Reading Time: 82 Minutes

Title: Stone of Theia
Author: MykkiTno
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Drama, Family, Mystery, Pre-Relationship, Time Travel
Relationship(s): Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Severus Snape/Sirius Black
Content Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Hate Crimes, Hate Speech, Incest, Major Character Death, Slavery, Torture, Violence-Graphic, Violence-Against Children/Child Abuse. Depression, Death/Murder, Discussion of genocide/terrorism, Potion control, Mind control, Bigotry, Homophobia, Sexism
Author Note: Warnings explained. re: Major Character Death – as it pertains to time travel, and references to canon deaths for those that remember the alternate timeline, plus a few extras in new Timelines. re: Incest – discussion with Pureblood families – Draco/Harry could be considered 2nd cousins.
Alpha: Hourstillnoon. Shout out for Alphaing the story for me, and stopping me from spiraling, in addition to my co-workers (Vi and Sav) for letting me ramble. This probably wouldn’t be the story it is without your help and patience.
Word Count: 139864
Summary: After the war, haunted by Grimmauld and suffering from dreams and visions, Harry finds himself in an otherwise empty room, except for a rune-covered table and a crystal ball. Not understanding the significance, he grabs the ball intending to throw it.

The next thing he knows, he’s holding an amulet, there’s a ring on his finger, and he can hear Sirius pounding on the wall. Offered a chance to change things, he knows nothing will be the same again.
Artist: Coco
Artist Appreciation: I want to thank my artist again for the beautiful work they did. It’s humbling to see how the story I crafted can be visualized by others

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CHAPTER ONE

August 12th, 1998

Harry was crying.

Not that it was a surprise, he often cried in the night while asleep and, in some cases, while he was awake.

The overwhelming grief of finally having an outlet after the war ended, Hermione claimed it was survivors’ guilt, with the freedom to mourn. Harry understood this on some level, but no one wanted to listen when he said there was more to it.

Grimmauld seemed to echo a faint sensation of emptiness in his chest every time he consciously thought of it.

The dreams he suffered didn’t help either. Sometimes, they were beautiful and amazing, hinting at a world long gone, lost to time and history, but seeing a man referred to as King Arthur visually had filled Harry with a sort of longing, where it felt like that world wasn’t as complicated as the one he lived in.

At other times, it was of people long dead, such as Cedric, his parents, Fred, and now George, Mad-Eye, and Dumbledore. The rest of the time, it was Sirius, Remus or even Severus Snape haunting him, yet the confusing aspects of those dreams being that they were still alive, quarrelling in places all over the house, Harry wasn’t sure he had found, yet one conversation stuck with him, an argument about the real power of the Black family. Medea. Not that Sirius could explain who or what that was, but it had been intense conversations on the logic of magic. Remus was skeptical, disbelieving that magic worked that way; Severus was intrigued, arguing the difference between other ancient and noble magic and Sirius’s… Sirius had a sorrowful, haunted look, the expression staying with Harry even after he woke.

He saw whispered conversations in the kitchen between the Weasleys and a couple with Percy that devolved into arguments on using potions, loyalty charms, contracts and oaths. Harry couldn’t understand, even though he knew they spoke English. It was even more baffling because, as far as Harry knew, Percy had never been in the house, so knowing what was real or imagined was almost impossible.

It was easy to see how Walburga would have gone crazy living in the house if she had suffered the same thing Harry was. Yet he couldn’t force himself to leave either, unwilling to give up the idea that this could be his home, hiding himself in the library, buried in mountains of books, unable to talk about what he was reading or why. None of it seemed to make any sense, his focus feeling like it turned inward, looking for an escape.

Still between the phases of asleep and awake, Harry tossed restlessly in bed, finding himself floating outside his body, moving through the house, drawn forward. However, he didn’t fight the momentum, wondering who Grimmauld would show him today. With a start, he blinked, landing in a surprisingly comfortable chair he wasn’t sure was real before the tapestry containing the Black family.

It was something he tried not to dwell on now. Still, during the first month after the war, he spent an unspeakable amount of time staring at the fabric, willing Sirius’ name to reappear, restored to its proper place, as it had now, leaving Harry confused and conflicted.

That it was ringed in a black box, like his brother’s, wasn’t surprising; it was expected after falling through the veil, but some small part of Harry had hoped.

Closing his eyes, Harry leaned against the back of the chair, trying to find the calm part inside of him that seemed to allow little communication with the house.

They didn’t talk in words, but with feelings, something Harry had overheard Ginny saying he had too much of after the war; it was like everyone had just expected him to shake it off and go on doing what they wanted. The only one with a mediocre sense of compassion had been Hermione, though even now, she seemed to be looking for patience.

His eyes opened, immediately finding a new box ringed in silver that appeared, leading directly from Sirius, like his godfather had had a child before he died, one that made no sense considering the date of birth was Harry’s own, even if it wasn’t his name.

Or at least not the name he knew growing up. Leaning forward, he gently traced the letters, swallowing hard as questions bubbled on his tongue, knowing he’d never receive any answers.

Hadrian Cadmus James Brenin.

He could see and read it yet couldn’t process or understand it. Physically and mentally shying from the conversations that whispered on the outer edge of his consciousness, not wanting to know as if the house was trying to tell him something.

The house sighed heavily, creaking loudly before light flicked off the tapestry, drawing Harry’s gaze to Andromeda’s name, still greyed out. Tonks and Remus’s names faded, like an afterthought, shown to see the connection but had never been included. An argument could be made for that conclusion, as Teddy’s name wasn’t there either.

He skipped Bellatrix’s blackened name and found Narcissa’s, his breath catching as a date appeared beside her name. Glancing down sharply, he saw Draco’s name, the exact date appearing as his mother’s, as a black box appeared around both names.

Jerking upright from a dead sleep, Harry drew in a stuttering breath, his hand pressed against his chest, hoping to ease the pressure, and shook his head. “They’re lying to me.”

The house shifted, swelling around him, yet sitting in the chair, feeling too small in a large home, the pressure felt like a caress. A hug as if the house or Medea was trying to console him, it too, mourning the loss of what was.

Blinking tears from his eyes, Harry stared up at the graying canopy, stomach clenching at the half-remembered dreams, grief still there, but also a steadily growing presence that he wasn’t alone as he thought.

Glancing at the clock on the side table, Harry rubbed a hand over his face, wiping away the tears that still leaked from his eyes, and flipped the blanket back. Shivering in the pre-dawn light, Harry pulled on a hoodie, needing the warmth, uncaring that it was almost the middle of August. He adjusted his sleep pants and ambled into the bathroom to relieve himself.

Filled with grim determination to figure out exactly what sort of sentient being his house or Medea was, Harry moved through Grimmauld, checking each room once again and searching for a study. Considering the wizarding world was stuck at the turn of the century, it stood to reason that an ancient and noble house should have a dedicated room for that purpose.

Feeling a hint of amusement wash over him, Harry stopped on the threshold of a door, trying to figure out what he thought had amused the house when the door swung open, revealing a tastefully decorated study in dark oak and ivory-coloured wallpaper.

Considering the layer of dust and the state of the rest of the house, it was almost disturbing that this room appeared pristine and untouched by time. It was even weirder stepping into the room, the scent of unidentified flowers filling his senses, filling him with a craving to re-enter the dream from weeks ago that showed a world lost to time and memory.

With renewed vigour, he crossed the room, settling into the comfortable chair, unlike any in the house. Flipping open the book on the desk, staring blankly at it, leafing through the pages in a hint of agitation when none of it made any absolute sense until he got to the last page and stared sightlessly at it for a long time.

The dates were humbling when he realized the last entry was March 1560, a year after Queen Elizabeth I had been coronated, and the first proposal for their sovereignty was drafted. Sinking back into the chair, Harry took a calming breath, not knowing where that knowledge came from. He tried to sort through what he knew, trying not to panic as thousands of jumbled memories filled his head.

A sleepy murmur followed a flood of apologies, and he closed his eyes, centering himself and clearing his mind in a way that Severus Snape had never hoped he’d accomplish, and focused his thoughts.

It was easy to establish and accept that the house was at least semi-dormant, but what if it wasn’t the house trying to communicate with him? Sirius had insisted that the Black family magic came from somewhere, so what if it was that? A sort of semi-dormant sentience or entity that was using the house. Did that mean the entity wasn’t as gone as previously thought? What if she were sleeping? How or why would a sentient entity sleep if it were the source of the family magic?

The answer came to him slowly, like a trickle of water pooling in his subconscious, an image of an old man sitting at the same desk. Harry sat with a much younger woman, arguing too fast and furious to let the man get a word in edgewise.

It was weird to know they spoke English, yet his comprehension of the words meant he was only snatching a word in ten, so nothing the lady said made sense.

Yet the man’s actions did; he finally held up a hand, a tired sigh slipping from his lips as he pointed at the door.

The names came to Harry as Mariam Sadler – a Muggle-born witch lifted her chin and glared spitefully at the older man, Casimir Black. “You promise?”

“Of course, my love. When have I ever disappointed you?” The voice was as old as the man’s appearance, and he seemed to force him to stay sitting straight in his chair as the woman snorted but rose to her feet.

“I won’t be back until it’s done; that power is unnatural and unnecessary. We’re an enlightened society now, Casi.”

The old man struggled to his feet but didn’t even manage to do so, as the woman had already turned on her heel and swept from the room, leaving the old man to expel a tired sigh.

Waving a hand at the door, it swung shut, its locking charms activating automatically. As he slowly pulled an amulet from inside his shirt and set it on the desk, the moss agate of the stone swirled and rippled like a mini-universe.

Harry watched in utter fascination as the man’s face twisted in agitation as if he were having another argument, though this one silently. In a burst of anger, he pulled an anthem from his desk, sliced his palm, held the stone in his blood-soaked hand, and started chanting in Latin.

When he was finished, he let out a deep breath and then recoiled violently, eyes widening in alarm as he slumped over the desk, the amulet falling to land in front of him.

The stone rippled again, the moss agate flashing silver, red, then black before fading from sight, leaving the old man, Casimir Black, breathing his last. A tear of regret rolled down his cheek and hit the desk, and an inky blackness emerged from the tear and dissipated like mist.

The vision released Harry slowly, a soft caress along his magic, making his eyes flutter open. He wiped tears from his face as understanding filled him.

The old man, Casimir Black, had been courting Mariam Sadler for months, but she refused to sign the contract until the family magic was bound, as she would not be subjected to such a primitive concept. Casimir, infatuated with the Muggle-born, his first three marriages leaving him a widower and lonely, had consented to her demand, uncaring of the ramifications his actions would have – the start of the Black madness.

Sighing warily, Harry wiped his face again, overwhelmed at the knowledge but unsure what it meant. He stared sightlessly at the desk for a long time, trying to work through what he knew again.

There were no male Black’s left. He paused at that thought and tilted his head to remember the dream that had woken him. The restoration of Sirius’s name on the tapestry with a box indicating an Heir, a name Harry knew he didn’t recognize, not that he could remember what it was, but felt was important. That also brought the rest of the dream to the forefront, the death of Narcissa and her son, Draco Malfoy and the destruction of another ancient and noble family. It was as if the new government was working through what was left of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, attempting to finish and complete what Riddle and Grindelwald had attempted.

Stomach clenching at the implications, Harry half rose from the seat, blinking in shock as the tapestry appeared, merging into and spreading across the wall, growing and expanding in a never-ending arc of names and dates, clean and as pristine as the day it was created.

Harry stepped from behind the desk as if in a trance and approached the tapestry, focusing on the box under Sirius’s name. Knees buckling, Harry collapsed in front of the family tree, tracing the name Hadrian, which he knew to be his, though still not understanding how or questioning why the last name was blurred, even though he knew it hadn’t been in the dream.

An irritated huff echoed in his head, but didn’t provide answers, the impression they walked away intensifying as a wall section on the opposite side of the room swung open, a faint glow the only light that spilled into the study.

Rolling his eyes at the dramatics, Harry rose to his feet, hesitating to run a hand across Sirius’s name, wishing he could change what happened to his godfather.

Out of everyone, Harry lost; that death was the one that still hurt the most, and the unfairness of Sirius’s life churned with a sort of guilt Harry wasn’t sure how to get over.

Tabling that circle of unending thought, Harry, hoping for more answers, crossed the room, stumbling to a stop in growing irritation as he stared at the crystal ball sitting on a black stone table carved with runes. Clenching his hand into a fist, Harry entered back, going rigid as the “door” swung shut, and he circled the room to confirm his suspicions.

The only items in the equally black room were the crystal ball, the black table, and a small matching black stool with a black cushion. It was almost disorienting; the subtle shades of black were used to differentiate between the floor, wall, ceiling, and furniture, and the glow from the crystal ball created enough light to see the runes etched into the wall.

Harry stopped moving, heart skipping a beat as he realized it wasn’t a glow from the ball, but the runes themselves that glowed, a faint silver filling the impression as it picked up speed, racing and feeling like a tidal wave, impossible to stop or slow.

Heart jumping into double time, Harry fought the urge to run as he stood in the middle of the room and spoke, feeling braver than he ever had before facing Riddle. “You do know I despise prophecy, right?”

A hint of faint laughter sounded in his head, making him sigh and, surprisingly, relax. “Is whatever this is going to hurt?”

There was an indefinable pause before the urge to touch the crystal orb overwhelmed him, and he glared at the crystal ball for lack of anything else to focus his ire on. “I wish people would stop using me. It doesn’t feel like it should be too much to be asked to do something. I feel I deserve that much after fighting in a war that started long before I was born.”

The urge to touch the orb vanished, leaving a sense of confusion as if Medea were unsure how to respond or react.

Neither did Harry, leaving him feeling unbalanced and unsure if it was a ploy to get him to do what she wanted. With a sigh, he reached out and touched the orb, blinking when nothing seemed to happen, and sighed dramatically, “Well, that was anticlimactic. What-”

The room exploded in light, smells and sounds that overwhelmed him, leaving him reeling. The distant ringing in his ears caused him to sway wildly, sending him crashing into the unforgiving stone table, feeling the bruises form immediately.

When he could clear the spots out of his eyes, and focus on his surroundings Harry looked around, the runes filled and pulsing, casting more light then the brightest Lumos charm, the orb was gone, yet in its place, was the amulet from his vision, the swirling specks beguiling and almost beseeching as he reached out a hand to touch it, fingers brushing the edge of the stone.

Warmth rushed through his fingers, encompassing his body, and he found himself fumbling the chain over his head and moving his shirt before he realized it, but he didn’t stop himself. The desire to feel that overwhelmed him, making him feel greedy and ungrateful for any affection he had previously received.

As the amulet settled against his chest, a heavy weight circled his pinky finger on his wand hand, making him glance down; his eyes widened in alarm as the ring seemed to glow faintly. A voice echoed around the small room, and inside his head, the runic array pulsing in time with the cascades of the tone.

“Do you, Hadrian Cadmus James, Master of Death and Fate’s Hands, swear your oath to uphold the values in which you live your life? Will you accept my teachings and knowledge for the betterment of yourself and our family, diminished as we are? Will you help rid the world of people fixated on a goal of annihilation, the result of three blood wars? A word of warning before you agree, in giving your agreement, it is with the knowledge that it could be setting you against perceived allies or enemies now and in the future.”

Harry didn’t even have to think about it and nodded, licking his dry lips a second later to vocalize his agreement, “I swear to all of that, with the understanding that I continue my education, Medea, as any knowledge I have becomes known to you, an even exchange between us.”

There was a flicker of appreciation then, a hand caressed his cheek, and he opened eyes he hadn’t been aware he had closed. He took in the vision of a beautiful woman, small in stature but with a warrior’s build, possessing a natural grace that belied her appearance.

Black hair fell down her back, braided and loose woven through with beads, and scarfs fell down her back, the famous silver eyes of the Black legacy shone with happiness as she stared at him, and held up both hands, an ash blond wand sitting in the center, a mixture of black and purple swirls twisting around the stick.

“A gift for the new Mávros, my first wand and a gift from another time, the last wand created from Yggdrasil’s, a tooth from Jörmungandr is the core.”

Staring at the wand, Harry swallowed, fingers clenching around nothing, realizing he’d forgotten the hollywood wand on the bedside table, “I have a wand.”

Medea snorted in amusement and agreed slowly, “You do, but it won’t do you any good here; one is useless against Riddle, the other under another’s control; this one is an unknown, and I believe Ollivander would be hard-pressed to believe it exists. If the Elder wand is more myth and legend, this one by right isn’t even fabled.”

Harry reached out to accept the want, jerking his hand back at the last second as the sentence finally penetrated, his eyes snapping to hers in growing horror, “Riddle? What?”

Banging on the closed portion of the wall echoed in the room, making Medea roll her eyes. “he never had any patience, and that was before he merged with the Grim.”

Harry jerked again, eyes snapping between Medea and the door. Yet, she caught his hand, halting his movements, “Hadrian, accept the wand; you’ll need all the leverage you can get; trust in our family and lead them pure of heart and magic, and know that if you have questions, I will help in any way I can.”

Swallowing the emotion, Harry slowly accepted the wand. The icy cold that flowed through his veins was reminiscent of the basilisk venom before it was dispelled with the rush of warmth, vanishing the cold that crept along his back, filling him as much as Medea’s affection had. He closed his eyes, soaking in the magic that flooded his system.

Cool lips pressed against his forehead, and he cracked open his eyes against his will as the door finally swung inward, spilling light and a slightly dishevelled and half-dressed Sirius Black looking at him in wonder and awe, a hint of grief flickering across his face as he stepped into the room, glancing around the room suspiciously, “Harry?”

The single questioning of his name was more than enough for Harry, as he burst into tears, wand forgotten as he rushed into Sirius’s arms, wrapping around the older man, who automatically caught him, and let him cry, a few tears that splashed on Harry’s face, showing Sirius was crying too.

***

August 12th, 1995

Draco woke up screaming. A regular occurrence since the summer of Riddle’s resurrection, the difference in this timeline was his door bursting open, and his mother rushing in, dressing gown askew and hair tumbling from an uneven braid.

Draco stared wildly at his mother, who flicked her wand at the door, erecting a shimmering shield he wasn’t sure he even knew the name for, as she raced to his bed, hand coming up to caress his face.

Her cold fingers made him flinch back in a panic, and he shook his head, desperate to dispel the vision seared into his mind of skeletal hands reaching for his face.

“Draconis!”

Jerking at his full name and tone, Draco drew in a shuddering breath, wiping the wetness from his face, voices sounding unbearably young as he whispered, “Mommy?”

Narcissa’s pale silver eyes filled with tears, “Yes, my love, it’s me.”

“I don’t- what?” Draco shook his head in confusion, closing his eyes, trying to focus, before he abruptly jerked back, pulling the arm of his sleeve up, staring at the smooth, unblemished flesh in a mixture of growing horror. “Mom?”

Narcissa stared at his arm, licking her lips as if she couldn’t find words to speak, before shaking her head, “Come, let’s go.”

“What? Go where what’s going on?” Draco demanded, even as he followed her urging, and crawled from the bed, “Why is my last memory watching a dementor pulling its hood back?”

“Something happened,” Narcissa said, passing him his dressing gown, “I don’t understand what exactly, but it’s the Black family magics.”

Sighing in mounting frustration, Draco shrugged into the fabric, belting it and accepting his wand that Narcissa handed over. “I don’t understand.”

At the door, Narcissa paused and drew a deep breath. “Neither do I, but I know I refuse to let a second chance pass us by.”

“Second chance?” Draco repeated in confusion, grabbing her arm before she could move, groaning, “Please stop speaking in riddles. What’s going on?”

Draco wasn’t sure his mother would answer for a long moment, yet she finally lifted her head, eyes hard and determined, “Something woke Medea, the fabled Black family magics, and she’s sent us back in time.”

“I…” Draco trailed off, knowing his mouth was moving but unable to articulate the chaos in his head. He wanted to argue and deny the implausibility of the statement, but something told him that not only was his mother completely serious, but she also spoke the truth.

Listening to the whisper of a voice, Draco closed his eyes, unsure if he wanted to laugh or cry, and when he opened them again, he met his mother’s questioning gaze.

“You hear it?”

Swallowing hard, Draco ran a hand through his hair, flinching at the texture of his hair, half expecting the coarseness he last remembered. “Yeah, it’s Harry.”

“What?” Narcissa asked in confusion, “You hear, Harry?”

“No,” Draco whispered, “Harry woke Medea.”

“Harry Potter?” Narcissa closed her eyes, swaying dangerously, “How?”

Draco averted his eyes, shrugging uncomfortably but gripped his mother’s upper arm to prevent her from falling, “I don’t know; it’s what the whispering is saying, though.”

Taking an unsteady breath, Narcissa gripped Draco’s arm, nodding shallowly, “Then you know what that means, right?”

“We definitely can’t follow Lucius’s path?” Draco responded dryly, earning a pointed look from his mother, “That goes without saying, Draco.” She straightened to her full height, expression turning calculating.

Seeing plans emerge and reshape was unnerving as she regarded Draco before nodding decisively at whatever conclusion she came to and opening the door, “It doesn’t change my immediate intention. Let’s go.”

Deciding not to question his mother, Draco followed behind her, trying to figure out the date; he knew it was sometime before he took the mark, but that period stretched on all the fifth year before he’d been singled out for the dubious honour. He opened his mouth half a dozen times to ask if his mother knew. Before swallowing the question, he was unsure if he wanted the answer. A lot had happened in his fifth year, including his unofficial recruitment of members within Slytherin house, something he wasn’t planning on doing this time around.

The guilt he felt at Greg Goyle’s senseless death was something that had stayed with him in the few months he’d lived after the war ended.

Draco followed his mother down the corridors of Malfoy Manor, moving deeper into the part of the house his father had never let him visit. Something that, in hindsight, made him frown at his mother’s back, “This is the way to the heart stone.”

“It is.” Narcissa replied, almost serenely, dismissively, waving her hand, “Your father is currently off doing something for his Dark Lord and won’t return until later this morning, as Lord Black is supposed to appear before the Wizengamot.”

“It’s the beginning of August?” Draco asked, interrupting his mother, flushing and mumbling sorry as she turned back to look at him.

“It’s almost mid-August; Harry’s trial is set for August 12th.” Narcissa explained as she continued walking, “I think today’s session will go much differently, considering two lords will not be voting.”

“Two?” He repeated in confusion, hurrying to catch up with his mother when he realized he’d fallen behind.

“Well, I doubt Lord Black will vote against himself if he even publicly releases that he’s claimed the Black title,” came the cool reply, “unfortunately for Lucius, he won’t be attending today’s session.”

“Why not?” Draco asked in surprise.

Narcissa sighed and stopped before a stone wall, sans any decoration or aesthetics indicating its importance. “Because you’re going to challenge and claim the family magic from your father.”

Draco tore his eyes from the wall and stared at his mother in horror, “What?”

Tiredly, Narcissa rubbed the bridge of her nose, “Okay, look at it this way, you are a son of both Malfoy and Black blood. It stands to reason that because the Black family magics sent us back, the Malfoy magic will know it was the end of its existence.” She swallowed hard and drew in a harsh breath that Draco couldn’t help but copy, “I’m hoping that because of that, it will know and accept an alternative; magic wants to live, and to live….”

“It needs a host.” Draco finished softly, feeling tears sting his eyes, “But that means father…”

“Made the wrong choice.” Narcissa snapped, anger and betrayal layering her tone, “He made his choice twenty years ago when he blindly followed a trumped-up half-blood and spouted the same rhetoric. He made it again when he flocked to his side and celebrated his return. Lucius brought this on himself and should have remembered. I am a Black by blood, and my duty is to my patriarch as the head of the family, who is in the hierarchy above the Malfoy line.”

Narcissa touched the wall, and it swung in silently, the heart stone pulsing a soft light that arched and reflected off the ivory-coloured sandstone walls.

Pushing aside the dread Draco felt, he allowed his curiosity to come to the forefront and entered after his mother, shivering as magic reached out, sliding over his skin like it was tasting him, “Father never brought me here.”

It wasn’t a question, though Narcissa treated it as such, “No, he didn’t because Lucius is paranoid. Truthfully, it made me realize he feared exactly what I planned.”

Eyes flitting around the room, devoid of anything but the heart stone, Draco swallowed, “Sanctimonia Vincet Semper.”

“Yes, Purity Will Always Conquer. Just like Toujours Pur… it doesn’t mean blood superiority or power of Muggles or Muggle-born, it means Always Pure.” Narcissa wiped a single tear from her cheek, “To my shame in allowing them to mark you, I destroyed that.”

Catching his mother’s hand, Draco caught her other shoulder until he turned her to face him, “and in doing so, allowed us both a second chance to get it right. If you hadn’t, Harry may not have survived to do whatever he did.”

A wan flicker of a smile crossed Narcissa’s face before it fell, “Be that as it may, I’ll feel guilty about what I allowed to happen for some time.”

Not arguing, as he understood the sentiment perfectly, Draco nodded to the faintly glowing stone, “So what do I do?”

“You must slice your palm and set it on the stone.” The subdued response came a second before a sheathed Athame was presented, “Upon my conception of you, I was escorted through the Malfoy family vaults and given a choice of a gift.” She caressed the sheath, a beautifully tooled leather case, a haunted look in her eyes, “out of everything, this called to me, though neither Abraxas nor your father could tell me whose it was, only that I was the first in four generations to touch it as it violently rejected anyone who attempted it.” Another single tear slid down her cheek, one she didn’t bother brushing away as she met his gaze, “I think looking back on it, it’s because it was meant for you.”

“I-it’s Mithril.” It sounded stupid when he spoke out loud, but he was dumbfounded, too. “The only other piece I’ve seen is the duelling swords in the study over the fireplace.”

“Yes, your fascination with it as a child and your father’s reaction should have been a clue then, but in my naivety or upbringing, I neglected what was right before me.” The toneless quality in his mother’s voice told Draco more than he expected to hear, and his heart went out to her. He squeezed her hand, “I don’t blame you, not for my childhood, the subsequent years and experiences, or where we are now because you’re right, we have a chance at a do-over, and we’re going to do it differently this time.”

A smile tugged at Narcissa’s lips before she offered the Athame again, “Then let’s do this.”

Draco took a deep breath and released his mother’s hands, brushing a kiss along her cheek before accepting the Athame. His fingers tingled immediately as magic rushed up his palm, testing and tasting. The single word, what? And who? Echoed with a childlike innocence that warred with Draco’s teaching of the family magics.

When his father assumed control of his education, Lucius drilled continuously and made no argument that the family magic was stern and unyielding, a harsh taskmaster unwilling to tolerate failure. For a time, Draco had been terrified of the family magics, always watching over his shoulder lest he be punished for not being perfect.

For all that the Malfoys were considered an ancient and noble household, the family magic had only been around since their arrival in England with William the Conqueror. In comparing it to the Black family magics, it was easy to see how much of a child it was. Even with much of the Black history obscured and lost to time, it was known and accepted that they’d been in England since the Middle Ages, but the magic itself felt older than that.

It was the juxtaposition of the heady intoxication of age and innocence. Draco lost himself in the feeling, unaware that he’d meditatively sliced his palm instinctively, and started to speak, “As Heir of the Malfoy line, pure of corruption and devote of Lady Magic, I Draconis Armand Malfoy, contest my father, Lucius Nicoli Malfoy’s status as Lord, and deem him unworthy of that and his name, judge us both, and declare and eject the traitor to our family name.”

Then, with a hitch of breath, he touched the heart stone, and the childlike feeling of excitement swelled up in him, surrounding him in a cocoon of love and acceptance. The repetition of mine reverberated through his head, only interrupted by the high-pitched scream of his father as the man in question slammed into the ritual circle.

Startled, Draco’s eyes flew open and jerked from his father to his mother, before a voice, older and more dignified, spoke, “It’s been many years since one of pure intent has summoned us, you lead by blood and right. Would you have us do what you demand of the impure usurper?”

Flicking a glance at his mother, who stood barely daring to breathe, face an expressionless, impassive mask, Draco focused on his father and felt nothing but pity and grief for the man he could have been, “Can he be healed?”

“Of the taint?” The voice questioned and answered without waiting for a response, “No, young one, he thrives on his pedestal, unwilling to acknowledge how much it will hurt when he falls. He willingly tied his fate with that of his fathers when he knelt at the feet of an abomination.”

Swallowing his bile, Draco nodded, “Then it is for you to decide. He wronged you before I was even born.”

Lucius stopped screaming mid-pitch, eyes widening in growing horror and rage. “You would- “

“NO!” The voice boomed, echoing around the room, making Lucius flinch, cracking his head on the stone floor, “No, Lucius, son of Abraxas, no. You no longer have the right to berate Draconis, you’ve known since his birth we wanted him, our one and only communication with you. You refused, unwilling to hold stewardship and give up the perceived power you thought you held, that was your undoing.”

A rumbling filled the room, overcoming the sharp panting that Lucius was letting out, as his back arched off the floor, mouth dropping open in a soundless scream.

The signet ring ripped off his father’s finger and flew towards Draco, who caught it with a heavy heart, fisting his hand around it as he watched his father suffer the punishment he’d decreed.

It lasted no time, yet felt like forever, but when it was done, the former Lucius Malfoy lay panting weakly on the floor, long, trait-marked white-blond hair a dull straw colour, matted and clumped together with sweat. The pale grey eyes had changed to a swamp brown colour, which was now set in an age-lined face as if magic had kept him young.

Given what Draco knew of his father, he wouldn’t be surprised if his father had participated in a black magic ritual or two during the last war.

After a few minutes of silence, the voice spoke again, “Young lord, it is done, do what you will. He is of no blood or name anymore. Marked with the brand of a traitor as of old, his name is Lucius Sine Nomine. If you have questions, call Armand, and I will answer.”

Draco nodded, not responding as he closed his eyes, sliding into the wards with ease, and then, with a flick, banished Lucius from the grounds, using the runic symbol his ancestors had burnt into Lucius’ back as the key to lock him out permanently.

When he opened his eyes, he took a measured breath before looking at his mother and waiting for her response.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise when a single tear rolled down her cheek, along with her whispered confession, “The marriage bond is gone.”

Draco waited to see if she would add anything before prodding her gently, “Is it gone or faded like a death?”

A frown marred Narcissa’s face, and she swallowed hard, “death. I’m a widow, at least according to magic.”

Not relaxing at all, Draco rolled the family ring in his hand and then set it on the heart stone, tapping it with his wand.

“What are you doing?” Narcissa asked in confusion.

“Asking the family magics to cleanse it, no telling what Lucius infected it with.” He glanced towards his mother, who moved to stand beside him. “Would it have been easier if he’d died?”

Shrugging helplessly, Narcissa sighed, “I honestly don’t know. Riddle won’t be pleased either way. Lucius has no access to the home, money, or influence; he’s a paperweight now, even more so than Wormtail ever was.”

“I almost wish the rat were here. I’d hand-deliver Peter to Potter as a goodwill offering,” Draco muttered, watching the ring turn slowly, circling what looked like a miniature sun.

“It’s something we can add to our list of possibilities, but I think I need to purge my rooms and have some tea. You need to contact Gringotts and schedule an appointment with the account manager.”

Making a face, Draco nodded, “Maybe I’ll request a meeting with Ragnok. It might make relations better, giving this sort of news to the head.”

Narcissa paused and nodded, “That’s a good idea. Fostering a positive relationship with the Dverger will be important moving forward.” Draco felt her eyes on him, but he focused on the ring. “Do you wish me to write Lord Black?”

Eyes fluttering closed, Draco shook his head, “Not yet.” He held a hand up when his mother drew in a breath as if to argue, “I know we must, and we will. Let’s see what news is reported from the trial today and then plan, alright?”

Releasing a sigh, Narcissa nodded, “Very well, it might be a good idea to give you both a few days to adjust.”

Snorting at the pointed barb, Draco heard his mother leave, humming a haunting melody under her breath, while Draco focused on the ring, thinking of all it represented, already wondering if he’d made the right choice.

***

CHAPTER TWO

Warily watching his godfather rub a hand down his face, wiping the tears away, Harry shifted against the wall the two of them had collapsed to after the emotional storm they’d been lost in subsided.

The movement made Sirius raise his head, looking at Harry with glittering grey eyes. The previous hints of madness were only a sliver, and remnants of his time in Azkaban flared in his eyes. “I-what did you do, Harry?”

Licking his lips, Harry fingers the unfamiliar ring. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Sirius’s eyes fluttered shut, his voice was harsh and low, shivers raising goose bumps on his exposed chest. “Whispers, light, laughter, falling, screaming, and then nothing.”

Breath-catching, Harry clenched their still joined hands on the floor between them, fighting a harsh, semi-hysterical laugh, and he rubbed at his face, echoing his godfather’s action, “For me, that event was over three years ago, Sirius.”

Grunting, Sirius shifted on the floor, “I know that pup, I don’t understand…” the rest of his sentence trailed off, a sharp inhale echoing around the room, as Harry pulled the amulet from inside his shirt, the ring on his pinky visible.

Harry took a shaky breath, “After the war, I- I was extremely depressed. Hermione called it survivor’s guilt and the need to mourn those lost. At first, everyone gave me that; they allowed me to mourn and grieve, but as the weeks dragged on, they stopped understanding. They kept wanting me to do something, make changes, or use my fame to implement policies that I couldn’t agree with. It was obscene how much power I had that they wanted to utilize. So, I started hiding inside Grimmauld, avoiding everyone…” He trailed off with a sigh and shook his head.

Sirius nudged his shoulder and whispered gently, “Take your time, pup.”

“I started dreaming; it was a 50/50 split if it was something from the war or before my time, but over the last few weeks, they were of events, of ancient, long forgotten history.” He paused and met Sirius’s eye, watching his godfathers widen at the excitement in his own. “They were amazing, Sirius. I saw Greek and Roman conflicts, Julius Caesar’s speech, and Arthur’s coronation. It was surreal. I’d wake up with half-remembered feelings and flashes, but then they changed, slowly showing me things that happened here in Grimmauld that I wasn’t present for. The last one, though….” Harry trailed off, swallowing hard, fighting the sting of tears.

The older man waited patiently, not saying anything, for which Harry was grateful. “It- I think it showed me a future event. The Malfoys followed Voldemort, but Narcissa and Draco turned on him. Draco refused to name me when snatchers caught me, and Narcissa lied and said I was dead.” He shook his head when Sirius made a strangled noise, “It- I can explain later. With the Malfoys, though, they were rounded up, and even though I spoke in their defence at the trial, I dreamt that I watched their names blacken on the tapestry. It hurt physically and…” he touched his chest, over his heart, “I felt it here, and I knew that everyone had lied to me. Ron, Hermione, and the new ministry that had sprung up in the defeat of Riddle. They called themselves the New World Order but didn’t care about innocence or redemption; it was built on revenge and slights, worse than anything we’d been under.”

Rubbing his chest, Harry tensed as Sirius slid an arm around his shoulder, tugging Harry close, the heat from his godfather making him relax as his head tipped to his shoulder. “I woke up crying, as for a while I thought I was going crazy. But the more I thought about it, I figured the house was trying to tell me something. So, I searched for the study- “

“The study’s on the first floor,” Sirius said in confusion, gently stroking Harry’s hair as he shook his head.

“No, that study came after this one was locked. I- I don’t know how to explain it. I knew there had to be another, so I let the house guide me, leading me to this room. It showed me a vision, a man, your ancestors and what he did that locked away the family magic. He wanted a Muggle-born witch, but she was disdainful of the magic that governed the family, and she would only agree to the union if he sealed it. He did, which not only killed him, but the consequences became known as the Black Madness.”

Sirius’s breath hitched, his head resting against Harry’s, “and none had been worthy until you.”

Pulling back at that, Harry met his godfather’s eyes, “I don’t understand.”

Silver’s eyes fluttered shut, and Sirius exhaled slowly, opening his eyes with an awareness that was lacking in the other timeline. “I- when I was sixteen, I ran away from my family, hating what they represented, their bigotry and views, and found refuge in your father’s home. When your mother was carrying you, I received a summons from my grandfather, the first one I’d received since I ran. Furious and intrigued, I showed up for the summons, where he told me I was still his heir, and it was time to learn my duty.” He barked a harsh laugh and shook his head in shame, “I lost it. I raged at that old man for an hour, blamed him for everything I suffered under my parents, claimed I hated our family, and it was horrible to him.” He swallowed, a sheen of tears filling his eyes, “Arcturus, my grandfather just looked at me with sorrowful eyes and asked if I still intended to be your godfather, and I remember the question stopping me short. It was just that no one knew James and Lily had asked me. We’d talked about it the night before, and Grandfather explained he’d had a vision. A restoration and future hope for our family that if I did the blood adoption ritual, I could pass the Heirship to you and hide it within the family magics that slept, and you’d know best when to claim it.”

Harry frowned, “But you said it yourself; you hated the family; why did you allow it?”

His godfather’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly before he forced the words out, “I felt it-her. While my grandfather tried to explain in terms I could understand, I felt her there. The scent of foreign flowers, spices, and whispers overlapped in languages I didn’t know. The feeling of grief and regret overladen with love, acceptance and pride at my choices. It was like a sleepy murmur of want echoing in my head, the sense that she knew that you were meant for her even before you were born. After that, I couldn’t deny it, so I talked to James and Lily, and twenty-four hours after your birth, my grandfather led the ritual.”

Harry swallowed, touching Sirius’s cheek, forcing eye contact, “and then Medea forced you to forget. She’s sorry, you know? She did it as a protection for all of us; I think I had to be old enough to claim them as an adult because, as a kid, someone else could have claimed regency.”

Snorting, Sirius laughed without humour, “Yeah, there’s that. If Dumbledore had known you had that power, I imagine I wouldn’t have sat in Azkaban for twelve years.”

Tensing at the statement, Harry tilted his head, “You think he would have found you innocent earlier?”

Sirius lifted his head from the wall, raising an eyebrow, incredulous at the question. “Pup, you aren’t that naive. You must know that old man doesn’t have your best interests at heart.”

Harry flinched but nodded, “Yeah, I figured that out.”

Sighing, the two men settled back against the wall when Sirius asked, “So what are we going to do?”

Shrugging, Harry glanced around the study, the tapestry still on the wall, glowing faintly in the pre-dawn light that crested over the houses seen outside the window. “I don’t know; figure out how to defeat Riddle sooner so people don’t die.”

Feeling Sirius tense but nodding, Harry waited for what his godfather would say, not exactly surprised by the caution in his tone, “You know we can’t tell anyone of the time travel.”

“I gathered. I hate admitting it, but I don’t trust anyone in this house, at least not anyone but you and Severus Snape, and that’s something I never thought I’d say.” Harry agreed, wry amusement filling his tone that trailed off and demanded when Sirius flinched, “What?”

“I-I don’t know. There’s something there, but I….” He trailed off and shook his head, glancing at the clock on the wall, “I’ll think about it, though we should try and pretend nothing’s changed. You also have that stupid trial today.”

“Oh, things are changing, Siri,” Harry said, groaning and rubbing his face in frustration. “What? I have the trial today?”

“Sorry, pup, but yeah, the trial’s set for 9, but if I remember correctly, they changed it to 8 without alerting you.” Sirius offered, stretching his back until it cracked.

“They did. Well, that’s the first thing that’s going to change,” Harry replied, copying Sirius as he rolled to his feet, remembering the wand he received from Medea and wordlessly summoned it from the other room.

The wand flew across the room and into his hand, sparks arcing from the tip, his eyes slowly lifting to Sirius’s, “Why do you remember?”

“What?” Sirius asked in confusion, freezing with his arms raised above his head.

Licking his lips, Harry glanced around the room, neck tingling, “Doesn’t it seem strange that you remember an alternative timeline? What’s to say no one else does?”

Sirius’s mouth opened to respond, but then he shook his head, “I don’t know, Harry, but I think we need to be very careful going forward. If in doubt, let’s wait to talk until we do it behind a ward you cast.”

Frowning, Harry glanced at his godfather, “Are you sure? Won’t Dumbledore know?”

A sly smirk crossed Sirius’s face, and he slowly shook his head, “I don’t think so. For all that he’s intelligent, Dumbledore doesn’t understand even the more recent family magics that have emerged. I don’t think he’d hope to understand Medea as she is now.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry admitted, moving across the room at an internal prod, pulling open a desk drawer, and blinking at the wand holster. It was a mixture of black and red swirl leather, with a faint shine of glitter, which seemed to sparkle in the room.

“Pretty.” Sirius said, popping up behind him, “It’ll turn invisible when you put it on; no one will even know you have it.” Then slid past him to settle in the chair, “Very comfortable, my lord.”

Harry groaned but grabbed the arm sheath, looking at it confusedly, “How does it work?”

Sirius snapped a drawer shut. “What? Oh, the sheath? Place it on your arm; it’ll act like a sticking charm, unremovable as it’s tied to your magic.” He tilted his head, brows furrowing, “It’s old; pretty sure it’s in a painting of an ancestor I’d be hard-pressed to name. As for the wards, they’re spotty and degraded. Albus has already complained about them, as they keep sending false reports, though I’m pretty sure it’s Kreacher messing with them.”

Glancing sharply at Sirius, Harry pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and set the sheath on his bare arm, feeling the heat of it as arm bands snaked around his forearm, his wand snapping and disappearing, though he could still feel the weight and warmth. Returning to the comment about the wards, he asked, “Intrusions?”

“Nah, nothing like that.” Sirius gripped his wrist, turning his arm and nodding in satisfaction, “Whoever created that did outstanding rune work. It’s not even giving a glimmer of magic.” He met Harry’s eyes curiously, “Try not to use that wand in front of people. Use the Holly, alright?”

“Unless I have no choice,” Harry agreed, prompting Sirius again, “Kreacher?”

Sirius made a face, “My memories are all twisted up, but he’s- I don’t feel the disgust I once did for him. It’s easy now. Looking at it, he’s sick. I’m not sure what. It could be the house, his years alone, or even the madness, but he’s definitely sick.”

Harry closed his eyes, centring himself lightly, and silently called the sharp crack of the house elf’s arrival and the subsequent equation of noisy tears that filled the room, jarring him out of the light trance. Harry looked down at the old house elf on the floor, sobbing into his dirty toga, words illegible.

Falling to his knees in front of Kreacher, Harry ignored Sirius’s muffled exclamation of horror as he pulled the elf into a hug, the elf stiffening in shock, though it didn’t silence him.

Using a moderate amount of power, Harry pushed it into the unresisting elf, who relaxed and started to glow, a healthy sheen encasing his body. Cradling the elf gently, Harry kept the stream of magic flowing until the elf pulled back himself, the shocked awe on his face, a stark contrast to his face the previous night, his hand falling to his chest, clenching at his dirty toga that rippled and changed to the little uniform Kreacher had made during the last timeline as tears filled his eyes. “Master Harry, what? Why are we here? Kreacher does not understand.”

Harry closed his eyes at the question and heaved a sigh. “We don’t either, not really, but Medea sent me back when I claimed the title and the family magic.”

Kreacher regarded him for a long moment before slowly shaking his head, “Not just you, Master Harry, it be all Black blood in a direct line, mistress’s Bella and Cissy, and young Draco be included.”

Startled, Harry glanced at Sirius, who swore, but Harry was more immediately concerned with two others, “Andromeda and Tonks?”

The elf frowned and shook his head, “No, not them, master Harry. She walked, leaving family behind, the half-blood she wants and wants, but without Lorde accepting her, she can’t claim any of it.”

“Should I?” Harry asked curiously, earning a sniff from the elf, who lifted his chin.

“Master Harry be knowing, not Kreacher’s place to offer opinions.”

“It is now,” Harry said softly, taking the elf’s hands in his, “we’re family, all of us, and if we’re going to survive this, then we need to work together.”

Big yellow eyes that shone with the health of magic regarded Harry thoughtfully for a long moment before nodding once, “Very well, master Harry, then Kreacher believes that they should not join. The mother be bad witch, more cruel than poor mistress Bella.”

Frowning, Harry glanced at Sirius and saw the puzzled frown before directing his attention back to the elf, “What do you mean, Kreacher?”

The elf’s ears twitched, and then he shook his head, “Kreacher doesn’t know, doesn’t have the words.”

Sighing, Harry nodded, “That’s alright, Sirius and I are having issues too. Hopefully, in time, it’ll come to us.” He paused briefly and swallowed. “Is there a warded containment box in the house?”

Kreacher pulled back with a frown, before nodding, blinking away silently, only to return before Sirius could ask the questions Harry could see building. The elf held the locket and a box, ears twitching madly, “I forgetting how horrible it feel.”

Grimacing, Harry could only agree as he took the locket and put it in the box, sealing it shut with magic and a sharp inhale as he felt the box nick his finger, wanting blood.

“I don’t know where to keep this,” Harry whispered, suddenly overwhelmed and trying not to panic at the thought of doing it all over again.

“Here, be safe, Master Harry.” Kreacher said, gently pulling the box from his hands, “This floor is family floor, and only those granted access can enter.”

Harry frowned but nodded, not wanting to get into an argument with the elf, but he did have a thought, “Was that a family library I hid in?”

Kreacher nodded, “Yes, Master Harry. Kreacher thought it best not to mention, not sure what it meant. Are you wanting books you was reading brought out again?”

Slowly, Harry nodded and patted the desk, “Set that here, and yes, please. I don’t think I’ll get to them today.” He stopped in confusion before admitting tiredly, “Not that I remember what I was reading, but I think it might be a good idea to find out.”

“Very well, Master Harry.” Kreacher bowed after placing the box on the desk, then seemed to hesitate before straightening his back, “Kreacher be cooking yous breakfast.”

“I would love that, Kreacher,” Harry responded softly, not wanting to hurt the elf’s feelings, and hesitated, unsure how to word the rest. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for them to know about me.”

Kreacher’s ear twitched as he finally spoke, “It not. The guests start getting up in the next few hours, but if Master Harry has no objection, Kreacher can cook you and Master Sirius breakfast before anyone wakes.”

Glancing at his godfather, who was staring at the elf in a mixture of regret and sadness, Harry could also see that Sirius was touched to be included in the request, though his eyes did flick to the box containing the Horcrux.

“That would be great, Kreacher.” Harry responded, and glanced at the clock, then the elf, “Is there any acceptable clothing I could wear to the Ministry?”

After a few minutes, Kreacher nodded, darting a hesitant look towards Sirius, who had made a noise of confusion, admitted, “There is Master Regulus’s clothing. After his disappearance, I was ordered to set the preservation charms in case he returned.”

Harry winced, finally looking at Sirius, who offered him a sad smile, “It’s fine, Harry. I- my brother died a hero, even if I don’t understand why or how.” He held up a hand when Harry went to respond, “I assume it ties into the bloody Horcrux on your desk, but it can wait until later. We need to get dressed and eat. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” Suiting action to his words, Sirius stood up, stopping in front of Harry, and cupped his cheek, “Merlin knows I would have been rubbish as lord, so please don’t feel any guilt over what happened in that other timeline. We’re both here in this one, so I have no regrets choosing you as my grandfather’s heir and head of the family.”

Harry swallowed hard, fighting the sting of tears, and raised a hand to his chest, covering his heart, “I’ll try, but I’m probably always going to feel some guilt about why you died. Losing you as I did? It destroyed something in me, Sirius.”

“I get it, pup.” Sirius responded thoughtfully, “I felt the same, losing your parents. Though it’s not an excuse for what I didn’t do, I should have done more to protect you.”

Shaking his head, Harry stepped into Sirius’s arms, “No, our combined past might suck, but Dumbledore would still have done something to prevent you from obtaining custody, making it worse.”

Sirius wrapped his arms around him, hugging him back, and kissed him to the top of his head, “Go shower. We can worry about everything else after your trial.”

Sighing, Harry nodded, withdrawing from Sirius’s arms, “Okay, I’ll meet you in the kitchen shortly.” Then, before Sirius could respond, Harry hugged him again hard and left the room, hurrying towards the bathroom so he could freak out alone.

***

As much as Harry had wanted to have a massive freak out in the bathroom, he knew he didn’t have time, at least not if he wanted to eat Kreacher’s breakfast without answering a hundred questions.

So, he had a decent cry while washing his hair, missing the length it had grown to after the war. It hadn’t been long, but it had brushed his shoulders, its weight giving it the semblance of tameable, and he’d had plans to see what happened if he grew it to Sirius length.

Once he finished in the shower, he dried himself, wiping the mirror, staring at his reflection that almost felt like a stranger. Grabbing his toothbrush, he brushed his teeth, glancing at the neat pile of clothing Kreacher had left on the counter, a pair of dragon hide boots on the floor. Once that was finished, he wiped his mouth and gamely got dressed, pants, socks, trousers, and shirt, blinking at the leftover articles, not expecting Kreacher to go all out.

Resigned, Harry leaned against the counter and pulled on the boots, feeling them form to his feet as he called for Kreacher, who appeared silently, running a critical eye over him, then waited patiently. However, a hint of amusement flickered in the elf’s gold eyes.

Rolling his own eyes, Harry sighed and held up the article that had stumped him, “I have no idea how to tie whatever this is, Kreacher.”

Kreacher snapped his fingers, offering a small smile, “It’s called a cravat, Master Harry. Without announcing your titles, it’s a sign of rank. Wiccan will see and judge you, gauging your worth based on the clothing they see.” As he explained, the cravat appeared, artfully tied. However, Kreacher frowned momentarily before popping away without a word, leaving Harry to pull on the dark green and silver brocade vest and then the robe, smoothing it out in a moment of appreciation and apprehension.

Kreacher returned as Harry fixed the cuffs, holding a smooth black box, fingers tightening on it before offering it silently. “They were supposed to be Master Regulas’s, but he never wore them.”

Ignoring the nervous flutter in his stomach, Harry opened the box to see an emerald tie pin and matching cuff links sitting in a bed of white satin next to another beautiful, tooled leather thigh holster. “They’re beautiful.”

Carefully lifting out the tie pin, he surveyed the cravat in the mirror before inserting it into the intricate folds. He waited for Kreacher’s approval before moving onto the cuff links and the leg holster.

Taking a minute to look at himself in the mirror, Harry could honestly admit he had never understood the importance of good clothing, but now, he looked good and felt good.

Rubbing a hand through the short hair, he wished it were longer. He glanced at Kreacher, “Thanks, Kreacher, I appreciate the help.”

“Of course, Master Harry.” Kreacher replied with a short bow, “Breakfast is almost ready.” Then, disappeared with a pop. Harry’s old clothing was left with him, leaving the bathroom spotless.

Shaking his head absently, Harry checked the arm sheath, reassuring himself it was still there, and then grabbed the holly wand, sliding it into the thigh holster as he left the bathroom, already anticipating the breakfast he knew would be waiting. Kreacher had a knack for making the best pancakes he’d ever had.

****

Breakfast had been fantastic, quiet and calm, with no chaos ruining the moment. The bacon was crispy just as he liked it, the pancakes were the fluffiest ones to date, and the coffee was perfect, even with Sirius’s scandalized reaction to that preference over tea. As they’d eaten, Sirius had informed him of the planned escort to the ministry, which, in hindsight, was one of the stupidest things they’d planned, including seven doppelgängers escaping on brooms.

It made no sense that everyone had been okay with him being escorted into Muggle London by one person who not only was unfamiliar with Muggle Britain but also wasn’t a powerful wizard at that. Considering the charges, it was ludicrous that they thought it would make him blend in and look good not to use magic.

That wasn’t happening this time; Harry refused; they had a perfectly good floo they could use instead of the underground, which was more of a headache than Binn’s classes were.

Screeching snapped him out of his head, and he found his wrist held in an unrelenting grip as Sirius grabbed hold of it, keeping it hidden under the table as Molly Weasley burst into the room in an utter panic. She stopped short at seeing him there, momentarily confused as Sirius tapped Harry’s thigh, drawing his attention to the wand in his hand.

Trying not to flush, he returned the wand to its arm sheath, picked up his coffee, and offered Mrs. Weasley a soft good morning, which she returned somewhat confusedly, though she attempted to brush it off as she bustled forward. “You should have woken me, Harry dear. I could have gotten up earlier and made breakfast instead of forcing you to wait.”

“Oh no, it’s fine, Mrs. Weasley, Sirius and I made breakfast and ate together,” Harry assured her, waving at the empty plates still on the table, hating that he had to lie to cover for Kreacher. The elf had been unbearably ecstatic cooking for him and Sirius.

“You shouldn’t have had to do that,” Molly responded, glaring at Sirius, flicking her wand at the cold box. “I’ll whip up something extra. I wouldn’t want you to get hungry midway through because you lack a proper meal.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and picked up his tea, turning his attention to the book he was reading and making Harry sigh. “We had a proper breakfast: bacon, pancakes, eggs, toast, and juice, though we had orange juice instead of pumpkin. I don’t want anything else to eat, Mrs. Weasley.”

That earned him a huff of irritation as if his anger from the day before was an insult to her placating, smothering. A frying pan hitting the stove with a little too much force made him want to tense, but he forced himself to remain calm as he felt her eyes boring into the back of his head, making him thankful for the glamours the ring provided that made it appear as if he was wearing Muggle clothing.

It was such a random thought, but it felt right, and he glanced at his godfather, whose attention was fixed firmly on the book in front of him. It had been Sirius who suggested the subterfuge and wondered what it meant. Looking at Mrs. Weasley, who had her back turned to the room, he blinked in understanding and realized she wasn’t wearing robes but outdated Muggle clothing. The only ones he saw wearing robes had been Kingsley and Mr. Weasley, though the robes Mr. Weasley wore were plain and obsolete as well.

Harry jumped as a crash echoed down the hall, followed by shrieking and Sirius shooting out of his chair instantly, brandishing his wand, making him want to follow, but a touch on his shoulder prevented him. “Don’t worry about it, Harry. They’ll shut up that awful portrait and hopefully find a way to get it down before the end of summer.”

Fighting the instinct to snap, Harry nodded silently as Mrs. Weasley returned to the stove, and Harry closed his eyes, entering the webbing that the warding was.

To say it was a mess was an understatement, and Harry wondered what Snape had added after Dumbledore died in the other timeline because it felt completely different now.

Feeling a flicker of excitement at his arrival, he travelled along the web, unsurprised to find himself in Walburga’s portrait, the bombardment of information hitting him broadside as she alerted him to the holes in the warding that allowed the doxies in, the ghoul that resided in the attic, the lethifold in the basement, the werewolf that was in a bedroom on the third-floor bathroom and the boggart in the upstairs lounge. The house was enraged and wasn’t quiet, as she also indicated that the wards had tried to alert people to the dark artifacts in the home. Still, they’d been brushed aside, unacknowledged, when someone had reactivated the Fidelius, adding something else that wasn’t part of the original structure.

Brow furrowing, Harry studied it, identifying parts of it: tracking, notification, emotional disruptor, loyalty enhancement…. It was so odd that Harry could only stare; the urge to shred and destroy it was harder to fight than he thought. Hands clenching around the coffee mug, he left it alone, his suspicions on who and why that knot had been added glaringly obvious. He was so lost in silent communication with the portrait that he was startled when Sirius sat beside him. The silence from the hall showed that they had managed to close her portrait, though she continued to feed information to Harry until he reassured her that he’d take care of it.

Arthur Weasley settled at the table, offering Harry a hesitant greeting, which he returned, mind still partly ruminating with the house, passing along orders to Kreacher.

“You know, there is nothing to worry about. Right, Harry?” Arthur reassured, though he made it sound like a question, interrupting his musing and taking his silence for nerves.

Harry shrugged, unconcerned, “I’m not worried, I’m pissed.”

Arthur winced and nodded in understanding, even as Molly tutted and set a plate down in front of Arthur and another in front of an empty chair as Tonks stumbled into the kitchen.

Directing her attention to Harry, Molly smiled admonishingly, “While I understand your anger, you can’t afford to show it in front of Amelia. It’ll make you look guilty. It would be best if you could appear confused and fearfully- “

“Why?” Harry interrupted her, “I mean, I’m confused about how they can accuse me of breaking the statute for saving my cousin’s life, but I’m not afraid. I know I did nothing wrong. It’s a setup by the ministry to make me look insane or crazy, and if they think they can successfully find me guilty, I’ll bring it before the ICW.”

Molly opened her mouth to refute the statement before evidently deciding to change the subject, “Well, Arthur’s going to be escorting you this morning; he got the directions on how to travel by Muggle means to the Ministry, so there isn’t anything you need to worry about.”

“I-that seems counterproductive to my protection, doesn’t it?” Harry asked, wrinkling his brow.

Molly’s blue eyes flashed in irritation at the question, teeth grinding before she forced a smile, “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“Well…” Harry drew the word out slowly, “If the entire idea is to keep me safe, wouldn’t it just be easier to travel by floo?”

“What? Of course, we want to keep you safe.” Molly protested heatedly, completely ignoring his question about the floo, “Why would you accuse us differently?”

“Didn’t you guys have an honour guard of five people pick me up from Private Drive? Why would you want me outside any wards where Death Eaters could reach me?” He paused and glanced around at the two other adults, knowing Sirius wouldn’t interrupt. “No offence meant, but if it’s just Mr. Weasley escorting me, and I’m not allowed to do magic, if multiple people attack us, it stands to reason we’d lose.”

Mouths worked, without words emerging from the three of them, as they exchanged looks. The frustration mounting on Molly’s face told its own tale when neither Arthur nor Tonks could find a hole in his argument.

Twisting the towel in her hand, Molly sat at the table, frowning hard, words tumbling out in agitation. “But the headmaster- it’s the best method to get you to your hearing.”

“It’s really not.” Harry said slowly, “Stepping into the floo and calling an address that takes us directly to our destination seems less risky than travelling by Muggle transport when neither Mr. Weasley nor I are overly familiar with that sort of thing.”

“But you’re Muggle, or well, grew up that way.” Tonks protested, shaking her head, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Technically, I’m a half-blood, raised by Muggles, which kept me pretty sheltered.” Harry countered dryly and raised an eyebrow when she snorted, unsure if it was meant to be disbelieving. “Auror Tonks, I mean this with all due respect, but when I say my relatives kept me sheltered, I mean it. If I wasn’t cleaning something, I was kept in my cupboard and told to be quiet. I didn’t hear about magic or Hogwarts until I received my letter, and I was kept at their home.”

Sirius had tensed beside him, only the fidgeting of his hand on the spine of the book betraying that he was listening, when Molly rose to her feet, trying to end the conversation before Tonks could respond. “It doesn’t matter. The decision and travel arrangements have already been made. It’ll be fine, Arthur’s been excited for the experience.”

“Then I won’t go,” Harry said simply, stopping Molly in her tracks, and she whipped around to look at him in horror.

“But you have too!” The woman whispered, eyes widening.

“Well, if operational security is important and my safety imperative, then we travel by floo. Simple, isn’t it?”

Arthur placed a hand on Molly’s arm, stopping the building eruption, “As much as I dislike going against the plan, Harry’s right. Operational security is important. We’ll travel by floo. Why don’t you wait in the living room while I eat, and then we can go?”

Glancing between the five adults, Sirius finally lifted his head as Remus entered. Harry shrugged and rose, leaving the room without a word.

***

CHAPTER THREE

Shifting in the chair in what was now his study, Draco shifted the books he’d been reviewing before calling the three elves. He regarded the overworked house elves with a sigh of remembered grief and regret, hoping his actions now had prevented the horrifying fate they’d suffered in the previous timeline.

Releasing a sigh, Draco ran a hand through his hair and rose from the chair as he took in their trembling frames and moved around the desk to kneel in front of them, watching their eyes widen in shock as he held both hands up, waiting for them to accept them.

The oldest elf, Mimsy, had overseen the kitchens for as long as Draco could remember and knew she’d been there when his grandfather was a boy. Mimsy hesitated before accepting, then encouraged her daughter, Lolly, who was now in charge of the household, to take his hand. It didn’t matter what magic a house elf had; expecting them to do the job of multiple elves was cruel, which was Pepper’s downfall. He took each hand the two females offered, regarding Draco with keen eyes, and it was easy to see how he was related to Dobby. He was as old as Mimsy, but oversaw the grounds, including the gardens, orchards, and stables. As a result, Pepper couldn’t keep up, and while the manor was self-sufficient, it barely broke even.

In addition to having three elves try and do the job of ten, Lucius had been famous for enforcing punishments when they couldn’t get through the assigned duties, never mind the day-to-day chores, compounded by the fact Lucius magically starved them, forcing them to work for the scraps he would allow them to draw from.

Now, though, Draco opened the connection to the wild magics that had spent decades gathering in the wards and tied them in, giving them free access, watching in awe as the practically glowing bodies pulsed in time to the magic as they drew it in. He didn’t rush them, letting them feed until they were full, marvelling at the physical changes they underwent as they did.

All three grew in height and weight, no longer carrying the world’s weight on their small shoulders. Their skin took on a nice, healthy sheen, and the age wrinkles disappeared like they’d grown younger.

Mimsy released his hand with a startled gasp, eyes jerking from his to the other two, and opened her mouth, but Draco shook his head.

“No, Mimsy, you have no need to apologize. I owe you three an apology for what you have suffered at my family’s hands.”

Dark eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head in confusion, “It is not Master Draco’s fault. You has always treated us with kindness.”

Draco smiled weakly, “Maybe not, but I didn’t do anything to prevent the other treatment either.” He inclined his head, “At least until now, I won’t restrict your access to the wild magics, and I forbid you from punishing yourself for some preserved failure. Lucius was cruel, and I would like to believe I am not him.”

“You aren’t, Master Draco.” Lotty instantly replied, patting his hand, “Mama, be right. You always treated us with kindness.”

Glancing away, Draco squeezed her hand gently before letting go, “I will do better, so to begin, I have something to offer to show my sincerity.”

Mimsy smiled slowly and shook her head, placing her hand on his arm and preventing him from pulling his wand, “There is no need, Master Draco, we feels the honesty and promise in the bond. We knows you’d never hurt us or order us to be hurt.”

“I won’t allow it, either.” Draco felt the need to add, “What you and others have suffered at my family’s hands is shameful.”

“So, we do better now,” Mimsy said simply.

Inhaling a shaky breath, Draco swallowed, “Alright then, is there anything you want or need that will improve or help your work?”

The three elves exchanged looks of confusion before their unspoken leader, Mimsy, spoke up, “Is Master Draco asking us our opinions?”

“I am.” Draco responded, shifting to sit on the floor before them, “I am not following in my previous forebears’ footsteps and plan to forge a new path. I can’t say I will align with the light, but I promise not to follow Lucius’s Dark Lord; he is no friend of mine.”

“We need more elves.” Peppers said simply, and elaborated, “Mimsy fine in kitchen, but Lolly needs help in house, and it would be better if you and mistress have own elves.”

Draco met the old elf’s eyes, nodding as if expecting it, “And you, Pepper?”

The elf shrugged uncomfortably but admitted, “would be easier to have two other elves, one for gardens, other for grounds. I hasn’t been able to keep up with stables like before.”

“Will elves be willing to bond with my family?” Draco asked hesitantly, not sure he wanted the answer.

Mimsy offered a toothy grin, eyes lit with amusement, “They will now. We just need to know how many you be willing to accept.”

It was Draco’s turn to smile with amusement, “How about I leave that in your capable hands? You three know better than I do what is necessary for the manor and farms to work at full capacity.” He paused briefly, “And I would be willing to accept a personal bond for my elf. I’m sure Mother would be too if you know of any that would prefer that than a family bond.”

Mimsy glanced at Peppers, who nodded once, and then turned back to Draco, “We puts out the call then, Master Draco.”

“Good.” Draco said, breathing a sigh of relief, “Now, once that has been done, I would like all the dark artifacts in the home to be placed in containment fields and then stored appropriately until I can have them arranged to be picked up by the bank for disposal. Is that something you can arrange and work out?”

Mimsy nodded, though her ears flattened, “I-is-yes, Master Draco, there be one none of us like, or be willing to touch. It be very dark and evil.”

Startled and a little scared, Draco pulled back, “What is it?”

The elf shook her head, ears flapping, and she shuddered hard before pointing across the study to the wall opposite the fireplace, “previous masters use hidden room, it be in there.”

“Previous? As in Abraxas, too?” Draco asked hesitantly, earning an ear-flapping nod from the three elves.

Feeling a coil of dread wrap around his throat, Draco rose to his feet and crossed the room, stopping in front of the wall, not wanting to open it but knowing he had to. “How?”

Mimsy shuddered and swallowed, “yous blood, master.”

Grimacing at the primitive but effective method, Draco drew his wand and sliced his palm, placing it on the wall, shivering as the magic in the home tasted and evaluated. Glancing at the elves again, Draco asked quietly, “Are there more of these hide-holes in the manor?”

“Forgotten ones, Mimsy is unsure what would be in them.”

“Find some way to mark them, and hopefully, the Dverger can help me clear out the manor.” Draco offered, watching the wall ripple and disappear, his breath stuttering in his chest as he stared in horror-struck awe at the contents, not really comprehending what he saw and unable to move, fingers clenching rhythmically in his robes.

It’s how his mother found him, though Draco presumed it was because one of the elves had gone to fetch her; he’d heard them talking but hadn’t been able to respond, still trying to correlate what he saw with what he knew of future events.

“Draco, love?” Narcissa asked carefully, touching his shoulder and physically turning his attention from inside the vault.

“Mum?” Draco asked, blinking at her in confusion, eyes darting to the vault’s entrance again, suppressing the urge to rub at his arm where the mark had once been.

Narcissa’s silver eyes flicked to the vault, lingering on the artifacts before dismissing them and meeting Draco’s eyes, “How did you find this room, love?”

Draco swallowed, eyes racing around the room, “I-the elf’s- I-I wanted them to know I’d treat them better. What happened and what Lucius allowed wasn’t right now, and I won’t let it happen this time. We-we were discussing ways in which to make their work easier, and Mimsy mentioned the dark artifacts, asking them to be contained. I couldn’t see an issue with it; it was on my list of things to speak to the Dverger about, but then she said there was one they wouldn’t touch. That it was dark and evil, so I asked- I asked where it was….” His eyes strayed to inside the vault, and he swallowed hard, “Mum, why is- I thought it was in the vaults in Gringotts.”

Narcissa Malfoy sighed and led him from the vault entrance, forcing him to sit and drink the calming draught she summoned. She sat across from him and regarded him critically as he slowly calmed down.

Draco released a breath as she fixed him a cup of tea, holding it out with a neutral expression fixed on her face, making him sigh in irritation, knowing she wouldn’t say anything until he accepted the tea. “Mum, why do we have that cup in the vaults? I distinctly remember Aunt Bella bragging about the honour of being the one to hide it. I just didn’t realize it had been a recent honour.”

“That’s because she wasn’t chosen until after the breakout and Lucius’ subsequent failure in obtaining the prophecy.” Narcissa admitted quietly, “It was originally gifted to Abraxas, who, as you know, was one of the Dark Lord’s closest and most trusted advisors.”

Draco shuddered in disgust, already knowing that whole sordid and disgusting ‘situation.’ It was honestly the only thing he could call it, because it wasn’t a relationship or a partnership. Abraxas Malfoy had loved his Dark Lord to an obsessive degree, and there wasn’t anything the man wouldn’t have done for his Lord.

Shaking his head at those memories, Draco focused on his mother, who circled the rim of her tea plate with a finger, “So how did Bella get it?”

Heaving a sigh, Narcissa’s eyes fluttered closed briefly as she forced herself to swallow before speaking, “The Yule, after your initiation, the remains of the inner circle were summoned to a private audience. The Dark Lord spent forever praising Abraxas for his dedication to the cause.” Narcissa took a sip of tea, expression grim, “he went on and on about how Abraxas had protected him, his legacy and his immortality. He wanted to prove that by having Lucius get the items from the vaults, but Lucius looked….” She trailed off and frowned, shaking her head, “I don’t know how to explain it, but he was absolutely petrified. I don’t, Draco. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone like that. I don’t think anyone has. The Dark Lord seemed aware that not all was right, as he strolled over to Lucius and tore through his occlumency shields like wet paper….”

Narcissa swallowed again and closed her eyes, “I’ll never be more thankful that you refused to come home for Yule that year, citing the progress of your assignment. I feared the Dark Lord would have you summoned that night anyway to punish Lucius more because he was enraged.” She waved a hand expressively, “I don’t think any of us understood their conversation. To this day, I still don’t. Yet Lucius bore the brunt of the punishment and spent hours being ripped apart, called the worst of traitors. For his betrayal, Bella was awarded and gifted with the protection of the cup.”

Thinking over the sequence of events that followed, Draco’s brow furrowed, and he swallowed, “Then after Potter broke into the bank, Bella was punished the same….”

Narcissa inclined her head, eyes flicking to the golden cup that shone with an innocence that they both knew was a lie, “I-I don’t know what it is, but if it’s the same one Harry broke into Gringotts for, I think it might be prudent to contact the Dverger and have it secured, at least until we can get in contact with Lord Black, Draco.”

Draco grimaced, looking towards his desk, “I have a meeting with the Chieftain this afternoon, but I have no idea how to get in touch with Potter. I tried sending Achilles earlier, but the poor thing became so agitated that I gave up.” He paused and added, “And yes, I tried a variation of names he could use, but it just made the owl worse.”

Sniffing disdainfully, Narcissa finished her tea, “So he’s under a mail-ward, likely tied to his magical signature.” Furrowing her brow, she lifted her chin, “Did you try Sirius’s name?”

“Yes, but it was the same result.” Draco admitted roughly, “I suppose I could try Granger or Weasley…”

“No, that won’t work either.” Narcissa said, “We can’t be sure of their loyalties, and given the blood feud between the Weasleys and the Malfoys, that’s a nonstarter; it won’t work.”

Dejectedly, Draco slumped in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “Very well; hopefully, if he remembers, he’ll find a way to contact us.”

“I’m sure he has,” Narcissa replied, sitting forward, “I don’t see how he could forget. What happened was because of something he did after all.”

“Unless the magics protecting him,” Draco muttered, then shook his head, “enough about Potter. I have a question about something else, Mother.”

Regarding him with a questioning expression, Draco wasn’t sure his mother would allow the subject to change. Yet, she inclined her head, making him relax, summoning the account book that had caused him to summon the elves initially, “The reason I summoned the elves originally was because of the lack of profit the farms generate. Comparing what I know from my family history lessons and the bottom line today, we’re breaking even. Given the rising costs, I suspect we’ll be bankrupt in ten years without intervention.”

“No, we won’t.” Narcissa laughed, an embarrassed flush claiming her cheeks, “I apologize, Draco. It’s something I didn’t even think of earlier. Give me a moment, and I’ll collect the real books.”

“Real books?” Draco repeated dumbly, lowering the book to his lap.

“Yes.” Narcissa agreed with a nod, “Shortly after you were born, Abraxas approached me about keeping two sets of books. One set was for your father. Abraxas already had doubts about your father’s idea of brilliance and knew if left in charge would run us into the ground, so I’ve been investing and keeping the portfolios secret, except for the ones your father was convinced were the next big thing.” She rose to her feet, hesitating briefly, “maybe we could meet in the conservatory, we can go over the things I’ve done and make an appropriate plan of actions when we meet with Ragnok later today.”

“I-yeah, I’d like that.” Draco agreed, rising to his feet and looking at the wall, “I don’t think I’ll be comfortable in this room until that’s gone.”

With a delicate shiver, Narcissa agreed and led the way from the room, the wall shimmering behind them to become a solid wall once again.

***

Any good intentions Harry had about not changing too much, too fast, disappeared as he followed the angry form of Arthur Weasley through the Atrium of the Ministry.

Harry knew Arthur had been irritated with him when he returned to the kitchen, but this seemed excessive, though somewhat amusing, as Harry knew Arthur wouldn’t say anything.

The report he’d gotten from Grimmauld after being dismissed from the kitchen like an errant schoolboy had been a disturbingly detailed account of the order’s plans to deal with and keep him contained without sharing anything with him.

The fact that he’d already thrown them off script by his refusal to toe the line and let the ‘adults’ control things had thrown them all for a loop.

Sighing warily, Harry glanced into the open door of an office and saw the time, looking back the way they’d come, and realized because they’d not only arrived differently, but they’d also arrived earlier than intended, meaning whoever had alerted Arthur to the change in venue for the trial would be missed.

Catching sight of the washroom sign, Harry hurried to catch up to Mr. Weasley, catching his elbow, “Sir, could I just stop and use the bathroom before meeting you in your office?”

Distracted, Arthur glanced between Harry and the restroom, “Do you need to go?”

Refraining from rolling his eyes, Harry nodded, earning a grunt from Arthur, the difference between this Arthur and the previous timeline making Harry uncomfortable, “My office is two more corridors, and then it’s the second on the left, alright?”

“Alright.” Harry agreed readily, slipping down the hallway and into the bathroom before Arthur could offer anything else. He still wasn’t sure what the end game was regarding the order, having never confirmed in the future if they’d known all of Dumbledore’s plan for Harry’s overall sacrifice.

Using the bathroom while he could, Harry moved to the sinks to wash his hands, regarding himself in the mirror, eyes lighting on the scar that encased the Horcrux, the flush of anger not his own or Riddle’s, and it took a second to realize it was Medea.

It hadn’t been the first brush of her that he’d been aware of, but it was the most overt, and he wished he’d had her support before.

A prodding in the back of his mind made him remember the time, and he pulled the invisibility cloak from his pocket, slipping it on and drawing the hood.

Stepping out into the hallway, he glanced down the hall towards Arthur’s office, saw the light spilling from the open door, turned and slipped back down the way they’d come.

In the empty lift, he pulled the cloak off, dropping the glamour, hiding the formal robes, and lifted his chin as the doors pinged open. The hallway only had a few individuals waiting, but those there stared in surprise at seeing him step off, only dropping their eyes and stepping back when he swept past them without a change in expression.

The doors to the Wizengamot stood open, and he stepped inside, noting the steadily filling chamber and Fudge sitting in the chair at the front, Madame Umbridge sitting beside him with a pleased little smile curling the edges of her lips.

At five minutes to the hour, Fudge lifted his hand, and the doors swung shut, a glimmer of satisfaction filling his eyes as he shuffled the papers on the desk. “On this day, August 12, 1995, we call this Wizengamot meeting to order. Participating in today’s interrogation are I, Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, and Harry Potter, the accused.” He paused, looking towards the defendant’s table, “Who appears to be missing, under section 137 of the Statute, ignoring a summons to the Wizengamot is an automatic fine and sentence- “

“Considering I haven’t been called to the front, it’s blatantly unfair to say I’m ignoring a summons, Minister,” Harry said, stepping from the shadows at the back of the room, earning a hateful glare from the man in question.

“You’re late, Mr. Potter.” Minister Fudge said evenly.

“I assume my owl regarding this meeting being changed was missed on my way to the Ministry this morning. As I was early, I overheard the conversations in the atrium about the avenue being changed and considered it a stroke of luck.” Harry replied carelessly and strolled down the aisle, smoothing the robes with an absent motion.

“That’s a lie.” Fudge hissed angrily, “We at the ministry pride ourselves in following the law to the letter.”

Raising an amused brow, Harry slid into the chair behind the defendant’s table and inclined his head. “Very well then, if that’s the case, Minister, state your case.”

Fudge sputtered incoherently as a murmur filled the air, and Umbridge was to her feet, the hated “hem-hem” stilling the conversations.

“I’m pretty sure, Madame Umbridge if you speak, you put a lie to Minister Fudge’s words about the minister following the law.” Harry spoke before the woman did and smiled thinly, “Though I could be wrong, it has been a year since I read the protocols on the inner workings of the Wizengamot, but I believe the Chief Warlock, or Interim Member, is required to list the charges against the accused and let them state their plea before they call their first witness.”

Dolores sat opened-mouthed, eyes darting to her boss, who was slowly turning purple but growled out the charge, “The accused, Harry Potter of number 4 Private Drive, stands accused of knowingly using underage magic by casting the Patronus Charm in front of a muggle, here by breaking the Statue of Secrecy. Who stands in defence of you, Mr. Potter?”

Shrugging, Harry smiled back, fingers flexing when he heard Dumbledore speak behind him, listing his full name, settling into a chair he conjured with a flick of his wand to the murmur of the chamber.

Rolling his eyes at the display, Harry leaned forward as Fudge focused on Dumbledore, his beady eyes filled with loathing, “What is the accused’s plea?”

“Not guilty, Cornelius. Mr. Potter had a reason and a witness to the usage of the Patronus Charm this summer.” Dumbledore replied, steepling his fingers and regarding the jury serenely.

“Oh, poppycock, the boy just wanted the attention.” Fudge denied, reshuffling his paperwork, “If last year taught us anything, it proves that Mr. Potter is an attention seeker who flaunts the rules and laws that govern us. Laws that protect our society, and you think he has a defence? You’re mad, Dumbledore.”

Harry couldn’t help but grin as the two men bickered back and forth. He knew his expression was drawing attention from the panel of jurors. He cleared his throat, interrupting the two men, “Excuse me, gentleman, while I’m sure this is a riveting debate the two of you are having, but I- and I mean this with the utmost respect- believe the members of the Wizengamot are more interested in the reason this minor case has been called before the entirety of the Wizengamot and not whatever pissing contest the two of you wish to spew.”

Albus inhaled sharply, earning a satisfied smirk from the Minister before the man registered what Harry said and glared straight at him.

Harry lifted a shoulder, indicating he didn’t care, and rose to his feet, smoothing his robes one-handed, “I could list the reasons for casting a Patronus Charm in July of 1995, but I think we all know no one cares about the actual reasoning for this trial. Half are here because it’s their literal job; the other half are here on their Dark Lord’s orders, hoping that they’ve sowed enough malcontent that I earn a guilty verdict. The rest only came because they want to know if the events denied in the paper are true.” Harry began, ignoring Dumbledore, who gestured at him to stop talking.

Medea flared inside at the brush of foreign magic, and the suspected silencing spell slid off like water, making Harry turn and glare at Dumbledore, who reared back in shock, “while I appreciate you stirring yourself from your castle, Mr. Dumbledore, I’ll thank you not to interrupt or try and silence me. I’ve been on my own, through no fault of my own and no help from you since I was fifteen months old. You didn’t help my godfather and me when we needed help then, nor two years ago. I don’t need your help now. I know I’m innocent of the crimes I’ve been accused of, and not just because Dementors attacked me in Surrey.”

“Dementors?” Someone asked, echoed by another, demanded to know what he meant.

Glaring once again at the Headmaster, Harry returned his focus to the Wizengamot members chosen as jurors, “I sincerely hope you don’t need me to define or explain what a dementor is because if that’s the case, I might just skip these proceedings and demand a trial in front of the ICW.”

“You can’t do that!” Fudge cried, panic filling his face.

“Why not? Technically, the accusation of Breaking the Statue of Secrecy is an International Crime and not something you can charge at what could be considered a local level, even in the Wizengamot Courts. It’s something you should have called in the ICW for, as they would have investigated it thoroughly, thus proving this is nothing but an unethical way of trying to discredit me.” Harry smiled grimly and continued into the dead silence, broken by the shifting of unsettled robes from the members gathered. “The charge of using magic in front of a muggle is interesting, considering the muggle in question is my squib cousin, my muggle-born mother’s nephew, whom I’ve lived with illegally for fourteen years, but that is another matter and not associated with this case.” He paused and tapped his chin, “though I do thank-you for releasing where I live, that’s one less worry, I’ll need to worry about next year.”

“I-but- this is highly irregular, Mr. Potter.” Fudge sputtered, glancing around the room, desperation making him bug-eyed.

“Why? Did you expect me to be ignorant of wizarding laws and customs?” Harry asked dryly, “Most people underestimate me, Minister Fudge, and have since I stepped foot into the wizarding world. Though that does bring me to the last charge, the usage of underage magic.” Harry couldn’t help but grin and offer a short bow, “of which I have you and this very ministry, and Mr. Dumbledore of making a non-issue.”

“You’re only fifteen, boy.” Fudge snapped, earlier anger returning.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the word boy, saying, “I might be fifteen, but thanks to your government and their shortsightedness in wanting momentary fame, I was emancipated last year when I was forced against my will to participate in the Triwizard Tournament.”

Dead silence filled the room, and Harry leaned his weight against the table regarding the Wizengamot and ignored Fudge, “You see, I was illegally entered into a tournament I didn’t want to participate in. I read the rules. And guess what the rules clearly stated? Only legally aged witches or wizards would be allowed to participate, which is interesting, as I was only fourteen.” Harry pushed with his toes and slid to sit on the table, unconcerned for propriety, fingers curling over the edge. “I can prove beyond a reasonable doubt that I didn’t enter my name, as it’s also in the rules, because one of the subsections states clearly that Mr. Dumbledore offered a magical oath that he would place an age line. As he’s already demonstrated and proven he has his magic, it stands to reason he put the line, unless you’re suggesting a fourteen-year-old circumvented Mr. Dumbledore’s spellcasting?”

Swinging his legs, Harry looked between the members of the Wizengamot curiously, unsurprised when not one of them offered a rebuttal, “Unfortunately for the Ministry, this places them in a precarious position, as I was forced to partake illegally. I could have the entire Ministry up before the World Court for collusion, corruption, conspiracy and contempt as you forced an underage wizard to participate in the tournament designed for NEWT-level students.”

“The ministry had nothing to do with the Tournament!” Fudge said voice sharp, glare cold.

“They did, Minister Fudge,” Harry smiled, “It might have been negotiated between the three schools, but Barty Crouch Sr., who at the time was the Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation, helped orchestrated that, then blackmailed me on the threat of losing my magic if I didn’t participate. That means a subclause in the Triwizard charter of 1287 was activated, meaning that I have been magically emancipated, earning the right to use my magic and wand outside of Hogwarts as if I were seventeen.”

Looking between the expressions of shock, Harry watched them processing what he said and then twisted the knife, so to speak, “and according to the ratified Statute of Secrecy in 1920, I’m accused of breaking, it clearly states that in the event of a life-threatening situation caused by a magical creature or creatures, it is a witches or wizards right to intercede to prevent the death of an innocent.”

He shrugged again when no one said anything and straightened off the table, “But there is an easy way to prove this, so I’ll just skip this whole thing, and we can go about our day,” Pulling his wand, Harry lit the tip and spoke in a clear, ringing voice, “I, Harry James Potter, vow on my magic that every word I spoke here to be true today, and that dementors did attack my cousin and I, on July of 1995 where I cast and used a Patronus Charm to drive them away.”

Letting the silence linger for only a second, Harry wordlessly cast his Patronus, smiling as a burst of light flew from the tip of his wand, a smile he only kept on his face by force of will as the room erupted into chaos, as a dragon instead of Prongs flew around the room.

Everyone was talking- or, well, shouting over everyone else, as if they screamed loud enough, their voices would be heard over the rest. Fudge, Umbridge and Dumbledore were the only three not speaking, the three of them glaring so hard at one another that it wouldn’t have surprised Harry if one of them dropped dead, so he just settled his weight against the table again, quietly caressing the dragon that hadn’t left, and come to him for attention. It wasn’t normal behaviour for a Patronus, but he wasn’t arguing. The comfort he received from the affection did more to steady him since he got back than anything else had. Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about Prongs being replaced, but he also couldn’t deny he was different after everything that had happened; he just missed the significance of why a dragon and not something related to death, given who he was.

It took twenty minutes for the room to be quieted and order to be obtained, and the only way they accomplished that was when a serious-looking woman temporarily took over, stalking to the middle of the room and setting off a deafening boom.

“We will have order!”

Fudge jumped, cutting off a shriek mid-syllable as he looked wide-eyed towards the woman standing in the middle, who was glaring at him like he was the child Harry had been treated like earlier that morning, “Minister Fudge, I allowed this venue change and the upgrading of the charge, after evidence was provided that supposedly proved beyond a shadow of a doubt, Mr. Potter’s guilt, so explain to me, in simple terms if you must, why I shouldn’t arrest you now for fraudulent charges, and a mockery of our court system.”

“I-I-” Fudge stuttered, face paling rapidly, as he stared in growing horror at the witch standing in the middle of the chamber, wand at the ready.

The woman smiled, a smile that seemed to terrify Fudge even more, and she nodded once, “Wonderful, you won’t mind if I ask Mr. Potter a few clarifying questions, then, would you?”

Jerking his head in the negative, Fudge slumped half-dazed in his chair as the woman turned and addressed Harry with a severe expression. “Mr. Potter, my name is Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“You’re Susan’s Aunt,” Harry said, straightening off the desk, the dragon finally dissipating, leaving him feeling oddly bereft.

“I am,” She inclined her head, “May I ask you a few questions, Mr. Potter?”

Harry tilted his head, “Does it have anything to do with the cause the ministry called me in for today?”

Amelia glared over her shoulder before addressing him again, “It could, in a loose sense, be a correlating cause for the charges, yes.”

Harry chuckled in amusement, “That doesn’t answer my question, though the justification for continuing to question me regarding a matter I’ve proven innocent of is questionable on your end, Madame Bones.”

“So, you won’t answer questions surrounding your claim that He-Who-Must-”

“Call him Tom Riddle, Madame Bones, and no, I won’t.” Harry interrupted and raised an eyebrow when she frowned at him, “You must think I’m as stupid as the Minister does. I already said and proved the events that happened in June are true. I wouldn’t have been able to call my Patronus otherwise.”

“But-”

Shaking his head, Harry spoke again, “I said at the very beginning that half were here because it was their literal job, half of the other were here on their Dark Lords’ orders, and the other half wanted to know if the newspaper was correct in that I was telling lies.” Harry folded his arms and regarded her thoughtfully, “I spoke of my godfather, Sirius and the fact that Dumbledore could have obtained him a trial instead of forcing my Muggle aunt to be my guardian, an illegal act, considering my godfather is innocent of the charges against him, which Fudge knows but denies. There is not one word I’ve spoken today that wasn’t true, and I mean this with my utmost apologies, but everything today proves I have no reason to trust in the Ministry or the body that governs us. Why should I answer questions about Riddle’s resurrection when I’ve offered all summer? Why is it only a concern now, when Fudge has spent the summer accusing me of being a liar and a fraud? For Merlin’s sake, I’ve seen speculation in the papers that claim I killed Cedric, yet not once has the DMLE visited me to obtain a statement or memories to prove my side. It just showcases the incompetence of the Ministry and proves they only want the speculation to grow and feed. In the Muggle world, it’s called propaganda, which means information, especially of a biased or misleading nature, used to promote or publicize a particular political cause or point of view.”

“Don’t you want to be vindicated?” Amelia asked in clear surprise.

“I don’t practically care one way or another.” Harry replied, “There isn’t one redeeming quality I am interested in preserving in this society. The sheeple of this country are so mired in tradition that they’re afraid of change. The stranglehold resulting in a deadlock in this chamber means we’ve stagnated over the last quarter century. Our education is even older, dating from the 1940s, with less than twenty subjects offered at a NEWT level, while the rest are only considered extra-curricular subjects. The Ministry allows self-study in several other subjects, but obtaining some necessary books automatically puts you on a watch list for suspicious activities. I’ve looked it up, as I’m curious about my options for when I finish my seven years. Did you know how many are offered at the International School of Magic?”

Amelia Bones shook her head, the severe expression warring with caution and confusion as if she didn’t want the answer.

“278 as of June. They’re regulated and monitored to reflect modern advances in both magical and Muggle society while following the laws established by the ICW that allow them to accept any student who can pass their entrance exams. That doesn’t include those who go for a Master’s through the ICW. Do you know the last time a student who graduated from Hogwarts was accepted?”

Amelia jerked her head negatively and swallowed, “When?”

“Do you know when the last person was accepted from Britain?” Harry asked instead of answering, and pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket, “The last student to attend ISM that also attended Hogwarts was in 1979, though unfortunately, due to circumstances outside his control, he was unable to complete his education because it was determined he was guilty without a trial and spent a subsequent twelve years in Azkaban.” Harry narrowed his eyes when Amelia opened her mouth, “The last person who was accepted from Britain was in 1993 and had been homeschooled by her parents as she never received her Hogwarts letter, though interestingly enough, they never received the tuition back either, I wonder why that is….”

“I… Mr. Potter, I have no idea what I’m supposed to say.” Amelia admitted, hands shaking as she clasped them in front of her, “Why have you never reached out to the DMLE?”

“I did. Harry responded flatly, “But I received no response. Why should I do your job for you?” Harry countered, snapping in irritation, and waved a hand around expressively, “If any parent or guardian who worked for the Ministry listened to their children, it would have been evident over the years that the wool has been repeatedly pulled over your heads, or you’re all just willfully blind. I can’t say which would surprise me more, considering you thought it a good idea to torture an entire school full of children for over a year due to exposure to dementors. Which is an automatic dissolution of your government per treaty with the ICW and the inclusion as a member.” Pushing off the desk, Harry glanced around the room, ensuring he met every eye, including Dumbledore’s, and felt satisfied at the horror slowly spreading around the room. “I assume we’re done, Madame Bones?”

“I-” Amelia swallowed and nodded, drawing herself up, “Yes, Mr. Potter, you’re free to go.”

“I’m afraid I want that in writing, Madame Bones, including the acknowledgement I’m legally emancipated even though I’m only fifteen,” Harry said gently, sliding the parchment he’d read from earlier back into his pocket, watching as Amelia summoned a paper from a clerk’s desk, and pointed her wand at it, signing with a flourish and set it on the floor by her feet.

Harry blinked in confusion, darting a look at Amelia before a flash snapped his attention to the rolled parchment that landed in his hands. The warmth that spread through his hands and down his body alarmed him before he felt the reassuring caress from Medea. He forced himself to relax, though he did question Amelia. “What was that warmth I felt?”

“You-” Amelia closed her eyes and drew in a calm breath, “The warmth you felt was the entity that rules the chambers, acknowledging your innocence and confirming your magical emancipation, which includes the right to use magic outside Hogwarts with no legal repercussions.”

“Wonderful,” Harry said, sliding it inside his upper robes and offering a hand. “Despite the circumstances, it was nice to meet you. Madame Bones, Susan speaks highly of you.”

Accepting his hand, Amelia’s eyes widened, her lower lip trembling as she lifted her chin, “It was nice to meet you, too, Mr. Potter. Thank you for drawing my attention to issues within the standing government that must be addressed. I hope the rest of your summer is wonderful and event-free.”

Not sure what Amelia saw when she clasped his hand, Harry squeezed it gently and released it. He turned away and avoided Dumbledore, who tried to intercept him and was only stopped by Amelia’s sharp voice snapping Albus’s name. “Albus, let Mr. Potter leave. There is nothing else he can add to the rest of these proceedings, and as only his Headmaster, you have no authority over him to prevent him from leaving.”

As tempted as he was to stay, Harry didn’t. Slipping out the door that cracked open at his approach and checking that the hall was empty of spectators, Harry hurried down the hall, looking for an alcove that he could use to thumb the ring on his finger and, not knowing why, whispered, “Boudica.” Then, he instantly regretted it as the familiar tug of a portkey hooked around his navel, and he was sent spiralling into a cyclone of what felt like never-ending darkness.

Disoriented, Harry landed in the original study he’d woken in this timeline and warily sank into the chair behind the desk, twisting the ring on his finger.

The unknown consequences and repercussions of what had happened at his trial threatened to send him into a panic. Half the information he’d been prompted to say was unconsciously known. However, he had vague memories of Hermione explaining the protocols when she’d offered to help him find a way out of the Triwizard Tournament last year, but he knew it was all he could focus on. Was the government that corrupt? Was it a seed or a fully grown root showcasing the ineptness of the society he lived in? It felt overwhelming that he knew this was what he was up against, on top of Riddle’s return.

He now had three, possibly four fronts he had to keep an eye on instead of just one: Horcruxes, the government, Riddle and his plans, and whatever Dumbledore did next, now that his pawn had shown the world, he wasn’t the dumb bumbling Gryffindor everyone believed.

Sighing, Harry ran a hand through his hair, feeling more tired than he ever had, and that included the final battle, where he had slept for a week after.

Half-heartedly, he looked around the study, his earlier perusal lacklustre, overwhelmed by the complications from time travel, making him unappreciative of the room’s simplicity. He appreciated it now; the simplicity was something he almost craved; he had too much to do to focus on the room itself and started searching the desk, the earlier books set to the side as he searched for parchment and quill. To his delight and joy, he found parchment but not a quill. Instead, it was a fountain pen, the intricate design carved into the wooden handle tingling with magic when he picked it up.

Then stared blankly at the paper, completely unsure where to start, knowing he had lists to make, namely the horcruxes and how to obtain and destroy them, though if he could find a way to purify them, he’d prefer that. The history lost at the destruction of the Founders’ objects was painful in a way he couldn’t describe.

Rubbing a hand over his chest, Harry set the pen down and glanced at the clock on the wall, starting a little in surprise at the time, though it explained why he was hungry. Though he wasn’t sure how long this ‘trial’ had taken. The first time around, he’d been in and out in twenty minutes; he was somewhat surprised that Sirius hadn’t come looking for him yet, knowing Grimmauld would have let his godfather know he’d arrived.

Pushing away from the desk, he called for Kreacher, who appeared with a silent pop-filled tray floating behind him, hands on his hips, “Master Harry must be eating; using big magics without replenishing himself can cause troubles.”

Smiling gratefully at the house elf, Harry gestured to the desk, “I know, I’m sorry, Kreacher.”

The elf’s ears dropped, but he set the tray down gently, “Kreacher knows, Master Harry, all up in his head. It big change trying to adjust, Kreacher having some difficulties too, but elf magic is different, it help us adjust quicker than witch or wizards.”

“Do I need to open the connection more?” Harry asked in concern as he filled the plate with a selection of sandwiches.

“Oh, no, Master Harry. Yous claiming the title has done that,” his ears fluttered as a faint blush climbed his cheeks, “Kreacher doesn’t remember it being this strong before; just know no one will be able to hide you from Kreacher.”

Relaxing slightly, Harry conjured a smaller chair and nodded to it, filling a plate with a couple of sandwiches for Kreacher, “Tell me what’s happened since I left, please.”

The old elf sighed, scratching his ear before sliding onto the chair and accepting the plate, “it be mad house, Master Harry. They grumbled and complained when you left through the floo, blaming Master Sirius for your behaviour, but he just ignore them. When Master Harry’s friends come down, they be rude and angry you didn’t listen, and made plan to lecture you when you got home.”

Snorting, Harry took a bite of the roast beef sandwich and moaned in pleasure at the taste, quickly finishing off the triangle and plucking another from his plate. “And when Arthur contacted them, he said I was missing?”

Kreacher snorted around a bite, “He did. They runs around like headless chickens. It be ridiculous. Half of them wanted to storm the Ministry to look for you, the other half spent it screaming and yelling at each other, until Old Weasley contacted and said you made it to the venue change. Those that had yelled got mad he wasn’t there so he could report back, but…” the elf shrugged, though it made Harry frown in thought and spoke.

“Last time, he said he wasn’t allowed in. Do you know why?”

“That be lie,” Kreacher said with a frown, chewing moodily on his sandwich before heaving a sigh and pointing at him. “Master Harry can’t get mad at Kreacher.”

“I won’t, Kreacher.” Harry promised and then tried to explain, “I feel like I’m slowly going mad. I know this happened the first time, but instead of living in a fog of blind acceptance, I have an awareness that tells me how wrong I’ve been. I know I can’t trust anyone but Sirius in this house. Others have spent a lifetime keeping information, sometimes important, critical information, from me, but I can’t live like that anymore. So please tell me what you know, alright?”

Even as he sighed, the elf’s nose wrinkled, “Very well, Master Sirius could probably explain it better, or at least the history around it, but elves know the Weasley family is blood traitors. It’s in their magic. Kreacher isn’t sure why or when, but their family was punished by magic for the high crime of treason.”

Harry regretted the bite he’d taken as he listened to Kreacher talk but knew somehow that his following words were right, “and the chamber would have reacted to his presence.” At Kreacher’s nod, he inhaled sharply, choking on the sandwich and coughing until tears streamed down his face.

The elf watched him, face impassively, holding out a glass of water with an air of resignation, “Maybe Kreacher should have said, don’t choke to death, master Harry.”

Snorting a weak laugh, Harry accepted the water gratefully and shook his head dazedly, “Someone must have done something to obscure and hide that knowledge because I’ve never even heard it whispered in school, and I know several students who would have spread that tidbit around.”

Kreacher shrugged, “Kreacher isn’t knowing, Master Harry, but if they have the magical stain of treason on their family magics, a light family they are not, but it would explain why Old Weasley not go as he knows he has to be invited.”

“they couldn’t invite him without alerting me that something was off.” Dejected, Harry sank into his chair, rubbing his face as Kreacher nodded.

“Not a light family like they portray.” Sighing heavily, Harry muttered, “Makes me wonder about the rest of the order, any skeletons in their closets?”

Kreacher blinked at him in incomprehension, which made Harry smile somewhat. “It means, is anyone else hiding huge secrets they’d rather the rest of the world not know?”

“Everyone be having secrets, Master Harry,” Kreacher replied slowly like he was the dumb one.

Chuckling, Harry laughed, “I suppose they do. What happened after that?”

“Order members not know what to do. Couldn’t contact Dumbledore, and no one could enter the chamber, so they sit around kitchen moaning and complaining you was going to do something stupid you wouldn’t be able to get out of. Granger and Stupid Weasley vexed you didn’t ask their opinions before going to Ministry and mad that you’re angry at them.”

“Well, I can’t say I didn’t do something stupid, but I certainly can say I got out of it, though I’m not sure what the long-term repercussions and consequences of what I set in motion will be.” Harry replied bitterly and glanced around the study, “How much detail is in the paper that arrived?”

Kreacher frowned, glancing at his hand before asking slowly, “May I touch you with my magics?”

“Of course, Kreacher, I said we’re family and meant it,” Harry said, lowering his head for the elf to reach. The sensation of magic that touched him was odd, foreign and familiar simultaneously, but not unpleasant, just bizarre.

Kreacher barked a rusty laugh, ears wiggling madly, “Oh, the news article is pretty accurate, Master Harry. I’d say you let loose a snake in the chicken coop, and they scrambling to keep it contained. Order members aren’t sure how to react, and are waiting for meeting tonight, though Headmaster already sent word he can’t attend.”

Harry couldn’t help but grin at the description, “Very well, can you get my school trunk and bring it here? I have a few things to work through. Let Sirius know where I am if he wants to talk.”

“Kreacher be doing so, Master Harry.” Kreacher popped away to conduct his instructions, leaving Harry to focus on the lists he had created. Maybe while the order was having a meeting, he could have one with Sirius at the same time.

***

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