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Part Eight

“You really think that he’s ready?”

Theo was standing in the doorway of Father’s bedroom, watching him dress. The robes he was putting on weren’t that different from the black ones he usually wore, to Theo’s mind, but then Father moved and they shone like the hide of a black unicorn.

Theo had never been that interested in clothes, despite his father’s occasional attempts to teach him otherwise. He supposed he could see why these clothes would look interesting, though.

“I think that it will be good to show them someone still slightly mad, if not the raving madman himself.” Father smiled over his shoulder at Theo and turned so that his robes floated out and resettled around him in glittering drifts of ebony. “Otherwise, I might be accused of coaching him too much.”

Theo fidgeted a bit. “And you’re sure that Harry and I should watch from the audience?”

“I told you why I do not think it would be a good idea for you to speak from the floor, son.”

“I didn’t mean that! I mean that Harry is still so upset at Pettigrew that he might—shout, or something.”

“Then the Wizengamot will only see a thirteen-year-old child rightfully upset that justice for his godfather has been ignored for so long.” Father came over and clasped a hand on Theo’s shoulder that felt more supportive than all the gestures the professors at Hogwarts had ever made. “It will be all right, Theodore. You know that Harry would hardly tolerate staying in the manor. I might not have a house standing when I got back.”

Theo mustered a smile, and then studied Father. “You really believe that Harry is that powerful?”

“Yes. It was a good thing you did, Theo, requesting a Ravenclaw Sorting and befriending the most powerful wizard of your generation.”

“I did it for myself, Father. Not for you.”

“And that is what makes it perfect.” Father gave Theo another wintry smile and swept out.

Theo stared after him. There had been many times when he didn’t think he had understood Father, but this might be the most obscure.

“Theo!”

And Harry was shouting, which meant he might escalate to shaking the walls with his magic in a few seconds. Theo left the room with a faint smile of his own, to make his way to his best friend’s side.

*

“The Wizengamot comes together today to address a miscarriage of justice, as recommended by Eustace Nott, a member in good standing.”

Harry leaned forwards from his seat in the gallery that ran around the upper portion of the huge courtroom the Wizengamot was meeting in. He could see the floor because of a little lens attached to the railing in front of him that let him see Eustace and Sirius as small but perfect figures, the way he might on a Muggle telly. They still looked dwarfed by the deep blue stretch of flagstones around them.

Theo leaned on his shoulder. “It will be all right.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You don’t believe my father?”

“I don’t believe in the Ministry. Someone had to have at least suspected what happened with Sirius, but they still locked him away.”

“Yeah.”

Harry took Theo’s hand when he offered it, but didn’t remove his gaze from the floor. For now, Sirius was cloaked and hooded, or the Wizengamot would probably have already exploded into screams. Some of them were peering curiously at Sirius, though, and at the second cloaked figure slumped in a chair behind Eustace.

Harry had practiced Stunners more than any other spell in the past few weeks, until even Eustace was surprised at how good he had got with them. Harry had just smiled tightly at his praise.

He was going to make sure that Pettigrew never escaped again. Or transformed, although he was wearing an enchanted cuff around his wrist that should keep that from happening, the way Sirius was still wearing the collar.

“What have you brought for us, Eustace?”

That was Mr. Malfoy. Harry had only seen him on a trip to Diagon Alley, but would have known him anywhere from his resemblance to his son. Harry bit his lip in fury and felt Theo’s hand clench even tighter.

Both Mr. Malfoy and Eustace had been Death Eaters, Harry reminded himself, and Mr. Malfoy had never done anything to Harry personally. It made no sense to be so angry at one but work easily with the other.

Yes, it does, said a voice deeper than Ravenclaw logic, or maybe using a different kind of logic. You value the people who are your friends and do things for you more than the ones who do nothing. It’s simple.

Maybe it was, at that.

“Through a series of fortunate accidents, I discovered the presence of two strangers on my lands,” Eustace said. The lens managed to show Harry that his smile was as hard and glittering as the flagstones surrounding him. “And when I cast the spells to transform them back…well, I found myself intrigued.”

He flipped his wand, and Sirius’s and Pettigrew’s hoods flipped back at the same time.

There were screams and laughter and gasps and shouts and demands for answers. Eustace stood unmoved in the middle of it all, other than a slight smile. Harry felt as though his own heart would burst, and wondered if he would really be able to take his place at the head of any political effort to save Sirius or for any other reason.

He would really just prefer to be left alone with his friends and his books.

“What is the meaning of this, Eustace?” A tall woman with a monocle and grey hair was on her feet, using her wand to shoot bangs of light to either side of her. “You have brought Sirius Black into our midst—”

“Restrained. The collar he’s wearing wouldn’t allow hm to use a wand even if he had one, Amelia.” Eustace smiled at the woman, and Harry reckoned she must be Amelia Bones, the Head of the DMLE. He’d heard about her. “Or transform.”

“What do you mean, transform?”

“Didn’t I mention? Both Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew are unregistered Animagi. A black dog, in Black’s case. Appropriate. And a rat in Pettigrew’s.”

That made some other people start shouting. Harry’s eyes tracked from face to face. He noticed that a man Theo whispered was named Yaxley had gone white, and presumably Mr. Malfoy had, too, although it was more difficult to tell with his complexion.

Death Eaters. They’re wondering what Pettigrew might have noticed if he was spying on them in rat form and what he could tell people.

Harry smiled a little grimly. Good. They should be afraid.

“Peter Pettigrew is a war hero!”

“Who was granted war hero status after he died, and he apparently never died!”

“We can’t just take an accused Death Eater’s word for—”

“I was cleared, as you know very well,” Eustace said coolly, gathering dignity around him like his fine robes. “But at least I had a session before the Wizengamot to clear my name. I remember there also being a session to announce Pettigrew’s status as a war hero. But Black never had a session.”

“Impossible!”

“They couldn’t have put him in Azkaban if—”

“His cousin proclaimed her loyalty to You-Know-Who right in the middle of the courtroom! You know that he—”

Harry glanced back at Madam Bones in time to see her swish her wand down in a huge gesture, a no-nonsense disgusted expression on her face. A silvery lion exploded out of her wand, and reared up in the middle of the room, roaring. The roar was silent, but people fell silent themselves.

“Thank you,” Madam Bones said, and then turned and faced Eustace. “You claim that Black was never interrogated?”

“Yes.”

“What proof of this do you have? Beyond Black’s word?”

Harry held his breath. They hadn’t used Veritaserum in the end, because they’d had Pettigrew and it would have been easy to catch Black in a lie, but using it outside the Ministry was illegal, as Theo had told him.

“You know I am a registered Legilimens in good standing with the Ministry, Amelia.”

Harry relaxed. He hadn’t known that, actually, but it provided a good story. And it was probably true that Eustace had looked into both Black’s and Pettigrew’s minds at one point, simply to make sure that he knew the whole story.

Maybe Eustace had read Harry’s mind, too.

Harry pushed the thought impatiently away. Yes, it was entirely possible that Eustace had done that. And as long as he used the results for Harry’s good, what did it matter? Dumbledore could probably read minds, too, but he wasn’t Harry’s ally.

“Everyone knows that inmates’ minds are damaged in Azkaban!” someone called out. “Black’s memories might not be accurate—”

Madam Bones’s silver lion made another abrupt appearance and rushed at the speaker, who squeaked and flailed and nearly fell out of her chair. Theo laughed silently with his mouth open. Harry did the same thing. That was a really cool spell, and he wanted to learn it.

“The next person who speaks without permission might just be tossed into Azkaban on my authority,” Madam Bones snapped, and turned around to look at Eustace again. “Can the prisoners speak for themselves?”

“If you wish.” Eustace stepped back and removed what had to be a Silencing Charm from Black. Knowing him, Harry thought, he would have spoken up already otherwise.

“Hi, Amelia,” Black said, and flashed what he probably thought was a smile full of roguish charm.

She froze him with a look. “Why didn’t you tell the arresting Aurors that you hadn’t been interrogated?”

“When did I have a chance? I was taken from the scene straight to the Ministry, and then either Stunned or dosed with something. I don’t remember which. The next time I woke up, I was in Azkaban.”

“That can’t be right!”

Harry narrowed his eyes at the sweating, twitching man who had risen to his feet. He looked familiar, probably from pictures in the papers, but Harry couldn’t place him.

“Barty Crouch,” Theo whispered. “He used to hold the DMLE position before Madam Bones.”

And he would have been the one who would have issued the orders or not issued them for Black to be interrogated, Harry thought. Right. Or maybe he had issued the orders for him to be taken straight to Azkaban.

Either way, this should be good.

“Tell us what you think happened, then, Mr. Crouch,” Eustace said. His eyes glittered with malice, and Harry felt abruptly glad that Theo’s father seemed to like him. “When was Black’s interrogation? Or rather, why didn’t it happen?”

“It was—the chaos after the war—you know that we were arresting Death Eaters right and left—”

“I do rather remember my own interrogation, yes.” Eustace’s voice was dry enough to wither a desert. “And I also remember that I had one, and Mr. Malfoy had one, and even Bellatrix Lestrange had one, although she was already indicating that she was guilty to anyone who would listen. Why wouldn’t the Dark Lord’s supposed right hand be interrogated?”

“We—public sentiment—we knew he betrayed the Potters—”

“Based on nothing more than the accusation of a supposed dead man, yes. Who turns out not to be so dead after all.” Eustace turned to face Pettigrew.

Harry had thought Pettigrew would be too cowardly to speak up in front of the Wizengamot, but maybe the thought of being sent to Azkaban or asked in detail about where he’d been for the last twelve years spurred him on. “I’m innocent!” he squeaked. “It was Black, it was Black, it was all him!”

“One small problem with that,” Eustace said, and made a gesture with his wand. It turned out to be a wordless Cutting Charm, which sliced back the left sleeves on both Black’s and Pettigrew’s robes.

The sight of the Dark Mark on Pettigrew’s arm made enough people upset that Madam Bones had to call her lion and threaten to eat them again. Then she turned to Eustace with a world-weary sigh, but Harry could see how white her face had gone. He didn’t think it was for the same reason that a few Death Eaters in the crowd looked that way.

“No one even checked Black’s arm for the Mark? No one fucking checked?”

Theo gasped next to Harry. Harry did the same thing. He wouldn’t have been supposed if Black had sworn, but it seemed more impressive, somehow, coming from someone as restrained and severe as Madam Bones.

“Chaos of war,” Crouch whispered, like it was a spell that would get him out of this awkward situation.

“He didn’t always Mark his close inner circle!” someone offered from the Wizengamot. “Black could still be one!”

“But Pettigrew is definitely one,” Madam Bones said. “And I am still waiting for an explanation as to why even people loudly proclaiming their guilt received interrogations when Black didn’t. Why you tried your own son but not Black, Bartemius.”

Harry blinked and leaned over to whisper to Theo, “Does Crouch serve the Dark Lord? Did he know Black wasn’t a Death Eater?”

Theo shook his head. “I think he was high on power at the time and didn’t see any need to hold an interrogation when he believed Black was guilty. And no one would have cared, with the Dark Lord’s fall. They all wanted to see the person who betrayed their savior sentenced to Azkaban, and they would have just assumed the interrogation was private.”

Harry nodded and sat back to listen as the courtroom exploded in more shouting, with not even the silvery lion able to calm the situation.

*

“I asked to see Harry, Mr. Nott, not you.”

Theo smiled at Dumbledore and held up the book he was carrying. “This is my home, Headmaster, and I’m going to sit in the study reading a book while you interrogate Harry.”

“I would not refer to it as an interrogation.”

“I would.”

“Mr. Nott—”

“I want Theo here. Sir.”

Dumbledore stared at Harry with an expression of deep frustration. Maybe he knew disappointment wouldn’t make any impact, Theo thought, as he settled in a wingback chair near the fireplace.

Then Dumbledore shook his head and said, “Yes, why not? Perhaps we should invite Crouch and Mr. Nott and Sirius and the shades of your dead parents as well.”

“I wouldn’t mind, sir. It would give me a chance to ask Crouch what he was thinking, with not interrogating Black before he put him in prison.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes. Theo wondered if Dumbledore was counting down in a different language for patience, the way that Father had sometimes done when Theo was younger.

Well. Mostly when Theo was younger.

“Very well,” Dumbledore said heavily. “Harry, why did you not bring the issue of Sirius Black to me when you suspected he was an Animagus?”

“Why would I have?”

Dumbledore shot a quick look at Theo, who turned his book a little to look at an equation marching up the side of the page. Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Sirius fought under my leadership in the Order of the Phoenix. If I had known he was innocent, I could have helped him.”

“But you didn’t know, sir.” Harry’s voice and face were fresh and calm. “So you couldn’t have helped.”

“If you had told me—”

“If you knew that he was such a paragon of goodness and righteousness, why didn’t it surprise you that he betrayed my parents?”

“I did not know that they had switched Secret-Keepers. Please, Harry, believe that if you believe nothing else.’

“I do, sir. But that’s not an answer to my question.”

Silence. Theo thought equations were fascinating.

Dumbledore finally cleared his throat. “You must—I suppose that it was the chaos of the war, my boy. Knowing that James and Lily had died, and that all our efforts to protect them had been in vain, and that you were now an orphan? And knowing at the same time that Voldemort was gone?” Theo tightened his muscles in an effort not to flinch. Never show weakness to an enemy. “I have rarely felt such powerful joy and rage and grief all at once. And I was busy making arrangements for your care and then trying to make sure that the Death Eaters were identified in the wake of the war and not allowed to slink away.”

He probably meant those words as a strike at Father, but Harry ignored them. “Funny, sir, I’ve heard those words about the chaos of the war from someone else.’

“You have?”

“Barty Crouch. And he’s apparently under investigation by Madam Bones and will be lucky to keep his Ministry position. Do you think that she should investigate you, too? I didn’t think so, but I’ll tell her if you want me to.”

This time, Theo had to tighten his muscles to keep his shoulders from shaking.

“You know there is a difference between me and Barty Crouch, Harry.”

“Yes, sir. You have more power.”

Theo let out a muffled snort, because it was that or everything. Dumbledore shot him a sharp look, and Theo knew that without meeting his eyes, but his book was his shield. His highly interesting shield.

“I am disappointed that you did not think you could bring this matter to me, Harry.”

“You make mistakes, sir. The way you did with the Dursleys. The way you did by not asking Black why he betrayed my parents. Why would I trust that you wouldn’t make a mistake with this?”

“And yet, you trusted Eustace Nott.”

Dumbledore’s probably sorer about that than he is about anything else, Theo thought.

“He doesn’t make mistakes.”

“What was that brand on his arm?”

“The way he thought he could gain power at the time. And now he knows better, and so he’s doing this instead.”

Silence. Silence so strained that Theo felt as though the particles of it were whirling past his ears. Then Dumbledore gave a sigh so slow and heavy that it seemed as if he were breathing lead from the depth of his lungs, and stood up, shaking his head.

“I hoped that you would be reasonable, Harry. I see that you are not.”

“Why did you ask to talk to me instead of Sirius?”

“I hoped that you would be reasonable.”

Harry shrugged.

Theo knew when the conversation was done, and also that they should probably leave before Dumbledore said something he didn’t mean and which might make Harry shake the books off the shelves. Books were very important. He stood up and crossed the room to Harry, nodding gravely at him. “Father said that we would have anything we wanted for dinner tonight, in honor of Black being declared free and Pettigrew being condemned. Remember?”

“Yes, I remember.” Harry smiled at him and stood up, then said to Dumbledore without looking at him, “You should really talk to Sirius. We have protections set up so that he can’t attack me or any of the Notts, but I don’t know about you.”

Theo managed to hold in the temptation to laugh this time.

*

“Free.”

Sirius—as he’d asked Harry to call him—hadn’t said much more than that since they’d received the official pardon from the Ministry. He’d lain on his bed in the room Eustace had given him and stared at the ceiling. He’d stared at his hands a lot, too, for some reason.

“From everything except Mind-Healing,” Harry agreed cheerfully.

Sirius rolled over and stared at him. “No.”

“What do you mean?”

“It hurt a lot when that Death Eater bastard used that spell to force me into sanity. I asked him, and he said it was a variation of a spell that Mind-Healers used. It hurt a lot. I’m not going through that again.”

“Well, tell the Mind-Healer that, and they won’t use that one.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I don’t always want to practice magic instead of read, but I have to. I don’t want to have conversations with Dumbledore, but I think it’s better than telling him to go fuck himself since he could still make trouble.”

That caught Sirius’s attention fast. “Dumbledore was here?”

Harry nodded and shrugged. “He seemed to think that we should have brought your case to him, and then he could have done something about it. Or something.”

“Could he have?”

Harry stood there, uncertain if that was a rhetorical question, but then some silence went by, and he realized that Sirius seemed to expect him to actually answer. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe. But he makes a lot of mistakes. Taking me to the Dursleys’ was a mistake. And I think that him trying to get you a Ministry interrogation would have been one.”

Sirius formed his hands into tight fists in the sheets, and then swore and rolled to the side. “I wish Nott would take this fucking collar off,” he muttered. “It’s hell not being able to transform or use magic.”

“Go to the Mind-Healer, and we can talk about it.”

“You’re a manipulative little shit, aren’t you?”

Sirius sounded admiring. Harry shrugged, but he smiled. “You need to see a Mind-Healer because Eustace isn’t going to let you out of the house unless you agree to go, and I’m leaving for Hogwarts soon. You want to be able to visit me during the school term, don’t you?”

“Manipulative little shit,” Sirius repeated, but he sighed and nodded. “All right. Nott and I will have a—talk about it, and I’ll ask him to make sure to choose a Mind-Healer who won’t use that fucking spell.”

“Good.”

*

Theo stepped off the last stair and blinked at his father, who was repairing a hole in the wall with a grim expression. It looked—Theo tilted his head. Yes, it really did look like a human being had attempted to jump through the wall, and had managed to shatter the wood before slamming into the stone and wards beneath.

“Father?”

“It’s not a matter of concern for you, Theodore.”

“But I want to know what happened.”

“You don’t need to.”

Father’s repressive tone once would have made Theo back away, shivering, but now he just frowned and went into the dining room. Harry cast him a speaking glance, and whispered, “Sirius said that he and Eustace were going to have a chat.”

“Oh,” Theo said, suddenly perfectly sure how the hole had happened when Black couldn’t use magic, and shook his head. He was glad that Black would see a Mind-Healer, but equally glad that they would be leaving for Hogwarts soon, and Black would only be able to visit on Hogsmeade weekends. He was irritating to be around.

*

“I still can’t believe that you didn’t write to us and tell us about Black being innocent!”

Harry smiled at Hermione as she took her seat beside him in Arithmancy. Theo had the one on Harry’s other side, of course. “Well, writing before we could pull that reveal in front of the Wizengamot would have given the game away. We had to make sure we presented the evidence in a way that the Ministry couldn’t ignore or hush up.”

“I would have kept it quiet.”

Harry looked at her steadily.

Hermione bit her lip and looked a little shame-faced. “All right. So I might have told my parents just because they were worried about the criminal who was on the Muggle news. And then they…might have told other people.”

Harry nodded. “It’s not your fault,” he added, when Hermione looked as though she might continue apologizing. “We just realized it would be a huge temptation to lots of people. So we kept it quiet.”

“Okay.”

Professor Septima Vector opened the door then and walked into the classroom. Harry studied her thoughtfully. He’d seen her from a distance at the professors’ table, but never spoken to her. She was tall, with dark skin and silvery hair in a braid so tight that it looked like it probably hurt. She carried a blue lens in one hand that she paused to screw into her left eye before she looked at them.

“Welcome to Arithmancy.”

Harry blinked. Her voice was low and harsh and sounded as though she were a Muggle who had smoked for years.

“In this class, we will use numbers to manipulate the very fabric of reality in a way that only the most powerful wizards and witches use their wands. If you are not interested and are only taking this class because you wanted to fill in a hole in your schedule, then I wish you the very best of luck choosing another class.”

Harry caught Theo smiling from the corner of his eye. Yes, it made sense that this was the kind of teacher that would appeal to Theo.

“Is there anyone who wishes to leave?”

Vector surveyed the class. Harry heard someone shuffling around and doing what sounded like picking up books near the back of the room, and Vector nodded without changing her expression. Harry didn’t turn around to look at who was leaving.

Vector glanced around the class one more time. Then she said, “Open your books to page 67.”

Harry did so, joyfully.

*

Theo leaned forwards a little when Bathsheda Babbling marched into the Ancient Runes classroom. He had been impressed by Vector, and now he was hoping, maybe foolishly, that the miracle would repeat and they would get a Runes professor worth listening to.

Trusting maybe, someday, if he and Harry truly encountered something in Hogwarts that they couldn’t handle on their own.

Granger was quivering in her seat near the middle of the first row. Babbling glanced at her and nodded, but then did the same thing with every other student, which eased Theo’s fears that she might favor Gryffindors or people who asked a lot of questions aloud. Babbling was the shortest professor Theo had seen at Hogwarts other than Flitwick, with extremely pale green eyes and skin that looked as if she were made of salt.

“This is the beginning of a partnership that will repeat throughout your years at Hogwarts, continuing even after the NEWT, I hope.” Babbling’s voice was light and faint, meaning that the two Hufflepuffs whispering in a corner had to shut up to hear her. “What do you already know about Runes?”

Harry put his hand up. Theo blinked. Harry always understood a lot more in classes tan he let on, but he didn’t volunteer it often. Maybe he was just doing it now because he liked Runes so much. Babbling nodded to him.

“I know that you can arrange them in arrays and matrices and sentences, Professor.”

Babbling’s eyes gleamed for a second. “Sentences?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Then you will enjoy the content of this class,” Babbling said simply, and moved on to other people, nodding in response to most of their answers, sometimes correcting someone. She didn’t offer points. Theo had heard she didn’t.

When she looked at him, Theo murmured, “Using Runes in conjunction with Arithmancy strengthens both disciplines. But finding the places where they differ means that you can also exploit the holes.’

“Excellent analysis, Mr. Nott.”

Theo smiled. Yes, this was another breath of fresh air.

*

“What’s the matter, Ron?”

Ron leaned back in his seat in Charms and sighed. “It’s Scabbers,” he said. “I woke up one day during the summer, and saw him asleep on my pillow, and went back to sleep. And then when I woke up, he was gone. He—maybe he just ran away, but Percy said that some animals creep off to die by themselves when they’re sick. So maybe that’s what happened.”

Harry’s heart twinged. It was better for everyone, Ron included, if he never knew the truth about Scabbers, but he sounded desolate. Maybe it was because he missed having a pet in general, rather than because Pettigrew had been—ugh—a particularly good pet.

“Hey, Ron.”

“Yeah?”

“Mr. Nott? I stayed with him during the summer?”

Ron made an obvious show of looking over Harry. “Yeah, and you’re still in one piece. It’s amazing.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, he wanted to get me a pet, because he doesn’t think owls count. But I told him I really didn’t need one. He’d already bought the kitten, though. Now it’s roaming around the manor and driving Mr. Nott mad. I wasn’t going to ask you if you wanted him, because I knew you had a rat, but—”

“I’d love a cat!”

“Even one that’s part-Kneazle?” Harry knew that most of the cats sold in Diagon Alley were, like Hermione’s new cat, Crookshanks, and that would be the kind that Eustace would buy once Harry sent him the owl.

Or Sirius, come to that.

“Yeah. I don’t mind.” Ron was practically glowing. Then he hesitated and said, “You’re sure that you don’t want him, mate?”

“No. I really don’t want a cat. An owl is enough.”

Hedwig liked Nott Manor, and she had spent most of the summer swooping in circles around Harry’s head when he flew, or hunting, or asleep in the owlery. But when she did decide to visit Harry, she always preened his hair and checked him over as carefully as a chick. It was nice, in some ways, but also overwhelming.

Harry tried to imagine having another pet like that that fawned over him, and shuddered away from the mere thought of all the work it would take.

“Thanks, mate,” Ron said, and then smiled. “What’s his name? What does he look like?”

“I didn’t name him. He’s mostly black, but he has a few patches of other colors…”

The more detailed the lie Harry spun, the more he restricted the kind of kitten Sirius could buy, he knew. But that was all right. Sirius had a lot of years to make up for, and he would probably be delighted to buy a Kneazle kitten for someone who had accidentally had Pettigrew in rat form for a pet.

And seeing Ron’s delighted face made everything worth it.