

Mr Flint continued, “The summary of the prosecution case is as follows. On Monday the sixteenth of October of this year, the senior manager of the Child Protection Authority, Ms Louisa Abbott, became aware that a wizarding child had presented at a Muggle child protection agency. She contacted the head of her department, Lord Gareth Greengrass, who attended the agency with her. The identity of this wizarding child is Harry Potter.”

Mr Flint paused to allow the murmurs that rose up around the room – whilst it was known that the CPA had removed Harry Potter from his Muggle relatives the specifics were unknown. The press leaning in hungrily as they realised Harry Potter was tied to the charges against Dumbledore and Doge, for the prosecutor to be bringing it up. Members of the Wizengamot who had not worked out the timing between Harry Potter being removed and Dumbledore and Doge being charged, looked around with shock at their peers.

“Mr Potter had made disclosures of abuse and neglect to four persons of authority – his classroom teacher, the principal of his school, a social worker, and a police officer, who later interviewed him.”

Mr Flint looked gravely around the courtroom as he stated, “I am not here today to walk you through the specifics of the child abuse and neglect case that has been established against Mr Potter’s aunt and uncle. I am here today to establish that it was the actions of these two men,” here Mr Flint gestured to Dumbledore and Doge, “that resulted in Mr Potter’s improper placement with the Muggles in the first place, and subsequent abuse and neglect at their hands.”

Murmurs rose up around the courtroom at that dramatic statement, the quills of the press scratching away at lightning speed.

Mr Flint, having successfully captured the intrigue of the courtroom, moved on with, “I will take you back to the thirty-first of October, 1981. We all know this infamous night. It was the night Mr Potter lost his parents, the night the Child Protection Authority gained temporary emergency custody of Mr Potter, until he was placed with his new guardians.”

The room were leaning in, hanging onto every word Mr Flint was saying.

“The prosecution case, ladies and gentlemen, is that one Rubeus Hagrid, acting under the direct orders of Albus Dumbledore, took Harry Potter from his family home in Godric's Hollow. This was done without the consultation or the authority of the CPA. Whatever happened in the time between the moment of Mr Hagrid removing Mr Potter from Godric’s Hollow, until the evening of the first of November, is unknown." Mr Flint paused to let the Wizengamot and press absorb that information, before continuing.

"Between the first and second of November, Mr Elphias Doge, then head of the Child Protection Authority, signed multiple documents. One such document was confirmation that on the first of November all procedures had been adhered to, and Mr Potter’s maternal aunt and uncle were the correct guardians to place Mr Potter with. Another document signed by Mr Doge on the second of November confirmed that a background check had been done on Mr Potter’s aunt and uncle the previous day, and that they had been approved as suitable guardians. A final document signed by Mr Doge on the second of November, confirmed that Mr Potter had been transferred into the care of his aunt and uncle.”

Doge was looking distinctly uncomfortable, knowing full well all three of those documents were not completed properly, and that one had been totally falsified.

“I will begin with the first document, which I seek to provides copies of both to the accused and to the Wizengamot,” Mr Flint continued.

Madam Bones replied, “Yes you may tender the first document.” As copies flew over to the members of the Wizengamot and to the defence side of the room, Madam Bones quickly scanned her copy and added, “Let the record state that this is Exhibit One, ‘Departmental Report on Protected Child’.”

“As you can see from this report, Mr Doge confirms that the last will and testament of James and Lily Potter is attached to the report, and that according to the document, Lily Potter’s sister Petunia Dursley née Evans and Vernon Dursley are identified as the guardians with whom Harry Potter is to be placed with. His signature is affixed to the bottom. However, ladies and gentlemen, what is missing from this report is the attached subpoena, indicating the law firm who had retainer of the will, had in fact submitted the will. The attached last will and testament too, bears no seal of the law firm confirming it is the most recent version on record.”

“The question, therefore, is where did Mr Doge get this will, if not from the law firm? If you turn to the final page of the last will and testament on file, you can see Mr Dumbledore is one of two witnesses of the will. The other is Sirius Black. The prosecution alleges that it was Mr Dumbledore who provided this will to Mr Doge. It is further alleged, that Mr Doge failed to inquire with the law firm who managed James and Lily Potter’s legal affairs, if the will he had received, was the correct and up to date version. I seek to provide a letter from the law firm in question, Cross & Key.”

Once more copies were distributed, and as Madam Bones glanced over the official letter she said out loud, “Exhibit Two will be the, ‘Letter of the law firm Cross & Key dated the twenty-first of October 1988’.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, when the department of the CPA noticed there was no seal affixed to the last will and testament on file, nor any record of a subpoena, they made an inquiry with Cross & Key. The response, as you can see from the letter, was emphatic. Mr Doge, or anyone else from the department, had never made inquiries before that point with their firm. They opened James and Lily Potter’s file, and discovered the last will and testament that was certified as the correct and current version, was different to the one Mr Doge had placed on file.”

Gasps rung out around the courtroom, and Doge shrunk in on himself.

“This became the subject of the first abuse of public office charge against Mr Doge – his improper decision to accept a last will and testament from an unauthorised person, and then his failure to follow due process in inquiring with the law firm that the copy he had was actually correct,” Mr Flint said.

“I can reveal to the Wizengamot, that the correct and newer version of the last will and testament of James and Lily Potter, contained the following statement.” Mr Flint paused, letting the silence stretch for a moment as the tension grew. “We hereby state that Petunia Dursley née Evans, the sister of Lily Potter née Evans, is not to be appointed guardian of Harry James Potter, under any circumstances. If the aforementioned Sirius Black is unable to carry out his guardianship, we name Remus John Lupin as an alternative guardian.”

Cutting over the sudden noise and speculation in the courtroom, Mr Flint asked to tender that document too.

Madam Bones had to re-establish control of the room, standing and using the Sonorous spell once more to warn the press they would be sent out of the room if they did not maintain order.

When a modicum of calm had been restored, Madam Bones accepted the copies of the document and declared that Exhibit Three would be the ‘Certified Last Will and Testament of James and Lily Potter’.

“As is plain from this statement, James and Lily Potter had no wish for their child to be raised by Mrs Potter’s sister. In fact, with such a firm statement in writing, one could draw inference that the Potters were making it clear that Lily Potter’s Muggle relatives were unsuitable guardians. And yet, because of Mr Doge accepting an incorrect will from an unauthorised person, and failing to carry out the duties of his office, Mr Potter was placed, against his parents’ explicit wishes, with his Muggle relatives.”

Angry murmurs rose up around the room as people read through the legitimate will, focusing on the specific section that made it so clear that James and Lily wanted to ensure under no circumstances that Harry would end up with Lily’s sister.

“I can confirm for the court, that Remus John Lupin is a family friend of the Potters, and has no criminal record. With Mr Black unjustly incarcerated, Mr Lupin would have been a suitable guardian for Mr Potter to be placed with. He is also the guardian his parents picked out, in the event of their and Mr Black’s incapacity to care for Mr Potter. A grave disservice was done to Mr Potter by the actions of these two men. And to Mr Lupin too, who was the rightful guardian who should have received custody of Mr Potter in Mr Black’s absence.”

Many in the room were nodding in agreement, angry eyes honing in on Doge, who was taking the brunt of the derision and fury. Dumbledore was receiving a small part of it, but an argument could be made that he did have a version of a will that had once been current, and had not known it was not up to date.

Dumbledore’s face was grave but unsurprised – the prosecution had provided all documents they intended to rely on to the co-accused before the hearing, as was expected in any legal proceeding. As he flipped through his own copy of the certified will and re-read the section where it was made explicitly clear Harry was not to be placed with Petunia Dursley, his face tightened, and he slowly lowered the document.

“I will now direct you all to the second document signed by Mr Doge on the second of November. This document is a crucial one in the function of the CPA. You see, this document confirms that the identified guardians are in fact suitable to be given custody of a child. A background check is performed on the identified guardians, and any other adults who live with them. This background check includes at its basic level, an interview to assess suitability and readiness of the guardians to take custody, a full medical check, a financial review, and the recording of other social circumstances such as marital status and the existence of other children in the household. Mr Doge signed this document, however, there is no report attached providing answers to what I outlined a background check generally entails. Instead, a simple memorandum was attached. I wish to tender the placement report and attached memorandum for the Wizengamot,” Mr Flint declared.

As copies flew out, Madam Bones confirmed Exhibit Four would be the ‘Placement Report and attached Memorandum’.

Allowing the Wizengamot a chance to glance over the sparse two page document that had been hastily ticked off, and then flip to the attached memo at the back, Mr Flint stated, “The memorandum, written and signed by Mr Doge, states that one Minerva McGonagall, professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, conducted the background check on the first of November, 1988. Now, there are obvious issues with this, ladies and gentleman. Firstly, Professor McGonagall is not an employee of the CPA. The law clearly states an officer of the CPA must do a background check. Secondly, upon being interviewed by senior manager of the CPA, Ms Abbott, Professor McGonagall denied having done a background check at all.”

Murmurs of surprise sprung up, before being quickly hushed.

“She stated, as she will state again before the Wizengamot if these criminal proceedings continue to trial, that Albus Dumbledore asked her to watch the home of Petunia and Vernon Dursley on the first of November, in her registered Animagus form of a cat. Professor McGonagall did so, from approximately half past seven in the morning to midnight. She never entered the Dursley home. She never spoke to any of the Dursley family. In the evening at around midnight, Albus Dumbledore arrived, by the professor’s account. The aforementioned Mr Rubeus Hagrid, who had Harry Potter in his care, then joined them. According to Professor McGonagall’s account, Mr Dumbledore insisted that Mr Potter was to be put with his Muggle relatives. He then placed one year old Harry Potter on the doorstep of his aunt and uncle’s home, along with a letter.”

Mr Flint looked around the room before saying firmly, “Ladies and gentlemen, that is all Albus Dumbledore did. He did not knock on the door to hand Petunia and Vernon Dursley their infant nephew. He did not inform Mrs Dursley in person that her sister and brother-in-law had been killed. He did not confirm with them that they were ready and willing to take an infant into their care, already having a one year old son of their own.”

“Albus Dumbledore left, ladies and gentleman. This is the subject of the first charge of child endangerment in leaving an one year old unattended on a door step, without ensuring appropriate adult supervision or otherwise alerting the inhabitants of the home to Mr Potter’s presence. You will hear from senior manager Ms Abbott, who interviewed Mrs Petunia Dursley. By Mrs Dursley’s account, she discovered her nephew on the doorstep around half past six the following morning, meaning Mr Potter was alone and unsupervised on a cold November night for approximately six hours.”

Shocked looks were directed at Dumbledore, whose face was grave, his countenance regretful. The press could barely hide their glee, writing away.

“Mr Dumbledore’s actions in allegedly ordering Mr Hagrid to remove Harry from Godric’s Hollow before the CPA could send workers to the scene, and then taking it upon himself to put Mr Potter with his Muggle relatives, meant he took on the role of a CPA employee. But Mr Dumbledore was not authorised, under any law, to do this. This is the subject of the first charge of interfering with a Ministry process,” Mr Flint declared.

But he was not done yet with this line of attack, not while everyone was fixated on each word he said, and were already staring at Dumbledore like they didn’t recognise him.

“Whilst it was Mr Doge who wrote and signed the memorandum that makes up Exhibit Four, claiming Professor McGonagall to have done a background check, the prosecution alleges that it was Mr Dumbledore who gave this information to Mr Doge. We allege that Mr Doge, trusting him, took him at his word that Professor McGonagall had really conducted a background check. This is of course, setting aside the simple fact that Mr Doge knew that Professor McGonagall was not an authorised person, and that he confirmed a placement report had been done, when it had in fact never been completed. This is the subject of the second charge against Mr Dumbledore for interference of Ministry processes, and also the second charge of abuse of public office against Mr Doge.”

By now there was a palpable buzz in the room, as it truly began to sink in for people, even those who had gone into the hearing fully backing Dumbledore, that there was in fact a lot of weight behind the charges put to the two men.

“I bring you all now to the third document signed on the second of November, by Mr Doge. This was the confirmation of transfer, which formally ends the CPA’s temporary custody of a protected child, and confirms the custody of their new guardians. I wish to tender this document,” Mr Flint confirmed.

That document quickly became Exhibit Five, ‘Confirmation of Custodial Transfer’.

“I want to draw all of your attention to two things. Firstly, there are no signatures for Petunia and Vernon Dursley. The section where the new guardians are to sign has been left blank. Mr Doge has put his signature down to confirm the end of the temporary CPA guardianship of Mr Potter, but according to this document, on its face, Mr Potter had no appointed guardians. This is an incomplete document, and the subject of the third and final charge of abuse of public office by Mr Doge. In the absence of any evidence of agreement from the Dursleys that they actually consent to taking custody, an argument can be made, ladies and gentlemen that the CPA technically still had custody of Mr Potter.”

“The implications of this are grave. I told you when I began my opening address that I was not here to expose the child abuse and neglect case against Mr Potter’s aunt and uncle. However, by failing to affect a legal transfer of Mr Potter to his aunt and uncle, Mr Potter remained, in the eyes of the law, a protected child. The abuse and neglect he suffered, was committed against him whilst he was still in the official custody of the CPA. This is the subject of the charge of failure to protect a child against Mr Doge. He failed to appropriately discharge one of the most important functions of the CPA, which is to ensure the appropriate transfer of custody,” Mr Flint stated, hammering the final nail in the coffin for Doge.

But Mr Flint was not finished there – Doge was buried under weight of the charges against him, but there were two outstanding charges left to address on Dumbledore’s indictment.

“I want to bring you all back to the interview I mentioned, conducted between senior manager Ms Abbott and Mrs Dursley. If we proceed to trial, Ms Abbott will testify before you, and provide a Pensieve memory of her interview. Mrs Dursley informed Ms Abbott that the letter Albus Dumbledore left with Harry Potter when he abandoned him on the front doorstep of the Dursley home, contained a clear message: ‘I will be watching you.’ Mrs Dursley claims to have never been visited by Mr Dumbledore, or anyone else from our world in the nearly seven years Mr Potter was living under her roof. However, the Muggle authorities alerted Ms Abbott that they had interviewed a neighbour of the Dursleys. I have here the record of interview taken by the Muggle police, of a Ms Arabella Figg. I wish to tender this document.”

Dumbledore tensed, preparing himself for what he knew was coming.

Mr Flint continued after the record of interview had been tendered as Exhibit Six ‘Record of interview of Ms Arabella Figg, conducted by Muggle Police’.

“I direct you all to page nine of the interview. Ms Figg states, and I quote, ‘I always thought it was unusual that the Dursleys sent Harry to me to be babysat when they took their own son away on holidays.’ The Muggle policeman interviewing her then asks, ‘Why do you think they did this?’ And Ms Figg answers, ‘They never treated Harry right. Always favoured their own son. I always felt sorry for Harry, because I could tell he wasn’t being treated right in that house.’ The policeman asks, ‘In what way was he not being treated right?’ And Ms Figg replied, ‘They were neglecting him. Maybe doing worse.’”

Mr Flint looked up from his own copy and added, “Now, the reason why I am directing you to a Muggle interview, is because Ms Abbot discovered that Ms Figg was not in fact a Muggle. Ms Figg, I can confirm, is a Squib. A magical scan of her property revealed a high degree of magical activity, for the home of a Squib who lives on her own. The scan confirmed the suspicions of the prosecution, that Albus Dumbledore was the producer of this magical activity. His magical trace was over the house, layered over years. This is the subject of the charge of failure to mandatorily report suspected abuse of a child. Mr Dumbledore, as I am sure you are all aware, is headmaster of Hogwarts. He is person who is required under law to report any suspicions of child abuse or neglect, of any child, as a provider of education to children. The prosecution alleges that Dumbledore knew, or ought to have known, based on his contact with Ms Figg, that Harry Potter's Muggle relatives were mistreating him.”

Mr Flint looked around the room, still commanding everyone’s attention. “There remains one outstanding charge of child endangerment that I have not yet addressed. On the sixteenth of October of this year, when Harry Potter was taken into the custody of Lord Gareth Greengrass, Lord Greengrass received a letter from Albus Dumbledore that same evening. The prosecution cannot provide a copy of this letter, due to the spell we allege Albus Dumbledore placed on it to destroy it after reading, however Lord Greengrass is willing to testify in any trial proceedings as to its contents. He will tell you that Albus Dumbledore instructed him to put Harry Potter back with his abusers. Despite knowing that the CPA had found grounds to remove the child, he wanted Mr Potter put back with those guardians who had been found unsuitable by the CPA.”

There was outright shock in the room at Mr Flint’s words, disbelieving eyes fixed on Dumbledore, whose face was tight.

Mr Flint finally stated, “The prosecution on behalf of the department of the CPA appreciates the difficulty of suppressing Mr Potter’s identity as the child in question in relation to these charges. We note that most will make the connection between the charges and him, given his notability. Instead of requesting a suppression order of his identity, we respectfully request a suppression order of any specifics that might emerge of the abuse and neglect Mr Potter has suffered, if we proceed to trial. I thank you all for your attention.”

With that, like he had not just calmly shredded Doge and Dumbledore to bits, Mr Flint resumed his seat.

Madam Bones stated, “We will consider any applications for suppression after we have heard from the co-accused. Mr Dumbledore, Mr Doge, if you are ready to respond?”

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Life is a long lesson in humility

Doge began his submissions as the first person listed on the indictment, stumbling and stammering through his shaky defence. The press watched on with growing glee as the man failed to really justify any of his actions. He relied on the argument that in the chaos of the war ending and You-Know-Who being defeated that many processes were completed in unorthodox ways. It was an argument that utterly failed to sway anyone in the room.

Doge seemed determined to avoid implicating Dumbledore any further than he already had been, ever loyal to his friend. In the process though he had doomed himself, and he finished his weak submissions and heavily sat down in his seat, pale and shaky.

Dumbledore was then called on to respond to the prosecution case, and he rose to his feet with significantly more composure than his co-accused.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is a grave situation. The charges that are levelled against Mr Doge and myself are serious. Allow me to begin with that night in Godric’s Hollow, when James and Lily Potter lost their lives to Voldemort.”

A shudder ran through the room at the use of the Dark Lord’s name. Dumbledore’s usual supporters listened intently, desperate for proof that their mentor was not guilty of the charges made against him.

“I did indeed direct Mr Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, to attend the scene when I was alerted that something was amiss at the Potters’ home. I arrived soon after him, and after checking on Harry Potter’s wellbeing, Mr Hagrid informed me that he had just spoken with Sirius Black,” Dumbledore explained. “Now, at the time I was under the mistaken belief that Mr Black had been James and Lily’s Secret-Keeper, and I was deeply concerned that he had seemingly fled the scene. I instructed Mr Hagrid to take Harry to the safety of Hogwarts, secure behind the castle’s powerful wards, until Sirius Black was located and apprehended.”

It was arguably sensible, given how safe Hogwarts was, to take Harry there.

“I reached out to Mr Doge immediately afterwards, knowing that he was the head of the CPA. I let him know exactly where Mr Potter was, and confirmed he was safe and well. There was no request made to move him somewhere else, and had there been, I would have fully complied with any directions by the CPA. By the morning, Mr Black had been captured by Aurors, a story I am sure you are all now very familiar with,” Dumbledore continued.

“I instructed Mr Hagrid to meet me at the address of Harry’s aunt and uncle. As has been put forward by Mr Flint, I had witnessed James and Lily’s last will and testament, in 1980. I genuinely believed this to be the most current version. I did not realise they had made a new will, less than a year after the last. I acknowledge my error, and regret deeply that my honest mistake led to Harry being placed with the wrong guardians.” Dumbledore looked remorsefully around the courtroom, impressing on the room his seemingly genuine regret that he had inadvertently supplied an out of date will to Doge.

“I do not deny that I asked the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts, my esteemed colleague Professor McGonagall to observe the Dursley family throughout the day of the first of November. I believed with her being in her Animagus form, she could survey the Dursley family discreetly. Mr Doge contacted me by that afternoon to ask for an update, and I informed him that I had Minerva - Professor McGonagall – observing the Dursley family.” What Dumbledore said next, all but sealed the nails in Doge’s coffin. “I did not claim that she had done a background check. I merely stated that she was watching the home in her Animagus form.”

Doge’s head was bowed, hiding his face from the rest of the courtroom. Dumbledore spared his friend a regretful glance, before continuing, “Mr Hagrid met me as planned that evening, with Professor McGonagall also in attendance.”

Dumbledore paused to collect his thoughts; aware of how delicately this next part would need to be handled. “With the benefit of hindsight, I realise that I should have knocked on the Dursley family door.”

There were a few raised eyebrows at the admission, and many bore stern expressions, clearly unimpressed with Dumbledore’s actions in leaving a one year old unattended on a doorstep all night.

“However, I did not leave Mr Potter unprotected on the doorstep. Professor McGonagall and Mr Hagrid can both attest that I placed multiple protective charms over Harry. A warming enchantment for his blankets to ensure he would not be cold, a powerful shielding charm, and I also warded the area around him to ensure if anyone approached I would know, and that if he did wake before his relatives, that I would be alerted,” Dumbledore insisted. “Mr Potter though, slept peacefully throughout the night. My wards were not set off, not even once. He was safe, warm, and I was magically supervising him through the placement of the wards, all night.”

People seemed conflicted – some were eager to accept Dumbledore’s explanation, if only for the reason that it was unthinkable that the great Albus Dumbledore would endanger a child. Others seemed uncertain of their position, and a fair few still bore unimpressed expressions.

“I ensured in the letter I left with Harry, that I explained Lily and James had been killed, and that it was imperative the Dursleys take Harry in, and treat him as their own. I truly believed Harry would be safe with them, and loved. It was his mother’s sister, his own blood,” Dumbledore stressed.

“I notified Mr Doge that I had taken Harry to his aunt and uncle’s home. I was unaware of any specifics of the paperwork that was required for such a transfer – I do not work for the CPA,” Dumbledore explained clearly.

“It was shortly afterwards, that a dear friend of mine, Ms Arabella Figg, expressed to me her frustration at being born a Squib. She had recently retired, and felt directionless. I suggested she could find some purpose in a noble cause, and suggested she purchase the house for sale across the street from the Dursleys. I freely admit that I requested Ms Figg keep an eye on Harry. But I did not want her to intrude into Harry’s life, or his guardians for that matter. So she always kept her distance, except for the few occasions she babysat Harry.”

Dumbledore then arrived at the most crucial point of his submissions. Piercing blue eyes looked around the courtroom as he stated firmly, “Ms Figg never informed me she suspected Harry was being abused or neglected. I know my duties as a mandatory reporter. I take my duties seriously. Had Ms Figg even hinted at her suspicions, I would have investigated, and reported my concerns to the CPA. The idea that I was aware of her concerns, and did nothing, is insulting. I am the headmaster of Hogwarts; I have had hundreds of children under my care over the years of teaching. I would never allow a child to remain in an unsafe situation, if I had been notified that there was a risk.”

At last the tide seemed to turn in Dumbledore’s favour, people believing him with the weight of his years of experience as an educator, his excellent societal reputation, and his influence as one of the most respectable and influential wizards in the world, not just Britain.

“Finally, I come to the last charge of child endangerment against me, relating to a letter I sent on the sixteenth of October. I was working on very little information when I wrote to Lord Greengrass to suggest he put Mr Potter back with his Muggle relatives, but what I did know was that there was a powerful, unique protection around the home of his aunt and uncle. A protection so strong that not even Voldemort himself could break it.”

There were a few awed looks around the room, but a fair few sceptical ones too. Dumbledore continued, “I wrote that letter under the desire to have Mr Potter placed in the safest environment possible, behind these unique protections tied to his home. Had I known the gravity of the neglect and abuse, I would have never written that letter.”

In his closing remarks, Dumbledore added, “I humbly request two things of the Wizengamot. The first is that this hearing, and any subsequent legal proceedings arising from it, be placed under a media suppression order.”

The press glared at him, furiously gripping their notepads and Quick-Note Quills.

“The second,” Dumbledore continued, “Is that I seek for my charges to be severed from Mr Doge’s. I hope I have satisfied the Wizengamot that there are grounds for separation.”

Doge still hadn’t raised his head – his lack of shock and betrayal indicated he and Dumbledore had already discussed and planned for this. It was obvious to all gathered that Doge was a sinking ship. Dumbledore was cutting the lines loose from his friend, in order to survive.

Dumbledore resumed his seat, and Madam Bones rose, proclaiming, “The Wizengamot will take a short recess to decide on the prosecution and accused’s suppression applications, the severance application, and finally, whether we deem there is enough evidence to proceed to trial for one or both accused. At this stage, I direct that Lord Gareth Greengrass stand down temporarily from his Wizengamot duties, due to the conflict of interest.”

Gareth rose, having anticipated this coming – it was fine for him to be present for the committal hearing as he already knew all of the evidence, given it was his department bringing the charges against Doge and Dumbledore.

But it would be entirely unethical for him to have voting power to decide anything, given the clear conflict of interest. If it did proceed to trial, he would continue to be temporarily suspended from the Wizengamot regarding the matter until the verdicts were back from the jury and sentences had been handed out.

As he swept from the room, he caught the gaze of Madam Bones, silent communication passing between them. He had no choice but to entrust the rest to her, ensuring they got the matters through to trial.

With Lord Greengrass having taken his leave, the remaining members of the Wizengamot rose from their seats, filing out of the room through a discreet back door behind their tiered seating, to avoid having to cross the courtroom. Once the last member had disappeared, the press exploded into action, no longer having the formidable Madam Bones to glare them into submission.

They all but fell over themselves to yell out questions to Doge and Dumbledore, busily writing the articles that might not be published. But if the suppression order for the defence failed, they all wanted to be the first with the news that Dumbledore was being taken to trial.

Behind the scenes, the Wizengamot had already agreed that there were grounds for severance – there was near unanimous agreement that Doge and Dumbledore should be tried separately and be judged on their individual actions.

There was also a unanimous agreement to support the prosecution application for suppression to prevent any sensitive information about Harry’s personal situation to come to light.

The Wizengamot were in unanimous agreement that Doge’s case needed to proceed to trial.

However, the true debate was raging over Dumbledore’s application for a total suppression order, and also whether to proceed with taking the man to trial.

The Minister and his three support staff were firm in supporting Dumbledore’s suppression application and also dropping the charges against him, claiming to be satisfied he had established there were not sufficient grounds to take him to trial.

However everyone knew the real reason the Minister and his staff were so insistent on dropping the charges was because the Minister had put his lot in with Dumbledore, and any bad press of Dumbledore meant bad press for him too.

There was nothing Fudge feared more than bad press.

Marshall Fawley, and a handful of the newer members of the Wizengamot also supported the Minister’s position.

Others supported the suppression order to prevent a media circus, but agreed a trial should proceed against Dumbledore, if only to decisively clear or convict him of the allegations. Griselda Marchbanks spearheaded this approach, supported by Levi Selwyn and a couple of other members.

Madam Bones supported by Rufus Scrimgeour, Diana Macmillan, Regina Rowle, Ivan Nott, Helena Burke, Xavier Parkinson and Tiberius Ogden were pushing firmly to refuse the suppression order and proceed to trial.

Then there was Ahmed Shafiq, silently thinking hard and not yet showing his hand. Ludo Bagman was on the fence, but that was more due to confusion than any careful calculation on his part.

With Lord Greengrass now stood down, Crouch suspended from the Wizengamot pending his legal proceedings, and Dumbledore and Doge also facing charges, there were only twenty-nine members on the usual thirty-three member council.

Despite two of the three groups agreeing that Dumbledore should be taken to trial, they were just short of the majority, needing fifteen members to agree – there were currently only fourteen.

Their hope lay in Lord Shafiq or Ludo Bagman backing the decision to go to trial.

The arguments swayed back and forth for another half hour.

Eventually Bagman caved to the Minister’s pressure, hesitantly suggesting they not take Dumbledore to trial. The room turned to Lord Shafiq, everything now riding on his decision.

“I’ve listened to all of your arguments,” the man began. “My mind is made up.”

The light wizard looked around the chamber the Wizengamot had gathered in to debate, and without leaving the others in suspense any longer, he declared, “I support the motion to take Dumbledore to trial.”

The Minister looked aghast, having been sure Lord Shafiq would support Dumbledore as a fellow light wizard.

“Lord Shafiq…perhaps if I explain again-” the Minister started to say.

“There is no need to outline your opinion again, Minister,” Lord Shafiq said firmly. “It is obvious to me that we need to trial Mr Dumbledore to call the witnesses and test the veracity of what is being claimed.”

“We have a majority,” Madam Bones stated, expression remaining neutral. However, there was a satisfied light in her steely eyes.

“I also support the rejection of Dumbledore’s application for suppression,” Lord Shafiq added, surprising Madam Marchbanks and her supporters. Seeing their surprise, Lord Shafiq explained, “Supressing the media will cause nothing but trouble. All of society will know that criminal charges are proceeding against Mr Dumbledore, and yet they will know nothing about what is actually happening. Rumours will run rife. There will be inaccurate reporting in the media, with reporters taking guesses as to how the trial is proceeding.”

Seeing the considering expressions on the faces of the people who supported the trial, but wanted media suppression, Lord Shafiq pressed his point, saying, “If Mr Dumbledore is found not guilty, then he will be decisively exonerated by press coverage.” Looking around seriously at his colleagues, Lord Shafiq added, “And if he is guilty, it is important that the public know what he has done.”

There was a short silence, before Levi Selwyn tentatively said, “I wish to change my vote to reject the suppression application of Mr Dumbledore.”

Lady Burke rewarded him with a warm, pleased smile. Mr Selwyn blushed.

They still needed five more members though to turn from their positions to win back a majority.

The Minister said firmly, “There is still majority support to confirm Mr Dumbledore’s suppression order.”

Madam Rowle spoke up then, the head of the Department of Mysteries having been largely silent for the debate. “Minister, I fear what actions the press might take against the Ministry, if we do not allow them to report on the trial.”

Fudge froze, eyes wide on Madam Rowle. “What do you mean?” he asked curtly, a look a suspicious fear in his eyes. His toad-like Senior Undersecretary glared at Madam Rowle.

Madam Rowle spread her hands, supplicating, and said, “With Sirius Black’s acquittal last week, and the investigation and legal proceedings commencing against Mr Crouch, there has been a lot of talk in the press about freedom of information. Mr Crouch forbade the press from attending any of the hearings he presided over during and immediately after the war.” The woman titled her head to one side, eyes intent on Fudge as she murmured, “I merely fear what comparisons the media might draw between what happened then, and what is happening right now. What a scandal it might cause.”

Fudge swallowed heavily, thinking fast.

“I…” his eyes darted around at his support staff, and at the contingent of people who wished to reject the suppression order. You could see the gears turning behind his head, eyes flicking over the political powerhouses who wished to reject the suppression order. There were even light wizards and witches in their ranks.

“I see your point,” he said lamely.

“Minister, can we take this to mean you support rejecting Mr Dumbledore’s suppression application?” Madam Bones pressed.

“Yes,” Fudge admitted faintly.

Just like that, within moments his support staff conceded too, quickly turning to follow the Minister’s position. A couple of the newer members, no doubt hoping to gain the Minister’s notice and favour, also turned, giving the majority to those who wanted to reject Dumbledore’s application.

“It is decided then,” Madam Bones said with satisfaction.

Reconvening court, Madam Bones rose to her feet to make the announcements.

“I will start by declaring, by unanimous vote, that the severance application is approved,” she stated. Dumbledore inclined his head in acknowledgement, and Doge looked distinctly sickly, knowing that there was no hope for him.

“Next we have the suppression order application made by Mr Flint on behalf of the Department of the Child Protection Authority,” Madam Bones said, glancing at Mr Flint. “Again, by unanimous vote, we approve that suppression order. No information is to be published relating to the specifics of Mr Harry Potter’s experience with neglect and abuse.” Turning her eyes to the press she said in a dangerous voice, “A document will shortly be disseminated to the press outlining specific instructions on what can and cannot be published. Any journalists caught breaching this order will face the full extent of the law.”

A few reporters actually shrunk back slightly.

Moving on, Madam Bones stated, “It is by a majority of the Wizengamot, that we reject Mr Dumbledore’s application for a total suppression order over these proceedings.”

Dumbledore’s face tightened and the press looked like they had just won the lottery. If even possible, they were writing faster now, quills flashing. They could have articles out within the hour.

“I now move to Mr Elphias Doge, the first accused on the indictment,” Madam Bones stated, causing Mr Doge to cringe. “Please stand.”

Doge rose shakily to his feet.

“The Wizengamot finds, unanimously,” she started, causing the press to lean in and Doge to look close to fainting as he realised what was coming, “That there is sufficient evidence to proceed to take the charges against you to trial. As we have approved severance, you will stand trial alone for three charges of abuse of public office, and one charge of failure to protect a child. I will return to you shortly to list a date for the trial commencement. Please be seated for now.”

Doge collapsed, rather than sat in his seat, hands shaking. Dumbledore cast his friend a sympathetic look, before gravely rising to his own feet, knowing he was next.

“Albus Dumbledore, the Wizengamot finds, by a majority, that there is sufficient evidence to proceed to take the charges against you to trial,” Madam Bones declared. The only sign of Dumbledore’s shock was the slight widening of his eyes.

The press had no such reservations – gasps, murmurs and mutterings broke out at this turn of events. Not only would they be allowed to report on the hearing, but also they could report on the great Albus Dumbledore going to trial. Who would have thought such a day would ever come. It was every journalist's dream to have such a high profile case occur during their career.

“You will stand trial alone for one charge of failure to mandatorily report suspected abuse of a child, two charges of child endangerment, and two charges of interference with Ministry processes,” Madam Bones proclaimed. “We will now proceed to list dates for trial.”

The pedestal Albus Dumbledore comfortably stood on was starting to crack.

Harry was sitting in his Monday afternoon lesson with Ezra, but there was something new about the arrangement. Sitting by his side at the desk, curiously watching over his shoulder, was Sirius Black.

It had been Rosie’s suggestion – she thought it would be a good idea for Sirius to sit in on one of Harry’s lessons to see for himself what her brother was teaching him. The fact it was on the same day of Dumbledore and Doge’s committal hearing was deliberate – Sirius was grateful for the distraction from dwelling on what may or may not be happening.

“I was nervous too,” Harry murmured while looking down at his work, hand carefully wrapped around the quill. He was still getting used to it.

“Hm?” Sirius asked, looking down at his godson and leaning in slightly.

Harry looked up at him, green eyes vivid.

“I was nervous a couple of weeks ago when I was waiting for news if the Wizengamot was going to take me away from the Greengrass family. My classes distracted me, it really helped” Harry explained.

Sirius smiled fondly at his godson, resisting the urge to ruffle his hair. James had always hated it.

“How are we doing over here?” Ezra asked politely, stepping up to the desk with a small smile towards Sirius.

“Good, I think,” Harry said brightly.

“My godson is a genius,” Sirius declared with a straight face.

Harry flushed, and Ezra chuckled lightly, stating, “He’s bright, there’s no doubt about it.”

Ezra had a quick check over Harry’s work, and then afterwards asked Sirius, “Do you have any questions for me about the curriculum? Or about me?”

“I know about you from Rosie – you’re a Durmstrang teacher right?” Sirius asked.

“I teach Transfiguration normally – but I’m on sabbatical for two years to conduct a research project,” Ezra confirmed.

“What are you researching?” Sirius asked curiously, though he glanced at Harry, not wanting to detract from his godson’s lesson by distracting his teacher.

To his surprise, Harry straightened up, and Ezra looked at him the boy carefully, before glancing back at Sirius and saying, “Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about that. Perhaps after the class ends?”

A little suspicious, Sirius agreed.

The lesson proceeded uneventfully after that, and Sirius observed how the younger Greengrass daughter was sent out of the room and Ezra moved Daphne and Harry into the centre of the room.

An extra chair was placed beside Harry, and for Sirius’ benefit Ezra explained after the main lesson finished he taught Harry and Daphne for an extra hour in various topics relating to wizarding traditions and history.

Sirius had blanched a little – he’d hated those lessons growing up. But Harry clearly loved it – the topic of that day was about the phase from runes to wands. Even Sirius had to admit although the content was rather dry, Ezra was a brilliant teacher. He wished he had a teacher like Ezra growing up – perhaps he would have actually paid attention to his lessons, and engaged with the content being taught.

The study of runes was considered crucial to the traditional wizarding movement – a link to their ancestors who did not use wands. A subject on runes was thankfully still taught at Hogwarts, but it was largely theoretical with very little practical application.

Sirius had been shocked to learn Rosie was a Runes Mistress – he had, had no idea. Ezra told the children if either of them wanted to learn more about it they should sit down with Rosie – she could safely guide them through far more in depth lessons than what Hogwarts offered.

The lesson finished before Sirius realised it, and Ezra promised the children they would continue their lessons on runes, and have Rosie in to talk with them too and share her knowledge with them.

Daphne waited for Harry to pack up his things, but Ezra said gently to his niece, “I need to debrief with Harry and his godfather, Daphne, if you don’t mind stepping out of the room?”

Nodding in understanding the blonde girl waved goodbye, calling out to Sirius as she left the room, “I’m looking forward to seeing Black Castle!”

Sirius looked back at her, bemused.

Harry pointed out, “You did say she and Astoria could come visit at some point.”

“Right, I did,” Sirius, said faintly.

Looking all too amused at his niece’s antics, Ezra said, “Right, I wanted to discuss my research with you.”

“And how it relates to Harry,” Sirius added suspiciously.

“Harry has inspired my line of research,” Ezra said, cutting straight to the point.

Sirius looked surprised, glancing at his godson who was blushing slightly. “It’s just an idea,” Harry mumbled.

“Harry theorised, that wandless magic could be linked in some way to accidental magic in children. His idea was that if a child could learn to control their underage magic in an effective way, this discipline over their magical core could unlock the capacity to use wandless magic later in life. Essentially, make them more in touch with their own magic from a young age, and therefore be able to tap into their magical potential to its fullest as they get older.”

“You made it sound way smarter than how I put it,” Harry muttered.

Ezra smiled warmly at Harry, stating, “The basic idea was still yours, even if I’ll be expanding on it.”

Sirius was a bit taken aback, but also intrigued at the possibility. “We know barely anything about people who can perform wandless magic. If they know of a way to teach it, they keep the knowledge close to their chests.” His face soured, thinking of Dumbledore who possessed the ability but had never shared exactly how.

Most just brushed it off as the man being an incredibly powerful wizard, and leaving it at that. But Sirius had always suspected there must be something more at play than raw power. Something to do with absolute control over your magical core.

“Exactly, which is why I want to research it. But to do that, I need to run an experiment,” Ezra explained.

Sirius understood then – to prove his theory, Ezra would need to study a child, to see if the child could control their accidental magic and develop the ability to utilise wandless magic.

“You want Harry to participate in your experiments,” Sirius stated, rather than asked.

“I really want to try,” Harry insisted, green eyes intent on his godfather. “I was planning on experimenting on my own-” here Sirius looked at him sternly unimpressed, “but Ezra told me I shouldn’t try anything unsupervised.”

Sirius looked approvingly at the other man, his estimation of him rising. He was still a bit uncertain about consenting to Harry being a part of a study – he was only eight. It sounded like a fair bit of commitment too.

“I would never conduct any experiments without you, or someone else you authorise present. And I would always run by what I intend to have Harry try, before he tries it. I promise the study will be done with Harry’s safety as the utmost priority,” Ezra told Sirius.

Sirius tried his best to ignore Harry’s imploring eyes, Lily’s eyes, staring up at him, begging to have permission to participate. But he couldn’t resist keeping his gaze away. He found himself asking, “Why do you want to do this so badly, Harry?”

“I want to be more in touch with my magic,” Harry answered right away. “And I hate the idea of relying on a wand, and then losing it and being helpless. I don’t want to be helpless ever again,” Harry finished quietly.

Sirius’ heart ached.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching out slowly and projecting his movements. He took his godson’s hand delicately in his own, giving it a little squeeze. “You’ve got me looking out for you – you’ve got grandfather, the Greengrass family, Mr Yaxley here,” Sirius acknowledged, nodding towards the blonde, who looked surprised but pleased at being included.

Harry smiled, but it was a little bit sad. “I know that,” he agreed. “But I still want to be prepared.”

Suddenly Sirius was struck with a crippling sense of doubt – should he not have told Harry about the prophecy? Was this desire to learn wandless magic driven by his fear of Voldemort coming after him, a fear generated by Sirius telling him the truth?

Morgana, what had he been thinking, telling an eight year old such heavy things?

But before Sirius could spiral, Harry added, “It was one of the first things I wanted to learn, after I arrived in our world.”

Sirius understood then – it was to do with those damn Muggles who had abused and neglected him. Harry had felt what it was like to be helpless at the hands of those who wished to harm and torment him, and he never wanted to experience that again.

How could Sirius refuse?

“I want to see a clear plan of the suggested experiments, before they happen,” Sirius stated, staring intently at Ezra.

Harry perked up instantly, a hopeful look on his face.

The man nodded in agreement, stating, “I’m still drafting up plans – this is unchartered territory. But as soon as I have something concrete I’ll send it through to you.”

“And I want to be present for every single one of these experiments. If I feel Harry is at risk, then everything stops – are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Ezra replied.

“So I can do it?” Harry ventured. “I can be part of the study?”

“Yes,” Sirius agreed with a sigh.

Harry beamed, eyes alight with excitement. “Thanks Sirius!”

“When do you think you’ll be ready to start?” Sirius asked Ezra.

“Probably in about a month – just before Yule,” he guessed. "I have to get the project approved by the academic board, and the ethics committee will have to sign off on it too, particularly considering a child is involved."

“Yes, well I expect you’ll be in touch in about a month then – I’d like the experiments done at Black Castle so I’ll see about arranging you access to our Floo network,” Sirius said.

Ezra looked quite keen to see the famous Black Castle – his generation had only heard tales about it – because Lord Black had been so reclusive since before their time, none of the Sacred Twenty-Eight of his generation had actually seen it.

“I look forward to it,” he said earnestly.

Harry felt like he was over the moon – he might finally start making some actual progress in learning to control his magic without a wand.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Slytherin’s Locket

That weekend Harry arrived at Black Castle, eager and slightly nervous to meet his great-aunt Cassiopeia. She had been invited to spend the weekend at the castle in order to meet and get to know Harry, and also to examine a few items in the Black Castle vault that had been removed during the renovation of Grimmauld Place.

When Harry arrived, Sirius by his side after travelling to the Greengrass estate to pick Harry up, he found his grandfather and an elderly woman waiting for them in the Grand Reception Room.

As the elegantly dressed woman stood and approached the duo stepping out of the fireplace, Harry immediately recognised the woman from the photos he’d seen in his father’s photo album.

His grandmother’s older sister had not changed much from those photos, though her hair was now entirely silver, and swept up into a bun. Her dark brown eyes, which Harry had come to understand were characteristic of the Black family, were incredibly warm as she smiled at Harry.

She stopped just short of Harry and Sirius, looking to Sirius pointedly to make introductions. With one hand on Harry’s shoulder, Sirius said, “Harry, this is your great-aunt, Cassiopeia. Aunt Cass, this is Harry, my godson.”

“Please call me Aunt Cass,” the woman told Harry gently. Her eyes roved over Harry’s face and she added softly, “You look so much like your father.”

Harry smiled at her, unknowingly increasing the likeness. “You were close with my father and grandmother, weren’t you?” Harry asked shyly.

Cassiopeia’s face was fond, but tinged with sadness as she replied, “Yes, I was. We had many happy summers together in Greece, with Sirius too.”

“I didn’t ask – do you still own the villa?” Sirius questioned curiously.

“I do,” Cassiopeia confirmed. “I would be delighted to have you both stay with me at some point – you must come too, Arcturus,” she said turning back to look at her cousin.

Arcturus seemed surprised, but pleased at the invitation.

“I purchased a home too in Cornwall when I returned to England at the start of this year,” Cassiopeia continued. “You’re more than welcome to come visit me there too, anytime.”

“Thank you,” Harry replied shyly.

“I’ve organised morning tea for us all, come along,” Arcturus said.

Over tea, small sandwiches, macarons and cupcakes Aunt Cass soon had Harry laughing so hard he nearly snorted tea out of his nose. Sirius was flushed red with embarrassment due to Aunt Cass’ tales of he and James in their youth and the embarrassing things they had done.

“Watch it, I’ll have some embarrassing stories to tell about you at some point,” Sirius warned Harry.

Harry just grinned back, enjoying every moment of Aunt Cass’ stories. She was a wonderful storyteller - he could tell that was where Sirius had gotten his own skill from.

Aunt Cass told Harry about her career too – Harry was mesmerised by the adventures she had experienced during her time as a Curse-Breaker, travelling the world. She was like a real life explorer from the storybooks. She was possibly one of the coolest people Harry had ever met.

“That reminds me!” Aunt Cass exclaimed, looking expectantly at her cousin. “There are a few items you want me to examine, yes? You mentioned one you particularly wanted me to look at – a locket?”

Harry perked up at that, asking intently, “The locket from the other day? The one the house elf had from Grimmauld Place?”

Cassiopeia looked confused, but Arcturus and Sirius exchanged looks with each other, Arcturus’ face unreadable and Sirius’ face slightly nervous.

Arcturus confirmed calmly, “Yes, Cassiopeia will be examining that locket.”

“Can I watch?” Harry asked excitedly.

Cassiopeia hesitated, looking between her cousin and Sirius, confused why they were acting so strange. Figuring the locket was perhaps a dangerous item, and they wouldn’t want a child being nearby when an investigation was happening, Cassiopeia said, “Some of the artefacts I examine are quite dangerous.” She looked pointedly between the two men, silently asking them if this was one such item.

“This one is…complicated,” Arcturus stated, explaining nothing.

Reading the room, Cassiopeia suggested, “Perhaps Harry could observe my examination on a different artefact at a later time?”

Harry visibly wilted in disappointment, as Sirius relaxed and Arcturus replied, “I think that would be best.”

“We’ll let you know what the results are for the locket,” Sirius rushed to offer, wanting to appease Harry’s disappointment.

Arcturus raised an eyebrow and Cassiopeia had to be quick to hide her amused smile, taking a sip of her tea – it was clear Harry already had Sirius wrapped around his finger.

Later that night, Sirius was sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed, tucking his godson in. Sirius had picked out this section of the castle for Harry himself – the door to the suite opened into a comfortable sitting room, with a grand window overlooking the lake and the Quidditch pitch in the distance.

His Nimbus 1700 was displayed proudly on one of the walls, the maintenance kit stored neatly underneath it.

The walls were lined with bookshelves – after Harry had bashfully admitted he liked reading, Sirius had gotten the house elves to remodel the sitting room to become a miniature library. Harry had been overwhelmed the next time he had walked in to see the room covered in books – Sirius had asked his grandfather for help in selecting a range of age-appropriate texts – both fiction and non-fiction.  

To the right of the sitting room was a study space, complete with a desk and even more bookshelves, these ones strictly for study purposes. After sitting in on Harry’s lesson with Ezra earlier in the week, Sirius had gone out and gotten copies of all of the textbooks Ezra prescribed for his classes, making sure to place them in the study so that Harry could revise here if he wanted to.

There was a small powder room located off the sitting room if Harry had any friends over, but the main door led through from the sitting room to the bedroom. Harry had fallen in love with the wide-open, airy space, especially the deep window seat, which you could sit on, and look over the grounds.

There was a large bathroom coming off the bedroom, lined with marble, and a bathtub the size of a small pool, which produced a variety of differently scented water. Finally, the walk in wardrobe – Sirius had offered, given Harry would be moving between here and the Greengrass home regularly, that he should buy some new clothes, so that Harry wouldn’t have to pack up every time he moved between properties.

They had spent an afternoon last weekend picking items off a catalogue for owl order – with how much media attention was on them right now, Harry was feeling too nervous to go out in public yet.

Harry’s wardrobe was slowly but surely filing up with clothes and shoes of all kinds – and Sirius made sure it wasn’t all just boring formalwear like he’d been forced to wear as a kid – he let Harry pick whatever he wanted, which included sneakers, jeans, t-shirts, and sweaters.

Sirius hadn’t wanted to be presumptuous, so he had asked Harry if he wanted to frame some copied photos from his album. Harry had joyfully accepted, and his bedroom was now decorated with photos of he and his parents.

On one bedside table was the photo of him as a baby with his parents, and on the other was the photo of Sirius with baby Harry.

Harry hoped he would be able to take more photos to add to his collection, photos of him with Sirius, his grandfather, and with Rosie, Gareth, Daphne and Astoria too. He wanted all of the people important to him to be around him.

“Sleep well, kid,” Sirius murmured, making sure the covers were pulled up enough.

“Thanks, Sirius,” Harry whispered, snuggling in under more. Sleepily he asked, “Are you, grandfather and Aunt Cass going to go look at the locket now?”

Sirius chuckled, Harry’s astuteness never failing to surprise him.

“I promise I’ll tell you about it in the morning.”

Harry yawned, eyes barely open as he replied quietly, “Okay…” Sirius smoothed a gentle hand over his head, struck not for the first time at how lucky he was to have his godson here, with him, safe in his family home.

“Are you certain?” Arcturus asked, the astonishment written plainly across his face.

“Positive,” Cassiopeia stated firmly. There was a passionate light in her eye as she waved her wand to rotate the necklace around again, behind it’s protective wards that separated it from she, Arcturus and Sirius.

They were deep underground in Black Castle's vault, examining the locket that had once been owned by Voldemort, before Regulus had stolen it from its hiding place and replaced it with a copy.

“This is Salazar Slytherin’s locket,” Cassiopeia declared. “This could perhaps be one of the most significant discoveries in our generation.” Her academic passion was evident.

“How can you tell?” Sirius asked, not doubting Cassiopeia’s expertise at identifying artefacts, but rather curious at how she had ascertained that.

“Some artefacts are famous – and within that number some are known to be missing, and therefore even more notorious. The sword of Godric Gryffindor, the cup of Helga Hufflepuff, the diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw – and the locket of Salazar Slytherin,” she said, gesturing to the locket rotating slowly before them all.

“Most Curse-Breakers and collectors have memorised what these items look like – or were documented to have looked like. It is said that the locket of Slytherin was gold, inlaid with a serpentine S made of miniature emeralds. One could argue this is a mere copy, modelled off the locket. But I can tell it’s authentic.” The woman surveyed the object with an assessing eye, explaining, “There is an ancient magic woven into this object. If that was not enough evidence, I can tell none of us here would be able to get that locket open.”

“It can open?” Arcturus asked.

“See the hinges?” Cassiopeia said, gesturing to the barely visible hinges to the side. Arcturus and Sirius both leaned in, squinting slightly. Sure enough, there were hinges. The elderly woman continued, “It can indeed open. But from the diagnostic spells I’ve put on it, and what I’ve already tried so far, I am fairly certain nothing I can do would open it. Whatever secret the locket has – will remain a secret, I’m afraid. I suspect only a Parselmouth could open it, as Slytherin intended.”

“Is it dangerous in any way?” Sirius asked uncertainly.

“A difficult thing to determine,” Cassiopeia admitted. “The locket as it is, is seemingly harmless. I can sense the ancient magic on it – dark magic – but it seems dormant. I would wager a guess though, that if the locket was opened, it might be a different story.”

Arcturus nodded in understanding, before asking, “As far as you can tell, is there a possibility the item could open on its own?”

Sirius blanched at the thought, hand twitching towards his wand imperceptibly.

Cassiopeia frowned, considering the question, and said, “That would imply a degree of…sentience. Which, if the stories of the founder’s artefacts are true, each of the items might indeed possess.”

“It’s sentient?” Sirius asked, aghast, resisting the urge to take a step back away from the locket.

“In a sense,” Cassiopeia said. “For example, it is said that the sword of Gryffindor comes and goes as it wills, appearing to those who have earned it. That is the best known example, but it is rumoured each of the four items carries with it the will of its creator.”

Sirius’ face darkened and he said, “We should destroy it then.”

Cassiopeia instinctively moved between the item and Sirius, exclaiming, “We will do no such thing! This is a precious magical artefact!”

“You just said it carries the will of its creator – imagine what Slytherin wanted that thing to do?” Sirius glared at the item suspiciously.

“Sirius,” Arcturus said quiet, but admonishing. He stared meaningfully at his grandson, a disappointed look in his eyes.

“Everyone knows Slytherin wanted to exclude Muggleborns from Hogwarts – it caused the rift between he and other founders. He was a prejudiced blood supremacist,” Sirius muttered stubbornly.

“That is the allegation,” Cassiopeia said carefully. “Where did you learn that history?”

Sirius paused for a long moment.

Cassiopeia and Arcturus looked back at him, waiting.

Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. At last, grudgingly, he muttered, “I was taught it at Hogwarts.”

“Do you honestly think, that if Slytherin was promoting such things, that the other founders would have allowed him to continue to be honoured with a house named for him at the school? Do you think the subsequent headmasters and headmistresses would not have removed his presence from the school, and erased his house if he had put such ideas forward?” Arcturus asked quietly.

Sirius remained silent – but in his silence there was acceptance of his grandfather’s logic.

At last, Cassiopeia declared, “We don’t know what Salazar Slytherin’s motivations were. The truth has been lost to time. For now though, we should treat his locket with respect, but caution. I would advise you continue to keep it quarantined here in the castle's vault.”

She added ruefully, “Though it would have given me the greatest delight to have announced a founder’s artefact had been re-discovered. In saying that, British laws around these artefacts are hazy at best – the Ministry might attempt to claim it, seeing as the last descendants of Slytherin have died.”

All three Blacks stared at the locket, still rotating slowly in front of them. The lights on the walls of the vault caught the shine of the emeralds and the gold of the locket, and for just a brief moment all three were lost staring at it.

Then the moment was gone without any of them noticing, and Arcturus cleared his throat, stating, “Yes, well, we’ll keep it here then in the vault.”

Cassiopeia looked at her cousin and Sirius carefully and asked, “Where did you find it? Just in Grimmauld Place amongst other items collected by our family over the years?”

A frown creased her forehead as she saw a significant look pass between the two men. There was a silent conversation between them.

Finally, Arcturus said gently, “Let’s go up to my study. I have something difficult to tell you.”

The following morning, Harry was at the breakfast table, excitedly waiting for Aunt Cass to arrive and tell him about her examination of the locket, as promised. Sirius was a bit quiet this morning, but Harry had noticed the man was prone to mood swings – he had told Harry it was because of his time in prison. He made sure Harry knew he was seeing a Specialist Healer to develop techniques to manage his mood swings and other difficulties, and the road to recovery was an ongoing process.

Aunt Cass entered with Harry’s grandfather, and Harry worriedly stared at the elderly woman. She seemed rather shaken. Grandfather’s face was sad.

“Is something wrong?” Harry whispered. He looked between Aunt Cass and his grandfather, green eyes wide.

“Oh dear heart,” Aunt Cass said softly, coming over to sit down beside Harry. “I just received some sad news last night about someone I knew. I will be fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly.

Cassiopeia looked at him tenderly, before forcing some lightness in her tone as she asked, “Now, I believe Sirius promised you a run through of what we learned about the locket.”

Harry listened with fascination as Aunt Cass explained to him in simple terms her investigation, and then breathed out in excitement as she told him the locket was Salazar Slytherin’s missing locket.

“Missing?” Harry asked.

“Yes, at some point the locket became a family heirloom of the Gaunts, passed down from one generation to the next. But when the last of the Gaunts died, it went missing. Until it was found in Grimmauld Place amongst some other items,” Cassiopeia explained in brief.

“What does it do?” Harry asked keenly.

“There appears to be hinges to open it – but I suspect only a Parselmouth could open the locket, as Slytherin intended. A Parselmouth is-” Cassiopeia began to say, only for Harry to blurt out, “Someone who can speak to snakes.”

Then he flushed, embarrassed at cutting the woman off in his excitement. But she was very pleased, saying approvingly, “Correct, Slytherin and his descendants could speak to snakes. I believe the locket can only be opened by a Parselmouth.”

Harry murmured, “And the Gaunts are all gone now. How do you think it ended up at Grimmauld Place, if it belonged to the Gaunts?”

Having already discussed exactly what to say to Harry, Sirius was the one who explained quietly, “It was in the possession of my younger brother, Regulus. Before him, it belonged to…Voldemort.”

Sirius had firmly vetoed completely lying to Harry if he asked, but they had agreed Regulus’ fate was a story not meant for a child to hear. One day, Sirius would tell Harry Regulus’ story, but not until he was older.

Harry’s eyes widened.

“Voldemort was a Gaunt?” Harry asked.

All three adults went to tell him no, and then visibly hesitated. Shocked looks were exchanged between them.

A child’s innocent question had just opened a new avenue of possibility.

“Why would he hide being a Gaunt?” Cassiopeia asked Arcturus and Sirius while Harry watched on with slight confusion. “Surely he could have gotten more supporters if it was known that he was the last of the Gaunts? He could have claimed the Gaunt lordship too, rather than use an empty title.”

Harry’s eyes widened, realising now he had been the first to suggest the possibility of Voldemort being a Gaunt.

“It seems unlikely then – he probably stole it from them,” Sirius suggested.

Arcturus was thinking hard though.

“What if he was a Gaunt – but the reason he never claimed his inheritance was because he was not pureblooded? What if he was hiding a mixed heritage?”

Sirius barked out a laugh saying, “Voldemort? A half blood? The man who led the pureblood supremacist movement?”

“We know nothing about him,” Cassiopeia said slowly. “He appeared out of nowhere, but somehow, inexplicably, had the backing of multiple members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight behind him. What if some of them knew he was the last living Gaunt?”

The derisive laughter faded from Sirius’ face, and he stared between his grandfather and Aunt Cass. “Are you both really serious about this? You think he might have been a half blood Gaunt?” Sirius asked.

“This merits…further exploration,” Arcturus murmured.

“Could we find out who is really is, if he is a Gaunt?” Harry asked.

“Perhaps, if he ever did a Heritage Test. But Heritage Tests are only added to the Ministry records by consent. We would more likely have to work backwards by looking at the Gaunt ancestors and tracing their family history down,” Arcturus explained.

“This is all assuming he actually is a Gaunt,” Sirius said dubiously.

“Yes,” agreed Arcturus. Turning to Harry he said gravely, “Harry, you must keep the existence of this locket a secret. It belonged to Voldemort – he still has followers today. If they know we are in possession of the locket, they might try and steal it. It is best it stays a secret between the people in this room.”

Harry nodded seriously, saying out loud, “I promise I won’t tell anyone, grandfather.”

Arcturus smiled approvingly.

There was an unspoken truth too – it was not just Voldemort’s followers to worry about coming after the stolen locket – but Voldemort himself. He was still out there somewhere, and the locket had obviously been important enough to him to hide so thoroughly.

If the truth came out that they had Slytherin’s Locket in their possession, Voldemort would know it had been stolen from its hiding place.

Sirius had insisted Harry could be trusted to keep it a secret – he had refused to lie to the boy after promising to tell him what they had learned about the locket, even though he was young yet. Arcturus and Cassiopeia had reluctantly agreed to Sirius’ wishes.

Also by telling Harry it involved Voldemort, it would be even more of a guarantee he would understand the importance of keeping silent as to the locket’s presence in the ancestral Black family home.

Far underground in the vault, the locket of Salazar Slytherin lay seemingly dormant in its magical prison. But deep within it, woven into the very essence of the Hogwarts founder’s ancient magic, something stirred.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Nine: A promise made must be a promise kept

Remus carried two mugs of tea carefully over to the couch in his apartment living room, placing the steaming drinks on coasters in front of Sirius and Emmeline, who both thanked him quietly.

He went back to the kitchen, taking his own cup of tea, and walked over to the remaining armchair, a well-loved item that had belonged to his mother, before her passing.

Cupping the mug to warm his hands, Remus surveyed his friends with watchful amber eyes, noting Sirius’ tension and Emmeline’s nervousness. It was Emmeline who had asked for the meeting, and Remus who had offered his apartment as neutral territory.

Remus caught Emmeline’s eye, and she took a quick sip, before putting her mug back down and clearing her throat. She tucked her short brown hair behind her ears apprehensively, and stated, “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I’ve had…a lot to think about since the three of us last spoke.”

Sirius and Remus remained silent, letting the woman collect her thoughts. She was staring at the mug of tea in front of her on the coffee table, watching the steam rising from the surface.

“I attended the last Order meeting, though you probably know that from Remus,” Emmeline said, glancing briefly at Sirius.

Sirius nodded.

“I wanted to hear for myself what Dumbledore had to say about everything – about the allegations against him, but also what he was going to say about Sirius being innocent, about the fact we’d all been wrong,” Emmeline explained. Quietly, voice barely above a whisper, she added, “I wanted to give him a chance.”

“Sirius,” Emmeline said, looking at him properly. “Last time we spoke, you told us that Dumbledore used us. That he took advantage of us.”

“I did,” Sirius agreed easily. “I stand by what I said.”

Emmeline stared down at her hands, where they were clenched in her lap.

“Do you know what he said at the meeting, about you having gone to Azkaban for seven years? Did Remus tell you?” Emmeline asked, face blank.

Sirius frowned, not recalling Remus mentioning anything specific about that – he had recounted how Dumbledore and Doge had handled the conversation about the allegations against them, and that Dumbledore had insisted Sirius would be coming to the next meeting to give an update on Harry.

He glanced at the other man, only to see a sad understanding on Remus’ face.

“Remus didn’t say anything about that,” Sirius replied honestly.

“Because there was nothing said,” Emmeline snarled, suddenly furious. Her brown eyes were blazing with her anger. “Only confirmation you had gotten custody of Harry. Like your only worth to him was your ability to secure Harry. There was no acknowledgement that we had all turned our backs on you, that we had let you down.”

Sirius was utterly unsurprised, but seeing how genuinely worked up Emmeline was about it, he said softly, “He wouldn’t have wanted to draw any attention to it.”

Emmeline looked up sharply, the disbelief and confusion written across her face. “Why in Merlin’s name not?”

“He’s part of the reason why I ended up in Azkaban,” Sirius told her.

Emmeline stared back.

“What,” she said, voice quiet but deadly.

“Dumbledore cast the Fidelius Charm on James and Lily’s home in Godric’s Hollow. At the time, only Peter and myself knew. Not even Remus knew,” Sirius said, with an apologetic glance towards his old friend.

Remus nodded his head in agreement when Emmeline glanced his way, before wide brown eyes focused back on Sirius.

“Dumbledore was the only one who knew I was originally meant to be James and Lily’s Secret Keeper. When I was brought before Crouch, he didn’t just accuse me of murdering Peter and twelve Muggles. He claimed I had betrayed James and Lily. At first, I thought he was basing this accusation off the lies Peter was yelling for show before he blew up the street. But then he said it – that James and Lily had been under the Fidelius Charm. That I had been their Secret-Keeper. That’s when I knew. Dumbledore told him. Volunteered the information, which assisted in me being thrown into Azkaban.”

Sirius looked Emmeline straight in the eye as he said quietly, “He had time to tell Crouch this, to report me. But not enough time to ask me himself, what had really happened. He turned his back on me.”

But Sirius wasn’t finished. “I begged to be given a Veritaserum dose. Crouch refused. He said I was an accomplished Occlumens. That nothing I said under Veritaserum could be trusted.” Sirius looked between Emmeline and Remus. “There is no way he could have known that, except if Dumbledore told him. He's the one who taught me Occlumency. And besides, only true masters of the art can resist Veritaserum. So really, Dumbledore did more than turn his back on me – he offered me up like a lamb for the slaughter.”

“Dumbledore is many things, Em,” Remus said quietly. “A brilliant tactician. A powerful wizard. A pragmatist. A charismatic leader. But he is not a loyal man.”

“He uses people,” Sirius added, repeating again what he said earlier. “If he thinks it’s for the greater good, he would let any of us burn.”

“Em,” Remus said, leaning in. She looked up, eyes lost. “Last time we all spoke, you said that Dumbledore isn’t the one who murdered our friends. That we all fought for him willingly, that we were willing to give our lives for the cause. After everything you’ve learned, Merlin, after seeing the reports on the committal hearing and knowing he’s now going to trial – do you still believe that he would ever return your loyalty? That he would fight for you? That he would give his life for you?”

Emmeline’s eyes filled with tears and she whispered, “Dorcas died for his cause. What did she die for?”

Sirius reached out a hand, which Emmeline took.

“Dorcas didn’t die for Dumbledore. She died protecting the people she loved most. She was doing what she thought was right. What we all believed was right,” Sirius told her kindly.

“She didn’t have to die,” Emmeline whispered. Her tears finally fell freely as she brokenly confessed, “We were going to get married. I won’t ever love anyone again the way I loved her. My future died with her.”

“Em,” Sirius said helplessly and then stopped. No words he could offer would comfort this kind of loss.

Just as quickly her grief twisted into rage, the two emotions interwoven as she declared, “He can’t walk away from this, from any of this. He has to understand he can’t play with people’s lives.”

“He is already facing legal charges,” Remus began softly. “And as much as I support what you’re saying, what Dumbledore did to us, and to Sirius too in particular, whilst morally wrong was perfectly legal.”

“I have a plan,” Sirius said quickly, before Em could get too angry. “Remus is right – Dumbledore technically did everything legally when it came to the Order, and inducting us out of school. We were all of age. Giving us extra curricular classes in defence and talking about the war, is also is not a crime. Even telling Crouch about me – it was a stab in the back, but also legal.”

“Here’s what I’ve been thinking,” Sirius continued. “We do an interview, with a reporter we can trust. We tell our stories. And we time the interview’s release the day before his trial. We might not get justice for what he’s done to us and our friends, but we can sure as hell affect the public’s perception of him, as negative as it already has been since he was committed for trial.”

“I don’t know,” Em said slowly, wiping her face of her tears. Remus handed her a handkerchief, which she accepted with a tremulous smile. “It feels…like we’re stooping to his level, kicking him while he’s down. Going behind his back after being a part of the Order.”

“If you want to go toe to toe with Dumbledore, you have to play at his level, Em,” Sirius said carefully.

“The others will hate us,” Em whispered, obviously meaning the other Order members.

“If they still support Dumbledore blindly, after all he’s done and will be proven to have done, then are you really concerned what those people think about you?” Sirius asked her incredulously.

“Sirius, those people were once my community, my people. My brothers and sisters-in-arms. We have history. Of course I care what they think about me,” Emmeline murmured.

“You don’t have to make a decision right now,” Remus said gently. His face sobered and he added, “But you will eventually have to decide what you want to do, Em. The choice is yours.”

“I swear I won’t talk to any of them about this,” Em whispered. She glanced at Sirius and affirmed, “I told you that I had your back, and I mean it. I just…I just need time.”

Sirius squeezed her hand, where he was still holding it. “I understand, Em,” he said. And he honestly did. The Order had been a community for them all. Sirius could respect while he had burned his bridges, and Remus had chosen he and Harry as his priority, that Em would have her own complicated relationships with the Order, and Dumbledore too. He had been such an important part of all of their lives.

He could not begrudge her for needing more time to process everything.

Later that week Sirius was hosting Madam Bones at Black Castle, allowing the head of the DMLE to interview him for the criminal proceedings against Crouch Senior. She would be providing a Pensieve memory of the interview in the trial against him.

Usually interviews were done at the Ministry, but given the continued media scrutiny on Sirius, Madam Bones had offered to hold the interview at a location of his choosing.

It was simple and straightforward – the woman had a list of questions to ask, and Sirius easily told her his side of the story, from the moment the Aurors arrested him to the point he was put in Azkaban.

Sirius didn’t hesitate to disclose in his statement too that Crouch had knowledge of his Occlumency skill, and on that basis had refused him access to Veritaserum. When Madam Bones had followed up on that, and how Crouch knew that information, Sirius had informed her it was not common knowledge, and he certainly did not have the mastery of the art required to resist Veritaserum.

He noticed her note down a few things on a parchment, no doubt to follow up how Crouch knew that information. Sirius chose not to explicitly accuse Dumbledore of anything regarding the Occlumency, because he wanted to keep the statement to things he was absolutely certain of. He trusted Madam Bones to continue investigating, and come to the conclusion it was Dumbledore who had told Crouch, with evidence to back it up.

With that in mind, Sirius added that Crouch had accused him of having betrayed James and Lily Potter, having the knowledge that the Potters had been hidden under the Fidelius Charm. He informed Madam Bones that the only people who knew James and Lily had been under the Fidelius Charm had been he, James, Lily, Peter and Albus Dumbledore.

That left only one logical person to have provided Crouch with the information about the Fidelius Charm. Madam Bones’ face tightened as she realised the same thing, making a few more notes.

Sirius had meant it when he told Emmeline and Remus that Dumbledore had done nothing illegal in informing Crouch of what he knew. But he was going to ensure this information came to light during Crouch’s criminal trial in a few weeks time. It would be held after Dumbledore and Doge’s proceedings, despite the allegations of his misconduct being brought to light before the two men. This was because the investigation into Crouch’s misconduct was over many years, affecting multiple people, and the investigation was ongoing.

Even if Dumbledore manoeuvred his way out of his own charges, when Crouch’s trial commenced, at least the man would be dragged back into the negative media spotlight again. Many would agree that Dumbledore’s actions had been unfair to a supposed old friend.

Sirius was aware he was being vindictive, but seven years behind bars had hardened him.

At the conclusion of their interview, as Madam Bones was packing away her notes into a briefcase, Sirius took the opportunity to raise a concern with the woman that had been weighing on his mind since his release.

“Madam Bones, before you leave, could I raise an issue with you?” Sirius asked her politely.

“Certainly, Mr Black,” she replied, placing her briefcase down beside her.

“I understand the investigation into Crouch is continuing, and you can’t discuss specifics with me. But I imagine you have been investigating the files of all the people Crouch has sent to Azkaban during the war under the emergency powers,” Sirius began.

“That is correct,” the woman acknowledged slowly.

“You are probably not aware of this madam, but in Azkaban, the person who was in the cell opposite mine was Rabastan Lestrange,” Sirius informed her. The woman’s face remained blank, unreadable. “Over the years we spent next to each other, we ended up sharing our stories. I know you might not believe what I am about to say, but it is important I tell you, nonetheless.”

A slow nod was Sirius’ only confirmation to continue.

“Rabastan Lestrange told me that on the night Frank and Alice Longbottom were tortured, he and Bartemius Crouch Junior were only lookouts. Neither of them participated in the torture. They were only eighteen. And they were sent to Azkaban for life, without trial.” Sirius stared the woman straight in the eye as he declared boldly, “I believe him. He deserves, at the very least, a hearing to have his case reconsidered. Bartemius Crouch Junior as well, but I’m afraid it’s too late to give him any justice.”

Madam Bones was silent for a long time.

The only sign of her agitation was a single finger tapping the wooden table in front of her, as she carefully considered Sirius’ words.

“I can make no promises of a hearing, Mr Black. But do you consent to this conversation being prepared as a Pensieve memory, for potential future proceedings?” she asked at last.

“Yes,” Sirius rushed to assure her. Then he added, “You a fair woman, Madam Bones. Go and speak to Rabastan Lestrange yourself if you have any doubts of what I’ve told you. I’m not claiming he’s entirely innocent, I’m just saying he has been sentenced for the wrong crime.”

It seemed Madam Bones would keep her cards close to her chest; she simply nodded her head in acknowledgement, moving to pick up her briefcase.

Sirius said one final thing to her. “Frank and Alice were my friends,” he whispered. “I’ve agonised over this for a long time. But Rabastan deserves to have his case heard properly, and have the correct sentence imposed.”

Something softened then in the woman’s hard eyes. “I will take this information you’ve provided me into consideration, Mr Black.”

Sirius thanked her quietly, knowing that he couldn’t ask for much more from her. She was the head of the DMLE after all – she couldn’t go around calling hearings without evidence from the accused as to what happened. He just hoped she would visit Rabastan in Azkaban to take a statement.

Sirius had a promise to keep.

Harry and Daphne waited eagerly for Ezra to begin his lesson that afternoon, the man having hinted to the children the previous day that he would be starting a new and very important topic with them.

Astoria had left to have a sleepover at her best friend Ella Travers’ house, at last able to come and go freely now that the public knew about Harry’s presence in the wizarding world.

“Alright,” Ezra said, pulling his blonde hair back in a messy bun at the back of his head. “Now that I’ve finished covering the history of the transition from runes to wands, I can get into a topic I know you’ve both been waiting to hear about – types of magic.”

The two children perked up – Ezra had been skimming over that topic for the past three weeks of classes since they had started these lessons, but had yet to delve into it.

“You both understood the explanation of light, dark and neutral magical cores, and how they are inherited,” Ezra began, observing both children nod in agreement. “But now it is time to talk about magic itself, and how it relates to those three categories.”

Ezra collected his thoughts, and stated, “Magic has been classified over the centuries into different distinct branches. I said previously that the vast majority of magic is neutral. Some notable branches of magic that are entirely neutral include transfiguration, healing, arithmancy, alchemy, divination, legilimency and occlumency.”

As he listed each category, he watched Harry and Daphne’s faces closely to ensure each of those branches registered as familiar for both children. Over the past few weeks of teaching Ezra had been familiarising the children with the names of commonly taught areas of magic. Satisfied both Harry and Daphne recognised those branches of magic, even if it was only the names, he pushed on. In later lessons he could break down in more detail what each branch of magic actually entailed.

“An individual, regardless if they have a light, dark or neutral magical core, has an equal chance of mastering any of these branches of magic,” Ezra continued. “Although I do note divination can only be truly mastered by a Seer – someone born with the gift of foresight.”

Harry forced down his instinctual dislike at the mention of divination and Seers – it was the prophecy of a Seer after all that had sent Voldemort after him, and resulted in his parents losing their lives. The idea that certain things were set in stone, and no matter what you did, they would come to pass, did not sit right with Harry.

Ezra pushed on, saying, “When we turn to look at light and dark magic, it is important that you understand the distinction between spellcraft, runecraft and ritual. Spellcraft is magic you perform with a wand and incantation. Runecraft is magic you perform with runes. Rituals are magical ceremonies like the ones we perform on sacred days – such as what you both did on Samhain. When we participate in traditional wizarding ceremonies we are engaging in ritual magic. It is possible too to perform ritual magic on days other than one of the eight sacred days. For example, divination is entirely ritual based, requiring the user to utilise tools and ingredients in ceremonial ways to tap into the magic. In contrast, transfiguration is strictly spellcraft. And arithmancy is runecraft. Are you still with me?”

Harry was frowning slightly, and so Ezra asked, “Do you need me to go back over any of that?”

“It’s just, the thought occurred to me there’s actually a lot of wandless magic out there. More than I realised. Some branches of magic don’t need wands at all,” Harry explained.

Ezra nodded, looking at Harry purposefully as he said, “There is power in being able to perform spellcraft without a wand. But even if that is not possible, as it is not for the vast majority of us, you still have runecraft and ritual.”

It was giving Harry some food for thought, given his determination to try and learn how to control his accidental magic and see if he could get spellcraft to work for him without a wand. Even if he failed, he could focus his attention on learning everything about runecraft and ritual. He had a Runes Mistress to call on if he needed help – it made Harry realise too just how powerful and versatile Rosie must be.

“Focusing on spellcraft,” Ezra continued, “the branch of magic for light spellcraft is called charms, and the branch of magic for dark spellcraft is called curses.”

Harry frowned, recalling Charms was a core subject taught at Hogwarts. He was concerned to hear it seemed to be a light based branch of magic. However what Ezra said next eased his worries about struggling to do well in the subject at school.

“The branch of magic of charms contains many subsets, and has a fairly even mixture of both light and neutral spells. There are no charms that are dark in nature, however dark witches and wizards do not generally struggle in learning how to perform charms, because as I just said, there are many neutral spells in the mix. The more advanced and powerful spells though are light based, and here both of you might struggle to get the spells to work for you with your dark magical cores. With a good teacher, practice, and determination though, you could possibly manage to produce these more advanced light spells,” Ezra informed Harry and Daphne.

“Then we come to dark spellcraft, the branch of magic known as curses. Here is where things get confusing,” Ezra told the children a little ruefully. “When I refer to the branch of magic called curses, I refer to a unified branch that makes up the totality of dark spellcraft. Like charms, curses has subsets, and has a fairly even mixture of dark and neutral spells. There are no curses that are light in nature, though exactly as I have said before the reverse is true for light witches and wizards as it is for dark – most would have no issue in learning how to perform this branch of magic because there are enough neutral spells. And a light witch or wizard is capable of producing advanced dark spells if they are determined enough.”

The children nodded, following along so far.

“Now, this is where the confusion comes in. Most people do not actually refer to dark spellcraft as a single unified branch of magic. This is because over the past couple of centuries the Ministry has carved up the branch into three separate categories. They have done this as they have gradually passed laws making specific categories illegal.” Ezra face was tight – he might not be a dark wizard himself but even he could appreciate the prejudice against the Dark Arts ran rife through the regulatory legislation over the past two centuries.

“When the Ministry first created the categories, they were labelled and grouped according to the perceived danger the spells posed. The subclasses are known as jinxes, hexes and curses. I’m sure you can see the confusion already – there is the unified branch of magic called curses and a separate category the Ministry has assigned within the same branch.”

The children did look a little confused, but not enough to warrant pausing the lesson – it was an obvious puzzlement as to why the Ministry had chosen to separate dark spellcraft in such a way, rather than them being at a total loss of what Ezra was explaining.

“When the Ministry did this, they strictly outlawed curses, making it a serious offence for anyone to practice or teach such magic. For a time jinxes and hexes were both legal and unregulated, but around the fall of Grindelwald sweeping changes came through to regulate hexes and make certain ones illegal too. Currently only jinxes are completely legal and unregulated, but this is because most of the spells in this category are in fact neutral.”

“Are the spells under the sub-category of curses entirely dark?” Harry asked, a frown on his face.

“Yes,” Ezra confirmed, causing Harry’s frown to deepen. Daphne looked frustrated, realising just how much the Ministry had limited the practice of their dark spellcraft. Ezra continued, “There is no similar split in the branch of charms, no regulations or restrictions on the practice of light spellcraft. This is in spite of certain charms being equally, if not more dangerous than certain outlawed dark spellcraft. For example, the Memory Charm, when used improperly, can permanently damage a person’s brain.”

“It’s so unfair,” Daphne burst out.

Ezra observed his niece with regret in his eyes as he said, “You can both learn some dark jinxes and a few hexes that are unregulated once you get your wands, but other than that, all other forms of dark spellcraft are illegal.”

“What about runecraft and ritual?” Harry asked desperately. “There are other branches of dark magic right? Like blood magic. I know some of it is legal.”

Harry was thinking of the fact Sirius had adopted him using blood magic – he knew that had been legal. And his mum had been as close to mastery of that branch of magic as she could be without a dark magical core. Surely it would be mostly legal?

“There are three other branches of dark magic we know of, though there might have been more that have been lost to time. Blood magic, illusory magic, and necromancy. I’ll start with blood magic because you brought it up, Harry. Blood magic utilises a combination of runecraft and ritual. It is legal when used for the ritual of magical adoption. Other than that, the branch of magic is illegal,” Ezra told him quietly.

Harry was shocked, both that the branch was so limited, and also at the implication his mother had been actively practicing a mostly illegal form of magic.

“The rituals and runecraft associated with blood magic were often healing in nature. For example, it is commonly known that cursed wounds cannot be cured using healing, which is a neutral branch of magic. However, where a blood magic ritual is utilised, it can heal a cursed wound. This is the nature of the Dark Arts. It can equally harm and heal, and it always responds best to its own kind. Thus, where damage has been done with dark magic, the best solution to undo that damage is to use dark magic. A simple fact the majority of the wizarding world are unaware of,” Ezra muttered.

“If blood magic has the potential to heal, why is it mostly illegal?” Daphne asked exasperatedly.

Ezra spread his hands helplessly, answering, “An excellent question. I’m afraid one which the Ministry stubbornly refuses to answer.”

Harry shook his head, too angry to add anything to the discussion. It was ridiculous.

“Then we have illusory magic, which is entirely runecraft. When certain runes are carved onto an object, a place, or even a person, it can change how the rest of the world perceives that thing. It can be used to render an object completely invisible and undetectable, to make a location look like something else entirely, or can permanently change a person’s appearance,” Ezra explained.

Harry was awed – it sounded incredibly useful. And to think that could all be done without a wand. But sure enough Ezra regretfully added, “It is entirely illegal. The Ministry decided it was undesirable to continue letting people practice it after it came to light that it could disrupt the operation of the Trace on underage witches and wizards when certain runes were put on an object a person was wearing. And it has also been used by some avoiding detection from the Ministry, by permanently changing their physical features. It has also been used as a form of torture – a person put in a circle of illusory magic can be made to see their worst nightmares.”

Harry still thought the obvious usefulness of the branch of magic outweighed the harm – surely the actions of a few abusing the magic should not mean the entire branch should be made illegal. But it was clear the Ministry only cared about outlawing as many types of dark magic as it could.

“Lastly we have necromancy. It is certainly entirely illegal, and has been since long before the Ministry carved up dark spellcraft into subcategories and starting introducing other restrictions on the Dark Arts. Necromancy is entirely ritual based. This form of magic can be used to reanimate the dead – not bring a person back from death,” Ezra rushed to elaborate seeing the children’s wide eyes. “Necromancy connects the user to the world of the dead and can be used to communicate, influence, manipulate and control the dead and magical creatures associated with the branch of magic, such as dementors. Almost everything about this branch of magic has been lost – given its long history of being banned in wizarding Britain and most other magical communities in Europe.”

Harry was caught between intrigue and a vague sense of horror at the last branch of dark magic. He had so many questions about it – particularly when it came to communicating with the dead. But it sounded like there would not be any answers, at least not from Ezra.

“For completeness sake I will touch on light magic again now too. There are a few more branches of light magic than there are dark, with light magic being more easily preserved without the same rules and restrictions as there are on dark magic. But there are really three key branches, that correspond to the dark branches of magic,” Ezra continued.

“Abjuration is similar to blood magic – it too utilises a combination of runecraft and ritual and can be used for powerful healing. This branch of magic can also be used to share your magic with another person, to grant them your strength temporarily at the cost of weakening yourself.”

Harry narrowed his eyes – if abjuration was similar to blood magic, then why was abjuration entirely legal and blood magic mostly illegal?

“Enchantment lines up with illusory magic – both are entirely runecraft based. Whereas illusory magic affects visual aspects of a person, place or object, enchantment operates to change how a person feels about that target. It can inspire a false sense of terror, joy, or suspicion,” Ezra explained.

Harry’s mouth dropped open and he gasped out, “But that’s so much worse. And it’s totally legal? You can force a person to feel a certain way?”

Ezra nodded his head, face grim. He knew because Rosie had spoken with him about it, that it was a point of strong contention amongst the experts in the runes community that illusory magic runecraft was illegal, being labelled as problematic and dangerous, yet enchantment runecraft was unregulated. It was staggering.

“Then perhaps the closest comparison to necromancy, surprisingly, is naturalism, which like necromancy is entirely ritual based. Naturalism rituals can be used to purify, heal and generally influence the health of the natural world. Like how necromancy connects a person to the world of the dead, naturalism connects a person to the world of nature, and allows them to communicate, influence, manipulate and control nature. Those who dabble in naturalism often have close bonds with animal companions - familiars,” Ezra concluded.

Harry was less upset about that being legal – it actually sounded rather fascinating. And it wasn’t that he wanted the branches of light magic to be made illegal, not even enchantment, though it made him feel uneasy. You should not have to cause harm to better your own position – both light and dark magic should be fully legal.  

Though the existence of the light magic enchantment and dark magic necromancy made Harry respect the sense in regulations to monitor the use of such magic.

“That is the nature of magic, simplified,” Ezra finished. “I wish I had better news for you both as future dark magic practitioners. What is important is that you continue to participate in the sacred days throughout the year. It fosters a close connection to your magic.”

The man hesitated, wanting to reassure the children that Gareth, Rosie and perhaps even Lord Black might instruct them both in secret with the branches of the Dark Arts that were forbidden, particularly spellcraft like curses. He also knew his twin sister was known in certain quiet elite circles as a true master of illusory magic. It was not illegal in other countries after all, and was the last existing branch of the Dark Arts known to be entirely rune based.

Seeing the despondent looks on Harry and Daphne’s faces, Ezra assured them, “There are people working tirelessly to create change. I know you kids are going to fight hard for it too.”

That seemed to spark a fire in both children, who exchanged determined looks with each other. If Harry were not already resolved to be fully open about his dark magical core with the wizarding world, then he certainly would have been now.

He knew Morgana’s Court had been told, and no doubt rumours and whispers were spreading through social circles as the weeks went by that Harry Potter was in fact a dark wizard.

Harry was going to prove to everyone that being a dark wizard was to be celebrated, not feared.

Tucked away in the tree house in the secret garden of the Greengrass family home after class, Harry was telling Daphne about the Black family gathering happening that weekend. He needed to clear his head after that heavy lesson.

“Sirius told me that before the gathering his cousin and her son are going to come over first. I think you know the son – Draco Malfoy?” Harry asked.

Daphne’s face lit up and she replied excitedly, “Right! Of course, Lady Malfoy is Sirius’ cousin. You and Draco are distant cousins.”

Harry nodded, replying, “I’m looking forward to meeting him. He’s a friend of yours, right?”

“He is,” Daphne confirmed. Then she hesitated, nervously curling a strand of blonde hair around her finger.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Draco is my friend,” she insisted, so firmly that one of Harry’s eyebrows rose. “But…” Again, she hesitated.

Harry started to feel a bit worried about the boy, considering Daphne’s behaviour. Seeing the worried frown crease Harry’s forehead, Daphne rushed to say, “It’s just, well – you see, Harry – Draco can be – I don’t like saying mean things about people but really – Draco is a snob.”

Harry stared at her in disbelief. He couldn’t resist the laughter that bubbled up. Daphne laughed with him, a bit sheepish.

“A snob?” Harry chuckled. “I was expecting you to say worse with how much you were hesitating.”

“I just – he can be a bit mean sometimes, Harry. A bit immature. But I swear to you he’s really a good person though,” Daphne said seriously.

“Mean how?” Harry asked, laughter faded now. He really didn’t like bullies. It just made him think of Dudley.

“He’s really not good at sharing,” Daphne confessed. “He gets jealous easily. And he can be a bit of a sore loser if he doesn’t get his way.”

Harry grimaced – he knew this boy was Daphne’s friend, but he honestly didn’t sound like someone Harry wanted to be friends with.

“But well, he’s an only child,” Daphne said, like that explained everything.

“Daph,” Harry said. She looked back at him, not understanding the look he was giving her. With a wry smile Harry said, “I’m an only child too.”

Daphne blinked, and then blushed. “Right,” she muttered, embarrassed. “I’m completely messing this all up.”

Harry patted her shoulder consolingly and asked, “Why do you think him being an only child has anything to do with his behaviour?”

“He’s never learned to share with anyone, because he doesn’t have siblings. And his parents give him anything and everything – they never say no. He’s…well honestly he’s a bit spoiled.”

The comparison to Dudley was becoming even stronger in Harry’s mind.

“Why are you friends with him?” Harry asked her dubiously.

“He is a good person,” Daphne repeated. “If you give him a chance, he can be the most loyal friend. Not to mention, he’s fun to be around.”

Harry still wasn’t convinced – it sounded to him like Draco could be a real bully if he didn’t get his way.

Daphne could tell Harry had his doubts – it was written across his face. She groaned dramatically and declared, “Morgana, I shouldn’t have said anything! I’ve made you hate him before you’ve even met him!”

“I don’t hate him,” Harry disagreed. “I just don’t think he sounds like someone I want to be friends with.”

“Do you know why I even said anything?” Daphne asked. After Harry shook his head she continued, “Because I didn’t want you to dislike him the first time he did or said something snobbish, or was selfish. I wanted you to understand that he’s just a bit immature at times.”

Even more quietly Daphne confessed, “I really want the two of you to be friends.”

She looked imploringly at Harry, blue eyes sad.

Harry could sense himself caving, and with a groan, he threw himself back on the pillows in the tree house. Staring at the ceiling he muttered, “I’ll give him a chance. For you.”

Daphne squealed in excitement, restraining herself from throwing herself on top of Harry – she didn’t want to startle him.

“You won’t regret it!” she exclaimed. “I mean it when I say he can be the most loyal friend. And did I mention he’s just as obsessed with Quidditch as you are?”

Harry sat back up, an interested gleam in his green eyes.

Daphne looked smug.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty: The Malfoy Heir

Harry was dressed in some of the new clothes he had picked out with Sirius, and had even made a brave attempt to tame his hair as best he could. Today the entire Black family were gathering at Lord Black’s invitation, in order to be formally introduced to Harry.

As planned, Lady Narcissa Malfoy and her son Draco were arriving a couple of hours earlier in order for the two boys to meet each other – they were the only two close in age to each other in the family, with the nearest other member of the family being Nymphadora Tonks, who was fifteen years old.

Harry was standing between Sirius and his grandfather Arcturus, the two men flanking him protectively between them as they waited in the Grand Reception Room for the arrival of Lady Malfoy and her son.

Harry’s hand nervously twitched to his hair again, stubbornly trying to push down the bit at the back that stuck up. He just as quickly lowered it when the fireplace flared bright green, and two people stepped out into the reception room.

The woman, obviously Lady Malfoy, was one of the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen. She was petite, almost dainty looking, but there was strength and pride in the way she held her head high. Everything about her was pale, from her complexion to her blonde hair, twisted into an intricate hairstyle gathered at the back of her head. Even her eyes were an icy blue. But as her gaze fell on Harry, her expression seemed to warm.

Her son, Draco, looked much like his mother, with the same pale features. His eyes were grey though, and where his mother’s expression was warm, the other boy’s face seemed assessing as he looked at Harry.

“Welcome to Black Castle,” Arcturus said pleasantly. He slowly placed a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder, projecting the movement clearly before he made contact. “This is my grandson, Harry Potter.”

“Thank you for having us. It is a pleasure to meet you, Harry,” Lady Malfoy replied, her voice soft and delicate. “Please call me Narcissa.”

She placed a hand on her own son’s shoulder, causing the blonde boy to straighten up as his mother said, “My son, Draco. Heir of the Malfoy family. Draco, you know Arcturus, but this is my cousin, Sirius Black, heir of the Black family.”

Draco nodded his head politely, eyes glancing between Harry, Sirius and Arcturus.

Just about finished with the stuffy formalities, Sirius clapped his hands and said, “Right, I was thinking we should let the boys get to know each other before the rest of the family arrives, and this all becomes too boring.”

Arcturus exhaled a long-suffering sigh while Lady Malfoy gave a small smile, clearly amused by her cousin’s antics.

Sirius looked down at his godson and added, “You have the run of the grounds, kid. Call for the house elves if you need anything.” Then to Arcturus and Narcissa he said, “Shall we?”

Narcissa hesitated, obviously wanting to keep an eye on her son. She was clearly very protective of him.

Arcturus stated, “The northern dining room has a magnificent view of the grounds – we will have a clear view of the boys from there. And if they choose to stay in the house the elves will be watching closely the entire time.”

Whilst still slightly hesitant, Narcissa fussed briefly over Draco, making sure his cloak was fitted against the November chill if he did go outside. The boy flushed as his mother fretted, obviously embarrassed. Harry thought it was sweet.

With the adults filing out of the room, Harry turned to the other boy, suddenly nervous about being left alone. Daphne’s words were clearly in his head. But he had promised her he would give Draco a chance. He was feeling a bit shy though, uncertain what to say.

Luckily, Draco seemed to be a bit more social and confident than Harry. Looking around the Grand Reception Room and the view out of the window towards the lake he drawled, “This place is something else. Mother has told me stories about it, but this is my first time seeing it.” There was an impressed look on his face.

“Would you like a tour?” Harry asked politely. Then he added, “We won’t have enough time for a full one, but I can show you the highlights.”

Draco considered the offer, and Harry was worried for a moment the other boy was going to outright reject the idea. Then he looked keenly at Harry and asked conspiratorially, “Are there any secret passageways you know of? We have a few at Malfoy Manor.”

Harry grinned, replying, “Sirius has already shown me some – come on I’ll take you to a few.”

With that, the two boys set off deeper into Black Castle. As they walked Harry tentatively asked Draco what Quidditch team he barracked for, knowing full well the boy loved Quidditch from Daphne.

“Tutshill Tornados,” Draco answered right away, before looking at Harry interestedly and asking, “What about you?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” he replied honestly. “Sirius goes for the Holyhead Harpies though.”

"Do you play?” Draco asked.

“Yeah,” Harry answered with a grin. “I love it. I have a Nimbus 1700.”

Draco smiled back at him, stating, “My father bought me a Nimbus 1700 too. We should fly together sometime.” He said it casually, with an air of nonchalance.

But Harry could sense the other boy really wanted Harry to say yes.

“I’d love that,” Harry told him.

“I’ll ask mother to have you over – we have a Quidditch pitch at Malfoy Manor,” he drawled.

The boast didn’t grate on Harry as much as he thought it would – after Daphne had warned him Draco was a bit immature, it made Harry realise a lot of his behaviour must come from a childish place, rather than genuinely mean.

“We have a pitch here too at Black Castle,” Harry admitted. Before the other boy could get too put out, Harry added, “I’d love to come visit you at Malfoy Manor though. It sounds great.”

That launched Draco into a detailed explanation of his family home, peppered with many anecdotes about the adventures he’d been on growing up on the large estate. Harry listened attentively, genuinely interested in what the other boy’s childhood was like.

As he listened, it occurred to him that Draco must have been pretty lonely growing up.

It made him feel a strange sense of kinship with the boy, although Draco had evidently led a very comfortable, privileged life, with loving parents. He sensed they had both nonetheless been lonely.

Perhaps it would not be so bad, giving Draco Malfoy a chance to become his friend.

While Harry showed Draco some of the secrets of Black Castle, the three adults sat in the northern dining room, enjoying tea and other refreshments as they took in the view. Narcissa peered out of the window, but did not spot her son or Harry down in the grounds.

Noticing her wariness and wanting to distract her, Sirius cleared his throat, placing his cup of fine china down gently on its saucer. He liked being informal, but he wasn’t a heathen.

“Narcissa, I’m sorry to not give you much notice, but we found out this morning that Andromeda will be joining us,” Sirius started.

Narcissa’s eyes widened in a rare show of genuine loss of composure. Her attention now fully fixed on her cousin she murmured, “I had wondered…I knew she had been invited. She attended the last family meeting, which surprised me.”

Arcturus explained, “Cassiopeia was responsible for convincing Andromeda to attend the last family meeting. They have stayed in contact over the years.”

“I had no idea,” Narcissa whispered.

“Andromeda is bringing her daughter, Nymphadora, with her,” Sirius added.

Narcissa sat silently for a moment, lost in thought. At last she asked, “Why now? Why is she introducing her daughter to us now? None of us have ever met her, although it sounds like Cassiopeia might have.”

Arcturus dipped his head agreeing, “Cassiopeia has indeed met Nymphadora.”

“It’s because of Harry that Andromeda is bringing Nymphadora,” Sirius explained. “Harry is a Metamorphmagus, as you know. So is Nymphadora. When Andromeda found out Harry has the ability, and no teacher, she decided to bring her daughter to speak with Harry about it. Give him some guidance.”

Narcissa replied quietly, “I see.”

“I believe deep down that Andromeda also wished for her daughter to meet her aunt, cousin, grandfather, great-grandfather and the rest of her extended family, too,” Arcturus suggested.

Narcissa didn’t seem convinced. “Andromeda and father are not exactly on…civil terms. I don’t think either of them will ever forgive the other.”

Arcturus considered the pale woman, hands folded in her lap, head tilted down.

“I told Andromeda about your father's condition,” Arcturus confessed.

Narcissa looked up sharply, a complicated range of emotions on her face – anger, grief, understanding and then the mask fell into place, and her expression smoothed out.

“What exactly did you tell her?” Narcissa asked primly.

“The truth,” Arcturus murmured. Sirius was staring down at his cup of tea, letting this conversation play out. “I told her Cygnus has a few months to live. We are out of time.”

Narcissa blinked away her tears, refusing to let any fall.

“It’s cruel,” she whispered.

Sirius and Arcturus watched her carefully. She looked up from her hands, glancing between her cousin and Arcturus.

“What has befallen this family, is nothing short of cruel,” she insisted.

“There is hope in the new generation – your son is unaffected, Sirius tells me Harry is also clear, and Nymphadora is safe too, according to Cassiopeia,” Arcturus said quietly. “This unfortunate chapter in the story of our family might finally be closing.”

“But what have we lost along the way?” the woman whispered.

Arcturus and Sirius could give her no answer.

Draco had gotten bored of the secret passageways after the third one, and asked to be shown Harry’s room, to hang out in until the rest of the family arrived. As they meandered up through the castle to the suite that made up Harry’s living quarters, Draco chattered away some more about himself.

Harry noticed the other boy talked a lot about his father, Lucius. He seemed to idolise the man. Harry knew he would not be meeting Lucius today – Sirius had told him that for this family gathering they had decided partners would not attend.

Entering Harry’s suite of rooms, Draco looked around, his pale eyebrows raised high, revealing his appreciation for the space. His grey eyes shot straight to the Nimbus 1700 on the wall, and he walked over to inspect it.

Harry appreciated that he didn’t pull the broom from its display bracket on the wall or attempt to touch it; instead he surveyed it with a critical eye. Eventually he said out loud, “You take good care of it.”

Without thinking, Harry said, “It was the first present I ever got.”

Draco spun around, pinning Harry with a completely confused look. “What?” he asked, baffled.

Harry blushed, frantically wondering what to say. He didn’t want to tell Draco anything, and he wasn’t sure how much the boy already knew from what his parents might have told him.

Thankfully though Draco came to the wrong conclusion, a look of understanding on his face as he said, “Ah, your first present since you moved here, right?”

‘Yeah,” Harry answered, relieved. It was sort of true.

“Mother said you are staying with the Greengrass family some of the time. They took you in for a bit, right?” the other boy fished.

“They did,” Harry answered. He was starting to get the distinct impression that Draco Malfoy liked gossip. “You’re friends with Daphne, yes?”

“I am,” Draco said. Then nonchalantly, while slowly meandering around the sitting room area, he added, “You should meet the rest of our social circle. There’s Theo - Theodore Nott – he’s my best friend. He’s the younger grandson of Lord Nott, so he won’t inherit the Nott lordship, but his mother is the Lady Rosier. He is the heir of the Rosier family through her. Actually, he’s a bit like you, now that I think about it,” Draco mused, pausing in his perusal of the room to stare at Harry. “Neither of you have the family name of the lordship you will inherit.”

“Grandfather told me when I become the heir I can style my name Potter-Black,” Harry said tentatively.

Draco nodded approvingly saying, “Good. I reckon Theo should think about doing that too – he already is the heir to the Rosier family.”

Continuing on, pausing to examine the view out of the window over the Quidditch pitch, Draco said, “There’s Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe too.”

“Wait, I think I’m distantly related to Vincent Crabbe,” Harry said, trying to remember his family tree from his Heritage Test. “I think Sirius’ grandmother on his mum’s side was a Crabbe.”

Draco smirked and said, “I hope you’re not too closely related.”

Harry frowned slightly, not liking the other boy’s tone and attitude. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Crabbe is as thick as they come. Goyle too,” the pale boy said, meanly.

“I thought you said they were your friends,” Harry pointed out quietly.

Draco waved his hand dismissively, saying, “I didn’t say they were my friends. They’re in my social circle.”

Harry was confused what the difference was.

Noticing Harry’s hesitation Draco explained, “Daphne and Theo I do consider my friends. Crabbe and Goyle though I only see at functions and certain other events that I attend with my parents. Growing up, any of us who were the same or similar age were put together by our parents, not by our own choice.”

It still made Harry a little bit uncomfortable to think that Draco kept people around him that he didn’t even like that much, but his explanation did clear things up. It seemed the parents had pressured the children socialise and spend time together.

“Then there’s Pansy Parkinson and Millie - Millicent Bulstrode,” Draco continued.

Harry vaguely recalled Daphne mentioning both girls’ names here and there. He also remembered the name Bulstrode on his family tree – a relation through Dorea’s side of the family this time.

“They’re closer with Daphne than they are with Theo and me but they’re both okay,” he said. Pushing on, proving himself to be quite the chatterbox, Draco commented, “It’s a shame you weren’t around for Mabon this year. The Parkinsons hosted the annual Mabon Ball – not as grand a ball if my family had hosted, but they did a decent job.”

Gosh, he really was a snob. Harry had to hide his laughter behind clearing his throat, stating, “My tutor told me each of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families take a turn hosting the Mabon Ball. Is it alphabetical?”

“It is – should be the Prewetts next year – but well, they’re hardly around anymore. Lady Prewett is ninety something years old and after her heir, Ignatius Prewett, died young, all that is left is her younger brother’s family line. There are really no Prewett descendants left worth mentioning,” he said dismissively.

Harry narrowed his eyes, replying coldly, “My great-grandmother was a Prewett.”

Draco blanched, muttering, “I didn’t know that.” As an awkward silence settled between them, Draco added quietly, “Sorry.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair and replying, “It’s fine.”

Draco now seemed intrigued though, stating, “Lady Muriel Prewett has no surviving direct descendants, and she has named no one her heir. Do you think there could be a chance you could claim it, through your great-grandmother?”

Harry was a bit taken aback, having not even considered it. The Prewetts were a light family. His great-grandmother Euphemia Potter née Prewett had no doubt been a light witch – probably Lady Prewett’s cousin given the woman had only had one other sibling, a brother. It felt wrong to even consider laying claim to the title of a traditionally light family, being so far removed from them, and a dark wizard.

“There are others with far better claims than me,” Harry said cautiously. “I know Molly Weasley née Prewett would be the most likely-”

“As if,” Draco laughed. “She married a blood traitor. She, and her many children, are all barred from claiming the Prewett title – or the Weasley title for that matter, because of that.”

Harry didn’t appreciate Draco’s derisive tone when he spoke about the Weasley family, but he wanted information out of the boy – he hadn’t realised that marrying a blood traitor would also prevent a person from claiming their own titles too.

When he admitted as much, Draco replied, face suddenly serious, “Who you marry is important. You can drive your own family to ruin, based on the partner you pick. I haven’t heard of any other potential heirs to the Prewett title. By Molly Weasley’s actions in marrying the person she did, she’s turned her back on her own legacy, and prevented any of her children from inheriting the Prewett title.”

Harry felt frustrated at that, replying, “But I assume she married because she loved the person she was marrying. There should be nothing wrong with that. She and her children should not be punished for that. It makes no sense that if you marry a blood traitor you become a blood traitor too. Besides, it was Arthur Weasley’s grandfather Bilius Weasley who was the blood traitor for turning his back on the dark. I think it is unfair that Arthur Weasley and his children are still punished as blood traitors, given they have not been a dark-aligned family in generations.”

Draco stared at Harry like he had grown two heads. “Has your grandfather spoken to you about this yet? The Weasley ancestors made a vow to magic itself to stay loyal to the dark, and bound their descendants too,” Draco stated passionately. “You must understand and respect the fact that every Weasley directly descended from Bilius Weasley is a blood traitor, by the nature of this vow. Bilius Weasley cursed his descendants by his actions. Marrying for love is naïve.”

Draco said that last bit like it had been told to him so many times that he had committed it to heart. Harry honestly felt a bit sorry for him, that he genuinely believed that.

He also realised this was very dangerous territory to be in – he risked things devolving into a full blown argument, and that would not be ideal right before meeting the rest of his extended family for the first time.

“Regardless,” Harry said quietly. “I have no desire to claim the Prewett title. I am a dark wizard. That title is one of a light family. It would be wrong.”

Finally he had found some common ground of agreement with Draco, who nodded in acceptance stating, “That’s true.” Then eyeing Harry, assessing, he added, “Mother had told me you were a dark wizard, like me. She also told me you were a Metamorphmagus. Are you really?”

“I am,” Harry confirmed, and before Draco could demand a demonstration like he looked like he was about to, Harry said, “I can’t control it properly yet. I need a teacher.”

Looking disappointed and still perhaps a little dubious, Draco replied, “You should show me when you figure it out.”

Feeling a bit tired now from having been in Draco’s presence for however long it had been, Harry said quietly, “Yeah.”

Another awkward silence fell between the two boys, and Harry resisted the urge to wince. Things were not going as well as he hoped for his first meeting with Draco. He had tried to be friendly and patient, but Draco really just didn’t seem to be the kind of person Harry would want to keep as a friend. He had an obvious mean streak.

“This your bedroom through here?” Draco asked to break the silence, indeed pointing in the direction of Harry’s bedroom.

“It is,” Harry confirmed, hesitant to let the boy into his private space. The photos of he, his parents, and Sirius were in there.

But Draco was already walking in that direction, and Harry rolled his eyes behind the other boy’s back as he rushed to follow him into his bedroom. He didn’t want Draco touching anything he wasn’t meant to.

There was no need to rush though – Draco had stopped in the threshold of the bedroom, his eyes on the many photos around the room. There was a strange expression on his face. He was very still.

“This is my bedroom,” Harry declared, spreading his hands to encompass the space. There was no need to state the obvious, but he didn’t know what else to say with the way Draco was just standing there in silence.

Draco swallowed, and slowly turned to face Harry. He looked straight into Harry’s eyes, grey into green, and mumbled softly, “I’m sorry about your parents.”

And just like that Harry was confused again by the absolute enigma that this boy was shaping up to be. He was like a bundle of contradictions.

“Thank you,” Harry replied quietly.

“This is a really nice space,” Draco added. “I like how you’ve decorated it.” He said it with such genuine earnestness that Harry couldn’t help the tentative smile that crossed his face.

It seemed Draco did indeed have a softer side to him, hidden behind his mean streak and snobbishness.

“Thanks Draco.”

Perhaps Harry ought to give Draco Malfoy a bit more of a chance.

One of Black Castle’s many house elves appeared in Harry’s bedroom, where he and Draco were lounging on the bed as Draco was describing the current line up of the Tutshill Tornadoes and trying to tempt Harry into barracking for the team.

“Master Harry, Mr Malfoy, you are being summoned to the Grand Reception Room. Finney be taking you both there now,” the house elf squeaked, holding out his hands to both boys.

“Showtime,” Draco said with a yawn, stretching his arms above his head as he rose.

Harry cocked his head, uncertain why Draco was describing it as ‘showtime’.

“You’re about to be put on show for the entire Black family,” Draco informed him. “I know my grandfather and great-grandfather are keen to size you up as the future heir.”

Harry paled, and Draco winced, realising the pressure he had just put on Harry. “You’ll be fine,” he muttered.

“Right,” Harry said faintly, reaching out to take Finney’s hand. Draco did the same, and the two boys were whisked away by house elf magic, reappearing in the Grand Reception Room. It had been altered in their absence – there was now a round table set up in the centre of the room, with enough seats for ten people.

Sirius, Narcissa and Arcturus were standing together on the far side of the table, nearer the window with the grand views over the lake.

“Did you boys have fun?” Narcissa asked, walking forward to fuss once more with Draco’s clothes. Draco bore it with forced patience, but when his mother moved to fiddle with his hair Draco whined, “Mum!”

“We did,” Harry answered, causing the woman to smile warmly at him. He looked past her to Sirius and his grandfather, the former who had a question in his eyes. Sirius might not be as overt as Narcissa in his protectiveness, but Harry knew his godfather was silently asking him if all had gone okay getting to know Draco.

Despite the bumps, Harry smiled more widely at his godfather, causing the man to grin back, shoulders relaxing.

Just then, the fireplace flashed green, and everyone turned to face it, curious who would be the first to arrive. Harry relaxed seeing the familiar form of Aunt Cass stepping through. She brushed a stray streak of ash away with a graceful flick of her wand and smiled as she looked around the room.

“Cassiopeia,” Narcissa said politely, nodding her head. “Allow me to introduce you to my son, Draco.”

Cassiopeia smiled at him, saying pleasantly, “A pleasure to meet you, Draco.”

Draco nodded his head politely, as his mother had. “And you, Cassiopeia.”

“You may call me Aunt Cass,” she said indulgently. Draco’s eyes widened, but Aunt Cass was already moving around Narcissa and Draco to greet Harry.

She leaned down slowly, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s cheek. As she did so she whispered in his ear so only he could hear, “If you need me to curse my brother or nephew today, just say the word, dear heart.”

Harry fought back a grin, saying, “Nice to see you again, Aunt Cass.”

Arcturus narrowed his eyes at his cousin, who had a look of faux innocence on her face. “Arcturus, Sirius,” she acknowledged last, even though she technically should have acknowledged them both first as the lord and heir of the home she was attending.

With no one else immediately coming through the Floo, the group moved further back into the room to leave the area in front of the fireplace clear for the next arrivals. Arcturus and Cassiopeia both took seats near the window, starting to talk quietly with each other. Sirius, Narcissa, Harry and Draco stood together near the older two members of the house, Narcissa turning her attention on Harry. She asked him softly about his tutoring, how he was finding his stay with the Greengrass family – safe topics that Harry found easy to answer.

The conversation eventually circled around to what Harry and Draco had been up to for the past couple of hours they had been alone. Harry had informed his godfather and Narcissa that Draco was trying to convince him to barrack for the Tutshill Tornadoes.

Narcissa’s laughter was as clear as a bell as Sirius mockingly accused Draco of trying to convert his own godson away from him, under his own roof. This was a Holyhead Harpies household, thank you very much.

Harry had interjected then with a completely straight face that he was actually considering going for the Chudley Cannons. Draco had developed such a look of distaste on his face that it had triggered another round of laughter. Harry was only kidding – the team hadn’t won since 1892.

Their easy laughter cut off as the fireplace flared green once more, all eyes turning to see who would come through next. Two men stepped through, one older with silver hair, who shared many common features with Cassiopeia. The other was younger, though his hair was peppered black and silver.

Draco leaned over, whispering, “My great-grandfather, Pollux, and my grandfather, Cygnus.”

These two new arrivals followed appropriate social etiquette by the book, both approaching Arcturus as the lord of the house before acknowledging anyone else in the room. They each stopped before Arcturus, where he was seated in his chair, like a throne.

Nodding their heads respectfully they each murmured, “Cousin” and “Arcturus.”

Arcturus returned the respect with a polite dip of his own head.

After offering greetings to Aunt Cass too they then turned to where Narcissa was standing with Sirius by her side, Draco and Harry in front of the two adults. Harry steeled himself, refusing to let his trepidation show. He was a Black, if not in name, then by blood and magic. He deserved to be here.

“Nephew,” Cygnus Black said to Sirius with a barely deferential nod in recognition of Sirius’ status as heir. Pollux didn’t say anything, choosing to silently nod his head to Sirius.

Sirius didn’t bother nodding his head back – already done with the formalities. He rested his hand protectively on his godson’s shoulder, a solid presence behind Harry. “My godson, Harry Potter, future heir of this house,” Sirius declared, grey eyes challenging his uncle and great-uncle to say anything negative.

Harry found himself under the intense scrutiny of the two men, whose dark brown eyes were so similar to Aunt Cass and his grandfather. He refused to waver under their silent evaluation, keeping his chin up.

“Mr Potter,” Cygnus drawled at last, putting deliberate emphasis on his surname of Potter, as though to highlight that he did not bear the Black name.

“A pleasure to meet you both,” Harry said calmly, lying through his teeth.

Pollux at least, although quiet, did not seem overtly hostile.

“We are just waiting on two more, and then we will have a proper gathering,” Arcturus declared quietly but authoritatively into the room.

“Andromeda and her daughter are coming?” Pollux asked, astonished.

Arcturus confirmed, “They should be here at any moment.”

Cygnus seemed speechless, opening and then shutting his mouth. Then, unable to help himself he added nastily, “It’s not a true gathering of the whole family, though.”

Arcturus raised an eyebrow at the man’s brazenness, knowing exactly where he was going with that line of thought.

Narcissa beat Arcturus to it, lecturing her father quietly but firmly, “Bellatrix is in Azkaban. Even if she had wanted to attend, she cannot. There is nothing more to say on the matter.”

Cygnus glared at his youngest daughter, and Sirius stepped closer to his cousin, hovering protectively by her side, not liking the look on his uncle’s face. The man had never raised a hand or wand against any of his daughters, but words could cut just as deeply.

Seizing back control of the situation, Arcturus added, “We are not here today to quarrel. We are celebrating the official introduction of Harry into this family. And Nymphadora, who so far only Cassiopeia has met.”

Pollux and Cygnus shot disbelieving looks towards their sister and aunt respectively, a combination of anger and betrayal on their faces.

“I did say I kept in contact with family while I was abroad,” she said quietly, but cuttingly.

Before things could escalate, the fireplace once again lit up with the familiar green flames of Floo travel.

Two people stepped out.

The first one to immediately capture Harry’s attention, and the attention of the room at large, was a teenage girl with bubblegum pink hair and lilac coloured eyes. She was eye-catching, even half hidden behind the woman with her, obviously Andromeda Tonks.

Andromeda looked so much like Harry’s grandmother Dorea had in the photos he had seen of her, that Harry’s breath nearly hitched. The family resemblance was so clear; it was like seeing a young version of his grandmother living and breathing.

Andromeda and her daughter, obviously Nymphadora, waited by the fireplace, poised like they were both ready to bolt. Harry softened in sympathy for them – Sirius had explained the difficulties his cousin Andromeda had faced when she had run away and married a Muggleborn.

Cassiopeia had already risen to her feet when the fireplace flared, quickly stepping forward to embrace Andromeda, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. She turned to Nymphadora, likewise kissing the teenage girl’s cheek.

Arcturus followed his cousin, a little more sedately as he was far less familiar with Andromeda and had never met Nymphadora.

Draco leaned in to whisper to Harry, “Morgana, she must really be a Metamorphmagus – look at that hair!”

Harry blinked as he remembered belatedly – of course – Nymphadora could transform her features. She wore the bubblegum pink hair and unusual lilac eyes so casually that Harry had forgotten for a brief moment in his shock that she could change her appearance at will. He was already so excited to talk to her about controlling the ability.

Arcturus greeted Andromeda more reservedly than his cousin, simply nodding to her and welcoming her politely to the home. Then he turned to Nymphadora as Cassiopeia moved aside to stand on the teenager’s other side.

Andromeda raised her voice for the room stating, “This is my daughter, Nymphadora Tonks.” The woman said it proudly, dark eyes staring straight at her father, Cygnus.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, the teenager grumbled, “Mum! I hate that name.” With the absolute confidence of a true extrovert the girl said to the room, “Just call me Tonks.”

Andromeda sighed in a long-suffering fashion replying, “They’re not going to call you ‘Tonks’.”

“Fine,” the teenager muttered. “You can call me Dora then.”

“Dora,” Arcturus cut in, before Cygnus could interrupt to say anything nasty, as he looked like he was about to.

“My name is Arcturus Black. We are distantly related – I am the cousin of your great-grandfather, whom you have not yet met, as I understand it.” Moving on smoothly before anyone could say anything, Arcturus gestured towards his cousin, stating, “This is your great-grandfather, Pollux Black.”

He continued, gesturing to each person as he said, “Your grandfather, Cygnus Black. Your aunt, Narcissa Malfoy. Your cousin, Draco Malfoy. Your mother’s cousin, Sirius Black. And Sirius’ godson, Harry Potter.”

Nymphadora, or Dora as she seemed to prefer, looked around the room, her attitude very subdued now as she looked at the faces of her extended family, all of the people she had never known, because they had pushed her mother out for daring to marry the person she loved.

Her eyes lingered on Harry, obviously intrigued at the so-called saviour of the wizarding world. Plus, her mother had mentioned the boy was a Metamorphmagus, like her.

But then her eyes roved back to her grandfather, the man who had essentially thrown her mother out. Those lilac eyes narrowed dangerously.

Recognising the look immediately, Cassiopeia declared suddenly, “Let’s all sit.” She forcibly steered Dora towards the nearest seat, catching her cousin Arcturus’ eye as she did so.

She hoped he had an idea in mind with how to unify the disparate members of the family at this gathering. Or at least stop a duel breaking out.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-One: The Black family gathering

Sirius sat down beside Andromeda, quietly greeting his cousin. The two had not been close growing up due to the age difference between them, but they had never had any issues with each other, so it was probably safest for Sirius to take the seat beside her. Harry sat down next to his godfather, Draco claiming the spot beside him. Narcissa sat beside her son, her father to her other side. Pollux sat on the other side of Cygnus, and finally Arcturus sat between Pollux and Cassiopeia, who was keeping a close eye on Nymphadora sitting beside her.

And with that, for the first time in thirteen years, the surviving members of the Black family were together again, with the exception of Bellatrix, who was in Azkaban.

Arcturus surveyed the faces around the table slowly, before stating, “Words cannot describe how I feel right now, to have the family who can be here, seated around this table in our ancestral home.”

He continued, “You were all gathered here for three reasons. Firstly, to formally introduce Harry to you all as the future heir, and one day, lord of the House of Black and welcome him into our family. Secondly, to also welcome Dora into this family, and have the chance to meet her.” Here Arcturus smiled gently at the teenager, who lost some of the venom in her eyes. She looked down a little bashfully. She seemed to appreciate Arcturus using the name she preferred.

“And finally, after consulting with Sirius and Narcissa today, I believe it is important we inform the new generation of this family’s darkest secret. The Black Curse.”

Harry frowned, not recognising the term, but also not liking the sound of it.

Sirius and Narcissa accordingly looking unsurprised – obviously having given their permission for Harry and Draco to be told whatever they were about to hear.

Arcturus turned to Andromeda, asking her, “Do you consent to your daughter hearing this?”

“She already knows,” Andromeda said quietly.

And just like that, Dora’s bright pink hair bled to a muted brown, transforming before all of their eyes. Her lilac eyes dulled to a strange blend of brown and grey. Everyone, even Cygnus, looked awe-struck at the simple but powerful display of Metamorphmagi magic.

Andromeda took the opportunity to state clearly to the table, “I might have left this family, but I did not forget our traditions, or our history.”

Just as her father started to scoff at that, Andromeda declared, “I asked Aunt Cass to magically adopt Nymphadora when she was born.”

The room stilled at that, all eyes turning to Cassiopeia and Dora.

“It’s true,” Cassiopeia confirmed.

“You are a dark witch,” Pollux stated, rather than asked, looking assessingly at his great-granddaughter.

Dora lifted her chin and said quietly but firmly, “I am.”

“A true blessing,” Arcturus said reverently, “that all three members of this newest generation have inherited our dark legacy.” What went unspoken too was the understanding that two of the three were half bloods. And both had inherited the coveted Black family blood trait of the Metamorphmagus ability.

Arcturus continued, “It is also a blessing that all three have been spared the Black Curse.”

Harry frowned at hearing the unfamiliar term again. He glanced next to him to Draco, who looked equally lost, and a little bit worried at the ominous sounding name.

“I am glad to hear it,” Pollux stated quietly. His eyes looked distant.

Arcturus’ gaze drifted from Harry to Draco, who were both opposite him at the round table, sitting between Sirius and Narcissa. As Dora seemed to know about this so-called dark family secret, she was spared Arcturus’ direct attention as he began his tale.

“Our family nicknamed this affliction the Black Curse. But it is really a rare magical disease called Bloodbane. There is no known cure. It has been haunting our family from generation to generation since my great-grandfather Cygnus Black, the first of his name.”

Harry swallowed heavily, suddenly anxious as he glanced up at Sirius. His grandfather had said before that he, Draco and Dora had been spared the disease, but that didn’t mean others in the room had been too. What if Sirius had it?

“Bloodbane, as the name aptly suggests, affects the blood. Those with the disease experience spontaneous internal bleeding – there is normally no sign of it on the outside of the body, other than bruises or swelling in the joints. These spontaneous bleeds eventually cause death over time – bleeding makes the area around it swell, and the swelling puts pressure on nerves and joints. If a bleed occurs in the brain, death quickly follows.” Arcturus said all of this with a clinical detachment.

“If you have Bloodbane, you are born with it – and it is detectable from birth. All of you,” here Arcturus looked between Dora, Draco and Harry, “were tested by your parents at birth, and returned negative results. You will never develop it. However, there is still a risk any of you might be carriers, and could pass the disease onto any future children you may have. We are still funding research into developing a test to detect when someone is a carrier for the disease.”

Draco looked horrified, but Harry was more worried about who else at the table could have the disease right now, rather than fretting about implications for future children.

“As I said, it was the generation of my great-grandfather Cygnus Black who were the first known to have Bloodbane, though there could have been earlier unrecorded instances of the disease in our family. Alternatively, it could have been Cygnus’s mother who passed the disease into the family from her own bloodline. Regardless of where it came from, it ravaged my great-grandfather’s family. Of his many siblings, he was the only one to survive long enough to inherit the lordship.”

Here Arcturus paused to explain, “The disease progresses rapidly for some, and they do not survive childhood.” Arcturus looked aggrieved as he said quietly, “My youngest brother, Regulus, died when he was only ten.”

He paused for a moment, before pushing on. “For others, the disease progresses slowly but steadily as they mature into adulthood. The expected lifespan in this case is around sixty years. Although there are many outliers depending on whether a bleed occurs in the brain or not – my remaining brother, Lycoris, only lived until he was twenty-five after suffering a head injury.”

Harry was dismayed his grandfather had lost both of his younger brothers in such a way.

“My great-grandfather found himself in an impossible situation. He was the sole heir left to the Black family, but he too had Bloodbane. He knew his time was short, and that if he had children he could very likely give them the disease too. But if he did not have children, the Black bloodline would die with him. He foolishly refused to adopt, insistent on producing biological children despite knowing he would be etching the disease forevermore into the Black family. And so he married a pureblood witch from a lesser bloodline to avoid a notable family asking questions if their children were born sickly, and had four children.”

Harry could already sense where this was heading, and sure enough by the grim looks on the faces of Arcturus, Pollux and Cassiopeia they understood all too well the carnage that had followed.

“His eldest son, named Sirius Black, died when he was nine of Bloodbane. My grandfather, Phineas Nigellus Black was spared the disease, but he was certainly a carrier. Cygnus’ eldest daughter Elladora was likewise spared, but knowing she was a carrier, great-aunt Elladora refused to have any children. His youngest child, Iola, had Bloodbane and died in her early twenties without having any children. She had been disowned from the family after marrying a Muggle. Cygnus himself died soon after that.”

Pollux and Cygnus’ faces revealed their distaste at being related to someone who had married a Muggle, but Harry felt only sadness for the fact half of that generation of Blacks had died young of Bloodbane. And that Elladora Black had been too fearful of losing her children young, and had made the choice to have none.

Arcturus continued, “My grandfather, Phineas, found himself in the exact same impossible situation of his own father, Cygnus. With his surviving sister Elladora choosing to have no children, Phineas realised he bore the burden now as Lord Black to have children, in spite of the risks. He married Ursula Flint, who although being part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, was a second cousin of the main bloodline. He hoped, as his father had hoped, that there would not be too much scrutiny on any sick children, if the mother were of a comparatively less important bloodline. He hoped too, given he has been spared the disease, that his children would be likewise safe.”

It made sense now to Harry in hindsight why the Blacks had not married into any of the dark bloodlines until Sirius’ generation. They must have feared bringing this disease into the already endangered dark bloodlines.

“Of my grandfather’s five children, four inherited Bloodbane,” Arcturus stated grimly. “All of his sons, including my own father, Sirius, and Pollux and Cassiopeia’s father, Cygnus, were born with Bloodbane. Only his daughter Belvina was spared the disease. Though this does not make your children safe, as was proven by my grandfather having four of his five children inherit Bloodbane, despite him not having it.”

“My father’s younger brother, my Uncle Phineas, was disowned after he joined the Minister’s office of the time and began using his political power to promote controversial legislation. He died shortly after his disownment; we believe he had an accident involving a head injury, which triggered the internal bleeding that killed him. Pollux and Cassiopeia’s father, my Uncle Cygnus, died shortly after his youngest daughter, Dorea, was born.”

Pollux and Cassiopeia’s faces were distant, remembering the father who had died when they were only small children.

“My final uncle who shared my name, Uncle Arcturus, was estranged from the family since I was a young boy. He had been incredibly close with Uncle Phineas and objected strongly at his disownment. Uncle Arcturus fought bitterly with my grandfather Phineas, because he wished to marry Lysandra Yaxley and grandfather forbade it. This was because Lysandra was the younger daughter of the current Lord Yaxley. Her older brother and the heir was yet to have any children of his own, so any potential child of hers could be a possible Yaxley heir. My grandfather feared if Uncle Arcturus had children who inherited Bloodbane, then Lord Yaxley would investigate and make it public the terrible shame of our family. Partly for this reason, my own father Sirius chose to marry a woman of an obscure pureblood family, Hesper Gamp,” Arcturus explained.

“Uncle Arcturus was furious though, because my grandfather had allowed Uncle Cygnus to marry Violetta Bulstrode, also a younger daughter of a lord. And Aunt Belvina married Herbert Burke. Though the difference was that Violetta and Herbert both had nephews and nieces who were ready to carry on their bloodlines. Uncle Arcturus disobeyed my grandfather, and married Lysandra Yaxley. He stopped speaking to his parents and siblings and raised his children apart from the rest of us,” Arcturus said with a nod to Pollux and Cassiopeia.

“Aunt Belvina had two sons with Uncle Hebert, our cousins Calix and Regan Burke. They were identical twins, and they both had Bloodbane. Aunt Belvina had no other children after discovering her sons were born with the disease. Calix and Regan were two years younger than me. They both died in their fifties, and neither had any children.” Arcturus’ eyes were sad as he recalled the twins, yet more victims of the Black Curse.

He swallowed heavily, as he continued, “Bloodbane strikes seemingly at random in this family. My father had it, and died young. Both of my brothers had it, as I have said. However, I did not inherit the disease. I believed myself safe, despite knowing carriers could and had passed the disease onto their children, like my Aunt Belvina and my grandfather Phineas.” A dark, old grief crossed the elderly man’s face as he whispered, “I was a fool to feel so safe. Both of my children died long before me of Bloodbane,” he stated.

Harry looked up sharply at Sirius, realising Sirius’ father must have died young of the disease. Sirius had mentioned the man had died in his forties. Harry’s fear increased that his godfather might be affected.

“My younger grandson, Regulus, inherited the disease,” Arcturus continued. Just as Harry’s fear reaching boiling point his grandfather said those calming words, “But Sirius remained unaffected.”

Harry let out a quiet, shaky breath.

Arcturus looked straight at Harry then, noticing his reaction, as he informed him softly, “Harry, your grandmother, Dorea, had Bloodbane. Her older siblings, Pollux and Cassiopeia, do not.”

Suddenly it made sense why Dorea Potter had died so young. The disease had gotten her.

“As I understand it, your father James did not inherit Bloodbane from his mother.”

Sirius nodded his head in confirmation of that statement.

“I will let my cousin continue,” Arcturus said quietly, glancing at Pollux.

Pollux sighed, his hands folded in front of him at the table. His son Cygnus was taut by his side.

“My eldest child, Sirius’ mother, Walburga, was spared the disease. My son Alphard died of it in his thirties.” Pollux hesitated. His gaze glanced towards his youngest son.

Cygnus straightened his shoulders and said with a voice and face devoid of expression, “I have Bloodbane.”

Draco’s eyes widened in shock as he stared at his grandfather.

The man added bitterly, “I’m lucky to have lived as long as I have.” Now into his sixties, he had made it to the later end of the life expectancy for those with his disease.

He said nothing more after that, so Pollux continued, “Andromeda and Narcissa did not inherit Bloodbane, and neither did their children it seems. However my eldest granddaughter, Bellatrix, has the disease. It is one of the reasons she chose not to have children.”

Silence fell around the table.

“I also chose to have no children for fear of this disease,” Cassiopeia explained, to break the silence. “And it is perhaps best I talk about the last of our cousins, our Uncle Arcturus’ three daughters.”

Harry blinked, having forgotten there were more members of the Black family with all of the many people. He guessed it would take him some time to wrap his head around the whole family tree, and also the distinction between those who had died of Bloodbane, or just been carriers.

“As was mentioned, Uncle Arcturus was estranged from the rest of the family. None of us met our cousins, Callidora, Cedrella and Charis, until our Hogwarts years. Callidora was actually the same age as me – we became very close during our schooling years,” Cassiopeia explained, with a sad fondness.

“Uncle Arcturus chose not to follow the family tradition of having his children magically adopted, and as a result all three of his daughters were born neutral witches, like their mother. And thankfully, all three did not have Bloodbane. Uncle Arcturus became convinced that the fact he had not had his daughters magically adopted, was somehow tied to them not inheriting Bloodbane. He even went so far as to suggest that his daughters being born neutral had spared them – that Bloodbane was linked to our dark magical cores.”

Harry blanched, and saw Draco reacting in the same way. The idea that the only possible solution to Bloodbane was turning their backs on their dark legacy was disturbing.

But Cassiopeia was quick to add, “He was wrong. Bloodbane is a genetic disease. His daughters did not inherit Bloodbane through statistical luck, but some of their children certainly did, disproving his theory. Callidora married Harfang Longbottom, the younger brother of the heir to the Longbottom family. It was an acceptable match, given Callidora was a neutral witch. They had a little girl, but she died in childhood of Bloodbane. Calli was heartbroken,” Cassiopeia whispered. “I don’t know if Harfang knew about the Black Curse, if he understood why his daughter died. If he did, he helped to maintain our family's secret. Callidora and Harfang had no other children. Calli died earlier this year, which is why I returned to England – to say goodbye to her,” Cassiopeia explained.

“Our youngest cousin, Charis, married Caspar Crouch, a cousin of the main Crouch family, and they had a son, who inherited Bloodbane and died in his forties without having any children. Charis died soon after her son – I don’t think her heart could take the loss.”

“Finally there was Cedrella, the middle child,” Cassiopeia continued, glancing meaningfully towards the family tapestry stretching across the wall. Harry followed her gaze and saw under the name Arcturus Orion Black and Lysandra Ophelia Black née Yaxley there were only two children listed under them from what he could see. Harry realised suddenly that Cedrella must have been disowned - those who were disowned did not appear on the tapestry at all.

Sure enough, Cassiopeia confirmed, “Our cousin, Cedrella, was disowned by Uncle Sirius – Arcturus’ father – after she married Septimus Weasley.”

Harry’s mouth fell open – he had had no idea a member of the Black family had married into the blood traitor family.

“Cedrella might have been a neutral witch, but Uncle Sirius was under pressure to keep up appearances with the other dark families. Cedrella was labelled a blood traitor for marrying another blood traitor, and cast out of the family. I attempted to maintain contact with her, but she shut me out – she shut everyone out according to Callidora and Charis.”

Cygnus sneered at Cassiopeia admitting she attempted to maintain contact with Cedrella Weasley, but Pollux had a look of reluctant understanding on his face. He knew his younger sister had been close with not only Callidora, but Cedrella and Charis too.

“Cedrella had three sons, and although we don’t know for certain because she refused to maintain contact with anyone in the family, we strongly suspect at least one of her sons had Bloodbane. Her eldest son, Bilius, died young and the cause of death was never made public. It seems too much of a coincidence, given our strong family history of Bloodbane. Her remaining sons, Arthur and Percival, seem healthy, as do all of their children. However, any of them could have Bloodbane. With Cedrella having passed away a few years ago, it seems any chance we have at reaching out to her sons or grandchildren has passed with her,” Cassiopeia explained.

Again, Cygnus sneered at the mention of reaching out to Weasley family.

But Harry realised that the Blacks should really consider reaching out to Arthur and Percival Weasley, who very likely had no idea they could be afflicted with or were carrying a deadly disease. There was a risk to all of their children too.

With Cassiopeia finished, Arcturus said, “Bloodbane, or the Black Curse as we call it, has driven this family to obsession with legacy. With the disease striking us down at random across the generations, those who survived shouldered an increasingly desperate task of ensuring the continued existence of this family.”

“Family comes first,” Arcturus said slowly and clearly as he looked around the table. “We are not the great house we once were. But we have the potential to start a new chapter in the story of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. New blood, means new potential,” Arcturus finished, glancing meaningfully at Harry and Dora.

Both straightened under his appraisal, Dora a little warily, but Harry straightened with pride. The existence of an inherited disease in the Black family made a lot of sense in hindsight, but it also presented a challenge as the future lord of the house.

But where there was a will, there was a way.

After that difficult revelation was shared with the youngest members of the family, house elves appeared with refreshments for the table, and conversations quickly dissolved into quiet talks with those immediately nearby. Draco turned straight to his mother to demand more information about his grandfather having Bloodbane, and the implications for any future children he would have, while Harry made eye contact with Dora across the table.

She winked at him, and Harry smiled back at her. She rose from the table, and as she walked over her hair shifted to jet-black and her eyes lightened to the exact same shade of green, as Harry’s own. They looked like siblings.

She came to a stop in front of Harry, and said, “Wotcher, Harry,” with an easy-going smile.

Harry immediately liked her.

She also glanced at Sirius, saying to him, “Nice to meet you, Sirius.”

He greeted her back with a smile, fascinated by how effortlessly she had changed her appearance, almost instinctively matching Harry’s features.

“Can we talk?” Harry asked her, desperate to talk about being a Metamorphmagus. Seeing a few pairs of eyes on them, particularly Cygnus who still had a rather nasty sneer on his face, he added, “Maybe over there in corner?” He gestured towards the far side of the room where a few chairs had been placed near the grand doors leading out in to the rest of the castle.

“Sure, kid,” Dora agreed easily.

Sirius turned to engage Andromeda in conversation, though he kept an eye on his godson and Dora as they settled down in chairs near the door. He noticed his cousin doing the same, watchful dark eyes on her daughter.

“She seems like a great kid,” Sirius said gently.

“She is,” Andromeda replied fondly.

Meanwhile, Harry was positively grilling Dora for information about how she had discovered her ability and how she learned to control it. Dora informed him for as long as she could remember she could transform her hair and eye colour. But she told him it took a lot of practice to change other features, and to change shape and length of body parts.

Harry shared with her his earliest memory – getting a bad haircut and willing the hair to regrow overnight. Dora had been impressed – she told Harry that it took a lot of control and willpower to get hair to change length, let alone subconsciously maintain the transformation for the foreseeable future.

He also shared with her his most recent experience, accidentally turning his own hair blonde, and lengthening it.

Dora had thrown her head back and laughed, drawing many eyes their way.

“Sounds like you’ve got the willpower bit down fine,” she told Harry after she had stopped laughing. “It’s just your control you need to work on.”

“We’ve been trying to find a teacher for me, but we’ve had no luck,” Harry admitted. “I was told because you’re underage you technically can’t teach me.”

“That’s bullshit – whoops don’t tell anyone I used that word in front of you,” Dora muttered quickly. “Who else are you going to learn it from?”

“Exactly,” Harry agreed in a rush. “I want to learn how to use it.”

“Nobody taught me,” Dora said. “I had to learn by trial and error – it was terrifying to be honest with you. And here’s the thing – it started happening accidentally.”

Harry’s eyes widened in shock and he breathed, “What?”

Dora nodded, informing him, “Sometimes when I’d lose my temper or I’d feel sad, my hair would change colour to reflect my mood. And I wouldn’t be able to turn it back until I’d completely calmed down. Caused quite a bit of drama in my first few years at Hogwarts!”

“I have to learn how to control it,” Harry insisted, now worried his hair could spontaneously start changing colour like Dora’s had.

“I agree with you, kid,” Dora stated. “Let me talk with my mum, and have her talk with Sirius, and maybe we can convince them to at least let me guide you, under adult supervision.”

Draco arrived then to their corner of the room, watchful grey eyes on his cousin. She looked up at him from where he was standing, saying a bit more reservedly than she had to Harry, “Wotcher, Draco.”

He seemed to hesitate, before blurting out, “Your powers are really cool.” He blushed then, seemingly embarrassed at saying it out loud.

Dora smiled at him fondly, patting the seat next to her and saying, “Pull up a chair, cousin.”

Draco sat down primly, and watched with awe and fascination as Dora changed her hair to the same shade of pale blonde as Draco’s and her eyes a pale grey. Her skin even paled, and her features seemed to ripple as they settled into the same angles as Draco's own face. Other than the fact she was a fifteen year old, she could have nearly passed as Draco’s twin.

She grinned at him and asked, “How do I look blonde?”

“Better than me,” Harry muttered.

Draco looked confused, but Dora laughed.

The she looked interestedly between the two boys and said, “So you’re both going to be starting at Hogwarts together in three years?”

Draco puffed his chest up proudly, declaring, “Yes – I’ll be sorted into Slytherin for sure.”

Dora nodded along, replying, “My mum was in Slytherin. Dad was in Hufflepuff – I am too.”

Draco blanched and he asked, “Hufflepuff? You’re in Hufflepuff?”

Dora narrowed her eyes, the exact same shade of grey as Draco’s own, at her cousin. “You have a problem with ‘Puffs?” she asked. Seeing Draco’s flustered face, she smirked and said, “We badgers are vicious, did you know that? Some badgers in the wild eat snakes,” she finished meaningfully.

“Wicked,” Harry said with a grin. Then he asked Dora curiously, “Is it common for children to end up in the same Hogwarts house as one of their parents?” He wondered if that meant he was guaranteed to end up in Gryffindor – both of his parents, and his adoptive parent had been in the house of lions.

“It happens,” Dora explained, “But it’s a bit of a nature versus nurture thing, you know?”

Seeing Harry and Draco’s blank expressions the teenage girl elaborated, “The Sorting Hat puts you in the house that values the ideals that you hold most important. For example, if you value loyalty above all else, and loyalty is something you want to be known for, it’s quite likely you’ll end up in Hufflepuff. And your values are often shaped by your parents. So for some kids, they’ve been nurtured, or shaped, into putting greater or less stock into some values. For other kids, it’s just in their nature.” Dora nodded her head towards Sirius and said, “Take Sirius as an example. He was raised to value many of Slytherin’s ideals. Tradition, ambition, cunning. But his nature always leaned towards valuing courage above all else, so he ended up in Gryffindor, not Slytherin.”

“I had wondered how that happened,” Draco mused. He looked at Harry curiously and asked, “What house do you think you’ll end up in?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answered honestly. “Any of them, I suppose.”

Draco pouted slightly and replied, “Well I’m going to Slytherin. You should be in the same house as me.”

Harry laughed, asking the other boy, “If I’m not in Slytherin, will you ignore me?”

Draco frowned and replied seriously, “You’re family, of course I wouldn’t ignore you.” Glancing at Dora he added, “And it seems even Hufflepuffs can be suitably terrifying.”

She smiled at her cousin with too many teeth to be friendly.

“Wait, school started in September, right?” Harry asked, realising something. Draco and Dora both nodded and Harry asked Dora, “How are you here on a weekend? I thought students couldn’t leave school on weekends.”

“Parents can pull their children out of school on weekends for personal reasons,” Dora explained quietly. She continued, “When we heard the news about mum’s dad, and that Arcturus was holding this family gathering, mum got permission to pull me out for the weekend.”

Draco’s shoulders slumped and he added in a voice barely above a whisper, “Mother told me grandfather has a few months to live.”

Harry’s face softened with sadness and he looked at the two cousins, telling them gently, “I’m sorry about your grandfather.”

He might not like Cygnus, but that didn’t mean he wanted the man dead.

Dora shrugged, eyes distant as she replied, “I only just met him today. He’s a complete stranger to me. It’s Draco who has the right to be sad about it.”

“He’s your grandfather too,” Draco insisted.

“Not in any meaningful way,” Dora shot back.

An intense look passed between the cousins, and Harry suddenly felt like a bit of an outsider to a small family conflict unfolding. He was saved by the arrival of Andromeda and Sirius, who had come over to check on them all.

Andromeda looked curiously at Draco, saying softly, “It’s nice to meet you, Draco. You look so much like your mum.”

Draco replied politely, “I’m glad to finally meet you too.”

“I’m am also pleased to meet you too, Harry,” Andromeda said kindly. Harry smiled shyly back at her, still struck by how much she looked like his grandmother Dorea, when she had been that age.

Keen to change the subject, Dora informed her mum, “We were just discussing Hogwarts, and what houses the boys might end up in. I was just telling them I’m in Hufflepuff.”

“Hufflepuff?” Sirius asked curiously. Then he grinned, informing the girl, “You and I both are the first Blacks to be sorted outside of Slytherin in generations.”

“She could have been in Slytherin,” Andromeda insisted. She glanced askance at Sirius and asked suspiciously, “You don’t still have a childish grudge against anything to do with Slytherin do you?”

Opening his mouth to defend himself, Sirius was cut off by Andromeda who added, “Your godson could end up in Slytherin.”

Sirius blinked in surprise, as though realising that fact for the first time.

Andromeda smiled reassuringly at Harry and told him, “Slytherin would be lucky to have you.”

Harry was staring at Sirius, suddenly worried at the news of this apparent grudge. What if Sirius would be disappointed if he were sorted into Slytherin?

Sirius noticed his godson’s worry and rushed to say, “I don’t mind what house you end up in Harry. As long as you’re happy.”

Harry relaxed at that, and relaxed even more when Draco broke the tension by declaring, nose in the air, “Slytherin is clearly the best house though.”

Dora and Sirius both loudly objected over each other as Draco looked smug at causing chaos, and Andromeda laughed, eyes warm as she watched her family interact.

The light moment was interrupted by the cautious arrival of Narcissa, who stopped short of her older sister. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, and there was a near imperceptible tremor in her hands.

“Andromeda,” she said softly, voice fragile.

Narcissa’s eyes flicked over to Dora, a longing look in her eyes, before she quickly focused back on her sister.

“I was…I was hoping I could meet my niece,” she said bravely after faltering initially. Draco was staring at his mother with wide eyes – he had never seen her so unsure of herself.

Andromeda stared at her little sister for a few moments, before she held out a hand to her daughter. Dora rose quickly from her seat, her hair changing to match her mother’s, both of their hair now the same shade of dark brown. Dora’s hair grew to reach her mid-back, and her eyes darkened to the characteristic Black family dark brown. She looked the spitting image of not only her mother, but Harry’s grandmother Dorea too.

Dora came to stand beside her mother, her face plainly curious as she looked back at her aunt. Narcissa’s breath caught as she realised she was staring at her niece’s true face.

“Dora, this is your aunt, Narcissa,” Andromeda said quietly.

Narcissa seemed uncertain with what to do with herself, hesitantly remaining in place. She couldn’t take her eyes off her niece.

Dora seemed to realise the same thing, and the teenager unexpectedly moved forward, causing a surprised look to cross her mother’s face as she did so. She leaned in and hugged her aunt for the first time.

Narcissa was shocked for all but a brief moment, before her arms rose to return the girl’s hug, holding the girl closely to her. Over her shoulder Narcissa made eye contact with her older sister, wordlessly communicating her gratitude to her for letting her finally connect with her niece.

Andromeda said quietly but clearly, “I’m sorry it took so long for you both to meet.”

There was an unspoken apology in there too of Andromeda’s actions in keeping Narcissa from meeting Nymphadora when she was born, when the woman had tried to reach out.

Dora pulled away shyly, moving back to stand with her mum again, tucking her hair behind one ear nervously.

Looking around at the group gathered, Narcissa collected her composure around her once more, and said to them all, “I would be honoured to have you all come visit Malfoy Manor soon.” She looked her sister as she added, “Andromeda, Lucius and I would very much like to meet your husband, Ted.”

Just like that, any lingering ice around Andromeda melted away, as she stared in disbelief and then joy at her younger sister.

“We’d like that, Cissy,” she said, using that old familiar nickname from childhood.

Times were indeed changing.

But some would refuse to be changed – Cygnus was now openly glaring at the small group from across the room, his father Pollux talking to him urgently, no doubt convincing him to not make a scene. Giving his daughter and granddaughter the silent treatment was also cruel in its own way, but preferable to threatening them.

However, it seemed Pollux’s hushed warnings were going unheeded as Cygnus pushed past the elderly man to make a beeline for the group. He immediately found himself confronted by the solid presence of Cassiopeia Black, blocking his way. She was standing just over a metre away.

Cygnus would have moved around her too, except his eyes caught sight of the necklace she was wearing, glowing slightly at the base of her throat. His eyes widened.

“Take one more step, nephew, and you’ll regret it,” she murmured quietly, tone light, but words dripping with poison. “I know you aren’t a runes expert, but you recognise this sequence, don’t you.”

The man grit his teeth, but remained perfectly still, eyes locked on the pendant, the rune sequence carved around it still glowing ominously with a white glow.

She smiled, but it was an empty, cold gesture. “A little bit closer and you’ll activate the proximity sensor. So unless you fancy being hit with lightning, I advise you stay away from them.”

Arcturus, standing a safe distance away, advised the man softly, “Don’t do anything stupid.” But he was also directing that at Cassiopeia. It was an indiscriminate proximity sensor. He glanced meaningfully back towards the rest of the family, who remained oblivious to the tension on the other side of the room. If anyone of them suddenly moved over they could be hit.

“She’s not bluffing,” Pollux whispered urgently to his son, eyes concerned. He knew his sister. She did not make idle threats, and she had a fondness for lightning. Regardless of the fact Cygnus was terminal with a disease that would not stop Cassiopeia from unleashing the runecraft on him. Depending on how strong the magic user was that had imbued those runes, and how much they had decided to power it; it could cause a painful static or it could hit the target with an actual bolt of lightning.  

“You’re mad,” Cygnus hissed, finally stepping back hearing the urgency in his father’s voice.

Perfectly calm, Cassiopeia pulled her wand out slowly and tapped the pendant, causing the glow to quickly disappear, deactivating the proximity sensor.

Conversationally, moving closer as Cygnus continued to rapidly step back towards his father, Cassiopeia stated, “Useful thing isn’t it? Mixture of runecraft and spellcraft. The runes channel the elemental magic while protecting me, and I use my wand to activate the proximity sensor on it so it’s always ready to be primed.”

Cygnus glared at her, saying nothing. She tapped the pendant with her finger, causing the man to flinch slightly, and Pollux and Arcturus to twitch reflexively.  

“Perhaps I had best stay by your side for the rest of the gathering,” she said pleasantly.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Two: Stories are buried beneath family trees

Standing in the Grand Reception Room together after saying goodbye to Aunt Cass, the last of the family to depart after the gathering, Harry thought overall it had gone quite well. At least there had been no spontaneous duels.

There had been some strange tension between Aunt Cass and Cygnus, and the man had kept a generous distance from his daughter and granddaughter. He had been the first to leave, rather quickly.

But overall Harry thought the positive moments had far outweighed the negative ones. For a first proper gathering, it was not a bad start.

Harry noticed his grandfather had now moved closer to the family tapestry that stretched across the back wall. He followed the direction his grandfather’s eyes were focused on, and saw he seemed to be looking at the section his own name, Arcturus Sirius Black, appeared.

Harry moved over to join his grandfather, glancing at the names of Lycoris and Regulus beside Arcturus’ name, the younger brothers who had died young from Bloodbane. He glanced down at the names underneath his grandfather, Lucretia Melania Prewett née Black, and Orion Arcturus Black, Sirius’ father.

Harry blinked, and stared again sharply at the name of Arcturus’ daughter.

Prewett.

“Your daughter married a Prewett,” Harry said aloud, shock and confusion colouring his tone.

Sirius came over to stand on Harry’s other side, curious what had caught his godson’s attention.

Arcturus looked down at Harry, replying calmly, “She did. Her husband, Ignatius Prewett, was the heir of the Prewett family.”

Sirius did not know much about his Aunt Lucretia, who had died before he was born. Realising now what had Harry so shocked, Sirius asked his grandfather, “I had always wondered – was Aunt Lucretia a blood trait-”

“Do not use that term,” Arcturus hissed, suddenly furious.

Sirius snapped his mouth shut, eyes wide with surprise. It was rare to see his grandfather lose his temper.

Realising his temper might have frightened Harry, who was looking a bit uncomfortable, Arcturus forced himself to soften, explaining tightly, “Lucretia might have been a dark witch who married a light wizard, but that does not make her deserving of being labelled a blood traitor. She always remained loyal to the dark, to her blood.”

Harry understood then, his eyes soft as he stared at the woman’s name on the family tapestry. “She married for love,” he guessed.

Arcturus’ eyes were infinitesimally sad as he confirmed, “She did.” He pressed a hand tenderly to her name, as though by doing so he could pass through the fibres of the tapestry to reach her. “She knew she had Bloodbane, and she was living on borrowed time. She wanted to be with the person she loved, for whatever time she had left. How could any parent deny her that much?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Cautiously, concerned about setting his grandfather off again, Sirius said carefully, “Father told me that Aunt Lucretia eloped. That she had been estranged from the family before she died.”

Arcturus exhaled, like he was releasing a terrible burden. His hand was still resting over his daughter’s name.

“Lucretia was always a headstrong girl, who grew into an even more headstrong woman,” he began, a fond look on his face. “She was quite popular at school, always bringing home friends over the school holidays to stay with us. Imagine my shock when Lucretia brought home a Muggleborn girl one summer. I am ashamed to admit I said some…cruel words about the girl. Lucretia refused to speak to me for a whole month after that, until Melania intervened and had me apologise.”

Arcturus shook his head, stating, “Lucretia challenged me every day growing up under my roof. She refused to let me rest easy in my own worldview, constantly pushing me to consider why I thought the way I did. I rather fancy if she had lived longer, my Lucretia would have become a great philosopher.”

Arcturus’ face grew sad once more as he continued, “She began dating Ignatius Prewett, the heir to the Prewett family, in secret. She knew I would never approve of their relationship, what with her being a dark witch and him being a light wizard, with responsibilities to his family to produce light children. And she was right. Shortly after her twenty-first birthday she sat down with her mother and me and told us about Ignatius. She told us she loved him, and he had asked her to marry him. She had said yes.”

“The things I said to her, should never be repeated,” Arcturus whispered. “I will regret it until the day I die. I told her to leave my house, and never come back.” He looked between Harry and Sirius, a haunted look in his dark brown eyes as he added, “And she never came home again.”

Neither Harry nor Sirius knew what to say to comfort the elderly man, whose grief was painted so starkly on his face. The entire time he shared the story, his hand did not leave from its place on Lucretia’s name.

“I heard about Lucretia from time to time from Cassiopeia, who stayed in contact with her. Years went by, and I stubbornly refused to budge from my position, even though Melania begged me, reminded me every day that our only daughter had very little time to live. And then one day, Cassiopeia arrived in this castle. She ordered Melania and I to come with her. Lucretia was dying, and she wanted to see her mother and father, one last time.”

Harry’s heart hurt for his grandfather, for the obvious regret and grief he now experienced over his lack of interaction with his daughter over the last few years of her life.

“Melania saw her first, alone. I had met Ignatius Prewett in passing at various social events, but never as my son-in-law. I sat with him while we waited for Melania to finish speaking with Lucretia. He was…a true gentleman. A parent could not have asked for a better partner for their child. And I had scorned both he and Lucretia, for years.”

“Once Melania had returned, I entered Lucretia’s sickroom. I cannot put into words the grief I felt at seeing her on that bed.” Arcturus’ eyes filled with tears, but they did not fall. His voice was choked as he said, “At that moment, Lucretia had the power to destroy me utterly, had she chosen to be cruel. But my daughter was a good person. She had a good heart. She showed me kindness, in the end.”

“She told me she loved me. She told me she forgave me. And she asked only one thing of me. She told me to put my faith in family, above all else. She told me I would be a fool to do anything else.”

The tears spilled down Arcturus’ cheeks as he continued, “We buried our daughter the following day. Her husband gave us permission to bury her here, at Black Castle among her family. His only request was that we bury him by her side, when he followed her. A few weeks later we laid Ignatius Prewett to rest by Lucretia.”

“I made a promise,” Arcturus whispered. “Since the day she died I have been fighting to keep this family together. Yet I have failed her so many times.” The old man shut his eyes, head tilted up as though seeking supplication from above. “I drove Dorea away, losing James in the process, in my desperation to keep them close. In the years that I struggled with my grief, after Melania passed away, I allowed my son and daughter-in-law to drive you away too, Sirius, and to crush Regulus under the burden of this family’s legacy. I have done nothing but fail.”

Sirius finally reached out, grabbing his grandfather’s shoulder, grey eyes desperate. “Just today, you managed to gather almost every member of this family together under this roof. I do not consider that a failure.”

Arcturus opened his eyes, looking at Sirius. There was a distant look on his face as he reached up to brush a hand against Sirius’ face. “You have her eyes, you know. Growing up, I saw so much of her in you. I fear that made me distance myself from you.”

Sirius rested a hand over his grandfather’s own, on his face. “You always had faith in me,” he insisted. “You kept your promise to Aunt Lucretia.”

“Grandfather,” Harry said quietly. He had listened silently to the story, but he had no idea what to say to offer any comfort. So instead he moved forward and wrapped him arms tightly around the tall man. He poured all of his affection and love that had been growing for the man into that hug.

Arcturus leaned down in order to properly return the hug, and Sirius kept a reassuring hand on his grandfather’s shoulder.

Later that day Harry, Sirius and Arcturus visited their family cemetery, which was located deep in the grounds of Black Castle. It was under the open sky, the tombstones protected by enchantments to prevent weathering.

They laid flowers on Lucretia and Ignatius’ graves. The couple shared one headstone, the words engraved on it reading: ‘I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night’.

The following day on Sunday, Harry nervously fiddled with the silver clasp on his finely woven cloak, waiting for Sirius to return to the room with the potion he needed. Today was a significant day – Sirius was taking Harry to the famous Diagon Alley for the first time.

Not only that, it would mark the first time Harry visited a public wizarding location, and he was beyond excited.

Sirius was going to take him to Gringotts to see the Potter vault, and then he was going to show Harry what the famous shopping strip had to offer.

But in order to do that without having the media descend on them, they needed to keep low profiles. Fortunately, there were no photos of Harry available to the public – although he bore a close resemblance to his parents, no one technically knew what he looked like. As long as his scar remained hidden, it was unlikely he would be recognised.

Sirius though had, had his pictures splashed all over the media. He needed a disguise.

Harry looked up as Sirius re-entered the room, his own cloak swishing behind him. He grinned at Harry holding a bottle up. It had a disgusting looking liquid in it that seemed to bubble. It was thick and mud-like, and looked totally inconsumable.

“That’s the Polyjuice Potion?” Harry asked, staring dubiously at the awful-looking potion.

“It is indeed,” Sirius confirmed. “I just need to add part of the person I want to transform into, and then the potion is ready to drink.”

Harry watched with fascination as Sirius held up a tiny vial with a few strands of brown hair in it. “Taken from one of Aunt Cass’ friends, with his permission.”

Sirius unstopped the bottle, and then sprinkled the hairs into the potion. It bubbled strongly and then lightened, taking on a navy blue shade. Sirius lifted the bottle, titling it curiously.

“Does it look right?” Harry asked.

“The colour is different depending on the person – Aunt Cass’ friend seems be a navy blue kind of person, whatever that means,” Sirius commented. Then he toasted Harry and said, “Here goes nothing.”

He threw back the potion, his face twisting in distaste. “Oh Morgana, I forgot how bad this tastes,” he gasped out.

He dropped the potion onto a table nearby, leaning against a chair for support. Harry half moved forward as though to help, before he stopped in in awe, watching Sirius’ face start to ripple.

When Dora transformed yesterday it had been effortless and quick, but watching Sirius it was like his features were slowly losing form, bubbling like the potion had been. It looked painful, and Harry’s eyes grew concerned.

Sirius shoulder length black hair shortened to a neat haircut of brown and grey peppered hair, his eyes darkening to brown. New lines creased his face, and it filled out, looking fuller but not overweight.

His height shrunk a little bit, but his clothes still seemed to fit normally for the most part. At last the bubbling stopped, and Sirius looked up at Harry. He grinned, but it was a stranger looking back at Harry.

“That’s amazing,” Harry breathed.

“It should last a few hours,” Sirius explained. His voice was totally unrecognisable too.

Sirius took out his wand, waving it around his body and making a few modifications to his clothes to ensure they were fitting correctly against his new body shape.

“Right, Harry is a common enough name, but if you need to call out for me, you can call me…Sam,” Sirius suggested.

Harry smiled, “I’ll try remember that – Sam.”

“Okay, let’s go!” Sirius exclaimed with a stranger’s voice.

Harry stepped into the empty fireplace with Sirius, who had taken a handful of Floo powder. Sirius kept one hand protectively on Harry’s shoulder as he clearly stated, “The Leaky Cauldron.”

Their visions were obscured with green flames, before they receded and the two stepped out into a bustling pub. It was a little shabby and dim, the furniture well worn. But it was also clearly popular and well loved, filled to the brim with interesting people.

Sirius kept his hand on Harry’s shoulder, guiding him gently through the pub. No one paid any attention to them, and they slipped through the crowd easily. They exited out of the back door, Harry blinking slightly at the light outside compared to the dim interior of the pub.

They were now in a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a dustbin and a few weeds scattered about. Harry watched on curiously as Sirius tapped certain bricks on the wall of the courtyard with his wand. As he touched each brick it quivered and retreated, creating small holes that widened into one large archway.

Harry’s breath caught as he saw what lay beyond the archway. “Welcome to Diagon Alley,” Sirius said, with a grin on his unfamiliar face. Harry grinned back nonetheless.

The cobblestone street stretched all the way into the distance, leading to a grand snow-white building, which towered over all the little shops. The burnished bronze doors of the building gleamed in the light.

“That’s Gringotts down there,” Sirius nodded, seeing where Harry’s gaze had been drawn. “We can do some window shopping after we look at your vault.”

They stepped through, Harry’s head turning in every direction as he took in the shopping strip with awe. There were shops selling all sorts of things – cauldrons, potion ingredients, books, Quidditch supplies, and even a store called Eeylops Owl Emporium – Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown and Snowy.

Harry wanted to see it all. He couldn’t wait to explore it – but first they really did need to see the Potter vault.

As they approached Gringotts, Sirius kept a watchful eye on the shoppers around them in case anyone somehow managed to recognise Harry. He also muttered to Harry as they got closer to the wizarding bank, “Remember that goblins value respect and good manners. Show them both, and they will treat you well in return.”

Harry nodded in understanding, hands feeling a little sweaty as they started to climb the steps. At the top, standing near the burnished doors, was what must be a goblin, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold.

The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry, with a long, pointed beard, watchful eyes and very long fingers and feet. As Harry and Sirius finished climbing the marble steps the goblin bowed, and the burnished doors swung open for them.

Sirius paused, returning the goblin’s bow. Harry copied his godfather’s motion. The goblin offered both of them a toothy smile.

They walked in, shoes clicking against the marble floors as they now faced a second set of doors, these one silver. There were words engraved upon them. Harry read the scripture quickly, his eyes lingering on two lines in particular.

Out loud he said softly, “So if you seek beneath our floors; A treasure that was never yours; Thief, you have been warned, beware; Of finding more than treasure there.”

He glanced up at his godfather. “It’s a warning for thieves, I get that. But what does it mean by finding more than treasure?”

Sirius leaned down to whisper in Harry’s ear, “The goblins keep a number of traps in their bank to stop thieves. Including dragons.”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he looked up at his godfather, mouth open in shock. Before he could demand more information the silver doors swung open and they found themselves in a vast, marble hall. About a hundred or so goblins were busy at work in the hall, sitting on high stools behind a long counter that ran around the outskirts of the great chamber.

Other goblins were showing people in and out of the many doors scattered around the chamber, obviously taking them to see their vaults.

Sirius found the first available goblin sitting behind the counter, steering Harry over. The wizened goblin peered down at them both, eyes sharp as he considered the two before him. The nameplate in front of him stated his name was Ragnold.

Once again, Sirius bowed respectfully to the goblin, and Harry rushed to copy his godfather. “Good morning, Ragnold,” Sirius said politely.

The goblin neatly shut the book he had been writing in, setting it to the side and giving them his undivided attention.

“A good morning to you, too,” the goblin replied. “How might I be of assistance today?”

“I am here to escort my godson to view his family vault. I am his legal guardian.” Leaning in, lowering his voice discreetly, Sirius murmured, “This is Harry Potter. I am Sirius Black, however I am under the Polyjuice Potion this morning as a precaution to avoid the press.”

“I understand, sir,” Ragnold said with a nod, taking the situation in stride without issue. “I believe a key has not yet been cut for your godson. We can prepare this, at the standard rate of five sickles.”

“We accept this price,” Sirius replied. All underage witches and wizards could access their family vaults through the use of a key. This system was used for parents who did not want their children to have unlimited access to the family vault. A legal guardian could have the key revoked, or place certain restrictions on it, such as the key only allowing access to a trust account, or even setting a monetary limit on what could be withdrawn. Adults did not require keys – their wand was used for verification to allow them in and out of their vault. After getting his new wand, Sirius had gone to Gringotts to have it registered, proving his identity with a simple blood test.

“If you’ll follow me,” the goblin said, stepping down from his high stool. He walked around the counter, gesturing for Sirius and Harry to follow him to a nearby closed door.

They followed the goblin into the room beyond, which was a private office. They took seats nearer the door, the goblin moving around the desk in the centre of the office to take the seat on the far side.

“I must conduct a simple blood test, of you both, to verify your identities,” Ragnold stated.

“We consent,” Sirius replied. He turned to Harry and explained, “They use what is called a Blood Quill here. I will demonstrate first so you see what it is like. It's easier to see than to explain.”

Ragnold pulled out two sheets of parchment, and two long, thin black quills, each with a rather sharp tip. Harry noticed there were no inkpots provided with the quills.

Ragnold slid one of the pieces of parchment and a quill to Sirius, who tilted the paper so that Harry had a clear view. He could see the top of the parchment was stamped with the official Gringotts seal, but was otherwise blank.

Sirius picked up the quill and wrote slowly and carefully on the parchment underneath the seal, ‘Sirius Orion Black’. The words were in shining red ink, stark against the snow-white parchment.

Harry blinked in surprise as he saw the back of Sirius’ right hand, the hand he had written with, had the identical words ‘Sirius Orion Black’ etched into it. Just for a moment the words were visible, before they disappeared entirely, the skin a little red and irritated, but otherwise unblemished.

Harry looked back at the parchment, where words were unravelling across the parchment under the red words of, ‘Sirius Orion Black’. These words were black, and seemed to detail some kind of inventory, as well as lists of numbers.

“The Blood Quill uses your own blood as ink. There is a small sting, but as you can see, your hand heals quickly,” Sirius said, holding out his hand to show Harry the back of it. “Blood Quills are a restricted item. You should only ever use one under the supervision of myself, or your grandfather, and strictly for official business,” Sirius told him.

Sirius continued, “The parchment recognised me as the true Sirius Black, thanks to my blood. It has now generated all of the assets to my name, which are registered with Gringotts.”

Harry looked closely at the parchment, seeing that Sirius had a vault under his name, and unrestricted access to the Black family vault too, which was under his grandfather's name. His eyes widened at the sums of money in both.

Ezra had been teaching numeracy using wizarding currency to assist in getting Harry more familiar with galleons, sickles and knuts. Harry had been told that one galleon was the equivalent of roughly five Pound Sterling in Muggle currency.

Staring at the sum of money inside Sirius’ vault, and the total amount in the Black family vault, Harry realised faintly as he quickly did a few mental calculations, that the Blacks would be considered multi-millionaires in Muggle terms.

There were also all kinds of other figures and words Harry didn’t understand. Sirius pointed to that section stating, “This is my share portfolio, and the Black family portfolio too.”

Seeing Harry’s blank look Sirius smiled and said, “I’ll talk with you about this when you’re a little older. These are the companies me and my family have invested money in.”

Sirius then pointed to the next section and explained, “This is the property that is in my name.”

Harry saw ‘Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London’ listed, which he understood to be Sirius’ childhood home that was currently being fully renovated.

“Underneath there is a list of items stored in my vault, and the Black family vault – because I have unrestricted access to the Black family vault, the list appears here under my name too,” Sirius finished.

There seemed to be mostly artefacts in the Black family vault, and Sirius’ vault only had some items of furniture stored in it.

“There you have it. Are you ready to give it a go?” Sirius asked.

“Yes,” Harry replied, pulling the other parchment to him and picking up the spare Blood Quill. He took a breath to steel himself, and then slowly wrote down his name, ‘Harry James Potter’. As he did so he felt a stinging pain on the back of his right hand, and he looked down curiously as his own name appeared on the back of his hand, in his handwriting.

Just as quickly it was gone, and the pain faded.

On the parchment under the name ‘Harry James Potter’ words were unravelling like they had for Sirius.

The first thing Harry noticed was that he had a vault in his name, which was marked as a trust vault. Sirius had already explained that James and Lily had set up this trust account for Harry when he was born, to cover any expenses if they passed away.

Harry stared with huge eyes at the amount in the trust vault – quickly doing rough calculations in his head. If he was correct, his mum and dad had set aside the equivalent of around one hundred and fifty thousand pounds in Muggle money.

Underneath the trust account was the Potter family vault, and again Harry’s eyes widened as he saw the amount. It was not as much as what was in the Black family vault, but Harry realised faintly he could afford to never work a day in his life and still have plenty of money to live comfortably and leave behind a sizeable inheritance too.

He was distracted out of his thoughts by the unfamiliar voice of Sirius’ disguise asking, “What is this vault? I was not told about this when I contacted the bank to enquire about Harry’s assets.”

Harry looked further down underneath the Potter family vault and saw there was a third vault listed under his name. It was labelled ‘Peverell family vault’.

Ragnold examined the vault name in question. “Curious,” he commented, with forced blankness, but his eyes were glinting.

He rose fluidly to his feet. “I need to speak to my manager,” Ragnold informed them coolly. “You may continue to peruse your assets while you wait here.”

Before Sirius could protest, the goblin swept out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

“Sorry about that Harry. This is unexpected,” Sirius muttered.

Sirius leaned over Harry’s shoulder to look at the Peverell family vault under Harry’s name. Oddly, there was nothing listed underneath it, no money, or other assets like shares or even an inventory of items.

“James didn’t know about this vault, as far as I’m aware,” Sirius muttered. “Then again, James never cared much for the financial side of things. It’s possible he just accessed the Potter vault and never bothered to make enquiries about other vaults under his name. Although,” Sirius added with a slight frown, “I’m certain his dad Charlus would have been on top of the family affairs. Perhaps because it seems to be empty he left it alone? I don’t know where this Peverell family vault has come from.”

“Look,” Harry said, pointing to the property section, ignoring the long list of Potter share portfolio information he didn’t understand.

At the top of the list was ‘Number Three, Holly Lane, Godric’s Hollow’. Harry assumed that was the house he had spent the first year of his life in, the place where his parents had lost their lives on Samhain in 1981.

Immediately underneath that was ‘Euphemia’s Cottage, Tintagel, Cornwall’.

Sirius pointed to it, stating, “That’s the Potter holiday home. I visited once with James. Your great-grandfather Fleamont built it as a wedding gift for his wife, Euphemia. But I don’t recognise the property underneath it.”

Underneath the Potter holiday home was another property, called, ‘Peverell Castle’. There was no location beside it. Obviously related to the Peverell family vault that had appeared under Harry’s name.

What followed after the properties was a long list of items located in the Potter vault. The list stretched for so long that the parchment had generated around half a dozen extra pages to fit everything.

Harry turned the pages slowly, eyes wide as he skimmed over the objects within the Potter vault. Magical artefacts, precious heirlooms, priceless paintings, tapestries and countless books – the list went on and on.

“Where did all of this come from?” he asked.

Sirius’ unfamiliar disguised face grew sad and he replied, “All of the stuff from your mum and dad’s place in Godric’s Hollow was stored here, after the house was damaged.” He hesitated before adding. “It’s up to you what you want done with the house in Godric’s Hollow.”

“What are my options?” Harry asked quietly.

“You could have it repaired,” Sirius began, just as quietly. “Although the damage to the second floor is quite extensive.”

“I don’t really want to live there,” Harry confessed.

“I understand,” Sirius expressed empathetically. He couldn’t imagine Harry living in the house his parents had been murdered in. A bit uncertainly, Sirius added, “You could sell the property, but I do have concern over the kind of person who would buy it. I hate to say it, but there’s a chance it could become…a tourist attraction for some.”

Harry winced, saying quickly, “I don’t want to risk selling it to someone who would do that. Can I just…leave it?”

Sirius nodded, replying, “You can leave it as is. The property is under stabilising and anti-deterioration enchantments. Maybe in the future you will want to do something with it, but for now we can leave it.”

Harry nodded, relieved. Looking back at the property section, he gazed at ‘Peverell Castle’ and he asked Sirius uncertainty, “Do you know anything about the Peverell family?”

“I don’t,” Sirius told him regretfully. “The name does not ring a bell. Perhaps you’ve come into an inheritance now as a last surviving heir? Maybe the Peverell family were related to you through Euphemia’s side of the family? Or some other source?” Sirius theorised.

“The fact they have a castle to their name though – they must be an ancient and powerful family,” Sirius mused. Still confused he wondered out loud, “I just don’t understand how the Potters did not know about this. And why the vault is entirely empty.”

Ragnold re-entered the room, with what seemed to be his manager in tow. Sirius rose to his feet, bowing to the newcomer, and Harry did the same. The goblin returned the bow and then took a seat, placing a file down on the table in front of him. Ragnold took a position standing beside the shoulder of his manager.

“My name is Skarde, and I am the head goblin of Gringotts,” the goblin informed them austerely.

“It is an honour to meet you,” Sirius said genuinely. Not many actually got to meet the head goblin.

“I have been informed by my employee, that Mr Potter here has been identified as the heir to the Peverell estate,” the head goblin said briskly.

“Is this a recent development?” Sirius asked cautiously.

Skarde flipped open the file, with his long, deft fingers, pulling out a positively ancient looking document. It must have been magically preserved from deterioration, and the writing on the parchment looked like something out of medieval times.

“This is the instruction regarding the Peverell estate, dictated by his royal highness, Prince Aeron Peverell in the year 596,” Skarde informed them, sliding the document forward with one finger.

He then folded his hands, waiting for Sirius and Harry to read the document. They both stared at it. The year 596 was nearly 1,400 years ago. It long predated the Black family history, and the history of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, whose family lines could be traced back to the early 1000s. It predated Hogwarts, which was built in the 900s.

Not mention that the person who wrote the document had been a prince.

Looking at the document, Harry could not understand the language used – it was in an old form of English. He glanced up at Sirius and saw he was equally stumped.

Seeing their confusion, Skarde sighed, pulling the document back to himself.

“The document makes it clear that the Peverell estate can only be inherited by a descendant who has a dark magical core. Mr Potter has been deemed suitable to meet this requirement, and may claim the Peverell estate now,” Skarde explained.

“How is Harry related to this family?” Sirius asked.

Skarde pulled out a scroll from the file, and carefully unrolled it. In a long, straight line it detailed names. At the bottom was Harry’s name, then moving upwards, James Potter, Charlus Potter, Fleamont Potter, and it continued on up through the generations.

Above the name Iolanthe Potter it stated Idris Peverell.

Skarde tapped the name, stating, “The last male Peverell to bear the family name. His daughter, Iolanthe, married into the Potter family it seems.”

Above Idris Peverell was the name Ignotus Peverell, and then the names continued on and on and on as Skarde continued to unroll the scroll. The parchment soon threatened to spill onto the floor, and Ragnold swiftly picked it up, stretching it out so that it did not touch the ground.

“Prince Cassian Peverell,” Skarde said at last, pointing to the name high up on the scroll. “Last royal of the Peverell family.” A couple of spots up, obviously his grandfather, was the name Prince Aeron Peverell, the one who had dictated only those with dark magical cores could inherit the Peverell estate.

A couple more names above Prince Aeron Peverell was a name that made Sirius freeze. Harry cocked his head, the name seeming oddly familiar.

Morgan le Fay.

“Morgana,” Sirius choked. At first Harry thought Sirius was using the common term used when people expressed shock, exasperation, anger, or other strong emotions. He stared at Sirius, confused when he said nothing else, grey eyes fixed on the name on the family chart.

He looked down at Harry with awe.

Skarde nodded his head, stating aloud, “Yes, Mr Potter is the direct descendant of Morgan le Fay, otherwise known as the Dark Lady Morgana.”

Harry felt faint.

Continuing on, Skarde stated, “The last person to access the Peverell vault was Iolanthe Potter née Peverell. She was a dark witch. Her children though, were not. The reason for the lack of funds or other items in the Peverell vault is because Iolanthe moved everything she could into her husband’s vault, Hardwin Potter. She could do nothing about Peverell Castle though. Her children could not inherit it. But Mr Potter can claim it today.”

“He’s eight,” Sirius said slowly, still trying to process everything. Underage witches and wizards could not claim property in their name until they were seventeen.

Skarde grinned toothily and replied, “They were not too concerned about age in the 500s. As long as the individual is a direct descendant of the Dark Lady Morgana, and has a dark magical core, there was no other limit dictated by Prince Aeron Peverell on inheritance. The Peverell vault, and Peverell Castle, belong to Mr Potter.”

“Where is Peverell Castle located?” Sirius questioned faintly.

Skarde continued to grin, seemingly enjoying the utter shock of the two wizards before him. He leaned forward, and happily informed Sirius, “The Isle of Avalon.”

“Right,” Sirius said weakly. The mythical island of legend, believed to be the final resting place of Morgana’s brother, King Arthur, where it is said time does not move and all who arrive on its shores are blessed with immortality. Or so the fairy tales go.

“So,” Skarde said, dark eyes focusing on Harry. “Do you wish to claim the Peverell estate, Mr Potter?”

Without having to think about it, Harry answered, “I do.”

This was the legacy of Morgana herself, the greatest dark witch to have ever lived. A legacy that Harry shared with her over a thousand years apart.

“Excellent,” Skarde replied, pulling a new document out. It was as equally ancient as the dictation of Prince Aeron Peverell. “You will need to sign this document, in blood. Once you do so, the Peverell vault, Peverell Castle, and all property located within will be yours.”

Sirius quickly picked it up before Harry could sign it, stating, “I will review the document. Harry, never sign anything without your guardian reading it.”

He squinted at the document, which was in old English. Skarde smirked, clearly amused, snapping his fingers at his employee. Ragnold, seemingly understanding what the head goblin was asking for, looked in a nearby draw, and then came back with a small book.

“A dictionary, Mr Black,” Skarde offered.

Sirius sighed, accepting the dictionary with muttered thanks, settling in for a difficult process of translation in order to understand the document.

Ragnold muttered something into Skarde’s ear in a strange rasping language, which Harry supposed must be Gobbledegook.

“Allow us to prepare Mr Potter’s key to access the Potter family vault and his trust account, while you review the document,” Skarde stated. “No key is required for the Peverell vault.”

“Yes, thank you,” Sirius replied, a little distractedly. He added though, “Please subtract the standard five sickle rate from my vault.”

Harry didn’t really think it mattered that much, considering just how much wealth he was set to inherit. But it was a kind gesture nonetheless, and he thanked Sirius quietly.

Skarde waited in the room while Ragnold disappeared to prepare the key for Harry. His gaze did not waver from Harry, surveying him silently. As Sirius continued to flip through the dictionary, comparing it to the words on the document, Skarde leaned in to inform Harry quietly, “The Dark Lady Morgana was a great friend of the goblin nation.”

There was an obvious implication in those words, and Harry straightened as he replied, “I hope to live up to her legacy.”

“We shall see, Mr Potter,” Skarde commented. “We shall certainly see.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Three: Time will tell

In the time it took for Sirius to finish reading the document with the assistance of the dictionary, Harry’s key to the Potter vault and his trust vault had been prepared and handed over.

When Sirius finally laid the document down in front of Harry, stating, “It’s fine to sign,” he still seemed to be in a state of shock. His grey eyes drifted over to the still open scroll, where the name Morgan le Fay rested innocently on the old parchment.

Harry picked up the Blood Quill, and where Sirius was pointing, he signed his name slowly, focusing determinedly on not letting his hands shake. Like last time, the back of his writing hand burned with pain, and his name briefly appeared, engraved into the skin.

Skarde accepted the document with an air of satisfaction, declaring, “It is done. You have now formally claimed the Peverell family vault, and Peverell Castle. If you’ll accompany me down to the vault, there will be instructions in there as to how to access your new property.”

Ragnold remained behind to tidy up the room and put the documents back where they belonged, while Skarde himself escorted Harry and Sirius back into the main hall of Gringotts. He led them straight through the foyer towards a large door at the very back of the chamber.

Skarde placed his hand on the door, and the entire rim of the door lit up brightly with what looked like runes.

Some of the goblins working looked up in undisguised shock at seeing the head goblin lead two humans to this door – obviously the clients of the bank were not normally invited into this space.

The door swung open, and behind it was what looked like an unassuming antechamber of plain stone. It contained only an old elevator, with an intricate metal grill. After ushering Sirius and Harry into the antechamber, Skarde shut the door back into the foyer, hiding them from the many curious eyes looking in. He moved over to the elevator, opening it up with a screech of metal on metal.

He then gestured for Harry and Sirius to step into the elevator, which they did.

Sirius commented, “I did not realise there was elevator access to the vaults,” with a questioning tone.

Skarde answered over the screech of the grill as he shut it again, “There is to this one.”

“How do you usually get to the vaults?” Harry asked, keeping one eye on Skarde, who pressed his hand to a panel. The panel lit up with the glow of again what looked like runes, and the elevator jerked and stared to descend.

“There are mine carts that take you down,” Sirius explained. Harry thought that sounded rather exciting, and was slightly disappointed they were taking a sedate elevator down to the Peverell vault.

For about three minutes they descended in silence, the passing glow of lanterns marking their descent down deep underneath Gringotts. Harry’s ears started to pop at the change in pressure.

“Just how far down is this vault?” Sirius asked Skarde.

Skarde glanced over, and replied noncommittally, “It is the deepest vault we manage. It was here long before the goblin Gringott built this bank.”

Sirius’ eyes widened and he asked, “How did it come to be managed by the bank?”

Skarde replied, “Gringott built the bank where it is, because of the existence of the Peverell vault at this site. It is the first wizarding vault that the goblin nation came to manage.” The head goblin looked meaningfully at Harry as he said, “So our legends go, before the Dark Lady Morgana died, she requested the goblin nation manage her family’s affairs. She tasked us with guarding the Peverell vault, her descendant’s inheritance. This task we have continued to perform throughout the ages.”

After an indeterminate amount of time had passed, the elevator slowly came to a halt, shuddering as it finally reached the lowest point underneath Gringotts.

Skarde pushed the metal grill open, and led the way out of the elevator, into what was pitch-black darkness beyond. However, as Harry squinted he noticed dots of pale greenish-blue light illuminating the space beyond, which seemed to be a tunnel. As Skarde moved forward out of the elevator, Harry realised those small lights were in fact hundreds of glowing crystals.

Harry thought it was beautiful – he followed after Skarde eagerly, eyes roving over the crystals.

Sirius squinted at the nearest crystal, before his eyes widened and he exclaimed, “Are these Core Crystals?”

Skarde did not look back at he continued moving down the tunnel, simply stating, his voice echoing, “Yes.”

Harry asked Sirius quietly, “What are Core Crystals?”

Sirius seemed to shake his head, accepting the fact he was living in an actual fairy tale now. “Core Crystals are rare – when I mean rare, I mean the Black family owns a tiny shard of one, which is set in a ring. There are no known mines that produce these things. Families jealously hoard any that are in their possession,” Sirius began, eyes focused on the gently glowing crystals that lined the tunnel. “They are the only known item capable of storing a person’s magic, indefinitely. You can pour your magic into one of these things, and it will stockpile it forever, without it fading. Now imagine if you kept storing magic every day, and so did your children, and your children’s children?”

Harry’s eyes were wide. “So that’s why it’s called a Core Crystal – it acts like a magical core, storing a person’s magic?”

“Exactly,” Sirius confirmed. “You can draw from a Core Crystal to perform great acts of magic you would be otherwise incapable of doing. The legends say a single cultivated Core Crystal could even bring someone back from the brink of death.”

Harry stared with new appreciation at the crystals lining the tunnel. Sirius claimed they were not mined anywhere in the world, yet here there were hundreds.

“These are priceless,” Sirius called out to Skarde, trying to understand the situation. “They belong to Gringotts, right? Why not mine them?”

Skarde paused, Harry having to stop abruptly to avoid running into the back of the goblin. He looked back at Sirius, expressionless, the greenish-blue light of the crystals making his eyes almost seem to glow strangely.

“Gringotts do not own these crystals,” he said slowly. His eyes slid to Harry. “As of today, Mr Potter does.”

He gestured around them at the tunnel and stated, “This tunnel forms part of the Peverell vault. As I said, this was all here a long time before Gringotts was built.” A dangerous look came across his face, making it look quite severe as he added, “To mine the crystals would not only disrespect the memory of the Dark Lady Morgana who entrusted us with caring for her legacy, but would also simply be theft.”

Skarde looked intently at Harry and added, “If Mr Potter wishes the Core Crystals to be mined, that can be arranged.”

Harry looked helplessly up at Sirius, having no clue how to respond. They were apparently priceless, not to mention extremely useful. But it felt wrong somehow to turn this space into a mining operation. The crystals were obviously naturally occurring here, and something about it made Harry hesitate to agree.

Sirius waited patiently, not wanting to pressure Harry either way.

At last, Harry said to Skarde, “I am not interested in any mining right now. I want to leave everything as it is.”

Skarde nodded, and there was a light of approval in his eyes as he said, “Very well, Mr Potter. Let us continue to the Peverell vault.”

They kept walking, Sirius shaking his head slightly in awe as he gazed around at the Core Crystals embedded in the walls and roof of the tunnel. There was a particularly strong glow coming from the end of the tunnel, and as they neared Harry could see there was a round archway of the crystals, and complete darkness beyond.

Reverently, Skarde told them in the hush of the tunnel, “There is ancient magic here, originally laid by the Dark Lady Morgana herself and added to by Prince Aeron Peverell. Mr Potter, as the Dark Lady's direct descendant and with a dark magical core, will be able to cross the threshold, but we can go no further.”

“Wait,” Sirius said, a protective hand coming to Harry’s shoulder. “What do you mean we can’t go with him?”

Skarde explained, a little impatiently, “There is a powerful protection around this archway. Only those of the Dark Lady’s bloodline with a dark magical core can cross it. Anyone else will be rejected.”

“I don’t want my godson going in there alone, he’s eight,” Sirius said firmly. “This place is positively ancient, as you said. The vault could be dangerous - there could be magic inside there that we don’t even understand.”

Skarde spread his hands, stating, “Entering the vault is the only way to receive the instructions on where to locate Peverell Castle and the Isle of Avalon. We goblins do not have that information.”

Harry felt torn – on the one hand he wanted to see what was inside the vault, and learn where Peverell Castle was. However, he also felt nervous about walking into that unnaturally black void before him, where the glow of the Core Crystals did not touch. And Sirius was right – they had no idea what could be inside the vault. If anything happened to Harry no one could come and help him.

Sirius crouched down so he could be at eye level with Harry. He rested his hands on Harry’s shoulders. Staring intently into his godson’s eyes, which were glowing especially green in the light of the crystals, Sirius said carefully, “I want you to accept this legacy. But not if it puts your safety at risk. Do you understand? I can’t let you go through with this, at least not when you are this young.”

“I understand,” Harry replied with a whisper, forcing his disappointment down. He knew Sirius was right.

“I promise you Harry, when you are old enough, you can come back here. I understand I technically can’t stop you right now, because you legally own this vault,” Sirius said, ignoring Skarde who nodded along. “But I am asking you to promise me you won’t come back here until we agree you are old enough to face whatever might be in that vault.”

Harry kept Sirius’ gaze, as he replied softly, “I promise to wait until I’m older – but how old exactly?”

It was a fair question – Sirius pondered it briefly before saying, “It would be best for you to be seventeen so that you can freely perform magic if you need to without alerting the Ministry-”

Skarde snorted contemptuously, stating, “The Ministry’s Trace does not operate here.”

“In that case,” Sirius replied slowly, “I would think at fifteen you would have enough experience to hold your own.”

Harry sighed – that was seven years away. He glanced longingly back at the dark archway, a mixture of burning curiosity and apprehension inside him.

“Fifteen,” he responded slowly. “But if we both agree I’m ready sooner, then I can enter the vault earlier than fifteen,” he bargained.

Sirius narrowed his eyes slightly at Harry, but he replied, “Only if we both agree.”

“Deal,” Harry said at last.

“Very well then,” Skarde said, displeased Harry was not entering the vault now, but also looking slightly approving of Harry’s negotiation with Sirius. “I will escort you both back to the main floor of Gringotts. Will you be examining the Potter vault today?”

Seeing the overwhelmed look on Harry’s face, Sirius shook his head and replied as he rose back to his feet, “No thank you, we will return another day to examine the Potter vault.”

Harry shot his godfather a grateful look, and the trio began walking back up the tunnel towards the elevator, their path illuminated by the hundreds of priceless Core Crystals, which seemed to watch over their progress.

Before they got too far away, Harry spared a look back over his shoulder at the pitch-black abyss of the archway that led to the Peverell vault. He would be back one day, hopefully not too far in the future.

Morgana’s legacy would have to wait.

Sirius had offered to take Harry home if he wanted time to process what they had discovered, but Harry had still been determined to at least browse Diagon Alley. Conscious his time was running out under the Polyjuice Potion, Sirius had agreed to an hour or so of browsing.

Harry had been particularly enamoured with Quality Quidditch Supplies and the bookshop, Flourish and Blotts. He had also lingered for a while at Eeylops Owl Emporium, admiring the beautiful owls for sale. Sirius had trailed after Harry good naturedly, allowing his godson to take his time and go wherever he pleased.

He did though steer Harry away from the entrance to Knockturn Alley when it looked like his wandering feet might take him there.

At last they arrived at the famous Ollivanders. Harry stared in awe through the dusty shop window, seeing all of the boxes stacked high inside the shop, all the wands that had yet to find their partners. He couldn’t want to turn eleven and get his own wand.

There was an old man inside putting away some of the thin boxes, with snow white hair. He paused in his task and turned suddenly to look straight at Harry through the window. His eyes were an intense blue. Harry looked away, shy at having been caught staring through the window like a small child looking into a candy store.

“Let’s get ice cream before we go – Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour is just around the corner from here,” Sirius suggested, after a quick tempus to check the time.

Harry laughed, replying, “It’s November, Sirius.”

“There’s never a good reason not to have ice cream,” Sirius declared with a sniff. Then he added quietly, “Sam, remember.” His grey eyes flicked over to the nearest shopper, an older woman who was examining a telescope on display outside of a store.

“Sorry – Sam,” Harry corrected himself, with a bashful grin.

Sirius led the way to a charming parlour, where they purchased their ice creams, taking seats under the brightly coloured umbrellas outside, and wrapping their cloaks tightly around them to beat the chill.

Sirius cast a nonverbal warming charm on Harry, and his godson smiled at him gratefully, easing into the warmth as he contently ate his ice cream.

As they ate, Sirius asked Harry quietly after subtly casting an anti-eavesdropping charm around them, “Before we go home, I wanted to ask you if you want the information about the Peverell estate to stay between us.”

Harry considered it as he ate his ice cream, before replying, “I don’t mind grandfather knowing. Or Gareth and Rosie – but other than that I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

Sirius nodded in understanding, saying, “We will only tell those people then.” He hesitated, before adding, “I wished to wait until the Black family gathering had passed before suggesting this – but there is someone I would like you to meet. Next weekend when you’re with me, if possible.”

Harry titled his head to one side, asking, “Who?”

“Remus Lupin,” Sirius said. Harry immediately knew whom Sirius was talking about – the man from his parents’ photo albums, their school friend. And also, this was the man who had been an alternative guardian for Harry if his parents and Sirius had been unable to take care of him.

“I’d be happy to meet him,” Harry replied. “Are you still close with him?”

Sirius mulled over Harry’s question before replying slowly, “There’s a lot to catch up on after seven years. But we’re getting there.”

“I’m glad,” Harry said with a smile.

“Right, well I’ll arrange the meeting then – it might be at Black Castle, or it could be in Edinburgh, where Remus lives,” Sirius explained.

Harry’s eyes widened with excitement and he said, “I’ve never been to Scotland before.”

Sirius informed him, “You’ll be spending a fair bit of time in Scotland once you turn eleven – Hogwarts is there of course.”

“I can’t wait,” Harry said, eyes shining.

In less than three years his magical education would begin, and he could really start making a difference in society, and prove to the public that there was nothing evil about dark witches and wizards.

“I know that look on your face,” Sirius said, gesturing with what was left of his ice cream. “Your head is miles away planning some lofty goals right?”

Harry blushed at being caught out, taking another bite of his ice cream to hide his embarrassment, rather than replying.

“I’m proud of you, kid,” Sirius said warmly.

Harry smiled back, but his smile faltered as he noticed Sirius’ eyes were grey, not brown as they had been before.

“Siri- um, Sam – your eyes. I think you’re starting to turn back,” Harry warned him, stumbling over what name to address Sirius with.

Sirius sighed, finishing off his ice cream quickly and stating, “That’s our cue then to get going. I’m sorry we even need the subterfuge to enjoy a day out.”

Harry finished his ice cream as they walked briskly back to the Leaky Cauldron, his free hand nervously flattening down his hair over his scar. No one paid them any attention though.

It was frustrating the media were so fixated on he and his godfather, as Sirius had pointed out. Harry wondered if this was going to become the norm for him, having to sneak around hiding his identity.

Thank Morgana for his Metamorphmagi ability – he was certain it would be a blessing in the years to come when avoiding detection from the public and the media.

When Sirius escorted Harry back to the Greengrass home after dinner that evening they were greeted in the parlour room by an exuberant Daphne, who immediately seized Harry’s hand dragging him away to interrogate him about meeting Draco and how the Black family gathering had gone the day before.

Gareth and Rosie, who had also both been in the room had made half-hearted attempts to get Daphne to give Harry some breathing space, but their determined daughter had already abducted him out of the room.

“I apologise for that,” Rosie said, exasperation on her face. “She’s been on tenterhooks all weekend wanting to ask Harry about his day yesterday.”

“That’s fine, I was actually hoping to talk with you both privately,” Sirius replied.

Gareth had led the now familiar way to his study and Sirius had wasted no time telling the couple what had been discovered that day at Gringotts, and that Harry had given permission for them to know about it.

The Greengrass couple were just as awe-struck as Sirius had been, and Arcturus too when Sirius had told him earlier that afternoon.

“Grandfather told me we have no Peverells in our family line as far as we know. Do you know of any ancestors in the Greengrass or Yaxley family lines?” Sirius asked them.

Rosie understood then why Sirius was asking. “You’re hoping you can find another descendant of Morgana you trust to escort Harry into the Peverell vault.”

Sirius nodded, replying, “I know Fleamont Potter’s younger sister married into the Diggory family, but Amos Diggory is no dark wizard, and he married a Fawley so his son must be a neutral or light wizard. Only a dark witch or wizard is capable of crossing the threshold into the vault.”

“There are no Peverells in the Greengrass family,” Gareth told Sirius apologetically. “I am quite well-versed in my family line.”

“I would have to ask my father to check the Yaxley records,” Rosie said softly. “But the name does not seem familiar.”

“A direct descendant of the Dark Lady herself,” Gareth whispered reverently. “No wonder his magical core is already so developed.”

“Harry wants only us and his grandfather to know,” Sirius stressed. “It’s for the best. I cannot imagine the pressure the dark families would put on him if they found out. They would expect great things from him.”

“Harry will do great things, with or without this legacy,” Rosie said firmly. “But we will respect Harry’s wishes and keep silent.”

Gareth nodded, adding, “If you wanted to investigate who might be related to the Peverell family I would ask Lucius Malfoy. He is particularly well versed in family bloodlines. The Malfoys probably have the best kept records of all of the Sacred Twenty-Eight family lines.”

“I’ll consider it,” Sirius replied, hesitant to go to the former Death Eater. He had told Narcissa he would give her husband a chance though. Perhaps this could be an avenue to set up a meeting with him.

Rosie had a thoughtful look on her face as she asked, “Do you think this is what the prophecy meant when it said ‘he will have power the Dark Lord knows not’. Could it be his legacy as Morgana’s descendant?”

Sirius hadn’t considered that – he had been wondering about that part of the prophecy since he had heard it.

“It’s possible,” Gareth said. “But I fear any revelations might have to wait until Harry gets access to the Peverell vault. There’s so very little we know about Morgana – she lived so long ago. She is practically a deity in our eyes.”

“And Harry is related to her,” Sirius whispered, still processing the information. It would perhaps take a while for Harry to truly understand the magnitude of this legacy, still being relatively new to the wizarding world.

Sirius hoped sincerely his godson would not be so hard on himself in pushing to be at the forefront of social and political change for the dark families. But, if one day he was ready to tell the world about his legacy, then Sirius felt certain Harry could become a rallying point for the dark families.

He wondered if given the choice between Morgana’s direct descendant, and Voldemort, how many of the dark families would turn in Harry’s favour.

Anna Vance pursed her lips disapprovingly as she read the top story of the Daily Prophet that morning, tilting the paper down to address the other two people at the table with her, “What an absolute disgrace. This Doge fellow is surely going to be found guilty by the jury. The paper said yesterday, on the first day of the trial, that he could be facing years in Azkaban.”

Her husband, Felix Vance, paused in the buttering of his toast, saying carefully, “Darling, perhaps not the best conversation to have over breakfast,” looking pointedly towards their daughter Emmeline, who was staring down into her mug of coffee. It was one of the rare occasions she had dropped by their home to join her parents for breakfast.

Anna sighed, folding the Daily Prophet and putting it to the side. She declared, “I know he was a friend of yours, Emmy, but he’s nothing but trouble, surely you can see that.”

“I know that mum,” Emmeline said quietly.

Anna stared at her daughter, worried by her quiet behaviour. “I was expecting you to argue vehemently in his defence,” Anna said slowly. Her husband shot her a warning look, but Anna pushed on, “What are your thoughts on Dumbledore’s trial set to start after Doge’s? You’ve always supported the man.”

Emmeline’s grip tightened around her mug of coffee, before she forced herself to relax. “I don’t know,” she replied, voice barely above a whisper.

Now extremely concerned at the uncharacteristic behaviour, Anna asked, “Is everything okay, sweetheart? You haven’t been yourself lately.”

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to,” Felix added, ignoring his wife’s pointed glare.

Emmeline stayed silent for a bit, before she told them both softly, “I’ve had a lot on my mind. Re-evaluating a lot of old friendships.”

The Vance couple exchanged meaningful looks with each other, trying to hide their excitement. They had made no secret over the years of their disapproval for their daughter’s involvement in Dumbledore’s Order. The Vance couple guessed the old friendships their daughter was mentioning must be the members of the Order.

Anna asked lightly, “Where has this come from?”

“I’ve been talking with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin lately,” Emmeline confessed. Her mother leaned in; eyes alight with fascination and intrigue at the mention of the famous Sirius Black.

Felix was much more reserved, taking a sip of his coffee and commenting mildly, “Oh? What have you been talking about?”

Emmeline had promised Sirius she wouldn’t mention anything about the nature of their conversations to anyone, not even to her own parents. So she replied vaguely, “The past, mostly. And moving on. But also…” Emmeline trailed off, biting her lip.

Her parents imperceptibly leaned in, desperate to know what else Emmeline had to say.

“Sirius wants me to do an interview with him,” she told her parents.

Anna’s eyes lit up and she declared, “You should do it!”

“Darling, we don’t even know what the interview is about,” Felix coached patiently.

Anna Vance, every bit the actress, declared dramatically, “An interview alongside Sirius Black? Our Emmy will become a household name! Just like her mother.” Anna looked like a cat that got the cream. Then sobering up she asked, “But what does he intend the interview to be about?”

“I can’t tell you the specifics,” Emmeline warned. “But all I can say is that the interview is probably going to upset a lot of people who I have been very close with. I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do.”

She looked helplessly at her mum and dad and asked, “What should I do?”

Anna actually hesitated, seeing her daughter’s genuine anxiety on what choice to make. She glanced at her husband, trusting him as the more level headed of the two to give their daughter the best advice.

Anna also sensed Emmeline would trust her father’s advice more, given Anna had already made it clear she favoured Emmeline giving an interview. Anna loved being in the public eye; it came in the territory of being a famous actress. She had always hoped her daughter might follow in her footsteps, but instead Emmeline helped her father in their bookstore for a living.

Her humble, quiet, bookshop-owning husband had been the one to do most of the child rearing in their household, so it made sense that Emmeline would favour her father.

Felix reached over to his daughter and Emmeline unwrapped her tight grip from her coffee mug, taking her dad’s hand.

He asked her gently, “What does your gut instinct say?”

“I want to support Sirius,” Emmeline said right away. “But I’m scared that I’m going to burn bridges with so many people in the process.”

“Journalism is printing what someone else does not want printed: everything else is public relations,” Anna said suddenly, unexpectedly.

Emmeline and Felix stared at the woman in shock.

“What? You’re not the only ones who can enjoy Muggle quotes,” the actress sniffed.

“George Orwell,” Felix muttered, still staring at his wife in pleasant surprise. He was Muggleborn, but Anna was a pureblood – she had been born an Ollivander, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. He was shocked she knew a Muggle author.

“Well it’s actually disputed who said that,” Anna replied, causing her husband and daughter to stare at her in total bafflement again. She sighed, and added, “The sentiment of the quote stands – there’s always going to be someone out there who does not agree with what you say.”

“But I feel like maybe we don’t have to be so public about this – like there could be some other way of doing this without an interview,” Emmeline explained.

“Why does Sirius want to do an interview?” Felix asked his daughter.

“He wants to make sure that the truth gets out,” Emmeline answered softly.

Anna said slowly, “It sounds to me like a public forum is the way to go, then.”

“You’ve got a good heart, Emmy,” Felix said quietly, squeezing his daughter’ hand gently. “You’ve always been so loyal to your friends. You went to war for them.” Anna’s face tightened at the reminder, recalling agonising days waiting for news of their only child, the scars on her daughter’s body when she had come home and the soul shattering loss of Dorcas Meadowes, the one her daughter had wanted to marry. She and her husband had, had to put the broken pieces of their daughter back together, bit-by-bit.

Where had these friends been? Where had Dumbledore been?

Felix continued, “But it sounds to me like there is a story that needs to be told. Something that has been weighing you down, for a long time. If you speak the truth, then your true friends will support you. Anyone else, who cannot accept the truth, no matter how bitter a truth it is to accept, is not worthy of your friendship.”

“Thanks dad,” Emmeline whispered.

She steeled herself, glancing between her parents. “I’ll do it,” she decided. Once she got those words out, she exhaled heavily, like a weight was shifting. “I’ll owl Sirius today, after breakfast.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Four: Tell your story with your whole heart

On Friday afternoon a jury of twelve unanimously found Elphias Doge guilty of three charges of abuse of public office, and one charge of failure to protect a child, that child being identified by the media as Harry Potter. He had been remanded into custody on the spot, and sent to Azkaban pending his sentencing.

Albus Dumbledore’s trial was set to begin on Monday, and once his trial concluded, then Mr Doge would be brought back in to be formally sentenced.

The following morning though, the front page of the Daily Prophet did not have a story on Elphias Doge’s trial – instead the front page story declared boldly:

Muddled Morality and the Greater Good: Albus Dumbledore’s War

Directly underneath that title it proclaimed it was an article covering an exclusive interview between senior editor Alexandra Knox, Sirius Black and Emmeline Vance.

The timing could not have been more poignant, the interview launching two days before Dumbledore’s trial was set to begin. It sent a clear message; Albus Dumbledore was not the faultless leader of the light that the public made him out to be.

There was power in two former students, allies, and friends of the man coming forward to share their stories about his influence over them and their friends growing up at Hogwarts. The interview was raw, the grief of the two evident to all who read the piece.

The interview shed light on the names and lives of many young people who had lost their lives in the war, but who had not been notable enough to make headlines. It was made clear that these youths had put their faith in Dumbledore, and given their lives for him.

The interview, which stretched across no less than ten pages of the Daily Prophet, included photos. Youthful faces stared back at readers, barely out of childhood and already soldiers fighting in a war not of their making.

Sirius and Emmeline told the stories of their friends, who relied on those who had survived to keep their legacies alive.

Emmeline spoke of Frank Longbottom, who had always been generous, not just with his time, but also with his heart. She spoke of Alice Smith, who had gone on to marry her high school sweetheart, Frank, who had been like everyone’s big sister. Gentle Caradoc Dearborn, dead at twenty-one, who had wanted to become a Runes Master one day. She spoke of witty Benjy Fenwick, dead at twenty, who had wanted to be a teacher. And she spoke of Dorcas Meadowes, her best friend and the woman she had planned on spending the rest of her life with, whose life had been cut cruelly short at nineteen.

Sirius spoke about the parents of his godson - his best friend, James Potter, who had been like a brother to him. Lily Evans, the kindest woman he had ever known, who had helped him accept parts of himself he never thought he would. He spoke of fierce Marlene McKinnon, who had lost her entire family and then her own life at twenty. Sirius spoke of Mary Macdonald, who had died only weeks after finishing school. She had been a Muggleborn and an only child – Sirius shared how Lily had, had to try and explain to Mary’s Muggle parents why their seventeen year old child was never going to come home.

There was power in telling the stories of their loved ones. It was all underpinned by an understanding that none of those people would have been in that position had they not been brought into the Order of the Phoenix, by Albus Dumbledore.

Together, Emmeline and Sirius wove a story of influence and power of a grown man over a group of impressionable teenagers. They painted a stark picture of the moral grey area Dumbledore frequently operated in.

There was undeniable power too in that this message came from a dark wizard and a light witch, who had come forward together in opposition to Dumbledore and his pursuit of what they called ‘the greater good.’ This was not merely a dark wizard slinging mud against the unofficial leader of the light – but a unified front between the dark and light.

They steered clear of any mention of the current status of the Order of the Phoenix and the identities of any of its active members. Neither wanted to put the other members in any danger, or put targets on their backs. But the gauntlet had been thrown, the lines in the ground drawn clearly for all to see.

Arriving on the set of her promotional photograph shoot for an upcoming production, starlet Anna Vance had paused when a member of the media had called out asking what she thought of her daughter’s interview that morning.

Anna had proudly declared for the enraptured media that she supported her daughter and Sirius Black entirely. She also made it clear that she and her husband had never approved of Dumbledore recruiting their child for his cause, and made it clear she thought it was despicable that a grown man would allow seventeen year olds straight out of school to join his para-military group.

Anna Vance had influence in wizarding Britain – she was popular, attractive, and the beloved daughter of the current lord of the Ollivander family, one of the original light families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. She spoke every word that day with sincerity, and a devious pleasure that her words would drive a wedge between many light supporters and Dumbledore.

Just in time for the man’s trial.

He had put her only child’s life in danger. She would make him pay for it.

Sirius decided it was best for Remus to visit Black Castle rather than he and Harry travel to Edinburgh, given the newly revived media interest in him after his interview. Although, it was less newly revived and more that the media interest had surged even further beyond what it already had been. At this rate, the press wouldn’t be leaving Sirius alone until he was old and grey, with the amount of interest he was garnering.

Remus didn’t have his fireplace in his Muggle apartment complex connected to the Floo network – permits were not granted where witches and wizards were living with Muggles, or where they were living in a Muggle apartment complex with less privacy.

Instead, Remus had been provided with the coordinates to Apparate near to the edge of the wards of Black Castle, and Sirius had made sure Torley was on alert to assist Remus with getting into the castle when he arrived.

Not wanting to overwhelm his old friend, but aware that was probably already a lost cause once he caught sight of the ancestral Black family home, Sirius had requested Torley bring Remus straight into his private sitting room that was in his suite of rooms.

He and Harry were already seated in the comfortable and relaxed space. Whereas Harry’s sitting room was decorated with bookshelves and a few pieces of art he had picked out, Sirius’ living room was a mix-match of clashing aesthetics.

He had some magical moving posters up of various members of the Holyhead Harpies, the Quidditch team he barracked for. Interspersed with those were Muggle posters depicting various musicians and movie characters. There was also a Muggle electric guitar and amp, which appeared to have some magical modifications to operate without an electrical outlet to plug into.

A few pieces of furniture appeared elegant, such as a regal wingback armchair by the window, whereas the couch Harry and Sirius were currently sitting on was worn with use and caused them both to sink in, like the cushions were hugging them.

Harry thought the room was perfect for Sirius – it captured something about the man that Harry didn’t exactly know how to put into words. Chaotic, but everything had its place.

His thoughts were interrupted by Torley’s arrival with a man Harry recognised from his parent’s photo albums. Remus Lupin looked older than his twenty-nine years, a weariness to his face that spoke of hardship and struggle.

But as he arrived in the room his amber eyes focused immediately on Harry, and a light came into them, like he had just shed years. Feeling a bit shy under the scrutiny, Harry subconsciously leaned towards his godfather, prompting Sirius to place a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Harry, this is Remus Lupin. Remus, this is Harry,” Sirius performed the introductions, grey eyes looking keenly between the two.

Torley took the opportunity to bow and discreetly disappear with a quiet pop.

Remus seemed to not know what to say, still standing in the middle of the living room with an awe-struck look on his face as he looked at Harry.

So Harry bravely spoke up, saying, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr Lupin.”

Sirius snorted in amusement at Harry referring to Remus as ‘Mr Lupin’, and that seemed to be the jolt to reality Remus needed. “Just Remus is fine,” he murmured. Unable to help himself he murmured, “You look so much like your dad.”

“But the eyes are all Lily, right?” Sirius added quietly, hand still warm and grounding on Harry’s shoulder.

Remus nodded, words failing him again. He could feel a lump in his throat.

Sirius distracted Remus by getting him to sit down, offering him refreshments. Remus felt too nervous to eat or drink though in a literal castle. He had always known Sirius was wealthy, but he had never truly appreciated just how rich he was, because he had always downplayed it at school.

Plus, he had never had any friends over to his parent’s place, knowing they would give said friends a hard time, if not completely refuse them entrance into their house. Remus had only ever visited Sirius when he was living with the Potters in Godric’s Hollow.

“You went to school with my parents and Sirius, right?” Harry asked Remus gently once he was settled. “I’ve seen the photos.”

“Yes, we were very close,” Remus replied softly. Then registering what Harry said, Remus asked, “Photos?”

Sirius explained, “I found some old albums James and Lily put together. You feature in a few photos.”

Getting a distant look on his face, Remus said, “I remember Lily taking one…I think she dressed Harry in a wolf costume and made me pose with him.”

Sirius threw back his head with a laugh, confirming, “Oh yes, that one was definitely in there.”

Remus smiled faintly back, but his amber eyes slid straight back to Harry as the boy asked curiously, “Why the wolf costume?”

He felt like he was missing some kind of inside joke.

Sirius sobered up pretty fast, and that made Harry even more suspicious. He didn’t know Remus well enough to interpret his expression, but he looked hesitant.

Harry’s green eyes narrowed, and in that moment it was such a Lily expression that Remus looked lost all over again.

Sirius tried to downplay it, replying, “Just an old joke, I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Harry looked dissatisfied though, and Remus realised with a dawning sense of helplessness that he was willing to do anything for this kid and he’d been around him for less than five minutes. If you didn’t count the first few months of his life when Remus had known him as an infant.

“It’s okay, Sirius,” Remus found himself saying. Sirius looked up at him sharply, the shock on his face evident. “I want Harry to know.”

Harry looked at Remus with keen interest, as Sirius leaned back a little uncertainly, worry in his grey eyes. “You don’t have to do this now,” Sirius told him quietly.

Remus smiled back at his old friend, projecting his confidence. Then he turned to Harry, explaining to the boy gently, “I am a werewolf, Harry. Do you understand what that means?”

Both men were surprised when Harry actually nodded, green eyes wide. “I read about werewolves in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them – but I didn’t understand why they were included in a book about magical creatures, when they are just people who transform one night every month,” Harry explained.

Remus stared at Harry for a moment, realising in that moment that this was truly James and Lily’s son. He was only eight, but he had already shown more understanding towards werewolves than many in the wizarding world who had decades of life experience on him.

“It’s a complicated issue,” Remus said at last, getting over his shock. “People are terrified of werewolves, and particularly of getting infected with lycanthropy, or their loved ones being infected. Because of this fear, there are many regulations in place. Registered werewolves are dealt with by the Ministry through the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Specifically, the Beast Division,” Remus explained bitterly.

“Remus is unregistered,” Sirius said quietly. Harry looked up at his godfather, sad understanding on his face. “I know you'll keep this information secret.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Harry promised, looking over at Remus seriously. Face still sad he added, “It must be hard.”

Remus smiled forlornly and confessed, “I was a very small boy when I received the bite – younger than you are now. My father, Lyall Lupin, was a very outspoken politician in the Wizengamot. He was actually once head of the Beast Division. A man, Fenrir Greyback, was on trial before the Wizengamot, accused of terrible crimes. It was my father who identified Greyback as a werewolf, recognising the signs with his experience in the field.”

Remus’ face darkened and he continued grimly, “Greyback did not take kindly to my father outing him to the Ministry. He escaped custody and came to my family home on the night of a full moon. He took his revenge upon my father by biting me in his werewolf form, infecting me with lycanthropy. My parents…they tried everything to help me, but there is no cure.”

Forcing himself to lighten up, Remus added, “However, a couple of years ago the Wolfsbane Potion was invented, which has changed my life for the better. It makes me safe, you see. As long as I take it in the week preceding the full moon, I keep my mind when I transform. Before the Wolfsbane Potion, I became a fully fledged monster once a month.”

“You didn’t become a monster,” Sirius disagreed firmly. “When you transformed in certain company, you didn’t hurt anyone.”

Harry looked intrigued, and Sirius decided he might as well tell Harry this story, if only to impress on his godson that Remus was not a monster.

“I found out about Remus being a werewolf in my second year at Hogwarts,” Sirius explained. “Bit hard to hide something like that in a dorm with four boys.”

“How did you hide it at school?” Harry asked.

Remus answered, “Albus Dumbledore made special accommodations to allow me to attend Hogwarts. He knew about my affliction, you see. Once a month on the full moon I transformed out of the school grounds in an abandoned shack on the outskirts of the nearest town to Hogwarts, Hogsmeade.”

Harry’s eyes were huge as he said, “You were just a kid though. He made you transform alone and unsupervised out in an abandoned shack, off school grounds?”

Sirius gazed at Harry proudly for making the observation. Remus seemed a bit taken aback, stammering, “I- well I could hardly stay in Gryffindor Tower to transform.”

Harry frowned, replying, “Why couldn’t you go home to your parents? I assume they had a way of handling your transformations in the years before you were at Hogwarts?”

Remus stared at Harry in surprise for making the point and admitted, “Yes, we had a basement – it was heavily warded so I couldn’t escape.”

“That sounds like a far better option than leaving you all alone off school grounds,” Harry pointed out. “What if someone got near you while you were transformed, away from any teachers?”

Remus and Sirius exchanged a subtle but meaningful look with each other – that is exactly what had happened. Sirius, sick of Snape sticking his nose into their business and trying to get them all expelled, had played an utterly stupid and potentially deadly prank on the boy by telling him about the secret passage under the Whomping Willow.

He had hoped catching a glimpse of a transformed Remus would give the boy the fright of his life, but he had miscalculated the timing and Snape arrived before Remus had transformed, and also before the others were in place to keep the werewolf in check.

Snape not only saw Remus transform, learning his secret, but had nearly been killed that night by Remus in his werewolf form. Luckily, James had arrived just in time to save Snape’s life, and prevent Sirius from being responsible for causing his friend to kill someone, due to his own maliciousness.

Sirius had vowed after that to never act so rashly again when it came to other people’s lives. The fact Remus hadn’t spoken to him for months after that had also impressed on Sirius the gravity of what had happened. He had backed off completely from Snape after that – they all had, fearful the boy would tell everyone about Remus. He hadn’t though, instead sitting secure in the knowledge that he had the perfect blackmail material against them all if they so much as considered bullying him again.

Sirius still couldn’t believe he had been such an idiot as a kid.

“It’s a good point,” Sirius said at last, realising both he and Remus had been silent for too long. “As I said, your dad and I worked out Remus was a werewolf in our second year. We became determined to find some way to help him through the transformations each month, so he wouldn’t be alone.”

Harry listened intently, the interest evident in his eyes. Sirius grinned and told Harry, “We started learning how to become Animagi.”

“Animagi?” Harry asked, trying to recall where he might have heard that term. His face tightened and he asked, “Peter Pettigrew was one, right? I read about it in the newspaper. He can turn into a rat.”

Sirius and Remus’ faces both fell at the mention of their one-time friend, and Sirius confirmed quietly, “Peter learned how to become an Animagus with me and James. A witch or wizard who is an Animagus has one animal form that they can transform into at will. It’s a skill anyone can learn, with enough patience and talent.”

Harry pushed aside his upset at the mention of the person who had betrayed his parents, asking, “Are many people Animagi?”

Sirius titled his head considering, before saying, “It’s hard to tell. As I said, you need to be patient. We didn’t become Animagi until our fifth year – we were trying for about three years. When I signed the Animagus Registry at the Ministry, I was only the eighteenth name on the list of active Animagi. But that doesn’t mean much – most keep it secret because it’s useful to stay out of the Ministry’s attention.”

Remus blinked in shock, asking, “Wait, you registered?”

Sirius sighed, replying, “I confessed to my grandfather it was how I was staying sane in Azkaban.” Sirius looked at Harry and explained, “My Animagus form is a dog. When you transform, you keep your human mind but your emotions and motivations become a lot simpler – like a real animal. I noticed the Dementors didn’t pay me as much attention when I was in that form, and they didn't affect me as much either.”

Sirius continued, “When grandfather found out I was an unregistered Animagus, he ordered me to sign the Registry as soon as I was out of Azkaban. It’s up to six months imprisonment for being caught as an unregistered Animagus. He didn’t want to risk me going straight back to Azkaban. Nobody asked any questions when I turned up to sign the Registry a few days after being released.”

“Can I see you transform?” Harry asked eagerly, eyes bright.

“Sure,” Sirius agreed easily, standing up off the couch.

From one moment to the next Harry’s godfather was standing there, and then he was bending forwards and in a flash he was a large, shaggy black dog. Harry laughed in disbelief and awe, fascinated by the display. He noticed Sirius hadn’t used his wand at all to transform.

Sirius in his dog form playfully nudged his wet nose into Harry’s hands, causing Harry to laugh again at the cold sensation. Harry glanced over at Remus, seeing the man had a complicated look on his face as he looked at Sirius. It was possibly the first time he was seeing Sirius in his Animagus form since their school days.

Suddenly Sirius was a man once more, not a single hair or item of clothing out of place.

“How do you transform with clothes?” Harry asked, wanting to ask a million questions.

Sirius scratched the back of his head, before replying, “It’s all about intent, I guess. I want to transform with my clothes, so I do.”

“You transformed without a wand, too,” Harry said keenly.

“As I said, it takes a lot of patience – and talent – to become an Animagus. It’s a different kind of magic – and it existed long before witches and wizards used wands. A branch of neutral ritual magic to be exact,” Sirius said slowly. “Your Animagus form is a reflection of who you are as a person. You don’t know what you will transform into, until the first time you do.”

Realising he hadn’t asked, Harry questioned, “What was my dad’s Animagus form?”

Sirius’ eyes softened and he replied, “A stag.”

Harry could almost picture in his mind his dad’s transformed state – a majestic creature with impressive antlers. He wondered what his own Animagus form would be if he tried to learn. He was also curious if his Metamorphmagus ability would make it easier for him to transform. All Metamorphmagi could change their human features, but it took a master of the ability to transform into animal shapes, due to the inherently unfamiliarity and complexity of such a process.

It would be much more convenient to learn how to be an Animagus, and have a single animal form he could transform into as simply as Sirius had just demonstrated. At the very least, learning to become an Animagus might be good practice for learning how to control animal forms with his Metamorphmagi ability.

Sirius asked Harry playfully, “You’re already planning on attempting to become an Animagus, aren’t you?”

Harry blushed at being caught out, before bravely saying, “I’m curious.”

Looking fond, Remus interjected, “We’d be able to give you your own nickname.”

Harry cocked his head while Sirius proclaimed, “Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. I was Padfoot.”

Harry considered it, before guessing, “Moony was Remus? And my dad was Prongs.”

“Spot on,” Sirius said with a grin. “We came up with the nicknames to talk in code amongst ourselves in case people overheard our plans.”

“We called ourselves the Marauders,” Remus confessed quietly, a far off look on his face.

“So, you learned how to transform in order to help Remus,” Harry questioned. “But how did that actually work?”

“Werewolves aren’t interested in animals,” Sirius explained. “We were able to keep Remus company in our Animagi forms on full moons, and he never hurt any of us. I think his wolf enjoyed the company, actually.”

Remus, looking a bit embarrassed, confessed, “I only remember the nights of the full moon, when I’m not on the Wolfsbane Potion. I think my wolf was happy for the company. Whenever I transform alone my wolf gets agitated, and with no outlet, I scratch and bite myself.”

Sirius looked upset, stating firmly, “Remus, I really think you should consider dropping the Wolfsbane Potion. I understand it keeps your wolf tame, but it can’t be good that you don’t even remember the nights you’re under its influence. You are always welcome to use the grounds of Black Castle to transform. I’ll keep you company, like old times.”

“If I learn to be an Animagus, I can keep you company too!” Harry declared eagerly.

Sirius laughed, telling Harry, “You need to wait for your magical core to finish developing before trying the Animagus ritual, kid.”

As Harry pouted in disappointment Remus sat there in silence, considering Sirius’ offer again. Seeing the grounds with his own two eyes impressed on Remus the vastness of the property – the wilderness of this region called to something primal inside of Remus. And honestly, the thought of forking out the rest of his savings for possibly improperly brewed Wolfsbane Potion from the black market, and suffering through yet another long, lonely full moon was the last thing Remus wanted to do.

Sirius caught his gaze, a hopeful glint in his grey eyes.

“Okay,” Remus said quietly, voice rasping a little. Harry perked up, looking at him keenly. Sirius waited patiently. “If you really think your grandfather would consent to me being here on a full moon, then I accept your offer.”

Remus rushed to add, “But if I’m worried you, your grandfather, or Harry might be at risk by me coming here, I’ll stay away.”

Sirius beamed, replying, “I’m relieved, Moony.”

Harry looked delighted at the use of the nickname, already excited for when he would get a nickname of his own, if he became an Animagus once his magical core settled.

With the werewolf secret out of the bag, and things now settled, Sirius declared, “I think we could all do with some fresh air. Remus, I know Quidditch bores you, but you have got to see Harry fly. The kid’s a natural,” Sirius boasted like a proud parent.

“Quidditch doesn’t bore me,” Remus mumbled, seeing Harry’s disappointed eyes look up at him.

“Whipped,” Sirius muffled the word behind a fake cough, as though he was not already wrapped around his godson’s finger.

While Sirius and Harry entertained their guest, Arcturus was in the vault underneath the castle, sorting through the final shipment of items from Grimmauld Place. He had left the paintings for the end, still undecided with what to do with many of the portraits of his ancestors. With Harry living in Black Castle, he did not want any ancestors with prejudiced ideas about Muggleborns and half bloods on the walls of Harry’s home.

He had already incinerated the portrait of Walburga Black, his daughter-in-law, after the screaming portrait had been carefully removed from the entrance of Grimmauld Place. It had been stuck to the wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm, but it was no match for house elf magic. Walburga’s portrait had not taken kindly to the house elves removing her, and had yelled vicious obscenities all the way from Grimmauld Place to Black Castle.

Arcturus had tried to speak calmly to his daughter-in-law’s portrait, but it was evident it was simply an unsalvageable piece. When a witch or wizard sat for a portrait, the painter captured their knowledge, memories, feelings and motivations at the time of the sitting. Walburga had sat for her portrait after her youngest son had died and her husband had succumbed to Bloodbane. It was imbued with her rage, grief and growing mental instability.

There were a few other portraits Arcturus was undecided about, older ancestors who had incredible value in the wealth of knowledge they could share about their time periods. But many were products of those times, and were invested with their beliefs in pureblood supremacy. Arcturus had decided whilst he would not incinerate their portraits as he had done to his daughter-in-law’s, he would keep them safely separate from Harry.

There was one portrait Arcturus still had to speak to – he had left this one for last.

He moved aside the black curtain the house elves had draped over each portrait, revealing a clever looking wizard, with black hair, dark eyes, a pointed beard and thin eyebrows. He wore dark green robes with silver trim, a nod to his association with Slytherin house.

Phineas Nigellus Black, Arcturus’ grandfather and a former headmaster of Hogwarts blinked as the glow from the light of the lanterns in the vault touched his painted eyes.

He looked straight at his grandson standing before him and drawled, “Finally. I thought you were never going to remove me from that house. We need to talk.”

Arcturus raised an eyebrow at his grandfather’s bluntness, but he had a respect for the man, having been the former lord of the House of Black, and his elder.

“You know I have a twin portrait in the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts,” Phineas said urgently. “I must warn you that Dumbledore asked me to keep an eye on Grimmauld Place, and to tell him if Sirius and Harry Potter attended the property. He wants me to spy on the home for him.”

Arcturus’ face grew thunderous and he snapped, “The man has no boundaries.”

“I would never betray my family in such a way,” Phineas insisted, dark eyes furious.

“I know, grandfather,” Arcturus replied gently. Face clearing, he asked, “What did you tell him?”

“I promised him nothing,” Phineas replied smoothly. “It helps that Grimmauld Place has been empty for the past three years since Walburga died. There is nothing to spy on, even if I felt so inclined, which I certainly do not.”

A calculating look crossed Arcturus’ face and he asked his grandfather, “Would you consider giving Dumbledore a taste of his own medicine? Spying on him when he’s in his office and reporting back to me?”

Phineas smiled sharply and replied, “I thought you would never ask, grandson.”

Arcturus suggested, “I will set your portrait up in my study. My mother and father’s portraits are in there, so you will have company.”

Arcturus’ father, Sirius Phineas Black, had only been Lord Black for a couple of years after Phineas had died in 1925 before he had succumbed to Bloodbane, following his two younger sons to the grave. Arcturus had become lord at the age of twenty-six.

His mother, Hesper Gamp, had been the granddaughter of the then Lord Burke. Arcturus knew his parents were far from perfect. They had sat for their portraits after Arcturus’ younger brothers had died though, and were at least aware enough that something had to change in the Black family for their bloodline to survive in the future.

“I am in dire need of good company,” Phineas said emphatically. “The headmaster’s office is full of old fools. And Grimmauld Place was a living nightmare in the last few years Walburga was alive. She was truly terrible company you know. Wandering, wailing and weeping about the place.”

“She was grieving, grandfather,” Arcturus replied diplomatically.

Phineas’ eyes narrowed and he snapped back, “She still had a living son. She had her father, a brother, her nieces. She had you too, her father-in-law. Yet she chose to cloister herself in that house and turn it into a living tomb. It was an inglorious end for someone of the noble House of Black.”

Arcturus couldn’t disagree with that.

Suddenly realising, Phineas demanded, “Sweet Morgana, you have incinerated her portrait, yes?” His dark eyes darted around the vault, as though fearing to see her portrait propped up on a nearby wall.

“Her portrait has been incinerated, yes,” Arcturus confirmed.

Phineas visibly relaxed, settled into the frame of his portrait and stating, “I would gladly accept being placed in your study. I look forward to speaking with the portraits of my son and daughter-in-law.”

“It is settled then,” Arcturus declared. As he summoned a house elf to move the portrait up to his study and hang it on a wall, he decided at some stage he would introduce Harry to not only Phineas’ portrait, but the portraits of his parents too.

He wondered how they would react to the news that the future lord of the House of Black was the direct descendant of the Dark Lady Morgana.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Five: Facts and fables

On Monday the twenty-eighth of November, the trial of Albus Dumbledore commenced. A jury of twelve members of society, randomly picked, were empanelled to give a verdict according to the evidence presented.

Mr Thomas Flint continued to prosecute on behalf of the Department of the Child Protection Authority, and Dumbledore had hired legal representation, counsel Ms Smith to defend him against the charges. There were only five witnesses expected to be called throughout the course of the trial – Ms Louisa Abbott, Professor Minerva McGonagall, Mr Rubeus Hagrid, Ms Arabella Figg and Lord Gareth Greengrass. That last witness had caused a bit of a stir when his name had been publicised.

Due to being a witness in the trial, Lord Greengrass would not be sitting on the Wizengamot for the trial, or during the sentencing if Dumbledore was found guilty of some or all of the charges, due to the obvious conflict of interest it posed.

With Elphias Doge remanded in custody, Bartemius Crouch Senior stood down without pay pending his own criminal trial, Albus Dumbledore the subject of the trial, and now Lord Greengrass excused as a key witness, the Wizengamot had never before been so low in numbers.

It was a public embarrassment to have no less than three members of the highest council in the country facing criminal charges. Let alone the Chief Warlock himself. Fudge was under intense public scrutiny for how this had all happened.

While the trial of Albus Dumbledore commenced under the watchful eyes of the wizarding world, Sirius and Emmeline sat in the parlour room of Longbottom Manor, joining the Lady Longbottom for morning tea.

She had sent both invitations to join her for tea the same afternoon their interview had launched, and they were hesitantly curious what the formidable woman had to say to them. She was a powerful light witch, and traditionally had been a huge supporter of Dumbledore.

The rather severe looking woman allowed a house elf to serve tea for her guests; eyes sharp like a hawk as she observed the creature carefully pour drinks.

Sirius fought viciously against the urge to fiddle nervously with the cuffs of his sleeves, noticing Emmeline’s own fingers twitching, no doubt resisting the desire to tuck her short hair behind her ears, her own nervous tic.

Lady Augusta Longbottom was mildly terrifying.

As head of the House of Longbottom, her husband had taken her family name. She ruled the Longbottom house with an iron fist. Both Sirius and Emmeline recalled stories Frank had told them about his mother. He had spoken about her with a mixture of love and trepidation. In fact, Lady Longbottom had been somewhat of a story of legend in the Gryffindor common room, with Frank regaling his friends with tales of his mother’s fearsome duelling prowess and terrifying temper.

When the house elf finished pouring, Lady Longbottom waved her hand dismissively and the creature disappeared. She pierced Sirius and Emmeline with her sharp eyes and both resisted the urge to gulp.

“Thank you for accepting my invitation, Mr Black, Ms Vance,” Lady Longbottom began, voice calm and authoritative. “I won’t mince words. I wanted you here to talk about that interview you gave.”

Sirius and Emmeline summoned every inch of their Gryffindor courage, straightening their shoulders under her weighted gaze.

“What do you want to know, Lady Longbottom?” Sirius asked.

The elderly woman folded her hands gracefully in her lap, looking between Sirius and Emmeline. She told them both curtly, “I did not know my son and daughter-in-law were in Dumbledore’s Order.”

Sirius and Emmeline exchanged shocked glances with each other, before looking back with cautious concern to the woman in front of them, who looked to be balanced on the edge of tipping into absolute, cold fury.

With barely restrained rage she informed her two guests, “I imagine the reason my son and his wife hid it from me, was because they knew I would forbid them from participating in such a way in the war.” She continued firmly, “I am no fool.”

Sirius and Emmeline hung onto every word, still shocked at the revelation that Lady Longbottom had not even been aware what her son and daughter-in-law had been involved in. And the revelation that she would have forbidden them from being involved – it was curious given she had always been a supporter of Dumbledore. “Frank and Alice were Aurors; I knew there was inherent danger in their jobs. But there is a difference between being authorised Ministry enforcers, who have the protection of trained colleagues at their back and secure processes, and being soldiers in a para-military group run by a single man with private interests.”

Sirius and Emmeline could not agree more, but they stayed silent, knowing the Lady Longbottom was not finished.

“That night I lost my son and daughter-in-law, the night my only grandchild was effectively orphaned, they were attacked, not because they were Aurors, but because they were part of Dumbledore’s Order,” Lady Longbottom stated, rather than asked. She had obviously come to that realisation. “All these years I could not understand why Frank and Alice were so insistent I take Neville to live with me at Longbottom Manor. Why they were so certain the Death Eaters would target them. But now I understand.” She looked Sirius and Emmeline dead in the eyes and said with terrifying calmness, “I am furious.”

Neither Sirius nor Emmeline knew what to say. Lady Longbottom’s rage was tinged with an awful grief, the fate of her only child and her beloved daughter-in-law still unbelievably raw.

Lady Longbottom collected herself, telling Sirius and Emmeline with surprising gentleness, “You were barely out of childhood, all of you. Your faith and courage were taken advantage of by a man who should have known better. I am sorry,” the Lady Longbottom confessed.

Emmeline ducked her head, short brown hair falling forwards as she hid her face. Sirius maintained eye contact with the matriarch of the Longbottom family, replying, “Thank you, Lady Longbottom.”

She nodded primly, and continued, “Rest assured, although I cannot bring charges against Dumbledore for recruiting Frank, Alice, and the rest of you, if he is found guilty of even a single charge in this current trial, I will be putting forward a motion to the Hogwarts Board of Governors to have Dumbledore removed as headmaster.”

Sirius smiled slowly at that. Lady Longbottom was one of the twelve members of the school board. A majority of not less than nine of the governors could vote to suspend or even totally remove a headmaster or headmistress from the school.

“I know I will have the support of Lord Malfoy – he’s been chomping at the bit to have Dumbledore removed for years. And I will have the support of my close friend, Madam Griselda Marchbanks – she is the head of the Department of Magical Education.” Lady Longbottom said firmly, “I will do everything in my power to convince the other governors to support my motion.”

“Your assistance is appreciated,” Sirius told her.

She assessed him silently, before adding, “Dumbledore cannot be allowed to put any child in harm’s way again, regardless if they are famous in our world, or not.” She was obviously referring to Harry, whose name had been on everyone’s lips after being identified as the child Doge had been found guilty of endangering, and Dumbledore was now facing charges of having also endangered.

Sirius was suddenly struck by the realisation that Lady Longbottom’s grandson could have just as easily been in Harry’s position. He too was a potential child of the prophecy. Sirius did not want to say anything in front of Emmeline, but he realised with a slow dawning certainty that he wanted to warn Lady Longbottom of the prophecy. He also felt, as much as the idea terrified him, that he owed her a fair heads up that he had asked Madam Bones to reopen the cases of the Lestranges.

“Lady Longbottom, I was hoping you might consider visiting Black Castle with your grandson next weekend. I think it would be good for Harry to meet more children his age,” Sirius said slowly.

Lady Longbottom’s eyebrows raised and she replied, “I have not visited Black Castle since I was a young girl. It would be an honour. Although, I feel I must give you some warning…”

Sirius frowned, wondering what she needed to warn him about. Emmeline was watching closely too.

“It is about my grandson, Neville. We have grave concerns that he might in fact be a Squib,” she informed the two.

Emmeline asked astutely, “Have you tested him with a Mirror Sphere?”

Mirror Spheres not only revealed the nature of a child’s magical core, but also identified if a child had in fact been born with no magical core at all. In that case, the Mirror Sphere remained unaffected when a child or infant touched it.

“I’m afraid the Longbottom family Mirror Sphere has been lost to time,” Lady Longbottom said primly, a displeased set to her face.

“You may borrow my family’s, when you come to visit,” Sirius assured her immediately. “You can take it back here to conduct the test in privacy, or you are welcome to test your grandson during your visit.”

Lady Longbottom looked mightily pleased, replying, “Thank you for your generous offer, Mr Black. I accept both your invitation to attend Black Castle this weekend with my grandson, and to use your Mirror Sphere.”

Sirius nodded, pleased that he would have the chance to discuss the prophecy privately with Lady Longbottom. And it really would do Harry good to meet another kid his age. If Neville was anything like his mum and dad, he had the potential to become a wonderful friend for Harry.

In their Monday afternoon lesson, after Astoria had slipped out of the room, Ezra informed his eager niece and Harry, “As promised, we start today with covering the history of dark magic. I know the logical starting point would be the earliest records of dark practitioners in ancient times, but a little bird told me that someone has been rather interested in Morgana lately.” He looked pointedly at Harry, who grinned a little bashfully.

Rosie had told Harry quietly she would ask her brother to cover the history of Morgana, but promised she would not explain exactly why Harry was suddenly so interested. It was not unusual for someone to be fascinated with Morgana – she was arguably the most well known dark practitioner in history.

“So, we’re going to take a look at the Dark Lady Morgana this afternoon. Now, have either of you ever noticed something interesting about the way those with dark magical cores speak? A certain phrase they use almost every day? Daphne, perhaps you have noticed this more, having grown up in the wizarding world,” Ezra began, looking at his niece.

Daphne frowned slightly, trying to understand what her uncle was hinting at. Giving her a prompt, Ezra said, “What do your parents exclaim when they’re excited, or upset, or surprised?”

“Morgana! They use Morgana’s name,” Daphne replied eagerly. “All the time.”

Ezra nodded, and explained, “It is a common quirk of dark witches and wizards that they use Morgana’s name, similar to how one would use the name of a deity. In the same fashion, light witches and wizards, and most people with neutral cores, use ‘Merlin’ for their expressions.”

“Merlin was a light wizard, right?” Harry asked.

Ezra nodded, replying, “He was indeed. He lived in the same time period as Morgana, around the late fifth or early sixth century – the 400s or 500s,” he clarified for the two children. “He holds the same importance for light witches and wizards that Morgana holds for the dark families.”

Harry nodded – that lined up with the date of the document written by Morgana’s apparent grandson, Prince Aeron Peverell. He had written it in the year 596.

"Unfortunately, much of this time period is lost to us,” Ezra continued. “We know very little about Morgana, but I will share as much as we do know. To start, I must acknowledge that I cannot tell the story of Morgana in isolation from that of Arthur Pendragon, Merlin and Mordred. Their lives and their deaths were all entwined.”

Ezra began his tale for the two intrigued children.

“Morgana was born Morgan le Fay, according to some historical accounts, the daughter of Igraine and Gorlois of Tintagel, a dark witch and wizard. In some of the stories she has an older sister, Morgause, and in others Morgause is not acknowledged, and Morgana is the only child of Igraine and Gorlois.”

Harry and Daphne nodded, understanding given this was all so long ago that some of the facts would have become muddled.

“At this time, there was a king by the name of Uther Pendragon. He was a wizard – it was common during this time, before the Statute of Secrecy, for wizards and witches to rule over Muggles. In some stories Uther Pendragon was a light wizard, in others he is portrayed as dark. It is equally possible he was a neutral wizard,” Ezra continued. “The stories say that Uther fell madly in love with Igraine, despite her being married. Historians argue over what really happened – but Uther is known to have gone to war against the kingdom Gorlois and Igraine were part of. It is believed he killed Gorlois in battle, and took Igraine for his wife.”

Ezra winced, aware he was addressing two eight-year olds – he had no wish to expose them to sensitive topics. It was widely acknowledged that Uther had likely forced Igraine to marry him. There was also tales of Uther disguising himself as Gorlois and visiting Igraine, tricking her into being with him.

“He had a son with Igraine, Arthur. It is unknown what magical core Arthur might have possessed. Uther charged his friend and advisor, Merlinus Ambrosius, or Merlin, as he is now commonly known, with protecting and educating his heir.”

“So Morgana and Arthur were half brother and sister,” Daphne mused.

“They are commonly believed to be, yes,” Ezra confirmed.

“Morgana is not believed to have been raised alongside Arthur – as I said in some stories she had an older sister, Morgause, and so some say her sister raised her after her father was killed and her mother remarried. In other stories, it is said Morgana fled, fearing Uther wished to kill her too,” Ezra explained.

Harry couldn’t imagine having to run at a young age, your mother marrying the man responsible for your father’s death.

“Now, this is where the legend gets really murky,” Ezra warned the children. “At some point, Arthur married a princess from a neighbouring kingdom, called Guinevere. They are believed to have had children together. In some accounts, one of those children was a son, called Mordred. Strangely, in other accounts, Mordred is the child of Morgana, or Morgause.” Ezra hesitated and added, “Some historians even believe Mordred might have been the child of Morgana and Arthur.”

Both children made expressions of distaste and Ezra rushed to add, “There is no evidence he was their child. But his parentage is unclear. Morgana is believed to have had children, but the identity of her partner is disputed. In some accounts she married a king, and her children were royal.”

Harry couldn’t recall seeing the name Mordred underneath Morgan le Fay on the family lineage at Gringotts. However, that lineage only revealed the direct descendants in relation to Harry himself – Mordred could have been another child of Morgana’s, who Harry was not directly descended from. But the guess that Morgana had married a king seemed to ring true – her descendants for a time were princes, after all.

“In many stories, Mordred came to study under Morgana. This has led many to guess Mordred might have been a dark wizard. Some time after this, Mordred led a coup against the then King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, and seized the throne. He faced Arthur on the battlefield, and in some accounts, killed Arthur. In many other accounts though he only wounded Arthur.”

Ezra’s face grew serious and he explained, “Many blame Morgana’s influence in turning Mordred against King Arthur and Queen Guinevere. They point to Uther having killed her father, and her possibly holding a grudge against the Pendragon family. In some stories she actively aides Mordred in ousting her half-brother from power.”

“During this time, the wizard Merlin is credited with stopping Mordred, defeating him in battle and saving the kingdom. There are some accounts too where Merlin is credited with saving Arthur’s life after he was wounded on the battlefield by Mordred. However, the most popular narrative, at least amongst the dark families, is that Morgana took her wounded brother, Arthur, to the Isle of Avalon. The legends say that time does not pass on the island, and in bringing her brother there, she put a stopper in death. It is said to this day, Morgana watches over her still fatally wounded brother Arthur on the island, both frozen in time.”

Harry’s eyes were wide. If what the goblins said were true, and Peverell Castle was located on the Isle of Avalon, then there could be a chance that he would find a lot more than he bargained for on the island.

“Where is the Isle of Avalon?” Daphne asked eagerly.

“No one knows,” Ezra answered. “Many believe it’s just a myth, even if they accept that Morgana attempted to save her brother’s life. But what we do know is that Morgana disappeared from history after that. Merlin continued to be involved for many years in the kingdom, reappearing again and again in historical accounts, performing great feats of magic. But Morgana vanished.”

Ezra looked at the children seriously as he added, “The common theme though that runs through the narrative, is that the Dark Lady Morgana is painted as a villain in the story. She is blamed for turning Mordred against Arthur, for encouraging him to revolt.”

Ezra continued, “There is simply no evidence for this. We do not know the true and complete story of Morgana, Arthur, Mordred and Merlin. It has been lost to time. But what we do know is that Morgana was possibly the greatest dark witch to have ever lived. It is said she could reverse death itself, bend the powers of the universe at a whim, and control any living being. Her power and influence continues to echo today.”

And Harry was her direct descendant.

He felt strange to be connected to such a famous historical figure; a person who Ezra had explained was like a deity to dark witches and wizards. A woman whose name was uttered like one would refer to a god.

A shiver ran down Harry’s spine as he started to realise the legacy that was resting on his shoulders. He was suddenly very glad that he had told Sirius he wanted very few people to know. He wasn’t ready for the burden of this goddess-like figure’s legacy.

At least not yet.

Towards the end of the second day of Albus Dumbledore’s trial the evidence of the first witness was completed. As Ms Louisa Abbott left the stand, and the jury were ushered out for a break, there was a palpable buzz around the courtroom.

Mr Flint had outlined the prosecution case in his opening on the previous day, but Ms Abbott had been a powerful and compelling witness to paint Dumbledore’s guilt. Being a light witch from such a respected family, her words carried extra, damning, weight against Dumbledore.

There had also been the presentation of the Pensieve memories of Ms Abbott’s interviews with Petunia Dursley regarding how Harry had been left on the doorstep with a letter, and Professor Minerva McGonagall about being falsely named as the one who had done a background check on the Dursleys.

When the jury returned to the courtroom the second witness, Professor Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress of Hogwarts and currently acting as headmistress while Dumbledore sat in trial, was called to give evidence on the stand. After she stated her oath to tell the truth and nothing but the truth she settled in the witness stand.

Albus Dumbledore was seated at the back of the courtroom on a high backed chair, no chains present as he was standing accused and not yet found guilty of any charges against him.

Mr Flint stood at the bar table and upon the signal of Madam Bones, and in front of the watchful eyes of the Wizengamot and the press, he began his examination in chief of the elderly woman.

Once the establishing questions of her identity, profession, and association to Dumbledore were dealt with, Mr Flint stated, “I’m going to take you to the day of the first of November, 1981. Where were you on this day?”

“I was in a Muggle street called Privet Drive, in Surrey on that day,” McGonagall answered promptly, her voice carrying clearly.

“What were you doing in Privet Drive that day?” Mr Flint asked.

“I was observing a Muggle family called the Dursleys, who lived at Number 4, Privet Drive. I was in my registered Animagus form of a cat for the day,” she replied.

“Why were you observing the Dursley family?” Mr Flint questioned.

Professor McGonagall glanced towards Dumbledore at the back of the courtroom, an action that did not go unnoticed by the room.

She looked back at the barrister examining her and replied, “Albus Dumbledore requested I observe the family in my Animagus form and report back to him.”

“When did Mr Dumbledore ask this of you?” Mr Flint asked.

“He approached me in the early hours of the morning on the first of November. He gave me the address. I arrived around half past seven in the morning and sat outside the house for the day,” McGonagall said promptly.

“Where were you sitting outside the house?” Mr Flint questioned.

“For most of the day I was sitting on a wall of a neighbouring house, across the street. I was facing Number 4, Privet Drive,” the teacher explained.

“What was your view of the Dursley home?” Mr Flint asked.

“I could see the house itself, and the front yard, but I could not see inside the home,” McGonagall replied.

“As you observed the house that day, did you see anyone enter or exit Number 4 Privet Drive?” Mr Flint asked her.

“Yes,” McGonagall confirmed. “I saw a man leave the house around half past eight, get into a car and leave. He returned around half past five that evening and went straight into the house. I also saw a woman leave the house around ten o’clock with a toddler, and she visited the house next door, Number Two, for about an hour or so. She left that house and returned to Number Four, and I remember her toddler screaming about wanting sweets, kicking the woman’s shins and causing quite a fuss,” McGonagall said, with a disapproving twist to her mouth.

“Who did you understand these people to be?” Mr Flint asked her.

“I did not know who those people were at the time,” McGonagall replied. “I had only been told to watch the people in Number Four, Privet Drive. Albus did not tell me who they were.”

“As you understand it, why did Mr Dumbledore ask you to watch the people in this home?” Mr Flint continued his examination.

“I assumed he had an important reason for asking me to watch them. But he did not tell me what it was at the time, and I could not fathom why he asked me to watch a seemingly ordinary Muggle family for an entire day,” McGonagall replied.

Mr Flint paused, turning a couple of pages as he continued, “You said the man returned around half past five and went straight inside the house. What happened after this?”

“Nothing, really. I could see the lights of the home were on until around half past nine o’clock, and then the home was dark. I assume the Muggles all went to sleep. I didn’t see any of them again,” McGonagall explained.

“What happened after that?” Mr Flint asked.

“I moved to sit on the garden wall of Number Four, Privet Drive once the lights went out in the home. And I remained there, watching the house until approximately midnight. That’s when Albus Dumbledore Apparated onto the corner of Privet Drive.”

All eyes looked over at the man in question, who was sitting passively in the chair at the back of the courtroom. He seemed the picture of calm. His counsel, Ms Smith, was busily writing notes in preparation for the cross-examination.

“What happened after Albus Dumbledore Apparated onto the corner of Privet Drive?” Mr Flint asked.

“We spoke,” McGonagall began, “I immediately questioned him if the rumours were true, and that You-Know-Who was really gone.”

“I’m going to take you to this conversation in a bit more detail,” Mr Flint cautioned the woman, who nodded in understanding, “What did you say first?”

“I believe I expressed surprise he recognised me in my cat form. He told me I was sitting too stiffly to be a believable cat. I told him that he would be stiff too if he had been sitting on a brick wall all day,” McGonagall explained slowly.

“And then?” Mr Flint prompted.

“I remember expressing some concern over the celebrations that were occurring over Britain. The Muggles seemed to be noticing something was happening. I asked Albus if it was really true, that You-Know-Who had disappeared,” McGonagall said, lost now in the memory of that night.

“What did he say?” Mr Flint asked, a glint in his eye. The Wizengamot and the press leaned in, interested to hear what Dumbledore had said regarding Voldemort and whether he had vanished or been destroyed.

“He agreed that You-Know-Who had disappeared. I had heard rumours of what had happened the previous night – I asked him if it was true that You-Know-Who had turned up in Godric’s Hollow looking for the Potters. If it was true that James and Lily had been killed.” Here the woman paused and in a rare show of sensitivity she confessed quietly, “I taught both of them, you see. They were in my house. I was…terribly saddened to hear what had happened to them.”

She looked a little misty eyed, and Mr Flint asked her gently but firmly, “What did Mr Dumbledore say?”

“He confirmed my worst fears, that James and Lily were dead,” McGonagall replied. “He also confirmed that their son, Harry Potter, had somehow survived that night.”

The woman was very careful in avoiding explaining what exactly Dumbledore had said about Harry’s survival – this wasn’t an examination of what happened in Godric’s Hollow after all.

“What was said next?” Mr Flint asked.

“I asked him why he had requested I observe this family all day,” McGonagall replied, finally getting to the crux of the matter. “He told me that they were Harry Potter’s aunt and uncle. And that they were the only family he had left, and he was having Harry brought there that night.”

“What did you think when he told you that?” Mr Flint asked calmly, but there was eagerness in his eyes.

“I was concerned,” McGonagall started, which caused an increase of interest in the courtroom. Before Mr Flint could question her about this concern, she continued, “I had been watching this Muggle family all day. I simply could not imagine a magical child being raised in such a household, in a neighbourhood such as this. It seemed to be an undesirable environment to place a magical child in. I told Albus about my concern.”

“I just want to explore that concern, as you say,” Mr Flint said. “Could you explain to the court a little more about why you felt it was an undesirable environment for a magical child?”

The elderly woman thought about it carefully for a few moments, aware her every word was being transcribed and the press would be reporting anything she said. She was also the current acting headmistress of Hogwarts, and had many Muggleborn students under her care.

“I observed the behaviour of the woman, Harry Potter’s aunt, as I later discovered. She seemed to express a hatred for anything out of the ordinary. I overheard her say as she was leaving her neighbour’s home, that a child down the road had been diagnosed with a learning difficulty. She loudly stated that it was something to be ashamed of. She seemed to delight in putting down those who did not fit into a typical mould,” McGonagall began, a frown on her face. “And truly, you could not find two people less like us. They were so ordinary, to the point that the idea of putting a wizarding child, who would inevitably start performing accidental magic, with them, raised a red flag for me.”

Mr Flint continued, “And you said you shared these concerns with Mr Dumbledore. What did he say?”

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips and she replied, “He told me it was the best place for him. That his aunt and uncle could explain everything to him when he was older. And that he had written a letter for the Muggles.”

A murmur rose up around the courtroom, Dumbledore’s response to McGonagall’s concerns not sitting well with anyone. The mention of the letter had people riled up again too – in Ms Abbott’s testimony she had been examined and cross-examined regarding the letter that had been left with Harry on the doorstep of Number Four. The Pensieve memory of Ms Abbott’s interview with Mrs Dursley had also been played for the courtroom, leaving a damning picture of Dumbledore’s lack of care in leaving Harry with the Dursleys, with nothing but a brief letter to prepare the Muggles for a magical child being placed with them.

“What did you say in response to that?” Mr Flint asked her.

“I questioned the sense in leaving everything to a simple letter. I warned Albus that these people would never understand Harry. Albus told me that he had concerns over Harry’s head being turned by fame if he was raised in the wizarding world, and that he would be better off being raised away from everything until he was old enough to handle the attention,” McGonagall explained.

The murmuring in the room grew, people casting incredulous looks Dumbledore’s way. That was not enough reason to decide to place a child with Muggles.

“How did you react to that?” Mr Flint asked.

McGonagall looked ashamed as she admitted quietly, “I considered disagreeing with him. But these Muggles were his relatives. As far as I knew they were the correct guardians by law. So I did not protest any further.”

Mr Flint nodded, his face free of any judgment, although there were a fair few judging faces in the participants of the courtroom. “Can you tell me what happened next?”

“Hagrid – Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper of Hogwarts, arrived with Harry shortly after that. He came on a flying motorbike. He told us that there had been no issues flying in, and that Harry had fallen asleep over Bristol. When I looked at Harry, he was indeed asleep,” McGonagall confirmed.

“And then?” Mr Flint prompted.

Professor McGonagall’s expression grew strained and she admitted, “Albus took Harry from Hagrid and laid him on the doorstep of Number Four Privet Drive. He placed the letter he had written for the Muggles on top of him. He then cast a number of protective enchantments around Harry – a warming charm to start with on his swaddling blanket. He also placed a light sleeping charm on Harry to ensure he would remain asleep until the morning. And a monitoring charm to alert him if anyone or anything approached Harry in the night. And finally a general protective ward around Harry to protect him from any harm.”

Mr Flint spent a bit of time questioning McGonagall on the nature of the protections, seeing if he could poke any holes in their efficiency. He did spent the most amount of time on the use of a sleeping charm on an infant – it was generally unadvised to use sleeping charms on people as it could lead to a reliance on the use of magic to sleep. However, a single use of the spell on a child was not by itself an issue.

“After Mr Dumbledore cast these spells, what happened next?” Mr Flint finally asked.

“We all walked away from the house,” McGonagall replied. “Hagrid got back on his enchanted bike and left, and I Apparated away. Dumbledore was still in the street when I left, but I assume he Apparated shortly after I left, because he told me and Hagrid there was no point in staying.”

Many looked unimpressed in the courtroom, including a few members of the jury. A pretty good reason to stay would be to watch over the infant on the doorstep of a house. Especially since a decision was made not to knock on the door and wake the Muggles inside

“I’m going to jump forward in time a considerable period now,” Mr Flint continued. “What happened on the second of November of this month?”

McGonagall answered promptly, “I was interviewed by Ms Louisa Abbott, the senior manager of the Child Protection Authority.”

“What did Ms Abbott speak with you about?” Mr Flint asked.

“She informed me that I had been identified as the person who had conducted a background check of Mr Potter’s Muggle relatives on the first of November, 1981,” McGonagall said tersely.

Mr Flint turned to the Wizengamot and asked, “Can a copy of Exhibit Four, the Placement Report and attached Memorandum be provided to the witness and the members of the jury?”

With approval granted, copies magically appeared in the juries’ folders and a copy floated across to Professor McGonagall, who took it delicately.

“Madam McGonagall, could you please read the attached memorandum out loud for the courtroom?” Mr Flint asked her.

The woman, in a clipped voice, read out the attached memorandum, her fury evident on her face. The memo stated that she had conducted a background check, the date, time and place, and Elphias Doge had signed it.

“Now, Madam, you are not an employee of the Child Protection Authority,” Mr Flint drawled.

“I am certainly not, nor have I ever been,” McGonagall replied stiffly.

“You did not talk to the Muggles you were observing,” he continued.

“No, I only saw them briefly when they exited or entered the house,” she confirmed.

“You were asked by Albus Dumbledore to watch the house, but you stated you were not told why,” Mr Flint added.

“That is correct,” the woman affirmed.

“Did you know about the existence of this memorandum until the investigation into these criminal proceedings commenced?” Mr Flint asked.

“No. Had I known my name had been falsely used on official Ministry documents, I would have immediately brought it to the attention of the authorities,” she insisted.

“Mr Elphias Doge’s signature is on this memorandum – at the time the head of the CPA. What do you say about his signature being here?” Mr Flint asked her.

“He certainly never spoke to me about any of this. I know Mr Doge as an acquaintance, but he did not approach me to ask about me observing the Dursley home,” she replied.

“How do you think Mr Doge became aware that you had observed the home?” Mr Flint asked, eyes glinting.

McGonagall hesitated, eyes flicking to her colleague, before she replied quietly, “I believe Albus must have told him, and Mr Doge then wrote that memorandum.”

“Thank you, I have no further questions of the witness for now,” Mr Flint said, taking his seat again with a pleased air.

Ms Smith rose slowly to her feet, already looking a little stressed as she prepared for a tricky cross-examination.

“Yes, the defence can now cross-examine the witness,” Madam Bones said clearly.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Six: The Trial

The trial crawled into the third day, beginning with the evidence of Rubeus Hagrid who had been vehement in his defence of Albus Dumbledore. Having been unable to shake the firm Professor McGonagall the previous day in her cross examination, Ms Smith latched onto the unwavering support the man provided for her client to attempt to mitigate some of the damage done the previous day between Ms Abbott and Professor McGonagall.

However, Rubeus Hagrid, although in possession of a good heart and a strong sense of loyalty, was vulnerable to the calculating needling of Mr Flint, who was able to rile the man into quite a temper.

Hagrid had received a formal warning from Madam Bones that if he could not calm himself, he would be held in contempt of court, and he had quickly forced himself to sit quietly. But the damage had been done – the jury and the Wizengamot were now taking what the man was saying with a grain of salt.

As the man left the stand, casting a despairing glance Dumbledore’s way, eyes full of apology, Ms Arabella Figg was called to take his place. The frail looking woman perched on the seat in the witness box after taking her oath to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, her demeanour blatantly timid.

Mr Flint began the establishing questions, and the confirmation that the woman was a Squib caused quite the stir of curiosity amongst the press. Once the woman’s connection to Harry Potter and the Dursleys had been outlined for the benefit of the jury and the press, who did not know Ms Figg had been their neighbour and had occasionally babysat Harry, Mr Flint cut straight to point.

Holding up a sheaf of papers he stated, “Ms Figg, I have here a record of interview conducted on the twenty-fifth of October of this year, in which you were interviewed by Muggle police officers.” Turning to the Wizengamot he asked, “I would like the transcript of the record of interview, previously exhibited as Exhibit Six to please be provided to the jury and the witness.”

Madam Bones gave a nod of approval and declared, “Yes, Exhibit Six will be provided to the jury and the witness.” As she spoke she waved her wand and copies of the exhibit flowed from the antechamber and landed neatly in the open folders of the jury and on the panel in front of Ms Figg.

She put on a pair of spectacles to read with slightly shaky hands, peering at the front of the sheaf papers as she picked it up nervously.

After the woman, and the jury, had a chance to flip through the pages, Mr Flint proceeded, asking her, “Is this a true and correct transcript of your record of interview?”

“Yes,” the woman confirmed quietly, not meeting Mr Flint’s eyes.

“I will take you to page nine, Ms Figg. I want you to read line three aloud for the court. Please keep your voice up,” he added as the woman had been speaking barely above a whisper.

She cleared her throat a couple of times, eyes darting nervously towards Dumbledore at the back of the courtroom, skittering past the watchful jury and the imposing ranks of the Wizengamot.

“Line three?” she questioned faintly.

“Line three,” Mr Flint replied calmly.

She cleared her throat again and began, stammering slightly, “I – I always t-thought it was unusual that the Dursleys sent H-Harry to me to be babysat when they took their own son away on holidays.”

“Thank you, and the police officer replied, ‘Why do you think they did this?’ I want you to read out your answer at line six please, Ms Figg,” Mr Flint said.

The woman adjusted her grip on the papers, her trembling causing the pages to quiver. “They never treated Harry right.” Her voice was a whisper.

The jury were reading along and could see what was written, faces tight. But for the benefit of the rest of the courtroom and particularly the press, Mr Flint interjected, “Please start again and keep your voice up too, Ms Figg.”

“They never treated Harry right,” she repeated, louder this time. The press were poised in their seats, eyes wide. The suppression order on them prevented them from reporting any specifics relating to Harry’s reasons for being removed from his Muggle relatives. But they were here now, getting unprecedented access to information that the rest of the wizarding world was blissfully unaware of.

“They always favoured their own son. I always felt sorry for Harry, because I could tell he wasn’t being treated right in that house,” Ms Figg finished quickly, as though desperate to have it done with.

Mr Flint stared at the woman with hard eyes, and said softly, “The police officer then asked you ‘In what way was he not being treated right?’ Please read out your reply for the court, Ms Figg.”

She wet her lips, and in a rush read out, voice weak, “They were neglecting him. Maybe doing worse.”

There was a ripple of unease and upset throughout the courtroom as those faint words were read out. There was confusion and anger towards this woman who had clearly noticed something amiss in her neighbour’s home, and had done nothing.

Mr Flint masterfully let the moment hang there heavily.

At last he asked her, “Why do you say they were neglecting him?”

“Well, I – I didn’t have any concrete proof – of course I would have – goodness I would have reported it if I had any idea that anything serious was happening – I’m not a bad person I just-” the woman rambled.

Mr Flint cut in smoothly, stating, “Ms Figg, could you answer my question please? Why did you tell the Muggle police officer that the Dursleys were neglecting Harry Potter?”

“Like I said, they favoured their own son,” she said faintly. “Harry was always dressed poorly, compared to his cousin, who was always in nice clothes. He also looked awfully thin next to his cousin, who was quite a portly lad.”

“Describe what you mean by ‘awfully thin’,” Mr Flint quoted back, eyes hard.

“Well, he was a small, waif like thing. All bones. When I looked after him and I fed him, he would eat for two. It was almost like…” she trailed off, looking pale.

“Almost like?” Mr Flint prodded.

“Almost like he was starving,” she said quietly.

Mr Flint, again, let her words hang there in the courtroom. Then he continued.

“You also stated that Harry was not being treated right in that house. Why did you say that?” Mr Flint asked, pushing the line of questioning.

“Sometimes I would see him gardening,” she began hesitantly.

“Gardening?” Mr Flint questioned, nonplussed.

“Yes,” Ms Figg rushed to reply, looking embarrassed. “I mean, he would be out in the yard, unsupervised. Doing the gardening. Even handling some tools a child should not be handling. Hedge clippers, the lawn mower, things like that.”

“How old would Harry have been when you first saw this?” Mr Flint asked, face tight.

“Probably…six or seven I think,” she guessed.

“Did you see anything else that caused you to think he was not being treated right in the house?” Mr Flint asked her.

Ms Figg thought about it, before adding hesitantly, “Again, I didn’t have any concrete proof – I would have told someone right away – but sometimes…sometimes I could hear yelling inside the house. And the sound…I could sometimes hear a child crying. Always the same child.”

The faces of the jury, the Wizengamot and the press were tight. None more so than Albus Dumbledore, who looked like the air had been knocked out of him. He looked truly devastated as he listened to Ms Figg’s account.

“Ms Figg, you said you would have told someone right away if you had proof Harry was being neglected or abused. Who would you have told?” Mr Flint asked her.

“Oh,” the woman replied faintly, studiously not looking at Dumbledore. “The police I suppose.”

Mr Flint surveyed her coolly before stating, “Ms Figg, this court has heard in earlier evidence that a magical scan was done of your property. This scan revealed a high degree of magical activity around the home. What can you tell me about this?”

She stared back at the barrister, lost for words. Her eyes darted tellingly over to Dumbledore before she confessed, “Albus Dumbledore dropped in from time to time over the years.”

“Why did he drop in?” Mr Flint asked calmly.

Ms Figg said slowly, “We are old friends.”

Mr Flint scrutinised her, before changing course and stating, “I established earlier that you lived opposite the Dursley family. When did you purchase this home?”

Ms Figg wet her lips again, replying, “Oh I – I don’t know the specifics. I suppose – I suppose it must have been a few years ago.”

Mr Flint raised one eyebrow stating, “The Muggle property records indicate you purchased the home on the twelfth of November 1981. Roughly eleven days after Harry Potter was placed with his aunt and uncle in the property across the road.”

“I suppose that must be correct then,” Ms Figg replied nervously.

“Why did you purchase that home, Ms Figg?” Mr Flint asked her, eyes intent.

“It was a nice neighbourhood,” she began cautiously. Mr Flint looked unimpressed.

He pushed on, “The court has heard evidence that a letter was placed with Harry Potter when he was left on his aunt and uncle’s doorstep as an infant. It is stated that this letter included a warning from Albus Dumbledore that he would be watching the house. What do you have to say about that?”

Realising she wasn’t getting out of answering with the truth, and the court already knew part of it, the woman caved under the intense gaze of Mr Flint and answered, “I also purchased the home in order to keep an eye on Harry Potter.”

Satisfied at getting that admission, Mr Flint continued, “Why were you keeping an eye on Mr Potter?”

Ms Figg hesitated, and then admitted, “Albus Dumbledore requested I keep an eye on him.”

The press were leaning in hungrily now, waiting for a potential forthcoming admission from the woman that Dumbledore might be guilty of the charge of failing to mandatorily report suspected abuse of a child and a second charge of child endangerment.

“You stated that Mr Dumbledore dropped in from time to time over the years. What happened on these occasions?” Mr Flint asked.

“We just chatted. Caught up on social things, and whatever was new in our lives. As I said, we are old friends,” the woman replied, looking undeniably nervous.

“You stated that Mr Dumbledore asked you to keep an eye on Harry. Did you ever talk about Harry?” Mr Flint pressed.

“He came up, of course,” she said slowly, all too aware of the intensity of the gazes of all the people of the courtroom on her.

“Did you ever see Harry while Mr Dumbledore visited?” Mr Flint asked.

Ms Figg shook her head quickly, replying, “He normally visited in the evenings, so Harry was always in bed in his home.”

Abandoning that line of questioning, Mr Flint asked, “What did you talk with Mr Dumbledore about, in relation to Harry Potter?”

“Just…I don’t know…I told him what year level he was in at school, anything interesting I had seen of Harry when he was coming and going from the home…just general updates about his life,” Ms Figg replied hesitantly.

“Did any of these general updates, as you put it, include your observations of Harry in the garden, unsupervised?” Mr Flint asked.

“I – I don’t know. I don’t recall,” Ms Figg replied.

“What about your observations of Harry being ‘awfully thin’ and eating like he was starving at your house?” Mr Flint pushed.

“I don’t know,” she repeated, voice even quieter this time.

“What about the yelling you heard from the Dursley home and the child you heard crying often? Did you tell Mr Dumbledore about that?” he pressed.

“I just…I don’t know. Surely…surely if I mentioned any of this…Albus would have investigated further…” she said hesitantly.

Mr Flint kept a professional calm but his eyes lit up like he had just won the lottery.

“Surely he would have,” Mr Flint agreed meaningfully gazing across at the jury. Ms Figg paled, realising what she had implied, but Mr Flint was already saying, “I have no further questions for now.”

He took his seat and Madam Bones directed that the jury be let out for a break.

Ms Smith was able to regain some lost ground, establishing in her examination of Ms Figg that the woman could not recall ever telling Albus Dumbledore about any of her suspicions regarding Harry’s mistreatment.

However the unspoken truth hanging over everything was that due to Ms Figg’s unreliable memory, there was the open possibility that the opposite was true, and she might have told him something. And that he had done nothing.

The prosecution only had to establish for the jury that Dumbledore ought to have known that there was abuse or neglect occurring. The test was if a reasonable person in Dumbledore’s shoes should have known abuse or neglect was happening.

The issue with Ms Figg not recalling whether or not she had said anything to Dumbledore, was that they were in a stalemate with the defence. The burden rested on the prosecution to prove beyond reasonable doubt that Dumbledore ought to have known, and that was a high threshold to meet.

It would really all come down to the jury, and how they interpreted the evidence. They were the judges of the facts, and it would be up to those twelve individuals whether they believed that Dumbledore knew, or ought to have known, that Harry was being abused or neglected.

After Ms Smith was done, Mr Flint was able to re-examine Ms Figg, pushing a few more points to see if he could get her to trip up or divert from her story. Mr Flint was unsuccessful, the woman bolstered now from Ms Smith’s sympathetic examination, and so he finally asked her, “How often did Mr Dumbledore visit you over the years?”

“It’s hard to say,” the woman replied, frustratingly vague.

“You said he popped in from time to time – would you say he visited a few times a year?” Mr Flint suggested.

“Certainly no more often than that,” she replied firmly.

“And you say he never saw Harry Potter in all the times he visited?” Mr Flint asked.

“That is correct,” Ms Figg confirmed.

“But you did talk about Harry Potter when Mr Dumbledore did visit,” Mr Flint pointed out.

“General updates, as I said before,” Ms Figg agreed cautiously.

“Ms Figg, I put to you that in all the times he visited, perhaps a few times a year, every year, that you must have told him something about Harry, something unusual you had noticed, such as a six year old gardening unsupervised. Such as yelling being heard in the house, a child crying. Surely you would have told him about the times you babysat Harry – when you got to actually spend one on one time with him. You must have mentioned Harry’s unusual appetite, or perhaps his awfully thin body. Ms Figg, I put to you that you must have shared something with Mr Dumbledore during all of those visits, over all of those years,” Mr Flint said firmly.

“I do not agree with that,” she said stiffly.

Mr Flint pushed on, stating, “Mr Dumbledore asked you to keep an eye on Harry. Why would he do that if he did not want actual updates on Harry? His health. His wellbeing. His relationships with those around him. What do you say about that?”

“I don’t recall if I ever specifically told Albus about any of those things,” the woman insisted stubbornly.

Mr Flint held up his hands, letting Ms Figg hold her stubborn ground. But he made eye contact with the members of the jury, noticing more than a few listening intently to what he was putting out there.

“I have no further questions,” Mr Flint concluded.

With that, Ms Arabella Figg was excused, the frail woman tottering out of the courtroom, clutching her handbag close.

Madam Bones called the case to a close for the day.

Tomorrow they would be hearing the evidence of Lord Greengrass, the final witness.

Lord Gareth Greengrass commanded the attention of the courtroom that morning as he was sworn in to give his evidence. He was dressed in fine robes, not a stitch or fold of clothing out of place as he sat on the witness stand. His dark brown hair was styled impeccably upon his head, back straight and chin high.

Madam Bones surveyed the lord on the stand as she stated for the benefit of the courtroom, “I understand Lord Greengrass has consented to taking Veritaserum today during his evidence. Is that correct?”

Mr Flint glanced at the lord, before replying for his sake, “That is correct.”

The press murmured amongst themselves, eyes eager. It was fantastically rare for Veritaserum to be used in trial, let alone such a high profile case. To have a witness questioned by both prosecution and defence counsel under the powerful truth potion had not been done in many years. For good reason too – it was dangerous for a witness to be in such a vulnerable position, and there was a risk of them revealing information beyond what was relevant to the trial, which might implicate them in something else.

“I confirm Mr Flint has leave to cross examine his own witness whist Lord Greengrass is under Veritaserum. The Wizengamot have received the list of questions Lord Greengrass will be asked. Are there any objections from defence counsel?” she asked, steely eyes turning to Ms Smith.

The woman rose slightly from her seat, calling out, “No objections, madam,” before sitting down again.

“Very well, let the Veritaserum be produced now for the authenticity examination,” Madam Bones declared, and Mr Flint’s instructing solicitor handed the vial to an Auror in the room, who carried it over to Rufus Scrimgeour.

The cursory checks were performed, before the vial was handed to Madam Bones as the member of the Wizengamot presiding over the proceedings. After completing her own checks, and stating for the room that it was indeed Veritaserum, the vial made its way back to the instructing solicitor, who passed the vial to Lord Greengrass.

In clear view of the courtroom, steeling himself for what was to come, the man lifted the vial to his lips and swallowed a dose of the potion. He quickly lowered the vial to the bench in front of him, just in time before his face grew slack and his eyes distant.

Mr Flint questioned, “Is your full name, Gareth Perseus Greengrass?”

“Yes.”

“Were you born on the fifth of June 1956?”

“Yes.”

After receiving a nod from Madam Bones that she was satisfied the Veritaserum was in effect, Mr Flint began his careful cross-examination of the lord.

“You are the head of the Child Protection Authority.”

“Yes.”

“And on the sixteenth of October of this year, you took Harry Potter into your custody?” Mr Flint continued.

“Yes.”

“On that same day, at approximately half past eight o’clock in the evening, you received a letter via owl post, from Albus Dumbledore, yes?”

“Yes,” Lord Greengrass agreed blankly, unknowing of the increase in murmurs around him from the press and the Wizengamot. A sharp look from Madam Bones was able to rein some control of the courtroom back.

“After you read this letter, it disintegrated, didn’t it?” Mr Flint continued.

“Yes.”

“You were unable to make a copy of it for these proceedings?”

“Yes.”

Satisfied that he had established why Lord Greengrass had been forced to go under Veritaserum, noting a few expressions of realisation on the faces in the room, Mr Flint moved on. He placed a silencing charm on Lord Greengrass to be safe, and turned to the Wizengamot as he said, “I would like to tender the statement Lord Greengrass made regarding his recollections of what was in that letter he received.”

“Yes, Exhibit Seven will be the ‘Statement of Lord Gareth Greengrass, dated the seventeenth of October 1988’. Copies may be provided to the jury,” Madam Bones directed, and identical pages of parchment flew from the antechamber to land atop the juror’s folders. The members of the Wizengamot flipped through their own trial folders to find the document.

Before lifting the silencing charm off of Lord Greengrass, Mr Flint stated, “I will now be testing the veracity of the claims the witness made in his statement.”

He then lifted the charm with a wave of his wand, and asked the Lord, “Did you make a written statement on the seventeenth of October 1988?”

“Yes.”

“To your knowledge, are the contents of this statement true and correct?”

“Yes,” Lord Greengrass confirmed.

“Is it true that in his letter, Albus Dumbledore wrote, ‘It is crucial Harry Potter is returned with haste to his Muggle relatives’?” Mr Flint asked.

“Yes.”

“Is it true that in this letter, Albus Dumbledore also wrote, ‘If your department has concerns about the home environment or how the Dursleys are raising Harry, a strongly worded warning would likely sort things out’?” Mr Flint quoted, every word dripping with derision.

“Yes,” Lord Greengrass confirmed and there were a few audible gasps from the people in the courtroom. All eyes shot straight to Dumbledore sitting in the back of the courtroom, his face tight as he listened.

Although this was not a trial regarding Harry Potter’s neglect and abuse, they had all heard the evidence of Ms Arabella Figg. There was a developing picture of what Harry Potter had been through at the hands of his Muggle relatives, and to hear Dumbledore had apparently dismissively suggested a strongly worded warning would be enough to sort things out, struck a sour chord with those present.

Even if it was true that Dumbledore had no idea about the neglect and abuse, the mere fact that the Department for the Child Protection Authority had removed a child should have been evidence enough that, that child should not be put back with their former guardians. It was just common sense.

There was palpable shock on the faces of the Wizengamot, jury and press, although the representatives of the media also looked viciously delighted at the development, quills flying across the parchment as they prepared their scathing updates for the expectant public.

“I have no further questions for the witness, for now,” Mr Flint said firmly, casting another silencing charm over the lord.

As he reclaimed his seat Ms Smith rose, a determined look on her face, although it was shadowed by stress as she faced the monumental task of trying to get a positive spin on the situation.

After receiving a nod from Madam Bones, Ms Smith waved her wand to remove the silencing charm on Lord Greengrass, and began her cross-examination, reading from the strict list of pre-approved questions. Mr Flint watched on with a hawk-like gaze, ready to intervene at a moment’s notice if his learned colleague deviated an inch from what had been agreed.

“Is it true in his letter that Albus Dumbledore also wrote, ‘There is a unique protection around the home’?” Ms Smith began.

“Yes,” Lord Greengrass agreed, eyes still dull under the Veritaserum.

“And is it true that he wrote in the letter, ‘This powerful protection around the home is impenetrable to You-Know-Who’?” Ms Smith asked.

“No,” Lord Greengrass said causing Ms Smith to look up sharply from her notes and Mr Flint to tense. The lord, still caught under the effects of the Veritaserum opened his mouth to elaborate, and Mr Flint swiftly cast a silencing charm on the lord. His lips moved but the room could hear nothing.

On his feet, Mr Flint declared, “I believe Lord Greengrass disagreed, because in his statement he claims Dumbledore wrote ‘Voldemort’ not You-Know-Who.”

Ms Smith flushed at the now obvious mistake, and Madam Bones considered the situation, before stating, “Ms Smith, please use the witness’ exact terminology to avoid a repeat incident of this.”

“Yes, Madam,” Ms Smith muttered embarrassedly.

Lord Greengrass was sitting unmoving again, and so Mr Flint cautiously dropped the silencing charm.

Ms Smith repeated, “And is it true that he wrote in the letter, ‘This powerful protection around the home is impenetrable to…Voldemort’?” she asked, wincing at the name.

“Yes,” Lord Greengrass agreed easily.

Continuing carefully, she asked, “Were there protections around the Dursley home?”

“Yes.”

There had indeed been protective wards set up, which included a variety of monitoring charms to detect if Harry did not return home past a certain time of night.

“Do you agree that Albus Dumbledore wanted Mr Potter placed back with his relatives, so that he would be safe behind these protections?” Ms Smith asked, eyes sharp and expectant.

Lord Greengrass calmly replied, “Yes.”

The barrister relaxed right away, pleased at getting that response. It was a small win, but one desperately needed at this stage. Mr Flint’s jaw was set tightly, but it was simply the truth that the lord honestly believed Dumbledore to be motivated by wanting Harry back behind the protections in the Dursley home.

Albus Dumbledore was many things, but he was not a monster.

Pushing on, Ms Smith asked, “Is it true in his letter that Albus Dumbledore wrote, ‘The protection around the home is tied to James and Lily Potter’?”

“Yes,” Lord Gareth confirmed. As everyone had read his statement by this point it was not a shock, but there was keen interest at where Ms Smith was taking this questioning. All were hungry for more information about the mystery around Harry Potter and how he had survived that night in Godric’s Hollow.

“Do you agree that Albus Dumbledore wanted Mr Potter placed back with his relatives, so that he would benefit from his parents’ protection?” she asked, no doubt trying to elicit an emotional response from the jury and the other court participants at the mention of James and Lily and their sacrifice.

But there was a fair deal of confusion, as it had not been established what this protection even was. Not to mention magical enchantments died with the user, and so it remained to be seen how James and Lily Potter could have left a lasting protection on a house.

The confusion and expectancy deepened as Lord Greengrass remained silent to the question. Ms Smith began to look confused, and Mr Flint narrowed his eyes as the lord remained blank faced under the Veritaserum, but seemingly struggling to process an answer.

Finally the Lord spoke, not a ‘yes’ or ‘no’, but stating clearly, “There was no protection from his parents on the house.”

Ms Smith blinked in surprise, and Dumbledore leaned forward suddenly, a crease between his brows as his piercing blue eyes pinned Lord Greengrass.

Mr Flint cast the silencing charm again as Ms Smith uncertainly turned to the Wizengamot and said, “That was going to be my final question to the witness. But I feel I need to address what Lord Greengrass just said.”

“What do you suggest, Ms Smith?” Madam Bones asked.

The woman, considered it carefully, but her attention was quickly drawn to her client who waved at his barrister to approach.

“May I speak briefly with my client?” Ms Smith asked.

Once she got permission, she quickly moved over to Dumbledore, the two speaking silently behind privacy charms so that none could understand what they were saying. After a short discussion, Ms Smith returned to her position. There was a determined look on Dumbledore’s face as Ms Smith reluctantly stated, “I will not ask the witness any further questions.”

Again, there were a few raised eyebrows at that. Clearly, Dumbledore did not want his counsel pursuing that line of questioning, and under his instructions, she was now finished.

“Mr Flint, you may re-examine the witness, if you wish,” Madam Bones stated.

The man rose, straightening his black robes as he pleasantly replied, “I will re-examine Lord Greengrass briefly.”

Dumbledore might have told his barrister to not pursue the line of questioning any further, but Mr Flint was under no such compulsion to do what Albus Dumbledore wanted. And, having conferenced extensively with Lord Greengrass in the lead up to the day, he knew exactly the information Dumbledore did not want elicited in court right now.

The last thing Dumbledore wanted was the general public to find out James and Lily Potter had been dabbling in blood magic. 

Lord Greengrass found himself surprisingly on the same side of the coin as Dumbledore, but for different reasons. He was determined to guard the knowledge around the protection actually existing in Harry himself, for fear of the information somehow being used against Harry in the future. The less people understood about how Harry survived that night, the safer he was from Voldemort or someone else with bad intentions finding a way to circumvent the blood magic protecting Harry.

Removing the silencing charm from Lord Greengrass, Mr Flint asked calmly, “Is it true there is no protection on the Dursleys house from James and Lily Potter?” This was asked in order to cement that idea in the minds of all gathered.

Sure enough, Lord Greengrass answered swiftly, “Yes.”

“Is it true there were only standard wards around the home?”

“Yes.”

Mr Flint paused to look pointedly around the courtroom, letting that news sink in. With ordinary protections around the home, there was no real reason for Dumbledore to have been so insistent that Harry return to that property in particular.

Tilting his head to one side as he looked back at Lord Greengrass, Mr Flint asked, “The home you took Harry Potter to, your own home, is layered with ancient protective family wards, is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Wards far stronger than those around the Dursley home?”

“Yes.”

“Harry Potter was safe in your care, far safer than he would have been if he was forced back to his Muggle relatives as Mr Dumbledore wanted,” Mr Flint concluded. It wasn’t a question, but Lord Greengrass answered immediately, “Yes.”

“I have no further questions,” Mr Flint finished, casting a silencing charm again until his instructing solicitor had approached Lord Greengrass with the antidote.

Lord Greengrass fought down a grimace as awareness returned to his eyes, fighting off the last of the heavy dose of Veritaserum. There were a fair few looks of respect on the faces in the room as they observed him. It took courage to go under Veritaserum in such a public setting, when so much could go wrong.

Madam Bones surveyed Lord Greengrass, face neutral but there was a glimmer of respect in her steely eyes as she stated, “Thank you, Lord Greengrass, you are now excused.”

With a polite nod to his peers on the Wizengamot, and another to Mr Flint, Lord Greengrass rose gracefully and swept out of the room. He did not spare Dumbledore a single look.

“That concludes the evidence of this trial,” Madam Bones declared once Lord Greengrass had exited the courtroom. “We will adjourn briefly before counsel give their closing statements.”

It would be later on Friday afternoon that the jury would be sent home, still no verdict reached in spite of their hours of private discussion together. They would continue their deliberations first thing Monday morning.

The case hung suspended for the weekend.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Longbottom Heir

Saturday morning dawned surprisingly clear, an auspicious sign as Sirius and Harry waited in the Grand Reception Room for the arrival of Lady Augusta Longbottom and her grandson, Neville.

Both were nervous, but for different reasons – Harry was nervous to be meeting new people and Sirius was nervous because he intended on informing Lady Longbottom not only about the prophecy but also his involvement in attempting to get the Lestranges a trial.

They were joined by Arcturus, who took one look at the two standing and fidgeting nervously and laughingly said, “I would think you were both about to face a dragon with the looks on your faces.”

Both looked rather sheepish, and Arcturus added more gently, “Lady Longbottom and her grandson are to be guests in our home. There have not been visitors from a light family in a very long time to this estate. This is a happy occasion.”

Arcturus smiled in satisfaction as Sirius and Harry straightened at that proclamation, appreciating the importance of solidarity between dark and light families. Carefully hiding his own hesitance at seeing Augusta Longbottom face to face after so many years, Arcturus took his place by his heir and the future heir of the House of Black, ready to welcome their guests.

The great fireplace flared green, and the intimidating form of Lady Augusta Longbottom immediately drew the attention of all in the room by the sheer magnitude of her presence as she stepped through.

Slightly behind her, stumbling a little before righting himself, face flushed, was a round-faced boy a little taller than Harry though that didn’t say much as Harry was quite short for his age. He had blonde hair and nervous brown eyes, which darted between the three members of the Black family waiting for him.

Taking the lead as lord of the house, Arcturus politely took Lady Longbottom’s hand, which she had extended imperiously, pressing a brief kiss to the back of it.

“I welcome you to my home,” Arcturus said after pulling away. “Lady Longbottom, you have met me before, and of course my grandson and heir, Sirius Black, but this is Sirius’ godson Harry Potter.”

Sirius nodded his head respectfully to the woman, and she did not extend her hand so Harry quickly copied his godfather’s action, realising perhaps a kiss on the back of the hand was only for the lord of the house to perform.

Daphne complained a lot about her etiquette classes she took once a year, but Harry honestly felt he would be grateful for even one lesson, because he felt out of his depth. That feeling increased as he looked up to see Lady Longbottom’s sharp eyes focused straight on him, appraising.

Rather than wilt under her gaze as he felt the strong urge to do so, Harry remembered his grandfather’s words and straightened under her look, meeting her gaze steadily. This was an important occasion for their family; he was standing here in what was starting to become his home, and he had his godfather and grandfather by his side.

A slow smile curved across the old woman’s severe face, softening it just slightly as she said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Potter.”

She placed a firm hand on her grandson’s shoulder, pulling him forward so that he stood alongside her rather than slightly behind. The boy looked like he was rather overwhelmed as Lady Longbottom said, “This is my grandson and heir, Neville.”

Harry tried to catch the other boy’s gaze to offer him a smile or something as reassuring, but the boy was staring determinedly down at his feet, flush still on his cheeks.

His grandmother’s eyes narrowed as she saw this, and she said sharply, “Neville, greet our hosts.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed in turn – he didn’t like the way she spoke to her grandson. The hand she had on the other boy’s shoulder now looked a bit too firm for Harry’s comfort, and he could feel a distant sense of anxiety starting to fission in his stomach. He remembered the words of Specialist Healer Grace suddenly, reminding him to breathe deeply and slowly if he could feel these kinds of symptoms.

He could notice distantly the adults talking amongst themselves, but Harry blocked it all out as he focused on his breathing. It was helped along by the fact the Lady Longbottom was distracted by her conversation with Arcturus and Sirius, and thus her attention was no longer on intimidating her grandson.

Suddenly, Neville’s nervous brown eyes met Harry’s own, causing Harry’s breathing pattern to hitch. Not wanting to make the other boy think he was rude, Harry was quick to put a welcoming smile on his face, though he feared it came off as a little bit fake due to his lingering stress.

But when Neville tentatively returned the smile, his own every bit as put on as Harry’s own, Harry felt like he had just found someone on the same wavelength as him. Without even realising it, his smile softened into something genuine.

“Would you prefer to conduct the Mirror Sphere test now or at the end of the visit?” Arcturus asked, grabbing Harry’s attention.

His grandfather’s eyes were on the Lady Longbottom, but he glanced towards Neville, being the subject of the test. Neville looked like he was going to be sick as his grandmother declared, “No point in waiting around. We will do it now, with your leave, Lord Black.”

Harry recalled Sirius telling him that the Lady Longbottom feared Neville might be a Squib, as he had apparently displayed no accidental magic yet. The Longbottom’s Mirror Sphere had been lost over the years, and so they were going to use the Black family’s one to test Neville.

“Sirius, if you will be so kind as to escort Lady Longbottom and her grandson to my study? The Mirror Sphere is on the desk, ready to use. We will give you privacy for the test. Sirius, please return here once you have escorted our guests,” Arcturus stated.

His words eased some of the tension out of Neville, no doubt fearing to be put on display in front of strangers.

Arcturus added, “A house elf will escort you both to the western dining room when you are done.”

Lady Longbottom inclined her head regally, replying, “We are grateful for your assistance in this important matter.”

Once the trio had left, Arcturus moved a little closer to Harry, and placed one gentle finger under his chin. He lifted his face up, dark eyes searching his adopted great-grandson’s face carefully.

Harry met his gaze, wondering why he was suddenly being investigated.

“Are you well?” Arcturus asked softly.

Harry blinked in surprise, realising his grandfather had noticed his earlier anxiety. A little embarrassed, he looked down, and Arcturus lowered his hand to let Harry stare shyly at his feet.

“I’m okay,” Harry whispered. “I just didn’t like the way Lady Longbottom talked to her grandson and acted around him.”

He peeked up at his grandfather, and saw a compassionate look of understanding on those familiar weathered features. “I didn’t like it either,” Arcturus declared, surprising Harry. “I dare say the reason her grandson has not displayed any magical aptitude yet is due to stress from her pressure on him.”

“Is that possible? I thought if you experienced heightened emotion you were more likely to display accidental magic,” Harry replied.

“Yes, but persistent stress can also impact the connection between a child and their magical core,” Arcturus explained patiently.

Harry nodded, a little worried at hearing that. He wondered if all the times he had been stressed growing up might have impacted his own connection.

He saw the slow, projected, movement of his grandfather’s hand before it rested against his cheek and Arcturus assured him, “It is easily remedied by being put in a calm and supportive environment.”

Harry placed his own small hand over his grandfather’s and smiled, the expression a little wobbly, up at the man.

It was to this scene that Sirius entered after having escorted the Lady Longbottom and Neville to his grandfather’s study, pausing in the doorway to watch the interaction with concerned grey eyes.

Noticing Sirius, Arcturus glanced over at his grandson, drawing Harry’s attention too.

“What happened?” Sirius asked, protective hackles rising, as yet without a target for his ire as he worriedly observed his godson.

Seeing Harry didn’t want to vocalise it again, Arcturus explained to his grandson why Harry was unsettled.

“Do you want us to cut the visit short?” Sirius asked Harry, coming over to kneel down so he was eye level.

Harry shook his head quickly – he wanted to properly meet Neville and talk to him without his grandmother looming over him. So he said, “I’m fine to have them stay – but maybe Neville and I could go outside or something? I could show him the grounds.”

Arcturus nodded, replying, “We will remain inside and allow you two the chance to get to know each other.”

“Are you sure?” Sirius pressed, eyes boring into Harry’s own. “I don’t think we should continue with the visit just because they’re already here, not if it will upset you.”

“I’m sure,” Harry confirmed quietly, knowing Sirius was only pushing because he was so determined to look after Harry and keep him safe.

From behind Harry’s shoulder Sirius caught the gaze of his grandfather, who narrowed his eyes, warning his grandson that it was time to drop the issue. Sirius felt the frustration rise up in him, before he forced himself to back down. The Specialist Healer he saw twice a week would have given him a gold star, or whatever the hell it was therapists gave their patients nowadays when they did something right.

It hurt to admit, but Sirius had no choice but to trust his grandfather’s judgement more than his own, tarnished by seven years in Azkaban.

He also realised belatedly that it was probably the reason his grandfather had sent him away to escort their guests rather than call a house elf – he wanted to remove Sirius from the situation to check on Harry first before Sirius came and messed it all up.

Swallowing down the bitterness and familiar feelings of uselessness, Sirius forced himself to put a neutral expression on his face and state quietly, “If you change your mind, just say the word.” He got up slowly, knees protesting a little. “The western dining room you said?”

Arcturus nodded, and the trio began to move out of the Grand Reception Room, Harry following his godfather and grandfather as he was still learning the best routes around the castle.

They made their way there, where a morning tea service was already set up by the house elves. The trio had only just settled themselves at the table overlooking the grounds before the doors to the dining room opened to reveal a house elf escorting a pleased Lady Longbottom and a relieved Neville.

It seemed the Mirror Sphere test had been a success.

Bursting to reveal the news, Lady Longbottom declared, “My grandson is a light wizard, like his father before him.”

Arcturus inclined his head, replying, “Congratulations are in order. Might I suggest some champagne?”

Lady Longbottom smirked, eyes glittering as she replied, “Champagne at morning tea? How could I say no?”

The house elf that had brought the Longbottom’s in, magically pulled the older woman’s chair out for her, allowing her to sit. She clicked her tongue with annoyance, as her grandson did not immediately move to sit down too, hovering awkwardly by the chair beside her.

Harry rose swiftly, moving to stand near Neville as he said, “I was just saying to grandfather, Lady Longbottom, I would like to show Neville the grounds.”

Sirius cut in before Lady Longbottom could raise her voice to disagree and insist Neville remain, adding, “I have some important matters to discuss with you, Lady Longbottom. I think it best for the boys to enjoy some fresh air while we talk.”

The woman harrumphed, a little put out in the face of the Black’s unified front, grudgingly agreeing, “Very well.” But she turned a sharp eye to Neville stating, “You will be back here in no less than an hour, understood?”

“Yes grandmother,” he intoned.

Not wasting any more time, Harry gestured for Neville to follow him. The two boys slipped out of the dining room, the doors swinging shut behind them with house elf magic, separating them from the adults at last.

“We don’t have to go outside if you don’t want to,” Harry started. “I just wanted a chance to get to know you a bit better without the adults around.”

“Oh,” Neville said, a bit taken aback. “Um, well, I like gardens. I mean I’m happy to go outside. If you want to,” he rushed to add.

“Sounds good to me,” Harry said with a smile towards the visibly nervous boy. “Let’s see if I remember the quickest way out of here,” Harry joked.

Neville smiled back at him, saying tentatively, “This place is huge.” Then he flushed red, saying in a flustered manner, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that!”

Harry smiled and replied, “It is huge.”

They slipped into silence for a few beats as Harry carefully navigated from memory to where there was a set of doors leading outside. Realising he hadn’t even congratulated the other boy for learning what magical core he had, Harry said, “Congratulations, by the way, on finding out your magical core.”

Neville flushed yet again, but this time it was more of a pleased pink. “I’m so relieved,” he confessed. “I seriously thought I was a Squib.”

Harry didn’t know Neville well enough, nor did he think it was his place to bring up his grandfather’s suspicion that it might be his home environment restricting his magical aptitude, so he merely smiled and said, “Are you looking forward to getting your wand when you turn eleven? I can’t wait to start learning how to perform magic.”

Neville scratched his nose a little sheepishly and explained as they descended a flight of sweeping stairs, “Gran wants me to use my dad’s wand, so I guess that’s already sorted for me.”

Harry frowned, replying, “Will it work for you though? Sirius told me your wand chooses you, and your first wand is special. He lost his original when he went to Azkaban – they snapped it. The new one isn’t quite as good as the first,” Harry explained.

Neville looked sympathetic at the mention of Azkaban, being all too familiar with the story that had been splashed across the media. His gran had talked about it a lot too. The other boy mused gloomily, “Knowing my luck, the wand will probably reject me. My dad was a really powerful wizard.”

Harry thought about his words carefully before saying, “Your dad’s wand was the right fit for him. But you should get a wand that suits you. You are your own person.”

Neville stared at Harry, speechless. At last he stammered, “I – I get that. But – but it’s really up to Gran. She wants me to use dad’s wand.”

Harry wasn’t happy with that answer, but he realised it wasn’t Neville’s fault his grandmother was so insistent on forcing him to live up to his father.

Sirius had only told Harry a little bit about Neville’s parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom. Harry knew they had been in the year above Harry’s parents and Sirius in Gryffindor. He also knew they had fought in the war in Dumbledore’s group, the Order of the Phoenix. And Sirius had hesitantly explained that after Voldemort had disappeared, a few followers of Voldemort had found Frank and Alice and tortured them, trying to get information on what had happened. Sirius hadn’t told Harry any other details about that, but had explained Frank and Alice needed full time care now in a special ward of a hospital, and that they didn’t recognise anyone anymore. Not even their own son.

Knowing that Neville had been the other potential child of prophecy, made Harry feel a deep connection to the other boy. But it went deeper than that - he had been orphaned too in a sense. His parents might still be alive, but they weren’t really there anymore.

They exited a large set of double doors, and stepped out into the mid morning light. Neville exclaimed, “Wow,” as he laid eyes properly on the grounds stretching out before the two boys.

“I’m pretty sure we have a couple of green houses somewhere near here,” Harry said. He saw the way the other boy’s eyes lit up, “Want to head there first?”

“Yes please,” Neville breathed, looking happy and in his element for the first time since Harry had met him.

Lady Longbottom was silent for a long time after Sirius had finished explaining what he knew of the prophecy. Her tea sat untouched in front of her, her heavy thoughts writ across her face.

“I wondered why my son and daughter-in-law suddenly decided to go into hiding,” she stated quietly. “I never understood it.” Her sharp eyes pinned Sirius and she added, “It seems likely to me though that the events in Godric’s Hollow indeed marked Harry as the child of the prophecy. He even bears a mark upon his forehead. It surely does not apply to Neville.”

Arcturus interjected, “Be that as it may – we don’t know what will happen when Voldemort returns. Neville was noted as a possible candidate as a baby. There is every chance he might still be a target in the future, to eliminate any risk of the prophecy eventuating.”

Lady Longbottom nodded slowly in reluctant agreement, before her eyes flicked up to both Blacks and she said, “I am grateful for the warning you have given me. And the faith you have shown in telling me about the prophecy. Trust that I will speak of it with no one.”

Lady Longbottom was a woman known for her unwavering integrity, often to the point of rudeness to those around her. It was why Sirius and Arcturus knew they could trust her to keep silent about the prophecy.

“Will you tell your grandson?” Sirius asked her.

The older woman scoffed, replying, “Neville is afraid of his own shadow. If I told him such a thing it would give him nightmares for years to come.”

Arcturus narrowed his eyes, not appreciating her dismissive attitude.

“Harry knows,” Sirius declared, a note of challenge in his voice. “We felt it important he know such crucial information concerning him.”

Lady Longbottom stared Sirius down like a lioness sizing up an antelope and drawled, “What you do or do not tell your godson is up to you, Mr Black. I expect you to respect any decision I make in informing Neville about this, or not. In the light of this, I also expect you to ensure Harry does not speak to my grandson about it until I have decided what I want to do.”

Sirius grit his teeth, frustrated that the woman wasn’t seeing the sense in preparing her grandson for the future, in the event he might one day have a target on his back.

But a sharp look from his grandfather quelled any other argument from Sirius. Arcturus was looking patiently at Lady Longbottom, waiting for something.

Sure enough, the matriarch sighed and added, “In saying all of this, I am no fool. I will not leave my grandson ignorant of such an important matter.” She stared pointedly at Sirius, for jumping to conclusions before she could finish airing her thoughts on the matter. He had the grace to look a bit sheepish.

“I will tell Neville in time. Perhaps not today, but certainly before he commences his Hogwarts years. Is that suitable to you, Mr Black?” she asked with a mocking edge.

“Certainly,” Sirius replied through gritted teeth.

Arcturus let out a barely audible sigh, and steered the conversation back to the point by adding, “It seems our families are united then in a common goal. Keeping Harry and Neville safe, both from Voldemort but also those who would seek to use them as weapons.”

Lady Longbottom hissed out, “Dumbledore.”

Arcturus nodded, stating, “I trust our family can rely on yours to keep all of this information out of Dumbledore and his allies’ hands?”

“Of course,” Lady Longbottom insisted. “I will do everything in my power to keep that meddling man out of my family affairs. Never again will a Longbottom be used to serve Dumbledore’s interests.”

She was still furious about her son and daughter-in-law’s induction into the Order, and them being dragged into the conflict.

Seeing that anger brewing again, Sirius hesitated from bringing up the next topic of conversation he needed to talk with Lady Longbottom about. But he knew that if news broke about his involvement with the Lestrange’s possible case reopening before he had the chance to tell the woman himself, there would be hell to pay.

He caught his grandfather’s eye, and the man nodded just barely, encouraging Sirius to take the plunge but proceed with great caution. The anger of the head of the Longbottom house was a terrifying thing to behold.

“Lady Longbottom, there is another matter I wanted to discuss with you,” Sirius began carefully. Those sharp eyes pinned him, as though sensing he was about to tell her something she really did not want to hear.

“During my time in Azkaban, the person in the cell opposite mine was Rabastan Lestrange,” Sirius told her quietly.

The woman stiffened as though touched by a live wire. Sirius paused, waiting to see how she would react to just the mention of the man.

“Why,” Lady Longbottom grit out, “are you telling me this?”

“During the nearly seven years he lived opposite me, we spoke a lot about what happened on that night,” Sirius continued cautiously.

“Don’t dance around it,” Lady Longbottom snapped. “You spoke about the night he, his brother, sister-in-law and friend tortured my only child and daughter-in-law into insanity. The night they broke into pieces two of the most brilliant, kind and wonderful people. You spoke of that night with him.”

Charging straight to the point Sirius said insistently, “Rabastan Lestrange was just a lookout. So was Bartemius Crouch Junior. They were only eighteen they-”

“And so what, they are innocent?” Lady Longbottom snarled. “They still went there that night, and helped tear down the wards around Frank and Alice’s home. They stood by and let it happen, if it is even true what you claim.”

Sirius hesitated; knowing the woman of course had a point. They had still committed crimes, both of them.

“Do you think it right for two eighteen year olds to be sentenced to life in Azkaban for breaking wards and being lookouts?" Sirius asked.

“Mr Black,” Lady Longbottom said slowly, dangerously. “You are asking the wrong person that question.”

And Sirius realised she was absolutely right. This was not the reason why he was bringing this up – he wasn’t seeking her blessing. He wasn’t asking for permission. He was merely giving her advance warning, a show of respect for a woman who had suffered greatly directly and indirectly from members of the Lestrange family.

“I shared what he told me with Madam Bones,” Sirius told her quietly. Lady Longbottom stiffened, but said nothing. “None of them got trials, like me,” he added.

“They are not like you,” Lady Longbottom snarled. “You are an innocent man, who was wrongfully imprisoned for crimes you did not commit. You are letting your experience in that place blind you to reality. I did not expect such naiveté from you, Mr Black.”

“Do you think it fair then, that there be no trials?” Sirius asked incredulously.

“Again – you are asking the wrong person that,” Lady Longbottom said coldly. “What would be fair, would be my son and daughter-in-law being healthy, raising their son together.”

Sirius bowed his head, acknowledging yet again the truth in her words. He collected himself and looked back up, meeting her eyes.

“I am informing you of all of this because you deserve to know. I have provided a Pensieve memory of my conversation with Rabastan Lestrange in Azkaban to Madam Bones. She is investigating the matter, and considering whether to reopen all of the files, including the deceased Bartemius Crouch Junior,” Sirius explained calmly, grey eyes wary on Lady Longbottom.

“You have done what you felt you had to do, and I trust you’ll respect that I will now do what I feel I have to,” Lady Longbottom replied in a clipped voice.

Sirius nodded, understanding the woman would no doubt now go and begin petitioning the DMLE with her not inconsiderable influence to keep the files closed. He suppressed a wince – he hoped that his actions had not just put a nail in the coffin of any budding alliance between their two families.

As though reading his mind, Arcturus finally spoke up, having let his grandson handle this conversation, as it had been Sirius’ choice to come forward to Madam Bones and get involved in the Lestrange’s situation. “I hope this will not prevent you from allowing a friendship between Harry and Neville, should the boys wish to foster one. Though, if you desire to distance yourself from our family, we will respect your wishes.”

Lady Longbottom seemed deep in thought for some time. Every so often she appraised Lord Black and Sirius, the weight of her gaze intense upon Sirius in particular.

At last, the woman stated, “If they desire to be friends I will not oppose it. Why should I punish the boys for something beyond them? Harry is welcome in my home, should he wish to visit Neville.”

Arcturus and Sirius nodded in acceptance and gratitude, but the woman was not done, lifting a single finger of warning. Face severe, she added, “That open invitation does not extend to either of you, as long as you support this course of action.”

It stung, but it was expected, after dropping this news on the woman. It was still fresh. Perhaps in time Lady Longbottom would come to some semblance of peace regarding the matter of the Lestranges, at least when it came to Rabastan, but both Blacks realised deep down that she probably never would.

Such was the agony of her loss.

Both Arcturus and Sirius were wise enough to realise if they were in her situation that they would be fortunate to have shown as much restraint.

It also cemented the realisation that hope for the future lay in the young – if Harry, a dark wizard, and Neville, a light wizard, could foster a friendship with each other across social and political divides, then the friendship could be the key to keeping the door open between the Black and Longbottom families.

Tucked away in one of the greenhouses on the grounds of Black Castle two boys, one with a dark legacy and one with a light legacy, laughed together, unaware of the careful negotiations occurring in the castle behind them.

For them, it was the start of a friendship.

For the wizarding world, it was the quiet start of a slow change.

The following day before Sirius escorted Harry back to Greengrass Manor after dinner, he asked Harry if he would be happy to have a casual chat with Sirius, Rosie and Gareth about how his living arrangements were suiting him.

Harry had readily agreed – it had been a month since he had met Sirius and started spending his weekends at Black Castle. He recalled that Gareth had suggested they review the living arrangements after a month, so it was probably time to talk about it.

Once he and Sirius had Flooed into the parlour room of the Greengrass mansion they were met by Rosie and Gareth, who were waiting in the room. The couple invited them to sit down, Harry sitting beside Sirius on a couch and Rosie and Gareth sitting beside each other on the chaise lounge opposite. Harry noticed Rosie flick her wand towards the doors to the parlour room, shutting them nonverbally. He suspected she also cast an anti-eavesdropping charm in case Daphne or Astoria was hovering nearby.

“I told Harry we wanted to talk with him about the current living arrangements,” Sirius confirmed once everyone was settled.

“How are you finding the situation as it stands right now?” Gareth asked him, blue eyes watchful as they surveyed his facial expressions and body language.

“It’s good,” Harry responded straight away.

“You are not finding it difficult at all Flooing between the homes every weekend?” Rosie asked him.

“It’s simple Flooing over to Black Castle on Saturday mornings – and then I’m back here on Sunday nights,” Harry explained.

“You say it is simple – do you think it would be complicated or stressful if you were to spend more than one night at Black Castle?” Gareth asked.

Harry considered the question, before replying slowly, “I like spending time with Sirius and grandfather.” He glanced up at his godfather beside him, whose grey eyes were soft. “So I wouldn’t mind spending more time at Black Castle. I guess I’m just thinking of how that would work with my weekday classes with Ezra.”

Sirius cleared his throat, jumping in now he had confirmation Harry was not averse to spending more time with him. “Floo travel is simple, as you said. We can put you through the Floo system for your weekday classes, and Rosie or Gareth can send you back to Black Castle once your lessons are done for the day,” Sirius suggested.

Harry nodded in understanding as Rosie added, “We have briefly discussed it amongst ourselves, and I believe Thursday afternoon to Sunday evening was put forth as a possible arrangement. You would Floo from here to Black Castle after your Thursday afternoon lessons with Ezra. And you would briefly Floo back here on Friday afternoon for your last lesson of the week, before going back to Black Castle. Sirius would still escort you back to us on a Sunday evening after dinner. What do you think about that suggestion, Harry?”

It was a bit of back and forth, but Harry honestly didn’t mind, and he told the adults as much, confirming, “That sounds good to me.”

“We’ll trial it this coming week,” Gareth proposed. “If you find it stressful we can dial things back to how they were originally.”

Harry nodded in appreciation. Sirius tentatively spoke up, “Perhaps in another month too we can review the situation again?” Before anyone could misunderstand him he added, “I am more than happy for you to continue visiting Greengrass Manor every weekday for your lessons with Ezra for the foreseeable future. But honestly, I would hope at some point you would be happy living with me and grandfather full time. Whether that is in a month, or it will take a lot longer than that, I don’t mind. I know you’re happy here,” Sirius finished, glancing towards Rosie and Gareth who were watching with neutral expressions.

Harry gazed up at his godfather, and said softly, “I know I’m going to be living with you and grandfather eventually, and I will only come back to visit Rosie, Gareth, Daphne and Astoria,” Harry began slowly. He glanced over at the Greengrass couple, whose expressions immediately softened as he smiled at them. “I am happy to review everything in a month. As long as Rosie and Gareth are happy to still have me staying with them some of the time?” Harry added, realising suddenly that the couple might be keen to have Harry settled with the Blacks.

“You will always have a home here, if you want it,” Rosie said immediately, hazel eyes determined. “Even if one day you are no longer living with us, I hope you know we will always be here to support you and provide a space if you want it.”

Harry felt like his heart was going to burst, so grateful for the kindness of the woman. Gareth added to lighten the emotional mood; “I think Daphne and Astoria would stage a protest if we even suggested turning your bedroom back into a guest room. It will always be here for you.”

“Your daughters are fierce defenders,” Sirius replied, meaning every word.

“Speaking of, they were hoping dearly to come visit Black Castle. Perhaps we could send the girls over with Harry on Thursday after their lessons are done?” Rosie asked.

“They are welcome to stay the night at the castle and I will escort all three children back here on Friday in time for their lessons in the afternoon,” Sirius suggested.

“An excellent idea,” Gareth agreed.

Harry couldn’t hide his excitement at the thought of finally getting to show Daphne and Astoria around Black Castle. He had so many cool things he wanted to share with them.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Repercussions

Wizarding Britain waited with bated breath as the jury continued to deliberate through Monday, even the international magical communities reporting updates on the trial of Albus Dumbledore. He was a notable figure after all, and as the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards there was much speculation about the implications for his position if he was found guilty of any of the charges levelled against him.

As Monday eased into Tuesday the weather grew increasingly cold, and the first flurries of snow began to fall over parts of Britain. The light and festive atmosphere of December was contrasted sharply against the tense anticipation of the jury’s verdict, as all waited for what the jury of twelve would decide.

Conversation about the trial was on the lips of every witch and wizard as the jury went home from their deliberations on Tuesday, still no verdict reached. It seemed lately everyone fancied himself or herself an expert on the judicial system, sharing their own opinions about whether the jury might have to be discharged if they did not reach a verdict soon. The possibility of a re-trial being ordered and the whole process starting over again was not desirable for anyone.

Debates raged over whether or not the prosecution had discharged the onus of proof, establishing beyond reasonable doubt that Dumbledore was guilty of any or all of the charges. Even still, Dumbledore had pockets of strong support, particularly amongst the light families, who were desperate for such an important pillar of their community to be acquitted and the public to move on from their ire towards the old man.

Mystery still remained around the exact involvement of Harry Potter to the charges against Elphias Doge and Dumbledore – it was known that the media were under strict suppression orders to only report authorised content. As far as the public knew, Harry Potter had been removed from his Muggle relatives for unspecified but valid grounds, and that Doge had been found guilty of abusing his authority, resulting in Harry Potter being incorrectly placed with the Muggles in the first place. Dumbledore meanwhile stood accused significantly of failure to mandatorily report suspected neglect or abuse of a child, although the specifics the media were not permitted to report on, as it involved Harry Potter.

With gaps in the narrative it was inevitable that the public were torn and confused at times about what they thought about the whole affair. But what everyone could agree on wholeheartedly was that there had been a grave miscarriage of care when it came to Harry Potter, and there was a strong sense of protectiveness when it came to the boy.

Early on Wednesday morning, the seventh of December, one of the Aurors guarding the jury deliberation room blew gently on her mug of coffee to cool it as she flipped through a case file, catching up on some paperwork while she sat outside, completing the boring task of waiting for the twelve people in the room beyond to notify her if they needed anything.

So far they had only asked for more tea or coffee to be delivered.

Her eyes caught the glow of the runic symbol on the door to the deliberation room, indicating the jury required something. None of them were permitted their wands during deliberation – it was a safety precaution to ensure there was no sabotage amongst the members of the jury such as a compulsion charm or something more nefarious such as the use of the Imperious Curse.

Regretfully placing her coffee down, with a sigh the woman stood and stretched, moving over to the door. She tapped the runic symbol, causing the glow to fade and indicating to the jury she was coming in.

After waiting another beat to be safe, the Auror opened the door, shutting it behind her as she nodded politely to the twelve people inside, who were sitting around a deliberation table.

“What can I get you?” she asked, a little tiredly as she hadn’t had her morning coffee yet, and she was not looking forward to being on errand duty this morning.

“We have the verdicts,” the foreperson declared.

The Auror nearly choked on air at the announcement, staring with wide eyes at the foreperson, who stared back determinedly. The other jurors wore expressions ranging from nervousness to resolution.

“I – right – well I will notify the Wizengamot. We will need time to assemble court,” the Auror stammered.

The jury nodded in understanding and the Auror was quick to slip back out of the room, shutting the door behind her. She stood there leaning against it for a moment, shock writ across her face.

Then with a last regretful glance at her untouched coffee she prepared to notify everyone that the jury at last had a verdict, and it was time for the court to be reassembled. The wizarding world was about to discover the fate of Albus Dumbledore.

All eyes were on the twelve members of the jury as they filed into the courtroom, escorted by two Aurors. It had taken nearly an hour to assemble the court, the process compounded by the sheer volume of the press who wanted to attend the crucial delivery of the verdicts.

They were settled, more or less, in the press gallery to the left of the courtroom, the space having had to be magically expanded due to the sheer numbers of journalists who crowded the pews. There were even reporters from overseas who had been following the case and waiting in Britain for this news that it was time for the verdict.

Mr Flint was the picture of calm as he conversed pleasantly with his instructing solicitor at the bar table, but Ms Smith could not hide her stress, evident in the pinched look on her face as she sat in silence.

The twenty-nine members of the Wizengamot, who were not facing legal proceedings or stood down due to conflict of interest as in the case of Lord Greengrass, were assembled on their tiered seating.

Madam Bones stood on the raised dais usually reserved for the Chief Warlock, steely eyes watching as the jury settled themselves, six in the front and six in the back on raised seating. She spared a glance towards Albus Dumbledore, who sat quietly in his chair at the back of the room, his eyes as equally intent upon the jury.

The tension in the air was palpable.

At last, Madam Bones rose to her feet, the attention of the room closing in on her as a focal point. There was a hushed anticipation.

“I understand we have a verdict,” she stated, looking at the foreperson as the voice of the jury.

The middle-aged woman rose to her feet, stating in a clear voice that did not betray any nervousness, “We do.” In her hand was a copy of the indictment, which she would be using to assist her as Madam Bones put the charges to her and asked for the verdict of the jury.

“How say you on Charge One, interfering with a Ministry process. Do you find Albus Dumbledore guilty or not guilty?” Madam Bones asked.

This referred to Dumbledore’s actions in ordering Hagrid to remove Harry from Godric’s Hollow and taking it upon himself to put Harry with his Muggle relatives, despite not being a CPA employee.

“Not guilty,” the Madam Foreperson announced.

It was not entirely unexpected – there had been a reasonably strong defence that it was Mr Doge at fault in not insisting Harry be taken into the CPA’s custody and monitoring his transfer. Ms Smith had spun a compelling argument on behalf of her client that he had stayed in contact with Mr Doge, and had kept Harry safe at Hogwarts. It had also been a time of turmoil in the aftermath of Voldemort’s sudden disappearance and presumed defeat.

At the end of the day whilst it was true Dumbledore was not a CPA employee, and was not the person who should have taken Harry Potter, it was not his responsibility to ensure all protocols were adhered to. It was a failure of Doge to do his job, and the man had been subsequently found guilty in his own trial. Had the trials not been severed, perhaps a different verdict would have emerged.

But for now, Dumbledore was in the clear.

“How say you on Charge Two, interfering with a Ministry process,” Madam Bones asked, this time referring to Dumbledore requesting Professor McGonagall watch the Dursley family. “Do you find Albus Dumbledore guilty or not guilty?”

“Not guilty,” the Madam Foreperson responded.

That cleared Dumbledore of both charges of interfering with Ministry processes. It was also unsurprising for the jury to return a not guilty verdict on this charge – again it was more of a failure of Doge in doing his job, than Dumbledore actually interfering. 

On his evidence too he claimed to have never told Doge a background check had been done – merely that Minerva McGonagall had been watching the house that day. Likewise, Doge had been found guilty in his own trial, as at its core it was his failure to exercise his job correctly.

The press were murmuring now but quickly hushed under the stern eye of Madam Bones. There were still three charges to put to the jury, and the one Madam Bones was putting to the jury now had the most severe implications if Dumbledore was found guilty. A confirmed failure to report suspected child neglect or abuse would result in an individual being automatically disqualified from teaching.

“How say you on Charge Three, failure to mandatorily report suspected abuse of a child. Do you find Albus Dumbledore guilty or not guilty?” Madam Bones asked.

Here the Madam Foreperson paused rather than answering immediately. Slowly and clearly she answered, “Not guilty.”

Dumbledore relaxed, the tension bleeding out of his body – even if he was found guilty of either of the child endangerment charges, the true danger was now over. The failure to mandatorily report suspected child abuse was treated severely in the eyes of the law, given how precious magical children were.

Even though the child endangerment charges were treated very seriously too, Dumbledore’s alleged category of offending there was on the lower end. He could possibly even keep his position as headmaster, if the Board of Governors agreed.

Mr Flint’s jaw was set tightly, obviously displeased at that outcome. There were more than a few faces in the press gallery and amongst the Wizengamot that looked equally upset.

Some would later claim that as the foreperson had delivered the verdict of she and her peers, that there had been a regretful look in her eyes as she did so. Inevitably, the jury had not been satisfied beyond reasonable doubt that Albus Dumbledore knew or ought to have known that Harry was being neglected or abused by his relatives. Had Ms Figg been on trial it would have been an entirely different story.

Beyond reasonable doubt was the highest standard of proof in the criminal justice system for a reason. Today it had served Albus Dumbledore, and whether that was right or not, was up to the individual person to decide. It existed to protect any accused from unfair conviction.

“How say you on Charge Four, child endangerment,” Madam Bones asked, referring to Dumbledore’s decision to place a one year old Harry Potter on the doorstep of his aunt and uncle’s home, leaving him there overnight. “Do you find Albus Dumbledore guilty or not guilty?”

“Guilty,” the Madam Foreperson answered right away, hinting that this was possibly one of the charges the jury had wholeheartedly agreed on.

That caused a stir in the press, who were keen to finally see a confirmation of guilt for something. Albus Dumbledore bowed his head briefly, but otherwise did not show any reaction. As he had cast protective enchantments around Harry, and had been monitoring him from afar, it was arguably lower level offending. He would likely suffer a fine for it, and risk his job, but certainly not face time in Azkaban.

“How say you on Charge Five, child endangerment,” Madam Bones asked, this being the final charge. It related to Dumbledore writing to Lord Greengrass instructing him to put Harry back with his relatives, despite knowing the CPA had removed him. “Do you find Albus Dumbledore guilty or not guilty?”

“Guilty,” the Madam Foreperson finished, just as fast as she had delivered the last guilty verdict.

It seemed Lord Greengrass taking the stand under Veritaserum had paid off – there was now two guilty counts of child endangerment permanently etched on the record of Albus Dumbledore. This would carry implications for his continued employment as the headmaster of Hogwarts, but also his position on the Wizengamot and as Supreme Mugwump, given he now officially had a criminal record.

“Is this the verdict of you all?” Madam Bones asked the Madam Foreperson, this being the standard procedure to confirm for the courtroom that the jury were unanimous.

“Yes,” the woman answered. She then took her seat slowly.

“Thank you for your service,” Madam Bones addressed the jury. There appeared to be an interesting mix of expressions on the faces of the men and women. Some seemed resolute in their verdicts, but others seemed emotional. There was no obvious cohesion in the group, and given how long they had taken to return a verdict, it was clear there had been long arguments over whether or not to find Albus Dumbledore guilty or not guilty for certain charges.

“Could the Aurors please escort the jury from the courtroom?” Madam Bones continued. The jury were led out of the room, the doors swinging shut behind the last of them.

Madam Bones turned her gaze onto Albus Dumbledore then, stating, “Albus Dumbledore you have been acquitted of Charges One, Two and Three. A jury of your peers has found you guilty of two charges of child endangerment, these being Charges Four and Five. We will proceed to sentence you on these two charges tomorrow afternoon at one o’clock. Is there any objection from counsel?”

Mr Flint and Ms Smith each confirmed there were no issues with that course of action, and Madam Bones added, “Is there any application from the prosecution for Mr Dumbledore to be remanded into custody until his sentence?”

Mr Flint rose to his feet again; stating clearly, “There is no remand application.”

“Very well, Mr Dumbledore you are free to go for now until your sentence tomorrow afternoon at one o’clock,” Madam Bones directed.

Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet, offering a respectful bow to the Wizengamot, who had very mixed expressions on their faces. With his counsel Ms Smith flanking him to one side and the instructing solicitor to the other he swept from the room, no doubt to get a head start on the press.

The journalists were positively vibrating in their seats to be dismissed, dying to catch up with the man and interview him on the outcome of the trial.

With an inaudible sigh Madam Bones announced, “This court session is now concluded.”

Like ties had just been snapped the press were in motion, all but falling over themselves to chase after Dumbledore, nearly coming to pushing and shoving each other as they exited the courtroom at speed.

The members of the Wizengamot remained seated where they were, aware they had much to discuss. Once the last of the press had exited, and Mr Flint and his instructing solicitor after them, the remaining Aurors in the room had bowed and shut the doors behind them, leaving the members of the Wizengamot to their private discussions.

It was time to discuss and vote on how they were going to sentence Albus Dumbledore on the two charges of child endangerment he had been found guilty of.

Madam Bones felt like pinching her brow as she saw the mutinous looks being cast between certain members of the Wizengamot, and the fired up attitudes of many. It was bound to be an exhausting day of argument.

It was without much attention on the morning of the eighth of December that Elphias Doge was transported from Azkaban where he had been held for the past two weeks back to the main courtroom in the Ministry. There were a number of members of the press present when the Wizengamot handed down a sentence of three years in Azkaban.

It was a foregone conclusion given he was going to prison for the next three years, but he was also stripped of his position as head of the Gobstones League, and he subsequently lost his seat on the Wizengamot. A replacement would eventually have to be found in his department.

The man was taken away for transport back to the wizarding prison where he had been temporarily held on remand, now to be his place of residence for the next three years.

Given the nature and severity of his charges he was lucky to have only been sentenced to three years – but his otherwise clean criminal record and his advanced age had mitigated the sentence. There was an unspoken acknowledgement that it was possible Mr Doge could pass away in the next three years in Azkaban. Such was the punishing nature of the wizarding prison.

The court stood down to prepare the main event of the day – the sentencing of Albus Dumbledore at one o’clock. Already members of the press, both domestic and international, were filtering in to secure good spots in the gallery.

As the time crawled closer to one o’clock, Albus Dumbledore finally made his appearance, entering the courtroom with his counsel Ms Smith by his side. He was wearing eye-watering canary yellow robes and was trailed by the remainder of the press who were causing quite the commotion calling out questions, kept back by a small army of Aurors.

The Wizengamot were in the antechamber behind the courtroom, otherwise a stern glare from Madam Bones would have no doubt put an immediate halt to this circus. The Aurors struggled to keep the media at bay, attempting to direct them to take their seats in the press gallery.

Finally, as the clock struck one o’clock, the doors in the back of the courtroom swung open, revealing the familiar plum coloured robed figures of the Wizengamot as they started to file in to take their seats.

Like a switch had been flipped the press obediently sat down in their seats, the flustered and frustrated Aurors backing away to take up positions around the room.

Madam Bones once again sat on the raised dais usually reserved for the Chief Warlock, staring down the man who usually sat in that seat she now claimed.

Albus Dumbledore was perfectly calm as he waited to hear what the Wizengamot had in store. This was contrasted starkly against the eager anticipation of the press, who almost seemed to buzz in their keenness to hear what sentence would be handed down for the two charges of child endangerment.

Appearances were quickly taken once the court was formally opened, Mr Flint present for the Department of the Child Protection Authority, his face serious, and Ms Smith for Dumbledore. It was clear to all Mr Flint was still displeased at the results from yesterday.

“Albus Dumbledore, please stand,” Madam Bones directed.

The man rose to his feet, yellow robes sweeping against the marble floor of the courtroom as he did so.

“On Charge Four, child endangerment, the Wizengamot fines you twenty-five thousand Galleons, which you are directed to pay into the Child Protection Authority fund,” Madam Bones declared.

It was a steep fine, but fair in the circumstances of the offending. Madam Bones continued, “On Charge Five, child endangerment, the Wizengamot fines you’re a further twenty-five thousand Galleons, to be paid cumulatively upon the other fine into the Child Protection Authority fund. This brings your total fine to fifty thousand Galleons.”

It was a small fortune for many, but within Dumbledore’s means to pay. “The Wizengamot sets the repayment period to be one year, commencing from today.”

If Dumbledore did default on his repayments he could face further legal proceedings.

“It is further declared,” Madam Bones said, steely eyes focused on Dumbledore, “That a no confidence motion has passed following the jury verdicts of guilty on the two child endangerment charges. I hereby state that Albus Dumbledore has been voted out of his position as Chief Warlock by a majority of this council.”

Dumbledore’s eyes widened slightly in shock, but he otherwise maintained his composure. The press were having a field day though, craning their heads to catch sight of Minister Fudge, who had been the one to put Albus Dumbledore on the Wizengamot in the first place. The man looked sweaty, studiously avoiding looking at Dumbledore or the press.

“The Wizengamot has also voted, by majority, to strip Albus Dumbledore of his position as a delegate to the International Confederation of Wizards,” Madam Bones continued.

There were open mouths amongst the press – the implications of this being that Dumbledore would no longer be able to attend the annual meetings, and would lose his position as Supreme Mugwump by default as he was not eligible to be voted back in without attending the meeting.

The British Ministry had just shut the door to the international political scene for Albus Dumbledore. Now, in both in a domestic and international context, Albus Dumbledore had just been cut off.

The courtroom listened intently to see if any further flow on effects would be announced, of particular outstanding importance being the matter of Dumbledore’s employment as headmaster of Hogwarts. He now had two charges of child endangerment to his name, not to mention the fact too that he now carried a criminal record.

“Albus Dumbledore, there is no automatic disqualification on you continuing to have the right to teach, and maintaining your position as headmaster of Hogwarts. However, the Wizengamot makes a formal motion now, by majority, to have the matter of your future employment referred to the Board of Governors.” There was a slightly unimpressed slant to Madam Bones’ face – she had clearly wanted to strip Dumbledore here and now, but the majority of the Wizengamot had decided to leave the decision to the governors of the school.

Dumbledore nodded gravely in understanding – his fate as headmaster now rested in the hands of the twelve governors of Hogwarts. Nine votes of the twelve were required to remove him as headmaster.

“Do either counsel wish to respond?” Madam Bones asked, glancing towards Mr Flint and Ms Smith.

Both respectfully declined to respond, and so Madam Bones nodded, completing the formalities by stating, “I call this sentencing hearing to a close. Court is adjourned.”

With that a roar of noise rose up as the press scrambled to call out questions to Dumbledore, stripped of all of his political power, and facing the threat of losing his position as headmaster too.

News was already spreading fast, word carrying across wizarding Britain and the wider international community that a significant void of power had just emerged.

Time would tell which political figures in Britain would raise up to stake their claim in the power vacuum.

Narcissa had reached out to Sirius and Arcturus offering an update on the meeting of the Board of Governors, resulting in the two men attending Malfoy Manor on Friday afternoon the following day, awaiting the arrival of Lucius with news of the outcome of the meeting.

Rosie and Gareth were present too, Sirius having requested his cousin invite the Greengrass couple as well. They were gathered in one of Malfoy Manor’s opulent parlour rooms, eyes glancing over to the fireplace waiting for Lucius to come through.

Gareth would find out the results regardless later that day as a member of the Wizengamot, no longer stood down now that the sentences had been handed down for Doge and Dumbledore. But with this invitation from Narcissa Malfoy, he would hear the news before the board notified the rest of his colleagues.

Harry, Daphne and Astoria were in their Friday afternoon lesson at the Greengrass estate under Ezra’s instruction, and he had offered to look after the children if the Greengrass couple were not back in time for the conclusion of the lesson.

Narcissa, ever the gracious hostess, had an afternoon tea service prepared by the Malfoy house elves and was tending to her guests’ every need. She was seated beside Rosie on a chaise lounge, Gareth taking up an individual wing backed chair closer to his wife.

Sirius and Arcturus were seated on the chaise lounge opposite Narcissa and Rosie, and there was an individual chair positioned nearby Narcissa that had been left open for Lucius to take when he arrived.

The Greengrass couple were very familiar with the Malfoys, especially since Daphne and Draco were friends, however Sirius felt tense to be officially meeting Lucius. They had seen each other in passing over the years, but had never properly interacted. Sirius actually believed they might have crossed wands during the war, but it was hard to tell with the Death Eaters wearing masks.

Lord Black was the picture of ease, sipping delicately from his fine china cup of tea, listening politely to Gareth’s take on the potential new members of the Wizengamot soon to be joining once Doge’s job was filled and presumably Crouch, who looked unlikely to keep his job let alone stay out of Azkaban.

The disgraced politician was set to face court himself for the commencement of his criminal trial on Monday. It was hoped a verdict could be delivered by Yuletide.

Gareth’s blue eyes slid in a considering fashion to Sirius, who was half distracted listening to the other conversation occurring between his cousin and Rosie, the two women discussing Rosie’s upcoming trip to Paris for a work conference.

“Would you consider a political career, Sirius?” Gareth asked Sirius, drawing the attention of the two women out of their separate conversation.

Sirius snorted at that, replying, “Becoming a politician is the last thing I want – no offence Gareth.”

“None taken,” he replied easily. “You are a skilled duellist – I know you do not wish to re-join the Aurors, but have you considered a job teaching perhaps?”

Sirius cocked his head to one side, actually considering it. His grandfather watched on patiently but with an interested gleam in his eyes – it would be good for Sirius to get back into the work force and have a bit more routine in his life to continue to help his recovery.

“Not really sure teaching is my cup of tea either,” Sirius confessed slowly. “I’m not very good at enforcing or following rules.”

Lord Black hid a smirk behind his cup of tea. His grandson indeed had always had issues with authority.

“Teaching is not just about enforcing rules over your students – it’s about sharing your knowledge and mentoring the young people under your care,” Rosie said, in a surprisingly passionate manner. She reigned herself in slightly and added, “My brother, Ezra, teaches Transfiguration at Durmstrang, as you know. He loves his job.”

Sirius still seemed unconvinced, but there was a thoughtful expression on his face. They were all distracted from the conversation by the fireplace flaring bright green, and receding to reveal Lucius Malfoy stepping forward.

He did not have a single strand of his long blonde hair out of place, grey eyes coolly surveying the room, although they seemed to soften as he made eye contact with his wife. Those present in the room rose to greet the man, who strode over to avoid making his guests move away from their seats.

He pressed a kiss to the back of Rosie’s hand, and a kiss to his own wife’s cheek, and shook the hands of Gareth and Lord Black firmly but respectfully.

He turned at last to Sirius, who was the only untitled person in the room, and held out a hand to him with a polite, “Mr Black.”

“Lord Malfoy,” Sirius murmured back, taking the hand and giving it a quick shake. Lucius did not attempt to do anything malicious, his grip not too tight or loose. The blonde haired man then stepped back, gesturing for his guests to take their seats as he claimed the available wing backed chair near Narcissa.  

Lucius folded his hands neatly once seated, looking around at the intense expressions on the faces of those around him, waiting for his news.

Cutting straight to the point the man announced to the room, “We did not secure the necessary votes. Dumbledore will remain headmaster of Hogwarts.”

“Who voted in his favour?” Rosie asked incredulously, fury in every line of her body though she fought hard to maintain her composure.

“There were four – we were one vote short of removing him,” Lucius explained, a cold anger in his own eyes.

The Board of Governors were under no such vow of secrecy like the Wizengamot – they could talk openly about their meetings, although they were not to go to the press with such information, facing legal repercussions if they did so.

Lucius listed the four names of the people who had refused to vote Dumbledore out of his job, none of them registering as familiar in the minds of those gathered. He derisively added, “Completely in Dumbledore’s pocket, the lot of them. Even with the weight of Lady Longbottom campaigning fiercely to remove Dumbledore, they could not be swayed. Fools, all of them.”

Sirius’s fists were clenched in his lap, staring down. Dumbledore had lost his political power but he would retain a foothold in Hogwarts and his position of influence over the future generations coming through. The public’s faith had been shaken and in some places shattered completely when it came to the man, yet he still managed to stubbornly survive.

“We were able to get a near unanimous vote though to place him on probation,” Lucius admitted grudgingly. “Three years of supervision by the board. If he puts one toe out of line, he’s gone.”

“But if he completes his probation he will be back in full control in time for Harry starting at Hogwarts,” Arcturus pointed out quietly.

Sirius looked up in shock, realising his grandfather was correct. Harry would be in his first year at Hogwarts when Dumbledore was released from his probation.

“I’m really thinking I might need to send Harry to a different school,” Sirius grit out.

The other stared at him in shock at that admission, bar Arcturus, whom Sirius had already discussed the matter with. Sirius added defensively, “I want him nowhere near my godson.”

Everyone in the room looked at him with varying degrees of understanding as to why Sirius would want Dumbledore nowhere near Harry. For good measure though Sirius continued, “He has not stopped owling me and trying other forms of contact, through other people too, to try and talk to me. Honestly, at this point I’m considering reporting him for harassment, or taking out an intervention order.”

“I still say you should report him,” Lord Black said with a sniff, but there was an undercurrent of anger at the way Dumbledore would not leave his grandson alone.

“After your interview I feared he might send one of his Order after you,” Narcissa confessed quietly, icy blue eyes fixed worriedly on her cousin.

Sirius face hardened and he growled, “If he or someone acting for him, comes anywhere near me or my godson I will make him regret it to the day he dies.”

Lucius observed Sirius with an intrigued gleam in his silvery-grey eyes, asking silkily, “Would you really consider sending your godson to an alternative school?”

Sirius spread his hands out, replying, “If it means he’s safe out of Dumbledore’s reach, then yes. Beauxbatons is closest, but they teach exclusively in French, so I would have to get Harry a language tutor as soon as possible. But it’s a possibility. Then there’s Durmstrang, they teach in English, though the school is a lot further away in Northern Europe. I’ve started to look into Ilvermorny in the United States and Warndurla Academy in Australia as they both teach in English too.”

“You’re really considering this,” Gareth realised quietly, hearing Sirius explain his research into alternative schools.

“I’m not in a rush to make any decisions yet,” Sirius replied. “And I don’t like the idea of sending Harry far away from home to study in a different country either. Not to mention he’s started making friends here.”

Sirius nodded towards the Greengrass couple but also the Malfoys, acknowledging that Harry seemed open to becoming friends with their son, Draco. Harry had also really taken to the Longbottom heir, Neville. Those children would certainly all be attending Hogwarts, and Sirius knew Harry would be disappointed to not go to the same school as them.

“Draco has not stopped talking about Harry since they met,” Narcissa said fondly, glancing towards her husband, who gracefully inclined his head in agreement.

“As you said, there is no need for haste in making a decision yet,” Arcturus put forward. “Even if Dumbledore survives his probation, his every move is scrutinised now and will continue to be in the future. The board will monitor him closely as I understand it?”

Lord Black surveyed Lucius as he said this, and the blonde-haired man agreed, “We’ve set a number of precautions in place for his probationary period, and there is a strong push for those protective measures to continue past his probation. Things like spontaneous school visits, monthly reports, teacher interviews to encourage the reporting of any suspicious behaviour or welfare concerns they might have for students.”

Rosie looked aghast as she asked, “Was that not already standard procedure?”

Lucius’ face tightened and he replied, “One would have expected as much. I’ve been pushing for change since I joined the board three years ago, and I can say with confidence that the meeting today is the closest we have ever gotten to exercising any meaningful power over the administration of the school.”

Unsettled looks were exchanged between those present, but there was also a feeling of unsurprised acceptance at that admission, given how Dumbledore had been dominating the school policies since he commenced as headmaster in 1966.

Eager to lighten the mood and cover up the stilted silence, Narcissa turned back to Rosie, asking her to continue sharing about her upcoming Paris conference. Gareth listened in, always proud to hear his wife talk about her work as a Runes Mistress.

Lord Black lowered his fine china cup to the table before him and said quietly so as not to interrupt Rosie talking to Narcissa and Gareth, but loudly enough to catch Lucius’ attention, “Lord Malfoy, my grandson and I have a rather unusual query for you.”

There was definite interest on the man’s face as he looked between Sirius and Arcturus, although he calmly responded, “I would be happy to assist if it is in my power to do so.”

Arcturus gazed calmly over at his grandson, dark eyes silently instructing him to be the one to do the talking from here on out. He knew Sirius still had his reservations about Lucius Malfoy, but as the future lord of the House of Black he needed to grow accustomed to interacting with his fellow lords and ladies, particularly those he might not get along with.

Sirius straightened under his grandfather’s gaze, and turned slightly to give Lucius his undivided attention. “I came across a family name in Harry’s heritage through the Potter bloodline that I did not recognise. My grandfather confirmed it was not a family name that has ever appeared in the Black lineage, and Gareth and Rosie respectively have affirmed now that it is not in the Greengrass or Yaxley lines.” Watching Lucius’ face closely, Sirius asked, “Have you heard of the Peverell family?”

Lucius thought quietly for a few moments, his expression open. If the name meant anything to him, he certainly did not show it. At last he admitted, “I cannot profess to be familiar with that name.”

Sirius pushed down his disappointment, but he was not as adept at schooling his features as Lucius, who had the art of a poker face down from a young age. Seeing Sirius’ reaction, Lucius probed, “Are they an old wizarding family?”

“They are – older than the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” Sirius informed him, partly for the pleasure of seeing the man’s composure crack, the disbelief written across his face in the widening of his eyes.

“The Potters draw their ancestry from this Peverell family, you say?” Lucius asked, a growing light of intrigue and interest evident.

“The Potters might not have been formally recognised as purebloods until Harry’s great-grandfather due to their intermarrying with Muggleborns and half bloods, but that does not mean they do not have a significant magical legacy behind them. The title of pureblood meant nothing to them – they have freely married throughout the generations, and I dare say that is why their bloodline has survived to the present day, lasting far longer than any of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families.” Sirius said, a little challengingly to see how Lucius reacted. The man was notoriously a pureblood supremacist.

“Just how far back does this lineage go?” Lucius asked slowly, showing no sign of his true thoughts and feelings as he gazed impassively back at Sirius.

Here Sirius paused, knowing if he gave even an approximate figure that Lucius could possibly connect the dots to the time period Morgan le Fay was said to have lived. The man was nothing if not intelligent.

“Further back than the Sacred Twenty-Eight can trace their lineage,” Sirius repeated, stubbornly guarding the exact time.

Lucius’ grey eyes narrowed, but he did not push any further. Then his expression smoothed out and he said silkily, “An impressive lineage, indeed. However, as I said, the Peverell name is unfamiliar to me. Certainly not a family the Malfoy's can claim any relation to.”

Sirius trusted the man to know his family tree down to the last distant relative, given how much stock the Malfoy’s put in their bloodline. He also expected that had the Malfoy’s been able to trace their lineage back through the Peverell family they would have been shouting it from the rooftops knowing where that bloodline led back to.

“However,” Lucius added, pausing for dramatic effect. Sirius resisted the urge to roll his eyes, waiting to hear what else the man had to say. “The library here at Malfoy Manor is one of the largest private collections in Europe.” Sirius had to fight the urge to roll his eyes even more, every word of the other man dripping in pride and superiority. But that feeling changed when Lucius unexpectedly offered, “I can do some research into the name for you, if you like? We have many ancient records, and my ancestors were particularly fascinated with family bloodlines.”

“I would be grateful,” Sirius said, cautiously. “Specifically, we are interested in any other descendants of Iolanthe Peverell and Hardwin Potter.”

Lucius nodded, committing the names to memory. Sirius had not expected the man to actually offer to do research for him. Then a wariness rose up in him, honed by years of suspicion towards people like Lucius Malfoy, and he asked, “What do you want in return?”

A single pale eyebrow rose in response, and Sirius could sense his grandfather’s exasperation in his peripheral vision, and he had to resist the urge to wince.

Lucius humoured his suspicion in good grace though, replying easily, “Learning more about such an ancient wizarding family would be reward enough I think. Too much of our history and legacies are lost to time.”

Sirius nodded his head, a little embarrassed. “Thank you, Lord Malfoy.”

“You may call me Lucius,” he replied, causing Sirius to stare back in shock, not sure how to feel about the offer. “You are my wife’s cousin, your godson and my son are distantly related. You are welcome to drop the formalities with me. That invitation extends to you too, Lord Black,” Lucius added towards Arcturus with a respectful nod.

Seeing Sirius rendered silent, Arcturus replied, “You may call me Arcturus then, Lucius.” He turned pointedly to his grandson, who blinked under the scrutiny and found himself saying reflexively, “You can call me Sirius.”

He almost immediately regretted it, but knew better than to let that show. Although, judging by the amused tilt to Lucius’ lips he had noticed it nonetheless. Thankfully, rather than be offended, he found it humorous.

Sirius could see his grandfather hide his own amusement behind another sip of his tea. Gareth, Rosie, and Narcissa who had caught the end of the conversation were all looking vaguely amused too and Sirius was struck suddenly by the realisation he was currently in a room surrounded by former Slytherin students.

Rather than the thought raise his hackles as it used to in the past, Sirius felt a determination rise in him. Every person in that room was objectively better at playing the social game than Sirius.

Raising his chin a little, Sirius said to Lucius, “Harry mentioned wanting to see Draco again – perhaps we could organise a time for him to visit Malfoy Manor?”

He was rewarded by Lucius looking a little taken aback, having expected Sirius to insist on maintaining distance between his godson and Lucius, given the man’s Death Eater past. However, Sirius was coming to realise the advantage of maintaining a certain degree of closeness with Lucius Malfoy. The man and Narcissa for that matter exercised a different kind of power to that of a politician like Gareth on the Wizengamot or a sought after professional like Rosie.

The power they wielded was social, their immense wealth and connections opening doors for them that would otherwise be impossible to budge. Lucius alone maintained connections to almost every business sector in wizarding Britain, and had a hand behind most of the boards that managed the biggest corporations domestically and even internationally.

It was true that Lucius posed a risk with his ties to Voldemort and his followers, but Sirius trusted Narcissa implicitly. His grandfather had spoken often recently about putting faith in family, and Sirius knew that if the choice presented itself to Narcissa she would choose to protect Harry over her husband’s interests.

Catching his cousin’s eyes, Sirius saw the emotion welled up there, and knew Narcissa understood that this was Sirius putting his trust in her to ensure no harm came to Harry while he was in her home.

“We would be delighted to have Harry visit us,” Lucius replied, at last.

Sirius nodded, the matter agreed upon.

Observing this interaction, Gareth thought privately to himself that as much as Sirius scoffed at being a politician, they could make one of him yet.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Nine: The starting line

The weekend after the explosive sentences of Elphias Doge and more significantly, Albus Dumbledore, Ezra Yaxley arrived at Black Castle to officially commence the practical portion of his study into the connection between a child’s accidental magic and wandless magic.

It had been a little over a month since he had discussed Harry’s participation in the study with Sirius Black, and Ezra had been busy drafting detailed plans for how the experiments were to proceed, as promised.

As agreed too, he would be attending Black Castle to conduct the experiments under Sirius’ supervision. The sessions would be spaced out every second weekend, Ezra exercising caution in case the experiments tired Harry in any way.

He was all too aware that if any harm came to Harry he would not only be beating himself up about it, but he would have the fury of the Black family clan on him, and perhaps equally terrifying, the rage of his twin sister and her husband.

So it was with a degree of trepidation that Ezra Yaxley stepped into the rather imposing Grand Reception Room of Black Castle, having been granted authority to connect his fireplace in his London townhouse to this one in the intimidating ancestral family home of the Black family.

Ezra was greeted by the grinning face of Harry, green eyes flashing with excitement, and the more watchful presence of Sirius Black lurking behind his godson’s shoulder, grey eyes observant as Ezra smiled down at Harry.

“Thank you for having me,” he said politely, glancing towards Sirius and not bothering with any other formalities as one heir of a Sacred Twenty-Eight house to another. He knew by now that Sirius was not one for the tedium of such protocols. A man after Ezra’s own heart.

And honestly, despite his time in Azkaban, the man was undeniably still handsome, albeit a little too thin to be healthy. His recovery over the past month had been strong, given the motivation of wanting to do right by Harry and be healthy for his godson.

Between those striking grey eyes and the handsome angles of his face, Sirius Black cut an attractive figure.

Realising he was staring, and Sirius was staring straight back, Ezra cleared his throat a little awkwardly and said, “Where would you like to conduct the study?”

“This way,” Sirius said, one hand on Harry’s shoulder as he guided him out of the room, trusting Ezra to follow.

As the Yaxley heir followed Sirius and Harry past the grand Black family tapestry and out of the room, he was quietly impressed as his hazel eyes roved between the interesting paintings, suits of armour, tapestries and statues along the corridor outside.

This place spoke of wealth and history – the walls of the castle practically yelled it for the world to know and appreciate. Ezra considered himself appreciative as he was guided presumably deeper into the massive, sprawling estate.

At last they came to a set of doors, which swung open seemingly on their own, but Ezra suspected house elf magic unseen at work. His suspicion was confirmed when Harry piped up with a quiet, “Thank you!” to the unseen assister.

Sirius looked a little amused, but fond of his godson’s politeness to what Sirius had always just taken for granted growing up. Ezra thought it was rather sweet, if a little unorthodox. He was certain many would disapprove of such behaviour, particularly in front of guests. He was sure to show no negative reaction on his face, noticing Sirius none too subtly survey him for his reaction, a protective hand still on his godson’s shoulder.

Satisfied Ezra was not going to say anything disparaging about Harry’s habits with the house elves, Sirius explained as Ezra peered into the now visible room beyond, “This is a duelling chamber. You didn’t provide any other instructions other than having an open space to practice, and a space to sit and talk during breaks.”

“No, this is perfect,” Ezra said, eyes darting around the stone chamber beyond, well lit with a high ceiling. There was a table and chairs set against the far wall. “I’ve brought everything else I need.”

Harry eagerly eyed Ezra’s satchel over his shoulder, keen to see what the man had brought and to get the experiments started.  

“I read all of your lesson plans,” Sirius confirmed. As promised, Ezra had provided them to Sirius in advance. “This first section of the experiment sounds simple enough.”

Harry pouted, wanting to know what was coming up. He had not been told in advance to prevent the study being spoiled by Harry being able to prepare.

“Let’s get started, if you’re ready Harry?” Ezra asked, looking down.

“I’m ready,” Harry insisted, nearly vibrating out of his skin with excitement.

Ezra smiled and entered the duelling chamber, hearing the echoing taps of Harry and Sirius feet as they followed him. He pulled out his wand slowly, and waved it in a coaxing fashion towards where the table and chairs were, pulling three cushions off the chairs towards him. They flew through the air, coming to land gently in a loose triangle shape on the floor in the middle of the chamber.

Ezra turned around, and said, “Please sit,” gesturing for Harry and Sirius to do the same.

Ezra sat down on the nearest cushion, pulling off his satchel and setting it beside him as he watched a confused Harry and a neutral Sirius claim their own cushions.

Ezra sat comfortably with crossed legs, hiding his amusement at the way Sirius shuffled around trying to get in a position that suited him, before finally settling with his knees pulled up off the ground and his arms clasped loosely around them.

“For this initial experiment, I am going to get you to attempt meditation to connect you to your magical core.”

Harry looked interested, but also still a little confused. “What is meditation?” he asked.

“Meditation is where you focus your mind on a particular idea or activity, and attempt to put all of your awareness on that thing. Some use the technique to reduce stress and anxiety. Today we will be using it to attempt to focus your mind on your magical core,” Ezra explained.

Harry nodded in understanding, and Ezra continued, “You told me on Samhain that you felt connected to your magic.”

Sirius looked at Harry sharply in surprise – Harry had told him he felt connected to James and Lily that night, but had not mentioned any connection to his magic.

“Yes,” Harry agreed, an excited light entering his eyes.

“And you told me that now that you had sensed your own magic, you felt ready to begin experimenting,” Ezra prompted.

“It was like my skin was buzzing, like I could feel every part of my body,” Harry shared.

Ezra nodded and explained, “This is not unheard of on a sacred day, particularly if you have actively participated in the ritual, as you did. The challenge though is helping you find that connection to your magic on an average day. Thus, we will attempt meditation.”

Sirius spoke up then, adding, “I can’t say I’ve ever meditated myself, but I’ve heard it can help you connect with your own magical core.”

Seeing Harry’s excited face Ezra cautioned, “Sensing and being aware of your own magic is just the first step. Drawing upon it and applying it consciously without a wand is yet to be proven possible for a child of your age.”

Harry’s face fell, and Ezra added, “But that is why we are here – we are testing the theory to see if we can prove it is in fact possible to harness a child’s accidental magic.” The blonde-haired man turned his gaze to Sirius, asking him, “Do you wish to join my guided meditation? I intend on this first meditation to be short – just ten minutes and then we can review afterwards.”

Sirius considered it, the words of his therapist coming to mind about mindfulness techniques to work on in between his sessions. Meditation had been mentioned as one of the tools to manage his mental health.

“I will, at least for this first session,” Sirius agreed.

Ezra nodded, and said, “Alright. I want you both to close your eyes for me now.”

As Ezra started his guided meditation he observed both Harry and Sirius, but mainly Harry, as he was the focus of the study. Both fidgeted at times, but Ezra kept guiding them both back to the initial focus of the meditation, which was their breath.

As the minutes ticked by he noticed both of their breathing grow deeper and more even, the moments of non-awareness as they sank into the meditation becoming more frequent than the moments of awareness when their eyelids would flicker or they would move their fingers.

Ezra began the gentle directing of both to consider what was going on internally rather than the external stimulus around them. He had them focusing on what they could sense within their bodies – if they could feel the breath expand in their chest, could feel the slow pulse in their veins and if they could go deeper still to see what else they could find. This part he knew Sirius might excel at more than Harry, the man having a fully developed magical core as an adult, and already having practiced magic for many years.

However as soon as he detected furrows in the brows of both Harry and Sirius as they attempted to stretch beyond their physical awareness to feel their magical cores, Ezra knew it was time to wrap up the meditation. Once frustrations were raised, it would spoil the rest of the session, especially since both were novices.

So he quietly directed both to focus on their breathing again, anchoring them to a motion that worked earlier to loosen their awareness of the outside world. Sure enough, they both settled again, until Ezra gradually brought them up out of the meditative state they were in and back to reality.

“Open your eyes when you’re ready,” Ezra said softly.

Sirius flicked his open immediately, looking down to Harry, who still had his eyes closed. The furrow had returned to the boy’s brow. Finally, his green eyes opened and he swallowed heavily, clearly disappointed.

“Congratulations to both of you on completing a meditation session,” Ezra said calmly.

“I didn’t sense my magical core,” Harry said immediately.

“This was only the first session – the starting line,” Ezra reassured him. “Now that you know some meditative techniques you can practice each night before you go to bed if you like. If you keep at it regularly, eventually you’ll be able to slip right into the correct headspace to begin reaching out for your magical core.”

“I didn’t sense my magical core either,” Sirius confessed slowly, looking slightly troubled by that.

“You’re new to meditation,” Ezra told the other man, keeping his voice level and careful not to come off as patronising. “As I said, the more you practice these kind of techniques, the greater the chance of tapping into your magical core.”

Sirius nodded in understanding, and Ezra, seeing Harry still looking disappointed, suggested, “Let’s move to the table shall we? I’d like to develop a chart of your experiences with accidental magic growing up.”

Sirius’ presence here would prove undeniably crucial – he was able to share events of accidental magic Harry had displayed from birth. As they began documenting Harry’s history, Ezra found himself impressed.

Apparently, Harry’s first witnessed bout of accidental magic had been when he was a week old, crying for something. James had been at a loss with how to calm the newborn, having ruled out hunger as Harry had just been fed and a wet nappy, as he was clean.

Then James had felt a faint tug on his navel, like a very weak attempt at being pulled. It was so gentle he didn’t move, but the sensation tried clearly to pull him towards baby Harry. James had realised then as he quickly moved over to the cot and picked Harry up, shushing the infant with awed eyes, that Harry had wanted simply to be held, and had just performed accidental magic to wordlessly communicate that to his dad.

It was not uncommon for witches and wizards to display their first bout of accidental magic in infancy – as accidental magic was tied to heightened emotion, and infants were not capable of processing their emotions, they often displayed weak bouts of magic.

Ezra was captivated though by the realisation that baby Harry had been capable of magically tugging on his father in a strong enough fashion to be actually felt by James.

Sirius shared a few other instances he could recall of Harry moving toys he wanted, and when he started to learn how to walk a heart-stopping occasion when he had slipped over but instead of hitting the hardwood he had bounced slightly, completely unharmed.

Ezra noted this all down carefully on a timeline, but also started categorising the instances of accidental magic into guesses of which types of magic they corresponded to. Moving the toys was obviously levitation, but pulling his father towards him was some form of charm and changing the texture of the floor so he bounced fell more under transfiguration.

Then it came time for Harry to share his memories of accidental magic growing up with his Muggle relatives, and Ezra was appreciative Sirius was there, because he was aware this was a sensitive topic. His sister and brother-in-law might have remained tight lipped about what Harry had been through, but he had read the media reports from Doge and Dumbledore’s trials and knew Harry had least experienced some form of neglect or abuse at the hands of the Muggles.

It was with great respect and caution that Ezra questioned Harry, never digging too deep into any particular occasions. He was fascinated though to hear Harry succeeded in completing a full Apparition at the age of seven. That was a significant leap from the weaker forms of earlier accidental magic.

It made Ezra’s face tighten though as he realised the fear Harry must have experienced to have caused his magic to activate in his defence in such a way.

Likewise, Harry’s accounts of him somehow always slipping by his cousin undetected when he was being hunted indicated a possible use of the Disillusionment Charm or perhaps an unconscious notice-me-not spell.

Harry added for good measure he had once regrown his hair overnight after a bad haircut, but admitted he realised now that was probably his Metamorphmagi ability, and both Ezra and Sirius agreed.

With the full picture of Harry’s bouts of accidental magic documented, Ezra examined the documents before him, and could only come to one conclusion; Harry had displayed accidental magic of an advanced nature.

It seemed promising that if he was capable of such things as a complete Apparition, albeit under threatening circumstances, that he could possibly tap into that same finesse and control his magic again, but this time with intent.

Ezra told Harry as much, and was rewarded by the boy’s disappointed demeanour lightening up slightly. Not wanting to set him up for failure though, Ezra added, “We will have to continue simply with mediation though until you can connect to your magical core. As I said, it is the first step. We will commence our second session in two weeks, as agreed. In the meantime I want you to keep practicing those breathing techniques and emptying your mind of thoughts before bed each night.”

Casting a look Sirius’ way Ezra added a little playfully, “You can do the homework too if you want, Mr Black.”

The man’s lips quirked in a smirk and he asked, “Will you give me detention if I don’t do it?”

Ezra was trying very hard not to flirt with a man who was still recovering from an ordeal in Azkaban and whose eight year old godson was present and curiously watching the interaction, but Morgana if Sirius Black was not making it difficult.

“We’ll see,” he said, forcing down the flirtatious tone that almost emerged reflexively, and instead keeping things friendly.

“You can call me Sirius, by the way,” the man said, grey eyes intent on Ezra.

“Call me Ezra then,” the blonde replied, hoping his voice sounded calm and stable and not breathless like he feared it might be. Morgana have mercy, he was in his thirties, not a teenager.

Thankfully Harry cut in then, wheedling, “Can’t we meet next weekend? We’re just doing meditation to start with, that isn’t tiring.” His green eyes were wide and begging as he looked up at his godfather.

Ezra deferred to Sirius, waiting to see what the man decided. Although Ezra had set the fortnightly schedule with the later lesson plans in mind, it was true these early sessions were hardly strenuous.

Finally Sirius turned to Ezra asking him, “Are you available the same time next weekend?”

“I am,” Ezra confirmed, and Harry beamed.

And if a little part of Ezra was excited to have the excuse to be around Sirius Black a little bit more, well, that was his business.

They were interrupted by the head house elf, Torley, appearing in the chamber. With a polite bow he informed Sirius, “Master Black, your guest Mr Lupin has arrived.”

Sirius grinned, commenting, “He’s always been so prompt.” He turned to Ezra and said, “I should introduce you to Remus before you leave.”

Ezra nodded politely, intrigued to meet the elusive Remus Lupin. Ever since his name had appeared in the Daily Prophet as the alternative guardian who had been meant to take custody of Harry, the public had been keen for more information on the former school friend of James and Lily Potter.

He followed Sirius and Harry back through the winding, grand halls of Black Castle to the room he had originally Flooed into. Arriving in the opulent central reception room, Ezra could see a man standing near the windows overlooking the grounds.

He turned around, revealing a young man with short light brown hair, unusual amber eyes and soft features that were edged with tiredness. He seemed cautious once he noticed Ezra’s presence, those unique eyes glancing between Ezra, Sirius and Harry.

Harry darted forward before Sirius could do introductions, giving a surprised Remus a hug as he exclaimed, “Sirius didn’t say you were coming over today!”

“Remus, this is Harry’s tutor, Ezra Yaxley. Ezra, this is my friend, Remus Lupin,” Sirius introduced, an amused look on his face as Harry sheepishly let go of Remus, stepping away to allow the two men to meet. Remus’ amber eyes followed Harry fondly, before he turned to examine Ezra again.

Ezra held out his hand, Remus moving forward to return the handshake. “Nice to meet you,” Remus said quietly, but politely.

“And you,” Ezra replied, interested to learn more about this mysterious man.

“Do you tutor Harry on weekends?” Remus asked. His voice was light and inquisitive, but something about the way he said it caught Ezra’s attention. Ezra saw those amber eyes almost imperceptibly glance to Sirius, before looking back at Ezra.

Interesting.

“I generally only tutor Harry on weekdays,” Ezra explained. He looked over at Sirius, silently asking him how much he wanted Remus to know about the study.

“Ezra is conducting a study into the link between accidental magic and wandless magic,” Sirius told Remus. “Harry is participating in it.”

“Wandless magic?” Remus asked, his astonishment apparent.

“If you’re interested, I would be glad to discuss it with you,” Ezra offered.

“Thank you,” Remus replied, his shock still apparent. “Are you a researcher as well as a tutor?” he asked Ezra.

“I am actually a teacher at Durmstrang – I teach Transfiguration. But I’m taking a two year sabbatical for the study,” Ezra replied.

There was a longing look on Remus’ face he could not quite hide. Almost without realising it he murmured, “I always wanted to be a teacher.”

“You should be one!” Sirius exclaimed encouragingly. “You’d be great.”

Remus gave Sirius a pointed look – he could hardly hold down a steady job in the wizarding world being a werewolf. If he wanted to avoid detection by the Ministry, he was forced to remain in the Muggle world taking odd end jobs where he didn’t have to prove he had a high school qualification.

To dispel the tension, Sirius added with a glance to Ezra, “Your sister tried to convince me yesterday of the merits of being a teacher – she told me I should consider it. She made a rather passionate case for it.”

Remus and Harry both looked surprised, having not been informed of this.

Ezra lifted one blonde eyebrow, an amused curve to his lips as he replied, “Oh?”

“I think it would be a disaster,” Sirius said, with a self-deprecating laugh.

But Remus stated quietly, “I always thought you might teach, Sirius.” That immediately wiped the laughter from Sirius, looking at his old friend with confusion and curiosity. “Maybe not kids,” he elaborated, shifting a bit uncomfortably as he was now under the scrutiny of the room. “You’re one of the best duellists I know. I thought one day you might teach young adults.”

Sirius’ mouth was open slightly, and realising that, he shut it with a slight click. “Huh,” he said at last. “I swear sometimes you know me better than myself.”

Remus smiled fondly.

Ezra examined Remus with continued interest, and offered, “If you are ever considering a job teaching, I am happy to discuss career pathways and opportunities with you?”

Remus smiled, tinged with a bit of sadness, as he said back, “Thank you – but I am fine with my current employment.”

A bit of an awkward silence descended. Before it could get too obvious, Ezra stated, “Right, well, I should be off. Harry, Sirius I’ll see you both next weekend. Do your homework, both of you,” he couldn’t help playfully adding at the end.

Harry nodded seriously, ever responsible when it came to study. Sirius smirked, and Ezra returned the look.

Remus was there to report on the latest meeting of the Order, the first since Doge had been imprisoned and Dumbledore sentenced to fines and stripped of his positions as Chief Warlock and his spot on the delegation to the International Confederation of Wizards.

However, Harry was so pleased to see him that he decided to hold off his meeting with Sirius in order to spend some time with Harry. The boy all but dragged Remus to Black Castle's library to show him an interesting text he had found the other day, sharing a fond look with Sirius, who had lamented dramatically after them that his godson liked spending time with Remus more than him.

After spending a couple of hours together, Sirius had subtly sent a house elf to get his grandfather to come and distract Harry so that he and Remus could talk privately. His grandfather indulged his request, strolling into the library shortly after Sirius had sent the house elf to get him.

Remus stood immediately when he spotted Arcturus, nodding his head respectfully. He had met Lord Black when he had first visited Black Castle two weeks ago, Sirius introducing them briefly before Remus had taken his leave. Lord Black had been perfectly pleasant, but Remus was still nervous around the head of the House of Black.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Remus said politely. Lord Black had invited Remus to call him Arcturus, understanding he was an important part of Sirius’ life, but Remus remained very formal around him.

“Good afternoon - I was hoping I could steal my grandson from you both,” Arcturus said, causing Harry to grin.

“First Remus, now my own grandfather,” Sirius mock complained. “Very well, kid, off you go with your grandfather.”

Arcturus placed a warm hand on Harry’s shoulder when he reached his side, leaning in to talk with him quietly about something as he gently guided him away from the two men and out of the library. He nodded to both Sirius and Remus as he departed.

“Your grandfather is very fond of Harry,” Remus noted, amber eyes staring after direction the two had walked in.

Sirius strolled over to slouch on one of the couches in the library, stretching his arms over his head as he replied, “Course he is.”

Remus sat down on the opposite side of the same couch, elaborating, “I didn’t mean to come off as accusatory. I’m glad Harry has so much love and support around him.” He smiled gently at Sirius, who returned the smile, sitting up straight on the couch as he realised they should probably get to business.

“So – how much of a shit show was the Order meeting?” Sirius asked.

Remus laughed, eyes flashing as he replied, “It was a mess. But you know what Dumbledore is like. He won everyone over in the end to see things from his point of view. Well, almost everyone.”

Sirius sobered up fast, leaning forward to ask Remus intently, “The Order is still together then? I had honestly hoped people would come to their senses after Dumbledore’s sentence and Doge’s imprisonment, and the Order would fragment. I suppose that was too much to expect.”

Remus replied, “The situation is delicate – people are angry. You know Moody, he’s backing Dumbledore staunchly. Really it’s the old crowd – Rubeus Hagrid, Dedalus Diggle, Sturgis Podmore and Hestia Jones, who are standing by Dumbledore. Em is obviously out since the interview – and Merlin are people still fired up about that,” Remus muttered. “Doge is in Azkaban for the next three years, though I think we all realise he’s possibly not going to survive his time in there, given his age,” Remus said grimly.

Sirius nodded stiffly in agreement – Doge deserved prison for what he did, but the conditions in Azkaban were inhumane.

Remus continued, “There’s a loose cannon in the mix now – this slimy guy called Mundungus Fletcher – have I mentioned him to you yet?”

Sirius shook his head, confused what such a shady sounding character was doing in the Order.

“I’m pretty sure he’s an actual criminal – Moody has some sort of dirt on him. He feeds information to the Order mostly from the black market and various connections in the underworld. Would be useful if he actually wanted to be there, and wasn’t being blackmailed. He’s a liability waiting to happen,” Remus muttered, frowning slightly.

“I see Dumbledore is now scraping the bottom of the barrel for members,” Sirius commented meanly.

“There’s technically Snape too,” Remus added quietly. That caused Sirius to still. “We both know he’s been a member since he defected towards the end of the war. But he doesn’t attend any meetings. Who knows how much of him is loyal to Dumbledore, and how much of him is driven by desperation, because he burned his bridges with his fellow Death Eaters.”

“What about Professor McGonagall?” Sirius asked.

“She was noticeably absent,” Remus said. “After she gave evidence against Dumbledore in his trial she’s cut all ties. She’s still deputy headmistress of Hogwarts, but she has definitely distanced herself from the Order. I don’t think we can consider her a supporter anymore.”

Sirius nodded with satisfaction – Professor McGonagall had always been a fair and reasonable person. She had seen the sense in forging her own path away from Dumbledore and the Order.

“And Arthur and Molly Weasley?” Sirius prompted.

“They were leading the charge demanding answers out of Dumbledore,” Remus commented quietly. “Molly was particularly furious. Asking why she and her husband should still support him after he had endangered a child.”

Sirius nodded, his estimation of the couple rising. They had been new additions to the Order, having supported the organisation but not been active members in the war.

“Did you get the impression they’re going to walk out?” Sirius asked.

“Hard to tell,” Remus answered, a slight frown on his face. “As I said, Dumbledore has his ways of convincing people to see things from his point of view. He quelled most of the anger by the end of the meeting.”

Sirius grit his teeth in frustration, unable to comprehend how people could still support him. Then remembering poor Remus who had to sit through everything, Sirius asked, “How have you been through all of this?”

Remus sighed, a long-suffering exhale that had Sirius grimacing in sympathy. “Dumbledore is putting a lot of pressure on me to convince you to come back to the Order,” he confessed.

Sirius scowled, insisting, “Remus, I told you, that you shouldn’t feel obligated to keep this façade up if it’s too difficult.”

But Remus shook his head stubbornly, replying, “And I’ll tell you again – it’s useful to have eyes and ears in these meetings. I know who’s in and out of the Order. Who they’re targeting to recruit.”

Sirius’ eyes widened and he asked, “Recruiting? They’re seriously trying to induct new members right now?”

Remus nodded grimly, explaining, “With you and Em out, and Professor McGonagall distancing herself, they’re looking for new blood. Moody has a trainee Auror he’s been talking with – Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

“A Shacklebolt?” Sirius gasped. “Dumbledore is playing with fire if he’s thinking of courting a member of the Shacklebolt family into the Order. They’re a light family, sure, but they are fiercely protective of their own. If the Lord and Lady Shacklebolt find out one of the members of their family is being convinced to join a para-military group, they’re going to rake Dumbledore over the coals.”

Remus was not as familiar as Sirius with families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but he knew he could take Sirius’ word for it.

“There’s more,” Remus added, watching Sirius carefully. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Morgana, what else,” Sirius whispered.

“Dumbledore spoke about recruiting the Tonks family – he wants someone to reach out to Andromeda and her husband, Ted. He hopes Andromeda might be able to convince you to return to the fold, as your cousin,” Remus informed him.

Sirius spat out a curse word, something particularly foul that caused Remus to raise his eyebrows. But he could sympathise with Sirius’ fury at his family being targeted.

“Who does he plan on approaching the Tonks family? I need to warn Dromeda and Ted there’s trouble looming,” Sirius muttered.

“I think he intends on pleading his case personally,” Remus admitted. “He also mentioned their daughter, Nymphadora, who is a Metamorphmagus.”

“Morgana have mercy, Dromeda might eviscerate him if he so much as looks twice at her daughter,” Sirius stated.

Remus sighed again, staring up at the ornate ceiling of the library that was painted to look like the night sky, constellations and all. “He just won’t stop,” he whispered.

“Hey,” Sirius called out softly, catching Remus’ attention. His grey eyes were soft, and slightly worried. “Those closest to Dumbledore might remain loyal, but for the majority of society they see him for who he really is now. Did you know there’s already a petition amongst parents of Hogwarts students to push for the board to reconsider their decision not to remove him? People are furious, and they want accountability from him for what he’s done. He will be watched very closely from here on out.”

Remus nodded slowly in agreement, but his mind was still heavy from the exhaustion of sitting through the Order meeting, and his concern over Dumbledore’s next move.

In an attempt to pick up the other man’s mood, Sirius said softly, “It’s Yule in less than two weeks. It would be nice if you came and stayed here at Black Castle for a few days over Yuletide. Harry would love to have you – and, well, it would mean a lot to me too.”

Remus stared back at Sirius, hesitantly starting, “Sirius…it’s so kind of you to invite me but…with my condition do you really think it’s fair for me to be staying under the same roof for a few days without your grandfather knowing about me?”

Sirius frowned at the other man’s stubbornness, insisting, “You don’t need to tell him anything. It’s not near the full moon, it’ll be fine.”

Remus continued to visibly hesitate, and Sirius sighed tiredly, frustrated at how cautious his old friend was.

“Think about it,” he said quietly. “Please.”

“Of course,” Remus replied, eyes softening as he saw the disappointment in Sirius’ expression.

“Will you at least come with me to take Harry to see James and Lily’s grave? I’ve never been, but I understand you attended their funeral,” Sirius murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Remus rushed to reply, “Merlin – of course Sirius. I should have offered to show you both the moment I saw you again – I’m so sorry.”

“I know they’re in the Godric’s Hollow graveyard, but I don’t know the exact spot. And even if you didn’t know where they are – I still want you there with Harry and I.”

Touched, Remus nodded, not able to find any words that felt right to say in that moment.

“I’m planning on taking Harry the day before Yule – Ezra said he’s giving the week of Yule off from classes, so Harry is free whenever,” Sirius added.

Remus nodded, affirming, “I’ll be there.” He paused, and then tentatively asked, “Harry’s tutor…Ezra.”

Sirius tilted his head questioningly at Remus, wondering where the other man was going with that line of conversation.

“He seems nice,” Remus said lamely.

Sirius smiled a little confusedly at Remus, replying, “Yes? He’s a great teacher. Harry enjoys his classes a lot.”

“Yes,” Remus said back quickly.

Really quite baffled now, Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Is there something you wanted to ask about Ezra?” he prompted.

“I – well it’s just when I saw him – I couldn’t help but think he looked a lot like – you know that guy in sixth year-” Remus said uncertainly.

Sirius laughed, grey eyes glinting as he replied, “Morgana you think so too? Spitting image of Aidan Drent, I agree.”

Remus laughed along with Sirius, admitting, “I thought I was going crazy. Glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

“I wonder if they’re related?” Sirius mused. “And speaking of, what do you reckon Aiden is up to nowadays? Morgana there’s a blast from the past. Been well over a decade since we dated, but I still remember him.”

“I don’t know where Aidan is nowadays,” Remus replied. As though unable to help himself he added with a small smirk, “You always did have a thing for blondes.”

“Did I?” Sirius asked, honestly curious about Remus’ perception.

Remus thought about it, commenting, “Well there was Aiden Drent of course – but Rebecca Talbot too in fifth year. And I think you went out with Eliza Lacey for a couple of weeks in seventh-”

“Okay, okay your point is proven,” Sirius laughed easily. “Maybe I do have a thing for blondes.”

“And then there was Marlene,” Remus said softly.

Sirius stilled, the laughter fading from his face. “What?” he asked, completely thrown.

“You and Marlene,” Remus pressed.

Marlene McKinnon, who had been in the same year level as them in Gryffindor. She had been Lily’s maid of honour at her wedding, and no doubt would have been named as Harry’s godmother had she lived to meet him. Marlene had been killed by Voldemort himself; hunted down at twenty.

Sirius was silent, the grief evident on his face.

Already regretting bringing her up, the mere mention of Marlene sitting like a gaping chasm between them, Remus couldn’t resist pushing on now he had already thrown himself into the deep end with this conversation.

“I saw the two of you at James and Lily’s wedding. Lily sent me to find you both – they needed you and Marlene for the speeches. I saw you in the garden, kissing,” Remus explained.

Sirius stared down at his hands in his lap. He wasn’t saying anything.

“I figured the two of you were keeping your relationship quiet, so I didn’t say anything,” Remus confessed. “And then a few months later…”

“She was dead,” Sirius whispered, grief lacing his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Remus whispered.

“What for?” Sirius asked, a little challengingly. He met Remus’ eyes squarely. “She was your friend too.”

Remus paused at the word ‘friend’, asking Sirius uncertainly, “It’s just…she was more than that for you, right? Marlene was in love with you.”

“I know,” Sirius whispered. He didn’t say anything else.

Wrong-footed, and truly regretting going down this route of conversation, Remus winced and said, “I’m sorry for bringing her up.”

Sirius smiled a little sadly and commented, “We keep their memories alive by talking about them.”

Remus nodded in agreement. The memory of Marlene McKinnon sat heavily indeed between them.

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty: There is nothing permanent except change

The following weekend was the final one before Yule. This year, the most important wizarding ritual for dark witches and wizards would fall on a Wednesday. On that crisp Saturday morning before Yule, Sirius escorted Harry to Malfoy Manor, following through on his suggestion to Lucius Malfoy that Harry should come visit Draco. Sirius would be remaining at the manor with Lucius and Narcissa while the boys caught up with each other, as they were to be joined later for lunch by Arcturus, Cassiopeia, and the Tonks family.

Narcissa had kept true to her word that she wanted her sister to come visit with her husband and daughter, soon to be meeting Edward “Ted” Tonks for the first time. Nymphadora’s school term had just finished for the year for the two week winter break, so she was now available for the lunch to occur, and Narcissa had wasted no time in extending invitations. She was determined to make an effort to foster a relationship with her older sister and niece, and she understood a significant part of that was welcoming her brother-in-law, Ted Tonks, into the fold.

Harry and Sirius arrived in the opulent parlour room of Malfoy Manor, finding themselves greeted by the Lord and Lady Malfoy, and their son Draco, who face was a mixture of impatience and excitement for a moment before he tried to school his features into a calm expression.

Sirius walked forward with Harry by his side, reaching out to shake Lucius Malfoy’s hand as the pale, blonde-haired man said smoothly, “Welcome to our home.”

His silvery eyes slid down to Harry, a curious look in them as he waited to be introduced. Harry met that gaze, curious himself about the head of the Malfoy family. Draco spoke very highly of his father, almost seeming to idolise him.

Sirius placed a warm hand on Harry’s shoulder and said, “Harry Potter, my godson. Harry this is Lucius Malfoy.”

Harry stuck out his hand and Lucius took it gently under Sirius’ watchful gaze, shaking it firmly as he said, “You may call me Lucius.”

“It’s wonderful to see you again, Harry,” Narcissa chimed in, pale blue eyes soft as she looked at the boy.

Sirius leaned in, pressing a single kiss to his cousin’s cheek, Narcissa titling her head towards Sirius to facilitate the exchange. “Thanks for having us, Cissy.”

Harry hovered shyly by Sirius’ side after dropping Lucius’ hand, unsure how to greet Lady Malfoy again, wondering if he should try to shake her hand, or press a kiss to it. Sensing Harry’s uncertainty, Narcissa pulled her son gently in front of her to spare Harry any awkward interactions, the other boy giving Harry a put upon look, which caused Harry to smile amusedly in response.

“And you know Draco,” she prompted.

Draco rolled his eyes, drawling, “Mother, of course he knows me, we met last month.”

Narcissa’s eyes narrowed at the sass but it was Lucius who silkily interjected, “Mind your manners, Draco.”

Draco immediately straightened, a faint blush crossing his pale cheeks.

Sirius came to the rescue, memories of his own childhood coming to mind of being constantly rebuked, albeit a lot more harshly by his own mother and father.

“We should let the boys catch up,” he suggested.

“I told Harry I would show him the Quidditch pitch – you did bring your broom right?” Draco asked Harry.

Before Harry could answer, Narcissa interjected, “It’s freezing outside, surely you don’t want to fly in those conditions?”

Draco sighed, replying, “Good Quidditch players can fly in any condition, mother! I don’t care about the cold. What about you, Harry?” Draco asked, a whisper of challenge in his tone as he pinned Harry with his gaze.

“I don’t mind,” Harry replied honestly.

Narcissa looked a little worried still, blue eyes cutting to the sweeping windows at the other end of the parlour, which showed an ominous grey sky threatening possible sleet.

“We’ll send the boys out with warming charms, and a house elf to supervise,” Lucius stated.

“I see no issue with that,” Sirius offered, still seeing the dubious look on his cousin’s face. She was fiercely protective of her only child.

Finally Narcissa decided, “If it starts to rain, I want you both inside right away.”

“Yes mother,” Draco agreed quickly to the condition, keen to get outdoors. The he turned back to Harry, grey eyes searching the other boy’s face as he asked again, “You brought your Nimbus 1700?”

Sirius pulled a magically shrunken item from his pocket, holding it a distance from his body as he tapped it with his wand in his free hand. It immediately enlarged into Harry’s Nimbus 1700. Sirius passed it over to Harry, who took it with increasingly practiced hands, no longer grasping it like a beginner.

With Harry’s small size the broom looked huge, even though Sirius had, had it custom tailored with a young child in mind.

With an air of satisfaction Draco said, “Excellent, alright let’s go, Harry. I want to show you the latest trick I’ve been learning with my flying tutor.”

“One moment,” Narcissa cautioned her son. She pulled her wand out, tapping Draco’s clothes and settling a warming charm in place. Sirius mimicked her action with Harry, his wand still being out. Harry felt the warmth trickle down across his body, and he settled contently into it.

“Dobby,” Narcissa called out, not yelling but her voice carrying clearly.

A house elf appeared in a neatly pressed black uniform, immediately dipping into a deep bow, long ears brushing the ground. When the creature raised his head, Harry saw he had large green eyes the size of tennis balls.

“Lady Malfoy be calling Dobby?” the house elf said, quivering slightly in the presence of the Malfoys and their guests.

“Supervise Draco and Harry on the Quidditch pitch. Ensure no harm comes to them,” Narcissa ordered.

“Yes, Lady Malfoy,” Dobby agreed, bowing deeply again.

“Be back in two hours,” Narcissa added sternly, “Our guests will be arriving then.”

“Yes mother,” Draco promised, one hand reaching out to take Harry’s arm and pulling him steadily away from the adults and towards the doors leading out of the parlour room. Harry let himself be pulled without resisting, waving goodbye to Sirius with an amused smile on his face.

Sirius winked at him, and before the two boys completely disappeared from sight, Lucius’ slightly exasperated voice carried over, “Draco, please do not drag our guest.”

Draco quickly let go of Harry’s arm, looking sheepish. Harry laughed quietly, causing Draco to frown at him with no real heat.

“Come on, I need to grab my broom,” the other boy grumbled.

A few things became apparent to Harry as he flew with Draco on the Malfoy Manor Quidditch pitch that morning.

Firstly, Draco was a decent flier; clearly benefiting from the flying tutoring he had been receiving, from a retired player of the Tutshill Tornadoes no less. Draco had chatted at length for some time as they approached the pitch about his tutor’s impressive career.

Secondly, Draco seemed to be enthused at Harry’s own flying ability, commenting that his best friend Theo didn’t much like Quidditch, so it was nice to have a friend who could properly fly. But that enthusiasm started to sour as it became clear Harry was not just keeping up with Draco, but surpassing him.

Thirdly, the house elf, Dobby, Narcissa had sent out with them had a very…interesting interpretation of the Lady Malfoy’s instructions to ‘ensure no harm’ came to Harry or Draco.

Draco had let out the Snitch from his Quidditch set in order to play catch one on one with Harry, and during one particular movement Harry instinctively pushed his broom down rapidly to chase the gleaming object, Draco hot on his tail.

One moment his hand had nearly been wrapping around the Snitch, and the next moment he felt a horrific jerk underneath him and his broom veered upwards sharply, like an invisible force had just yanked it.

In shock, and barely keeping his balance and grip on the rebellious broom, Harry clung on for dear life until the broom suddenly slowly drifted to a stop. Hands shaking, he had looked around for Draco, completely confused and scared at what had just happened.

Draco had come to a halt a distance below Harry; gazing up, grey eyes huge in shock and worry.

“Harry! What happened?” Draco yelled out, pushing his broom up to get closer to Harry.

“I don’t know!” Harry called back over the wind that was starting to whip up as the weather worsened.

“Can you fly down safely?” Draco asked.

“I think so,” Harry replied, but he felt nervous as he gently pushed his handle down. The broom obeyed without issue though, allowing Harry to slowly dip downwards.

Draco hovered right by his side the whole time, talking Harry’s ear off with theories about what might have happened. Harry didn’t reply, just concentrating on getting safely to the ground.

As his feet touched the grass of the Quidditch pitch he let out a breath of relief, stepping off the broom and examining it as though he could discover some damage or some other sign to explain why the broom had just acted out in that way.

The house elf, Dobby, moved forwards, wringing his little hands nervously as he tremulously stated, “Dobby be apologising to Master Harry. Dobby only meant to keep Master Harry safe.”

Harry blinked, before he connected the dots. “It was you,” he said aloud as Draco stepped off his own broom, a furrow of confusion between his pale brows as he listened in. “You pulled my broom up.”

“Is this true?” Draco demanded imperiously, grey eyes flashing with fury.

Dobby’s eyes widened and he suddenly wailed, “Dobby is sorry! Dobby was ordered to ensure no harm came to Master Harry or Master Draco!”

“Bloody barmy house elf can’t follow orders correctly,” Draco snarled. Dobby cowered under his vicious look. “I’m sorry, Harry. The house elf will be punished of course.”

Harry gaped back at Draco, rushing to say, “Wait – what are you talking about?”

Draco cocked his head, repeating a little more slowly, “He needs to be punished. You could have been really hurt, Harry.”

Dobby wailed at that, hands reaching up to drag his ears down in what looked like a terribly painful manner. “Dobby is a terrible no good house elf!”

Harry was aghast at the situation, pleading with Draco, “It was a misunderstanding. No harm done. Please, Draco, can’t you see how distressed he is?”

The house elf was now crying between ugly sobs at how kind Master Harry Potter was, how noble, and how unworthy Dobby was for Master Harry Potter’s kind words.

“It’s not up to me,” Draco admitted, a little uncomfortable at the volume of the elf’s crying. “My parents will decide what is to be done.”

“Draco,” Harry said intently, reaching out to grip Draco’s wrist lightly but with deliberate intent. Draco met his gaze, one pale eyebrow raised in question. “Can’t this stay between us? I don’t like the idea of anyone getting punished.”

Draco seemed conflicted, caught between wanting to agree to his new friend’s request but also knowing his parents would want to be made aware that such an incident had occurred. It was true that Harry could have been seriously hurt in Dobby’s misguided attempt to keep him ‘safe’.

“Please,” Harry added, a desperate look creeping across his face.

Draco bit his lip, glancing at the wailing house elf, then back at Harry, who still had a gentle hand wrapped around Draco’s wrist.

“Dobby!” he called out suddenly.

Hiccupping through his sobs, the house elf thickly replied in a high-pitched voice, “Yes, Master Draco?”

“I order you to tell no one about this, especially not my parents. You will not be punished,” Draco declared. Harry drooped in relief as the house elf wailed even louder if possible, this time declaring Master Draco to be better than Dobby deserved.

“But Dobby – listen to me. Stop crying right now and listen,” Draco said seriously. The house elf forced himself to stop crying, only sniffling quietly as he listened. “You did not follow my mother’s orders correctly.”

Before Dobby could start wailing again as he seemed to be about to, Draco added quickly, “She told you to keep me and Harry safe. Harry was just playing a game with me. He was in control of his broom – he wasn’t in trouble. But by pulling on his broom like that, you could have seriously hurt him.”

Dobby’s green eyes were huge, filled with unshed tears as he listened to his young master.

Draco continued, “You are still young Dobby, but you need to learn how to know when someone is safe and when they actually need help. You should go to the head house elf to get more instruction.”

Dobby was nodding his head rapidly in agreement, stating, “Yes, Master Draco is very wise, Dobby be going to see Jaffy and learn how to be a better house elf, thank you Master Draco. Thank you too Master Harry, Dobby be remembering your kindness.”

And with that the house elf immediately disappeared, obviously taking Draco’s instruction as an immediate one, going to find Jaffy.

“What – oh Morgana he’s already gone. I was going to get him to take us back into the house. Barmy house elf that one. Jaffy should sort him out though,” Draco said with a sniff.

“Thank you,” Harry said quietly.

Draco considered him, before asking just as quietly, “Why were you so worked up about him being punished? It’s normal for younger house elves to need a bit of discipline.”

Harry’s face tightened and he replied, “I don’t like the idea of anyone being punished for an honest mistake.”

Draco was silent, but there was a look of understanding on his face that was beginning to develop. His parents had sat him down and explained to him that Harry had grown up with Muggle relatives, and that he had been removed from them because they mistreated him. His parents had been calm when they told him, but Draco knew his parents well enough to know they were both furious about it. It took a fair bit to get his parents truly angry, so Draco realised it must have been serious.

“Okay,” Draco said at last. Then he added, as though feeling the need to assure Harry, “The punishment would not have been bad. And he would have probably been forbidden from working directly for the family or any guests for a time until he was properly re-trained.”

Harry shrugged jerkily, still uncomfortable. He had never heard the Greengrass family ever get angry with Pimsey and threaten her with punishment, nor his grandfather or Sirius do the same to any of the Black family house elves who worked at Black Castle.

He appreciated though that Draco had spared Dobby any punishment, and had indulged Harry. So Harry forced himself to smile at Draco, saying, “Still, thank you for sparing Dobby that. I appreciate it.”

Draco seemed a little shy at the sheer sincerity radiating off of Harry, scratching the back of his head and scuffing his fine leather boot against the grass as he murmured, “Yeah no worries. It’s what friends do, right?”

“Yes,” Harry agreed, smiling softly.

Both boys were now shy, staring down at the ground, until Draco cleared his throat a little awkwardly and said, “Right, well, we should start heading back. I can show you the albino peacocks on our way in.”

“Show me the what now?”

“Do you think there will be a verdict before Yule?” Narcissa asked, her delicate hand reaching for her fine china cup of tea. She took a discreet sip as she surveyed her husband and Sirius over the rim, curious what both men thought about the progress of Bartemius Crouch Senior’s trial.

“The evidence is done, and the jury are deliberating, so it seems promising there could be a verdict before Wednesday,” Sirius suggested.

The Wizengamot did not sit from Yule to the first of January, and so the jury had only two days remaining to return a verdict before the matter would have to be carried over to the new year.

“Speaking of the evidence,” Lucius spoke up, silvery eyes intent on Sirius. “What do you say of Crouch’s testimony regarding your own lack of trial – if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Crouch is a bastard,” Sirius began, ignoring Narcissa’s face tightening at the use of strong language. “But his testimony was true in parts – it really was Dumbledore who told Crouch about the Fidelius Charm, and about me knowing Occlumency. I am certainly no true master of the art though – I cannot lie under Veritaserum.”

“So the press have been reporting accurately - Dumbledore contributed to you not getting a trial,” Lucius mused.

Sirius smiled bitterly and replied, “What Dumbledore did was perfectly legal. He merely provided information to the authorities, which he thought to be true.”

“The disloyalty of that man is staggering,” Narcissa declared coldly.

Not finished with getting information out of Sirius, Lucius continued, “And what do you think about the information that has come to light about the Lestranges and Crouch Junior?”

Narcissa stiffened at the mention of her sister, brother-in-law and Rabastan, eyes landing warningly on her husband, cautioning him against pressing on that line of questioning. She was very aware of the fact Sirius had been good friends with Frank and Alice Longbottom.

Sirius considered Lucius silently for a few moments, and Narcissa prepared to intervene and change the subject to prevent her cousin getting upset. However she froze when Sirius replied firmly, “The evidence reveals the Lestranges and Crouch Junior never got trials of their own. Obviously nothing can be done for Crouch Junior, given he’s dead, but the remaining each deserve the chance for at least a hearing under our laws. The opportunity to go to trial should be offered to them.”

“I find myself in complete agreement with you,” Lucius murmured, pleased, but with an air of surprise. There was an undeniably curious look on his face.

Sirius took a sip of his coffee, refusing to divulge any more information. It was up to Madam Bones whether or not she followed up on the information Sirius had reported to her, and the Pensieve memory of his conversation with Rabastan Lestrange about how he and Bartemius Crouch Junior had merely been lookouts that night.

Sirius had told Gareth and Rosie about what Rabastan had disclosed, finding himself increasingly trusting in the couple and valuing the friendship the two offered. They would always be important parts of Harry’s life, and Sirius wanted to foster good relations with both. He was glad he did, because Gareth had quietly told Sirius that Lady Longbottom had begun petitioning the Wizengamot to keep the cases of the Lestranges closed, in spite of the evidence presented in Crouch’s trial that they had never gotten trials.

Without anything else to go on, the Wizengamot seemed conflicted with what to do. Not to mention, many of the members were exhausted by the unprecedented frequency of trials lately – first Doge, then Dumbledore, now Crouch. If they granted the opportunity for trials for the Lestranges then that would be three more, if severance was granted between each of the three rather than them being heard together as co-accused.

Sirius was saved from further subtle interrogation by the doors of the parlour room swinging open and Harry and Draco walking inside, cheeks flushed from the cold outside. Harry had his Nimbus 1700 in hand, but Draco had clearly already put his away.

“Hello again boys, did you have fun?” Narcissa asked, rising gracefully to her feet and moving over to them both.

“Harry’s really good,” Draco declared in lieu of answering his mother’s question. Glancing towards Harry, Draco asked, “I didn’t ask you – have you been getting flying tutoring?”

“Sirius has been teaching me,” Harry explained.

Draco’s gaze cut across to Sirius and he asked, “Do you play?”

Sirius had risen to his own feet after Narcissa, moving over to shrink Harry’s broom again and tuck it back in his pocket as he replied, “I played Keeper at Hogwarts.”

“How long have you been learning?” Draco pressed Harry, grey eyes determined.

Harry had sensed the other boy’s jealousy when they had been flying earlier, and so he cautiously answered, “A month or so?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, and Narcissa, recognising one of her son’s moods quickly cut in, “Let’s get you boys both presentable for the guests – they are arriving soon.”

She pulled out her wand and waved it in a few sweeps before both boys, and Harry felt his clothes adjust and shift gently, straightening out from where some of the folds had gotten rumpled.

When it came to their hair, Narcissa waved her wand over her son’s head and his pale blonde hair immediately settled back into perfect order atop his head. She visibly hesitated seeing Harry’s hair, windswept and wild from the outdoors.

She waved her wand slowly over his head and although Harry could feel his hair shifting a little on his head, judging by Narcissa’s expression her magic hadn’t done much. Sirius looked like he was about to start laughing behind his cousin’s shoulder, Narcissa staring in genuine bafflement now at Harry’s rebellious hair.

“My hair is just like that,” Harry explained ruefully.

Defeated, and quite unable to believe that fact, Narcissa returned her wand to its place and said a little dazedly, “Never mind that, let’s get you boys seated – would either of you like anything to drink?”

Sirius leaned in to whisper to Harry as Narcissa ushered Draco over to the nearest couch to sit down, “I think your hair just broke my cousin.”

Harry had to hide the sudden urge to laugh behind his hand. Sirius was smirking as he wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders and steered him over to sit on the free couch beside his godfather.

At twelve o’clock sharp the fireplace flared green and the figures of Arcturus and Cassiopeia Black stepped through, the cousins having been catching up together before attending Malfoy Manor for the planned lunch.

Once the customary greetings were done, the group were now sitting waiting for the Tonks family, who were set to arrive any moment. Only Cassiopeia had met Edward “Ted” Tonks before, given she had stayed in close contact with Andromeda after she eloped with the man. Cassiopeia had not only magically adopted Dora to ensure she would inherit a dark magical core, as was the Black family tradition, but she was Dora’s godmother and was close with the Tonks family.

After the elder Blacks had been seated for a few minutes the fireplace finally flared green again and three people stepped out in close succession of each other. There were the now familiar forms of Andromeda and Dora, who was wearing the bubblegum pink hair again she seemed to favour.

Harry peered curiously at the final person, obviously Ted Tonks. He was a fair-haired older man, his build on the stocky side. Andromeda almost seemed to protectively flank her husband to one side, dark eyes watchful, particularly on Lucius Malfoy.

Realising belatedly he was still sitting, when everyone else had risen to his or her feet, Harry quickly got up. Narcissa and Lucius had moved forward first as the hosts of the lunch, both maintaining a respectful distance from the Tonks family, an uncertain moment descending where there was a question of how familiar they should be.

Andromeda took matters into her own hands, moving forward to press a kiss to her little sister’s cheek. Narcissa seemed relieved at Andromeda taking the initiative. Ted Tonks held out a hand to Lucius, who took it and shook the other man’s hand saying smoothly, “Welcome to Malfoy Manor, we are pleased to welcome you – do you prefer Edward or Ted?”

“Thank you, Lord Malfoy. I do prefer Ted,” the man replied with a mellow, pleasant voice.

Lucius paused thoughtfully, obviously noting the use of the title, something many Muggleborns did not know about, let alone use. Being married to a daughter from a Sacred Twenty-Eight family meant Ted Tonks had picked up many things when it came to etiquette and tradition.

Sure enough, when Ted Tonks turned to his sister-in-law for the first time he bowed his head respectfully and held out his hand, to which Narcissa placed her own hand in his gently. He leaned down and kissed the back of it in the correct fashion, murmuring, “A pleasure to meet you at last, Lady Malfoy.”

“Please, call me Narcissa. You are family,” the woman responded firmly.

Lucius chimed in then, a thoughtful look still on his face as he added, “You may call me Lucius.”

Ted Tonks nodded his head gratefully, stepping back to allow his wife to interact with her brother-in-law. In an echo of what had just happened between Narcissa and Ted, Lucius pressed a kiss to the back of Andromeda’s hand.

Harry saw Dora hovering back, looking bored out of her brain at the careful social niceties playing out. She caught his gaze and grinned, and Harry waved at her with a grin of his own. He had been looking forward to seeing her again since they had met at the Black family gathering.

After that there were many more introductions, while Harry and Sirius hung back together to allow Lucius to meet Dora, and Ted to meet Draco. Cassiopeia unreservedly swept her great-niece Andromeda into a hug, and kissed Ted on the cheek when it was her turn to greet them. She hugged Dora as equally enthusiastically, and remained by her goddaughter’s side as Arcturus was introduced to Ted.

Harry and Sirius took that as their cue to move closer, coming to stand near Arcturus as he exchanged greetings with Dora, Andromeda and properly met Ted. Although Ted had seemed quite calm up to that point given he was meeting so many of his wife’s family for the first time, shaking hands with Lord Black he seemed to display the first sign of nervousness.

This was the patriarch of his wife’s family after all, the same family that had turned their backs on Andromeda when she married him. The same family who were so obsessed with pureblood ideals that they thought people like him did not deserve to sit at the same table, let alone intermarry with their own kind.

Perhaps sensing this nervousness, Arcturus made sure to inject an extra layer of warmth in his tone when he said, “I am grateful to have the chance to meet you, and formally welcome you as a member of my family.”

Ted Tonks’ eyes widened, and Andromeda looked momentarily stunned at what Arcturus had just said, before a smile broke over her face.

Arcturus introduced Sirius and Harry then. Harry shook Ted Tonks hand and he appreciated the fact Ted did not react in any significant way to meeting him for the first time. Particularly given the press coverage on him since the trials of Doge and Dumbledore. Ted just smiled gently and said sincerely it was nice to meet Harry.

With the lengthy introductions finally done, Narcissa took the lead as the hostess and instigator of the lunch, directing her guests to follow her through to the dining room. She had, had the option of the grand room they used for feasts, but had opted for a more intimate dining space.

They all took their seats at the table, Lucius taking the spot at one end of the table as the head of the Malfoy family, Narcissa seated to his right and Draco to his left. Harry slid into the spot next to Draco after the boy had made begging eyes at Harry, and before Sirius could think of taking Harry’s other side, Dora beat him to it, winking at her mum’s cousin as she claimed the seat beside Harry.

“Wotcher, Harry,” she said, and then playfully to Draco past Harry, “Little cousin.”

Draco pouted at being referred to as ‘little’, protesting, “Harry is younger than me. And shorter. If anyone should be called little it’s Harry.”

Dora conspiratorially muttered to Harry, “Didn’t realise I was touching on a sore spot for little Draco.”

Draco huffed out a grumble of something unflattering as Harry laughed.

Sirius took the seat on the other side of Dora, Arcturus taking the other end of the table as the other lord present. Cassiopeia sat to the right of her cousin, opposite Sirius. Beside her was Ted, opposite his daughter, and finally Andromeda took the seat to her husband’s other side, beside her younger sister.

“Please, enjoy the meal,” Narcissa stated, voice soft but still carrying clearly to all. She clapped her hands gently and food magically appeared at the table, no doubt sent up by invisible hard working house elves.

There was a veritable feast of options to choose from, and as they all started serving themselves food Dora turned to Sirius and said, “So…I’m on holidays now.”

Sirius blinked down at his cousin’s kid, who was looking at him expectantly.

“Yes?” Sirius agreed, glancing over to his grandfather and Cassiopeia whom were both listening in with bemused but fond looks on their faces.

“I have to study for my O.W.L.s, but other than that, I’m basically free for the next two weeks of the break,” she continued, still with an expectant look on her face.

“That’s nice?” Sirius said, a questioning tone still in his voice.

Dora rolled her eyes with all the sass of a teenager and said slowly, “So…I’m free to start teaching Harry how to use his Metamorphmagi powers these holidays.”

Harry sat bolt upright at that, the piece of carrot he had on his fork hitting his plate. He turned wide, begging eyes to his godfather and his grandfather further down, silently pleading for them to say yes.

“Dora…” her father said warningly, hearing what his daughter had just said. “We talked about this, you’re only fifteen.”

Dora narrowed her eyes at her dad and replied, “I also have control for the most part over my powers. And I don’t see any other possible teachers around.”

“You said you have your O.W.L.s to study for – perhaps best to focus on that for now,” Cassiopeia pointed out.

Dora stabbed into her quiche with particular aggression, staring down at her plate with obvious annoyance.

Harry spoke up, glancing between Sirius and Arcturus who had remained silent, stating quietly, “I really want to learn. Dora is probably the only person who can teach me at this point.”

Sirius, looked over at Ted and asked him, “How do you feel about all of this?”

Ted looked at his daughter and began cautiously, “Dora did have to teach herself through a fair bit of trial and error. It was quite overwhelming at times, for all of us.” He looked back at Sirius and said, “But Dora does need to focus on her studies.”

Dora scowled down at her plate, but her dad’s following words made her look up sharply. “Perhaps these coming summer holidays next year, once her O.W.L.s are finished, she could give Harry some guidance? But only if that is something you feel comfortable with.”

Sirius glanced at his grandfather, who looked thoughtful. He looked over at Harry, whose eyes were still wide and begging. He knew how much Harry wanted to learn how to use the ability he had been born with.

“Perhaps lessons could be conducted with both Dora and Harry under adult supervision,” Sirius said at last. “At least until Dora comes of age.”

“Is that a yes?” Harry asked breathlessly, catching the attention of Draco who glanced over curiously from his conversation with his father.

Sirius made eye contact with Ted, who gave Sirius a wry smile, and Sirius replied with a sigh, “Yes.”

“Wicked,” Dora said with a grin to Harry.

“But not until the summer holidays next year,” Ted reminded his daughter firmly.

Dora didn’t care, already excitedly talking to Harry beside her about what she was going to teach him first. Harry listened, enraptured.

Seeing as Ted’s attention was turned to their side of the table now, Arcturus asked him, “Forgive my ignorance, Ted, but I was curious what you do for a living? My cousin has been tight-lipped about it.”

Cassiopeia defended herself saying, “I told my cousin he should wait to hear it from you.”

Ted chuckled at that and easily replied, “I am a Healer at St Mungo’s. I work in the magical diseases ward.”

Arcturus leaned in with interest, Sirius listening closely too as Arcturus followed that answer up with, “And do you have a speciality in that field?”

Ted nodded, pausing to swallow his mouthful of pie before he replied, “Yes, I specialise in genetic magical diseases.”

A stillness came over Arcturus, and Sirius lowered the forkful of food he had been about to put in his mouth, grey eyes now entirely fixed on Ted Tonks.

“Oh?” Arcturus murmured at last.

An empathetic look was on Ted’s face, and Cassiopeia interjected quietly, “Ted knows. Dora could have inherited it, and it’s his speciality after all.”

“I picked my specialist training in magical diseases because of Dromeda,” Ted confessed. “I wanted to be able to support any children we might have, if they inherited it. And I wanted to find a cure.”

“Have you had any success in your research?” Arcturus asked, forcing himself to relax and resume eating so as not to draw the attention of the other half of the table. Everyone sitting at that table knew about Bloodbane in the Black family, but it seemed like the other half were enjoying much more light hearted conversations, and he had no wish to disturb them.

Fortunately, the natural noisiness of Dora was masking their conversation, as she completely captivated Harry and Draco with her talking about the Metamorphmagus ability.

Although, Harry’s eyes did slide every so often towards Sirius and his grandfather, aware that a far more serious conversation seemed to be happening in the background.

“It’s complicated,” Ted explained, but not in a patronising matter. There was a frown between his brows as he added, “I need samples for my research, and Bloodbane is so rare that I don’t have much to work with. My wife and daughter are both unaffected.”

Arcturus said slowly, “So if you did get enough samples from individuals infected with Bloodbane, it would help your research into a cure?”

Cassiopeia placed a gentle hand over her cousin’s wrist and murmured, “I already asked Cygnus. I didn’t tell him who the Healer was, just that there was a specialist researching a cure. He wasn’t interested.”

Arcturus considered that information silently, Sirius watching his grandfather with a worried crease between his brows. If Cygnus had refused, and the only other known member of the family living who had the disease was Bellatrix in prison, then there was probably no chance of Ted getting the samples needed to further his research into cure development.

“Forgive me, cousin,” Arcturus began, looking at Cassiopeia. “But I don’t think you were the right person to ask Cygnus.”

Cassiopeia accepted that assessment with grace, inclining her head and agreeing, “My nephew and I do have our differences.”

Arcturus’ eyes slid pointedly up the table towards where Narcissa Malfoy was holding court telling a story, her husband listening with a fond light in his eyes and Andromeda smiling as she watched her sister speak.

“I think Narcissa might have the best chance in convincing Cygnus,” he suggested.

Ted responded, “If she can get her father to consent, it would be vital for my research. I’ve hit a dead end at this point with such limited samples.”

A determined look came across Arcturus’ face.

“You’ll get those samples,” he promised, an ominous aura around him.

“We should also consider the Weasleys,” Cassiopeia pointed out. “Cedrella was a carrier; her surviving sons Arthur and Percival Weasley could have Bloodbane. Or one or more of their children could have it too.”

Arcturus considered it carefully, admitting, “I suspect we could not count on the Weasleys in maintaining discretion on the matter – they will talk.”

Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes and said, “So you would rather keep them in the dark?”

“I did not say that,” Arcturus cautioned his cousin, who backed down quickly. “They deserve to know that they could be at risk. But I will need to think carefully about how to approach the Weasleys, and who would be the best person to talk to them.”

Sirius cut in, having been listening silently to the conversation, stated, “I could have been an option when it came to Arthur and Molly Weasley, but after cutting my ties with the Order, I fear they would not want to listen to me.”

“Arthur’s younger brother Percival Weasley is not in the Order,” Cassiopeia pointed out. “Perhaps he is the safest option to start with.”

“I think Dromeda attends a social club with his wife,” Ted mused. “We could speak with them, if you wished?”

“Yes, we need more samples for the benefit of this entire family, and our future,” Arcturus affirmed. He pierced Ted Tonks with his dark eyes and said, “If there is anything else you need – funding, recommendations, laboratory space. Name it, and it is yours.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ted Tonks replied with a respectful dip of his head.

As the conversation turned to lighter topics, Arcturus sat absorbed in his own thoughts and plans. Arching over everything was the nearly ever constant memory of the final words of wisdom his daughter Lucretia had imparted on him. Telling him to put his faith in family, above all else.

Ted Tonks had become part of the Black family when he married Andromeda.

To think that a Muggleborn, the man who had been scorned and belittled by Arcturus’ family, could be the one to save their future, their legacy. And that the sons and grandchildren of a blood traitor could hold the key to assisting them in finding a cure.

He could almost see Lucretia’s enigmatic smile curl her lips.

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-One: Life is understood backwards but must be lived forwards

Bartemius Crouch Senior sat in the dimly lit space of his study at home, hands grasped loosely around a bottle of Firewhisky. His face was haggard, deep shadows underneath his eyes darkened further by the long shadows in the room. 

He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long drag of the burning liquid, barely wincing now at the intensity of the alcohol.

Tonight was probably his last night as a free man.

Tomorrow, the jury would resume their deliberations, and he knew how these things went; he had been the head of the DMLE for many years. He sensed they must be close to a verdict, with Yule fast approaching. And there was not a single doubt in Crouch’s mind that the jury were going to find him guilty on all charges.

His mind was spinning from the alcohol he had been drinking steadily throughout the evening, trying unsuccessfully to drown out the thoughts and concerns pressing in his brain.

He would go to Azkaban, if not tomorrow, then at some point in the near future.

His secret, his darkest shame, remained locked in the basement of his house. Crouch knew he should tell someone the truth about his son. Knew he should leave some warning, seeing as he would be likely going away to prison for many years.

But all he could see were Isabelle’s condemnatory eyes, the same eyes his son had inherited. He had promised his wife that he would get Barty out of Azkaban, and would keep him out.

Crouch let out a shuddering breath, and lifted the bottle again to take another long swig.

Everything he had done, he had done believing it to be the right thing to do, for the greater good of society. Hunting down dangerous criminals, ensuring no matter what they were off the streets and safe behind bars had been his lifeblood for so long.

Perhaps in the early days he had been doing his job out of a genuine desire to see justice done. But when the justice system did not prove enough in his eyes, he had taken matters into his own hands.

He was paying for it now.

There was a cell waiting for him in Azkaban, amongst so many he had personally sent there.

Crouch sincerely doubted he would survive the full length of his sentence. Perhaps the dementors would bury him beside Isabelle. It was far more than he deserved.

Wetness brushed his cheeks and Crouch dazedly realised he appeared to be crying, tears tracking slowly down his gaunt cheeks.

Surprise soured quickly to anger, and he furiously wiped his cheeks, losing his grip on the bottle as he did so. It shattered noisily on the floorboards of his study, the last bits of expensive Firewhisky spreading outward from the impact zone.

With a quiet pop, his house elf, Winky, appeared. Her large brown eyes wide with concern, she gasped, crying out, “Master Crouch, sir! Winky be fixing this right away.”

With a click of her long fingers the broken bottle vanished and the remnants of Firewhisky were cleared away.

The female house elf stood there in the middle of the room, twisting the stitched together white tea towel she was wearing, which was draped over her like a toga.

Crouch ignored her, staring down at the space where the broken bottle had been.

“Can Winky do something for Master Crouch?” the house elf ventured nervously.

Her words registered somewhere deep within the man’s brain, and he pulled his bloodshot eyes upwards and away from the floor, focusing on the house elf, who had been so loyal over so many years.

“Yes, yes you must do something for me,” Crouch rasped.

Winky straightened, a determined look on her face, relieved that there was something she could do to help the tragic state of her master.

“I’m going away Winky, going away for a very long time. I need you to listen to me very carefully,” Crouch continued.

Winky’s face tightened – she was not completely oblivious – she occasionally read the Daily Prophet and she knew her master was facing serious criminal charges.

“Winky be listening,” she replied softly.

“You must look after my son. Ensure he is taken care of and kept alive. But you are not to let him leave the basement. Is that clear, Winky? I order you to not let my son leave that basement,” Crouch stated.

“Yes, Master Crouch,” Winky whispered, although her eyes held a hint of sadness. Occasionally she could convince him to let Master Barty outside into the garden under Winky’s supervision, as a reward for good behaviour. But with these orders, she would be unable to let Master Barty set foot outside the basement again.

“You will tell no one about my son. You will allow no one entrance to this property. You will tell no one about these orders I have given you,” Crouch added.

“Winky will obey Master Crouch,” the house elf confirmed sadly.

“If I die,” he continued, ignoring the distressed squeak of the house elf, who covered her mouth with her hands, “You will continue to follow my orders. You are already forbidden from obeying my son’s orders, but I will say again that even if I die, you still cannot obey his orders. Is that clear?”

Winky lowered her hands from her mouth and agreed, “Yes, Master Crouch. Winky be staying loyal.”

Almost to himself Crouch muttered, “I’ve been revising my last will and testament this weekend. There’s instructions in there that the house is to remain sealed for one hundred years, and then it may be inherited by my sister’s descendants.”

The unusual addition to the will would raise eyebrows, but Crouch owned the house in its entirety. Stranger instructions had been left in last wills and testaments. It was the law that his final wishes must be obeyed.

His older sister, Lady Josephine Crouch, the head of the Crouch family, would have no choice but to leave her brother’s property untouched until the time period had passed.

And so, his terrible secret would remain hidden from the wizarding world, and his family.

On Monday the jury in the trial of Bartemius Crouch Senior found him guilty on all charges. A pale and haggard Crouch was remanded in custody until his sentencing, to be declared the following day, one day before Yule.

The Wizengamot had retreated in privacy to debate the appropriate custodial sentence for the man. It was off the back of the discussion around his sentence that Madam Bones shocked the Wizengamot with her making a motion to reopen the files of Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange and Rabastan Lestrange.

She provided copies of her Pensieve memory of her conversation with Sirius Black to the Wizengamot, and also the memory of an interview she had conducted when she had visited Rabastan Lestrange in Azkaban last week, in order to verify the story for herself.

With the fierce support of the Lestranges’ cousin, Madam Rowle, and the quieter but no less firm agreement of a majority of the Wizengamot, it was agreed the three co-accused would be granted a joint hearing in the new year, in order to determine whether any of their cases should proceed to trial.

Lady Longbottom had been campaigning strongly throughout Crouch’s trial to keep their files closed, the grief and loss of what had happened to her son and daughter-in-law still fresh even after all those years. However, many on the Wizengamot realised that it was the right thing that the Lestranges have the option of trials. Justice must be seen as being done, or society would lose faith in the government.

Minister Fudge, on thin ice as it was since Dumbledore had been stripped of power, had folded in agreement. He was now the Chief Warlock, this being the default situation for normal Wizengamot assemblies.

The following day Bartemius Crouch Senior was brought back to be sentenced to ten years in Azkaban, a sentence that he accepted with barely a reaction but for the deep dread in his eyes.

Madam Bones announced to the gathered media after he had been escorted away that the Wizengamot had voted by majority to reopen the cases of the three Lestranges, and they would be granted a joint special hearing in the new year.

That had caused quite a stir, more than a few speculating if Sirius Black had been sent to Azkaban for crimes he did not commit, whether the Wizengamot had reason to believe one or even all of the Lestranges were in a similar situation.

Hidden in the basement of his childhood home, Bartemius Crouch Junior stared at the ceiling from where he was lying on his bed, listening as a tearful Winky informed him his father had been sentenced to ten years in Azkaban.

Barty smirked, and then unable to help himself, he started to laugh.

Winky began to scold him, but her lecture cut off abruptly, and she let out a shocked gasp. Barty sat up straight on his bed, looking over at the house elf.

“What is it Winky?” he demanded, brown eyes sharp.

She seemed speechless for a moment, one little hand clasped over he heart like she was in pain.

“Winky!” Barty called out loudly, trying to snap her out of whatever episode she was having. He moved now to stand, fists clenching and unclenching as he waited.

The house elf swallowed heavily and gasped out, “Winky is being summoned.”

Barty frowned in confusion for a moment, before a look of realisation crossed his face. “My aunt is calling you, isn’t she?”

Winky’s face was grimacing in pain, not responding except for a jerky nod as she fought to resist the summons of the Lady Crouch. Although the house elf had been working for Crouch Senior for years, Winky was nevertheless a Crouch family house elf. House elves were tied, not to individual people, but to homes. It was in their name.

Winky might obey Crouch Senior, but Lady Crouch was the head of the Crouch family, and had ultimate control over every Crouch house elf.

And Winky was now being summoned to Crouch Manor, no doubt to answer to Lady Crouch on what was to be done with her brother’s property, or perhaps to glean some insight into her brother’s fall from grace and how he had dragged their family name through the mud.

There was a strange sensation then in the room, and Barty felt like his ears had just popped, like atmospheric pressure had just shifted.

He looked around carefully, but nothing in the basement looked out of place.

Winky moaned in despair, and Barty looked back at her, eyes narrowed. “What was that?” he asked her.

The house elf did not answer him – Barty knew his father had ordered the house elf that she was not to follow Barty’s orders.

But Winky had always had a soft spot for him. So Barty forced himself to breathe deeply to calm his emotions, and moved over to the house elf’s side. He lowered himself in front of her, catching her eyes.

“Winky,” he said softly. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s happening. Please.”

“The wards,” she gasped out. “The wards around the house just fell. Lady Crouch be deactivating them.”

Barty’s eyes immediately cut to the stairs leading up to the world outside his prison for the past six years. Without the wards locking him in the basement, the only thing standing in his way was one house elf.

And said house elf was about to be summoned away from the house to answer to his aunt.

Lady Crouch, losing patience when Winky had not immediately appeared, had remotely pulled her brother’s wards down to see if that solved the issue, or perhaps for the purpose of sending another house elf over to investigate. Crouch Senior might own the property himself, but it was protected by the Crouch family wards. And those wards were under the control of the head of the house.

“You had best answer the summons Winky,” Barty said slowly.

The house elf shook her head vigorously, standing between Barty and the exit.

Barty continued, “My aunt could be sending another house elf here as we speak. You can’t let anyone know about me right? If you keep standing here, I will be discovered.”

Winky was tugging on her ears, and she cried out, “If Winky goes, Master Barty be leaving the basement. Winky will have failed Master Crouch.”

Barty said nothing for a moment. Then, recalling something he remembered the house elf saying long ago, he murmured, “Aren’t you failing my mother though, by keeping me here?”

Winky stared at him in shock and confusion. Barty pressed on urgently, “You told me that my mother asked you to look after me. How is keeping me locked in a basement for the rest of my life looking after me?”

“Winky did promise Mistress Crouch,” the house elf whispered sadly.

Pushing on, Barty added, “You won’t be betraying my father by answering my aunt’s summons. She is the head of the family. You must answer her summons, Winky. What happens while you are gone is not your responsibility.”

The house elf continued to hover, obviously in pain as she continued to resist the magic pulling her to Lady Crouch.

“Winky you’re hurting yourself,” Barty whispered. “Please, go. If you do, you can honour the orders of both my mother and father. I just need you to go.”

“What will Master Barty do?” the house elf asked. “Where will the young master go?”

“That is not your concern anymore,” Barty murmured. Still looking into the house elf’s eyes he whispered, “Don’t try and find me.”

A single tear tracked down the elf’s face, still caught between multiple orders and the burning summons of Lady Crouch.

“You’ve always been kind to me, Winky. Thank you. Now, go,” Barty said, rising slowly to his feet.

The house elf stared up at him, before she whispered, “Be safe.”

Then she was gone.

Bartemius Crouch Junior was free.

On the eve of Yule, snow was falling in the village of Godric’s Hollow. In a narrow lane Harry, Sirius and Remus appeared, safely escorted by a Black Castle house elf. Although Sirius and Remus could have Apparated and brought Harry along via Side-Along Apparition, it was generally considered risky to take underage children via this means. House elf magic was very different, old and powerful, and so it was the preferred method for most families to travel – at least for those who had a house elf tied to their home.

The Black Castle house elf, Biffey, bowed deeply to the three wizards and beamed as Harry thanked him politely. He popped away quietly, knowing to return when Sirius called for him to take them home.

Sirius pulled out his wand and cast a charm to deflect away the attention of any Muggles they might encounter on their way.

“It’s this way,” Remus said quietly, pulling his slightly shabby cloak tighter around him as he tilted his head deeper down the laneway, amber eyes sombre.

The man started walking, Sirius and Harry following close behind in hushed silence, the only noise the slight crunch of their shoes in the snow. None of them were disguised – for the first time back in Godric’s Hollow Sirius had not wanted to come wearing the face of stranger.

The trio entered a narrow road, lined to either side with cottages. There were Christmas decorations in the windows of the Muggle residences, and other than the odd pedestrian rugged up against the chill, there were not many about in the sleepy village.

Harry looked at each cottage closely as they passed and Sirius leaned in to inform him softly, “This is the Muggle section of the village – your parent’s house is further away.” He visibly hesitated, before offering, “Do you want to see it later?”

Harry thought about it, walking in silence for a bit. Remus continued leading the way but he was listening in carefully to hear what Harry preferred.

“I want to see it,” Harry decided finally. “But not today.”

Sirius nodded, hands thrust deep in his pockets against the stinging iciness of the air. “Okay,” he agreed quietly.

They kept moving in silence after that, each lost in their own thoughts. As they passed the little cottages with their pretty front porches and brightly coloured doors, Harry wondered if he remembered any of this. He had only been a baby when he lived here, but as he gazed around he wondered if deep down he remembered this place, if his parents had taken him in a pram down this very road, if he had played in the snow here, if he had been held in a parent’s arms as they paused to show him the Christmas lights.

Throat thick with grief, Harry leaned in closer to Sirius, who immediately noticed, pulling one of his hands out of his pocket to offer it to his godson. Harry took it right away, clinging to his godfather’s hand as the lane along which they were walking curved to the left and towards a small square in the heart of the village.

There was what looked like a war memorial in the middle of the square, partly obscured by a large Christmas tree strung with lights. Around the small square was a post office, a pub, a few shops and a little church with beautiful stained-glass windows.

More people were gathered about here in the square, with it being late afternoon. Most of the activity was centred on the shops and pub, villagers criss-crossing over the square, snatches of laughter and conversation reaching the trio’s ears.

No one looked their way as they entered the square, Sirius’ charm causing the eyes of the Muggles to slide off of them.

“The graveyard is just behind the church,” Remus told them.

They started to move over towards it, crossing the square. Harry held on tight to Sirius’ hand, his stomach a churning mix of anticipation, worry and grief. He was suddenly uncertain if he wanted to see their grave.

Sirius squeezed his hand comfortingly and told him quietly, “I’m here.”

Harry mustered up a brave smile for his godfather, who looked down at him with sad grey eyes. They were distracted by Remus gasping out loud. Both looked over sharply to the man, whose gaze was focused on the war memorial in the centre of the square.

As they had passed it, it had transformed. Instead of an obelisk covered in names, there was a statue of three people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair down to her waist and a beautiful face, and a baby boy sitting in his mother’s arms.

“I didn’t know that was here,” Remus murmured dazedly. He had attended the small private funeral for James and Lily when they had been laid to rest, but at that time, this statue had not existed.

Harry drew closer, pulling along a shocked Sirius with him as he gazed up at his parents’ faces. His eyes drifted down to the version of himself immortalised in stone, a happy baby held in his mother’s arms. It felt impossibly strange to see himself represented there.

“Can you see a plaque or something explaining who ordered this made?” Sirius asked Remus, face neutral. He was feeling as conflicted as Harry. It didn’t really sit right with him to see this monument up for the world to see. It painted James, Lily and Harry as these grand figures; further pushing the narrative that Harry was some kind of saviour.

Remus shook his head, looking lost, eyes fixed on the stone faces of his friends.

Pushing aside his discomfort with the monument, Sirius looked to Harry and asked softly, "Are you ready to go to the graveyard?"

Harry swallowed heavily and nodded rather than verbally respond. Sirius, hand still wrapped protectively around Harry’s own, now walked alongside Remus. With his free hand he reached out to put a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder, who was hunched over slightly.

Harry glanced back to see the statue turn back into a war memorial.

As they passed by the front door of the church, they came to a gate at the entrance to the graveyard beyond. Remus pushed it open, deep snow that had piled up being moved to the side as he did so.

Behind the church, row upon row of snowy tombstones emerged from the earth. Remus led the way again, knowing the exact spot in the rather large graveyard where James and Lily Potter were buried.

As they carved deep tracks through the snow that had built up, their clothes charmed against growing soaked from the snow, Harry peered at the words on the old headstones. Suddenly, his eyes caught the letter ‘P’ and he instinctively paused, drawing Sirius and Remus’ attention.

“It’s a little further down,” Remus murmured, but refrained from saying anything else at the look on Harry’s face as he stared at a crumbling, mossy stone.

The grave was so weathered and old it was hard to make out what was engraved on it, but Harry’s eyes had caught a very familiar name on the headstone.

“Ignotus Peverell,” he said aloud in the hushed quiet of the graveyard.

As he said it, he almost thought he imagined a slight shiver down his back, like a tingle of magic brushing against him before disappearing as fleeting as it came.

Sirius leaned over the stone, eager to see if they could glean some more information about Harry’s elusive ancestors who had been related to the Dark Lady Morgana. He pulled out his wand and very carefully removed the moss from the headstone, revealing a strange symbol atop the headstone.

Engraved into the stone above Ignotus’ name was a triangle with a circle inside it, bisected by a straight line through the middle. The symbol was not familiar to any of the three, who all examined it with slight frowns on their faces.

There was nothing else on the grave.

Sirius committed the symbol to memory, resolving to add it to his enquiries about the Peverell family.

Harry turned away from his ancestor’s grave, and Remus took the cue to keep leading them all further down the row. His steps started to slow and finally he stated quietly, tone sombre, “They’re here.”

Engraved on white marble so bright it seemed to glow with its own light, were the names James Charlus Potter and Lily Jane Potter. Underneath the dates of their births and deaths were words carved into the white marble.

“The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death,” Harry whispered aloud.

Again, a shiver ran across his skin, like a sudden chill. His breath caught in that brief moment, and the familiar buzz of magic pulsed under his skin like a second heartbeat, before it faded.

There was power in those words.

Harry’s eyes were wet with unshed tears as he looked up at his godfather, whose own eyes were filled with tears as he look at his friends’ grave for the first time.

“What does that mean?” Harry asked.

Sirius shook his head slightly, unable to give an answer, throat thick with grief.

Remus spoke up then, offering gently, “Perhaps it means living beyond death. That there is still life after death.”

The answer didn’t entirely satisfy Harry, but he accepted it could be correct. He added, “Did mum and dad want this on their headstone – did they pick it out?”

Remus nodded, and Sirius cleared his throat, explaining, “Your dad wanted it – I remember him telling me it was an old family saying.”

“Old…like Peverell family old?” Harry asked slowly.

Sirius stared back at Harry, and admitted, “It could be.”

Remus watched the interaction with slight confusion, but did not press for answers. His amber eyes were on the grave, expression distant as he recalled the day James and Lily were buried. It was unfair that Harry had not been there. He had questioned Dumbledore where Harry was and the man had said he was settled with his mother’s family, who were processing the news of Lily and James’ deaths in their own way.

Knowing now what he knew, Remus suspected Dumbledore had not even attempted to invite the Dursleys to the funeral. Not that they would have accepted. But Harry, and Sirius for that matter, should have been present.

As Harry stood there, he was struck by the realisation that his parent’s remains were underneath him in the cold, frozen ground. Tears spilled down his cheeks. He let them fall without wiping his cheeks, standing in the place where the last of his parents remained.

Before being too swept away in his grief Harry remembered something. Although his parents’ physical remains might be here, their souls were not. He had felt them on Samhain; they had been with him.

“They’re not really here,” Harry whispered.

Remus looked at him with concern, but Sirius wrapped an arm around his godson’s shoulders as he agreed quietly, “No, they’re not.”

A look of understanding came across Remus’ face. Sirius reached out again with his free arm and tugged Remus in close. The other man came willingly, a warm and solid weight by Sirius’ side.

Although his parents were not truly there, Harry still quietly told Sirius he was ready to lay flowers down. It felt right to come prepared to leave something, especially after Sirius told him how much his mother had loved lilies, the flower she had been named for.

Remus, being the better of the two at this type of magic, pulled out his wand and moved it intricately for a few moments, whispering under his breath. A bouquet of white lilies blossomed before them, tied together with a black satin ribbon.

The bouquet came to rest gently in Harry’s arms, and he smiled appreciatively at Remus, who smiled back softly. Harry gently laid the lilies on the grave, kneeling down in the snow to do so. His fingers brushed against the cold white marble of the headstone, now in the direct eyesight of the words, ‘The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death’.

He made a silent promise to understand the true meaning of those words one day, the words his father had asked to be engraved on his own headstone.

Kneeling down still, taking one last moment to be present and close to the memory of his parents, Harry was flanked to either side by Sirius and Remus. The two men were respectfully silent, patiently letting Harry have this final moment.

At last Harry stood up, and told both men, “I’m ready to go.”

He didn’t want to spend any more time here. Sirius took his hand and guided him away from the grave, Remus following behind them as they left the graveyard.

None of them saw a single lily in the heart of the bouquet wilt and blacken as it died.

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Two: Yule

For the first time in fourteen years, a Yuletide feast was being hosted at Black Castle. The fireplace of the Grand Dining Hall blazed with the Yuletide log, which would continue burning throughout the night.

On this longest night of the year, it was traditional to gather with loved ones and enjoy a feast together, and give thanks for the year that has passed. It was also the most important day of the year for dark witches and wizards, the time to affirm their dedication to their dark magic.

Arcturus observed Sirius and Harry, dark eyes warm with the glow of the firelight as he listened in on their conversation over dinner. Wedged, almost protectively, between the two was a rather nervous Remus Lupin, who had been slowly eating his meal with impeccably small bites, handling the silverware with clear trepidation.

Arcturus had met Mr Lupin earlier that month, and had been impressed with the man’s sensible demeanour and warm friendship with his grandson, Sirius. He knew the two had been incredibly close at Hogwarts, and that Lupin had been selected by James and Lily Potter to raise Harry if anything were to happen to them and Sirius.

He understood why – the man radiated responsibility, a carefulness about him that spoke of a wise head on his shoulders.

Mr Lupin had also insisted on informing Arcturus that he was afflicted with lycanthropy, refusing to accept Sirius’ invitation to stay at Black Castle over Yuletide unless Lord Black was fully aware of the nature of the guest under his roof.

Even that decision revealed his strong responsibility and unerring moral compass. Lord Black had never met a werewolf before, as far as he was aware. But he understood there were grave injustices done against the community, who were only dangerous on one night every month. Lycanthropy was only transmissible when in the werewolf form, and outside of this time, there was no way to infect another person.

Mr Lupin had tried to insist on informing the other guests who were spending Yuletide at Black Castle, but Arcturus had gently suggested the man refrain from disclosing his medical condition with any other people. He could understand the man’s apprehension and desire to do right by those spending time around him, but it was nowhere near the full moon.

With the gentle but firm recommendation of Lord Black behind him, Remus had met the Greengrass family earlier in the evening without informing them of his condition. The family had come straight from Lady Greengrass’ parents home where they had enjoyed a Yuletide lunch along with her brother Ezra Yaxley.

Sitting to Arcturus’ right hand was Lord Gareth Greengrass, who had gratefully accepted the Lord Black’s invitation for he, his wife and his daughters to spend Yule at Black Castle. Rather than create a situation where Harry had to spend his first Yule back in the wizarding world with one group of important people missing, Lord Black had offered the Greengrass family to spend Yule with them.

His invitation to the Lord and Lady Greengrass had been apt – particularly when they had discussed their Yule present for Harry with he and Sirius. It was tradition for adult family members to prepare gifts for the children in a family. Children were not expected to give gifts of their own, but teenagers often started buying gifts for siblings and parents when they were older.

The mere fact that Gareth and Rosie prepared a Yule gift for Harry, spoke measures as to their fondness for the child, and their desire to continue being important figures in his life.

Arcturus would have loved to have had the entire Black clan gathered, but he knew on such a sacred day that more intimate and peaceful family settings were sought. Perhaps in time he could persuade the family to gather, but for now he knew Cassiopeia was spending Yule with the Tonks family as she normally did, and the Malfoys were hosting Cygnus and Pollux at their manor.

The younger of the two Greengrass daughters was seated beside her mother, but her elder sister was seated beside Harry, the two with their heads ducked together, giggling about something.

It pleased Arcturus to no end to see Harry so carefree, cheeks flushed from the warmth of the fire and his plate full of food. This was nothing less than he deserved, and Arcturus would be grateful every day that Gareth Greengrass’ department had removed Harry from those abominable Muggles and that the man had taken Harry into his own home, and showed him such kindness.

As the night deepened, snow falling silently outside the wide windows of Black Castle, the fire seemed to burn a little hotter, the flames licking hungrily at the Yule log. Arcturus could not resist the lure of shutting his eyes briefly, the hum of conversation fading away slightly as he reflected on the invisible magic around them all, tying them together on this sacred day.

Eventually he opened his eyes, and his gaze was immediately caught by his adoptive great-grandson, Harry’s green eyes almost glowing in the light of the fire. Harry’s eyes were wide, staring straight at Arcturus.

The elderly man tilted his head slightly, wondering why Harry was looking at him in that way. Harry discreetly placed his hand over his heart, maintaining eye contact. Arcturus’ own eyes widened slightly, and he smiled gently at his future heir.

Harry was reflecting on it too – the magic thrumming in the air around them as they gathered in this place together. Ritualistic magic was often dismissed as the lesser sibling of spellcraft and runecraft, the effects of such magic often being subtle or working slowly over time.

But it was this type of magic that enthralled Arcturus. Ever present, touching all of them equally, regardless of blood and magical disposition.

Seeing the shine in Harry’s eyes, the awe, he knew his great-grandson felt the same.

He hoped this experience would further Harry’s continued study under the tutelage of Ezra Yaxley, who was exploring the possibilities of wandless magic with Harry. The last update he had received from Sirius had indicated Harry was progressing well with his meditation technique, but was still struggling to sense his own magical core.

Sirius had succeeded at last the previous weekend, which had pleased Arcturus to no end. It was one thing to affirm your dedication to learning the Dark Arts, and embracing your dark heritage. But it was another thing entirely to actually feel your magical core, to truly understand your own nature.

Sirius had been having clandestine talks with his grandfather after that, long discussions about properly learning the Dark Arts, including the parts deemed illegal by their government. He had also, hesitantly, discussed introducing Harry to those topics once he had turned eleven and his magical core was settled, laws be damned.

Arcturus had never been prouder.

There was much to be thankful for this night indeed.

Harry absent-mindedly rubbed his hand over his heart again as Daphne chattered away, still feeling the familiar tingle under his fingers of what he recognised as the touch of magic. He had last felt this on the night of Samhain, when he and Daphne had engaged in the ritual around the fire. And perhaps far more recently yesterday when at the graveyard in Godric’s Hollow, though Harry was uncertain what could have triggered such a reaction then. Possibly the proximity to Yule?

Regardless, the sensation was thrilling, and after two lessons with Ezra so far and no luck sensing his own magical core, it was a timely reminder that he did indeed have a connection to magic, made powerful on sacred days such as today.

“We’ll be opening presents soon,” Daphne told him excitedly, catching her sister’s attention across the table, who visibly perked up.

“Presents!” Astoria exclaimed, hazel eyes shining. She turned those eyes up at her mother beside her and begged, “Can we open presents now?”

She had finished eating, as had the rest of the table. With great patience Rosie quietly told her youngest daughter, “Astoria, we will wait for our host to decide.”

Before the young girl had a chance to pout Arcturus announced, “I am happy to move to gift giving.” His eyes were fond as Astoria cheered.

Only slightly more reserved than the younger girl, Daphne and Harry were practically vibrating with excitement.

Arcturus stood up, suggesting, “Let us move to the chairs by the fire.”

A sitting area had been set up so all present could remain close to the Yule fire, the centrepiece of the night.

The group moved over, the adults having already placed gifts on the low table before the fire for the children. Remus had been flustered in the lead up to Yule, knowing there were other guests staying at Black Castle, and it was traditional for adults to give children gifts. Sirius had insisted Remus join he and his grandfather in a joint gift for Daphne and Astoria.

The adults had decided amongst themselves not to give gifts to each other, which had at least taken the pressure off Remus to organise even more gifts, particularly for people he really didn’t know.

Harry could sense Remus’ nervousness since the moment he set foot in Black Castle, and had been staying close to the man’s side. It had taken the joint pleading of Sirius and Harry to even get Remus to agree to stay for Yule – he had been planning on a quiet night in his apartment in Edinburgh, but Sirius and Harry would have none of that.

Yule was no time to be alone.

Harry took a seat right beside Remus, Sirius sitting on the man’s other side in an unspoken agreement to keep him included.

A few neatly wrapped presents and cards were waiting on the table, and Arcturus suggested, “Parents and godparents first?”

Sirius reached over to pluck a parcel from the table, a soft look in his eyes as he passed it over to Harry, craning over Remus as he did so. Meanwhile, Rosie and Gareth neatly levitated their own wrapped gifts, one for each of their daughters, into their laps.

Seeing Daphne and Astoria already tearing eagerly into their presents, Harry carefully began unwrapping his own present, and saw something fluid and silvery grey slip out of the folds of the wrapping into his lap. He blinked in surprise at the fabric pooled in his lap, the material almost water-like.

He lifted it up carefully, trying to work out what it was.

“Try it on,” Sirius said, a strange quality to his voice.

Realising it must be a cloak of some sort; Harry stood up in front of the chair and lifted the material, which rippled down fluidly in front of him. It was indeed a cloak, but the material was like nothing Harry had seen or felt before.

Harry tugged it around his shoulders, pulling it so it sat comfortably over him. He promptly gasped in shock, drawing the attention of the Greengrass family.

“You’re invisible!” Daphne exclaimed delightedly.

Harry’s body had indeed vanished – looking down he could see the rug beneath him and the chair he had been sitting on, but his torso and legs were completely invisible. He guessed if he pulled the hood on he would be totally invisible.

“This is so cool, thanks Sirius,” Harry said with a grin, just a floating head with the rest of his body hidden under the cloak.

“It belonged to your dad,” Sirius told him gently. “We had many adventures with it at Hogwarts.”

Remus was smiling wryly, the expression tinged with the familiar whisper of sadness whenever their lost friends were mentioned.

Harry touched the cloak gently, appreciating it even more he knew it had belonged to his dad.

“That is perhaps the finest Invisibility Cloak I have ever seen,” Gareth stated, face impressed.

“It’s been in the Potter family for generations,” Sirius informed the other man proudly.

A slight frown creased Gareth’s brow and he said a little uncertainly, “For generations? I would have thought it was freshly commissioned with the quality of the fabric and effectiveness of the spellcraft.”

Harry pulled the Cloak off carefully, putting it back in its wrappings as he listened in on what Gareth was saying. Sirius seemed a little confused replying, “I don’t know about any spellcraft. James certainly never cast anything on it. It’s just always worked.”

Gareth’s eyebrows climbed and Harry asked Sirius in an echo of their conversation the previous day regarding the old Potter family saying on James and Lily’s grave, “The Cloak has been in the Potter family for a really long time?”

Significant looks passed between those present, bar Daphne, Astoria and Remus who did not know about Harry’s Peverell heritage. The girls were oblivious, but once again Remus sensed he was missing the thread of conversation.

Sirius looked in a considering fashion at the Cloak now safely wrapped again in Harry’s lap and murmured, “James said it was tradition for the Cloak to be passed from parent to firstborn child. It was the Potter family’s most prized heirloom.”

Harry touched the fabric gently, wondering if one of his Peverell ancestors had crafted this Cloak, and if it formed another part of the puzzle that made up his heritage. He could sense there was so much he didn’t know, and judging by Gareth’s shock that the Cloak did not seem to be regularly enchanted and had existed for so long, it was no ordinary Invisibility Cloak.

“Thanks Sirius, I’ll take really good care of it,” Harry promised.

“It was always yours, kid, I was just returning it to its rightful owner,” Sirius assured him. “Which is why it’s only part of your Yule present from me.”

Daphne and Astoria pouted at the news Sirius had gotten Harry more than one present, given their own parents have each of them one present jointly, but it was not in a mean-spirited way.

“This one is actually from both myself and Remus,” Sirius informed Harry, glancing over at the other man to prompt him.

Remus shyly reached over to pluck a card from the table, passing it over to Harry. As he did so, Daphne sagely nodded her head, whispering to her sister, “I see; Harry gets two presents because he’s an only child and he has Sirius and Remus like we have our mum and dad.”

Rosie choked on the tea she was sipping, hiding the ensuing cough as her eyes watered and Gareth frowned worriedly at her.

“I wish I was an only child,” Astoria lamented dramatically.

“Oi!” Daphne exclaimed, without any real heat, shoving her sister gently on the shoulder.

“Girls,” Rosie hissed out of the corner of her mouth. She was going to have to talk to them later.

By this point, Harry had opened the envelope, grinning with excitement as he pulled three tickets out.

“It was Remus’ idea,” Sirius informed Harry, nudging Remus.

Remus said quietly, “I hope you would enjoy going with myself and Sirius.” He rushed to add, “You can take other people of course.”

Sirius rolled his eyes at the backpedalling, and Harry assured Remus, “Of course I want to go with you and Sirius. Thank you so much.”

For the benefit of the rest gathered Harry announced, “They’re tickets to the first Holyhead Harpies game of the new year.”

Sirius stated playfully, “It’s time for you to be properly indoctrinated as a Harpies fan.”

Harry also appreciated the fact that Remus was not the biggest Quidditch fan, but wanted to connect with Harry, and so he had suggested it as an activity they could all enjoy together.

“I’m really looking forward to it,” Harry told Remus, who smiled at him happily.

“Alright, now Remus, grandfather and I got presents for you girls,” Sirius announced, causing Daphne and Astoria to perk up at the prospect of more presents.

Harry had helped pick out the girls’ presents, given Remus had not met them before today and Sirius and Arcturus were unfamiliar with them both. For Astoria, it was a huge hamper of all her favourite Honeyduke’s chocolates that Harry knew she was fond of. For Daphne, Harry had suggested books. Harry knew she loved reading fiction, and thought she might like a fantasy story about a princess who ran away to become a knight. Arcturus, Sirius and Remus had gotten her the full trilogy for good measure, in a limited edition collector's box, and she was already happily reading the blurb at the back, blue eyes keen with excitement.

As Rosie reminded her girls to thank the men, Arcturus quietly levitated a small, wrapped box to Harry. He said quietly, but his voice carried, “An heirloom from me.”

Harry unwrapped the package, revealing a beautifully carved box stamped with the Black family crest. He glanced up to see his grandfather watching him carefully, as was Sirius and even Remus was watching curiously.

Harry lifted the lid of the small box, revealing a simple silver band inside, nestled in black velvet. It looked like it was sized perfectly for Harry already, not too big or chunky for a child’s finger. Although simple looking at first glance, on closer inspection it was engraved intricately with three ravens in flight around the band – the Black family symbol.

“Thank you, grandfather,” Harry said softly. He pulled the ring out carefully from the box, and Arcturus instructed him, “It should be placed on your right ring finger.”

Harry nodded, sliding the ring onto the finger as directed. It fit perfectly as he suspected, settling comfortably at the base of his finger. He admired the beautiful engraving, but looked up as Arcturus informed him, “That ring was given to me when I was your age, by my grandfather, Phineas Nigellus Black. He had it commissioned for me, as the future heir to the family lordship, and it has been in my possession all of these years.”

Harry felt touched Arcturus was giving him an heirloom that he had possessed since he was Harry’s age, something given to him by his own grandfather. It was obviously very precious.

Arcturus continued, “The ring has a number of runecraft protections engraved in the inner band. If you are ever separated from one of us and need help, you need only twist it three times, and both Sirius and myself will be alerted that you need us. We will be able to track your location, and Apparate to where you are, where possible. It will also heat up on your finger if you are near food or drink contaminated with poison or other dangerous substances.”

Sirius and Remus blanched a little at that last point, but Harry nodded seriously, appreciative for the protection.

“How will you and Sirius be alerted?” Harry asked curiously.

“When my grandfather commissioned the ring for me, he had the runes engraved on the underside linked to the rings worn by the head and heir of the house,” Arcturus explained, showing Harry the onyx black gem ring on his right ring finger. Sirius likewise held up his own right hand, which bore the slightly more discreet heir ring.

Grateful for the protection the ring offered, and the fact he had been given a Black family heirloom, particularly one that was so special to Arcturus personally, Harry met his grandfather’s gaze and again said sincerely, “Thank you.”

“I guess that leaves our present to you, Harry,” Rosie called out softly, grabbing Harry’s attention. He saw there was one last small box on the table, the same size as Arcturus’ present.

Feeling a bit shy that Rosie and Gareth had gotten him something, even though Remus, Sirius and Arcturus had gotten Daphne and Astoria something each, Harry watched the small box float over to him, directed by Gareth’s wand.

Before he started to open the wrapping, Gareth spoke up, causing Harry to pause as he listened. “Rosie and I discussed this particular gift with your godfather and grandfather before we commissioned it.”

Even more curious now what it could be, Harry carefully unwrapped the neatly put together package, revealing another box, this one a simple wooden design.

Harry opened it slowly, revealing another ring. This one was the same size as the Black heirloom, and again Harry strongly suspected it would fit him perfectly. Whereas the Black ring was silver, this ring was gold. It was engraved with a rose, and Harry realised with a start that it was the Greengrass family symbol he had seen displayed around the Greengrass estate.

He looked up uncertainly from the ring, gaze flicking between Rosie and Gareth, asking them a silent question.

Rosie had one arm wrapped around Astoria, who was leaning into her mum’s side. She told Harry, “You might not share blood with us, Harry, but we wanted to ensure Greengrass wards would always recognise you.”

Harry was speechless, hands gripping the box tightly.

Gareth continued, “While you are wearing that ring, any Greengrass wards will recognise you as one of us, and when you are older you will be able to freely Apparate in and out of any of our properties.”

Rosie added keenly, “I engraved the runes myself around the inside of the band.” She glanced at Arcturus, who nodded his head. She added, “The runecraft is illusory magic, which I understand you now know is illegal.”

Harry’s eyes were wide, pulling the ring out to glance at the underside of the band. He was yet to learn any runes, so he wasn’t sure what he was looking at, but the intricate detail was obvious.

Remus did not seem horrified at the announcement, so Sirius must have forewarned him. Not to mention, Remus had seen his friends practice their fair share of illegal magic – particularly Lily with her experimentation with blood magic. The Dark Arts was part of Harry’s nature – and Remus was not about to judge people who had welcomed him so kindly. They were showing him much trust as a neutral wizard in their midst.

“Illusory magic, when carved into an object, has many practical uses, including convincing family wards that you are indeed family,” Rosie explained.

Harry looked up at her sharply at that last bit, and saw the woman’s eyes were soft. “We meant it when we said you would always have a safe space with our family, Harry.”

Harry realised his eyes had filled with tears, and Remus gently handed him a handkerchief, which he took gratefully with a watery smile for the man.

“The runes have been carved so that even if someone looks at the underside of the ring the runes will look like a simple script wishing you good health. Illusory magic is wonderfully helpful at hiding itself,” Rosie informed him with a grin.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, voice a little choked.

This was not just confirmation of being welcomed into the Greengrass family – they were putting so much trust in him, giving him an item engraved with illegal magic.

“You should place it above you Black ring,” Arcturus instructed.

Harry slipped it onto the same finger as the Black ring, and sure enough it fit perfectly, settling just above the silver band. He stared down at the three ravens and the single rose, representing two families that had welcomed him as their own.

He had the Invisibility Cloak of his father in his lap still, the Potter family heirloom that had possibly originated with his Peverell ancestors.

He had never felt so connected and loved.

“Let us take a moment of reflection now,” Arcturus murmured, once Harry had, had a chance to compose himself. “Tonight, on this longest night of the year, we give thanks for the year we have had. For those of us here with dark magical cores, we affirm our commitment to the dark, and the blessings magic has given us.”

Harry shut his eyes; the only sound the crackle of the Yule log. He didn’t think he imagined it, but if anything the fire felt hotter than it had been a moment ago, the light behind his eyelids even brighter.

As easily as he had wrapped the Cloak around his shoulders, he could feel the increasingly familiar brush of magic curling around him, filling him up. His skin tingled, his very bones feeling alight with energy.

Harry thought about how grateful he was to be here right now, surrounded by people he loved, and who loved him in return. He gave his silent thanks to have been born with a connection to magic, to be part of this incredible world.

Finally he thought about his own magic, and made a silent promise to protect the dark heritage that had been gifted to him. He would learn the Dark Arts, observe the traditions of his ancestors, and preserve the powerful legacy that had been passed down to him.

Without entirely realising it, Harry slipped into the meditative state Ezra had been teaching him for the past nearly two weeks, his breathing evening out and slowing down, as his mind grew unfocused.

As the magic of that sacred night moved around him, Harry breathed in deeply, and then out again, feeling each breath seemed fuller than the last. And from one moment to the next the magic was not just outside of him – it was inside of him too.

Harry knew instinctively he had just touched his own magical core.

In his excitement he lost the connection, breath stuttering, but the sensation of having finally sensed his own magic lingered with him, making his heart beat fast. He realised something too – he could probably find that connection again now that he had sensed it once. He couldn’t wait for his next session with Ezra in the new year when their lessons resumed.

It was sure to prove to be an enlightening time.

As the fire continued to burn long into the night, the children were sent to bed and eventually even Arcturus retired to sleep, joking he was not as young as he used to be. That left Sirius, Remus, Gareth and Rosie gathered by the fireplace, talking with each other over modest measures of Ogden’s Firewhisky that Sirius had insisted on pouring for them all.

Remus was deep in conversation with Rosie, utterly fascinated to properly meet and discuss runecraft with a true master. He was listening intently to her description of the process of engraving the ring she and Gareth had given to Harry, and how she had carved the corresponding runes into the Greengrass family property so that the wards would recognise the ring bearer.

Gareth watched on, taking a sip of the expensive Firewhisky Sirius had cracked out, and said softly to Sirius over the crackle of the Yule log, “I admit I had my reservations when you said a friend of yours was joining us for Yule. Even more so when you insisted we didn’t have to hide our more…legally problematic magic.”

Sirius didn’t take offence – there was so much prejudice and persecution of their community that Gareth and Rosie were right to feel cautious about a neutral wizard joining them on the most important night of the year for dark witches and wizards.

“Remus watched me, James and Lily practice the Dark Arts for years and never whispered a word about it to anyone,” he told Gareth softly. “He’s trustworthy – always been more interested in the academic side of magic than anything social or political about it.”

Not to mention Remus was illegally hiding his status as a werewolf from the Ministry – he had his fair share of breaking government laws.

Gareth nodded, continuing to watch the man talk animatedly with his wife about her work. Anyone who expressed appreciation for Rosie’s genius already had won a mark of approval in Gareth’s books. However there was something still bothering him that he could not quite shake.

“If you don’t wish to answer this question, you should feel under no obligation to do so,” Gareth began, immediately capturing Sirius’ undivided attention. He waited cautiously for this potentially sensitive question.

Gareth looked him in the eye and asked, “If he is so trustworthy, why did James and Lily pick Peter Pettigrew to be their Secret Keeper, and not Remus?”

Sirius sighed, but did not seem angry at the question. It was more than fair to ask.

“At the time James and Lily were going into hiding, Remus was going through…a particularly difficult time personally,” Sirius said haltingly. Gareth and Rosie remained unaware of Remus’ lycanthropy infection, so Sirius could only explain so far. Outside of school and with a war over their heads, James, Sirius and Peter could not afford to transform with Remus every full moon.

The man had struggled immensely transforming alone in remote areas, and even though he carefully warded the areas he was in before transforming, he lived with the constant fear of someone coming across him and subsequently being injured or infected.

“He had been very close with his mum, Hope, and she passed away. He withdrew from all of us for a while. Then Dumbledore sent him away on a mission,” Sirius stated. The mission was to recruit werewolves to the war effort, a thankless task that Remus had hated. Most simply did not want to be discovered, let alone hear a pitch about becoming soldiers in a war.

“When it came time to cast the Fidelius Charm, none of us had spoken with Remus in weeks, and Dumbledore told us he would be away on the mission for some time, so Peter was selected instead,” Sirius finished.

Gareth nodded, satisfied at the answer. “So it was a matter of convenience, not a question of his loyalty,” he mused.

Sirius nodded in agreement, taking a sip of his Firewhisky, enjoying the burn.

“It must have been difficult for him to realise you were innocent – or did he always support you during your time in Azkaban?” Gareth asked bluntly.

Sirius stared at Gareth incredulously and commented, “Do you always ask such serious questions?”

Gareth laughed quietly, trying not to draw the attention of his wife and Remus. Luckily though they were still in deep conversation, Rosie now giving Remus an impromptu lesson in runecraft.

“I’m just trying to get the full picture with this man – he seems important to you, and that means he will be a significant figure in Harry’s life too,” Gareth replied.

Sirius sighed, accepting that Gareth’s prying was coming from a good place.

“He didn’t know what to believe,” Sirius explained, eyes glancing over at his old friend, watching him talk with Rosie. “He was mad with grief. So he dropped everything, and ran away to Scotland to start a new life in the Muggle world.”

Gareth’s eyes narrowed slightly as he asked, “He didn’t check in on Harry?”

Sirius’ eyes mimicked Gareth’s and he said a little defensively, “No, he trusted that Harry was being taken care of by the appropriate guardians.”

Gareth sipped his own drink, dissatisfied by that response, and said nothing. Sirius tried to force down his instinctive anger, and said a little tightly, “When James and Lily died, Peter betrayed them, and I was sent to prison, I broke. But I wasn’t the only one. Remus broke too. He made choices he now regrets deeply. As do I – had I stayed in Godric’s Hollow with Harry that night and not charged after Peter to confront him, then I possibly could have explained myself to the Aurors and avoided going to Azkaban.”

Gareth listened silently, letting Sirius get everything off his chest.

“Both of us are still healing from our mistakes, and what we’ve lost. He’s trying very hard to do right by Harry, but also by me. James and Lily wanted him to raise Harry if anything happened to me. They put their faith in him, so I will too,” Sirius concluded.

Gareth said slowly, and ever so cautiously, knowing how badly Sirius could react to what he was about to say next, “They put their faith in Peter Pettigrew too.”

Sirius stilled, a furious retort on his lips, but seeing the quiet sadness in Gareth’s blue eyes made him pause.

“They did,” Sirius agreed at last through gritted teeth. “But Remus is different. He would never betray us like that.”

Gareth nodded in acceptance of Sirius’ strong conviction. But privately he acknowledged that betrayal came in many forms. It was more than just the overt treachery of selling your friends to the person who wanted to kill their child. Betrayal was also not being there when someone needed you, and not standing by a person you care about. And Remus had dropped everything to run away to Scotland seven years ago, abandoning both Harry and Sirius.

Sirius might have decided to put his faith in Remus Lupin, but Gareth would be keeping a very close eye on him in the coming years. If he let Harry down again like he had once before, Gareth would not hesitate to stand between Remus and Harry.

Harry had been through too much to be hurt by a mercurial man who had proven himself unreliable in the past.

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Three: Greece

“Got everything packed?” Sirius asked Harry, leaning against the doorway to his godson's bedroom.

Staring down at the trunk open on his floor, Harry distractedly asked his godfather, “Should I pack another sweater do you think? Aunt Cass said the winter nights are quite cold. And I was planning on bringing a few books, but then Aunt Cass said her villa has a whole library, so I think I might like to read some of her texts instead.”

Sirius blinked bemusedly at his godson and asked, “Was that a yes or no?”

Harry bit his lip ruefully, and confessed, “I’m not good at this whole packing thing. I’ve never gone on a trip before, let alone somewhere overseas.”

Sirius’ face softened but he also felt a fair bit of fury towards those damn Muggles again, who had never bothered to take Harry anywhere. Hiding his anger, Sirius replied lightly, “Luckily we’re staying with family, so if you have forgotten anything, Aunt Cass’ villa is fully equipped.”

Staying true to her promise, Cassiopeia was hosting Harry, Sirius and Arcturus at her Greek villa in the final week of December. Harry had been beside himself with excitement ever since Aunt Cass had officially extended the invitation the day after Yule when she came over for lunch.

An entire week lay ahead exploring the Greek island of Rhodes that Aunt Cass had called home for so many years. Sirius was also going to take Harry to see a few more sites around Greece too while the elderly Arcturus and Cassiopeia spent some quieter time together at the villa, the two cousins catching up properly after so many years apart.

Sirius discreetly checked his watch, not wanting to pressure Harry, but very aware their International Portkey had a limited activation time, and they were drawing close to the window to travel.

Fortunately, Harry had decided he had everything he needed, closing the lid of his trunk with a quiet click. Sirius walked over, leaning down to tap the trunk with his wand. He shrunk it down and rendered it weightless, picking up the now tiny trunk between his fingers and sliding it securely into a deep pocket of his jacket.

Harry picked up his travelling cloak from the bed, taking one last moment to look around his bedroom; double-checking there was nothing he had missed. Satisfied, he followed his godfather out of his suite of rooms and down the hallways of Black Castle to the Grand Reception Room.

Aunt Cass had just arrived by Floo, chatting animatedly with Arcturus. She was wearing a rich cloak of deep blue, trimmed in gold. When she caught sight of Harry she beamed, and exclaimed, “Harry!”

He grinned back, moving forward to hug the older woman with a fond, “Aunt Cass – thank you again for having us, I’m so excited.”

She squeezed him back gently, catching the eyes of Arcturus and Sirius over Harry’s head. All three had determined looks on their faces – they were going to make Harry’s first holiday a special one.

Pulling back she fussed over him a little, tucking a bit of his hair behind an ear and suggesting he put his cloak on now. Portkeys were one of the safest forms of travel, but it was always a good idea to be prepared for anything. The two rings on Harry’s right hand caught the light coming through the grand windows outside, gleaming silver and gold – he had plenty of protection now if he ever did get separated from his guardians.

Harry humoured his Aunt Cass, tugging his travelling cloak on as directed. Arcturus checked his pocket watch, before tucking it back into an inner pocket, informing the others, “It’s about time. Are we all ready?”

Aunt Cass nodded, saying, “I’ve sent my house elf, Rinna, to get the villa prepared. Rhodes is two hours ahead of us, so she will have lunch ready for our arrival.” With a glint of pride in her eyes, the woman declared, “You’re all in for a real treat.”

Sirius, the only other person present who had seen the villa, agreed, “Aunt Cass’ place is something else.”

Arcturus, keeping a close eye on the clock still, indicated to the others, “It’s time.”

They moved over to round wooden disk sitting on a nearby table, which was of a considerable size. The item was carved with the Ministry of Magic seal confirming it was an authorised Portkey by the Department of Magical Transport, and beside the British symbol was what must be the symbol of the Greek Ministry of Magic.

Sirius had explained to Harry that International Portkeys required the consent of the magical governments of each country you were travelling to and from.

Around the wooden disk, for ease of travel, there were indented grips, though Harry noticed there were only three.

Arcturus and Cassiopeia reached for two of the indentations, settling a hand each on the grips. Sirius quickly explained to Harry, “Underage children travel in tandem with an adult.”

Understanding right away, Harry reached for the remaining indentation, and Sirius moved behind him, securely placing his own hand over Harry’s. It was an extra precaution to ensure children travelled safely via Portkey, and did not fall over upon reaching the destination and risk injury.

The sensation of travelling via Portkey had been explained to Harry in detail, but it did not quite prepare him for actually experiencing it first hand. One moment he was standing in the Grand Reception Room of Black Castle, and the next moment it felt almost like a hook had picked him up and thrown him backwards.

Harry felt like he was being spun around at immense speed, and was grateful for the solid presence of his godfather behind him, grounding him. Before he could feel too ill at the sensation, his feet suddenly impacted hard ground, and the spare hand of Sirius wrapped securely around his middle, helped him keep his footing.

Harry only staggered a little, blinking his eyes to get over the dizziness as his brain struggled to catch up.

“Are you okay?” Sirius asked right away, dropping his side of the Portkey and turning Harry around gently to examine him.

Harry felt a little bit nauseous, but other than that, he felt okay. He opened his mouth to tell Sirius just that, but then caught sight to the view behind his godfather’s shoulder, and his mouth stayed open in shock, not saying anything.

Sirius looked concerned for a moment, before he realised Harry’s eyes were filled with wonder, not pain, and he glanced over his own shoulder to see what had so enraptured his godson.

The rugged coastline of Rhodes swept out before them, the waves rolling in from the Aegean Sea. The rocky shores rose up into dramatic mountainous landscape, covered with copses of pine and cypress trees. The sun was high in the sky, which was cloudless and blue, a welcome change from the icy sleet of home.

Arcturus shrunk the Portkey down, tucking it away in his pocket as he admired the view himself. Cassiopeia breathed in that familiar scent, closing her dark eyes briefly as she enjoyed being back in this place that had been her home for so many years.

Now she got to share it again with Sirius, and introduce her cousin and great-nephew to the wonders of the island.

“Welcome to Rhodes,” Cassiopeia declared.

Then she turned her attention to guiding her family to her villa, hidden under the usual protections, which rendered it invisible and undetectable until up close.

Sirius gently tugged a still slightly awestruck Harry along, who could not take his eyes off the sea. He had never seen the sea before.

Aunt Cass led them up a slight incline on the rugged hillside they found themselves in, and once they crossed an invisible threshold, there was suddenly a shaded garden of olive trees around them.

Walking amongst the shade of the trees, following a path seemingly only she could recognise, Cassiopeia led them through the small grove. Eventually they began to hear the sound of running water marking a waterway of some sort.

Sirius broke the silence, murmuring, “I remember this place.”

His grey eyes were distant. Aunt Cass looked over her shoulder, murmuring, “You and James built a fort as children over in that direction near the creek.” She gestured towards the sound of the running water.

Sirius laughed softly, staring in the direction she was pointing, but if the fort still existed, it was hidden deeper in the grove of olive trees.

Through the boughs of the trees Harry could catch glimpses now of a grand home, its towering walls made of pale stone and its roof a vibrant red clay tile. The window frames and shutters of the home were painted in a shade of blue that reminded him of the sea.

The olive trees gave way to lush jasmine trees, the fragrance strong in the air. The neat row of jasmine trees led up to a set of unassuming glossy blue double fronted doors. The high walls of the home stretched up to either side, hiding the rest of the home and what lay within.

As they neared the doors they swung open, stirring a bit of wind that caused the draping jasmine to sway and release more of their perfume.

A house elf stood in the doorway, who curtseyed deeply and with an excited squeak declared, “Rinna be honoured to be welcoming Mistress Black, Lord Black, Master Sirius and Master Harry!”

“Thank you Rinna,” Aunt Cass said politely. She turned her gaze to her guests and said, “If you’ll follow me?”

Rinna, nearly skipping in excitement, moved aside to let the group pass through the blue double doors and into a hidden courtyard beyond, open to the sky. What had seemed like one structure from the outside was actually more like a complex of different structures.

The courtyard opened up in a huge archway at the other side, where Harry could spot an outside entertainment space and the sea beyond if he craned his head. There were doors coming off the courtyard but also exterior staircases leading up to secret balconies and terraces. Harry realised it was like standing in the middle of a little village with the crisscrossing staircases, segmented layout and intricately detailed archways. He understood why Sirius, and his father James, had loved this place so much, and had come back so frequently in their summers. 

“I’ll escort you each to your rooms to store your belongings, and then Rinna has a light lunch prepared for us on the main terrace,” Aunt Cass stated, jolting Harry out of his silent reverie.

It was like something out of a fairytale.

Throughout lunch Harry could not keep his eyes off the villa surroundings as he admired the incredible view. It was not just the sea that caught his eye – there was what looked like ancient ruins rising up from the hillside, and a small village with bright red clay rooftops clustered around the base of the hill.

Aunt Cass had explained over lunch that the village that could be seen was the settlement of Lindos, and they were located on the east coast of the island of Rhodes. The ruins on the nearby hillside were what remained of the ancient acropolis of Lindos. She promised to take Harry first thing the next morning to see the sacred site.

After lunch had been cleared away, Aunt Cass took them on a quick tour of the property, commenting wryly that all the stairs had kept her spry over the years. Harry was quickly lost within the twists and turns of the villa, but he knew he could ask Rinna for assistance if he lost his way.

Aunt Cass left the library for last, knowing how interested Harry would be in it, and that he would no doubt want to settle there for awhile to browse the shelves. Sure enough once they set foot in the airy space, wide windows overlooking the sea, and iron wrought ladders leading up to a loft space above with even more shelves and a private work space, Sirius took one look at Harry’s enraptured face and indicated he was going to go have a wander around the gardens. He could do with some sun – still unnaturally pale from his time in prison.

Arcturus retired back to his room to rest, jokingly declaring he had already slipped into holiday mode.

Aunt Cass stayed with Harry, observing him fondly from where she was seated on a plush armchair near one of the wide windows overlooking the sea. The boy was excitedly looking at the different book titles; fascinated by all the topics Aunt Cass had collected over the years. They were mostly on ancient artefacts and Curse-Breaking.

She also had many books on goblins and their culture, and when Harry asked her about it she explained, “As a private contractor, my most frequent clients were goblins. They are the most avid collectors of ancient artefacts; both on an individual level but also private organisations such as Gringotts keep permanent Curse-Breakers on staff. I was given many generous offers over the years to be employed fulltime by Gringotts, but I always respectfully declined in order to maintain my independence.”

Harry recalled the head goblin of Gringotts, Skarde, talking to him about how the Dark Lady Morgana had been a great friend and ally of the goblin nation. He felt excited to know someone who seemed to have had a lot of dealings with goblins, and had information to share.

“I’m curious to learn more about the goblin nation,” Harry confessed to Aunt Cass.

Her eyes lit up and she told him, “I can suggest some suitable titles in your reading range to begin with. And I would be delighted to answer any questions you might have.”

Harry already had a question he wanted an answer to – Skarde had mentioned the goblin nation a few times, but Harry was not sure what that exactly was. He asked Aunt Cass, who nodded and replied, “An excellent question. The goblin nation is the term used to refer to the community of goblins throughout the globe. A common language, Gobbledegook, and shared history and traditions unite them. Goblins are masters of runecraft, and specialise in creating magical items. An elected monarch leads the goblin nation –Queen Yrsa is currently in power, and she holds court in Sweden. Goblins have their own laws dictated by their monarchs, and private goblin organisations such as Gringotts in Britain operate under that universal goblin law.”

Harry was in awe that his ancestor had not just been friendly with the goblins of the region she lived in – Skarde had said Morgana was a friend of the nation, meaning she was allied with goblin kind in general.

“Do you have any other questions at this point?” Aunt Cass asked.

Harry had so many, but he saw the benefit in reading one of the beginner texts Aunt Cass could recommend for him first, and then ask any questions he did not get the answer to afterwards.

“I might do some more reading on the subject first,” Harry told her, and she nodded approvingly.

Harry continued browsing, occasionally asking Aunt Cass about any topics he did not recognise. Aunt Cass had a small collection of books on vampires, but had warned Harry most literature around those beings was either riddled with misconceptions or completely incorrect. She had told Harry she had, had the odd client who was a vampire over the years. With her permission he climbed one of the ladders to the loft, continuing to carry a conversation with the elderly woman, who indulged him as he chattered away about her book collection.

Up on the landing Harry’s attention was caught by the desk set up further in, scattered with some papers Aunt Cass must have been working on from when she was last at the villa. He didn’t mean to read the papers, but his eye was caught by what was undeniably a family tree. Curious, he glanced at the names on the tree, and realised quickly he did not recognise any of them – the surnames were certainly not from the Sacred Twenty-Eight, or any other notable family lines that Harry was starting to become familiar with.

Noticing Harry’s silence, Aunt Cass called up from where she was still seated down below, “Has something eaten my great-nephew up there?”

Harry laughed sheepishly, replying, “I was just admiring your study space.”

There was a pause, and Harry glanced back worriedly to the ladder leading back down to the ground floor. He couldn’t see Aunt Cass, but he could practically hear her hesitation. At last the woman responded quietly, “I had forgotten I left out my research.”

Sensing the seriousness in her tone, Harry moved to the balustrade, leaning over to make eye contact with Aunt Cass, who was looking up at him. Wanting to be totally honest, Harry confessed, “I saw a family tree on the desk.”

Aunt Cass wasn’t displeased; instead there was a considering look on her face. Coming to some sort of decision, she gestured to the twin armchair beside her own and told Harry, “Come, sit. I have something I want to talk with you about.”

Once Harry had scrambled down from the loft and sat beside the older woman, he waited, as she seemed to gather her thoughts.

“For most of my life, even while I worked as a Curse-Breaker, I have pursued a personal project researching the connection between Squibs and Muggleborns,” Aunt Cass began.

Harry perked up at the interesting topic.

“As you probably know, it has long been theorised that Muggleborns are not born by coincidence. There is a wealth of academic research that has explored the possibility that Muggleborns have distant wizarding relatives, and that this is where they inherit their magic. Proving this definitively has been made very difficult, because Heritage Tests only record back seven generations. Some Muggleborns do have a wizarding ancestor within seven generations, but many do not,” Aunt Cass explained. “Muggleborns must rely on Muggle family records to trace further back than seven generations, which is an unreliable and complex task.”

Harry nodded interestedly – Ezra had mentioned this in the past when discussing magical cores, and the distinctions between Muggleborns, half bloods and purebloods. Harry’s own mother certainly had, had no wizarding relatives in her recent genetic history, according to the Heritage Test he had done. It did not eliminate the possibility though that Lily Potter had indeed had a far more distant wizarding ancestor. He understood the difficulty Aunt Cass mentioned in proving definitively if all Muggleborns did have wizarding ancestors, given the limitations of Heritage Tests and Muggle records for most.

“The issue is further compounded by the shame surrounded by having a Squib born in your family,” Aunt Cass added. Her face was strangely blank as she said this, some unnameable emotion in her dark eyes. “Some families hide the fact they have a child born a Squib, choosing to give them up to be raised in the Muggle world. The Ministry only records the births that are registered with them – so there could be many Squibs out there now in the Muggle world with no idea they were born into a magical family.”

Harry ducked his head – it sounded awful to abandon your child simply because they had not been born with magic. They still had your blood – they were still your child.

“Researchers have long tied Squibs and Muggleborns together. It is commonly believed that all Muggleborns are descended from Squibs. After a child is born without magic to two magical parents, eventually there will be a child born in their bloodline who is born with the magic their ancestor never had. Like magic rebalancing itself,” Aunt Cass continued.

Harry nodded – this is the theory he had most often read about. It was commonly accepted as the most logical explanation, though technically not proven, due to the difficulties tracking Muggleborn family lines as Aunt Cass had already pointed out.

“My question is – why are Squibs born in the first place?” Aunt Cass mused.

Harry frowned slightly - it was concerning to think that a child could just be spontaneously born without a magical core.

“Pureblood supremacists use the connection between Squibs and Muggleborns in the negative – they have often made unfounded claims that it is a cycle – Muggleborns are descended from Squibs, and Squibs are descended in turn from Muggleborns. They claim their blood and magic are weak. Some studies have tried to explain that the existence of Squibs is directly tied to the presence of Muggle blood in a family, in order to promote marriage between pureblood and half blood lines, to the exclusion of Muggleborns,” Aunt Cass stated.

“This is simply false,” she declared. “Squibs can be born into the most pure of wizarding lines.” The elderly woman hesitated, looking at Harry directly as she murmured quietly, “A Squib was born into the Black family.”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he leaned in slightly. His grandfather had not mentioned this, and this was the first time he was hearing of the existence of a Squib in the family. It was also clear proof as Aunt Cass said that Squibs occurred randomly, with no connection to Muggle ancestry.

Aunt Cass swallowed heavily and confessed, “He was my little brother.”

Harry breathed in sharply – and then intently asked, “What? You had a brother who was a Squib?”

Aunt Cass nodded, face grave.

She told Harry quietly, “His name was Marius. He was born before your grandmother, Dorea. I was six years old, Pollux was seven.”

Harry couldn’t help but notice Cassiopeia talked about him in the past tense. Not to mention Harry had not seen a Marius on his family tree. His Heritage Test only showed wizarding ancestors – so a Squib would not show up. He suspected the family tapestry of the Blacks was likewise enchanted to only show wizarding children, in order to hide the presence of Squibs.

“Pollux and I were so excited to have a little brother,” Aunt Cass whispered. “When mother went into labour we stayed up all night, waiting to meet him. We finally did, and he was perfect. For a week, everything was normal. And then suddenly, one day, everything changed.

“I remember our father sitting down me and Pollux. He told us our brother had died. Pollux and I cried for days,” Aunt Cass told Harry, an old grief on her face. “At the time I did not notice, but later I thought it strange that neither of my parents cried. There was also no funeral – at the time I thought my parents were too grief-stricken to do a ceremony, but then later I started to get suspicious.”

Harry held his breath as Aunt Cass confessed this terrible secret to him.

“When I was older, I noticed there was no sign of Marius on the family tree. All children born, even those who live for a short time, are recorded. Yet there was no sign of my baby brother. So I asked my parents, who did not give me satisfactory answers. Shortly after turning fifteen I took matters into my own hands, acting on a hunch. I secretly took a Heritage Test, one that would show all relatives for seven generations, including Muggle and wizarding. And there he was – Marius Peter,” Aunt Cass murmured.

She turned haunted eyes to Harry’s own and confessed, “I confronted my parents. They told me my brother had been born a Squib. They had him tested with a Mirror Sphere after seven days, and had discovered he had no magical core. My parents had pretended he had taken ill and died, because a dead child was a more palatable story than a child without magic. And my father told me that he had taken my baby brother to a Muggle orphanage, and left him there.”

Harry’s heart just about broke for that innocent baby who had been abandoned by his own parents.

“Did you track him down?” Harry asked, desperate to hear a happy ending to the story.

But Aunt Cass’ face was aggrieved as she muttered, “I never stopped looking. My parents took their secret and their sin with them to their graves. They refused to tell anyone which orphanage they had taken him to. But I pulled every record I could of Marius Peter, I searched countless orphanages. But if there’s one thing I’ve come to learn about Muggles, it’s that they keep terrible records. I kept taking the Heritage Test every few months. And then one day in 1941…he was dead. Possibly the Blitz, if he was living in London. Or maybe he enlisted as a solider and died far from home.”

“I’m so sorry, Aunt Cass,” Harry whispered.

A heavy silence descended between them, broken only by the distant sound of waves crashing on the stony shore of the island.

“It’s a poorly kept secret in the family,” Aunt Cass muttered. “Everyone knows. It’s part of the reason I left to establish a life abroad – I couldn’t bear to face my parents after learning what they had done.”

She looked around at the beautiful library and murmured, “This place became my sanctuary. And eventually I started processing my grief and rage, and started asking questions – namely, why are Squibs even born in the first place? What made my little brother different from me, Pollux or Dorea?”

“Do you feel you’re getting close to an answer?” Harry asked.

“Squibs are rare, so it’s hard to learn much of anything about them. But I do have a theory, though it might be farfetched,” Aunt Cass said slowly. She informed Harry, “I honestly haven’t told anyone else about this theory yet. I’m still exploring family bloodlines of known Squibs to find evidence for my idea.”

“What is it?” Harry breathed, fascinated to hear what the woman thought.

“I believe it might be a form of evolutionary adaption,” Aunt Cass began. Seeing Harry’s lost expression, she explained, “Evolution is the development of something. In biology, adaption is an evolutionary process, where an organism may either gain a new feature, or lose an ancestral feature. Adaption allows an organism to better survive and reproduce.”

She paused, letting Harry process what she had said. He slowly said, “So you think being born a Squib is somehow an expression of this evolutionary adaption? In this case, a child losing their magical core?”

“Exactly,” Aunt Cass confirmed.

“But our magic gives us power. You said evolutionary adaptation occurs to help an organism survive – surely losing your magic would weaken you,” Harry pointed out.

“Not always,” Aunt Cass replied, each word spoken carefully. “For example, Bloodbane is a heritable magical disease. But if you are born without a magical core, you cannot inherit Bloodbane. Your chances of survival and of reproducing are increased.”

Harry’s mouth fell open, understanding what his Aunt Cass had stumbled upon. “The other cases of Squibs you’ve been studying – do they have heritable magical diseases in their families too?”

Aunt Cass leaned in and told Harry rapidly, “Many families are not forthcoming with their family history with health conditions – look at our own family. But so far I’ve been able to identify two other known Squibs whose wizarding parents have a long history of genetic magical disease.”

“This could be the answer then,” Harry said excitedly. Then his face dropped and he added, “Though without cures for so many heritable magical diseases, if your theory is right, Squibs are going to start becoming more common, over time.”

Aunt Cass nodded, confirming, “I plan on taking my research to Ted Tonks – he’s a Healer in the magical diseases department at St. Mungo’s. I’m sure he can refer me to colleagues who have an interest in studying Squibs and magical genealogies. So far, I just have a theory based on a hunch – I need a proper research study done by experts to prove it.”

“This is amazing, Aunt Cass,” Harry told her.

“It’s all for Marius,” she whispered. “I couldn’t help him. It was not his fault he was born a Squib. If my theory is true, he was born that way to make himself strong, to survive free of the Bloodbane my father threatened to pass down to him.”

Harry nodded, adding, “And if it is also true that Squibs eventually produce Muggleborns, it’s almost like the magic returns once it is safe to do so, once the heritable disease has been bred out of the bloodline.”

“Precisely,” Aunt Cass agreed. “Life, and magic, always finds a way.”

The following days would go down in Harry’s memories as one of the most magical times of his life. Sirius took him as promised across Greece, exploring the Acropolis of Athens, climbing Mount Olympus, wandering the streets of Santorini, investigating the ruins of Delphi, walking the path to the Lion Gate of Mycenae, and swimming at Balos Beach in Crete.

The latter experience had been Harry’s first time setting foot in the sea, and although it was chilly in winter he had insisted on getting in. Sirius had gone with him, using warming charms to keep them from going numb in the cool waters.

Aunt Cass took the group on a tour around the island of Rhodes, showing them the ruins of the nearby Acropolis of Lindos but also taking them to see the Palace of the Grand Master and the spectacular Colossus of Rhodes.

Harry had noticed the Muggle tourists’ eyes sliding off the giant statue, and soon understood why – upon first look of the immense statue guarding the harbour he had believed it to be ordinary as far as titanic statues go.

However, the statue suddenly tilted its giant head down, as though aware of the Black family standing on the nearby dock. It inclined its noble head in a nod, before turning back to watch the horizon out to sea.

Aunt Cass explained then that the Colossus of Rhodes was built in 280 BC and had been one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. It depicted the sun god, Helios, and was the guardian of the island of Rhodes.

However around 226 BC the wizarding community of Greece decided to begin distancing themselves from Muggles, after being dragged multiple times into the various conflicts in the region. They allowed the Muggles to believe the Colossus had been destroyed in an earthquake, and placed powerful enchantments on the statue so that Muggles could no longer perceive it.

Aunt Cass had explained all of the Wonders of the Ancient World were wizarding in nature, and only the Pyramids of Giza remained visible to Muggles. Harry had been enraptured.

They spent plenty of time too relaxing at the villa, exploring the grove of olive trees, reading in the library overlooking the sea and eating beautifully prepared meals from Aunt Cass’ house elf Rinna under the sun on the terrace.

Towards the end of the week Harry’s skin had taken on a distinct tan, and even Sirius who had been terribly pale since his time in Azkaban, seemed at last to regain a healthy complexion.

It was on the second last day of their holiday that Aunt Cass took them to Petaloudes Valley on the island, otherwise known as Valley of the Butterflies. Although it was the wrong time of year to witness the true spectacle of the valley, where thousands of butterflies formed a colourful cloud between the sweetgum trees, the valley itself was still beautiful.

Aunt Cass led them away from the wooden walkways that spanned the brook, lake and waterfalls, which were packed with Muggle tourists even in the off-season. With a few quick spells they slipped unnoticed into the trees, Aunt Cass taking them to a secret, secluded waterfall.

There was a natural stone ledge near the water’s edge, and Harry happily perched himself there. His feet dangled over the edge and he settled himself against the gnarled roots of a tree behind him. Sirius sat beside him, his legs also dangling over the water.

“Having fun?” Sirius asked.

“So much,” Harry replied with a grin, green eyes shining as he watched the water cascade over the rocks.

Aunt Cass and Arcturus were not too far away, heads ducked close together as they laughed about something quietly.

Harry shut his eyes briefly, enjoying the sound of running water and the wind rustling between the trees.

“Noisssy humansss…”

Harry’s eyes flew open, and he turned his head sharply to Sirius sitting beside him. The strange, hissing voice he had heard certainly didn’t sound like his godfather, but it sounded pretty close.

Sirius looked over at him, registering the sharp motion of Harry in his peripheral vision.

“Did you say something?” Harry asked his godfather, a furrow between his brows.

“No?” Sirius replied, looking confused.

“I thought I heard something,” Harry muttered, turning his head around to examine his surroundings. As he did so he heard the same strange voice again, this time even closer than before.

“There are more humansss here…”

The words seemed to linger on the ‘s’ sound, sending slight shivers across Harry’s skin. “I just heard it again,” Harry said insistently. “It’s definitely a voice.”

He craned his head, looking over his shoulder, but he couldn’t see a person in the trees nearby.

Starting to feel a little concerned Sirius placed a protective hand on Harry’s shoulder, his own eyes scanning the nearby trees.

“Grandfather, Aunt Cass,” Sirius called out, the tone of his voice immediately grabbing the attention of the pair.

In a moment Aunt Cass was by the stone ledge and Arcturus was standing between Sirius and Harry, dark eyes scanning the trees, looking in the same direction Harry and Sirius were.

“What is it?” Arcturus asked, not taking his eyes off the trees. His wand was in his hand, as he stood defensively between his heir and future heir, and whatever had unsettled them.

“Harry says he can hear a voice coming from somewhere nearby, but I can’t hear anything,” Sirius explained, moving into a crouching position beside Harry on the stone ledge. His own wand was out now.

Arcturus was waving his wand silently, scanning for any people who might be hidden in the grove of trees around them. Harry saw Aunt Cass take her wand out too, her dark eyes scrutinising the trees as she waited patiently.

Feeling a bit silly for having caused such alarm, Harry began saying tentatively, “I haven’t heard it again, maybe it was just-” before he cut himself off as he heard the voice for a third time.

“Ssstomping around…making noissse.”

Seeing Harry still, Arcturus asked intently, “What do you hear? What is the voice saying?”

“It just said ‘Stomping around, making noise.’ It sounds like it’s complaining?” Harry replied uncertainly.

“I’m not detecting anyone in the vicinity other than us,” Arcturus confirmed quietly, but he stayed poised.

“Can you pinpoint the direction you’re hearing the voice from?” Sirius asked.

Harry felt like it was coming from the roots of the tree to his left, and so he silently pointed in that direction, not speaking in case he heard the voice again. As he did so, he gasped, noticing a flash of silvery grey and reddish brown colours half-hidden behind a tree root, shifting slightly.

Sirius, following Harry’s line of vision and noticing the movement himself, threw out an instinctive protective arm in front of Harry, even though they were at least two metres from the tree.

Realising his grandson was caught on instinct and not using his head, Arcturus cast a nonverbal Shield Charm, creating a magical barrier between Harry and Sirius, and the nearby tree.

“It’s a snake,” Aunt Cass murmured, watching the shifting creature from where it was settling itself between the roots of the tree.

As Harry watched, what was indeed a snake, coil itself more tightly into the space between the roots, he once again heard that distinct voice say, “Stupid humansss…”

“The snake,” Harry whispered. Then louder, voice a little shaky he called out, “I think I’m hearing the snake.” His green eyes were wide, staring straight at the snake.

There was silence in the clearing, the adults exchanging looks of surprise, hesitation and confusion with each other.

“What makes you think it’s the snake you’re hearing?” Aunt Cass asked cautiously.

“The voice,” Harry explained. “It sounds like hissing.”

But it was more than that – it was some sort of instinct in Harry that was certain now it was the snake he had been hearing.

He looked around, seeing the adults exchanging looks, and desperate to prove his belief he determinedly looked over at where he could see a glimpse of the snake, a flash of silvery grey and reddish brown scales.

Focusing on what he could see of the snake, staring intently at the creature he called out, “Isss it you I’m hearing?”

Sirius stiffened completely, Harry noticing because his godfather’s arm was still protectively held in front of him. There was a frozen moment where Arcturus and Cassiopeia shared shocked looks with each other, and even the snake stopped moving completely from where it had been coiling itself.

Then, slowly, the head of the snake rose from underneath the tree root. It was staring straight at Harry.

“You are a ssspeaker.”

“Can you underssstand me?” Harry asked, excitement rising up inside of him.

“Yesss,” the snake confirmed, still staring straight at Harry.

Thrilled, but also shocked at the confirmation, Harry turned excitedly to look at Sirius, grandfather and Aunt Cass. Their faces were all slack with disbelief.

“Sssee! I wasss right!” Harry exclaimed.

None of them said anything, eyes wide as they looked between Harry and the snake.

His grandfather said carefully, “Harry, we can’t understand what you’re saying.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked confusedly, looking at his grandfather.

“I understood that just now,” Aunt Cass confirmed.

Seeing how confused Harry was, Arcturus explained, “When you were talking before, we couldn’t understand you. It sounded like hissing to us.”

“Can you understand me still?” Harry asked tentatively. When he had spoken to the snake it had felt like he was just speaking English as normal. He hadn’t even registered a change.

Sensing Harry’s worry, Sirius relaxed his arm from where it was hovering in front of Harry, wrapping it around Harry’s shoulders. “Yeah, kid, we can understand you.”

They all looked back at the snake, which still had its head raised, staring straight at Harry.

“Parselmouth,” Aunt Cass whispered, saying aloud what they were all thinking.

“But how?” Sirius asked. “The Gaunts haven’t married into the Black family in generations.” He glanced at his grandfather for confirmation.

“That’s true – there hasn’t been a Gaunt in the Black family in over one hundred and fifty years. To have the ability suddenly appear now…it doesn’t make any sense,” Arcturus mused.

“Could it be something to do with the Peverell family?” Harry asked.

Sirius frowned slightly, replying, “We run into the same problem as with the Gaunts – it’s too far removed.”

The snake then hissed out, “I’ve never met a ssspeaker before…it isss an honour.”

“It is talking to you?” Sirius asked uncertainly, eyes wary on the snake.

“Yesss,” Harry confirmed. Seeing the wide-eyed look on Sirius’ face Harry focused on his godfather and answered, “Yes?”

Sirius nodded, indicating he had understood that time. Harry realised when he focused on the snake, he seemed to slip into Parseltongue.

Keeping his eyes on Sirius, he explained, “It just told me it has never met a speaker before.”

Turning to the snake, who was waiting patiently, Harry replied, “I didn’t realissse I was a ssspeaker. Do you have a name? I’m Harry.”

The snake slithered over the tree root, approaching. It encountered the invisible Shield Charm and hissed angrily, fangs flashing.

“What isss thisss?” it asked angrily.

“Sssorry,” Harry apologised. He turned to his grandfather and asked, “Can you drop the charm?”

Arcturus hesitated, and Harry pressed, “Trust me, it’s safe.”

He knew, in that same instinctive way he had known it was the snake speaking to him.

Aunt Cass said quietly, “Parselmouths can control snakes. They listen to them.”

Resolving to throw the charm back up if the snake moved too close, Arcturus reluctantly cancelled the spell. The snake stopped hissing angrily, settling low in the undergrowth. They could all see its interesting almost leopard-print scales, blotches of reddish-brown on a silvery grey base. It was about ninety centimetres long.

“I have no need for namesss,” the snake answered Harry's earlier question.

“Were we bothering you before?” Harry asked, recalling the snake complaining about noisy humans.

“Not you,” the snake claimed, coiling its long body underneath it, remaining about a metre away. “I like ssspeaking with you.”

“Thisss is my family,” Harry explained, gesturing to the adults around him.

“Your kin – are they ssspeakers too?” the snake asked.

“No, I don’t think ssso,” Harry answered.

“Amazing,” Aunt Cass breathed, watching the interaction with fascination.

Harry grinned at her, hardly able to believe it.

Arcturus’ mind was racing. It was true that Harry was too far removed from the Gaunts for it to make sense for the ability to spontaneously appear in him, and not anyone else in their family for generations.

But recently, there was another person they had considered to have a connection to the Gaunt family. It was too much of a coincidence that they had wondered if Voldemort might be connected to the Gaunts, the famous Parselmouths, and now Harry was displaying the ability.

If it was true Voldemort was a Gaunt, had something happened that night in Godric’s Hollow? Had there been some sort of transference or exposure, to suddenly spark the ability in Harry? Arcturus had never heard of magic acting in such a way, but then again, no one had ever survived the Killing Curse either.

It was time he sat down with Lucius Malfoy and asked some questions about Voldemort.

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Four: Families and futures

“Thank you for having us,” Andromeda stated politely, lifting up a cup of tea her host had just graciously poured for her. Her husband, Ted, was seated on the couch beside her, admiring the architecture of the airy sunroom in the Brighton mansion.

“It is so lovely to have you,” Karin Weasley replied as she sat down opposite the couple, a slight German accent curling around her words. The pale brunette woman placed a gentle hand over her husband Percival Weasley’s own and said, “I’ve mentioned you many times to my husband, and we have been most keen to host you.”

Andromeda smiled at the red headed man, who nodded pleasantly back. She had met Karin a year ago at a mother’s social club, though she would not consider herself particularly close to the other woman, who was rather quiet.

Part of Andromeda felt bad at how thrilled Karin had been at the suggestion of she and Ted coming over when she had approached the woman last week to discuss catching up outside of the social club to introduce their husbands to each other. Little did Karin know, Andromeda had orchestrated this meeting to allow Ted the chance to talk with Percival Weasley about the Black family’s genetic disease, and to make some enquiries for his study into Bloodbane.

Karin was a bit of an outsider in the mother’s social club, having grown up in her native Germany and attending Durmstrang. Andromeda felt embarrassed at how little she actually knew about the woman, who had been attending the club for a year now.

“I know my husband Ted has been keen to meet you, Percival,” Andromeda said, catching her husband’s eyes, who straightened in response.

“Please, call me Percy,” the man said easily. He considered Ted, and replied in a joking manner, “I’m flattered, but I can’t imagine why you’ve been keen to meet me.”

Andromeda couldn’t blame him for that assessment, joking though it may be. All they knew about the man was that Percival worked as an actuary for a large commercial wizarding company, his job revolving around statistics.

Ted chose his words very carefully as he explained, “I am a Healer at St Mungo’s.”

Percival and Karin both seemed interested but confused why that was relevant, the couple sharing a look with each other. Karin said politely, “That sounds like a fascinating job.”

Ted smiled at her slightly, continuing, “For most of my career I have been conducting specialised research into a magical hereditary disease called Bloodbane. Have either of you heard of this?”

As soon as Ted mentioned the word Bloodbane, Percival and Karin seemed to still. Like pieces were clicking into place, they both looked slowly over at Andromeda, staring hard at her.

“This isn’t a social visit, is it,” Percival stated, rather than asked, tone harsh.

“Percy,” his wife hissed at his challenging tone, but there was also an unmistakable wariness on her face now as she glanced at their guests.

“I’m trying to find a cure,” Ted interjected desperately.

Percival looked at him silently for a few moments, blue eyes glancing over to Andromeda again before fixing back on Ted. Karin looked to her husband, saying nothing and waiting for him to respond.

“The Black family has done nothing for us, all these years. My mother was disowned for marrying the man she loved. My brothers and I were ridiculed growing up, treated like lepers in the wizarding community because of a decision our grandfather made, that had nothing to do with us,” Percival stated, voice clipped.

“I, more than anyone, understand where you are coming from,” Andromeda stated quietly.

Percival acknowledged the truth of that with a begrudging nod, but there was still a deep suspicion in his eyes.

Karin asked firmly, “What do you want from us?”

There was steel now in her green eyes, her friendliness from before washed away in the understanding that Andromeda was here for business, not friendship.

“I don’t know how much your mother, Cedrella, told you about Bloodbane but-” Ted began, only to be interrupted by Percival replying, “Everything. My older brother, Bilius, died of it when he was nineteen. My younger brother, Arthur, didn’t inherit it, nor did any of his children.”

Ted was taken aback at the open disclosure, also awed that Arthur, who had seven children, had succeeded in not passing it onto any of them. Not much was known about carriers, but Ted mentally noted down further evidence of the theory that Bloodbane could be eradicated from a bloodline within a couple of clear generations.

For example, Cedrella had been a carrier, but not afflicted with the disease. Her son, Arthur, was a possible carrier like his mother, having not inherited the disease. All seven of his children were apparently clear. It seemed those children, born three generations removed from their last ancestor with Bloodbane, had been spared the disease.

That proved to be very promising for Ted’s own daughter Nymphadora, not to mention Harry and Draco, all born of carriers. It seemed if any of them had children, those children would likely not inherit Bloodbane, being three generations removed from their ancestor with the disease.

Ted rid himself of those hypotheticals, focusing on the situation at hand. Percival had said nothing about himself. And according to Andromeda, Karin and Percival had one child, a daughter.

It was not Percival who spoke next, but his wife, Karin. Hand over her husband’s own she informed the Tonks couple stiffly, “Percy was born with Bloodbane. Our daughter, Anja, has it too.”

Those steely green eyes pinned Ted, German accept thickening with her emotion, as she demanded, “You spoke of finding a cure. My uncle, in Germany, currently treats my husband and daughter for their condition. Perhaps you have heard of him? Otto Battenberg?”

The name was unfamiliar to Ted, but Andromeda breathed in sharply, asking Karin faintly, “Battenberg?”

Ted felt like he was missing something crucial, as Karin lifted her chin proudly, confirming, “My maiden name. I do not publicise this for obvious reasons.”

For her husband’s benefit, Andromeda told him quietly, dark eyes maintaining eye contact with Karin Battenberg, “The Battenberg family are the oldest dark family in Germany. They possess one of seven seats on the council of the Dark Alliance, continental Europe’s assembly of dark witches and wizards. It is said Gellert Grindelwald himself did not dare even attempt to court any members of the family to his side during the war, and left them alone. They continue today to be the most influential dark family in Germany.”

And here was one of the members of that powerful family, who had turned their noses down at Grindelwald, sitting here in a house in Brighton. Having married a member of a family notorious for having turned their backs on their dark magic, and being labelled blood traitors for it.

Karin stated firmly, and proudly, “I am a dark witch, as is our daughter, Anja. She is in her fourth year attending Durmstrang, as I did.”

Andromeda was suddenly immensely regretful she had never reached out sooner to this quiet woman in her social club. Not only a fellow dark witch, but also her daughter was only a year younger than Nymphadora, and also a dark witch.

Ted, distracted by this revelation, and trying to understand how this worked in the complicated social situation in Britain, asked uncertainly, “If your daughter, a Weasley, has been born with a dark magical core, then can she claim the title of Lady Weasley once she turns seventeen? Re-affirm the House of Weasley in the Sacred Twenty-Eight?”

Karin had a bitter twist to her face, muttering something about stubborn British under her breath as Percival replied stiffly, “It is not that simple.”

“Regardless, she has a proud ancestry with the Battenberg family. Whether or not she can claim the position as the head of the Weasley family does not matter,” Karin said dismissively.

But there was an obviously pained expression on Percival’s face, as he remained silent.

Seeing the confusion still on her husband’s face, Andromeda explained quietly, “The label of blood traitor is thrown around a fair bit as an insult. I myself was labelled as such when I married you and left my family. However, to be truly confirmed as a blood traitor there must be a unanimous vote of the heads of either the dark or light families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight to brand you as such. If you are from a light family, the heads of the other lights families would vote to turn you out as a blood traitor, in the same way as the dark families do to their own. When Lord Bilius Weasley married a light witch and turned his back on the dark, the heads of the dark families at the time voted unanimously to brand him a blood traitor and turn him out of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. This stripped him of his lordship, and it meant all of his direct descendants now also inherit the title of blood traitor.”

“If my Anja is to become the Lady Weasley, then Lord Black, Lord Greengrass, Dowager Lady Lestrange, Lord Malfoy and Lord Nott must all agree unanimously that the wrong that was done has now been righted. They must forgive the betrayal of her great-grandfather,” Percival explained. He added bitterly, “It is not enough that I married a dark witch, and that Anja has a dark magical core. The remaining heads of the dark families stand in between Anja and her succession as the Lady Weasley.”

Ted understood then – although likely to secure the support of Lord Black and Lord Greengrass, who had proven themselves reasonable men, the prospect of successfully convincing Dowager Lady Lestrange and the Lords Malfoy and Nott were spectacularly low.

This was because not only Anja would be freed of the brand of blood traitor, but all descendants of Bilius Weasley, including Arthur Weasley, who had married a light witch himself and had seven children with her.

“We had hoped Anja could petition Morgana’s Court in three years for an audience when she turns seventeen,” Karin explained. Noticing Andromeda and Ted’s surprise at her knowledge of the Court she raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow and asked, “Did you think the other dark families of Europe and abroad are unaware of your little Court? Small as it might be.”

Morgana’s Court was hardly a secret – it was well known to exist among the right circles. The Ministry had yet to make it illegal for dark witches and wizards to congregate – to do so would be outright stepping into a totalitarian regime against the dark community.

Percival continued, “Yes, that is the plan, but Anja…her health is fragile…” He trailed off, a look of helplessness on his face. “I have been fortunate to experience very mild effects of Bloodbane, which I have kept carefully monitored throughout my life. But Anja has had many complications. She takes much time off school, and spends her holidays with Karin’s uncle, Otto Battenberg, who is a Healer. She is not in a position to petition the Court until we get her health stable.”

Seemingly uncomfortable at her husband revealing so much about their daughter to near strangers, Karin turned her attention on Ted, demanding, “I will say it again – you mentioned a cure. My uncle has been unable to find one in his years of research. What makes you think you are capable of developing one?”

Rather than take offence, Ted replied patiently, “I would appreciate the opportunity to be put in contact with your uncle, and to compare notes and research with him. I find myself with increasing need for blood samples from individuals afflicted with Bloodbane.”

“If it’s blood you need, you will have it from me,” Percival said quietly. “I donate blood to Karin’s uncle regularly for his own research, as does Anja.”

“All the more reason for me to meet with him,” Ted said urgently. If this Otto Battenberg had, had the benefit of years of blood samples to examine, he was likely more advanced in his research than Ted.

Karin turned those sharp green eyes on Andromeda and said softly but with a hint of poison, “And what of your family? The Blacks? The source of this miserable disease. What are they doing to help?”

Andromeda met Karin’s gaze, unable to believe this viper had been lurking under the quiet rose she had been for the past year she had known her at the social club.

“Lord Black sent us,” she stated. “My father, Cygnus Black, and my older sister Bellatrix are the only remaining Blacks with Bloodbane. With Bellatrix in Azkaban, only my father can donate blood samples for Ted’s study. My younger sister Narcissa is working on convincing our father to cooperate.”

Karin’s eyes narrowed, but Percival seemed stumped at that admission.

Suspicious, Karin mused, “So Lord Black sends you along to us as a last resort given your father’s lack of cooperation.”

“Arcturus expressed concern you did not know,” Ted cut in. The combination of the familiarity of referring to the Lord Black by his first name, and the claim itself rendered both Karin and Percival still. “He did not know if Cedrella had been open about the family genetic history, and wanted to ensure the Weasleys were aware of the risk of Bloodbane. Even knowing you could go public with the information about the disease in the Black family, and expose their condition to society.”

Considering Andromeda, Percival guessed, “You have reconnected with your family then?”

“For the most part,” Andromeda replied. She would hardly consider her relationship with her father to be anywhere close to recovery, and she honestly had no desire in forgiving him for how he had treated her.

“And they have accepted your husband?” Karin asked. Before Andromeda could get defensive, realising this witch from the powerful Battenberg family could hold prejudice towards Muggleborns, Karin sniffed, “You British have such strange labels. Purebloods, half bloods, Muggleborns…I cannot keep up with it. In Germany, we have witches and wizards.”

Ted laughed softly at that, and Karin’s lips quirked up in a tiny smile.

Andromeda answered, still wrong-footed, “I – yes, well Lord Black has welcomed him into the family. He never disowned me for marrying Ted. Try as hard as my father did to convince him,” she couldn’t help adding at the end. “I’ve reconnected with my sister too – Lady Malfoy.”

Karin leaned forward interestedly saying, “You have ties to both the Lord Black and Lord Malfoy. Could you speak to them about Anja’s claim?”

“Karin…” Percival began warily.

Andromeda considered the other woman, replying, “I will raise it with my brother-in-law and Arcturus the next time I see them. My cousin, Sirius Black, has grown close to Lord Greengrass too, as his godson Harry Potter is very close to the Greengrass family.”

“Ah yes, Harry Potter,” Karin mused. “I hear whispers he is a dark wizard. Is it true?”

“It is,” Andromeda confirmed.

Karin smiled, murmuring, “A great blessing, particularly in this country where there are so few dark witches and wizards.”

“Yes,” Andromeda agreed. She hesitated, before stating, “Our own daughter, Nymphadora is a year older than yours. She is also a dark witch.”

Karin smiled secretively, confessing, “I had wondered. You know, I joined that social club a year ago in order to meet you. I knew you were a dark witch. And well…I have not made many connections here in Britain, let alone ones with other women in my community.”

Suddenly desperate to understand why Karin had remained on the fringes of the social club, and had remained so quiet, Andromeda asked, “Why did you never speak to me?”

Karin tucked a brown curl behind her ear and replied, “I knew you were a dark witch. But the rumours were that you had turned your back on the Dark Arts when you married. I was uncertain if you would welcome my friendship knowing what I was.”

“I am not ashamed of who I am,” Andromeda declared quietly. “And I would welcome your friendship now, if you would be willing.”

Karin smiled slowly, and replied, “If you are to assist my Anja in claiming her inheritance, and I am to be introducing your husband to my uncle, then you are both soon to be close allies of the Battenberg clan. Particularly if you can assist in the development of a cure. If that is not grounds for friendship, I don’t know what is.”

Andromeda returned the other woman’s smile, any tension between them now eased. Percival and Ted shared a mutual look of bafflement between each other, lost as the two women had dominated the conversation to that point.

Andromeda could not wait to report back to Arcturus once he was home from his trip abroad that Percival Weasley’s wife was a Battenberg. Very few things could shock the elderly patriarch of the Black family, but she was confident that would confound him.

Monday the second of January marked the first sitting day of the 1989 year for the Wizengamot, who returned from the Yuletide break with the difficult task of running a special hearing for the three Lestranges, who were now sitting in Ministry holding cells.

Security was tight, and an order had been made to transport the prisoners separately. Under a plan concocted by the Auror Office, they had in fact been quietly moving the Lestrange’s one by one over the course of the weekend, leaking false information to the press that the transport would occur Monday morning of their hearing.

The transition between prison and court had been surprisingly smooth, but the hearing was shaping up to be anything but. The Aurors had, had no choice but to seek permission from the Wizengamot in the lead up to the commencement of the hearing, to magically silence Bellatrix Lestrange. The woman had been hurling abuse and threats towards the people guarding her.

Her husband and brother-in-law remained silent and well behaved, but the contrast almost made the Aurors more wary. The quiet ones always took you by surprise.

Lady Longbottom had given an exclusive interview to the Daily Prophet in the lead up to the special hearing expressing her disappointment with the decision of the Wizengamot to even allow the hearing, and whilst there were many who sympathised with her, many more saw the sense in allowing people who had not been given trials a chance to have their cases reopened and heard properly.

Sitting in the area reserved for family was Dowager Lady Elizabeth Lestrange, the mother of Rodolphus and Rabastan. Her older brother, Lord Alexander Rowle, had made a surprising appearance in support of his nephews, alongside his wife Lady Zuri Rowle and their two children, Regina and Thorfinn Rowle. Regina had voluntarily stepped down from the Wizengamot for the duration of the proceedings, in recognition of her close relation as the maternal first cousin of Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. The final person seated in the area for family was Dowager Lady Audelia Rowle née Malfoy, the mother of Lord Alexander Rowle and Dowager Lady Elizabeth Lestrange.

Bellatrix Lestrange’s relatives were conspicuously absent, none of the Black family attending. This was in stark contrast to the support of Lord Black and Cassiopeia Black at the special hearing of Sirius Black, and the press were already buzzing with the confirmation of the rift between Bellatrix Lestrange and the rest of the Black family.

Dowager Lady Lestrange had hired the same brilliant defence lawyer, who had represented Sirius Black, Madam Leah Cross. The stern faced woman was strictly representing Rodolphus and Rabastan, Bellatrix Lestrange vociferously refusing legal representation, even though her mother-in-law had generously offered her the same support.

The three Lestranges were escorted into the courtroom shortly before the official commencement of the hearing by Aurors. In the case of Rodolphus and Rabastan, the two prisoners complied with directions to silently enter and be seated on the chairs set up at the back of the courtroom, and allowed themselves to be restrained by the magical manacles.

However, Bellatrix Lestrange was levitated into the courtroom, magically silenced, after refusing to follow any and all instructions given by the Aurors. Her appearance caused quite the stir, both among the press and the Wizengamot, at the embarrassing display.

Things had shifted in the Wizengamot into the new year – promotions had been quickly doled out to fill in the positions left by Elphias Doge as the head of the Gobstones League and Bartemius Crouch Senior as the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Lord Ahmed Shafiq had scored the job of the disgraced Crouch, and in turn had been replaced in his former position of head of the International Confederation of Wizards by Naomi Shacklebolt, the eldest daughter and heir of the current Lord Shacklebolt.

An elderly woman had filled in Doge’s position by the name of Vera Tindall. It was both Madam Shacklebolt and Madam Tindall’s first times sitting on the Wizengamot in their new positions.

With Madam Rowle temporarily stood down, there were thirty-one members of the Wizengamot to preside over the hearing.

Minister Fudge had taken the position of Chief Warlock since Dumbledore’s fall from grace, as was the default for Ministers of Magic. He had none of the man’s charisma, and none of Madam Bones’ steady calm in controlling proceedings.

It was in a tremulous voice that barely carried over the murmurs from the press, that Fudge called on the proceedings, having to pause and repeat himself louder when the press continued to talk.

Madam Bones twitched slightly where she sat, obviously desperate to intervene, but knowing she could not be seen to be undermining the admittedly weak authority of the Minister. Gareth turned his head slightly from where he was seated beside her, making eye contact with her, and communicating his silent commiseration.

The Minister continued to stumble his way through the formalities, his unpleasant toad-like Senior Undersecretary passing him papers to prompt him whenever he forgot something. He covered the background of the special hearing, including the evidence that had come to light during Bartemius Crouch Senior’s trial that none of the three offenders had ever been given a criminal trial.

The Wizengamot had decided to abstain from sharing the Pensieve memory of the interview between Madam Bones and Rabastan Lestrange, or the disclosures reported by Sirius Black from the media and general public. If further proceedings emerged from the special hearing today, they would be tendering that into the official record as evidence. But for now this hearing was simply an opportunity to demonstrate for the press and the public that they were doing right by people accused of even the most heinous crimes, and righting some of the wrongs done by Bartemius Crouch Senior.

“Now, Madam Cross, I understand you represent only Mr Rodolphus Lestrange and Mr Rabastan Lestrange today?” Fudge enquired.

“That is correct, Chief Warlock,” the woman answered promptly, standing at the bar table.

“I wish to represent myself,” the hoarse voice of Rodolphus Lestrange called out suddenly from the back of the courtroom.

Madam Cross turned sharply to face her client, and the gathered family members stared at the man incredulously. Dowager Lady Lestrange shut her eyes like she was physically pained.

Bellatrix Lestrange, still magically silenced, smirked at her husband’s announcement; dark eyes gleaming as she maliciously stared at her husband’s family.

Rabastan Lestrange, sitting silently beside his older brother, looked utterly unsurprised. He stared straight ahead blankly, not reacting in any way.

“Silence!” Fudge called out as the press muttered amongst themselves. “The prisoner is reminded he is not to speak unless given permission to do so!”

“I want no representation,” Rodolphus stubbornly called out again.

Fudge spluttered at the continued insolence, and Madam Cross called out urgently, “Please, Chief Warlock, might I request a moment to speak with my client-”

“I’m not your client,” Rodolphus snapped.

Madam Cross narrowed her eyes at him, and Minister Fudge finally found his voice to command the Aurors, “Silence him! Silence him right now!”

They sprung into action, and Rodolphus was magically silenced like his wife. The press were positively thrilled at the drama.

Lord Alexander Rowle discreetly took his younger sister’s hand, silently comforting her as she watched her eldest child in despair. On the woman’s other side her mother, Dowager Lady Audelia Rowle née Malfoy, stayed still with her hands folded neatly in her lap, but she glared with icy fury at her eldest grandson and his wife.

“Mr Rodolphus Lestrange has made it clear he wants no legal representation,” Fudge declared. He turned beady eyes to Rabastan, who continued to sit silently. “I suggest you confirm, Madam Cross, that your remaining client still desires your representation,” he added curtly.

Madam Cross swallowed her frustration, turning to look at Rabastan. He nodded, slowly and deliberately, remaining silent so as not to draw any further ire.

“I will proceed with representing only Mr Rabastan Lestrange,” Madam Cross said aloud.

“Very well,” Fudge snapped. “Madam Cross you may present your client’s position to the court.”

“Mr Rabastan Lestrange respectfully applies to this court to be granted a trial for the charges he was imprisoned for life in Azkaban for,” Madam Cross stated. “The Wizengamot has consented to his case, alongside the cases of the co-accused, to be reopened in the light of new evidence.”

The press leaned in at the mention of ‘new evidence’ but Madam Cross did not elaborate. The barrister concluded with, “On my client’s behalf I also apply for severance of his matter from the matters of the co-accused.”

That caused a stir amongst both the Wizengamot and the press, and Bellatrix and Rodolphus glared at Rabastan, still under their magical silence. He continued to stare straight ahead, ignoring them.

Fudge made a few notes, dramatically flourishing his quill for show, now starting to get into the swing of things with the hearing running smoothly again.

“The Wizengamot will vote shortly on the application of Mr Rabastan Lestrange for a trial, and his application for severance from his co-accused,” Fudge declared.

Madam Cross dipped her head, resuming her seat.

Fudge turned to Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange, who looked back at him darkly. He could not keep his gaze on either, obviously intimidated by their mere presence.

“I will begin with Madam Bellatrix Lestrange,” Fudge began, a note of caution in his voice. “Please present your position to the court.” He nodded to the Auror nearest the woman to drop the silencing charm on her.

For a moment she sat there silently, and everyone leaned almost subconsciously in to hear what the haggard, wild-looking woman had to say. She caught her husband’s eye, and he nodded slightly to her.

She turned to look at the Wizengamot and called out in a sing-song voice, “If I could do what I did again, I would. I still remain loyal-”

“Silence her!” Fudge yelled.

She smirked back at him, silenced again, eyes flashing challengingly.

“Do you want a trial - yes or no?” Fudge demanded.

He nodded curtly to the Auror to drop the charm, though the Auror kept her wand raised, ready to immediately cast it again.

“I took great pleasure in what I did to-”

Fudge raised his hand, and the Auror silenced her again.

Many in the room looked pale and upset at the woman’s cruel words and utter lack of remorse.

“Let the record state,” Fudge said tremulously, chest heaving with fury. “That Bellatrix Lestrange was given the opportunity to apply for a trial, and she chose to not take it.”

Turning furious eyes on Rodolphus Lestrange, Fudge asked him, “Mr Rodolphus Lestrange, present your position to the court. State clearly if you do, or do not wish to apply for a trial before this council. I warn you not to behave in the same fashion as your wife.”

The Auror nearest Rodolphus cautiously dropped the silencing charm on the man, and he took a moment to look over at his mother, grandmother, uncle, aunt and cousins. They stared back at him, some expressions neutral, others concerned. He spent the longest time looking at his mother, the Dowager Lady Lestrange desperately trying to beg her eldest child with her eyes to make the right decision.

Rodolphus broke eye contact with her, sparing his younger brother a look beside him. Rabastan, sensing his brother’s gaze, looked back at him. Then Rodolphus broke eye contact with his younger brother too.

Everyone present saw Rabastan Lestrange sink lower in his seat, like the only thing still holding him up was the manacles and chains around him. His cobalt blue eyes looked over helplessly to his family, who paled, as they understood what was about to happen.

Only those close enough to Dowager Lady Elizabeth Lestrange heard her murmur, “Sweet Morgana, no.”

Rodolphus looked the Minister directly in the eyes, as he hoarsely called out, “Fuck your trial.”

Noise roared around the room as the press exclaimed in shock, members of the Wizengamot condemning the man.

“Order in the court!” Fudge yelled, to no avail.

Rodolphus, silenced again, sat there, the full weight of what he had just done sinking in. His wife cackled silently beside him under the magical charm preventing her from being heard. Rabastan refused to look at him, staring straight ahead, mouth set in a stubborn line.

Rodolphus knew he shouldn’t, but he could not help but look back at his family who had come to support him. He took one look at the tears in his mother’s eyes, as she leaned against his uncle, like she was about to collapse, and looked away, ashamed.

Fudge, incensed, screamed out, “Remove them! Remove them all from my sight!”

The Aurors sprung into action, however, Madam Bones leapt to her feet. With a quick Sonorous she called out, “Mr Rabastan Lestrange must remain for us to deliberate his applications.”

The Aurors looked between Fudge and Madam Bones, hesitating. Fudge waved his hand dismissively, and the Aurors tentatively set about removing only Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange, the latter who was still silently cackling with delight.

Once they were removed, to be prepared for transport back to Azkaban to resume their life sentences, the Wizengamot retired to vote on Rabastan Lestrange’s two requests. It was only a short time later that the members filed back in.

In a clipped voice, Minister Fudge declared to the court, “By a majority, the Wizengamot votes to grant Mr Rabastan Lestrange a trial. It will commence Monday week, on the ninth of January at nine o’clock sharp.”

The press were scribbling down the information, as Madam Cross respectfully murmured, “As the Wizengamot pleases.”

“I further declare, although Mr Rabastan Lestrange will be proceeding to trial alone, that the Wizengamot voted unanimously regardless to sever his charges from his co-accused,” Fudge stated.

“We order that Mr Rabastan Lestrange is to be remanded back in custody in Azkaban until the first day of trial, after which he will be remanded in a Ministry cell until the conclusion of the trial,” Fudge concluded. “I declare this hearing concluded.”

The press immediately began yelling out questions to Rabastan, who paid them no mind. His barrister Madam Cross walked over to speak with him quietly in a hurried voice before the Aurors took him away.

Rabastan allowed himself to be escorted in a dignified manner from the room, but not before casting a look back at his family, eyes lingering on his mother, still broken by the shock and betrayal of her eldest son’s actions.

He made a silent promise to her then and there – his older brother might have been willing to sacrifice his family and future for an empty cause, but Rabastan would not do the same.

“Narcissa wished to pass on her apologies for not being here to greet you both – I’m afraid she is rather busy with preparations for the ball this Friday evening,” Lucius said smoothly as he led Sirius and Arcturus into the impressive Malfoy family library.

“Yes, I can imagine there is much to plan for such an event,” Arcturus replied politely.

It was Lucius’ birthday on Friday, and Narcissa was sparing no extravagance or expense when it came to organising a grand ball for her husband’s special day. The guest list was littered with the influential and famous, and when word got out that the Black family were attending, the confirmations of attendances skyrocketed. The Black family being there meant Harry Potter would be in attendance, and everyone wanted the opportunity to lay their eyes on the famous, elusive child.

Lucius guided the two Blacks into an antechamber off the main library, where an impressive study had been set up. The intricately carved mahogany desk in the centre of the room appeared to depict the eight sacred days of the wizarding calendar around its edge.

Lucius gestured for both men to take seats opposite him as he settled himself into the elegant chair on the other side of the desk. There were a variety of papers stacked neatly on the desk, including a few ancient looking books.

“I’m sure you’re both keen to hear what I’ve learned about the Peverell family from my research, but before we begin, how was your holiday? I understand you took Harry to Greece?” Lucius enquired politely.

“It was wonderful,” Sirius answered, “Harry had a blast.”

Lucius smiled, replying, “I am glad to hear it.”

Then turning business-like he tapped one elegant finger against the nearest stack of papers, and began by warning both men, “I’m afraid the information I can share with you both is limited. You were certainly not wrong when you claimed the Peverell family were older than the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

Lucius’ silvery-grey eyes were intent on Sirius as he said this, gaze assessing. Sirius worked hard to keep his expression neutral, waiting patiently to hear if Lucius had managed to discover any other descendants of the Peverell family. If there was a suitable adult who was alive, they could escort Harry into the Peverell family vault, which was restricted to only allow descendants of Morgana with dark magical cores entrance.

Lucius pulled a roll of parchment to him, which had concise notes written on it in an elegant script that must be his own handwriting.

“The Peverell family are extinct in the male line. The last male Peverell I was able to find a record of was Idris Peverell, born in 1236. He had only one child, a daughter, Iolanthe born in 1259. She married a Hardwin Potter – as I understand it, this is the point at which the Potter and Peverell family bloodlines intersected,” Lucius explained.

This was information Sirius and Arcturus already knew, however it was useful to have the specificity of dates.

“I have traced the lineages of Iolanthe and Hardwin’s children as best I could, but I am afraid much of it was undocumented. The main Potter bloodline, of which Harry is a part of, is obviously directly traced back to the couple. I will not dwell too long on this main bloodline; given Harry’s Heritage Test covered the past seven generations of Potters. I thank you both for providing me with a copy of the test,” Lucius continued.

Arcturus inclined his head, replying, “We expected it would save you time and help you work out Harry’s more distant relatives beyond the past seven generations of Potters.”

“It certainly did,” Lucius agreed. He pulled out the copy of the Heritage Test he had been provided with, tracing a finger up the Potter line as he stated, “As you are well aware, James Potter was an only child, as was his own father, Charlus. However, Fleamont Potter, Harry’s great-grandfather, had a younger sister.”

“The one who married into the Diggory family,” Arcturus replied.

Lucius tapped the name of Aida Potter on Harry’s Heritage Test, and agreed, “She married Rowan Diggory, and they had one son, Eric Diggory, Charlus Potter’s first cousin. Eric Diggory went on to have one son of his own, Amos Diggory, who is currently alive today. Amos Diggory married Teresa Fawley, the younger daughter of the current Lord Fawley. Amos Diggory, and his son, Cedric, are Harry’s closest relatives on the Potter side of the family. Together with Harry, they are the only descendants of the Potter family to still be surviving today from the previous seven generations of the direct bloodline.”

Sirius nodded; again, he knew Amos and his son Cedric were related to Harry. However, Amos likely had a neutral magical core, and his wife was a light witch, which meant their son Cedric could not have inherited a dark magical core. The Diggorys were a dead end when it came to finding descendants of Morgana who fit the criteria needed.

Lucius glanced at the Heritage Test and commented, “Although there were siblings born throughout the past seven generations, these branches of the family have now died out. Harry’s oldest Potter ancestor documented on his Heritage Test is his ancestor, Edwin Potter, born in 1799.”

Sirius and Arcturus noted the name of Edwin Potter at the top of the Heritage Test, the furthest the test could go back.

Lucius now flipped open a book, which Sirius noted with distaste was the infamous Pureblood Directory, believed to have been written by Lord Cantankerous Nott, though the man remained tight-lipped if it had been him or not. This was largely due to the open legal investigation into the breaches of privacy committed in the compiling of such a compendium, and the clear promotion of anti-Muggleborn sentiment throughout. It was one of the most divisive books of the past century, having popularised the now widely accepted rule in Britain that one was only considered pureblood if they had seven generations clear of Muggle ancestry.

An empty rule, crafted by a person or people having no standing to make such an arbitrary hurdle, and brought into effect only within the past century.

Seeing Sirius’ expression Lucius calmly explained, “Fleamont Potter was acknowledged as a first generation pureblood, which means the seven generations before him have been fully documented in the Directory.”

Nodding tightly in acknowledgement that the Directory was at least useful for tracing back further than Edwin Potter’s time, Sirius listened as Lucius explained, “To establish Fleamont Potter’s pureblood status, his bloodline was traced back to his distant ancestor, Emmett Potter, born in 1720.”

That was still so far removed from the time period of Iolanthe Potter née Peverell, who according to Lucius had been born in 1259. But then again, they didn’t need to establish the link between the Peverell family and the Potter bloodline – they knew it existed. The purpose of this exercise was to find any viable descendants of Morgana who were not only still alive, but had dark magical cores.

“I was able to ascertain something interesting from my study into the Pureblood Directory,” Lucius informed them. “Fleamont Potter was not the only person who traced their lineage back seven generations to Emmett Potter in order to certify their pureblood status.”

Now this was interesting – the two Blacks shared a glance and leaned in, keen to hear who else was descended from this particular ancestor, and inevitably was descended from the Peverell family and Morgana herself.

Lucius flipped a couple of pages of the Directory, and turned the book to face the two men. He pointed out a name at the top of the page – Rand Whitlock. The name did not ring a bell. Above his name, his ancestors were arrayed up to Emmett Potter, his seventh direct ancestor.

The Directory stated he had been born in 1904 and passed away last year. Assuming this Rand Whitlock had gone to Hogwarts, he would have been a couple of year levels below Arcturus, but the Lord Black did not recognise the name.

Underneath his name it showed he had one child, a son called Calix Whitlock, born in 1930, and still currently alive. He was married to Morana Whitlock née Alethea, her presence in the Directory indicating her own pureblood status. She too was currently still alive. The couple would be in their late fifties.

“Alethea?” Arcturus questioned sharply, brows furrowing as he attempted to place that surname.

“Do you recognise the name?” Lucius asked curiously. “I admit it is one I have not heard of before. I could not find the Alethea family anywhere else in the Directory, so they must be a foreign pureblood family.”

Sirius looked at his grandfather, watching the deep look of concentration on his face. Then he saw a light of realisation in the Black family patriarch’s eyes. Just as quickly he schooled his expression and agreed mildly with Lucius, “Yes, I believe they are a foreign family if they’re not documented in the Directory.”

He said nothing else, although Lucius hesitated, obviously noticing Arcturus had recognised the name, and was withholding any further information.

A little frustrated, but hiding it well, Lucius continued, “As you can see they have a daughter, Pandora, who was born in 1953.” Lucius hesitated and added, “The same year as me. We attended Hogwarts together, in fact.”

“Were you well acquainted?” Arcturus asked curiously.

Lucius replied, “Unfortunately not – she was in Ravenclaw and I was in Slytherin. She had the most striking white-blonde hair. I suppose it is where her family got their name – Whitlock – white hair,” Lucius mused.

Sirius blinked, thinking distractedly that Lucius knew way too much about family etymologies. He had his eyes on the names beside and below her, intently saying, “She married Xenophilius Lovegood – where do I know the name Lovegood from?”

“Mr Lovegood is the editor of a magazine called The Quibbler,” Lucius explained.

Sirius nodded in understanding – he could vaguely recall seeing the independent magazine being sold.

“They have a daughter only a year younger than Harry,” Arcturus noted, staring at the name underneath the couple, Luna Lovegood, born in 1981.

“There are a few other families who have surviving descendants that can draw their lineage back to a Potter relative, and through them, a Peverell ancestor,” Lucius continued.

He listed a few more families, flipping through the Directory, or turning to his notes if they were not pureblooded. Sirius listened attentively. He had begun noting down family names to follow up on a spare piece of parchment, however Lucius had insisted on providing a copy of his detailed notes to Sirius.

Sirius could not help but notice his grandfather seemed deep in thought, quiet and reflective since he had seen the surname Alethea. He was seemingly still listening, but Sirius had a strong suspicion his grandfather sensed they had found what they were looking for, and it was to do with Morana Whitlock née Alethea. Sirius suspected perhaps the Alethea family were a dark family from overseas, and his grandfather had recognised the name. If Pandora Lovegood was a dark witch like her mother might be, she could possibly provide a suitable escort for Harry to enter the Peverell vault.

But this was all speculation – not only did they not know the magical cores of any of these people; they also knew nothing about them. It would take more than a simple initial meeting to satisfy Sirius that he could trust someone with Harry’s safety going into such an unknown situation.

Lucius concluded listing the names of the members of the final family connected to the Potters and the Peverells by extension, and Sirius found himself not only reluctantly impressed but also deeply grateful the man had wasted no time or resources in his research. This was far more than Sirius or even Arcturus could have found. It was not just a thorough look through the Pureblood Directory – Lucius had clearly looked deeply into investigating distant relatives who were mentioned in the footnotes of history, including those who had married Muggleborns.

“Thank you for the time you’ve taken and the depth of research,” Sirius told the man quietly and sincerely.

Lucius surveyed Sirius silently for a moment and then said very deliberately, “Legacy is important. And choosing to stand by those who share, and value, the same legacy as us, is a precious thing indeed. I hope you find whoever and whatever it is you are looking for, amongst these descendants.”

That seemed to jog Arcturus out of his deep thoughts, and he spoke up, “We are very grateful.”

“I must confess…” Lucius added, lingering on the last word. Sirius and Arcturus watched him closely. “You asked me to examine the descendants of Iolanthe and Hardwin Potter specifically, but I could not resist looking into the rest of the Peverell family.”

Sirius nodded in understanding – he had expected as much. He doubted Lucius had made the connection between the Peverells and Morgana though, given most of the records from Morgana’s time period were lost.

“Iolanthe’s grandfather, Ignotus Peverell, was the youngest of three brothers. His oldest brother, Antioch, died young without having children. The middle brother, Cadmus had a daughter,” Lucius informed them. “Her name was Tristana.”

The two Black’s listened interestedly, wondering if she had, had descendants, and if this could open up a new avenue of options, given her bloodline were also descendants of Morgana.

“Tristana's bloodline proved to be dead end, but she did marry into the Gaunt family,” Lucius informed them quietly.

Sirius and Arcturus shared looks with each other, unable to believe they had just been given the perfect opening to bring up the Gaunt family, and investigate Voldemort’s possible connection.

Arcturus recovered and smoothly clarified, “The Peverell family married into the Gaunt bloodline after the Gaunts had already intersected with the Slytherin family, is that correct?”

Lucius nodded his head, confirming, “The Gaunts married into the Slytherin bloodline around the early 1100s. A century or so later, Tristana Peverell married a Gaunt.”

“So Harry does not descend at all from the Slytherin family through his Peverell ancestry?” Arcturus continued.

“That is correct,” Lucius replied confidently.

“And his Heritage Test reveals the last Gaunt to marry into the Black family lived over one hundred and fifty years ago,” Arcturus continued, tone light.

Lucius said nothing this time, a hint of caution in his silvery grey eyes. There was a stillness to him now, a wariness that told Arcturus he was about to strike gold if he played his cards right in the next few moments.

Sirius sat silently beside his grandfather, letting him handle this delicate, vital task.

“With all this in mind,” Arcturus said carefully, keeping eye contact with Lucius, “it was rather a shock for us when we discovered Harry is a Parselmouth during our trip to Greece.”

Lucius Malfoy’s mouth fell open in a rare show of loss of composure.

Dark eyes drilling into Lucius’ shocked silvery grey eyes, Arcturus continued, “For Harry to have this ability simply defies logic and everything we understand about hereditary magical abilities. It should not be possible.”

“Are you certain?” Lucius asked, voice urgent and hushed.

“He was having a grand old chat with a bloody big snake for the better part of an afternoon, so yes I would say we were fairly certain,” Sirius drawled sarcastically. Lucius paled, and Arcturus shot his grandson a warning look, though there was a hint of amusement on his face.

“The question we find ourselves asking is where in Morgana’s name did this ability come from,” Arcturus informed Lucius, watching his every expression.

A slight tightening around the eyes, a nervous swallow, a mind thinking rapidly behind a barely masked expression of nervousness – Lucius Malfoy had a suspicion of what the answer to that question was. And Arcturus was going to make him spill.

Lucius made a show of putting a thinking expression on his face, musing, “It is possible for hereditary magical abilities to skip generations and reappear in a later descendant. For example, the Metamorphmagi ability was absent from the Black family for well over a century, was it not? Until it presented in Nymphadora and Harry.”

“There are two issues with that theory,” Arcturus replied right away, having prepared for that argument. “Firstly, both Nymphadora and Harry are each the product of strong intermarrying between members of the Black family both direct and indirect through magical adoption. Secondly, the Metamorphmagi ability actually did present itself more recently – my brother Lycoris had the ability, though he died young.”

“I did not realise,” Lucius said slowly, obviously trying to buy time to figure out a new angle.

Arcturus replied, “Most had no idea he had the ability. But the Metamorphmagi ability was certainly alive in the Black bloodline within the past century.” Pinning Lucius with his gaze again, Arcturus continued, “Harry’s closest direct ancestor with the Parselmouth ability would have lived well over one hundred and fifty years ago. And none of the people between him and that ancestor inherited the Parselmouth ability. So why now, why Harry?”

Lucius spread his hands, replying, “It is certainly a strange situation.”

He said nothing else, having found his rhythm now, face a perfect mask once again.

It was time to play dirty.

“I might have grown reclusive after my daughter died,” Arcturus began softly. Lucius stilled, and Sirius turned to face his grandfather, understanding the plan was progressing to the next phase. “But I did stay in close contact with my youngest grandson. You, of course, knew Regulus, didn’t you Lucius?”

Lucius looked between Arcturus and Sirius, the latter whom stared quickly down at his hands to hide his face. He was able to convincingly pull off the movement as though he was upset at the mention of his younger brother. He was still gutted by Regulus’ death, but he could hear his name mentioned without falling to pieces. The reason he was ducking his head was to hide his expression from the astute Lucius, who could sense Sirius was the weak link here, having none of the extensive experience of playing these sorts of social games.

Sirius heard Lucius reply cautiously, “We were acquainted.”

Arcturus laughed quietly, but there was no humour in the noise. “Come now Lucius,” he said, “Everyone here knows he was in the Inner Circle with you.”

“We were still only acquainted,” Lucius insisted stubbornly.

“The specifics of your familiarity with my grandson are irrelevant,” Arcturus continued. “I repeat – I remained very close with my grandson. Regulus told me many interesting things during his time in the Inner Circle.”

A complete lie of course, but difficult for Lucius to prove as such. He had just insisted he and Regulus were only acquainted – what did Lucius know of what Regulus had and had not told his grandfather?

“It was not Regulus’ place to tell you anything,” Lucius murmured boldly.

Arcturus’ eyes narrowed dangerously, barely holding only his temper as he snapped, “He was my grandson. It is not your place to question his right to tell me anything.”

Lucius backed down slightly, seeing the genuine fury and old grief behind Arcturus’ eyes. He did not know how Regulus Black had died – none of the Inner Circle did. The Dark Lord had remained silent on the topic, and punished anyone who asked questions. Had the Dark Lord been responsible, he would not have hesitated to proclaim it and make an example out of Regulus. Lucius assumed the boy had died during a mission. A true loss, particularly of one so powerful and promising.

Getting back on task, Arcturus pushed on, “He did not tell me much.” True. “But he did tell me something crucial about your Lord.” False.

Lucius’ expression remained carefully blank, revealing nothing.

Here was the gamble now – there was every chance Voldemort had put a vow of secrecy of some sort on his followers, and Regulus could not have told Arcturus even if he wanted to. There was also a chance their suspicions were wrong, and Voldemort had nothing to do with the Gaunt family, and had not been a Parselmouth.

Arcturus steeled himself, and calmly declared, “He was a Parselmouth.”

Both Arcturus, and Sirius who had lifted his head at that announcement, both saw the minute shift in Lucius’ expression, which betrayed him. Lucius said absolutely nothing, but even his silence confirmed their suspicions.

Voldemort was indeed a Parselmouth. Probably a Gaunt too.

Arcturus would normally use the name Voldemort, but to avoid an argument, he stated, “The Dark Lord is a Parselmouth. Harry is a Parselmouth. I will use your own words – a strange situation. Don’t you agree?”

“What are you suggesting,” Lucius asked lowly.

Arcturus leaned in, finally narrowing in on what he really wanted to test against Lucius. “Something happened that night in Godric’s Hollow. It’s the only logical explanation that can justify why Harry suddenly has the Parselmouth ability – the Dark Lord’s ability.”

“Are you suggesting the Dark Lord decided that night to somehow transfer some of his power, even if such a thing were possible?” Lucius scoffed incredulously.

“If he did transfer the ability to Harry, I doubt it was intentional,” Sirius muttered, chiming in at last.

Lucius narrowed his eyes and went on the offensive, demanding, “You both know something about what happened that night. More than anyone else.”

“We don’t understand how Harry developed the Parselmouth ability from his exposure to the Dark Lord that night,” Arcturus immediately deflected.

“I can’t help you with that,” Lucius replied smoothly. “Perhaps, though, if you explained to me what you do know about that night then-”

“Absolutely not,” Sirius interjected bluntly.

Lucius narrowed his eyes again, and said nothing else. Then he said in a snarky fashion, “I suppose you will just have to accept that Harry inherited the ability from a distant Gaunt ancestor, as unbelievable a notion that might be.”

“I hope it will pass scrutiny, because it’s the story we’ll be telling the public,” Arcturus replied lightly.

Lucius stiffened and asked, “You will be letting the public know?”

“Certainly, it is a wonderful blessing to have such an ability, and we are proud that Harry has the power, no matter where it came from, ” Arcturus told him. “And vital for our petition.”

“What petition,” Lucius practically hissed.

Arcturus explained calmly, “The Gaunt lordship has been sitting there unclaimed for over a century. Harry might be a very distant descendant, but he is a Parselmouth. We intend on petitioning Harry’s right to the Gaunt lordship on this basis, once he turns seventeen.”

Lucius said nothing, stock-still.

Sirius smirked at the other man as he informed him, “Well, we figured there are no more Gaunts to challenge his petition.” He pinned Lucius with his gaze as he continued, “Are there?”

Lucius looked like he was about to curse them both.

Sirius wondered privately if this meant they had just lost their invitations to Lucius’ birthday party on Friday.

Arcturus, knowing they had pushed Lucius Malfoy far enough, ever the diplomat, stated calmly, “Regardless, this is all a long way off. A lot can change between now and Harry’s seventeenth birthday.”

“It certainly can,” Lucius agreed slowly.

He stacked some of the papers in front of him carefully, and Sirius was struck by an annoying feeling of guilt that they had used Lucius so shamelessly to do the work for them researching into Peverell descendants, and then proceeded to ambush him with questions about Voldemort.

Sirius might be playing the game of snakes, but he had a lion heart.

“Lucius,” Sirius said quietly. The man paused in his stacking, watching Sirius with an air of wariness about him. Arcturus watched his grandson curiously. “I really am grateful for everything you’ve done in researching the Peverell descendants. If there is anything I can do to return the favour, I would like to do so.”

Lucius assessed him silently for a few moments, and then leaned in intently and asked, “Why was it so important for you to know about the Peverell family?”

Sirius shared a look with his grandfather, who tilted his head to let his grandson know the choice was his in how he answered. Thinking carefully before he spoke, very aware Lucius would be scrutinising every word, Sirius began, “Harry has an inheritance waiting for him from the Peverell family. However, in order to access it, he must enter a space that only descendants of the Peverell family can enter. We are hoping to approach a suitable adult Peverell descendant to escort him safely through the process. That is why we asked for your assistance.”

Sirius would not betray Harry by telling Lucius about the relation to Morgana, and did not want to risk mentioning the limitations on the descendant needing a dark magical core, in order to avoid inspiring any realisations for the man.

Lucius nodded in understanding, a deeply curious look on his face.

The tense meeting now smoothed over for the most part, though not without slightly injured pride and offence on Lucius’ part, the conversation shifted to a less volatile topic.

Namely the chaotic hearing for the Lestranges from the day before, and the prospect of Rabastan Lestrange getting out of Azkaban if his trial was successful.

He was the future of his House now, after all.

Legacy, as Lucius had stated, was important.

“I’m proud of how you handled yourself,” Arcturus told his grandson once they were safely back at Black Castle, sitting together in one of the many parlour rooms.

Sirius smiled at his grandfather before he sobered up and asked, “You recognised the Alethea family name, right? Could it be what we’re looking for?”

“I think so,” Arcturus mused. “If it’s the family I’m thinking of, then they are not foreigners in the way Lucius is thinking. They’ve been living in Britain for generations, but the rumours say they trace their roots back to ancient Greece.”

“Why have I never heard of this family - or Lucius for that matter?” Sirius asked.

“They’re a secretive lot, and disappeared from society during the rise of Grindelwald. I only know about them through your Aunt Cass – their family are still famous in certain overseas circles.” Arcturus hesitated, and then added, “She said they’re rumoured to be Seers. And their bloodline is dark, which is why they hid when Grindelwald started gaining power. They feared being targeted for recruitment.”

“How does Aunt Cass know so much?” Sirius asked incredulously.

“Her job introduced her to many people, from many varied backgrounds. She is a font of knowledge when it comes to important European families. Her clients came in all forms too – not just human you know,” Arcturus informed Sirius.

“Yes, I know she had lots of dealings with the goblins,” Sirius replied.

Arcturus considered his grandson, before stating, “Vampires too.”

Sirius’ eyebrows rose dramatically – vampires were notoriously elusive and most certainly did not involve themselves with witches and wizards where they could help it.

“Man, I really have to have a sit down with Aunt Cass to ask her about that,” Sirius murmured, impressed.

“In any event, there is a strong chance that Morana Whitlock née Alethea is a dark witch, and she might have passed that onto her daughter, Pandora, who is a Peverell descendant through her father,” Arcturus explained.

“How will we go about making contact?” Sirius asked.

“There is no rush, as I understand it. The Peverell vault has been sitting there untouched for centuries. Even if this Pandora Lovegood fits the criteria, and we find her to be trustworthy and reliable, Harry is still only young,” Arcturus insisted.

“I suppose discretion is best,” Sirius muttered. “It can wait.”

“Although, I find myself troubled by what Lucius told us,” Arcturus said suddenly.

Sirius cocked his head, confused what part was worrying his grandfather.

Arcturus told Sirius quietly, “We can be almost certain now Voldemort is a Gaunt. Which means he is a Peverell descendant too, if Lucius’ research into Tristana Peverell is true.”

“So?” Sirius asked, not understanding the significance. There were lots of Peverell descendants; he had a whole list of family names in his pocket now that could trace their heritage back to Morgana.

Arcturus looked at his grandson and stated, “Tristana Peverell was the child of the older brother – Cadmus. Harry is descended from the younger brother, Ignotus.”

Sirius stiffened. “Laws of succession – Voldemort would have the better claim on the Peverell inheritance. And damn it, the document Harry signed – there was a section in there about the right to challenge. If someone with a better claim is identified, then Harry might lose the vault and the castle. But then why did the goblins even allow Harry to claim anything – surely Voldemort would have staked his claim when he first set foot in Gringotts?”

“I can only theorise Voldemort, whoever he really is, was never registered correctly with the Ministry. Never went through the proper legal channels with the Ministry to confirm his heritage. Gringotts might use blood to confirm identity, but they rely on Ministry records for inheritance rights. When Voldemort returns, and if he records his heritage…” Arcturus trailed off.

“He has first priority to the Peverell inheritance over Harry, if he establishes his legal connection to the Gaunts,” Sirius muttered.

“Harry can challenge Voldemort for the Gaunt lordship, but so too can Voldemort challenge Harry for the Peverell inheritance – Morgana’s legacy. And he has a better claim on both,” Arcturus finished grimly.

“All the more reason to keep the truth of the Peverell inheritance secret – it’s bad enough Lucius knows about it now, though he does not appreciate the full significance,” Sirius declared.

Arcturus nodded his head in agreement – approaching Pandora Lovegood and her family to discuss the Peverell legacy could wait until Harry was a bit older. The less people who knew about it, the better. But if Voldemort returned before then, they would not hesitate to reach out to Pandora to assist them in securing the Peverell inheritance for Harry.

Sirius had pondered a couple of months ago when they learned of Harry’s heritage, given the choice between Morgana’s direct descendant, and Voldemort, how many of the dark families would turn in Harry’s favour.

If this was all true, then it was Voldemort who was in fact Morgana’s more legitimate heir.

“What is with this connection,” Sirius found himself whispering, almost without realising it.

Arcturus looked sharply at him, and Sirius rubbed his face tiredly. “Both dark wizards, both descendants of Morgana, both Parselmouths, hell, they’re possibly both half bloods if our suspicions are right. Voldemort decided Harry was the subject of the prophecy, and has now bound them both to that fate. Then there’s the ritual cast by Lily. The moment Voldemort took her life; the magic of the blood ritual bound him from causing any harm to Harry. But there’s something even deeper than that, there must be.”

Sirius paused, and with venom in his voice he hissed, “I hate it. I hate that they’re tied together like this. It feels like fate and magic itself is pushing them together, destined to be rivals.”

“Another way of defining a rival, is an equal,” Arcturus stated softly.

Sirius said nothing, caught between fear for his godson and fury towards the man who had murdered his best friends, and so many others. Then he muttered, “Your equal can still be your enemy.”

“Your equal can also be your ally,” Arcturus pointed out carefully.

Sirius’ face tightened, and before he could lose his temper, Arcturus pressed urgently, “I am not suggesting we join Voldemort. What I am reminding you, is that Voldemort must not see Harry as an enemy. Voldemort must see Harry as an ally, even if that is not the truth.”

Sirius still looked ready to spit out his fury, and so Arcturus quickly added, “We do this for Harry. For his safety.”

“It’s because I care about his safety that I want to run away with him. I want to bundle him up and start a new life together in mainland Europe at this point, grandfather,” Sirius said, suddenly desperate. “You think convincing Voldemort that Harry is his ally will keep Harry safe – well I say it won’t. I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and the prophecy is clear – Harry has the power to vanquish him. I naively thought at first that just because Harry has the power, doesn’t mean he will use it. That this would appease Voldemort, along with the fact Harry is a dark wizard. But the truth is, that logic won’t stop Voldemort. Harry will always be a threat. Rival, equal, enemy, ally. Whatever label he wears, he is inevitably a threat to Voldemort. And Voldemort does not let threats live.”

“So you run away – and then what, Sirius? What’s the plan after that? After you’ve abandoned your responsibilities here, and forced Harry to give up his too? Do you spend the rest of your days on the run and in hiding?” Arcturus asked curtly.

Sirius put his head in his hands, and Arcturus’ expression gentled in seeing that, registering the depth of fear and frustration weighing on his godson.

“Oh Sirius,” Arcturus said softly. He moved over, placing a supportive hand on his grandson’s shoulder. “You’ve been carrying a great burden, haven’t you? This has been lying heavy in your mind for a long time.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Sirius whispered. He glanced up at his grandfather; grey eyes wet with unshed tears. “I don’t know how much of what I feel is logical, and how much is just a reflection of how broken I really am.”

“You’re not broken,” Arcturus insisted. He ran a gentle thumb under each of Sirius’ eyes, tilting his grandson’s face up. “You are a survivor. You are the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. This is your home. It’s Harry’s home too. You have family and friends here who will stand by you and Harry, no matter what. Let us help you.”

Sirius rested his head on his grandfather’s shoulder, as an old memory rose to the surface of his mind like something out of a dream. He remembered a time when he had sat here beside his grandfather as a little boy, in tears from an argument with his father. How he had insisted he was going to run away, and how Arcturus had insisted in turn that this was his home, and he would always be there to stand by him.

And then Sirius had run away after all, leaving Regulus to be crushed under the burden their parents put on him. Leaving his grandfather all alone in this castle, wandering the empty halls, haunted by the ghosts of dead stars.

“I won’t run,” Sirius whispered.

Arcturus tightened his hold on his grandson, silently acknowledging the promise.

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Five: Celebration at Malfoy Manor

On the first Friday of the new year, the grand ballroom of Malfoy Manor was brimming with guests dressed in the best fashion money could buy, conversations buzzing over the soft music coming from a quartet of musicians on a raised dais.

The rich, famous and influential were present, Lord Malfoy’s birthday celebrations drawing in all sorts of people, regardless of societal and political beliefs. The heads of companies rubbed shoulders with socialites and politicians alike, all enjoying the lavish party put on by the Malfoy family.

Minister Fudge, nursing a glass of Firewhisky, was deep in conversation with Elsa Lark, captain of the Tutshill Tornadoes. Nearby, starlet Anna Vance with her husband Felix and daughter Emmeline by her side held court surrounded by a number of people, proudly discussing the interview Emmeline had given. Emmeline had a blush on her face as her mother boasted unashamedly to the gathered people around them, but responded positively to Lady Cassandra Rosier-Nott, who engaged her quietly in a deeper discussion about Dumbledore.