lomonaaeren

“WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU LIKE YOUR BOLLOCKS TO BE NEXT?”

Harry concealed a smile as Madam Marchbanks stepped through the door of Dumbledore’s office. Harry had ensured that Black remained out of sight until she could owl him that she was on her way, and only then had he told Dumbledore that Black was innocent. Dumbledore had summoned Fudge.

Fudge, who was turning rapidly green at the sight of Madam Marchbanks. “Gris-Griselda!” he stammered. “What a pleasure to see you! Harry and I were just catching up…”

“I asked you a question!”

Black, who sat on a chair near Dumbledore’s desk bound in conjured ropes, goggled at her. Harry knew Black knew her, so he reckoned Black must not have been prepared for how much the same Madam Marchbanks was after twelve years.

“Griselda,” Harry said gently, drawing his guardian’s attention, “the Minister has only said one stupid thing so far, about having Black Kissed without a trial. Maybe we can wait on the bollocks color-changing spells?”

Madam Marchbanks snorted a cloud of anger that would have done credit to a dragon. “Oh, very well,” she snapped, and conjured another chair with a wave of her wand, since Harry, Black, and Dumbledore were in the only three. “Now, obviously my boy’s proved that Black’s innocent, so what’s this talk about having him Kissed without a trial?”

“Griselda, you must know that Black is a skilled and clever liar!” Fudge fussed with the buttons of his robe. “He just—he managed to fool the boy, but surely he doesn’t manage to fool you.”

“I haven’t even talked to the man, so I don’t know,” Madam Marchbanks said, and turned towards Black in a rush of attention that had Harry’s godfather flinching. “What about it, Black? Are you going to try and fool me?”

“I—I doubt that I could, Griselda. I never could. I’m certainly not going to try now.”

Madam Marchbanks poked Black in the chest with her cane, making him grunt. “See that you don’t.”

“Griselda, surely you don’t believe his lie when he claims to have known you!” the Minister blustered. “I know that you’re—getting on in years, but you must realize that Black was never—”

“SO YOU THINK I WOULDN’T KNOW MY OWN DUELING STUDENT? THAT’S A VOTE FOR PURPLE ON YOUR BOLLOCKS, THEN?”

Black swayed in the wake of Madam Marchbanks’s shout. Harry only grinned. Black would have to learn to stand up to what Harry’s guardian could do, or he wasn’t going to be happy for months on end.

“Griselda, my dear, perhaps you are being too hasty,” said Dumbledore. Sadly, he appeared to be getting used to Madam Marchbanks’s shouting. Harry considered that he might have deployed that particular weapon once too often. “It does indeed look as if Sirius never received a trial, but we must make sure that we don’t alienate the Minister now. We need Cornelius to rescind the order that Dementors may search everywhere for Sirius and Kiss him on sight—”

“Or you could do it yourself,” Madam Marchbanks said. “As the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and beloved of the people, you could make enough of a fuss to ensure that Black receives a trial. Are you going to do that?”

Dumbledore paused as if he didn’t trust this sudden change to a calmer version of Madam Marchbanks. Harry smiled harder. Good. You shouldn’t.

“Of course I could do that,” Dumbledore said at last. “But there would always be people who would be suspicious of Sirius’s innocence in that case, as I was rather known to favor him myself. We must make sure that there is no doubt in anyone’s mind.”

“Send anyone who doubts his innocence to me. Duel ‘em myself.”

“Griselda, you cannot solve everything with duels—”

“But I can solve this nonexistent problem that you’re creating, Albus.” Madam Marchbanks turned to face the Headmaster like a werewolf seeking prey. “Or are you telling me that you don’t want a trial for him?”

Dumbledore appeared to be holding his breath to stop himself from yelling back. Harry nodded a little. He did think that Dumbledore was worried about the political ramifications of telling Fudge and other high-ranking people in the Ministry that they were wrong, but he was handling it in a terrible way.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said at last. “I will call for a trial.”

“Occasionally, all the sense that seems to have drained out of your arse comes pouring back into your head, Albus,” Madam Marchbanks said, and turned around to face Fudge. “What about? Going to argue against Black being given a trial instead of being given to a Dementor?”

“He was guilty! He said so himself!”

“I killed Lily and James! I didn’t betray them!”

I knew that was going to cause a problem. Harry turned and glared at Black so intensely that he faltered, gulping. Then he faced Fudge and shook his head. “Perhaps we should get someone in here with a Calming Draught, sir? I think that clearing my godfather’s mind is a good idea.”

Fudge beamed at him. “Of course! Of course! Good idea, Harry—I can call you Harry?”

Harry smiled winsomely at him, making his eyes as large as he could. “Of course, Minister. I know that you’re only working for my own good.”

Fudge puffed up and glanced at Black. “Well, well, I can certainly see why you would like to be sure that the real traitor of your parents is firmly punished. If you don’t think that Black is the real traitor, then…” Fudge visibly thought that was nonsense, but he shook his head. “You’ve done so much for our world, Mr. Potter, I would be remiss not to try and help you, ha!”

Harry ducked his head a little. “Thank you, sir. Your intercession on my behalf is appreciated.”

When he lifted his head, he saw Madam Marchbanks chuckling quietly. Dumbledore looked resigned. Black, for some reason, was staring at Harry with a pale, blank face.

Does he not think that I should be playing up to the Minister?

Harry shrugged mentally as he listened to Fudge and Dumbledore’s plans to contact the Wizengamot and secure a timely trial slot for Black. What the man thought wasn’t his problem. His fate rested in Harry’s hands.

And so did something else. As soon as Fudge went back through the Floo, and Dumbledore accompanied him with Black, Harry turned to Madam Marchbanks. She was waiting for his glance.

“You want to do it yourself?”

Harry smiled. He was lucky to have someone who understood him so well. “Yes. But I’d like you to stay at Hogwarts, maybe right outside the door? So that I have someone who can help me if things go worse than I think they will.”

“Never had any intention of abandoning you if you didn’t want me to, lad.”

Harry ducked his head to Madam Marchbanks and then set off at the quickest pace that she could match with her cane, in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.

*

“Who’s this, then?”

“Harry Potter,” Harry said, and smiled at the portrait of the woman who apparently guarded the Tower. She dimpled and flushed. Harry was glad to see that she hadn’t learned her lesson about charming people after letting Black in. “I’d like to speak to a Gryffindor named Ron Weasley, please. Is there any chance that you could carry a message for me?”

“Oh, I don’t generally go on the other side of my portrait—I could, I just don’t generally do it…”

“Oh,” Harry said, and let himself visibly shrink. “I didn’t realize it would be so difficult for you. I’m sorry. I’ll get him the message some other way.” He turned around, watching Madam Marchbanks struggle to hold her expression in place even as a little shriek came from behind him.

“Oh, no, I can do it! I just don’t, generally! But if it’s really important, I could. Is it—is it a matter of life and death?”

“Yes,” Harry said. He thought it was. After all, if Pettigrew heard about Black getting a trial soon and fled, then it would be much harder to spare Black’s life.

“Oh. Oh!” The woman seemed flustered, but she nodded and stepped out of her frame. Harry clasped his hands together and waited, considering the few things he knew about Ron Weasley as he did.

It didn’t take long. The portrait came back and nodded to Harry, and then Weasley stepped out and stared at him. He looked as though he’d tried to brush his hair back with spit or something.

“P-Potter?”

“Yeah.” Harry flashed an embarrassed smile. “Sorry to bother you the day before we leave for the hols, Weasley, but I had a few more questions about the time that Sirius Black almost killed you. Could we talk?”

“Of course!” Weasley glanced back and forth as if assuming that an office would materialize out of the stone, but Harry lit his smile a little more brilliantly and nodded beyond Weasley’s shoulder.

“Could we go into your common room?”

“Well, non-Gryffindors aren’t supposed to come into the common room…but you’re practically an honorary Gryffindor anyway, what with your parents being ones and all! Sure!” Weasley latched onto Harry’s arm and dragged him in. Harry gritted his teeth and endured it. This was the fastest way to his goal.

The Gryffindor common room looked as though a red-and-gold dragon had got sick all over it, but the chair in front of the fire was comfortable enough, and Harry took it. Weasley sat down across from him, glaring around all the while in a pathetic attempt to make people notice who he was with. It seemed to be working, as interested murmurs arose. Harry had to clear his throat to bring Weasley’s attention back to him.

“I realize this is going to sound incredible,” Harry said, lowering his voice a little, “but I know you were almost one of Black’s victims, too, so I thought I could trust you with it.” Weasley preened. “We think we might have a clue to the capture of Black, and it comes back to your rat.”

“Scabbers?”

Weasley’s astonishment appeared genuine. At least Harry probably wouldn’t have to duel a co-conspirator. Maintaining his sober expression, Harry nodded. “You see, Black was evidently heard talking about a rat with one toe missing before he escaped Azkaban. I know it sounds fantastical, and it’s strange, but I heard your rat is missing a toe. I wondered if I could take a look at him.”

“Why didn’t they mention anything about a rat in the papers before this?”

Harry sighed. “One of the Azkaban guards decided it didn’t matter, and didn’t mention it until today. Now that he has, though, I thought it should be investigated. It would be quite a coincidence if Black came after you and it wasn’t your rat, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. Yeah, all right.” Weasley stood up, still looking a little stunned, and trotted up the stairs to what must be the third-year boys’ bedroom.

Harry leaned back and looked around. He saw Weasley’s younger sister hiding behind a couch. Harry smiled at her, and she squeaked and flinched and ducked.

Weak, but useful. Harry had thought of trying to use her to retrieve Pettigrew, but there was no guarantee that she would have managed to bring him down, since for all Harry knew, her brother was the only one who handled the rat regularly.

“Here, Potter!”

The less interesting Weasley was back, his rat cradled in his hand. Harry had to hold back the cold that flooded him at the sight of the creature. He didn’t know, not yet, that this was the man who had betrayed his parents. It was possible, likely, but he couldn’t react.

“Thank you, Weasley,” Harry said, and cast a Sleeping Charm with a little flick of his wand. A few people who were watching him murmured. Probably upset at him knowing the spell because it was supposed to be for upper-years or something, Harry thought absently. He took the rat and smiled at Weasley. “We’ll let you know what we discover.”

“If he’s not important, you’ll bring him back to me, won’t you? He’s my only pet.”

Harry nodded and stood up. “I promise.” And perhaps he would see about getting Weasley another pet if this one was Pettigrew. There was no reason to leave resentment behind him.

“Thanks.” And then Weasley sat and stared at Harry gormlessly, at least until Harry ducked his head and murmured an excuse and left via the portrait. Even before it closed behind him, he could hear Weasley burst into excited chatter about how he had talked to the famous Harry Potter.

“You’re alive. You had better be unscathed.”

Harry smiled at Madam Marchbanks and held out the sleeping rat towards her. “I’m fine. Dumbledore talked about a spell that could force an Animagus to change back into a human. Could you perform it?”

Madam Marchbanks snorted. “Does a hippogriff produce vast amounts of shit?” Her wand described a long arc in the air. Harry watched carefully, although he would still have to look up the incantation later, he knew. He hadn’t mastered silent casting yet, since so often he was just working to master the fact of the magic at all.

A glowing blue light hit the rat, and then it was Pettigrew, in a whirl of complicated motion. Harry stared at the balding, sleeping man lying on the floor, and felt as though he might burst apart in sparks like a firework.

We need him to prove Black’s innocence. He would suffer more in Azkaban than I know how to make him suffer.

Harry paused and added on to that thought. Than I know how to make him suffer right now.

“Bloody little traitor.”

Madam Marchbanks was staring at Pettigrew in a way that made Harry hope she might know spells that would make Pettigrew suffer. But in the end, Madam Marchbanks shook her head and bound Pettigrew in thick ropes, ignoring the way that the Gryffindor portrait gasped and shrieked.

“Come, lad. We’ll need to go to the Ministry.”

Harry smiled and set off behind her, already plotting what kind of pet he was going to get Weasley to thank him for his help.

*

I can’t believe that you waited this long to tell us, but I suppose at least it’s better than finding out from the bloody papers!

Harry laughed and put down Zacharias’s letter. He’d never known his friend to swear on paper before. He supposed the tale of Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew was likely to draw that reaction if anything was, though.

He was at home at Madam Marchbanks’s house for Christmas. Black’s trial would take place after the holiday. The Minister hadn’t been able to gather the consent of the Wizengamot members to meet before then, especially since he didn’t want to tell them it was about Black specifically so the news couldn’t get out into the papers.

“Don’t open that one.”

Harry blinked at the largest package that sat among his gifts. It was broom-shaped, so he knew exactly what it was, but he didn’t see why Madam Marchbanks would have let it into the house if it was dangerous.

“We need to have a discussion first before you open it.”

Harry turned obediently back around to face Madam Marchbanks. He had already opened a lot of books, clothes, and Dark detectors from his friends and Madam Marchbanks. She was sitting on the edge of her chair, her face grimmer than he’d ever seen it. Harry swallowed, wondering if Pettigrew had somehow escaped from custody.

“Who is the broom from?” he asked.

“Black.”

Harry blinked. He had thought that Black wouldn’t have access to the kind of money he would need to buy a broom until after his trial, but there were things about the magical finance system he didn’t know, obviously. “All right. What do you think the problem with the broom is?”

“He contacted me to express his concerns about you.”

Harry could feel part of himself drawing back, freezing. If Black thought that Harry being his godson and wanting to solve the mystery about him meant that he could dictate what Harry did—

But Madam Marchbanks was watching him, and Harry knew that she wasn’t the cause of his anger. He said, “All right. What concerns?”

“He didn’t like the way that you spoke to Cornelius. Thought you were too political. Accused me of raising you for political clout and encouraging you to use your reputation in ways you shouldn’t.”

Harry just stared. The idea that Black was upset because Harry was getting him a trial and saving his life but not doing it the right way was simply foreign. Harry would have gone with someone who came to get him from the Dursleys even if they were a horrible person and hated him for being a half-blood. He could always have run away later, once he was free from the Dursleys. What did the method matter?

“So he—what, thinks you aren’t a good guardian?”

“Yes. And that he should take custody of you after the trial, when he’s free.”

“He won’t.”

“Legally, he has a stronger case than I do. You know that I was only ever meant to be temporary—”

“You are mine.”

Harry realized a second after he’d said the words that he had shown Madam Marchbanks more than he’d meant to. His voice was too harsh, his clenched fists too expressive. But the moment was past, and he knew hiding beneath a polite, neutral mask wouldn’t work with her. So he stared at her again and waited for her judgment.

Madam Marchbanks grunted. “And that’s why we get along so well.”

“Because I’m possessive?”

“No. Because I understand what the bastards did to you.”

Harry nodded slowly. He would have thought Black would understand, given that he had apparently grown up with his own abusive family, but maybe not. Or maybe he had the delusion Harry had sometimes run into among the Ravenclaws, where nothing Muggles did to wizards could possibly be as bad as what wizards did to them.

“I won’t let him take custody of me.”

“Keep in mind that if you oppose him openly on the issue, he could make your life legally difficult.”

“I’ll make sure that he can’t.”

Madam Marchbanks settled back in her chair. “Then pass the salt, won’t you? We’re going to have this Christmas dinner and I’m going to take the charms off.” She waved her wand at the translucent charms around her ears that enabled her to hear, and they vanished.

Harry smiled and walked over to the broom-shaped package. He was curious to see what Black had got him, even though he didn’t play Quidditch and wouldn’t have much use for it, and even if accepting the gift might make Black think that Harry liked him more than was the case. Honestly, at the moment, that impression could use reinforcing.

When Harry had peeled the paper off, he stared for a moment before he burst into laughter.

“What?” Madam Marchbanks demanded, tapping her cane on the floor. She could certainly see Harry laughing even if she couldn’t hear him.

Harry turned the broom around. When she saw the name Firebolt, she began to laugh as well.

Black has much more money than sense. That’s a useful thing to know.

*

“I can’t believe that you went out by yourself in search of an accused murderer, and you found him, and managed to talk him down and bring him in and get him a trial.”

Michael sounded envious. Harry looked around the alcove on the second floor where he and his friends had brought a table and chairs to sit. Theo’s face was blank, Zacharias was scowling, and Parvati looked annoyed, probably because Harry hadn’t waited long enough for her gossip plan to take effect. Hermione, hovering behind Parvati’s shoulder, merely seemed frightened.

That was understandable, after all. If Harry died, there was no one else who would care enough to talk to Hermione and include her in the living world.

“If it ever happens again, you can come with me.”

Harry thought he was being generous, but Zacharias made a spitting noise. Harry blinked at him. Zacharias turned his head away and said nothing, so Harry went back to looking at Theo and Parvati.

“You survived,” Parvati said flatly. “Even though you didn’t deserve to.”

“What?”

Harry knew he had gone colder than he usually was with his friends when Parvati swallowed nervously. But she held his eyes and said, “You—you should have suffered or got in trouble for this or something. And you like to talk about how superior you are to Gryffindors, but you acted exactly like one of us.”

“That means you should approve of what I did.”

“Reckless and stupid aren’t traits I particularly want to encourage in you, no.”

“Don’t call me stupid.” Harry kept his voice soft, but the little flinch Parvati gave said that she heard the steel in it. She obviously clasped her hands together under the table to keep herself from bolting.

“I—fine. But you shouldn’t have done it. Why didn’t you tell us that you thought Black was innocent and you had a way to fend off the Dementors?”

Harry glanced briefly at Theo, the only one he had told. Theo just looked back at him with a calm, patient expression. Yes, no help was coming from that quarter.

“You would have tried to stop me.”

Parvati closed her eyes and appeared to be counting under her breath. Zacharias whipped around again.

“We’re acting like this because we were worried for you, you berk!” he snapped.

Harry stared at him. “What? But I was fine. I made sure that I had a method to scare off the Dementors before I went after Black. I wasn’t stupid and reckless, and I didn’t act like a Gryffindor.”

“No,” Zacharias said. “You acted like a Ravenclaw, as if your curiosity had to be satisfied at all costs. There were other ways to do this. You could have got Madam Marchbanks involved. My grandmother could have helped. You could have requested a meeting with the Minister and manipulated him around the way you ended up doing. You didn’t need to put yourself at risk of having your soul sucked out!”

Harry frowned slightly. “But that didn’t happen.”

“I give up,” Zacharias announced, and grabbed the few books he’d brought with him, since Harry had got his friends here by telling them this was a regular study session. The Hufflepuff stalked away from the table and up the stairs.

Harry looked around, to see if anyone else felt like following him. The others looked unhappy, but they stayed in place.

“We were frightened for you,” Hermione said, in a small voice.

“I know,” Harry said. “But Madam Marchbanks knows how to facilitate communication between you and your parents if I die, so that doesn’t—”

“That’s not the only reason!” Hermione darted towards him so that she was hovering right in front of Harry’s face. “I would be upset if you died because I don’t want you to die!”

A second later, Hermione whirled around and disappeared in a puff of grey light. Harry stared after her.

Then he looked at Michael and Parvati and Theo. “I—that didn’t make sense, did it? And it was repetitive.”

Theo closed his eyes. Michael shook his head. Parvati said only, “You matter to us, and you shouldn’t disregard your life because of wanting to satisfy your curiosity. I thought your life was what mattered to you most. So you should understand that.”

Harry clamped his mouth shut. He knew what he was thinking, but there was no way that he was going to share it.

My life matters to me. That doesn’t mean it should matter to you.

But it seemed that his friends disagreed. Harry settled back with a stiff shrug. “Well, it won’t happen again, because there are no more insane godfathers out there. So we don’t have to worry about it.”

His friends seemed to accept that, although with a few mutters that Harry pretended to ignore. He didn’t have to have friends who were completely and utterly on his side in all things. He just had to have ones who knew when to help him and when to shut up.

*

“Harry, may I speak with you please?”

“It’s Mr. Potter, Professor Lupin.”

Lupin’s smile was quick and strained. “Yes, I’m sorry, I forgot.”

Harry sighed and waited for the professor to catch up with him. He’d been on his way from dinner in the Great Hall to the library, so it wouldn’t take much time out of his schedule to speak with Lupin.

As long as the man did just want to speak to him and not have some huge discussion about morals and the like with him. Lupin had been talking a lot more in Defense class lately about the ethical reasons to choose certain spells and jinxes (translation: the only ethical purpose was defending yourself or others), and his eyes had always lingered on Harry when he said that.

Harry hadn’t got any thanks from the professor for proving that one of Lupin’s supposed best friends wasn’t a deranged mass murdered after all, but he only regretted that because it lowered his chances of manipulating Lupin.

“What is it, Professor?” Harry had to prompt, since Lupin was staring at him sadly.

“It’s—” Lupin cleared his throat. “I’m sure that you saw the notice in the papers yesterday about Sirius being declared innocent.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And—you know that he’d like you to spend the Easter holidays with him?”

“Why did he send you with the message, instead of writing to me himself?”

Lupin jumped as if Harry had shoved a needle into his spine. “Ah. Well, he thought—he’s busy organizing his house and library at the moment. He knows you’re a Ravenclaw, he wants to have a good library when you visit!” Lupin laughed and then stopped when he noticed Harry wasn’t laughing with him. “He did want to know if you would spend the holidays with him. That’s the case. I would also be there, so that we could get acquainted in the way that we should have when you were younger. My apologies, by the way. For neglecting you.”

Harry stared at Lupin. Lupin looked back, and he was trying to look guileless, but it didn’t work well when he was so shifty-eyed.

“I’d be happy to visit,” Harry said, making a decision he was sure Madam Marchbanks would support.

Lupin looked vastly relieved. “Oh, good, good! That’s excellent news! Sirius will be happy.” He paused and then added quietly, “He wants to make sure that you’re safe, you know. And that you have a chance to be a child. Not involved in politics, or manipulations.”

Yes, they think Madam Marchbanks is manipulating me. Harry smiled thinly at Lupin. “I look forward to discussing it with him, sir. And you.” And he slipped past Lupin to go to the library.

He was sure that Lupin stood there staring at him until Harry was out of sight, but he didn’t care. He was already composing a letter in his head.

Dear Griselda,

I’m going to need a Portkey and one of those spiders that weaves magical webs that I used last year…