Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Alchemical Reactions
Alchemical Reactions
Chapter Thirteen
Trial and Error
Harry was bored.
No, he was beyond bored. Boredom had left him a long time ago and had turned into something worse, something far more unpleasant. Harry personally believed that he was of a fairly calm temperament, with a relatively cool head. But something about the Ministry just set him off. It honestly should not take that long to shove a suspected felon in a cell and tell the person he captured him “You can go, the Ministry will take care of this.” No, nothing was ever that simple at this cursed place. Instead he had to be interrogated, had to wait for Pettigrew to be interrogated, and now he was waiting to be told whether he himself would be charged for placing false charges in an innocent man come back to life.
It was completely and utterly backwards.
Perhaps it was the fact that instead of going up the Ministry went down into the ground. Or maybe it was the feeling of claustrophobia that Harry had knowing that he was several floors underground and if the enchantments on the place failed he’d be dead. Or maybe, just maybe it was because the damned Aurors didn’t see fit to interrogate the suspicious resurfacing of a dead man. He knew that the government was corrupted, but this much?
He was tempted to go directly to the office of Amelia Bones, the Minister of Law Enforcement, and ask what was going on. He would if he wasn’t allowed to go by the time most Ministry employees got off work. Fortunately for him—though perhaps not for Ms. Bones—that time was in less than twenty minutes. He sincerely wished that the Aurors would be a bit more competent with their time—most of them were fairly lax in their duties, ever since Voldemort’s downfall several years ago. Only one Auror had been decent to him, and he had been the one leading the search for Sirius Black. It was utterly ridiculous.
“Mr. Flamel?” Harry turned around sharply at the sound, which was possibly the first polite noise he had heard towards him all day.
“Yes?” he replied, glancing at the aging woman in surprise. “Are you here to tell me I’m about to be interrogated for brining in a suspicious case?”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “So that’s what they’ve been telling you?” she mumbled to herself. “No, Mr. Flamel. You’ll be coming with me to my office, where we’ll be having a little chat—minus interrogation methods.”
“Of course, Director Bones,” Harry replied, nodding and following as the woman lead him away from the waiting room.
“Good guess,” she replied smiling, as she led him past a large array of cubicles. Harry shuddered at the few windows he saw. The faint tingle of magic around him and the knowledge that he had to travel down to get to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement saw the windows as a desperate attempt to cheer up a few of the Ministry employees—ignoring the fact that it was currently pouring outside the window.
“They’re angling for a pay raise,” Director Bones told him, noticing his attention to the windows.
“I’m sorry?” Harry asked, not really aware what she was talking about.
“The enchanters—the ones who do the windows. It always rains for weeks when they want a pay raise and turns into hurricanes if they don’t get what they want. Probably the reason they’re incredibly well paid.”
Harry nodded, not really caring for this tidbit of information. He was far more interested in Amelia Bones herself, who had ruled the male-dominated Auror Corps with an iron fist for years. He wasn’t too surprised, though, that she was getting involved in Pettigrew’s case. It was rather high profile, after all.
“Here we are,” she said, ushering him into her office. It was surprisingly spartan, lacking any personal affects. “Tea?” she offered, conjuring a tea pot and two mugs.
“No thanks,” Harry refused. Despite her genial attitude towards him, he didn’t trust anyone from the Ministry not to spike his drink, and since potions didn’t radiate enough magic for even his eyes to pick up, it was a bad idea at best to take food or drink from anyone he didn’t trust.
She nodded, pouring herself a cup and taking a sip. “The Minister will be joining us in a few minutes. He was understandably /distressed/—” she emphasized, making a face—“at knowing that his predecessor had imprisoned an innocent man and let a murderer go free.”
Harry nodded politely, knowing that she was probably editing the information for him. It was much more likely that the Minister had ranted and raved about how it was all a lie, until he had seen irrefutable evidence of the truth. Harry had studied Minister Fudge and his ways and knew him to be rather…stubborn, to put it nicely.
“Unfortunately,” Director Bones continued on, “Minister Fudge was so enraged and shocked by the actions of Peter Pettigrew that he had the man Kissed by a Dementor, almost immediately after hearing his confession.”
Harry raised an eyebrow at this, more than a little surprised and annoyed that the Ministry was that incompetent. “I take it he didn’t have a chance for a full trial, then?”
“I’m afraid not. However, we have sufficient evidence that Pettigrew was truly a supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and to Sirius Black’s innocence that a trial was hardly necessary—Veritaserum does have its uses, after all. Sirius Black has been given a full pardon and a bank draft—and no, the numbers are not your concern—and the Minister himself would like to thank you personally.”
Harry nodded, not in the least surprised that the Ministry thought it was okay for a case with ‘sufficient evidence’ to completely avoid having a trial. That was, after all, what they had done to Sirius Black in the first place. However, he did have to agree that Veritaserum offered some pretty sound proof and seeing as Pettigrew wouldn’t be able to answer any of a court’s questions /anyways/…
The fireplace to the left of Director Bones’ desk lit with green flame, before someone came through. Harry had a curse on his finger tips before the fire had even flared to full height, though he restrained himself from casting before identifying the intruder.
“Ah, here’s Minister Fudge now,” Director Bones commented, nodding politely to the Minister who was busy straightening his lime green bowler hat. Harry relaxed his magic a bit, though he was still wary of the Minister. He was probably one of the most corrupt in recent history, and Harry didn’t trust him enough not to be deep in the pockets of some Death Eater like Lucius Malfoy.
“Ah, Harold Flamel, I see,” Fudge said jubilantly, offering his hand to Harry. He shook it, tensing his body in case of any unsuspected portkeys, but found nothing to be amiss. “Thank you for your doing your civic duty! Such an amazing young man, you are.”
“Thank you, Minister,” Harry answered politely.
“Tell me, how did you find Pettigrew?” Fudge asked, conjuring himself a chair and pouring himself a mug of tea from the set Director Bones had conjured.
Harry relaxed slightly at his words, knowing that this would be a very similar conversation—if not more placid—to the ones he had had with the Aurors. “It was an accident, really, Minister. I was talking with Ronald Weasley—his father works here at the Ministry, I believe—and we got onto the subject of pets. He mentioned to me that his family had owned his rat for nearly twelve years, and I found that to be a bit suspicious. After all, how long do rats live anyways? Certainly not twelve years, not if they’re not magical, and this one certainly wasn’t.
“I do admit to being slightly paranoid,” Harry smiled ruefully, putting an act on for the Minister, who was nodding politely while sipping his tea, “And I cast the revealer charm for Animagi in a bout of curiosity. Of course, it came back positive. So, being naturally curious, I decided to use that curse to reverse the Animagus transformation—not before stunning him, of course. It was lucky I did, considering that it was Peter Pettigrew. I recognized him from the photographs in the /Daily Prophet/—you know, the ones telling the story of Sirius Black to keep the general public aware? I just knew that I had to bring him to the proper authorities, and, well, here we are,” Harry finished, suppressing a grin. It appeared as if Fudge had taken to his false story quite well, and was nodding while smiling.
“Thank you once again, Harold—may I call you Harold?” Fudge asked. Harry barely disguised his distaste, but nodded anyways. It was always better to be on good terms with those in positions of authority than not.
“Of course,” continued Fudge, “You’ll be rewarded for your capture of such a dangerous criminal. A marvellous service to the public, that was! Order of Merlin, third class, and a bank draft, of course.”
“Thank you, Minister,” Harry responded politely, more surprised than anything. That was much more than he had expected—he had honestly thought that he would be interrogated, as opposed to being offered a reward and galleons! Perhaps it was to buy his silence that such a young boy had caught a criminal before they had?
Harry was right. “Of course, you’d prefer not to be mentioned in the Daily Prophet, wouldn’t you?” Fudge asked, sweating slightly.
“No, no, of course not,” Harry replied, though he honestly couldn’t care less.
“Good,” the Minister replied, trying not too sound too relieved and failing.
“Well, I ought to be getting back to Hogwarts,” Harry said, standing.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Fudge said, shaking Harry’s hand once more. “Thank you once more, Harold.”
“You’re quite welcome, Minister,” Harry replied, restraining himself from rolling his eyes. “Thank you once again, Director Bones,” Harry said, nodding to the Director, before taking himself out of the office.
**
The next morning found Harry sitting at breakfast at the Gryffindor table, listening with half an ear to the Weasley twins as they regaled him with tales of their various pranks. His mind was still half on what he had to do the night before when he had gotten back from the Ministry, though he was paying enough attention to laugh in the appropriate spots.
After returning the Ministry, Harry had Obliviated Ron Weasley, not daring to risk his loose lips. He had also set off an enchantment keyed to Ron, Neville, Lupin, Black, and Snape to keep them hushed up about his identity. It still allowed them to talk about it when they were around someone else who knew the secret, but prevented them from discussing it if someone was eavesdropping or it was insecure. Ron was still under it just in case someone decided to break the memory block, as a preventative measure. The spell itself was slightly illegal, of course, but no one had to know.
The worst had probably been the interrogation by Dumbledore. Harry had found himself escorted to Dumbledore’s office as soon as the man had realized he was back in the school and forced to explain himself, though this time with Legilimency probes to add to the mix. His Occlumency skill was best, on average, and it took nearly everything Harry had to keep Dumbledore out. He had been forced to use extreme measures to prevent Dumbledore from reading his mind, simply by directing a shield charm outwards from his eyes, as the Headmaster required eye contact to see his memories. That in itself had been rather difficult, as Harry tended to keep that ‘channel’ closed so as not to set anything on fire or something similar by accident.
Harry would have rather had his conversation with Snape, which was sure to be interesting. However, he had had to owl the man after coming back late from the Ministry and knowing he’d be interrogated by Dumbledore to tell him that he wasn’t able to come to discuss whatever it was he wanted to discuss, asking if the next night was better. His reply had been a simple affirmation, and that was it.
Harry was brought back to himself by a pecking on his finger. He had been staring at his plate for a while now, not really noticing that Fred and George had stopped talking to him. An owl was perched on his plate, pecking at his food and occasionally his finger. In the middle of his eggs was a scrolled up parchment, probably containing the Daily Prophet.
Harry fished out a few nuts for the owl and fed him a piece of bacon before opening the /Daily Prophet/. He smiled in smug satisfaction at the article within.
Sirius Black Innocent;
Pettigrew Alive and to Blame!
By Carry Carson
In a surprising turn of events, the Ministry’s hunt for alleged mass-murder Sirius Black was called to a halt yesterday due to the revelation of new evidence regarding the case. This evidence presented itself in the form of Peter Pettigrew, long thought murdered by Black himself. Pettigrew confessed under Veritaserum to having killed all those that Black had been accused of murdering and also admitted to betraying the Potters to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
The Minister was astounded at the miscarriage of justice that had been performed during Minister Bagnold’s Administration, and had Pettigrew given the Dementor’s Kiss almost immediately after he had confessed to his horrible crimes.
Minister Fudge, has, of course, offered Black full compensation for his years in Azkaban and has dropped all charges. Pettigrew’s capturer wishes to remain anonymous, though the Minister mentioned was “quite pleased that the public was so willing to step forward and do their civic duty.” An Order of Merlin, third class as well as the standard monetary award was given to whomever captured Pettigrew, as an encouragement for the public to continue to—
For more, see page 5.
For a censored transcript of Pettigrew’s interrogation, see page 7.
“What are you smirking at?” George asked, his attention turned back to Harry.
“Ah, the /Prophet,/” Fred commented, spotting the newspaper in Harry’s hand.
“Anything interesting?” George added.
“Oh, nothing. Just at the fact that Sirius Black is innocent, that’s all.”
“Sirius Black’s innocent?” Fred exclaimed.
“Let’s see that,” George said, grabbing the paper out of Harry’s hands.
Several other people had also heard Fred’s loud exclamation and were also clamouring to read the paper. Harry smirked before getting up from the table, finished his breakfast.
He made his way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts office, taking his time. He knew that Lupin and Black—who had been hiding in Lupin’s office for the past day or so—would want to know, but he also dreaded the offer that would come up. Probably something along the lines of living with Black, and frankly, he didn’t want to. It didn’t help that the man was emotionally unstable after years in Azkaban and would probably cling to Harry like a life-line. It wasn’t the sort of relationship he wanted with anyone.
Sighing, he knocked on the office door and was ushered in. The first thing he noticed was a half-empty bottle of champagne sitting on the table, and a madly-grinning Sirius Black. Remus Lupin was there also, holding his own glass of champagne, despite it not even being nine in the morning yet.
“Harry!” he said happily. “Did you see? I’m free!”
Harry nodded politely, conjuring himself a chair. “Congratulations,” he found himself saying, not quite knowing what else to say.
“Remus explained everything to me. But I don’t know if he told you that, well, I’m your godfather.”
“I know,” Harry replied, nodding. “Professor Lupin told me.”
“Call me Remus in private, Harry,” Lupin replied. “I was a friend of your parents and you’ve earned the right.”
“Alright, Remus,” Harry said, nodding. This was getting odder and odder by the moment.
“So…” Sirius began awkwardly. “I want to invite you to live with me. I know you’re probably very happy living with the Flamels right now—”
Harry shook his head. “You didn’t explain?” he interrupted, looking at Remus.
Remus smiled apologetically. “I guess I forgot to, considering the events of that night.”
Harry nodded. “Sirius, Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel passed away last month. I’ve been an emancipated minor ever since.”
“Oh,” Sirius replied, crestfallen. “I guess you probably don’t want to move in with me then.”
“I’m sorry, Sirius, but I like the way I’m living now.” At Sirius’s dejected look, Harry added, “I’ll come and visit, though. Holidays and summers,” Harry promised, almost regretting it as soon as he said it. What was he doing? He didn’t need parental figures in his life.
Sirius grinned, taking a sip of champagne, has happy mood returned. “Great! Hey, do you want some champagne?”
“Er…no thanks,” Harry replied, gazing warily at the champagne bottle. Who knew how haywire his magic would go if he got drunk or even slightly tipsy? He was almost positive he had read somewhere that witches and wizards who could do magic without a wand couldn’t get drunk or their magic would go mad. Actually…he probably ought to test that out when he got home next week for the summer holidays.
“So, tell us about yourself, Harry!” Sirius encouraged, grinning at Harry. “I want to know all about my godson. Do you play Quidditch? Are you an Animagus yet? Do the Marauders live on?”
“Are you a good student?” Remus interjected for Sirius’s sake.
“Marauders?” Harry asked. “And no to the first two.”
“What?!” Sirius exclaimed, appearing scandalized. “No one’s ever told you about the Marauders?”
“Er…no?” Harry answered, puzzled.
“Ah, those were the days…” Sirius trailed off, looking a bit glassy-eyed.
Remus just shrugged and explained for him. “Your father, Sirius, Pettigrew, and I enjoyed pranking quite a bit. We called ourselves the Marauders, each with their own nickname. James, Sirius, and Pettigrew became Animagi when they found out I was a werewolf, and from there we each got our nicknames. James was Prongs, Sirius Padfoot, the traitor was Wormtail—rather fitting—and I was Moony.”
“What was my father’s Animagus form?” Harry asked, fascinated in spite of himself.
“A stag. He was rather proud,” Remus commented with a chuckle.
“Lily hated him for it,” Sirius chimed in, knocked out of memory lane. “Took him until seventh year for her to stop hating him.”
Harry spent the rest of the morning with the two Marauders, listening to their stories about his parents avidly, in a way he usually didn’t unless reading a fascinating book. Deprived of parents for most of his life, he grasped at the little golden nuggets of knowledge offered to him, despite the fact that a large part of him was saying to ignore it and focus on the future, not the past. Harry ignored it, preferring to listen to the last two Marauders than annoying inner-voices.
**
Chapter Thirteen
Trial and Error
Harry was bored.
No, he was beyond bored. Boredom had left him a long time ago and had turned into something worse, something far more unpleasant. Harry personally believed that he was of a fairly calm temperament, with a relatively cool head. But something about the Ministry just set him off. It honestly should not take that long to shove a suspected felon in a cell and tell the person he captured him “You can go, the Ministry will take care of this.” No, nothing was ever that simple at this cursed place. Instead he had to be interrogated, had to wait for Pettigrew to be interrogated, and now he was waiting to be told whether he himself would be charged for placing false charges in an innocent man come back to life.
It was completely and utterly backwards.
Perhaps it was the fact that instead of going up the Ministry went down into the ground. Or maybe it was the feeling of claustrophobia that Harry had knowing that he was several floors underground and if the enchantments on the place failed he’d be dead. Or maybe, just maybe it was because the damned Aurors didn’t see fit to interrogate the suspicious resurfacing of a dead man. He knew that the government was corrupted, but this much?
He was tempted to go directly to the office of Amelia Bones, the Minister of Law Enforcement, and ask what was going on. He would if he wasn’t allowed to go by the time most Ministry employees got off work. Fortunately for him—though perhaps not for Ms. Bones—that time was in less than twenty minutes. He sincerely wished that the Aurors would be a bit more competent with their time—most of them were fairly lax in their duties, ever since Voldemort’s downfall several years ago. Only one Auror had been decent to him, and he had been the one leading the search for Sirius Black. It was utterly ridiculous.
“Mr. Flamel?” Harry turned around sharply at the sound, which was possibly the first polite noise he had heard towards him all day.
“Yes?” he replied, glancing at the aging woman in surprise. “Are you here to tell me I’m about to be interrogated for brining in a suspicious case?”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “So that’s what they’ve been telling you?” she mumbled to herself. “No, Mr. Flamel. You’ll be coming with me to my office, where we’ll be having a little chat—minus interrogation methods.”
“Of course, Director Bones,” Harry replied, nodding and following as the woman lead him away from the waiting room.
“Good guess,” she replied smiling, as she led him past a large array of cubicles. Harry shuddered at the few windows he saw. The faint tingle of magic around him and the knowledge that he had to travel down to get to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement saw the windows as a desperate attempt to cheer up a few of the Ministry employees—ignoring the fact that it was currently pouring outside the window.
“They’re angling for a pay raise,” Director Bones told him, noticing his attention to the windows.
“I’m sorry?” Harry asked, not really aware what she was talking about.
“The enchanters—the ones who do the windows. It always rains for weeks when they want a pay raise and turns into hurricanes if they don’t get what they want. Probably the reason they’re incredibly well paid.”
Harry nodded, not really caring for this tidbit of information. He was far more interested in Amelia Bones herself, who had ruled the male-dominated Auror Corps with an iron fist for years. He wasn’t too surprised, though, that she was getting involved in Pettigrew’s case. It was rather high profile, after all.
“Here we are,” she said, ushering him into her office. It was surprisingly spartan, lacking any personal affects. “Tea?” she offered, conjuring a tea pot and two mugs.
“No thanks,” Harry refused. Despite her genial attitude towards him, he didn’t trust anyone from the Ministry not to spike his drink, and since potions didn’t radiate enough magic for even his eyes to pick up, it was a bad idea at best to take food or drink from anyone he didn’t trust.
She nodded, pouring herself a cup and taking a sip. “The Minister will be joining us in a few minutes. He was understandably /distressed/—” she emphasized, making a face—“at knowing that his predecessor had imprisoned an innocent man and let a murderer go free.”
Harry nodded politely, knowing that she was probably editing the information for him. It was much more likely that the Minister had ranted and raved about how it was all a lie, until he had seen irrefutable evidence of the truth. Harry had studied Minister Fudge and his ways and knew him to be rather…stubborn, to put it nicely.
“Unfortunately,” Director Bones continued on, “Minister Fudge was so enraged and shocked by the actions of Peter Pettigrew that he had the man Kissed by a Dementor, almost immediately after hearing his confession.”
Harry raised an eyebrow at this, more than a little surprised and annoyed that the Ministry was that incompetent. “I take it he didn’t have a chance for a full trial, then?”
“I’m afraid not. However, we have sufficient evidence that Pettigrew was truly a supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and to Sirius Black’s innocence that a trial was hardly necessary—Veritaserum does have its uses, after all. Sirius Black has been given a full pardon and a bank draft—and no, the numbers are not your concern—and the Minister himself would like to thank you personally.”
Harry nodded, not in the least surprised that the Ministry thought it was okay for a case with ‘sufficient evidence’ to completely avoid having a trial. That was, after all, what they had done to Sirius Black in the first place. However, he did have to agree that Veritaserum offered some pretty sound proof and seeing as Pettigrew wouldn’t be able to answer any of a court’s questions /anyways/…
The fireplace to the left of Director Bones’ desk lit with green flame, before someone came through. Harry had a curse on his finger tips before the fire had even flared to full height, though he restrained himself from casting before identifying the intruder.
“Ah, here’s Minister Fudge now,” Director Bones commented, nodding politely to the Minister who was busy straightening his lime green bowler hat. Harry relaxed his magic a bit, though he was still wary of the Minister. He was probably one of the most corrupt in recent history, and Harry didn’t trust him enough not to be deep in the pockets of some Death Eater like Lucius Malfoy.
“Ah, Harold Flamel, I see,” Fudge said jubilantly, offering his hand to Harry. He shook it, tensing his body in case of any unsuspected portkeys, but found nothing to be amiss. “Thank you for your doing your civic duty! Such an amazing young man, you are.”
“Thank you, Minister,” Harry answered politely.
“Tell me, how did you find Pettigrew?” Fudge asked, conjuring himself a chair and pouring himself a mug of tea from the set Director Bones had conjured.
Harry relaxed slightly at his words, knowing that this would be a very similar conversation—if not more placid—to the ones he had had with the Aurors. “It was an accident, really, Minister. I was talking with Ronald Weasley—his father works here at the Ministry, I believe—and we got onto the subject of pets. He mentioned to me that his family had owned his rat for nearly twelve years, and I found that to be a bit suspicious. After all, how long do rats live anyways? Certainly not twelve years, not if they’re not magical, and this one certainly wasn’t.
“I do admit to being slightly paranoid,” Harry smiled ruefully, putting an act on for the Minister, who was nodding politely while sipping his tea, “And I cast the revealer charm for Animagi in a bout of curiosity. Of course, it came back positive. So, being naturally curious, I decided to use that curse to reverse the Animagus transformation—not before stunning him, of course. It was lucky I did, considering that it was Peter Pettigrew. I recognized him from the photographs in the /Daily Prophet/—you know, the ones telling the story of Sirius Black to keep the general public aware? I just knew that I had to bring him to the proper authorities, and, well, here we are,” Harry finished, suppressing a grin. It appeared as if Fudge had taken to his false story quite well, and was nodding while smiling.
“Thank you once again, Harold—may I call you Harold?” Fudge asked. Harry barely disguised his distaste, but nodded anyways. It was always better to be on good terms with those in positions of authority than not.
“Of course,” continued Fudge, “You’ll be rewarded for your capture of such a dangerous criminal. A marvellous service to the public, that was! Order of Merlin, third class, and a bank draft, of course.”
“Thank you, Minister,” Harry responded politely, more surprised than anything. That was much more than he had expected—he had honestly thought that he would be interrogated, as opposed to being offered a reward and galleons! Perhaps it was to buy his silence that such a young boy had caught a criminal before they had?
Harry was right. “Of course, you’d prefer not to be mentioned in the Daily Prophet, wouldn’t you?” Fudge asked, sweating slightly.
“No, no, of course not,” Harry replied, though he honestly couldn’t care less.
“Good,” the Minister replied, trying not too sound too relieved and failing.
“Well, I ought to be getting back to Hogwarts,” Harry said, standing.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Fudge said, shaking Harry’s hand once more. “Thank you once more, Harold.”
“You’re quite welcome, Minister,” Harry replied, restraining himself from rolling his eyes. “Thank you once again, Director Bones,” Harry said, nodding to the Director, before taking himself out of the office.
**
The next morning found Harry sitting at breakfast at the Gryffindor table, listening with half an ear to the Weasley twins as they regaled him with tales of their various pranks. His mind was still half on what he had to do the night before when he had gotten back from the Ministry, though he was paying enough attention to laugh in the appropriate spots.
After returning the Ministry, Harry had Obliviated Ron Weasley, not daring to risk his loose lips. He had also set off an enchantment keyed to Ron, Neville, Lupin, Black, and Snape to keep them hushed up about his identity. It still allowed them to talk about it when they were around someone else who knew the secret, but prevented them from discussing it if someone was eavesdropping or it was insecure. Ron was still under it just in case someone decided to break the memory block, as a preventative measure. The spell itself was slightly illegal, of course, but no one had to know.
The worst had probably been the interrogation by Dumbledore. Harry had found himself escorted to Dumbledore’s office as soon as the man had realized he was back in the school and forced to explain himself, though this time with Legilimency probes to add to the mix. His Occlumency skill was best, on average, and it took nearly everything Harry had to keep Dumbledore out. He had been forced to use extreme measures to prevent Dumbledore from reading his mind, simply by directing a shield charm outwards from his eyes, as the Headmaster required eye contact to see his memories. That in itself had been rather difficult, as Harry tended to keep that ‘channel’ closed so as not to set anything on fire or something similar by accident.
Harry would have rather had his conversation with Snape, which was sure to be interesting. However, he had had to owl the man after coming back late from the Ministry and knowing he’d be interrogated by Dumbledore to tell him that he wasn’t able to come to discuss whatever it was he wanted to discuss, asking if the next night was better. His reply had been a simple affirmation, and that was it.
Harry was brought back to himself by a pecking on his finger. He had been staring at his plate for a while now, not really noticing that Fred and George had stopped talking to him. An owl was perched on his plate, pecking at his food and occasionally his finger. In the middle of his eggs was a scrolled up parchment, probably containing the Daily Prophet.
Harry fished out a few nuts for the owl and fed him a piece of bacon before opening the /Daily Prophet/. He smiled in smug satisfaction at the article within.
Sirius Black Innocent;
Pettigrew Alive and to Blame!
By Carry Carson
In a surprising turn of events, the Ministry’s hunt for alleged mass-murder Sirius Black was called to a halt yesterday due to the revelation of new evidence regarding the case. This evidence presented itself in the form of Peter Pettigrew, long thought murdered by Black himself. Pettigrew confessed under Veritaserum to having killed all those that Black had been accused of murdering and also admitted to betraying the Potters to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
The Minister was astounded at the miscarriage of justice that had been performed during Minister Bagnold’s Administration, and had Pettigrew given the Dementor’s Kiss almost immediately after he had confessed to his horrible crimes.
Minister Fudge, has, of course, offered Black full compensation for his years in Azkaban and has dropped all charges. Pettigrew’s capturer wishes to remain anonymous, though the Minister mentioned was “quite pleased that the public was so willing to step forward and do their civic duty.” An Order of Merlin, third class as well as the standard monetary award was given to whomever captured Pettigrew, as an encouragement for the public to continue to—
For more, see page 5.
For a censored transcript of Pettigrew’s interrogation, see page 7.
“What are you smirking at?” George asked, his attention turned back to Harry.
“Ah, the /Prophet,/” Fred commented, spotting the newspaper in Harry’s hand.
“Anything interesting?” George added.
“Oh, nothing. Just at the fact that Sirius Black is innocent, that’s all.”
“Sirius Black’s innocent?” Fred exclaimed.
“Let’s see that,” George said, grabbing the paper out of Harry’s hands.
Several other people had also heard Fred’s loud exclamation and were also clamouring to read the paper. Harry smirked before getting up from the table, finished his breakfast.
He made his way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts office, taking his time. He knew that Lupin and Black—who had been hiding in Lupin’s office for the past day or so—would want to know, but he also dreaded the offer that would come up. Probably something along the lines of living with Black, and frankly, he didn’t want to. It didn’t help that the man was emotionally unstable after years in Azkaban and would probably cling to Harry like a life-line. It wasn’t the sort of relationship he wanted with anyone.
Sighing, he knocked on the office door and was ushered in. The first thing he noticed was a half-empty bottle of champagne sitting on the table, and a madly-grinning Sirius Black. Remus Lupin was there also, holding his own glass of champagne, despite it not even being nine in the morning yet.
“Harry!” he said happily. “Did you see? I’m free!”
Harry nodded politely, conjuring himself a chair. “Congratulations,” he found himself saying, not quite knowing what else to say.
“Remus explained everything to me. But I don’t know if he told you that, well, I’m your godfather.”
“I know,” Harry replied, nodding. “Professor Lupin told me.”
“Call me Remus in private, Harry,” Lupin replied. “I was a friend of your parents and you’ve earned the right.”
“Alright, Remus,” Harry said, nodding. This was getting odder and odder by the moment.
“So…” Sirius began awkwardly. “I want to invite you to live with me. I know you’re probably very happy living with the Flamels right now—”
Harry shook his head. “You didn’t explain?” he interrupted, looking at Remus.
Remus smiled apologetically. “I guess I forgot to, considering the events of that night.”
Harry nodded. “Sirius, Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel passed away last month. I’ve been an emancipated minor ever since.”
“Oh,” Sirius replied, crestfallen. “I guess you probably don’t want to move in with me then.”
“I’m sorry, Sirius, but I like the way I’m living now.” At Sirius’s dejected look, Harry added, “I’ll come and visit, though. Holidays and summers,” Harry promised, almost regretting it as soon as he said it. What was he doing? He didn’t need parental figures in his life.
Sirius grinned, taking a sip of champagne, has happy mood returned. “Great! Hey, do you want some champagne?”
“Er…no thanks,” Harry replied, gazing warily at the champagne bottle. Who knew how haywire his magic would go if he got drunk or even slightly tipsy? He was almost positive he had read somewhere that witches and wizards who could do magic without a wand couldn’t get drunk or their magic would go mad. Actually…he probably ought to test that out when he got home next week for the summer holidays.
“So, tell us about yourself, Harry!” Sirius encouraged, grinning at Harry. “I want to know all about my godson. Do you play Quidditch? Are you an Animagus yet? Do the Marauders live on?”
“Are you a good student?” Remus interjected for Sirius’s sake.
“Marauders?” Harry asked. “And no to the first two.”
“What?!” Sirius exclaimed, appearing scandalized. “No one’s ever told you about the Marauders?”
“Er…no?” Harry answered, puzzled.
“Ah, those were the days…” Sirius trailed off, looking a bit glassy-eyed.
Remus just shrugged and explained for him. “Your father, Sirius, Pettigrew, and I enjoyed pranking quite a bit. We called ourselves the Marauders, each with their own nickname. James, Sirius, and Pettigrew became Animagi when they found out I was a werewolf, and from there we each got our nicknames. James was Prongs, Sirius Padfoot, the traitor was Wormtail—rather fitting—and I was Moony.”
“What was my father’s Animagus form?” Harry asked, fascinated in spite of himself.
“A stag. He was rather proud,” Remus commented with a chuckle.
“Lily hated him for it,” Sirius chimed in, knocked out of memory lane. “Took him until seventh year for her to stop hating him.”
Harry spent the rest of the morning with the two Marauders, listening to their stories about his parents avidly, in a way he usually didn’t unless reading a fascinating book. Deprived of parents for most of his life, he grasped at the little golden nuggets of knowledge offered to him, despite the fact that a large part of him was saying to ignore it and focus on the future, not the past. Harry ignored it, preferring to listen to the last two Marauders than annoying inner-voices.
**
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