Reading Time: 94 Minutes

Title: Fate’s River
Author: MeyariMcFarland
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Contemporary, Drama, Family, Fantasy, Kid!fic, Suspense, Urban Fantasy
Relationship(s): Gen
Content Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence-Domestic, Violence-Against Children/Child Abuse. Politics. (domestic violence and child abuse are canon typical)
Author Note: I like to give each of my Harry Potter stories a little twist. This one came from watching the new Dune movies and asking myself “what if there was more going on with Harry’s near escapes? What if he had not only different gifts than everyone thought but also an ally?” The story grew from there. Also, I should note that I mean it on the aro-ace Harry in this story. He’s got no interest in such things at all.
Word Count: 96811
Summary: Shoved back into Privet Drive without a) medical care, b) any books to help him learn to protect himself or anyone else, and c) any chance to say what he thinks about all of this, Harry has a small realization. A little one. Just a tiny thing, really. No one trusts him. Which, you know, fine. Aunt Petunia always said that politics is the most important skill anyone could learn. All right, then. That’s just what Harry’s going to do.
Artist: Penumbria
Artist Appreciation: Thank you so much for the awesome art–I adore the portraits and you really caught what I was going for

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22. Lost Amid Grass Lies History: The Burrow

Dinner after Madame Longbottom’s win in the Wizengamot turned into a party.

Harry wasn’t very surprised.

In the afternoon, Molly had been loud and assertive as she and Sirius planned a series of parties to gather political power for more changes, afterwards she got quiet. A little distant once dinner came around and it was the Weasley family plus Harry and Hermione, Sirius and Remus, all eating in one of the proper dining rooms instead of down in the kitchen.

Kreacher had, apparently, had words to say about people eating all their meals in the kitchen like common riffraff. Since he’d gotten his very nice continental uniform finally, even Molly took him seriously.

Mostly.

Kreacher looked quite spiffy in his tuxedo with tails, complete with a pocket watch and shiny patent leather shoes. Hermione might, possibly, have stared at him for so long that her eyes started tearing, but she didn’t ask the questions clearly burning on her tongue. Probably because Kreacher stared right back at her with such fierce disapproval that she didn’t dare.

Molly took the role of host, serving people and humming absentmindedly every time someone asked her a question. She didn’t stare at Harry or even frown at him. Too distracted by the map that she cautiously, hesitantly, pulled from her pocket once everyone was done eating, only Ron still nibbling while most drank tea or leaned back in their chairs.

“I… can’t… tell you how I got this map, Arthur,” Molly said as she passed it to Arthur who frowned at it in obvious puzzlement. “But it hopefully shows how to find the tool chest.”

Arthur gasped. His hands shook as he stared at the map as if it was worth more than all the galleons in Gringotts. From the way Bill’s jaw dropped open, maybe to the Weasleys it was worth that much.

“It’s not literal. It’s more symbolic. It does start at our home. I believe that this is the Lovegood’s house,” Molly pointed to one symbol, “and this should be the Lightning Tree in the center of the standing stones. We’re to be very careful not to set foot inside the circle. Apparently, there’s some sort of trap. This,” she tapped the wood that Dudley had drawn, “is related to furniture? Coppiced wood? I don’t know.”

Bill had come over to stare at the map. Then Ginny, the twins. Ron craned his neck before he abandoned his dessert, stood and leaned on Arthur’s shoulder. Even Hermione looked curious about it.

Arthur stared at the map, then stared at Molly with awe and shock and blooming delight that made him look a good twenty years younger. “Mollywobbles… I… You can’t say how you got it?”

Sirius stared at Harry as Remus pasted a politely interested look over his tense paleness. No one noticed their reaction, thank goodness. Harry just shrugged a little bit which made Sirius frown and Remus relax a touch.

“No, there’s a vow involved,” Molly said with a little shrug. “Protective of the individual who helped me with this. But they were delighted to help. I thought we might take some time after dinner and go see if we can find the tool chest.”

“O-of course!” Arthur said, leaping to his feet. “We’ll go right now. Who wants to come?”

Everyone wanted to come. Harry included. Sirius went as Padfoot, bouncing along at Harry’s side. It was a pretty simple little map, so it only took an hour to walk from the Burrow past the Lovegood house, up a lane that passed a tree shaped like a lightning strike, not one that had ever been hit by lightning.

The standing stones felt… wrong. Harry firmly kept Hermione from exploring. The coppiced wood turned out to be an old hedgerow where apparently, generations back, the Weasley family had shaped the living wood with magic to form furniture.

Table frames sprouted out of the trees. Bench legs and chair frames, spindles for a chair back or a bed frame all grew of their own accord out of the trees. They were shaggy, obviously untouched and untrimmed, but Harry could pick out the makings for dozens upon dozens of pieces of furniture all growing peacefully in the coppiced stand of trees.

“Mate, this is amazing,” Ron breathed as he ran his fingers along an overgrown branch that looked like the leg and arm of a ladder-backed chair. “I wonder how it works.”

“I only ever learned the basics, Ron,” Arthur said as he studied the map with Bill and the twins. “My father never wanted to be a furniture maker, you see, so he didn’t learn the lot of it either. Your great-uncle Gabriel is a furniture maker if you’re interested in learning something of it, though. He’d be delighted to have some young people take up the craft. Properly grown and crafted magical furniture is… well, quite expensive. He makes a very good living.”

“Very good,” Molly agreed from a tree sprouting the parts of a baby’s cradle with Hermione.

“There’s broom handles up this way!” Ginny called. “And a shack. Dad, there was a shack on the map, right?”

“Yes,” Arthur agreed, hurrying her way.

All the Weasleys joined him. Harry walked along slowly, running his fingers through Padfoot’s fur with Remus on one side. Hermione drifted over to them, frowning.

“I had no idea that this was possible,” Hermione admitted.

“It’s traditionally how English furniture was made,” Remus said in his lecture voice. “I ah, have a book from Lily’s history library all about coppiced woods and what they were used for in the Muggle world. And several on magical furniture creation. I didn’t realize that the Weasleys were involved with the craft, though.”

The shack, when they got there, was an actual shack. Just a wobbly frame with rough-finished boards and a roof that looked like it was one strong breeze away from collapsing. Arthur threw a few charms at it and the shack shook itself and straightened right up, becoming almost respectable.

And less likely to fall on all their heads.

The sun dipped past the horizon as Arthur pushed the wobbly door open, so Arthur and Molly both lit lumos.

Inside, the shack was still just a shack, only four times bigger inside than it was outside. It had long empty work benches, empty shelves on one wall, and three half-crafted chairs that had gone gray with time and exposure. Harry could trace the path of the sun through the shack’s window on one of the chairs. The wood was distinctly grey where the sun had bleached it and a lovely gold where it hadn’t.

“My grandfather’s workshop,” Arthur murmured as he looked around. “I thought we’d gotten everything out when he died, but… No one must have wanted to finish the last set of chairs.”

“Bad luck,” Molly agreed, gently running her fingers over the arm of the one chair that had all four legs.

“Mm,” Arthur agreed. “Now, the tool chest would be easily visible if it was full size. That means it was shrunken down while he was working and tucked away in a corner. Let’s all look. We should be able to find it soon enough. When shrunken it was just the size of my two fists together. Iron-banded. Looked rather like a pirate’s chest but with green-painted wood.”

Harry did not search. Remus stayed at Harry’s side.

Sirius certainly did. He bounded around, poking his nose in everything and barking at every little leaf, curl of shaved wood and rock that he found. Hermione teamed up with Ginny, crawling under the workbenches while the twins all but climbed into the rafters. Molly and Bill patted and prodded the workbenches to look for hidden compartments.

Ron stood in the middle of the shack, hands on his hips as he frowned.

Then Ron went outside into the growing darkness. Harry followed, curious.

“It’s not gonna be in there, mate,” Ron said. “They woulda searched.”

“Have to agree,” Harry said. “You think there’s another spot it could be?”

“The map had a little lump drawn on the side of the shack,” Ron said, pointing as he made his way counterclockwise around the building. “Assumed it was a rock or something, but we’re talking about symbols and the like, so maybe it meant more than seems obvious.”

Harry nodded, not surprised that Hermione had abandoned the dusty floor and come looking for them. She brushed herself off as they made their way through overgrown grass and shrubs, watching Ron poke through the grass with his wand tip glowing brightly.

On the exact opposite side of the shack from the door, there was a broken board. Something had cracked the base of the board, leaving a gap about the size of Arthur’s fists put together. The three of them stared at that hole silently.

Harry lit his wand with a nice bright lumos.

Hermione followed suit, biting her lip because her hand shook with so much excitement and nervousness that her lumos vibrated. Couldn’t blame her. Ron looked like he was half a second away from fainting. Almost. Not quite. Because there was hope and excitement and a painful sort of longing in his eyes, too.

Then Ron carefully pushed the grass aside.

Resting on the ground just outside the shack, directly below the hole in the boards, was a tiny pirate’s chest. The iron was a touch rusty in places. The green paint had peeled up everywhere but in the cracks. But it looked solid when Ron delicately picked it up in both hands.

He stared at Harry and Hermione.

“Back inside?” Harry suggested.

“Yeah,” Ron said, voice all hoarse. “Good idea.”

The rest of them had disappointed looks when they made their way back to the door of the shack. Arthur, in particular, looked like he wanted to cry but was trying to keep the properly stiff upper lip.

“It was outside,” Ron said.

Arthur stared at Ron, Harry and Hermione. “What?”

“There’s a hole in the wall,” Ron said as he carefully held the tiny chest out to Arthur. “It fell through the hole. It’s been outside, back of the shack, this whole time. Just waiting. Waiting for the Weasleys to come find it again.”

Arthur laughed but it sounded more like a sob. He took the chest, brushing chips of paint off before shoving it into Bill’s hand so that he could sweep Ron up in a crushing hug. Both Ginny and Molly started screaming in excitement which set the twins off. Bill stared at the little chest in his hands, mouth open and eyes wide.

“Aw,” Hermione murmured to Harry. “I’m so happy for them.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “It’s, you know. I think this might be Ron’s thing. He found it. It could be his thing the way Bill’s got curse breaking, Charlie’s got dragons, Percy’s got his checklists and the twins have jokes.”

His gut agreed, all but singing with joy because yes. Yes, this was Ron’s thing. The thing he’d been missing and needed. He just needed training and support and encouragement now. And not to have anyone else shut him down or poo-poo it.

Hermione smiled, fingertips pressed against her lips as Sirius came back over to flop at Harry’s feet and Remus smiled at everyone.

“Hey Ron,” Harry called once Arthur finally let him go. Both Ron and Arthur had wet cheeks. “Think you can learn how to make me lap desk? I’ve always wanted one and, well, it’d be a chance to get to learn to use the tools and the wood.”

Ron blinked and then stared out into the coppiced wood. Tiny gleaming fairies flittered around like lightning bugs. Overhead, stars had come out. The moon was just coming up in the east.

A hopeful, tentative smile curled Ron’s lips. “I guess I could try, mate. Great-Uncle Gabriel’s not a bad sort. He’s probably be happy to help me learn how. But I’m pretty sure I’ll be crap at it to start with.”

Harry snorted. “Well, duh. It’s called learning. That’s fine. I’d rather have something honest and ugly made by my best mate than some perfect piece made by a stranger who just wants my money.”

Ron ducked his head, but it didn’t hide his grin. Or his blush. “I reckon I can give it a try. You know, if Great-Uncle Gabe agrees.”

“He will,” Arthur said, so proud that he looked like he might just burst with joy. “Come on. Let’s head back to the Burrow, then floo back to Headquarters. I’ll floo Uncle Gabe and see if he’d be interested.”

“In training all of us, right?” Ron said with a sigh.

“Oh, no,” Bill said passing the chest back to Ron. “I’ve got too much work, Ron.”

“Nope, not interested,” Fred said.

“We got plans for the summer,” George agreed.

“Not it!” Ginny exclaimed, holding both her hands up and backing off a step. “I want to learn how to make those tiny cakes Kreacher served tonight. No woodworking for me, thanks.”

Arthur laughed, a little sad but not surprised at all. “It’s all yours, Ron. No one else in the family has wanted to learn.”

The worry in Harry’s gut that always went along with Ron’s jealousy and competitiveness shivered and relaxed as Ron stared at the chest in his hands. Yeah, Harry absolutely was going to commission Ron to make him a whole series of things. No idea what yet, but that was fine. A Ron who was an ally with his own specialty that no one could compete against, one that might earn him a very good living, was a Ron who wasn’t a threat.

Finally.

 

23. Dark Robes Sweeping Lies Away: Gringotts

Harry woke to Kreacher literally flipping him out of bed and into the bathroom.

“Wha?” Harry gasped as he was shoved right to the shower. “Kreacher!”

“Master Harry is needing to get ready!” Kreacher snapped. “ICW is coming. They is coming right now! Master Harry is needing to be clean, teeth brushed, and dressed in five minutes or Kreacher is doing it for him!”

Kreacher popped away. A moment later, several howls echoed through Grimmauld Place as Kreacher forcibly woke everyone else.

Harry blinked. Shook his head. And then processed what Kreacher had said.

Five minutes later, Harry’s teeth were brushed, his clothes were on, and his shoes were tied. His hair was an utter disaster as always, but he’d given it a few whacks with the brush that Kreacher swore up and down would actually tame Harry’s hair if he took the time.

There was no time.

Kreacher popped in, snapped his fingers to fix all the things Harry had done wrong with his clothes, and then popped back out.

Right.

The floor room had Sirius who looked stunned and breathless, Remus who just yawned into his teacup, and Hermione who had her school bookbag and several law books clutched to her chest. Harry frowned.

“No Weasleys?” Harry asked.

“Nope,” Sirius said. “They’ll be called in separately, if they’re called at all. We’re heading to Gringotts. They’ve opened the floo so that we can go direct instead of needing to go through the Alley.”

“Good,” Harry huffed. “The Ministry still has a kiss on sight order out for you!”

“Not for much longer,” Sirius said with his most terrifyingly manic grin that made him look just as insane as Bellatrix.

Gringotts, once Remus kept Harry from breaking his face on the marble floor, was an oasis of calm and quiet. The lobby they’d arrived in only had a couple of black-cloaked men and six goblins who stood very rigidly at attention.

“Well, that’s… unexpected,” Sirius said, blowing out a breath as he stared at the two men.

“What is?” Harry asked.

“The ICW sent Hit Wizards to, well, handle me, I suppose?” Sirius said. He looked at the Hit Wizards who barely responded at all.

“The ICW has sent Hit Wizard Musashi and Hit Wizard Cyrus to defend you,” Silverclaw said as he strode into the lobby. “They agree that a grave miscarriage of justice has occurred. If you will all follow me, Ragnok has made the Marble Courtroom available for the ICW’s investigation.”

Silverclaw led them down three very long flights of stairs, through a hallway that terminated in a wide echoing gap that had lava far below, and across the bridge over it that had Hermione clinging desperately to Harry’s hand. On the other side of the lava river, they entered a cave that absolutely deserved its name.

The Marble Courtroom had a judge’s bench that loomed over the room. Made, of course, out of gleaming perfectly polished cream and smoky grey marble. Sirius was directed to a table made of golden marble shot through with rose quartz. Remus, Harry and Hermione sat on surprisingly comfortable golden marble chairs behind him while Hit Wizard Musashi stood at Sirius’ left shoulder. Hit Wizard Cyrus glowered at the black marble table that held Fudge, a very squat toad-faced woman dressed all in pink, and Percy who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else in the entire world.

Seriously, leaning back and away, notes held as far from him as possible while still in a range that he could scribble on them, pale and sweaty in all the unfortunate ways.

Creepy part was that the pink toad-woman stared at Harry with a reptilian glare while simpering something in a cotton-candy-sweet voice to Fudge.

“Who is that in pink?” Harry whispered to Remus while Hermione organized her parchment and got ready to take reams of notes.

“Undersecretary Umbridge,” Remus murmured. “Try not to cross her. She loathes werewolves, hates anyone who crosses Fudge, and doesn’t exactly hesitate to strike at people she thinks deserve to be punished.”

Ah. Harry wondered, for one instant, if she explained the Dementors on Privet Drive before his gut decided that yes, it had been Umbridge. Really lucky that he’d found those rune pairs and flipped them, otherwise the Dementors might’ve hunted him right across town.

Three more very intimidating men in black cloaks swept into the Marble Courtroom. They sat on the judges’ bench and frowned first at Sirius, then at Hermione, and finally at Fudge who paled and licked his lips.

“This hearing is now called to order,” the central ICW guy intoned. His voice was deep enough and powerful enough to feel like a big bell had just been rung next to Harry’s chest. “This hearing will determine what charges, if any, Sirius Black faces and whether charges will be levied against the Ministry of Magic for failure to meet their obligations with regards to the ICW and their own laws.”

“I object!” Fudge exclaimed even though his hands shook. “The ICW has no authority to intrude on a member state’s internal affairs.”

“Incorrect,” the central ICW guy said with a glare that made Fudge flinch. “When a request to review a case has been made, the ICW has full authority to take over the case and do whatever is necessary to see that it is properly and fully prosecuted.”

“Well, no one made a request,” Fudge protested. “There’s no reason for this. Sirius Black is a criminal, an escaped criminal. He has no standing in this court.”

“Sirius Black never received a trial,” Silverclaw said from the back of the room where the Goblins had stationed themselves. “Gringotts requested the ICW investigate this matter as the Black vaults are frozen until such time as a trial has been concluded. Time is money. Too much has been wasted on this nonsense already.”

The central ICW guy slashed a hand at Fudge. A spell hit Fudge hard enough to knock him back in his seat. When he opened his mouth to squawk about it, nothing came out.

Oh, silencing spell. Nice. Harry wanted to learn that one.

Though Molly and Hermione might just cut his bollocks off if he ever dared use it against them.

“Hem-hem!” Umbridge said, glaring at Harry before turning her sticky-sweet smile on the ICW guys.

To Harry’s delight and Hermione’s obvious horror, the ICW guys completely ignored Umbridge. Not just that time but the next six times she tried to “politely” interrupt the reading of what seemed like a twelve-inch-thick stack of parchment sheets detailing the investigation so far. Which included a one-page sheet with the evidence from the Ministry, Sirius’ old wand, and Pettigrew’s finger in a little glass vial.

Gross.

The rest of the information was all about the investigation that the ICW had done, which included finding out exactly who’d actually been on the street when Pettigrew blew it up. Then going and fixing the Obliviations done so that they could get proper interviews. Apparently, the witnesses had then needed some serious mind-healing because the Obliviations had been so poorly done, but by the time the ICW was finished, the witnesses were way better off. That was good.

Seemed to horrify Fudge while Umbridge hem-hemmed herself purple in the face. Percy scooted his marble chair further away from them by quarter inches until he was sitting in the aisle and writing his notes on his knees just like Hermione was.

Then there was a bunch of stuff about laws and treaties that went right over Harry’s head. His gut said it was important. No idea why, but it was important. Thankfully, both Hermione and Remus looked as confused as Harry felt.

Umbridge vibrated in her seat with complete outrage, so she understood what it was all about.

Fudge stared blankly.

“Sirius Black,” the central ICW guy who clearly was never, ever going to introduce himself even with a fake name like the Hit Wizards, “the Ministry claims that you confessed to the murder.”

“I had a psychotic break after James and Lily were killed and then Peter blew himself up,” Sirius said, grimacing. “I don’t clearly remember anything from that timeframe. I’m willing to take Veritaserum to see if we can extract anything from my mess of memories.”

“During the trial, perhaps,” the central ICW guy said. “Were you questioned?”

“No,” Sirius said with a little shrug. “Stunned on the site while raving. Woke up in Azkaban. The guards said I’d confessed to betraying James and Lily to You-Know-Who but I hadn’t. I wasn’t the secret keeper for their Fidelus.”

“Objection!” Umbridge finally shouted as she leaped to her feet. “Sirius Black is not to be trusted. He’s lying!”

The central ICW guy flicked another silencing spell at Umbridge, dropping her back into her marble chair.

Sirius shook his head at her. “Dumbledore cast the Fidelus spell. He strongly recommended Peter be the secret keeper and I be the decoy. No one would’ve suspected that James as Peter to do it. He was always very hesitant and afraid of everything. I was James’ best mate practically from the moment we met. It made sense. It also got James and Lily killed.”

The central ICW guy nodded. “Harry Potter, you reported that Peter Pettigrew was alive?”

“Ah, yes?” Harry said, blushing as all eyes turned his way. “Told Fudge at the end of third year. He didn’t believe us. Professor Snape didn’t back Hermione, Ron and I up even though he knew it was true.”

Fudge curled in on himself, going very, very pale. Next to him, Umbridge’s glare dialed up about six notches. If she could’ve shot lasers from her eyes, all that would’ve been left of Harry was a burnt spot on the marble chair.

“Hermione Granger,” the central ICW guy asked, “do you concur?”

“Absolutely,” Hermione said. “I’ve got all my notes on what happened if you’d like copies of them. I was very detailed because I was so annoyed about how it all was ignored and swept under the carpet.”

“Please,” the central ICW guy said.

Which led to Hermione’s notes being copied, about a thousand more questions being asked that Hermione answered with dead, perfect calm and the ICW guys all studying her with more respect than they’d showed to anyone else.

“We have enough,” the central ICW guy declared. He waved off Umbridge’s outraged waving and Fudge violently shaking his head. “You were given four opportunities to provide additional information to the investigation phase. You declined. There will be a trail held in one hour for Sirius Black. We are adjourned until that time.”

As the ICW guys swept back out of the Marble Courtroom, Sirius sagged in relief on his chair. Remus moved over to murmur to him while Harry blew out a breath and smiled at Hermione who was still scribbling notes. Just like Percy who’d somehow managed to get his chair over to their side of the room.

“Percy,” Harry said quietly, though not quietly enough for Umbridge not to glare at him, “did your dad contact you?”

“Uh, yes?” Percy said, frowning at Harry with his quill held away from his notes so he wouldn’t blotch anything. “I didn’t have a chance to read the note, though.”

“Your mum got a map that showed where your grandfather’s tool chest was,” Harry told him with a big smile. “The whole family went out looking for it last night. Ron found it. It’s all intact, just a bit of rust and some peeling paint. He’s thinking about learning to make magical furniture like your granddad did.”

Percy straightened up, his discomfort and fear faded into delighted joy. “Really? Goodness, I wish I’d read the note straightaway. Tell Ron I’m terribly proud of him when you see him. That’s lovely. I thought about it when I was young, but I just don’t have the patience to deal with all the sanding and the dust and mess. He’ll probably be spectacular at it, honestly. Got just the right temperament for it.”

“I thought so, too,” Harry agreed.

“You should not be fraternizing with the enemy,” Umbridge snapped at Percy.

“No, just sharing some news from the Weasley family,” Harry said. “His youngest brother Ron is thinking of going into making magical furniture, as of last night.”

Umbridge huffed as if that was a ridiculous excuse and a lie, too. She prodded Percy out of his seat, then all but shoved both Percy and a pale, sweaty, terrified Fudge out of the room entirely. Harry watched them go.

He was going to have get Dudley on finding a way to neutralize Umbridge. That woman was a problem. A very big problem.

After the trial.

 

24. Before the World Truth is Spoken: Crystalline Courtroom

Ten minutes before Sirius’ trial was set to begin, Hit Wizard Cygnus pursed his lips and squared his shoulders so indignantly that Harry looked around for Dumbledore.

“What?” Remus asked.

“Something’s wrong,” Harry replied with a nod towards Hit Wizard Cygnus who just raised an eyebrow at him. “He just got all huffily disapproving, so I thought Dumbledore was on his way in.”

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Hit Wizard Musashi murmured, speaking for the first time. He rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip, eyes alight with amusement that Hit Wizard Cygnus absolutely did not mirror. “We’re being moved to a larger courtroom. The Supreme Mugwump did get his big nose into the trial.”

Whatever Hit Wizard Cygnus muttered under his breath, it wasn’t English, and it obviously wasn’t polite from the way Sirius started snickering. The trek to the new courtroom took them across the lava river and then in an elevator that seemed like it was taking them a hundred and eight stories up. It took forever, long enough for Harry to get twitchy and Sirius to struggle against a wild, trapped expression that Remus remedied with a one-armed hug and some very quiet whispers of love and support that Harry pretended that he didn’t hear.

The new courtroom was crystalline. Smokey quartz floors. White quartz furniture and ceiling. Sparkling iridescent walls and judges’ bench and spectator seating in a huge amphitheater that was stuffed to the gills.

The left side of the amphitheater held goblins in full formal business clothes mixed with goblins in full armor with every sort of weapon there was, including a squad holding submachine guns right in the front. The machine guns were conspicuously faced towards the other half of the amphitheater where wizards and witches gossiped and shouted like they had a say in any of this.

Harry, Hermione and Remus were placed directly behind Sirius’ table. Silverclaw sat at Sirius’ side with stacks of paperwork in front of him. The prosecution’s table had Umbridge, a very slim folder of parchment, and Percy who was so pale and sweaty that Harry worried that Percy was going to throw up all over the courtroom.

“How does this work?” Harry whispered to Remus as the judges, the same three ICW guys, came in.

“Where’s Sirius’ defense lawyer?” Hermione asked, just a bit louder. Not loud enough to attract attention, but still louder than Harry would’ve dared.

“There are no defense lawyers,” Remus told them. “The prosecution asks questions. The judges either approve the questions or strike them from the record. The person accused calls witnesses or supplies evidence to defend themselves. Then the judges decide.”

Harry shared a horrified look with Hermione, gesturing for her to write that down because wow. Wow! They needed to get modern legal codes into the Magical world. That couldn’t be legal. Weren’t Magi supposed to follow the Muggle laws?

Another problem to be dealt with later because the Judges from the ICW called court to sessions, without introducing themselves, silenced all the witches and wizards in the amphitheater seating, and then nodded for Umbridge to begin.

“Thank you,” Umbridge said, all prim and proper while glaring hot death at Harry. Oh, and Remus, too. “Sirius Black is guilty of leading You-Know-Who to James and Lily Potter’s home. Thus, he is guilty of their deaths. He is guilty of hunting Peter Pettigrew down and then killing a dozen Muggles in his attempt to kill Mr. Pettigrew. He’s guilty of escaping from Azkaban.”

“Objection,” Sirius said in a bored, flat tone. “We’re in opening statements, not closing. It’s not legal to state outright that I’m guilty of anything. You have to prove it, first.”

“Sustained,” the left ICW judge said.

Umbridge huffed and restated the exact same charges as “should be found guilty of”.

Sirius shook his head. “First off, no, I am not guilty of any of those things. I did not lead You-Know-Who to James and Lily’s home. I did not kill Peter Pettigrew or those Muggles. I certainly did escape from Azkaban but that’s not actually against British law since no one has ever done it before. They never made a law to say that escape was illegal.”

“Present your evidence,” the right judge told Sirius.

“Right-O,” Sirius said. “I call Severus Snape to the stand.”

If Umbridge’s glares were lasers, Snape’s glare as he settled into the witness chair was a thermonuclear bomb that would take out the entirety of London when it went off. Sirius didn’t smirk. He just studied Snape for a long moment.

“Professor Severus Snape was present at the confrontation where Peter was revealed to be alive,” Sirius said. “Professor Snape, I’ll remind you that you’re sitting on the Witness Chair. You are incapable of lying. If you attempt to do so, the chair will punish you and you’ll light up so everyone can see it.”

“I understand,” Snape drawled. “I’ve been in one of these infernal contraptions before. Ask.”

“When did you discover that Peter Pettigrew was not dead?” Sirius asked.

Snape shuddered and then sighed, rubbing a long finger against the bridge of his nose. “I always knew that he wasn’t dead. I am a marked Death Eater, as was established in my trial at the end of the war. The Dark Mark identifies us to each other. After Peter escaped the confrontation with you, he tried to get me to hide him. I refused. He served willingly. I did not. I knew that he was a rat Animagus. He’d used the gift multiple times on raids. When Percy Weasley came to school with a rat, I recognized him. I didn’t reveal him then and had no intention of revealing him ever. It would have weakened my position, which has always been far too precarious.”

Sirius stared at Snape, who absolutely was not ever going to teach at Hogwarts again if Harry had anything to say about it.

“I see. You can step down unless Madame Umbridge had any questions for you,” Sirius said. He shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe that Snape was that much of a bastard, despite the evidence in front of them.

Percy had grabbed Umbridge’s arm so that he could whisper urgently in her ear while showing her a whole series of parchments. She snarled and pulled her arm free, standing to smile her sickly-sweet smile at Snape.

“No questions,” Umbridge said.

Sirius waited until Snape stalked back to his seat before turning to the judges. “My next piece of evidence is my wand. Priori Incantatem will show what spells I cast. No one has used my wand since then so there should be no confusion.”

“Objection!” Umbridge huffed. “That’s conjecture. Anyone could have handled and used that wand in the last decade.”

“Overruled,” the central judge said. “The bailiff will verify who has handled and used the wand last and then will perform Priori Incantatem.”

One of the goblin guards, not one with a machine gun, marched over to cast spells on Sirius’ wand. A stream of images flowed up off it, showing Sirius casting an Incarcerous, Sirius cleaning his hair and clothes, and Sirius lighting a campfire.

“I submit that there is no way that I can be held responsible for Peter Pettigrew’s actions in that alley,” Sirius said once the court accepted the results, much to Umbridge’s ire. “My wand shows that I did not cast the blasting spell and that I did not kill anyone.”

Umbridge made a noise rather like a goose about to attack, a hissing honk that made Harry wince and most of the people in the amphitheater seating flinch. Not that it mattered when Sirius serenely ignored her and moved onto the next item.

“Madame Umbridge claims that I led You-Know-Who to James and Lily’s home,” Sirius said. “Professor Snape said that those with the Dark Mark always know each other.”

He rolled up his sleeves, exposing both arms to the judges, then to Umbridge who rolled her eyes and then to the spectators.

“I call Healer Hippocrates Smethwyck, head of Saint Mungo’s Dai Llewellyn Ward,” Sirius said.

Healer Smethwyck was an older man with snowy white hair that he kept cut short in the Muggle style instead of long like most wizards did. He had watery blue eyes and a sort of gentle demeanor about him that Harry kind of thought was an act because Sirius straightened up and brushed his hands over his robes when Healer Smethwyck stared at him.

“Thank you for this, Healer Smethwyck,” Sirius said. “Are you willing to cast a diagnostic on me? I want to show the court that I do not have dark magic staining my core, that I do not have the Dark Mark anywhere else on my body, and that my Godfather bond to Harry James Potter is intact.”

Even the judges started when Sirius said the last bit.

“Objection!” Umbridge shouted. “You could not possibly have a Godfather bond to the Potter boy!”

“Overruled,” the central judge said, pointing sternly at Umbridge’s chair when she stomped her foot instead of sitting back down. “Healer Smethwyck?”

“You understand that it will show everyone all your health issues, yes?” Healer Smethwyck asked Sirius.

“I understand,” Sirius said. “I consider it a small price to pay for proof that I could not and did not lead You-Know-Who to my best mate and my godson’s home.”

The diagnostic showed a highly accurate image of Sirius without his clothes. Healer Smethwick did everyone the favor of providing a little blur spot over the image of Sirius’ groin. It pointed out a dozen places where he had poorly healed broken bones, where he’d been held under the cruciatus as a child and teen, his insomnia, his dehydration and prolonged starvation.

It did not show the Dark Mark.

Sirius had never cast Dark Magic, though he’d been hit by Dark spells multiple times. All of them looked like battle spells to Harry. He’d ask Hermione later. She scribbled to get them all written down so that she wouldn’t forget.

The Godfather bond shimmered in Sirius’ magic, a tail leading off in Harry’s direction though it faded into nothingness less than a foot from the spell.

“As you can see,” Sirius said, cheeks pale but gaze and voice firm as granite, “I could not have betrayed my Godson by giving him over to You-Know-Who, not without dying on the spot. I have never cast dark magic. I do not have the Dark Mark. I submit that I cannot be held guilty of James and Lily’s death.”

Umbridge’s fist hit her iridescent table, making Percy flinch hard.

“I have no further questions, Healer Smethwyck,” Sirius said. “Thank you. You’re free to step down once Madame Umbridge is finished with her questions.”

She sneered at Sirius. “Healer Smethwyck, how is this court to trust that you’ve done the spell properly? None of us have the training to verify.”

Healer Smethwyck hummed and tilted his head towards the judges’ bench. “I disagree, Madame Umbridge. In the first place, all three of our judges are capable of verifying the veracity and accuracy of my diagnostic. Second, I am the director of the Dai Llewellyn Ward. I would never do anything to undermine both my position and that of Saint Mungo’s. Finally, I am sitting in the Witness Chair. I am not currently capable of lying and that includes lying by omission or commission with my spellcasting.”

Umbridge paled for a moment as even the goblins muttered to each other.

“Oh, that was clever on Sirius’ part,” Harry whispered to Remus. “Did you suggest it?”

Remus swallowed a laugh. “Kreacher did, actually. And yes, it was.”

“No further questions,” Umbridge gritted out between her clenched teeth.

Once Healer Smethwyck had sat back down, Sirius looked at his papers for a moment. Then he nodded.

“Your Honors, the charges state that I escaped from Azkaban,” Sirius said. “That is not a crime. I’m sure Madame Umbridge intends to bring me up on charges of being an unregistered Animagus. That is also not a crime worthy of Azkaban as you simply pay a fee and register when you’re discovered. I am accused of leading You-Know-Who to James and Lily Potter’s home, of hunting down Peter Pettigrew and killing twelve Muggles.”

“You did hunt him!” Umbridge said, wagging a finger at Sirius like he was a naughty boy.

“I was an Auror,” Sirius said. “I reported my chase of Pettigrew to my superior officers. It was recorded in my trial paperwork.”

He pulled out a piece of parchment and had the bailiff take it to Umbridge who hissed between her teeth, Percy who just nodded and stared at his hands clenched on the iridescent table, and then to the judges who each, individually, reviewed and verified that it was accurate and real.

“My hunt for Peter Pettigrew was authorized,” Sirius said. “I did my literal job when I could have been taking care of my godson and mourning my best mate and his wife. Absolutely nothing that I’m accused of is either a crime or anything I’m guilty of. I call for judgement and throw myself on your mercy.”

Umbridge glared at Sirius. “Sirius Black is guilty of leading You-Know-Who to James and Lily Potter’s home. Thus, he is guilty of their deaths. He is guilty of hunting Peter Pettigrew down and then killing a dozen Muggles in his attempt to kill Mr. Pettigrew. He’s guilty of escaping from Azkaban. I call for judgement as well.”

Harry reached right across Remus’ lap to grip Hermione’s offered hand. Remus didn’t object. He just wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders and held them in a gentle hug that trembled slightly.

The three ICW judges glanced at each other, then looked at Sirius, who stood stall and strong even though his fingers trembled where he’d pressed them against his iridescent table. They turned to Madame Umbridge who huffed at them as if she could intimidate them into giving her the judgement that she wanted, despite not having the evidence of it.

“It is the unanimous decision of this panel that Sirius Black is innocent of all charges,” the center judge said. He raised his voice over Madame Umbridge’s shout of “objection”. “Furthermore, it is the judgement of this panel that the Ministry of Magic maliciously and negligently failed to address even the most basic of human rights by throwing him into Azkaban without a trial. Our investigation into Sirius Black is done. Our investigation into the crimes and failures of the Ministry of Magic, Minister Fudge, Undersecretary Umbridge and Chief Warlock Dumbledore is now beginning.”

They stood and left the courtroom through the back doorway, leaving the goblin bailiffs with their armor and weapons to force Umbridge out of the courtroom even though she pitched a fit truly unbecoming right there in front of the whole audience. Who were also driven right out of the courtroom.

Well, the humans were. The goblins filed out in an orderly fashion, sneering at the witches and wizards as they passed.

Once everyone was gone, Sirius collapsed back into his seat. Harry lurched at him and hugged him desperately. Then Hermione was there chattering comments and questions as she hugged Sirius, too. Remus rested a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, his smile warmer and so much more relaxed than Harry had ever seen.

“We won,” Sirius said before laughing. “We won.”

“You won,” Remus corrected. “Come on. Let’s go home. I want to be behind wards before the news is published.”

“Oh, fuck yes,” Sirius groaned. “Let’s go.”

 

25. In the Night Sharing Thoughts: Number Nine

Harry opened his eyes.

His bedroom on the third floor of Number Twelve lurked dark and silent. He’d left the curtains on his window open. Silvery light from the moon mingled with the reflected yellow light of the streetlights outside Number Twelve.

When Harry cast a whispered tempus it was two-thirty in the morning.

At two-thirty, the burgundy curtains turned black. His bedspread, a lovely gold fuzzy thing that he’d buried his hands in the first time he’d gone to bed in this room, looked silver-grey. The slippers that Kreacher had placed exactly where his feet would land if he got out of bed, had gone from red and gold plaid into a mottled grey.

His dressing gown was a nice dark burgundy, so it went black in the night, too. Harry pulled it on and then turned the collar up to hide his neck. If he could’ve found a scarf to wrap around his face, he totally would have.

Magical houses tended to muffle snoring. Harry could hear the faintest edge of snoring coming from the second-floor guest rooms. Not Ron. Higher pitched so maybe Ginny or the twins. Sirius’ master bedroom door stayed shut as Harry slipped up the hallway to the hidden servant’s stairway to the roof.

Sneaking across the rooftop to Number Elven only took a moment, but it made Harry feel like a thief. Or a spy! He ducked down and stayed low to the rooftop so that no one who happened by would spot him.

As if anyone was going to be looking at the rooftops of Grimmauld Place at two-thirty in the morning. Still. Harry didn’t want to take risks.

Dudley sprawled over his bed in the master suite of Number Eleven. Not where he was supposed to be, but Harry’s gut had poked him as he passed the door and look, there was Dudley like his gift had poked him to be available tonight, too.

“Duds,” Harry hissed from the doorway because no, thank you, he was not going to go shake Dudley and wake him up. Effective allies and tentative friends or not, years of getting beaten up tended to leave a mark.

“Buh?” Dudley grunted before rubbing his eyes. “Finally. Thought you’d be here ages ago.”

“Yeah, no, they wouldn’t stop talking,” Harry said as he came in and flopped in the nice little armchair next to Dudley’s fireplace. “I just. I would’ve come over sooner, but I didn’t… quite trust that Sirius and Remus would let me go alone. And Molly’s being all nosy about everything, no surprise. It’s kind of crazy over there.”

Dudley huffed as he threw back the covers that’d slumped down over his legs while he slept. Aunt Petunia always called Dudley a whirling dervish while he slept. Always moving and never staying where he should be on the bed. At least that hadn’t changed.

“So where are we?” Dudley asked through the muffling fabric of his hoodie.

“Overall or going next?” Harry asked.

“Oh, we’re going to the kitchen next,” Dudley said once he’d gotten his head in the right place and his arms through the correct sleeves. “There’s treacle tart and some really good hot chocolate under a stasis spell.”

“Absolutely yes,” Harry agreed, bouncing back to his feet.

There wasn’t another soul in Number Eleven. The house was still and quiet with just the two of them. Harry frowned at Dudley, but Dudley just raised an eyebrow at him.

“Is it always like this?” Harry asked. “Just you all by yourself?”

“Yeah,” Dudley said. He shrugged. “The days are crazy enough that I don’t mind. I’m scheduled out with meetings right until next year starting at nine and going to almost seven every night. Had to specifically block out days or they’d be at me every day, all day and all night.”

Harry grumbled about that as they got their cocoa and their treacle tart. Both were still perfectly warm. Dudley pulled clotted cream from the refrigerator and laughed as Harry bounced in his seat.

“They never have cream at Hogwarts,” Harry explained as he covered his slice with the perfect coating of cream. “I never bothered asking for some. I mean, tart is good. Just better with cream.”

“Yes,” Dudley agreed with a waggle of his fork at Harry that they both grinned at because it was something that Aunt Petunia used to rage about. Such poor manners to be pointing your fork at people instead of eating with it!

Mostly while glaring at Uncle Vernon who always talked with is silverware, just like he talked with his hands. And fists.

Harry sighed. “Sirius is free.”

“Yep, and nothing’s going to change that,” Dudley confirmed as he scraped his plate and licked the fork. “Got a couple of the amendments we need in place. There should be something to keep people from being thrown in prison without a trial. And a mechanism for retrial, actual lawyers and such.”

Harry huffed. “Yes! I’ll point Sirius at that one. I think That Man is going to lose his position as the Supreme Mugwump. The ICW guys seemed pretty intent on uncovering everything he’d done. I just can’t believe he followed all the laws.”

“No freaking way.” Dudley snorted a laugh. “I don’t even need a book for that. He’s bent and broken the laws all over the place, both here and abroad.”

Harry ran a finger through the cream left on his plate, then licked it off his finger exactly as Aunt Petunia would’ve screamed at. Tasted the same as the fork, honestly, but it did leave his finger sticky, so Harry took the plates and washed them off before washing his hands.

“Will getting That Man out of the Wizengamot keep him from targeting you?” Dudley asked as he passed Harry his cocoa.

“Yeah, no,” Harry huffed. The mug warmed his palms as he sipped the rich, thick cocoa that was almost liquid chocolate instead of the vaguely powdery stuff Aunt Petunia made for Dudley. “He’d still be at Hogwarts, and he’ll still want to get at me. I’m not sure if it’s more because I’m a path to power for him, or if it’s actually because he thinks You-Know-Who isn’t gone despite all the evidence to the contrary.”

Dudley frowned as he slowly sipped his cocoa. They finished their cocoa in silence. Dudley washed the mugs up. Harry dried everything.

Then they walked together from Number Eleven through Number Ten’s library where nothing caught Dudley’s interest. Nothing jumped out at Harry, either. Number Nine’s much more massive library pulled them both in.

As Dudley slowly strolled through the section full of history books, both Magical and Muggle, Harry found himself drawn to the warded section full of Black family books. All on the darkest of Dark magic.

“What’s caught you?” Dudley called.

“Horcrux,” Harry said. He stared at the spine of the vaguely oily looking book behind glass panes. “Just that one word. I think…”

“That was you,” Dudley breathed, staring at Harry in fury. “That’s what was stuck in your scar, Harry. That Man left that thing in your scar when you were a baby! There’re books on that?”

“Mm-hm,” Harry hummed, still looking at the word. “But… Duds. I don’t get the feeling that most people know anything about them. I don’t feel like That Man knows anything about them, either. It’s… like they’re… a lure. A trick. A thing that he’s used to ensnare people in his plots, but he doesn’t actually know much about how they work.”

Dudley marched over to hold a hand out towards the book. He shut his eyes and frowned as his fingers seemed to caress something in the air. It was kind of amazing how much better Dudley was at using his Seeing gifts now that he’d been practicing so much. He didn’t actually need to touch the book to feel its echoes through time and fate.

He even let Harry feel the echoes, like ripples in a pond gently washing over Harry’s ankles as he stood on the shore.

“He does use it,” Dudley agreed quietly. “Without knowing what they really are or how to handle them. He doesn’t bloody well care. That…!”

Dudley growled as he stomped back over to the history books. Harry stayed where he was for a moment, letting the ripples Dudley had set up wash over him. It wasn’t something they could use yet, but when the time came, this was the library that they needed to confront Dumbledore in. That book, the book on horcruxes, needed to be right there.

“All right,” Dudley said from the other side of the library, “found what I was looking for. There’re rules in the Hogwarts charter that say that the teachers and administrators aren’t supposed to hold multiple jobs. They’re really damn old, though. From like the thirteen hundreds.”

“Oh, cool,” Harry said. He looked over Dudley’s shoulder and nodded. “All right. I’ll need a way to get Hermione to research that. And I’ll need to make this copy of the charter available to her so that she can find it. She’ll trace forward, probably with Remus, to see if it’s still a valid rule.”

Dudley passed the charter over to Harry with a little smirk. The thing was huge, not because it had so many pages, but because the binding was thick wooden boards covered with tooled leather. It weighed a ton. When Harry groaned about it, Dudley snickered and poked Harry in the shoulder.

“Do you some good,” Dudley said in Uncle Vernon’s pompous voice. “Build you up and give you some character.”

“Oh, Merlin’s pants,” Harry complained, “don’t make with the voice!”

Dudley laughed. Really laughed. Harry peered at him only to get one of Dudley’s meaty hands pushing his face away. Without smudging up Harry’s glasses, thankfully.

It did still bother Harry, even if Dudley was pretending to be over it.

“They don’t…?” Harry asked with the charter hugged to his chest.

“No,” Dudley sighed. He looked tired now, exhausted and worn thin instead of strong and confident the way he presented himself when anyone else was around. “They don’t. Mum’s telling people that she’s grateful that she never had any children. Dad’s bragging about his career and saying that it was a sacrifice not to have any kids, but it was worth it in the end. Lacey says that she’s gone ahead and changed the records. They never did have kids. I’m Dudley Evens now, not Dudley Dursley.”

Harry frowned at Dudley. “And… you didn’t take the chance to change your name to something else? I mean, Dudley?”

From the way Dudley laughed, he’d been asked that question about a thousand times already. It was kind of weird knowing that Lacey and Anthony spent so much more time around Dudley than Harry did. Not in a jealous way, like Ron, but more in a “how can Dudley have so much going on?” sort of way.

Up until this summer, there hadn’t exactly been much going on in Dudley’s life. Just food, bullying Harry and anyone else that stood still for it, and getting spoiled by his parents.

“I know I could change it,” Dudley agreed as he slowly walked back towards Number Eleven with Harry at his side. “Thought real hard about it. But.” He sighed. “It’s all I’ve got left of Mum and Dad, you know? Not the house. Not any of their things. There’re no pictures of me with them anymore. Lacey had to wipe them out. My school records don’t list them anymore. Still not sure I’ll even go back to Smeltings.”

“I wouldn’t,” Harry admitted.

“You thinking of dropping out of Hogwarts?” Dudley asked with a serious enough look that Harry actually thought about it instead of answering automatically.

“I…” Harry grimaced. “I’d like to. I would. It was, at the beginning of first year, it was everything beautiful and magical to me. It was safety and hope. But things changed. I kept almost dying. I’d like to drop out, do private tutoring instead. Help you with the Seeings and all. But I don’t think that I can.”

“Not while That Man’s still a threat,” Dudley agreed. He paused at the stairs up towards Number Eleven’s upper floors. “Neither of us can do what we want until he’s been dealt with.”

It was the truest thing that Dudley had ever said.

“Get the amendment on emergency powers,” Harry said.

“Get That Man out of the Supreme Mugwump,” Dudley agreed, eyes distant and just barely gleaming with magic in the darkness of the night.

“Get him out of Hogwarts,” Harry continued, “and then… break him so that he can’t ever come at us again.”

“Or at anyone else,” Dudley agreed. “One way or the other. Though the enemy be stronger in numbers, we may prevent him from fighting. Scheme so as to discover his plans and the likelihood of their success.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry breathed, smiling as he nodded grimly. “Find out everything you can from your side. I’ll see what I can get from mine. Between the two of us, we should be able to blindside him. Just as long as we can keep him from trying to probe my mind.”

The ring and the medallion would help. Avoiding Dumbledore’s eyes would help. Maybe learning Occlumency would help, too, if Harry had the time. He’d ask Sirius tomorrow. For now, though…

“Bed?” Harry suggested.

“Bed,” Dudley agreed. “Can’t wait until we get the connecting door to Number Twelve. Don’t slip while you’re up on the roof. And don’t be seen.”

“Nope,” Harry promised. “Sleep well, Duds.”

“You, too, Har,” Dudley said as they headed up the stairs side by side, parting only when Dudley headed into his bedroom.

Yeah, Harry would talk to Sirius early. The sooner they could get another amendment into the Wizengamot to limit Dumbledore’s power, the better.

 

26. Powers Clipped Like Primary Feathers: Wizengamot

Actually walking into the Wizengamot instead of listening over the wireless was so damn odd. Kreacher had nearly had the vapors over Harry’s complete lack of clothing appropriate to going to the Wizengamot. There were going to be fittings. Special trousers and shirts and a whole different robe style than the one Harry was used to.

He was not looking forward to it. Instead of his regular clothes, Harry had been stuffed into some of Sirius’ clothes that were then resized temporarily for Harry to wear. His robe was a closed version that hid everything but his cuffs and his ankles because that was safer than risking anyone seeing that he wasn’t wearing bespoke clothing.

The Wizengamot itself, was a big room with ranks of boxes and then ranks of seats for people to sit in. Harry followed Sirius who sauntered in as if he owned the whole Wizengamot, which, given that he’d won his case and been granted his freedom despite the Ministry, despite Dumbledore, despite Rita writing horrifyingly inaccurate and inappropriate articles about him, was justified. The dark wood of the boxes and seats made it way more intimidating than Harry had expected.

“Our box is over here,” Sirius murmured to Harry. “The Black family is Ancient and Noble, so we’ve had a seat for just about forever. The Potter box is up on the third level of boxes. Your family’s always been rich, but you’re not in the Ancient and Noble list so you’re higher.”

“I don’t have to do that anytime soon, do I?” Harry asked even though heads swiveled to follow the two of them as they made their way across the floor to Sirius’ first-rank box with its special little gate and two sturdy, uncomfortable looking chairs.

Sirius grinned. “No, you don’t have to take your seat until you’re twenty-five. I mean, some people do pick it up when they turn eighteen, but it’s discouraged.”

“Good,” Harry said.

Madame Longbottom swept up with her vulture hat bobbing at them and her cane hitting the hardwood floor like hammer blows. She nodded at Sirius, just a “well, I suppose you cleaned up all right after all” nod, then turned to Harry who she studied much more carefully.

“Good to see you, Heir Potter,” Madame Longbottom declared. “My Neville has told me a bit about you.”

“Oh, no,” Harry said and then swatted Sirius’ shoulder when he started cackling. “Stop it! After last year’s nonsense, I can’t imagine there was much good to be told.”

Madame Longbottom smirked. “He had good things to say. He also had some mild complaints.”

Harry grimaced. “Yeah, I figured he might. Mild complaints from Neville are kind of like a full-on lecture with charts and graphs from Hermione. I hope his Devil’s Snare is doing well, anyway. He mentioned towards the end of the year that there was something going on with it?”

“Yes, it’s doing quite well,” Madame Longbottom said, brightening and puffing up with pride just as Harry had hoped she might. “Neville’s been working on getting it to bud out, a very difficult task with Devil’s Snare, and his work paid off just at the end of the year. I’ll let him tell you all about it when you see him next.”

“Tell him congratulations for me, please,” Harry said.

Harry put enough earnestness into his request that Madame Longbottom’s stern demeanor softened into something vaguely approving. She patted his head like he was a toddler and then marched off to her box. That set off a general avalanche of people heading for their boxes, including Sirius and Harry.

The chairs were… wooden. Hard. Uncomfortable.

“Yeah, they’re awful, aren’t they?” Sirius murmured as he cast cushioning charms for both of them.

“Really bad,” Harry agreed. “Why not get better chairs?”

“Tradition,” Sirius said as Minister Fudge and Dumbledore came in muttering to each other.

Both of them glanced around the Wizengamot only to stop in their tracks as they stared at Sirius and Harry. From the way Fudge gasped and wheezed, they hadn’t expected Sirius to leap straight into politics or for him to draw Harry into it, too.

Dumbledore frowned at Harry and Sirius in that way that made Harry’s gut scream about threats, mind-reading and thank bloody hell that he had the rings, and the charm, and Dumbledore still wasn’t actually meeting his eyes.

“We’re not going to stand here waiting all day, Chief Warlock,” an older woman with a sour, annoyed look said while prodding Dumbledore’s sparkly blue robe with shooting stars on it right in the middle of his back. With her wand, no less.

“Madame Forth,” Dumbledore huffed as he started moving again, “there’s no need to resort to your wand.”

“As if I want to risk that monstrosity you’ve spelled onto your robes infecting mine,” Madame Forth replied.

Neither of them spoke loudly but Harry still heard them clearly. He turned to Sirius who raised an eyebrow. The whole Wizengamot stopped watching Dumbledore and Fudge settling down at their dais. Madame Forth has her own table which had a huge ledger and four different ink pots with their own individual quills.

“The sound just carries like that?” Harry asked in a murmur that obviously carried throughout the room.

“Mm-hmm,” Sirius agreed. “It’s spelled that way. Once the door shuts, everyone can hear everyone unless there’s a silencing protocol imposed.”

“…Oh,” Harry nodded. “I’ll just be very quiet then.”

Sirius wasn’t the only one who laughed. The vast majority of the laughter was kind enough. Lucius sneered. So did a man who looked remarkably like an older version of Draco’s minion Goyle.

Dumbledore frowned. Like a kid deciding not to speak up when literally everyone in the room and everyone over the Wireless would hear whatever he said. The man had gotten so old that he didn’t remember what being a teenager was like. Clearly.

The opening of the Wizengamot consisted of Madame Forth reading a whole bunch of notes from the previous session. Dumbledore frowned disapprovingly at each of the recounted votes on amending laws while Fudge looked like he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open.

Then there was a review of arrests and prosecutions from Madame Bones, reports from the various department heads including Arthur Weasley who was sitting in for his boss who was home taking care of his newborn son during a minor bout of Bowtruckle Flu. Budget information that Harry almost fell asleep over, an incredibly tedious and long-winded report from someone who said they were from the Department of Records.

Oddly, everyone from Dumbledore on down listened intently to everything the Department of Records guy had to say, even though it was dry as dust. Harry couldn’t even remember what he looked like or what he’d talked about after the man sat down.

Finally, Madame Forth turned a page in her ledger.

“New business,” Madame Forth said. “Any more exciting amendments to consider?”

“I do believe we’ve—” Dumbledore smiled like a grandfather about to give his little grandchild a treat even though his eyes had gone hard and flinty.

“Yes,” Sirius said, standing up. He stared Dumbledore down in the suddenly tense silence. “I do have a proposal for an amendment. One that I think everyone will understand is rather personally important to me.”

“My dear boy,” Dumbledore slowly said, shaking his head as if to discourage Sirius from continuing. “Perhaps we can discuss it privately?”

Sirius stared right at Dumbledore, nodded his head and then continued when Dumbledore relaxed. “My proposed amendment is to strip emergency powers out of our laws. No one, no matter what the threat, should be able to summarily throw people in prison or execute them. My lawyers have found forty-two other cases where people were imprisoned, tortured or killed all without even having charges filed against them. I was lucky. I survived. None of the other forty-two victims did. We cannot, as a civilized society, allow a handful of desperate, panicky men strip our rights from us.”

Harry expected an eruption of shouting. People leaping to their feet, waving their arms and threatening both Sirius and Dumbledore to get them to do what they wanted.

None of that happened.

Instead, the Wizengamot was silent enough to hear when the scratch of Madame Forth’s quill stopped. Dumbledore’s breath whistled through his flaring nostrils as he glared at Sirius.

“What happened then was a tragedy,” Dumbledore said.

“I’m glad you agree,” Sirius replied before Dumbledore could say anything else. “I call for a vote since the Chief Warlock agrees with me that this cannot happen again.”

Dumbledore stiffened, straightening up as if he intended to stand and demand that everyone stop. But it was too late. Madame Longbottom seconded. Lucius called for the vote to happen immediately, eyes locked onto Dumbledore as he smiled with grim delight.

The vote was (nearly) unanimous.

Only Dumbledore abstained. Even Fudge voted for Sirius’ amendment. Except it wasn’t really an amendment, which Harry wasn’t sure anyone other than Dumbledore got at the moment.

Sirius had the Wizengamot vote to remove a legal provision from the code entirely.

Off in Number Nine, Dudley, Lacey and Anthony had to be having a party. Hermione must be screaming in excitement right now. She, of anyone at Number Twelve, would understand how momentous this was.

The Wizengamot? They settled down and listened as three other people advanced amendments for more minor things.

Goyle’s dad put forth an amendment to the tax laws that would have made it illegal for taxes to be levied on the sale of non-entailed family goods after a death in the family. It was voted down soundly. A woman that Harry didn’t recognize and didn’t dare open his mouth to ask about proposed an amendment to make it legal for housewives to earn potions masteries even if they’d been out of schooling for decades. It passed and Harry boggled that it hadn’t been legal already. And Amelia proposed a very sensible amendment to the laws governing arrests that Aurors were not allowed to beat up their suspects to get them to confess.

“Really?” Harry blurted. “That’s legal?”

“Sadly, yes, Mr. Potter,” Amelia said with a sigh. “I’m rather tired of reminding my aurors that they are required to abide by the laws of the Commonwealth. Thus, having it codified on our side.”

“Wow,” Harry said, shaking his head in dismay.

It passed.

Dumbledore abstained.

He abstained on every single amendment. Each time, he looked at the members of the Wizengamot as if he was disappointed in them for acting like unruly children messing up the things their elders had created. Actually, Harry kind of thought that was exactly what Dumbledore felt.

Everyone else was a child, foolish and immature. They couldn’t be trusted to know the right thing to do, so it was up to him to arrange them where they needed to be and make them do what was “right”.

Dumbledore’s version of right very much did not agree with Harry’s.

Eventually, several hours later, people ran out of things to talk about. Madame Forth reported that she’d recorded everything. Fudge officiously tapped his hammer against his bench and declared the decisions made during the session to be final and approved by the Ministry. The doors opened and people began to gossip.

“That went well,” Sirius said brightly as he waved for Harry to follow him. “Two conversations and we’re heading home.”

“All right,” Harry said even though he really, really, really wanted to head straight home, no conversations or questions or interacting with people.

Sirius forged straight through the crowd towards Amelia who nodded when he got close. He pulled out a piece of parchment which he passed over to Amelia. She raised one forbidding eyebrow before opening it.

“Ah, all the laws and regulations that have “emergency powers” in them,” Amelia said. “Thank you. This should make our work simpler.”

“There are a lot of places where the Wizengamot gave people emergency powers,” Sirius said as Dumbledore bore down on the two of them like a dreadnaught coming for two tiny rowboats.

The shooting stars on his sapphire blue robes set off actual sparks with each of Dumbledore’s strides. People got out of his way as if he terrified them. Both Sirius and Amelia ignored his approach, though Harry saw Amelia’s lips thin, and Sirius’ smile took on that particularly brittle quality that made him look a half-second away from snapping.

“How do you make actual sparks?” Harry asked as soon as Dumbledore got close. “I don’t understand. It’s just a spell to make the robe look nice, but you’re making actual sparks as you walk.”

Dumbledore’s steps faltered for just a moment. Then he huffed a little laugh before smiling tightly at Harry.

“There’s a special trick to it, my dear boy,” Dumbledore said. “You add a second spell after the first is established.”

“That,” Harry said, peering left and then right without ever meeting Dumbledore’s eyes, “is cool. I wonder if Hermione knows those spells. Can you use them on, oh, curtains? Or blankets? I’d love to have a golden snitch flying around on my blanket.”

To Harry’s surprise, Sirius’ breath hitched. He turned and then started because both Amelia and Sirius had tears in their eyes.

“What?” Harry asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Ah, Lily charmed your baby blanket with a golden snitch,” Amelia said. She took off her monocle and polished it to cover for her very obvious emotions.

“You loved that blanket as a baby,” Sirius agreed. He laughed shakily as he dashed his tears away before they could fall. “Have no idea what happened to the blanket, but we can experiment when we get home.”

Dumbledore sighed. When Harry turned back his way, Dumbledore looked old and tired and very sad.

“I… we wrapped you in that blanket when we delivered you to your family,” Dumbledore said in a sad, soft, almost gentle voice, even though his eyes didn’t twinkle as much as glitter.

“Ah,” Harry said. “Well, I guess my aunt got rid of it then. Anyway, are we heading home, Sirius?”

“Yeah, Prongslet,” Sirius said. He clapped Harry’s shoulder and nodded to Dumbledore. “Let’s head home. If you have any questions on the list, just send an owl, Amelia.”

“I will, Lord Black,” Amelia replied, all stiff and stern and disapproving for his informality.

Skittering off away from her let them escape from Dumbledore who was, probably, the conversation that Sirius thought they would be having. Harry felt no guilt at all for bombing that conversation before it could happen. Dumbledore was still trouble. He was a huge, awful threat. Talking to him was a bad idea, in public or privately.

“Did I really have a golden snitch blanket as a baby?” Harry asked once they’d flooed back to Number Twelve.

“You really did,” Sirius said. “Used to fall asleep on it after patting at the snitch like you wanted to catch it. Lily added a little fillip to the spell so that if you actually managed to grab the snitch, the animation stopped. You’d grip that bit of the blanket and cling to it even in your sleep. Cutest thing in the world, I swear.”

Yeah, Harry was going to learn Dumbledore’s animation spells, specifically so he could use them to make a new golden snitch blanket. And maybe, as a prank, to put prancing grims on Sirius’ pants. Knowing Sirius, he’d wear them proudly after laughing himself sick. Totally worth it.

If he could get the time to learn the spell once everyone realized just what Sirius had gotten past them.

Once the public realized that a magical law had been removed entirely from the legal code, all hell was going to break loose. Harry wasn’t looking forward to it at the same time he totally was. So many laws that needed to go away.

If only they could get Dumbledore out of the way and the Wizengamot on their side.

 

27. Rising Tides Sinking Enemy Boats: Number Twelve

Three days.

The howlers had started arriving before dinner that night. Then letters and people floo calling so continuously that Sirius locked down the floo to only people on a specific list. Rita Skeeter just about lost her mind in her articles, going on and on about how Sirius was utterly mad and trying to undermine the entire structure of western civilization, starting with Magical Britain.

So, of course, the Wizengamot had to come back and debate the entire thing. The phrase “dead horse” went through Harry’s head more than a few times over the next three days.

It took three days of sixteen hours nonstop debate before Sirius’ law removal went up for a confirmation vote. Hermione had, on day two, switched over to a Quick Notes quill to make sure she got everything. Probably wise. After the Wizengamot recessed for the night, she’d had to soak her hand in Epsom salts because it hurt so much.

Madame Longbottom had a fiery speech that was printed in full in the Daily Prophet. Harry’s heart had been about to leap up out of his throat by the time she was done. He and Ron had exchanged amazed looks. No wonder Neville was always so hesitant. He’d grown up with that woman lecturing him. Harry would’ve been a mouse, too, if it’d been him.

Lucius had given a sly, mean little speech that actually supported Sirius’ “amendment”. Another point in Hermione’s Imperious theory, though Lucius certainly had reasons not to be subject to emergency powers, too.

Dumbledore had sighed sadly as he directed everyone to vote. “Do remember that your decision today will have grave consequences for everyone. I hope that we will all vote for the greater good, rather than individual greed and fear.”

Harry didn’t throw the Wireless across the room. Barely.

It passed. By six votes, but it passed. Something shifted in Harry’s gut when the final count was read. Another brick in the wall that kept Dumbledore in power was gone. Another obstacle that blocked Hermione and Harry and every other Muggleborn or Muggle-raised kid from living a good life. And, better still, Amelia announced that the Aurors were going through all the records of people remanded to Azkaban to make sure that they’d all been given proper trials.

Molly had broken into tears. Sirius had cheered and thrust his fist into the sky multiple times, much to the reporter’s amusement. Remus sighed and relaxed back in his chair as if he was a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Dumbledore showed up three days after the vote in the early afternoon as Molly and Sirius plotted out a series of parties to draw a new voting coalition together that would focus on more amendments to make the laws more equitable.

“My dear boy,” Dumbledore said as he came out of the floo room. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, good,” Harry said. He stared at the vividly yellow robe with its little green budgies flying all over it. “How do you get that shade of yellow? I’ve never seen that shade of yellow on fabric before.”

Dumbledore brightened up as he brushed his hands over his robes. “Ah, there’s a special spell that I use when I animate the designs. It brightens everything quite nicely. The standard animation spells mute the colors quite dramatically. It takes a good bit of work to get colors this brilliant.”

“Wow,” Harry said, blinking and then shaking his head. “I mean, if you like it? I think I’d want to avoid making it quite that bright, but then I’m much more a jewel tone person. Did you need someone in particular or were you just visiting?”

“Ah, I was hoping to speak to Sirius and Molly, actually,” Dumbledore said. He studied something just beyond Harry’s left shoulder instead of meeting his eyes.

“Oh sure,” Harry said, pointing towards the green drawing room. It was one of the little ones that really only had a love seat, two small armchairs and a coffee table to it. “They’re plotting some parties or something.”

Dumbledore frowned. For one fleeting instant, his eyes met Harry’s. There was the faintest sense of pressure against Harry’s eyes, but it disappeared as soon as Dumbledore turned to the green drawing room. Not much of a stab so it didn’t seem to set off Harry’s rings or the charm. Surprising. Harry had expected Dumbledore to exploit the chance as soon as he got it.

“Parties?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry shrugged. “Yeah. Mrs. Weasley had some idea about drawing people together through the power of tea parties or something. I don’t know. I’ve never been to a tea party in my life. Sirius thinks it’s a great idea, though, so they’re planning stuff out together.”

“…Why?” Dumbledore asked with a fiercely disapproving frown.

Not pointed at Harry. He was so focused on the door to the green drawing room that Harry kind of thought that he’d forgotten that Harry was even there. Still, Harry shrugged, recapturing Dumbledore’s attention.

“Politics, I think,” Harry said. “Sirius said something about voting blocks at breakfast this morning, but it didn’t make sense to me.”

Total lie, but it was the sort of thing that Dumbledore wanted to hear. Dumbledore sucked a sharp breath between his teeth before huffing as if he was infuriated that anyone could even think of building a voting block that didn’t include him.

“Oh, you’re here,” Hermione said from the stairs. “Excellent. I have some questions for you, sir. There were some points in the debate about the amendments that I didn’t quite catch. Do you have time to go over them with me?”

Dumbledore’s smile went brittle enough that Hermione stopped on the last step with her notes clutched to her chest. “I’m afraid not, Miss Granger. If you will please excuse me?”

He marched into the green drawing room, firmly shutting the door behind him, before Hermione could do more than nod hesitantly. Harry grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck, letting Hermione step carefully to his side. She acted like she was afraid that she was going to be slapped if she said the wrong thing.

Fair. Dumbledore had kind of slapped her down.

“I think he’s a little stressed out,” Harry offered. “I mean, there has been a lot going on.”

“I know,” Hermione murmured against the upper edge of her stack of notes and books. Her knuckles had gone white from the ferocity of her grip on them. “He just… he never has time to answer questions, Harry. What kind of teacher never has time for kids’ questions?”

Harry shrugged. “A headmaster who doesn’t teach anymore? He’s more of an administrator, I would think. Especially with all the other stuff he does for the ICW and the Wizengamot. I don’t think he’s actually taught lessons for decades. He’s gotta be out of practice.”

“Uh…” Hermione frowned like that was a stupid thought only to scowl at the door to the green drawing room. “No. Actually, that’s a good point. He isn’t a teacher, is he?”

“You can always ask Remus,” Harry suggested. “He might’ve gotten driven out but he’s the best teacher we had. If he doesn’t know, he’d probably be willing to help you research whatever you don’t get.”

Hermione finally brightened and relaxed her death grip on her notes. “That’s a great idea. Thank you, Harry.”

He opened his mouth to say no problem, only to freeze as Molly flung the door open.

“No!” Molly shouted at Dumbledore. “Absolutely not! You’ve no right and no authority to be telling either Sirius or I that we can’t do it, Albus.”

Doors opened around them, both on the main floor and upstairs. Harry licked his lips and gently pushed Hermione towards one of the drawing rooms. He really didn’t want to be in the hallway, not when Molly could start firing off hexes at any moment. Dumbledore didn’t have his wand in his hand, but his fingers had curled as if at any moment his wand might just drop into his hand, ready for him to fight back.

“It’s not the parties themselves I object to, Molly,” Dumbledore said entirely too stiffly.

“Don’t,” Molly said, low and mean with her wand at the ready in her right hand. “Every one of us knows that you are the reason that those wills were not executed. You are the reason that my family has been in a feud with the Malfoy’s for generations despite there being no cause for it. You are the one who’s ruined my children’s education, stifled my husband’s career, and seen to it that poor Sirius still hadn’t gotten a trial for more than a decade. You were the only one who fought the ICW on getting him that trial. If you won’t take action to make the world a better place, then I will, and you will not get in my way!”

“The Greater Good—” Dumbledore took a sharp step back, impacting with the door to the green drawing room, when Molly’s wand shot sparks.

“The greater good would be better served with a man who didn’t play games with people’s lives and livelihoods!” Molly bellowed.

“I ah, think you had best leave, Dumbledore,” Sirius said.

Harry couldn’t see him, but the “what can you do?” tone was perfectly clear. He shoved Hermione through the closest door which turned out to be a broom closet. She didn’t fight him. If anything, Hermione cringed against the back wall of the closet, hiding behind her books and notes as Dumbledore stormed past the closet in a flutter of painfully bright yellow silk.

A moment later, the floo roared and Dumbledore announced “Hogwarts”. Harry waited for the floo to die down, then poked his head out of the closet.

Molly stood in the doorway of the green drawing room with Sirius patting her shoulder cautiously. Her wand wasn’t throwing sparks anymore, but the way Molly glared made him think that it could start up again any second.

The twins peered over the railing up on the second floor, eyes wide. Ginny’s eyebrows had crawled right up to her hairline where she half-hid in the servants’ stairwell.

Harry jerked his head to Hermione. She nodded and followed him as he scurried over to Ginny who let them both squeeze past. The three of them snuck upstairs, climbing carefully so that the stairs wouldn’t creak or give them away.

Ron and the twins were waiting in the library when they got there. So was Bill who looked as shocked as any of his siblings. Remus stood at the library door, wand at the ready as if he expected to have an army come charging up the grand staircase after them all.

“Dumbledore left,” Harry told Remus. “In a snit, but he left. I heard him say he was going back to Hogwarts.”

Remus huffed a little sigh, relaxing ever so slightly. “That’s good. What in the world happened?”

“He showed up to talk to Sirius and Mrs. Weasley,” Harry reported, closing the library door very quietly. “He didn’t like that they were planning parties and politics. Apparently, he went and, I don’t know? Tried to tell Mrs. Weasley that she couldn’t have the parties? Or something? She got really mad, which you guys heard.”

“Is it true?” Hermione asked Remus. “Is he the reason that Sirius was on the run for so long?”

Remus grimaced as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah. Yes. I’m afraid that Dumbledore didn’t believe that it was a good idea to bring Sirius’ innocence up with things so unsettled.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Hermione squawked loudly enough that everyone else, Harry included, winced. “Sorry. I’m just… I thought he was a great man, that he was leading us all in a good direction.”

“Well, it’s a good direction for him,” Harry said, shrugging when everyone stared at him. “He’s got Hogwarts and he’s Chief Warlock and he’s the Supreme Mugwump. It’s worked out really well for Dumbledore. Not so much for everyone else, though.”

Predictably, that fired Hermione right up. She started spluttering about responsibility and duty and not taking advantage while dragging Remus right over to the worktable so that she could ask all her questions and actually get answers.

Ginny moved that way, cautiously because they all knew what Hermione got like when she had questions that she was frustrated on. The twins joined her in the careful creep over. Ron did not. He stayed in his comfortably squashy armchair on the far side of the room with his comic book.

Bill licked his lips as he came to Harry’s side. “Trouble?”

“Eh.” Harry grimaced. “No more or less trouble than before. Just different shapes, I guess. Your mom almost blasted Dumbledore though. It was kind of awesome. He took a big step back and ran right into the door of the green drawing room.”

“Really?” Bill said, smile blooming as he perked up. “Well. Mum’s always been a powerful dueler. I wouldn’t want to go up against her, either.”

“Me neither,” Harry agreed. He considered what his gut thought about it all and hummed quietly. “She’s not going to give in. Dumbledore lost an ally when he ensured that the wills weren’t executed properly. And more importantly, she’s going to gather as many allies as she can to stop Dumbledore entirely.”

Bill sucked a breath between his teeth. He nodded slowly, staring at the library door instead of at Harry.

“Yeah, makes sense,” Bill agreed. “I’d recommend staying up here for a while.”

“Good plan,” Harry said. “I think I’ll ask Kreacher for some food. Get some studying done. Stay out of sight for a while.”

Bill laughed and patted Harry’s shoulder before slipping out of the library and heading towards the stairs. Good for him. If he wanted to confront his mum, he was free to do that. Harry was more than happy to stay out of the line of fire for a while.

 

28. Danger Walks in For Detailed Discussions: Number Twelve

Summer had less than a month left. So much had changed already that Harry could barely believe it. All the things that had happened since Dudley dragged Harry into his bedroom at Number Four that it felt like the summer had lasted approximately eighty years.

Just a couple of weeks. Harry sighed as he pushed his golden-snitch-covered blankets back and shuffled into his bathroom. Yeah, a lot had happened, but having a private bedroom and his own bathroom was never gonna stop being amazing.

By the time Harry got dressed and shuffled his way down to the drawing room that Kreacher had declared as the breakfast room, Sirius and Remus were both up. They had their heads together with Molly, so obviously they were already working on the endless parties that loomed over Harry’s head.

His head. Not everyone’s. Not even Sirius was going to attend every single party Molly had outlined. Harry was, because he was the Boy-Who-Lived and it was expected.

Of all the things that Dumbledore had done to Harry, the Boy-Who-Lived nonsense was the worst of it all.

Ron raised an eyebrow when Harry flopped into a chair opposite him with a scowl to fix his customary morning cup of tea with half the cup filled with milk. When Harry’s bad mood didn’t evaporate during the process of adding six sugar cubes, both of Ron’s eyebrows went up.

“Mate, what’s up with you?” Ron asked. He pushed the plate of bacon closer on the obvious theory that bacon makes everything better.

“Parties,” Harry grumbled.

“Hey, at least you get to go to all of them,” Ron scoffed.

“Get?” Harry snapped at him before crunching his way through three slices of bacon and then a properly just off of burnt slice of toast with a light smear of butter. “There’s no “get”. I have to attend them all. Every single one. One day there’s gonna be a party in the morning, another at lunch and then a third one in the evening that’s probably going to last until nearly the next morning. That’s not “get”. That’s misery, mate. You want to come with me? I’ll ask and insist that I can’t do it without you.”

“Do not include me,” Hermione said as she plopped next to Harry and began doctoring her tea with one sugar cube and a squeeze of lemon like the crazy person she was. “I’ve got far too much research to do.”

Harry would’ve kept right on ranting through the twins and Ginny arriving, but the front door boomed with a knock that startled Harry. Almost knocked Sirius fight off his chair. He stared towards the drawing room door without getting up.

“Master,” Kreacher said, appearing with barely a whisper of sound to his pop, “there is being Hit Wizards Musashi and Cygnus to be talking to you.”

“Oh!” Sirius said. “Right, yeah. I forgot that they were coming over today. Have them join us, Kreacher.”

Maybe not the best decision that Sirius could have made if Molly’s huffing outrage was anything to judge by. But then she never wanted Harry or any of the kids to learn anything important, especially things that she deemed “too adult”.

Like Harry hadn’t been destined from before birth to kill Voldemort. Seriously, sometimes her choices were so weird.

Musashi and Cygnus were still dark and dangerous. They sucked all the air out of the room as soon as they walked in. Even Molly’s huffing stopped as she froze, staring at them wide-eyed. The only person who managed to look relaxed was Sirius and honestly, he mostly looked like he wasn’t fully awake yet.

“Lord Black,” Musashi said, nodding to Sirius, “thank you for allowing us to ask you some questions. Did you want to move to a more private location?”

“Nah,” Sirius said over Molly’s immediate objection. “No, stop that, Molly. They just want to ask questions about how I survived Azkaban and how I escaped. The more… sensitive issues have already been addressed.”

“The ICW is considering taking action on the Dementor issue,” Cygnus agreed.

He did not, even slightly, nod to Molly. Instead, he narrowed his eyes at her as if he’d cataloged every single thing about Molly from her hair to her skirt to the color of her freckles on her cheeks. No surprise, Molly blanched for the look and promptly set to making up plates for the two of them.

Neither Musashi nor Cygnus drank the tea or ate the food Molly pushed at them.

Molly didn’t attempt to bully them into eating or drinking.

“Could you detail how you escaped from Azkaban?” Musashi asked.

“Sure,” Sirius said, stirring his tea and then setting the spoon aside with the sort of precision that Aunt Petunia pulled out during tea parties. “It actually wasn’t that difficult, but only because I’m an Animagus. Well, also because I was thoroughly emaciated. Prisoners only get one meal a day. There were… significant numbers of days where we didn’t even get that much.”

Hermione promptly bristled at the sheer thought of prisoners being treated so inhumanely. Amusingly, Cygnus looked just as offended as Hermione. They took notes with the same speed and ferocity, while Musashi kept Sirius chatting away despite how emotional and painful it all was.

There was a kind of pattern to their questioning that Harry only realized the third time Musashi looped back to the Dementors and how they moved around Azkaban. A soft question that let Sirius laugh or joke, then asking something leading off of Sirius last statement, followed by an expression of sympathy or anger on his behalf. Then Musashi would ask about the Dementors again.

“You… think that they’re not really trapped there, don’t you?” Harry asked after the fourth round.

Both Musashi and Cygnus stared at Harry, eyes just a hair wider than normal.

Sirius snorted. “Of fucking course they’re not bloody trapped on Azkaban. The Ministry can send them off across the countryside anytime they want. Just have to fill out a form and get it signed by the Undersecretary and whoosh, off they go.”

“…Wow,” Harry said. “You mean that horrible pink woman? What’s her name? Um-something.”

“Umbridge,” Cygnus confirmed. “Unfortunately, we have no proof that the Dementors actually have been sent on Ministry orders, or we’d already have eliminated them.”

Harry sat there as the questions looped onwards, listening to his gut screaming and running in circles instead of to what was being said.

He could get Umbridge arrested. He could. It was obvious. If she was the one who signed off on Dementors getting sent off to attack people, then she was the one who approved the Dementors who’d drifted up Privet Drive towards Number Four.

But if he got Umbridge taken out then the blame wouldn’t fall anywhere near Dumbledore. She wasn’t associated with Dumbledore, so Dumbledore would come out free and clear.

But… he could take out Umbridge.

That felt so very important. If only Harry knew why.

Well, understanding would have to wait. Musashi and Cygnus needed to know about Umbridge’s usage of the Dementors to try and kill Harry, even if it had been a total failure.

“You’d make a good hit witch,” Cygnus was saying when Harry finally started paying attention again. He and Hermione were busy comparing their notes to make sure they hadn’t missed anything. “Attention to detail and a quick mind are the most important things a hit witch or wizard needs.”

“I though it involved dueling and hunting people down.” Hermione frowned at her notes, biting her lip hard enough that it went white. “I don’t want to do that.”

Cygnus waved one hand, dismissing both Hermione’s worries and Molly’s outrage on the other side of the table. “There are hit witches and wizards who do that, but most of us are investigators. Auditors and detectives. Researchers are… very common. You truly would do well.”

“Huh,” Hermione said much more thoughtfully. “Is there anything that I can read on how it works? I’d like to know what the educational requirements are.”

“We’ll send you information,” Musashi promised with an approving smile and a nod. “I think we have everything we need.”

“Um…” Harry hesitated when all the eyes in the room turned to him. “I… kind of don’t know if this is significant, but early in the summer, a few days before I was brought here, I was outside in the evening and two cloaked figures sort of… drifted… up Privet Drive.”

He wiggled his fingers to try to indicate that slow, threatening prowl the Dementors did. From the puzzled frown on Molly’s face, she didn’t get it. Everyone else, from Musashi and Cygnus on down to Ron, looked utterly horrified.

“Harry!” Hermione gasped as she grabbed her wand as if she was going to cast diagnostics on him. “Are you all right? Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Harry shrugged, patting her arm to keep her from scanning him. After all the healing he’d gotten, she’d get very different results than the last time she did it back at Hogwarts and he really did not want to answer those questions right now.

“They didn’t do anything,” Harry said. “They just sort of drifted away. Floated up the street, looked around, and then flew off again. Dumbledore’s always said that there were wards of some sort on my Aunt and Uncle’s house. I just assumed that they were responsible for sending them packing.”

Musashi opened his mouth only to slowly close it while frowning at Harry. “Would you consent to a detailed scan?”

“Only in private,” Harry said so promptly that Hermione and Molly both huffed at him. “No. Everyone in the entire Wizarding world seems to think that they get to be all up in my business. I get to say no on this. Medical information is private. None of you, other than Sirius of course, are family.”

Despite Molly’s huffing and Hermione’s protests that she was utterly reliable, Musashi and Cygnus exchanged looks. In very short order, they were up on the third floor, listening to Molly complaining about not getting to supervise and Hermione grumble about keeping secrets. Remus, thankfully, had stayed on the first floor in a vain attempt to keep Molly and Hermione from blowing their stacks. Poor guy. Ron had fled the instant he could.

Harry’s gut prodded him.

More. He needed to give them more. Not just that the Dementors had come after. Not just that he’d escaped. He needed…

…to introduce them to Dudley.

Yeah.

“This way,” Harry told Musashi and Cygnus. “You’ve some information that you’re missing. If you don’t have that, you won’t be able to take effective action.”

Musashi frowned. “Unless you can get us an interview at the drop of a hat with that new Seer, I doubt there’s anything we’re missing.”

Harry smiled. “Exactly. Come along now.”

Sirius went white.

Cygnus sucked a sharp breath between his teeth as he pushed Musashi into motion, both of them marching after Harry like they were ready to go to war. Honestly, they probably were. Harry got the feeling that they were the Kill Things and Ask Questions Later sort of Hit Wizards, not the Research It All sort like they’d described to Hermione.

Either way, Sirius followed along behind as Harry led them up to the roof, across to Number Eleven, and then down to the library where Dudley was studying maps of… Islington. Huh.

“You’re a bit late,” Dudley commented. “Expected you half an hour ago.”

“Molly and Hermione pitched a fit about me being scanned for Dementor damage without them present,” Harry explained. “Hit Wizards Musashi and Cygnus, meet the Seer Judoka. Seer Judoka, meet the Hit Wizards Musashi and Cygnus, who’re here to ask Sirius questions about the Dementors. I brought up the Dementors that came up Privet Drive.”

Dudley straightened and stared at Musashi for a long moment, then at Cygnus. “Interesting. Very well. What do you gentlemen what to know from the Seers Evans?”

Harry perched on the table and swung one leg, deeply and profoundly amused as the wariness transmuted into shock and then a sort of guarded glee that felt like delight and looked like someone was going to die.

Yeah, this was exactly what needed to happen, not that Harry had any clue why.

 

29. Distant Visions Prompt Threatening Magic: Number Eleven

Dudley loomed at Harry’s shoulder, broad as a barn and apparently ready to give his all protecting Harry from literal Hit Wizards if his clenched fists were anything to judge by. Harry tapped his wrist with an elbow, making Dudley huff and side-eye Harry.

They weren’t a threat. Harry’s gut was utterly convinced that Musashi and Cygnus were not threats.

At least, not to the Seers Evans.

To Dumbledore? Oh, yeah. Harry’s gut purred with satisfaction at the idea of setting the ICW and teams of hit wizards on Dumbledore’s heels. Though it did feel ever so slightly like overkill.

“You’re sure?” Dudley asked.

Both of them ignored the rising confusion on Sirius’ pale face. And the more covert confusion on Cygnus. Musashi just openly frowned at them; head cocked to the side as he studied the two of them.

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed. “They’re not threats to us. Not anymore. And they are threats to That Man if we point them in the right direction.”

“Who is… “That Man”?” Cygnus asked as he pulled out a fountain pen and the notebook he’d been using all morning.

“No notes,” Harry ordered. “That Man is what we call a significant figure in British Wizarding politics that we know is a threat to me specifically, and us, more generally. He’s… Well. That’s why you’re here. This room, specifically.”

“…Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump and Headmaster?” Cygnus asked after a long moment of silence that had Sirius sweating in the background.

“Exactly,” Harry agreed with his terrible-cheerful smile. “That’s the one.”

“Stop it,” Dudley groaned, pushing Harry right off the edge of the table. “I hate it when you make that face.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I do it. Always makes people twitch.”

Anthony showed up with contracts just about that point, shaking his head at Harry and Dudley as he passed them over to Musashi and Cygnus. Unlike most everyone else who’d gotten the contracts, Musashi and Cygnus scanned the contracts for any hidden text or spells and then edited them.

“That’s a first,” Dudley said as he sprawled on the sofa facing them.

“They are Hit Wizards,” Harry said from his perch on the arm of the sofa. “I’m sure there are things that would supersede the contract.”

“Not many things,” Musashi said once he was done. “We must report back to our superiors on everything we discuss. We will swear oaths not to tie your names to your identities as the Seers Evans. We will also swear oaths not to reveal to anyone but our direct supervisor that there are two Seers, not one.”

“It’s probably as good as you’re going to get,” Anthony said once he’d read the changes over.

Dudley took the contracts, just holding them in his hands as he let his eyes slide mostly shut. The air went heavy and liquid around them all which sent Sirius to leaning against the wall and panting. Musashi went very still while Cygnus cursed under his breath.

“That will work,” Dudley said, opening his eyes and passing them back to Anthony to formalize. “It won’t be for too long. Probably no later than Halloween. Sooner if we can get everything fixed.”

He didn’t release his power. Dudley let it spill outwards, filling the room to buoy Harry and him up while Anthony, Sirius, Musashi and Cygnus all struggled not to drown in it. Well, not Musashi and Cygnus. They seemed to be “swimming” fairly well. Must be the Hit Wizard training.

Harry breathed in, then held it for a moment, before letting the air sigh out of his lungs. He smiled at Musashi and Cygnus, relaxed in a way he hadn’t expected.

There was something… really nice… about just letting this side of his magic out. It felt like breathing fully for the first time in ages, like that moment when Duds and his buddy Piers would get off of Harry after Harry Hunting was done.

Air and relaxation and relief.

“You had questions about the Dementors,” Harry said. “Umbridge has to be the one who sent Dementors to Privet Drive. That Man is the one who put rather nasty enslavement runes on Number Four. He’s the one who put me in that house. He’s the one who sent me back, over and over again, despite the abuse he knew I was subjected to.”

“He believed, rightly,” Dudley said when Cygnus straightened up with a glare like he wanted to be out there hexing people’s bollocks off, “that my associate was destined by Fate and Prophecy to kill You-Know-Who. That’s been done.”

“It’s been done for a couple of weeks,” Harry interjected. “Without ever having to see or touch him or any of his things.”

“Unfortunately, That Man’s grip on power will weaken if he doesn’t keep my associate under his thumb,” Dudley continued with a nod to Harry. “We’re determined to change that. He’s sculpted Magi culture around the world to fit his prejudices and preconceptions. He’s harmed both of us, personally. A Prophet might see the One True Future. We don’t. We see possibilities. We pick and choose to get what we See as the best for everyone.”

“That Man out of power in every place he has control is best for not just us, but everyone else, too,” Harry said.

Cygnus leaned back in his chair, scowling still. He shook his head when Musashi glanced his way. Harry snorted under his breath when Musashi put on that same gregarious smile and turned it towards both Harry and Dudley.

“It must be difficult—” Musashi started only to snap his mouth shut when the water-weight of the room intensified dramatically.

“This is not an interview,” Harry said because Dudley was too busy glowering. “You have a chance to ask one question—”

“Each,” Dudley interrupted grumpily.

“Each,” Harry confirmed. “Stop wasting it. Mrs. Weasley and Hermione are waiting and getting more worried by the moment.”

Musashi’s head went back as he jerked his hand at Cygnus.

“Fine,” Cygnus said. “What’s the price?”

Dudley smiled, not letting up on the pressure a bit. Whatever he Saw in the two of them, Harry’s gut didn’t see it. Well, not really. They clearly didn’t take either Harry or Dudley seriously, but that was understandable. They were kids, emancipated or not.

“Normally, we demand absolute honesty,” Dudley said. “You get one question. We get one question. Not this time. You’ve nothing we need to know. Instead the price is the… What’re they called again?”

Harry snickered. “The ICW.”

“Right, them,” Dudley said, waving a hand at Harry dismissively. “The price is the ICW removing That Man from any positions of power he has among them.”

“And checking on the results of every single policy he put in place,” Harry agreed, wagging a finger at Dudley. “Not enough to remove him if we let all his nonsense stay.”

“Good one,” Dudley agreed.

You would’ve thought that they’d just given Cygnus the keys to a zippy sports car and told him that he was immune to speeding tickets and crashing for life from the way he perked right up. Musashi’s jaw dropped open, but he didn’t look much less delighted than Cygnus.

Harry chuckled. “Yeah, that’s why you’re really here, isn’t it? To take That Man down. Sorry, the Dementors aren’t your way to do that. They’re under the Undersecretary’s control and two minutes of checking the records will show you that she sent them after me for no reason at all.”

“Still good,” Musashi said, reaching for his pocket only to huff that he couldn’t write anything down. “All right. Nothing but questions.”

Musashi leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chest in absent-minded little circles that Harry suspected that he wasn’t even aware of. His breath kept coming in little huffs and gasps, not that Musashi seemed all that upset by being smothered under the weight of Dudley’s power.

Next to him, Cygnus was hunch-shouldered and white-knuckled as he whispered to himself, head bobbing as he considered which question was the most important one to get answered.

Sometime during setting the price for the Seeing, both Anthony and Sirius had stumbled out of the library. Harry could see them panting and wheezing out in the foyer. They both seemed okay, despite how shaken they obviously were.

He’d check on them later. Sirius at least. Duds could handle Anthony, though frankly, Duds would probably just shove Anthony at Lacey and let her soothe him.

Make them both happy, that would. Married people. So weird.

Finally, Cygnus raised his head, squared his shoulders and deliberately relaxed his fingers from their clench on his thighs.

“Ask,” Dudley commanded.

Cygnus licked his lips and then stared Dudley right in the eyes. “Is That Man a threat to Magic itself?”

“Oh, interesting question,” Dudley said. He pulled out The Art of War. ”All armies prefer high ground to low and sunny places to dark.” Well, it’d be nice to say that yes, he is a threat to Magic, but no. He’s not. Might make things easier for you if he was. On the other hand, ”Knowledge of the enemy’s dispositions can only be obtained from other men.” Which is to say that he’s a threat, an enemy, but you’re gonna have to spy more effectively and efficiently to learn just what he’s up to.”

“Other than deciding that teenage boys are You-Know-Who reborn,” Harry drawled.

Dudley grinned, mean as Aunt Petunia when someone started spreading rumors about Uncle Vernon on Privet Drive. “Yeah, other than that. Next question.”

Musashi shook his head. “I think… this is more for your associate than for you, but I’ll gladly take whatever I get. Can Wizarding Britian be saved from the… mess… it’s created?”

Harry laughed, waving a hand at Musashi when he scowled, offended. “Oh, man. What a question! Um, yeah? In a couple of generations once Judoka and I are done, sure. Wizarding Britain will be completely different. That’s inevitable.”

“That’s just time passing,” Dudley agreed. “On my side, the book says “There is a proper season for making attacks with fire, and special days for starting a conflagration. The proper season is when the weather is very dry; the special days are the days when the moon is in the constellations of the Sieve, the Wall, the Wing or the Cross-bar; for these four are all days of rising wind.””

Musashi shivered and straightened up. “It’s not yet time. Strike when the “weather” turns against him, then burn it all down.”

“Yep,” Dudley agreed with a grin that made the weight of the room disappear in a pop that was audible for the first time that Harry had noticed. “Got that in one.”

Both Musashi and Cygnus wheezed and almost fell out of their chairs.

Harry stretched and bounced off the arm of the sofa. “We should probably head back over. I’d suggest strongly telling Mrs. Weasley and Hermione that I asked about a million questions about the results and that you gave me a bunch of suggestions on how to get stronger and healthier.”

“We’re not actually going to get to scan you, are we?” Musashi said as he slowly pushed himself upright on wobbly legs.

“Nope,” Harry said with a big grin. “But I will write you permission to go talk to the Goblins. They treated me and have the most up to date information. You won’t be able to share it with anyone but your supervisors, but that’s fine. Let’s go. Things to do, stupid parties to go to, awful new clothes to be fitted for.”

Dudley cackled. He followed them up to the roof, poking Harry’s shoulder and teasing him the whole way about looking like a ponce, as if he wasn’t dressed to the nines anymore. Harry made slappy hands back at him, more because of the poking than anything else.

He couldn’t help but be cheerful, though.

Harry’s gut was very happy with this little discussion.

More allies. More people to smack Dumbledore through the floor if he tried to claim that Harry was Voldemort reborn. More people to help Harry escape whatever stupid fate Dumbledore tried to shove him into next.

All he had to do was survive the stupid parties, now.

 

30. Amid Pouring Tea Currents Swirl: Number Twelve

Growing up on Privet Drive, Harry had never experienced a tea party. Not once. Aunt Petunia held them, of course. She was the queen of Privet Drive and tea parties were an expected thing.

Harry did not attend. Ever.

He helped clean the house to within an inch of its life. He made sure that the yard was spotless. He washed an endless number of fine China teacups and saucers, polished a mountain of silver spoons, and helped prepared treats the likes of which he couldn’t even name.

Didn’t get to have any of it. Dudley attended sometime, always on his best behavior, when he was younger. Uncle Vernon did not. The man of the house had no time for such fripperies.

Aunt Petunia made no bones about the fact that Uncle Vernon would’ve eaten every single one of the tea treats if she let him attend. Whenever she had a tea party, she sent Uncle Vernon off to the pub with his friends. He got nicely drunk. She had her party.

Harry spent the entire time at Mrs. Figg’s. Whenever there was a tea party, he got really good egg sandwiches and good pieces of fruit instead of the thin cheese sandwiches Aunt Petunia insisted on.

“If I’m not invited to her parties,” Mrs. Figg always said with a sniff of disapproval as she pushed a plate of real food at harry, “then I’ll just have to have a tea party with you, Harry dear.”

All of which was to say that Harry had never in his life experienced a true tea party.

The ballroom had been transformed for the latest event with buffet tables on one wall and then little tables around the edges of the room with three or four seats each. Everything was light and bright, with white tablecloths and pristine white napkins folded into dramatic fans atop the empty settings. As Harry had understood it, each table should have a teapot and cups, with a tiered tray thing holding treats being delivered once the tea was brewed.

Instead, the little tables seemed to serve as places for people to break away for more private discussions while everyone circulated in the open center of the ballroom, chatting and plotting and discussing the latest amendments going before the Wizengamot.

Wizarding tea parties were for politics, not for tea.

Harry had picked the farthest corner of the ballroom and taken a seat with his back to the wall as soon as they were done with meeting and greeting everyone. Now he just watched everyone chatting, nibbling, and gossiping. It was approximately like being dropped into a production of Downton Abbey’s tea parties, except way more intense.

Extra-nice gowns on every woman. Not evening gowns. No, there was something about the gowns that made them Tea Party gowns instead of evening gowns even though they had similar fabric and lots of lace and every single woman had put on her nicest jewels. Or jewels with special history or something?

Harry hadn’t dared to ask after the first time he commented on one woman’s sapphire necklace and gotten the entire history of who’d worn it to what events and how those events had changed the laws, history and social status of everyone involved.

Same for the dresses. They were Special Tea Dresses somehow. The hats, maybe? Instead of just Madame Longbottom having a ridiculous hat, all the women had ridiculous hats.

Madame Longbottom’s hat was the most ridiculous of them all. She’d switched out her vulture hat for one with a whole blue crane and three partridges, all settled in nests of lace. Harry couldn’t quite figure out how the hat stayed on her head. Seemed like it would fall right off or maybe snap her neck with the sheer weight of the thing.

But everyone else’s hats were pretty wild, too. Not a single witch’s cap in the lot. Just lace and frills and ribbon and flowers piled high bouncing along on top of people’s heads.

Sirius had dressed in formal wear. Literal tailcoat with a cravat and a burgundy and shimmering gold striped waistcoat; He looked… rich. Powerful. Confident. Not crazy at all even as he laughed uproariously over Madame Bones’ joke.

“Mate, you can go out there and talk to people,” Ron said as he flopped into the chair next to Harry.

“No, don’t think so,” Harry said. He took Ron’s offering of a tiny egg sandwich, with cress and cucumber, nice.

Ron side-eyed Harry, then smirked into his teacup. “You’re looking outright spooked there, mate.”

“I am spooked,” Harry said. “I’ve never been to a tea party in my life. I’m sure to say something that’ll muck up your mum and Sirius’ plans for this. No, safer to stay in the corner and be very, very quiet.”

“Might work,” Ron snickered and cleared his throat before jerking his chin towards the buffet table full of tiered silvery trays with every treat the world had ever seen. “Except that they got cauldron cakes over there. And treacle tart.”

Harry glowered at him. “You cheat.”

Ron shrugged. “Mum sent me over to make sure that you circulate. Go get a treat or two. Nod politely to whatever people say. Scurry back to the corner after you got something good.”

“Grmph,” Harry grumbled as he savagely ate his little egg sandwich in two too-big bites.

He would’ve stayed right there despite Ron’s prodding if his gut hadn’t said that Ron was right. And, honestly, that sandwich was awesome. Harry needed some more of that. Plus treacle tart. Like, six or seven of them might make up for this whole… thing.

Harry huffed but he got up and made his way through the various groups of chatting adults, aiming for the buffet table despite the way the groups shifted and moved around him. Six patronizing smiles, four abortive head-pats, and two breathless “boy-who-lived” comments later, Harry made it to the buffet table.

More or less intact. His temper wasn’t going to handle much of this, but then parties never had been his thing. Who knew that he’d have been happier not attending parties than he was slogging through one?

“Oh, my, yes,” one of Molly’s friends whose name Harry couldn’t remember said, all wide-eyed and excited as she patted her chest hard enough to nearly slop her tea out of her cup. “All my friends have tried to get appointments, but no luck yet. He’s quite exclusive. I heard that even Madame Bones had a hard time getting in.”

Harry froze for a moment before slowly picking up a treacle tart.

“Well, a new Seer,” Molly said without looking at Harry at all even though he was right there. “I’d be astonished if he’d be available for average Seeings for decades. It’s been over a century since we’ve had a true Seer, you know.”

Wait, what? Harry stared at Molly who just smiled at him and patted his arm as if to shoo him off.

Her friend bounced and beamed at Harry, though. “Oh, Mr. Potter! Surely Seer Judoka would see you.”

“Why?” Harry asked with enough outright dread that Molly’s lips twisted as she tried not to grin at him. Her friend huffed. “No, really. Why? I mean, why would I talk to him? If it’s a him. Do we even know if the Seer is male? I mean, has anyone actually, you know, reported back on that?”

Both Molly and her friend blinked as if they hadn’t considered it. Well, Molly in surprise that Harry would try and deflect attention that way. Her friend was definitely humming thoughtfully like it was a good thing to think about.

“Well, that’s true,” Molly’s friend said. “Most bloodlines do tend towards the gift traveling to the daughters. I just assumed that it was a man.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve not heard one way or the other. I just don’t like to assume things, you know? Given that I wasn’t raised in the Magical world, I miss a lot of obvious stuff. Anyway, I should, um, go talk to Sirius.”

“Of course, Harry dear,” Molly said, patting his arm firmly enough to propel him away from the buffet table with his treacle tart.

Actually eating it turned into a struggle because every little nibble he managed to get to his mouth was interrupted by people seeming to come out of the woodwork to ask Harry if he’d asked for a Seeing the Seer Judoka. He kept asking why and then countering with questions about the Wizengamot, about the amendments, about people’s kids and parents and pets and everything else under the sun that he could think of.

He fetched up in a different corner of the ballroom with Madame Longbottom and Neville, finally.

“Mate, I am exhausted,” Harry murmured to Neville.

“It’s a bit much,” Neville agreed from behind the shelter of his empty teacup.

“Have you seen the back yard here?” Harry asked with a jerk of his chin towards the window. “Absolute postage stamp of a garden, even with the expansion charms. I’m about to tear it all out just because it’s so wild. No order at all. I swear there’s new breeds of lethal plants spawning out there every second.”

“Really?” Madame Longbottom asked as she went right to the window to peer out. “Oh. Oh, my. I see your point.”

“Yeah,” Neville said with a sigh and a shake of his head. “You really need to get on that.”

“I’m not much for magical gardens,” Harry admitted as he finished the last bite of his tart and let Kreacher pop it out of his hands. A cup of tea, perfectly made with half milk and just a sprinkle of sugar appeared in its place. “Muggle, sure, classical English style. The whole wildly overgrown thing that Magical gardens have going on is a bit much to me.”

Neville smiled so brightly at Harry that Harry’s cheeks went hot. “I had no idea you even knew about gardening.”

“That was one of my chores back at my aunt and uncle’s place,” Harry said. He rolled his eyes as he sipped the tea. “I mean, Aunt Petunia wouldn’t dream of having lilies or, oh, an old rose bush, but she was serious about the garden. Won awards on it, mostly based on my work.”

“Sometime you have to come to Longbottom Manor,” Neville said, eyeing Harry in much the same way that some of the matchmaking mamas in the ballroom had. “We’ve got several gardens and a full working farm. Greenhouses and all.”

“That would be nice,” Harry said, nodding. “If we weren’t stuck in here, I’d have you come out and help me assess the back yard. Also thinking about putting pots on the roof. I mean, there’s so little space here and a roof garden would be very traditional.”

“That it would,” Madame Longbottom agreed. Her hat nodded before she did, bobbing in violent agreement. “Now, what sorts of things do you think we need to do in the Wizengamot, Mr. Potter? Your first impulse, no waffling about.”

Harry squawked and then cringed in the face of Madame Longbottom’s stern look. It didn’t help that half the ballroom seemed to have turned his direction as soon as she said it. His gut, of course, was more than delighted that people were listening. Problem was that Harry wasn’t sure if any of Dumbledore’s people were there…

Ah, never mind. Saying it was more important than being cautious, especially with Madame Longbottom’s stare getting heavier by the second.

“Um, honestly?” Harry said with a helpless little shrug. “I’ve always been kind of perturbed about how many titles and positions people hold. I mean, Lords who are also Aurors. Business people who also work in the Wizengamot making laws. There’s nothing wrong with people representing their own interests, but it seems… wrong? You know, like Dumbledore. He’s Headmaster at Hogwarts and Chief Warlock at the Wizengamot and the Supreme Mugwump. That’s a lot of work. I don’t know how anyone gets it all done, you know?”

Amelia hummed from a couple of yards away, spoon not at all idly stirring her tea as she studied Harry closely. “You don’t approve?”

Harry grimaced. “I don’t know. I just don’t know how anyone gets all the work done. Last year was a lot. I had my regular classes and all the stuff for the Tournament. Even though there were only three events for the Tournament, not including the Yule Ball, I barely managed to keep up with it all. In the Muggle world, there’s a thing called conflicts of interest. You can be a barrister and judge, but not at the same time. You can run a business and be on the town council, but if something that affects your business or your home comes up, you have to recuse yourself. It’s… conflict of interest and I’m just not seeing how Dumbledore, for example, gets all the work done. It’s so much, you know? Especially at his age. I’d think that he’d want to spend his time researching color charms and stuff for his robes or whatever.”

He did his best to look apologetic about even saying it. Quite a few people looked put out over his opinion, but Sirius beamed at him while Madame Longbottom’s hat nodded her into agreement with Harry. She swept off to canvas the room, leaving Harry to sneak towards the door with Neville on his heels. By the time he got there, Ron had joined them, as had Ginny.

They escaped to the garden, the overgrown mess that it was, leaving Molly and Sirius to their political plotting. Harry really, really hoped that he didn’t have to do that again. He was much happier managing things from the shadows than he was stepping into the spotlight.

Best thing was that Neville was more than happy to help Harry plot out how to turn the backyard into a place that was decent to visit instead of a threat to life and limb, despite Ron and Ginny heckling them about being ridiculous.

 

31. Giants Toppled As Change Roars: Wizengamot

“Harry,” Dudley snickered as he poked Harry in the back, “you can’t flop on the couch all day.”

Harry pulled the throw pillow more firmly over his head. The world was bloody well going to leave him alone today. It was. He was just flat done with everything and everyone. Even the Tournament hadn’t been this stressful.

“Leave me alone,” Harry groaned. “Six parties. Molly threw six parties in six days. Tea parties. Dinner parties. A real ball with gowns and formal clothes from the bloody eighteen hundreds! I’m never moving again.”

Dudley laughed at him, the belly laugh where he threw his head back and smacked his thighs. Funny to him. He hadn’t had to dress up and make nice with people for six days straight. School wasn’t that far off, and Dumbledore was still in charge of everything. They needed to get him out and it felt like no progress at all had been made.

“Harry!” Sirius shouted as he came rampaging into Number Nine’s library. “What are you doing? You need to get back over to Number Twelve. We have to go to the Wizengamot.”

Harry pushed the pillow aside to stare up at Sirius. “What? Why?”

“There’s going to be a vote of no confidence,” Sirius said, vibrating with excitement. “Madame Longbottom corralled enough people to try and throw Dumbledore out of the Chief Warlock position. Madame Bones has a no-confidence vote already queued up to oust Fudge.”

“…What?” Harry blinked twice.

Then he flung the pillow at Dudley, who caught it with a grin as Harry leaped off the couch and ran after Sirius towards the rooftop. “Told you.”

“Oh, shut it!” Harry shouted over his shoulder at Dudley.

Dudley’s laughter followed him up the stairs. It was a darn good thing that the upper floors of Number Twelve were for the family only because Sirius did not exactly keep his voice down as he explained to Harry what clothes he needed to wear, how to enter the Wizengamot and how to take the Potter’s seat.

“It’s key that you’re there,” Sirius said. “Key! Molly and I’ve laid the foundation with the parties, but people have to see you taking up your place in society. It will mean revealing that you know you’ve been emancipated, but we need your votes, so you have to be there.”

“I’d rather be Seer Evans,” Harry groaned as Remus helped him get his cravat properly tied. “Working from the shadows. Never seen. Never going to a single bloody party or anything.”

Of course, he had to have a cravat.

Of course, he had to wear clothes right out of the Regency period.

Of course that meant that the trousers were way too tight in the calf and thigh, plus a good bit more snug around the groin than Harry was comfortable with.

“Closed robe,” Harry insisted once he was properly dressed.

Both Remus and Sirius huffed. Harry glared at them until he was given a very nice closed robe that hid the too-tight trousers from view. It closed at the waist, though, so the cravat and waistcoat were both on display.

Either way, exposed or not exposed, Harry got shoved straight through the floo to the Ministry. There were so many people arriving, all of them as flustered as Harry, that the wand check was a bare glance and then a badge flung straight into Harry’s hand.

The badge read “Harry Potter, Ousting Giants” which made Sirius grin because his said “Sirius Black, Leading the Charge”.

“What…?” Harry started to ask only to shut his mouth sharply once Sirius escorted Harry into the Wizengamot chamber.

He could feel magic in the air. Not like Dudley’s power spilling out. Not like Dumbledore’s aura flaring outwards in a crackling wave.

This magic felt old and cold and determined in ways that made Harry shiver. When Harry turned to Sirius, he nodded that he felt it too. Not that he explained what it was. The many boxes were filling quickly so there was no time to ask.

“The Chief Warlock’s position being challenged changes the magic of the Wizengamot,” Sirius explained in a quick murmur to Harry as they settled into the Black box. “First order of business will be you declaring that you’re taking over your votes. That’ll require you to declare a proxy.”

“You,” Harry said, grinning when Sirius stared flatly at him. “Duh. Who else?”

“Fine,” Sirius mock-complained even though they’d discussed it a couple of days ago during one of the endless waves of parties when they’d both retreated to a corner to catch their breath.

There was no time to say anything else. The ushers shut the doors of the Wizengamot and called the emergency session to open. Madame Longbottom sat tall and stern in her box. Madame Bones, because Amelia was in Madame Bones mode to the point that she was twice as stern and three times a threatening, stood from her spot on the dock next to the empty spots where Dumbledore and Fudge should have been.

“This emergency session of the Wizengamot is called to order,” Madame Bones declared. “Does anyone have anything to declare before we begin?”

Harry stood and then gulped as all eyes turned to him. “I ah, wanted to reclaim the Potter vote and um, have my proxy recorded by the Wizengamot.”

Madame Bones raised an eyebrow even though she had to know that it was coming. “Very well, Mr. Potter. Your proxy?”

“Sirius Black,” Harry said. He licked his lips and then blew out a breath. “I choose Sirius Black as my proxy for the Potter vote today in the Wizengamot.”

Hopefully, everyone would blame nerves for Harry being excessively precise about his wording. The Peverell votes, plural, were apparently hotly contested and incredibly powerful. Right now, Lacey was waiting outside the chamber to be introduced as the proxy of the Peverell Lord.

There was no way that Harry wanted anyone to realize that he was the Peverell Lord. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Very well, Mr. Potter,” Madame Bones said. “Thank you. You may be seated.”

Harry flopped back into his chair, much to the amusement of the people watching him. Sirius gave him a good elbowing while grinning proudly.

Madame Bones waited until the clerk recorded the change before pressing her lips together. The entire Wizengamot leaned forward eagerly. Even Harry found himself shifting in anticipation, though he anticipated something completely different than they did.

“We have one more legacy that is being declared today,” Madame Bones said, lips so tight that they were a bloodless slash across her face. “The Peverell Lordship has been claimed.”

Harry had never been to the ocean.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would never have done something like that, take him along when he might have fun. Absolutely not. He had watched a few shows on the telly that had the ocean roaring in them.

This was a roar like the ocean in a storm. Individual shouted questions disappeared into the tidal wave of noise unleased by most every single person in the chamber. Even Sirius jumped to his feet, waving his lit wand as if he wanted to be recognized and allowed to ask questions.

Harry put his hands over his ears, grimacing.

A moment later, silence slammed down on all of them as Madame Bones imposed the crowd control spells.

Sirius collapsed back into his seat, wand extinguished.

“If there is another outburst like that, you’ll all be voting silently and submitting any questions in writing,” Madame Bones snarled at them all. “The Goblins have already confirmed that the Peverell Lord is, in fact, the true heir. They’ve been tested and confirmed by blood and magic. They’ve also chosen their proxy though the bank.”

“What?” Lucius squawked, not that the horrified word made a sound.

Madame Bones pointed the gavel at him with all the intent and threat of a duelist getting ready to fire off a curse.

Lucius held his hands up in submission, shutting his mouth with a soundless snap.

“Better,” Madame Bones said. “Ushers, have the proxy come in.”

Lacey sauntered in, as cold and commanding as she always was. There was a hint of pride and smugness about the way she nodded to Madame Bones once she was in the middle of the chamber. Pretty much everyone stared not at her but at the leather folio in her hands, proof that she was a proxy.

The Peverell symbol embossed in gold on the warm brown leather was a clear sign.

“Thank you, Madame Bones,” Lacey said. “I am Lacey Black, wife of Anthony Black who is the grandson of Marius Black who was thrown out by the Blacks for being a squib when he was eleven. The Peverell Lord has hired me as proxy for the Wizengamot. Will you open the Peverell box, please?”

Madame Bones hummed as she stared Lacey down. Or tried to, anyway. Lacey stared right back with that flat, threatening glare that both Sirius and Anthony found so attractive. Next to Harry, Sirius stared, blushing and patting his chest.

Worse, across the chamber, Narcissa Malfoy’s cheeks slowly went red as she stared at Lacey, too.

Harry swatted Sirius’ shoulder, glaring at him when Sirus just shrugged and waved his hands at Lacey like “what can you do?”

More than a little bit of silent laughter didn’t echo through the Chamber, though people’s amusement was perfectly clear.

“I am required,” Madame Bones finally said, breaking first much to Lacey’s smirking amusement, “to ask you to identify who you are standing proxy for.”

Lacey raised an eyebrow. “I am standing proxy for the Peverell Lord as per contractual request through Gringotts. That is all that I am required to say. Open the Peverell box, please.”

Madame Bones finally nodded and did exactly that. Lacey ended up sitting right next to Sirius and Harry, one box over to the right. She nodded respectfully to Harry, narrowed her eyes threateningly at Sirius who all but swooned in his seat, and then turned back to Madame Bones who just shook her head at Sirius’ nonsense.

“Very well,” Madame Bones said, dropping the silencing protocol. “This emergency session of the Wizengamot now has all members present. We are called to render judgement on a call for a new Chief Warlock to replace Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. We are also called to vote on a Call of No Confidence in Minister Cornelius Oswald Fudge. We will begin with the call to replace the Chief Warlock.”

She waved and Dumbledore was allowed in. For the first time in Harry’s memory, Albus looked ruffled. Disgruntled, even. He frowned at Madame Bones as if she was a naughty little girl who needed to be sent to bed without her supper.

“Madame Longbottom, you may begin,” Madame Bones said without acknowledging Dumbledore’s displeasure.

“Finally,” Madame Longbottom huffed as she stood. “You were all here during the many discussions and votes on Lord Black’s freedom. You’ve all watched as Mr. Dumbledore failed to take a side on any single issue. Our society cannot survive with such a wishy-washy leader. Cannot! He scolds and treats even his contemporaries as children, and then he fails to take a firm stance on anything at all. I’m sorry if I offend, but that’s unacceptable. We need a Chief Warlock who will run the Wizengamot with a firm hand. Not me. Don’t even think about electing me. But someone who has one single solitary opinion of their own.”

Harry almost burst out laughing at the pure outrage on Dumbledore’s face. It was an interesting tack for Madame Longbottom to take, in part because it put so much focus on Dumbledore’s behavior instead of on his effect on Wizarding Britain.

“Mr. Dumbledore,” Madame Bones said, pointing the gavel at him. “You have the opportunity to defend your position.”

Dumbledore huffed as he drew himself up as tall and firm inside his sparkly, iridescent peacock robes. The robes severely undercut his attempt at authority. Putting on that disapproving expression seemed to annoy a great many people in the Wizengamot.

“Thank you, Amelia,” Dumbledore said only to freeze when she pointed the gavel at him again.

“You will use the proper titles, Mr. Dumbledore,” Madame Bones said. “Without protest or complaints or I’ll silence you and put the matter straight to a vote.”

A flare of anger flashed over Dumbledore’s face, but he bowed his head in acceptance while his beard bristled like he was gritting his teeth.

“My apologies, Madame Bones,” Dumbledore said. “My esteemed colleges, I do not believe that the… accusation… against me has validity. The Chief Warlock is a position that requires objectivity. Dispassion. Taking a firm, open side on the issues facing us is inappropriate. For the sake of the greater good, I deemed it improper for me to vote on the issues facing the Wizengamot.”

He bowed to the Wizengamot, hands folded over his belly as if that was a brilliant explanation.

Madame Longbottom glowered at him, lighting her wand and then getting Madame Bones’ nod of approval to speak. “Hogwash! You voted a thousand times before. You’ve harangued us all, lectured us about thinking clearly and doing what was right, but now when you’re implicated, oh, no, of course you can’t take a side. Hogwash! You just don’t want to be caught out before the ground settles, that’s all!”

She set off a whole wave of people shouting things for and against Dumbledore. It went on for a good half hour before Madame Bones looked at the clerks and nodded when they indicated that the notes were complete. Or maybe that they’d started repeating things.

Then Madame Bones silenced everyone. “Enough. If we keep this up, we’ll be here all day. I, for one, have other things to do. All in favor of voting for a new Chief Warlock?”

Only four people’s wands stayed unlit.

“Opposed?” Madame Bones asked purely for form’s sake. She nodded at the four opposers. “The motion carries. Mr. Dumbledore, you are hereby removed as Chief Warlock. Please exit the Chamber so that we can begin the process of selecting your replacement.”

Dumbledore gaped, more shocked than Harry had ever seen him. “But…”

“Bailiffs,” Madame Bones ordered with a sharp wave of the gavel.

Spluttering, white-faced with shaking hands and robes that suddenly were much less bright and sparkly, Dumbledore was escorted out of the Wizengamot Chamber. The doors shut firmly in his face. Harry breathed out, shaking at the way his gut both rejoiced and worried.

Dumbledore might be gone from his official position, but he still held a huge amount of power. It wasn’t over, not yet, but this was a huge step forward. Getting rid of Fudge was almost a footnote by comparison.

One position down. Two more to go and then maybe Harry and Dudley would be safe.

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