Archive of Our Own

Prologue

Midnight, October 31, 1981

Denby put the finishing touches to her last batch of Queen cakes and laid a stasis spell upon them. She stood back, hands on her hips, surveying her evening’s work in satisfaction, already looking forward to the next farmers market they’d be attending that weekend where her various wares would be on sale.

It happened just as her thoughts were turning towards cleaning up and brewing a last mug of cocoa. The knowledge dropped on her like a stone and she almost staggered under its weight. In the few moments it took for her to recover Stout was running into the kitchen, still holding a broken clock in one hand and a screwdriver in the other, his face alight.

“Did you feel that? Can you find him? Do you know where he is?”

Denby took a deep breath and closed her eyes, focusing hard on the knowledge magic had dropped into her mind.

“Yes,” she said. She opened her eyes and stared at Stout, not suppressing the grin suffusing her face. “I can find him.”

“Then go,” Stout urged, even as Denby was pulling off her apron and spelling her hands clean. He summoned her coat and thrust it towards her. “Go find our boy.”

With a nod Denby shrugged into the coat and apparated through the wards, her heart singing.

Her heart was quickly quieted as she silently appeared at the place the magic had sent her, and acting under pure instinct she ducked down into the thick bushes that butted up against the fence and ringed the little cottage. Something was badly wrong here, there was a thick miasma of dark magic and… Denby frowned, focusing on the broken door hanging off one hinge, and the flickering lights spilling out of the cottage and onto the narrow front path. Grief, Denby thought, her breath catching in her throat. There was something very wrong here.

Denby quickly cast a disillusionment spell on herself as a young man staggered out of the doorway, a blanket bundled child clutched against his shoulder. The child was crying softly, and to Denby’s shock she saw the young man was as well. He was tall and lean and dark, and even in the dim light Denby could see he was strikingly handsome.

He was also heartbroken, tears glistening on his cheeks, his shoulders slumped, the hand patting the child’s back shaking. Denby felt her own heart – which had been so light and full of joy just moments ago – breaking. There was the child she and Stout had been searching for for fifteen months. There he was, right there. But this was clearly no time to be celebrating. Something terrible had happened here.

Before she could rise to her feet and figure out a way to approach the grieving man, a pop of apparition shocked her, and she crouched further back in the bushes as a powerful wizard appeared on the dark path, his wand in his hand. Instantly the young man was holding his own wand out, but before Denby could even panic over the safety of The Heir, the young man dropped his wand.

“Professor,” he said hoarsely. “James and Lily… They’re dead.”

Denby watched as the old man nodded gravely. “I feared as much. And Harry? Is he unharmed?”

Harry, Denby thought as the young man cuddled the child more closely on his shoulder. The Heir’s name is Harry.

“No, he’s wounded. I need to get him to a healer.”

The old wizard held out his hands. “I can do that, Sirius. You should contact the Auror Department and deal with them.”

The young man blinked, still looking dazed. “What?” He glanced down at the child in his arms and physically recoiled from the old wizard. “No,” he said, shaking his head, his voice strengthening. “No, Harry’s my responsibility now. I promised James.”

“I understand that, Sirius,” the old wizard said patiently, his hands still out. “But the situation is still dangerous. The Dark Lord –“

“The Dark Lord is dead,” Sirius interrupted, and Denby, still looking at the old wizard’s face, felt a frisson of real fear as a kind of fervent light lit up his expression for just a moment. Then the young man’s words penetrated and Denby felt her mouth drop open. What had he said?

“Are you sure?” The old wizard said intently, and Sirius nodded.

“What’s left of him is upstairs,” Sirius said hoarsely. “At the foot of Harry’s crib.” His lips trembled and he closed his eyes. “He murdered James and Lily and then tried to murder Harry.”

The old man stepped forward, his eyes catching the light spilling out of the house for a moment and shining like dark sapphires. “And failed,” he said, in dark satisfaction. “As he will always fail. Give me Harry, Sirius.”

Once again Sirius frowned as he focused on the old man’s face, his free hand rubbing at the tracks of tears on his cheeks. “I told you, I can’t. I promised James that if anything happened to him and Lily that I would take care of Harry, and that means getting him to a healer, and contacting the Aurors. Don’t you understand, Albus?” he continued brokenly. “Peter was the Secret Keeper. He betrayed James and Lily to their deaths. I have to report that to the authorities.”

Sirius stepped back again, turning on his heel as if to apparate. “I don’t have time to argue this,” he began, but his words were cut short as, to Denby’s horror the old wizard drew his wand and fired a spell at the young man. She had to cover her mouth to stifle her cry of shock as Sirius froze in his tracks, his arms going slack as his face cleared of all expression.

Before she could react the old wizard had nimbly taken the child in his own arms and stepped back. Both hands covering her mouth now, Denby watched in horror as the old wizard once more raised his wand. Was she about to witness a murder? What could she do? Power emanated off the elderly wizard, she couldn’t possibly challenge him. And he held The Heir in his arms, any sort of fight might cause Harry an injury, and that could not be risked. What on earth could she do?

“You need to find Peter, Sirius,” the old man intoned, the tip of his wand glowing, casting an unholy light on his lined face. “You need to hunt him down. Let nothing and no one stand in your way. Killing Peter is all that matters.”

The young man’s eyes flickered, his face twitched. “Harry,” he said, as if the name was being dragged out of him.

The old wizard stepped closer, the light of his wand shining ever more brightly. “Find Peter, Sirius. He betrayed your friends, he betrayed Harry. Find him and kill him!”

“Kill Peter,” Sirius intoned, and Denby realised she had only a moment to act. Praying to the magical legacy she proudly stewarded, she cast a silent spell at the young man, feeling it attach itself to his coat even as he turned on his heel and vanished with a pop of apparition.

Denby held her breath. Would the powerful old wizard feel her spell? What would he do to her if he caught her, realised she had witnessed his betrayal? She braced herself to vanish, despite her every instinct telling her she could not leave The Heir.

But the old man was too preoccupied it seemed to sense her tiny spell, he was already turning on his heel and vanishing. Within a moment the buzz of magic in her heart faded, and once more The Heir was behind powerful wards. As he had been the last fifteen months since she and Stout had sensed him coming into the world.

Grief threatened to overwhelm her. What if he stayed hidden again? What if that had been her only chance to bring the Peverell Heir into the magic legacy that awaited him? She and Stout had consoled themselves with the thought that the newly born heir was at least safe behind whatever wards his parents had constructed. There had been a war raging after all. It had been a kind of comfort to them that the new Heir was safe.

But now she didn’t even have that comfort. The Heir was in the hands of a dark wizard who had cursed a seeming friend in the back and literally taken the child from his arms. And all she had to connect her to The Heir was the small, weak tracing spell she had managed to cast on the young man named Sirius, who was also now burdened with what had looked to be a powerful compulsion spell.

Denby stood and straightened her spine, fists clenched. Well, if all she had was the betrayed young wizard, then that’s the lead she would follow. The Heir was what mattered now, and Sirius – whoever he was – was her only link to him. Closing her eyes and drawing on the tracking charm she’d desperately attached to Sirius – Denby apparated.

Part One

Sirius pushed past people on the street, dimly registering that the sun was rising behind him and the straggling crowds in his way were made up of muggles going about whatever business muggles had at the crack of dawn. Peter had chosen a flat above a muggle business, distancing himself from magical enclaves as he had distanced himself from the war and the Order.

Would Peter be here now? Behind wards in his little flat? Would he have already packed and gone? Gone where? No matter, Sirius thought dully. He would track the traitor who had betrayed James and Lily, who had betrayed the Order, who had betrayed Harry.

Harry. Sirius faltered in his steps for just a moment, then shivered as his memories were crushed under the weight of his duty. Hunt for Peter. Kill the betrayer. Let no one and nothing stand in his way.

“Harry!”

Sirius blinked and he stumbled over his own feet again.

“Where’s Harry?”

The voice was loud, hot breath was in his face, and Sirius blinked and focused on the woman standing in front of him, her hands on her hips. She was middle aged, greying brown hair pulled back from her face in a loose bun. Her eyes were hazel, her skin a light coffee colour. She had once been strikingly beautiful, and even now in her old fashioned, pinafore dress, hands resting on comfortably padded hips, even now she was an arresting sight.

Let no one get in the way, Sirius thought, pushing past her.

“Sirius,” the voice said loudly in his ear as he thrust forward. “Where’s Harry? You promised James you’d look after Harry, remember? Remember Harry?”

“I have to find Peter,” Sirius ground out, pulling his wand from his pocket. “I can’t let anyone get in my way.”

“You have to find Harry!” The woman yelled, grasping his wrist and squeezing it tightly. Sirius was dimly aware as space cleared around them, the muggles parting like a wave as they avoided the screaming woman confronting him. “You promised James!” she shrieked.

Some muggles stopped, staring as the end of Sirius’s wand lit up. The crowd around them began to murmur, horns sounded from the lumbering vehicles on the road. Blinking in the light of his wand, Sirius stared at the woman whose face was just inches from his own.

“Where’s Harry?” she said, whispering now and, mind racing, Sirius tried to focus on everything wrong around him. He had his wand drawn, they were on a muggle street. Muggles were staring at them. “Aren’t you supposed to be looking after Harry? He’s hurt, Sirius,” the woman said gently, and Sirius wondered how she knew his name. “He needs to see a healer.”

“Harry,” Sirius said as the name echoed in his head. “Peter betrayed Harry.”

“But Harry is what matters now, Sirius. Isn’t that what you promised James?”

Sirius felt his eyes sting as grief rose up inside him. “James is dead,” he said.

“I know,” the woman said gently, and now the grip she had on his wrist softened, and she was pushing his wand hand down. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “But there’s nothing you can do about that. All you can do is keep your promise to James.”

“Promise me, Padfoot.” The voice rang in Sirius’s head, drowning out that other, insistent voice telling him to hunt and kill. “Promise if anything happens to me that you’ll take care of Lily and Harry. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Sirius murmured, and just like that he felt the compulsion he was under melt away like snow in the morning sunlight. “I promised,” he said, blinking. He shook his head, still a little dazed. “Where’s Harry?”

The woman’s warm hazel eyes gazed into his for a moment, then she nodded and stepped back. She glanced at the muggles staring at them and smiled, lifting a hand and waving it airily. “Nothing to see here, folks,” she said. “Just a fellow who had a little too much to drink last night, you know how it is.”

Sirius felt the gentle magic as she waved her hand again, and the muggles surrounding them all blinked and shook their heads and moved away, once more just a crowd going about their morning muggle business as the cars on the road honked their horns and spewed fumes into the air.

“I’m Denby,” she said and Sirius frowned.

“What’s happening?” he said, looking around them at the busy street. “Where is this?”

“That doesn’t matter. Harry is what matters,” she said and memory hit him, sharp as a punch to his gut.

“Dumbledore took him,” Sirius gasped, remembering his arms going slack, and the feel of Dumbledore pulling the child away from him. “He… he cursed me, didn’t he? And he took Harry.”

The woman looked around her again and tilted her head. “This isn’t the place to discuss this. “I can take you somewhere safe, where I can tell you what I saw, and you can tell me what you remember. And we can talk about Harry.”

Sirius stepped back, hand once again clenching around his wand in his pocket. The woman held out both hands, palm up, her rolled up sleeves clearly showing her unmarked arms.

“If I were your enemy I’d have let you continue on under that compulsion curse,” she said simply. “You were on track to commit murder or get yourself killed,” she continued and Sirius caught his breath, recalling with horror the single minded drive of that curse. “At least two people you trusted betrayed you in the last few hours,” the woman said. “So I don’t blame you for not wanting to trust a stranger. But right now there are two people on Earth who can find Harry to protect him, and you aren’t one of them. I am.”

She held out her hand. “Right now? What do you have to lose?”

Mind still in turmoil, still nearly crippled by grief, reeling from the knowledge that Dumbledore of all people had cursed him in the back, Sirius weighed up his options.

“I need to contact the Aurors,” he said finally.

“I have a floo you can use.”

Sirius glanced around again, recognising at last the street he was on, that he was only half a block away from Peter’s flat, and that around them the muggle crowd still jostled and hurried past. “There’s an alley over there we can apparate from,” he said, giving in. He reached out and took her hand.

888

They apparated into the middle of a large but cosy sitting room, dark red tapestries hung on the wall, and wine red couches and lounge chairs dotted the room. Tables heavy with nicknacks like glass clocks and small marble statues gave the room a rich, ornate look, while the morning sun between thick velvet curtains gleamed off the polished wooden tabletops. Behind them in a huge fireplace a low fire was burning, filling the room with warmth, and adding to the cosines.

Sirius braced himself at the sight of the tall, elderly man standing in front of the fireplace, but Denby was patting his arm comfortingly.

“It’s just Stout,” she said. “Stout, this is Sirius.”

Stout’s thick greying brows beetled as he frowned. “He’s a wee bit older than I expected,” he said in a broad, northern accent.

“Where is this?” Sirius asked, ignoring the byplay.

“You’re in Cornwall. Behind the war wards of the Peverell Estate,” Stout said. He looked at Denby. “Where’s The Heir?”

“The who?” Sirius said.

Denby raised both hands in a gesture for silence. “There are long stories to tell, and I’m thinking we have time to tell them. But, Sirius, didn’t you want to use the floo first?”

Sirius frowned at her for a moment longer, questions piling up behind his tongue, stifling the grief and worry and sheer disbelief still engulfing him. “Yes,” he finally said. “I need to contact the Aurors about…” He swallowed hard. “James and Lily.”

“Well we’ll leave you to it and go make a cup of tea,” Denby said briskly, extending her hand to Stout. “When you’re done making your calls, just wander down the hall. Follow your nose, you’ll find the kitchen.”

With a sigh the old man tramped from the room, following her beckoning hand, and Denby paused in the doorway before she followed him out. “The floo is open if you want to leave,” she said quietly. “No one will stop you. But if you go, you can’t make your way back here again. The estate is unplottable, and  Stout and I are the only two people on earth who even know it exists.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sirius said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “I want to hear the story you have to tell.”

“It’s a doozy,” Denby said with a sad smile, and then she followed the old man out of the room, and closed the door behind her.

Sirius almost collapsed on the stone fireplace front, head down, hands clasped before him to hide the trembling of his fingers. He was overwhelmed, confused, and still resonating with pain. There were a thousand things he needed to be doing, the list stretched out before him. But he needed just a few moments first, to gather himself, to regain his composure, to try and line up his thoughts so he could tell Amelia what he needed to, without bursting into tears.

Finally he heaved a resolute sigh and straightened his spine. An ornate covered pot of floo powder sat conveniently by the fireplace implements, and without further hesitation Sirius cast a handful of the powder into the fire and reached out to a destination he hadn’t contacted in more than a year.

“Amelia Bones’s flat, above the apothecary, Diagon Alley,” he directed, and the fire breathed in for a moment then expelled a gust of green fragrant scent. It took a long minute for Amelia to come into view, shuffling slightly and collapsing in front of the hearth with a sigh.

If Sirius had been in a laughing mood he would have chuckled at the sight of the feared Auror Amelia Bones dressed in bright purple satin pyjamas, with her dark blonde hair a rumpled mess around her shoulders.

“Bloody hell, Sirius,” she muttered, rubbing her sleepy eyes. “This better be important. I was on late shift hunting fecking Death Eaters across London all night.” She blinked and focused on his face. “Sirius?”

“James and Lily are dead,” Sirius said flatly.

Amelia’s hand flew to her chest and she clutched at a handful of her garish pj’s. “Merlin,” she whispered.

“And so is the Dark Lord,” Sirius continued, needing to get it all out.

Amelia shook her head. “Whoa, what? Dead? Are you sure?” She held out her hand and her wand flew to her. Snatching it out of the air she started summoning clothes and shoes.

“What’s left of him is laying on the floor of Harry’s nursery,” Sirius said dully.

Amelia froze in her struggle to pull trousers on over her pj pants. “Harry?”

“He’s alive,” Sirius hurried to assure her. “But he has a wound on his head in the shape of the Killing Curse wand movement.”

“Feck,” Amelia said blankly, absorbing this. “Right, don’t mind me getting dressed, tell me everything.”

Sirius began his story while Amelia pulled on her clothes and spelled away her pyjamas. “I was on my flying motorbike,” he said. “When I felt the Fidelius go down. I already knew that meant that either James and Lily had ended the spell – or they were dead.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I apparated straight to the cottage, leaving my bike to follow me.”

He continued the story, noting how she froze once more when he revealed that Peter had been the Secret Keeper. “I never liked that little worm,” she muttered.

“Rat,” Sirius said and she lifted a brow. “Peter is an Animagus and his form is a rat.”

Amelia gaped for a moment, and then closed her mouth with a snap. “Unregistered I assume.”

“There is a war on,” Sirius said bluntly. “We need every ace in the hole we can get.”

Amelia grunted again. “Go on.”

Sirius did, deliberately skipping the part with Dumbledore. Amelia was fully dressed by the time he abruptly ended his recollections, her glasses perched on her nose, wand gripped in both hands.

“I want you to write all that in a full report, I assume you remember how?” She arched a brow but Sirius only nodded numbly, just the retelling of the midnight hour of the night before enough to engulf him once more in his grief. “I hope I don’t have to tell you, Sirius, to leave the business of hunting Pettigrew to the professionals,” she continued brusquely. “And that’s not you any more.”

Sirius swallowed down his resentment at her dig about his choices, and kept his voice even. “I promised James I would take care of Harry,” he said evenly.

Amelia’s stern face twitched. “Make sure you do.” She lifted her hand to end the call, then paused for just a moment. “I’m sorry about James and Lily, Sirius,” she said, then with a brisk gesture ended the call.

Sirius sat for long moments more, eyes closed, taking deep breaths. Just a year ago he and Amelia had been partners, he junior to her senior. It was the job of his dreams, and everything he’d wanted. And he’d had to fight through a lot of prejudice regarding his family and his name to get it. Then everything had come to a head when Amelia’s beloved younger brother had been killed by Death Eaters while on a mission for the Order.

Enraged and wild with grief Amelia had thrown down an ultimatum to her partner. Give up the illegal vigilante squad, or give up his job. Stubborn, angry, and equally full of grief, Sirius had walked away from his career and joined the Order full time.

Now, as he sat there on the hearth, warmed by the crackling fire, he wondered what on earth he’d been thinking to do such a thing. Had he been thinking? Or had he been influenced by a curse in the back?

And that’s what happens when trust is broken, Sirius thought bitterly. He wondered if he’d ever be able to recall a single past interaction with Albus Dumbledore again without paranoia and suspicion creeping in.

888

The kitchen wasn’t hard to find, Sirius followed his nose as instructed, and emerged into a long, stone walled room, with a well scrubbed kitchen table in the centre. Denby and Stout sat on each side, sipping from mugs of tea, a tray of cakes between them.

“Please, sit,” Denby invited, gesturing to the empty chair at the end of the table. “Did you make your call?”

Sirius nodded and took a seat. He accepted the mug and poured his own tea from the gently steaming pot, liberally adding sugar and milk. Closing his eyes he inhaled the scent of the brew before taking a sip and sighing.

“How long since you slept?” Denby asked gently, but Sirius just shook his head and laid his mug down before him.

“Please,” he said. “Please tell me who you are, and how you found me. And why…” He gestured with one raised palm. “Why all of this?”

“Well,” Denby said, cradling her mug in both hands. “First of all, it’s not about you. It’s about Harry.”

Sirius frowned, recalling fragments of Stout and Denby’s words. “What about Harry?”

“He’s the Heir to the Peverell Legacy,” Denby said simply.

Sirius sat back in his chair, processing this. He’d heard of the Peverell Legacy, of course he had. “I thought that was a legend,” he said slowly.

“Much of the history of the Peverell family is wrapped in legend,” Denby agreed. “Most people think it started with the legend of the Deathly Hallows that we all grew up reading about in children’s stories.”

“It didn’t?”

Denby shook her head, and Sirius looked from her to Stout, who was munching on a Queen cake and listening. “Long before that story, the Peverell family was one of the oldest and most magically powerful in Europe,” Denby continued.

“Some think it’s because of the events behind the story of the Hallows that the family lost their power,” Stout added, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “Certainly we can trace the decline of their magics from about that time, so who knows?”

“I remember when the last Peverell heir was killed,” Sirius said. “It was big news at the time.”

“Five years ago,” Stout said, nodding sadly. “The McGee, as he was called by all who knew him. Not McGee mind you,” Stout added with a small smile. “But the McGee.”

“101 years old when he was stabbed in the back by cowardly Death Eaters on the streets of Hogsmeade,” Denby added.

“He’d spoken out about the Dark Lord in the Wizengamot, hadn’t he?” Sirius recalled. “Called for stricter penalties for those who took the Dark Mark?”

“Aye,” Stout said. “He spoke up when many wouldn’t. And as you can imagine after he was murdered even more voices dried up.” Stout slammed his cup down in front of him and set his jaw. “A lot of damn cowards in this country.”

“Either way, the McGee was dead. And as stewards of the Peverell Legacy, it was up to Stout and I to find the next heir.”

“We have the magic to help us, of course,” Stout said. “But that’s the geas we’re under. To find the heir, bring him or her into the protection of the Peverell Legacy, and continue to serve them and the estate as we have our lives long.”

“And you think Harry is the heir?” Sirius said.

“We know he is,” Denby said firmly. “We felt him come into the world on the night he was born. We knew the heir was a boy child, and that he’d been born in Britain. But almost immediately he was hidden from the magic by powerful wards, and so he has been for the last fifteen months.”

Sirius absorbed this, frowning. “I don’t understand any of this. How can Harry be the heir when neither of his parents were? Or his grandparents for that matter? How does that even work?”

“It’s a condition of the magical legacy itself, lad,” Stout said. “Remember we said the magic in the family started to wane a thousand years or so ago? Well, that wasn’t an exaggeration. Generation after generation children were born into the family with little to no magic. Some said it was a curse from Death itself, others said it was too much muggle blood, still others speculated it was the habit of marrying cousins and therefore too little outside blood.”

“Either way,” Denby said, taking up the story. “Magic waned in the family, and the last great magical heir placed conditions on the legacy itself. The true heir to the Peverell Legacy had to have a certain level of power true, but also had to be ‘of witch and wizard born.’ She added air quotes to the phrase.

“So you see there are probably thousands of Peverell descendants out there,” Stout said. “Whether they bear the name or not. Some may even have magic. But unless they meet all the conditions the Legacy wouldn’t recognise or acknowledge them. Clearly young Harry does.”

Sirius thought this over as he absently sipped his tea. “So the Legacy must have come down through Lily,” he mused. He glanced back and forward between Stout and Denby. “Harry’s mother. She’s a witch…” He broke off, shook his head. “She was a witch, but she was muggle born.”

“And she was murdered last night along with Harry’s father,” Denby said sadly. “That much we now know. We suddenly felt the presence of The Heir last night, and now we know it’s because his parents wards went down when they perished. We’re very sorry for your loss.”

“Were they family?” Stout probed gently, and with a start Sirius realised he’d never actually introduced himself.

“In all but blood,” Sirius said, blinking back fresh tears. “James and I were as close as brothers since we were 11 years old. And I loved Lily like a sister. Harry… Harry is my godson. My name is Sirius Black.”

“Oh,” Denby said, almost dropping her mug. “Oh my goodness. We never even properly introduced ourselves, did we? I feel as if we’re doing everything backwards, that’s what kind of day it’s been. I’m Dorothy Denby, but everyone calls me Denby.”

Sirius nodded at her and turned to look at Stout. “Abednego Stout,” the older man said. Actually now he saw him up close Sirius could see he was probably not that old, maybe the same age as Denby, although it could be hard to tell sometimes with magic users. He was tall with ropy muscles in his arms and strong work worn hands. His hair was greyer than Denby’s, and the stubble on his chin and cheeks shone with a silvery sheen. “We’re the Stewards of the Peverell Estate, chosen by the last Heir, and as such we are charged by magic with finding the new Heir, and educating him and his guardians as to exactly what that means.”

“James and Lily were the Potters, and Harry is Harry James Potter,” Sirius supplied. “So the magic of the Legacy led you to him last night?”

Denby nodded. “I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t what I walked into. I could see and feel right away that serious dark magic had happened, so I bided my time before revealing myself, trying to get the lay of the land.”

“And thank goodness you did,” Stout exclaimed. “Imagine if you’d shown yourself before that dark wizard appeared?”

Sirius shook his head. “The wards didn’t go down until after he’d… killed James and Lily. And it looks like he died himself just moments later, although I’m still not sure why.”

Denby and Stout exchanged glances. “Not that dark wizard, lad,” Stout said. “The other one.”

“The one who cursed you in the back and took your child right out of your arms,” Denby said fiercely.

Sirius gaped for a moment. “You mean Dumbledore?”

“Dumbledore?” Stout exclaimed. “That was Albus Dumbledore just a few feet away from you last night, Denby?” Stout shook his head and heaved out a huff. “Then I’m truly glad he didn’t know you were there. Some say he’s the most powerful wizard alive, except for maybe You Know Who.”

Denby also looked alarmed. “I know the McGee never had much time for him,” she said blankly. “But everyone says he’s the Leader of the Light, and the only chance we have to defeat the Dark Lord.”

“That’s why we followed him,” Sirius said, not a little bitterly. “James and Lily and I. Gave up so much to join his Order, to track down Death Eaters and try and save as many people as possible from them.”

“Order?”

Sirius met Stout’s curious gaze. “The Order of the Phoenix. We call ourselves freedom fighters, everyone else calls us vigilantes. We all gave up a lot to join the Order. Some of us gave everything,” he finished bitterly.

“And your reward was betrayal,” Denby said, her face grim. “I could scarcely believe what I was seeing when he cast that compulsion on you. It was obvious you trusted him completely, but he turned on you in a moment!”

“And I don’t understand why!” Sirius burst out. “Why did he do it? Why was it so important to take Harry from me that he had to curse me in the back to do it?”

“And why send you to hunt and kill the betrayer?” Stout said thoughtfully. “He could have just as easily put you to sleep, or stunned you. Why compel you to go out and kill?”

“Do you remember what he said?” Denby asked Sirius.

Sirius frowned and tried to concentrate on those moments on the dark path in front of the cottage, with the lights flickering through the broken doorway behind him, and the midnight moon sailing above him. “He told me to hunt Peter,” he said slowly. “To kill him. To let nothing stand in my way…”

“Sounds to me,” Stout said carefully. “That he was telling you to go out and get yourself killed.”

“Or arrested,” Denby added. “You were in a muggle area, if you’d killed innocent bystanders to get to your quarry…”

“I think it’s more than that,” Sirius said in sudden realisation. “Amelia – the Auror I flooed - didn’t know anything about what happened last night. And she was on duty, she said so. If Dumbledore had reported the attack on James and Lily, she would have been told about it. She didn’t know they were dead, she certainly didn’t know the Dark Lord was dead, and she didn’t know Peter betrayed them.”

“And if you’d gotten yourself killed while under that compulsion then no one but Dumbledore would have known that Peter was the betrayer.” Denby said.

“Unless anyone else knew this Peter chap was the Secret Keeper?” Stout asked shrewdly.

Sirius shook his head, still dumbfounded by his own speculations. “I was the decoy,” he murmured. “We suspected we had a spy in our ranks, so we let it be known that I was the Secret Keeper, but only the three of us knew that Peter was.”

“And I heard you tell Dumbledore last night,” Denby said. “So he didn’t just want to take Harry, he wanted you permanently out of his way. Presumably because you’re Harry’s godfather now?”

“Alice!” Sirius exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “Alice is Harry’s godmother! If Dumbledore really wants Harry and thinks he’s gotten me out of the way, Alice is now his only obstacle!” He raced from the room, barely registering Denby and Stout at his heels as he ran back to the living room. Dropping to his knees in front of the fireplace he flung a handful of floo powder into the grate and rapped out an address as soon as the fire settled to a transparent green. “Frank and Alice Longbottom, Meadowlark Cottage, Worcestershire!”

The floo was answered immediately, and it was Alice on her knees before the flames, her face swollen with tears, her eyes red and wet. “Oh, Siri,” she said brokenly. “Albus just told us about James and Lily. I’m so sorry,” she wept, knuckling her eyes like a child. “So terribly sorry.”

“What else did Dumbledore tell you?” Sirius asked as Frank dropped to his knees beside his wife and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder.

“He said You Know Who is dead,” Frank said. “Can it be true, Sirius? Is he really just… gone?”

Sirius nodded. “I saw what was left of him myself, Frank. It’s true.”

Frank closed his eyes and pulled his wife closer, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Thank goodness,” he murmured. “It’s over, it’s finally over.”

“It’s not over yet,” Sirius said grimly and Frank blinked and peered at him through the green light of the floo.

“Why would you say that? Albus said the danger has passed, and that we can finally live normal lives.” Alice was nodding at her husband’s words, still wiping at her eyes.

A cold fear gripped Sirius. He leaned forward and spoke urgently. “Frank, tell me you didn’t drop your Fidelius?”

Frank frowned and glanced down at his wife. “Albus said,” he began and Sirius cut him off with a slash of his hand.

“Albus said to drop your Fidelius? Albus said that?”

Alice took over as Frank just gaped at him. “He said there was no need for it now the Dark Lord is dead, Siri,” she said in her gentle voice.

“And that made sense to you?” Sirius said incredulously. “Even with the Dark Lord dead, what about his followers? How enraged will his Death Eaters be once they realise their Lord is dead? And what about Peter Pettigrew?”

Alice and Frank glanced at each other uncertainly. “What about Peter Pettigrew?” Frank said blankly.

Sirius shook his head in disbelief. It was one thing to let his paranoia fill his head with wild surmise, but to actually see and hear the confirmation of his worse fears in front of him was shocking.

“Peter was James and Lily’s Secret Keeper,” Sirius said grimly. “He betrayed them to their death, he set Harry up to die. And he’s still out there, Alice. That vile betrayer is still out there.”

Alice’s hand flew to her mouth and Frank looked as if he was searching for words.

“Dumbledore knows that Peter is still out there,” Sirius said urgently. “He knows that there are Death Eaters still at large. Think, Frank, think. You’re an Auror, you know that the danger isn’t past. What did Dumbledore do to you to make you believe - even for a moment – otherwise?” Sirius was leaning so far forward now his face was almost touching the green flames.

“Dumbledore knew that Pettigrew was the Secret Keeper?” Frank said slowly. Beside him Alice was shaking her head as if trying to understand a difficult arithmancy rune.

“I told him myself,” Sirius said.

“Frank,” Alice said uncertainly. “Didn’t he say Siri was the Secret Keeper? I’m sure I remember now that he said that.” She shook her head again. “How could I have forgotten that until just this moment?”

“Because Dumbledore wanted you to,” Sirius said. “Just as he wanted you to drop your guard, just as he wanted me dead and cursed me in the back to achieve that aim.”

“He cursed you…” Frank began and then broke off. “We took down the Fidelius,” he went on, his face twisted in disbelief. “Alice, we took down our best defence! That’s crazy!”

“Oh, Frank,” Alice said, her eyes wide. “What’s going on?” She turned her shocked gaze back to the green flames. “Siri, what’s going on? Why would Dumbledore betray us like that?”

“He took Harry,” Sirius said, and tears sprang to his eyes again, tears of rage and helplessness. “He cursed me and sent me off to kill Peter and anyone else in my way, and then he took my boy from my arms, Alice. And now he’s set you up to die just like James and Lily and I don’t know what to do! How do I get Harry back? How do we get through whatever is to come if Dumbledore is our enemy?”

Frank’s face lost the stunned, bewildered look and hardened into certainty. “Right,” he said decisively. “Alice, get Neville and his go bag, right now. I’ll grab our bags. Siri, where are you?”

“I’m in an unplottable location behind war wards,” Sirius said. He turned to Denby and Stout, who were sitting perched on the wide couch behind him. “Can they come through?”

Stout jumped to his feet. “I’ll open the floo,” he said. “That’s an invitation that will add them to the wards the minute they step through.” He turned to look at Frank through the flames. “And be aware. Any curses and compulsions laid on you will end the moment you step into the wards.”

“Good,” Frank said, and then he vanished from view for a moment. Alice appeared back first, a sleeping toddler in her arms, a bag slung over her shoulder. Then Frank, two bags strapped across his body, wand in hand. “Are we clear to come through?”

Sirius got his his feet and glanced at Stout, who also stepped back from the hearth, nodding. “You can come through.”

A moment later the Longbottom family was stepping through the flames, and almost instantly both Frank and Alice staggered, their hands going to their heads.

“That fucker cast a spell on us!” Frank exclaimed. “I remember! I remember everything!”

“Why?” Alice whispered, nuzzling her sleeping baby’s cheek. She wasn’t weeping now, but her cheeks were pale and her expression was devastated. “Why would he do this to us?”

“That’s a very good question,” Denby said briskly. “And one best answered over a cup of tea, eh?” She patted Alice on the shoulder kindly. “Welcome to the Peverell Estate. You and your family are safe here.”

Frank huffed out a surprised breath. “Peverell?” he repeated and turned his gaze on Sirius. “What in Merlin’s name is going on, Sirius?”

888

Over many cups of tea and the remainder of the Queen cakes, Sirius told them everything he knew. Stout disappeared and returned to the kitchen with a wooden crib, which he set by the table so the baby could be laid down. Alice admired the white lace and fine linens of the crib, her wide blue eyes soft with love as she laid her baby down and kissed his smooth brow.

Sirius bit his lip and looked away at the sight, wondering where Harry was right now, and desperate with worry.

“We’ll get him back, Siri,” Alice said gently, and he looked at her, so small and slight next to her tall, burly husband. Her eyes were a cornflower blue, although darkened now with worry and grief, and her hair was the palest white gold in the late morning light streaming through the wide kitchen windows. She and Frank were a few years older than him, but you wouldn’t know it to look at Alice. She could have donned a Hogwarts uniform and passed for a senior student without comment.

“The question here is why,” Frank said, still frowning over everything Sirius and Denby had relayed. “Why does he want Harry so desperately that he’d send you off dazed with a curse to face mortal danger, and set my family and I up to die?”

“Could he know Harry is the Peverell Heir?” Sirius asked. “And what does that even mean? To be The Heir?”

“I can’t see how anyone but Stout and I could possibly know that Harry is the Heir,” Denby said thoughtfully. “But even if he did, stealing him away from his actual guardians would do him no good. The magic of the Peverell Legacy can’t be fooled. No one but Harry’s guardian could claim the Legacy on his behalf. All that power and wealth is locked away out of anyone’s reach until the ceremony is performed.”

“What does this ceremony entail?” Frank asked.

“Nothing fancy,” Stout said. “When the McGee was identified as the last heir, his parents chose to wait until he was old enough to claim the Legacy himself, but the parents of the heir before him chose to claim the Legacy on her behalf when she was still a child, because they didn’t have the means or magic to keep her safe.”

“You simply have to be standing in the ritual circle on Peverell ground, and declare yourself either the Peverell Heir, or the Guardian of the Peverell Heir. If the magic recognises the claim, then the heir is gifted with access to the Peverell magic, and the Guardian is officially, legally and magically the Voice and Hand of the heir until he reaches his majority.”

“But Harry is so small,” Alice said, looking worried. “Could he cope with such powerful magic?”

“He doesn’t have to,” Denby said kindly. “He’s simply gifted with access to the magic when he needs it.”

“It will protect him his lifelong,” Stout added. “No one will able to curse him with a compulsion the way you all were last night for example. No unforgivable will work on him.”

“The Death Eaters that murdered the McGee literally had to use a piercing charm to his heart to kill him, the killing curse just bounced off him.”

Sirius gasped. “Is that why Harry survived the Dark Lord’s attack? But how, if he hasn’t claimed the Legacy yet?”

“He’s still the Peverell Heir,” Denby said thoughtfully. “The magic isn’t yet protecting him the way it will when he’s claimed the Legacy, but it’s possible combined with his parents protection that’s why he survived something that’s not supposed to be survivable.”

They all absorbed this for long, silent moments. “I remember,” Sirius said slowly, lost in the past. “When Harry was teething Lily tried a few gentle sleeping spells on him.”

“I remember that too,” Alice exclaimed. “Harry would just shake them off. Lily was in despair, trying to find a way to get him to sleep until the potion to take away his teething pain could work.”

“So he’s already different,” Frank said. “It’s possible Dumbledore knows that, even if he doesn’t know why.”

“Could it have something to do with the prophecy?” Alice ventured, and Sirius sat up straight.

“The prophecy!” he said. “Of course!”

“Care to fill us in?” Stout said, gesturing to himself and Denby.

“Well, I don’t know much about it,” Alice said, “other than that it exists. Siri?”

Sirius shook his head. “I don’t know either. I’m not sure Dumbledore even told James and Lily the full extent.”

“Us either,” Frank said grimly. “Other than to tell us that it might be about either Harry or Neville.”

“It’s why both our families were under the Fidelius,” Alice continued.

“But why wouldn’t he tell you the actual prophecy?” Denby wondered. “Didn’t you ask? You put all your lives on hold, hid behind the safest and strictest protection spell there is, and none of you thought to demand he tell you what the prophecy actually… prophesied?”

Frank and Alice and Sirius all looked at each other, and their faces grew even grimmer. “Dumbledore,” they all said together.

Frank started cursing under his breath while Alice just closed her eyes and rubbed at her brow.

“So whatever this prophecy is, Dumbledore now knows it’s about Harry, and thinks it’s important enough to betray us all and take Harry away.”

“But the Dark Lord is dead,” Alice said. “Isn’t he?”

Sirius frowned. “I saw his corpse,” he said slowly. “I’m sure I did. But how can I trust my own memories now?”

“Remember all curses and compulsions laid upon you were removed by the wards when you came onto Peverell land,” Denby said. “It might take you a while to sort through all your memories to see what’s been suppressed or altered, but once you concentrate, you will know if those memories are real.”

Frank stopped swearing under his breath and leaned forward. “Think, Sirius, think! Is the Dark Lord dead?”

Sirius closed his eyes and relived those terrible minutes in his head once more. Appearing on the dark path, stumbling through the broken door, dropping to his knees besides James’s body, laying crumpled at the foot of the stairs. Head going up as he heard Harry’s cries. Running up the staircase that felt like the steepest mountain, those cries echoing in his ears. Lily’s body in front of the crib, arms out flung as if, even in her last moments she was trying to shield her child. And that dark form, still and waxy white, all life gone.

Sirius opened his eyes. “The Dark Lord is dead,” he said firmly, then heaved a breath. “Voldemort is dead.”

They all winced at the name.

“I saw Dumbledore’s face when you told him that, out on the dark path,” Denby said. “It’s when I started to really fear him. There was a kind of… unholy triumph on his face, his eyes lit up with a odd sort of… glee. Perhaps… perhaps that was the moment he knew Harry was the one this mysterious prophecy was about? And in that moment he decided to take him?”

“And Neville was no longer important,” Frank said grimly. “And so could be sacrificed along with Harry’s godmother, to clear the way for him to steal the prophesied child away.” Frank stood. “May I use the floo again to contact my boss?” he asked Denby. “I need to let him know we’re still in hiding, and we all need to know the status of the search for Pettigrew.”

“And afterwards I’ll try and contact Minerva McGonagal,” Sirius said. He glanced at the clock on the whitewashed stone wall. “It’s nearly lunchtime at Hogwarts, I’m sure a house elf can fetch her to take a call.”

“You want to ask her about Dumbledore’s location?” Alice said. “Is that safe? The two of them are thick as thieves.”

“Alice is right, Sirius,” Frank said as he pushed his chair back under the table and briefly braced two hands on the back. “He thinks you’re out of the picture and is surely hoping the next news he hears about us is that we’re dead. Until we know his end game we can’t risk tipping our hand.”

Alice flinched and Frank gently patted her shoulder. “We have to look at the darkest possibility, my dear,” he said softly. “Based on what we know. And what we know is that Dumbledore manipulated us with magic and put all our lives in danger. He’s our enemy.”

Sirius nodded heavily. “You’re right. Literally everyone I know trusts Dumbledore completely.”

“Not everyone I know,” Frank said.

888

The group spent the day grazing on Denby’s store of baked goods, but at lunchtime she still insisted they sit down to a meal of ham sandwiches and bowls of hot, thick soup. Sirius felt the warmth of the broth fill his belly and realised he was still hungry, despite the table full of Queen cakes and scones they’d plowed through. As he sipped he eyed Frank, who despite joining in their planning sessions had been quiet all morning.

“Spit it out, Frank,” Sirius said as he finished his meal and pushed the plate away from him. “You’ve had something on your mind since you made your calls. Is it your mother?”

“My mother is fine,” Frank said, pushing his own soup bowl away half finished. “She hasn’t left her house in a year, and doesn’t plan to any time soon. We were going to drop Neville off with her before we went back on duty though, so I needed to let her know what was going on and that we were safe.”

“And to warn her about Dumbledore,” Alice said softly. “I’m not sure she even believed us, but all the same she promised Frank she wouldn’t speak to him if he tried to contact her, or allow him into her home.”

“I’m not sure a lot of people will ever believe a cross word about Dumbledore,” Sirius said, and stared at Frank when the man visibly winced. “And that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Frank sighed and rubbed at his eyes wearily. “You remember Kingsley Shacklebolt? He trained your partner Amelia Bones when she was a junior Auror.”

“I remember. A good Auror, Amelia said. She also said she hoped she’d be as good a teacher to me as he was to her.”

“I’d call him an honest man,” Frank agreed. “And a courageous one. He also worships the legend of Albus Dumbledore.”

Sirius felt his hands clench into fists under the table. “And?”

“And there is no ongoing search for Peter Pettigrew.” Frank grimaced. “They have a Lookout Order on him, with instructions to bring him in for questioning. But no arrest warrant has been made, and no one in the Corps was informed he was accused of being a traitor, or that he’s an unregistered animagus.”

“For feck’s sake,” Sirius swore. “Why in Merlin’s name? I spoke to Amelia personally, I sent her the report she wanted. Why on earth has the matter been virtually sidelined?”

“Why do you think?” Frank said bitterly. “Because Albus Dumbledore told Shacklebolt that as far as he knew, you were the Secret Keeper for the Potters. Apparently he didn’t outright accuse you of betraying them, and there’s certainly no Lookout Order for you or an arrest warrant, thank goodness. But…”

“But?” Sirius said grimly, rage boiling inside him.

“But you’re a Black,” Frank said simply, and Sirius swore under his breath. “Your cousin Bellatrix is well known as the Dark Lord’s number one killer. Ruthless, pure evil. She’s led every one of the brutal attacks over the last year, and is reported as being particularly fond of Crucioing people to insanity. Not to mention your brother being a known Death Eater,” Frank finished apologetically.

“Not to mention,” Sirius said bitterly. “I’d like to say Bellatrix is an outlier in the Black family, but I’d be lying. Most of my relatives are either as mad as mongooses, or just completely fecking twisted.”

“But you’re not,” Alice burst out. “And everyone who knows you knows that, Siri, I promise. You’ve spent your life trying to get away from the worst of your Dark family, and you’ve more than proven yourself as a brave and decent man who fights on the side of the Light.” She blushed a little and shrugged when everyone stared at her. “That’s what I think anyway.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Frank said, and lifted her hand to kiss the back of it fondly.

“Thank you,” Sirius said, feeling his own cheeks warm a little at her impassioned defence. He looked at Frank. “How did you leave it with Shacklebolt?”

“We added our voice to Amelia’s and yours, and insisted that he at least add a warning to the Lookout Order that Pettigrew is dangerous, and that he’s a rat animagus. He agreed, rather reluctantly, but adamantly refused to report him as a possible Death Eater.” Frank shook his head. “He said he wouldn’t blacken a man’s name like that without definitive proof.”

“Let’s hope that proof doesn’t include one of his Aurors being injured or killed because they weren’t prepared for what they might be up against,” Sirius said.

“The McGee didn’t have much time for Dumbledore,” Stout said abruptly, sitting back in his chair. “Said he was a glory hound, who took all the credit for defeating Grindelwald, when literally dozens of others did far more work, took far more risks, and put their lives on the line while Albus Dumbledore sat back in that school of his on his narrow arse.” He pushed back from his chair and stood up to his full height. “I’m going outside to check on the chickens. There’s been a fox lurking around the last few weeks, and I don’t want any of my hens taken.” And with that he stomped off, pulled a thick heavy coat off a peg by the back door, and shrugged into it.

“It’s true,” Denby said into the silence around the table after Stout had closed the door firmly behind him. “The McGee clashed with Dumbledore in the Wizengamut as well. The McGee backed a bill calling for stiffer penalties for those bearing the Dark Mark, and most think that’s why the Death Eaters targeted him. Probably was,” she conceded. “But he also championed a bill that would require all testimony for felony level crimes be given under Veritaserum. Said it was madness that we had the tools magic blessed us with, but didn’t use them for the most basic cause – gathering evidence of crimes.”

“I remember how shocked I was during Auror training when I found out that wasn’t already standard practice,” Sirius admitted. “I’m sure most laymen think it is.”

“And so it was,” Frank said. “Until a few decades ago, when the numbers in the Wizengamut were in favour of the nay votes. Every single Noble voted to quash the rule, although my father used to say that if the option had been put on the table that Nobles would be exempt, that they would have been glad to keep the law.”

“You know, Sirius,” Denby said thoughtfully. “As Guardian of the Peverell Legacy, you’ll have three votes on the Wizengamut.”

“And the Longbottoms have two,” Frank said with a flash of a grin. “Perhaps when this is all over we should form a voting bloc and try and get that old rule reinstated? My mother would be thrilled if I started paying attention to my family duty,” he added wryly.

“The House of Black has a vote as well,” Sirius said thoughtfully. “Grandfather Arcturus hasn’t attended the Wizengamut in years. He might be amenable to giving me his proxy, if I approach him in the right way. I wonder how Dumbledore would feel about that?”

“I suppose that depends on whether he thinks he can get you back under his thumb,” Frank pointed out.

Sirius smiled grimly. “He’ll never get the chance again.”

“Hear hear,” Alice said, and the three of them raised their glasses in a toast, while Denby looked on thoughtfully.

888

Sirius was dozing on the couch, eyes half closed in the flickering firelight. Frank was sprawled in a huge armchair right by the fireplace, Alice nestled on his lap, her head on his shoulder. Neville was sleeping peacefully next to them in the crib Stout had provided. Sirius sighed and closed his eyes, trying to relax into sleep himself. As Denby had pointed out, he wouldn’t do Harry any good when they found him if he was too exhausted to think.

The day had seemed to last forever, as they plotted and planned what to do next. By the evening they had wound down into exhaustion, sitting around the cosy room and watching sleepily as Alice sat with Neville on the floor and played with toys she’d pulled from his voluminous go bag.

Finally they had agreed that if Dumbledore didn’t surface with Harry soon, they would venture into Hogwarts in search of him. Sirius smirked a little at the memory of Frank’s face when the Marauder’s Map had been described. Modestly Sirius gave all four of the Marauders the credit for creating the map, but in truth most of the work had been done by himself and James.

The small smile faded at the pang of grief at the thought of James, and the sharp sting of betrayal at the thought of Peter. They’d all known each other’s faults, and readily accepted them, and Peter’s timidity when it came to any sort of confrontation was well known amongst them. But none of them had ever picked him as a complete coward, someone who would turn his coat to the cause of evil and so resoundingly betray his friends.

Thoughts and memories swirled in his mind, and he was just heaving another weary sigh and rolling over onto his side to get more comfortable when an odd feeling washed over him. Instantly he sat up, his abrupt movement startling Frank awake.

“Wha…? What is it?” Frank said thickly.

“Harry,” Sirius said, blinking as he tried to process what he was feeling. “Harry.”

The door burst open and Denby rushed in followed closely by Stout. “Harry’s outside the wards!” she exclaimed, pulling on her coat. Sirius was already standing and wandlessly summoning his own coat from the back of an armchair.

“I can feel him too,” he said urgently as he shrugged into his thick coat. “I think I even know where he is but it’s… strange.”

Denby blinked in surprise and then after a moment nodded decisively. “The Legacy seems to have recognised you as the Heir’s Guardian,” she said. “And what you’re feeling is uncertain because Harry is on the move. Whoever has him is… travelling.”

“Can you tell where?” Alice asked, clasping her hands in front of her.

Sirius blinked and tilted his head, concentrating hard. “I could apparate there now, but…”

“He’s flying,” Denby said, completing the thought.

“But not on a broom,” Stout added, and Sirius remembered he was a Steward of the Legacy like Denby. His head was also tilted as he frowned in thought. “It’s odd.”

Suddenly the knowledge clicked into place in Sirius’s mind. “My flying motorcycle!” he exclaimed. “Whoever has Harry is on my own fecking motorcycle!”

“Would Dumbledore fly on a motorcycle?” Stout said doubtfully, while Denby hurried to the wall of books and pulled a large leather volume from the shelves. She dropped it on the coffee table and riffled through the pages as the group gathered around her. She swiftly found the page she wanted and hovered a finger over the map, concentrating and then tracing a route.

“Yes,” Sirius agreed as her finger slid above the page, tracing a way as straight as an owl flies, from the north towards… “Surrey!” Sirius exclaimed. They all turned their attention on him. “Lily has a muggle sister who lives in Surrey,” he said to their curious faces.

“Do you know where in Surrey?” Denby’s voice was urgent.

“Only vaguely,” Sirius said regretfully. He studied the map and frowned as he pointed out a street. “That name rings a bell. But maybe it’s only a coincidence he’s taking Harry in that direction. What business could he have with a muggle?”

“He’s slowing down,” Denby said suddenly, and Sirius felt it too. “I think whoever has him is close to landing.”

“I’m coming with you,” Frank announced, summoning his own jacket.

“Frank,” Sirius began, but Frank forestalled him.

“No, Sirius,” he said firmly. “You might need a witness for whatever goes down.”

“But no fighting,” Alice reminded them. “Not with Harry there. You can’t risk a single spell being fired.”

“We have to go, now,” Denby said urgently and reached out a hand to Sirius and Frank. “Disillusion yourselves,” she ordered, and with a shimmer disappeared from view. The wizards hastily followed suit, and without another word Sirius felt the curious pull of side along apparition, and they appeared on a dark, wet road.

888

By unspoken agreement they sought the shadows of a large, thick hedge, and crouched together in the darkness. Dumbledore’s tall shape was clearly visible, and a woman in a witch’s hat stood beside him. And there, as they watched, Sirius’s own motorcycle landed and the huge, unmistakable form of Hagrid alighted, pushing goggles back on his brow. He bent and lifted a blanket wrapped bundle from the motorcycle’s sidecar, and Sirius felt Denby’s hand gripping his wrist tighten. He laid his own hand on it and squeezed a warning. She squeezed back in acknowledgment.

Wishing they could hear what was being said Sirius watched as the trio exchanged a few words. The woman moved a little out of a shadow, and in the dim moonlight Sirius recognised Minerva McGonagal. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was well represented tonight, Sirius thought numbly. He was incredibly grateful that he had taken good advice and not contacted Minerva earlier that day. Was there anyone he knew who wasn’t deep in thrall to Albus Dumbledore?

“What is he doing?” Frank hissed in a near silent whisper, and Sirius shook his head, as puzzled as his companions as Dumbledore took Harry from Hagrid and paced down the walk of the muggle house they were standing in front of. In disbelief they watched as he tenderly laid the child on the front step, and turned and walked away.

Sirius bit his lip, feeling his sheer disbelief and incredulity mirrored in the tense silence of his companions. Within a few minutes it was over, McGonagal turned back into a cat and raced away into the darkness. Hagrid climbed back on the motorcycle, the slant of moonlight clearly showing the tracks of tears disappearing into his thick beard. With a low roar he started the bike and sped into the clouds.

And Dumbledore paced along the road in their direction, pulled a gadget out of his pocket that pushed balls of light back into he streetlights, and then without even a backward glance at the house and the child he’d abandoned, he turned on his heel and vanished in a near silent pop of apparition.

The trio cautiously stood, still invisible, still clutching at each other’s arms.

“Is he gone?” Denby whispered, disillusioning herself.

“For now,” Frank said, following suit and reappearing. “But surely…” He shook his head, his face clearly showing his disbelief. “Surely he doesn’t mean to just abandon the child like that?”

“Whatever he means, now is our best chance to get Harry,” Sirius said, and making himself visible he pulled away, hurrying down the shiny wet pavement to the house in question.

“Sirius, beware,” Frank said, catching up with him at the front gate and grabbing his arm. “The place is warded, can’t you feel it?”

Taking a deep breath and trying to concentrate over the pounding of his heart, Sirius frowned. “I’m not sure. I feel… something.”

“I don’t feel anything,” Denby murmured. “What kind of wards, can you tell?”

“It’s training and experience,” Frank said, pacing cautiously along the low stone fence, both hands held out, palms up. He paused by the small ornate gate and shook his head. “It’s hard to tell other than that they’re strong and seem to wrap around the entire dwelling. Possibly the wards are just a warning if anyone or anything magical crosses the boundary. But they could be punitive as well.”

“Either way we can’t take a chance,” Sirius said, his eyes fixed on the small, still bundle on the top step. “The last thing we need is that dark bastard showing back up here.”

“Harry is so close,” Denby said, wringing her hands. “He’s right there!”

“I’m going to try something,” Sirius said. “Be prepared to apparate us all out of here the instant I have him, ok?”

“You can’t cast a spell across the ward either,” Frank warned and Sirius nodded.

“I wasn’t an Auror for long, but I learned that much,” he said. He crouched, took a deep breath, and raised his voice. “Harry,” he called as loudly as he dared. “Harry, it’s Paddy. Wake up, love.”

“Dumbledore would have cast a sleep charm on him,” Denby said.

“Sleep charms don’t work on Harry, remember?” Frank muttered. He gripped Sirius’s shoulder. “Go on, Siri.”

“Harry,” Sirius called again, a little louder. He caught his breath as the bundle stirred, and then Harry was sitting up, knuckling his eyes and looking around him. To all their dismay he threw back his head and started to cry.

“Harry!” Sirius called, raising his voice over the cries, throwing all caution to the wind. “Harry, it’s okay, sweetheart, Paddy’s here!”

A light went on in an upstairs window, and Denby gripped his other shoulder. “Sirius,” she said.

“I see it,” Sirius muttered. “Harry!” he called, and Harry, still sobbing, turned to focus on him. Grateful that Dumbledore had restored the streetlights before he left, Sirius held out both hands. “Come on, sweetheart, come to Paddy.”

“Paddy,” Harry said, hiccuping over a sob.

Another light went on further back in the house, gleaming through the glass on the front door.

“Hurry, hurry,” Frank chanted under his breath.

“Mummy?” Harry said, sniffling and wiping his fist over his eyes.

“Forgive me, baby,” Sirius whispered, then raised his voice. “Come to Paddy, Harry, and I’ll take you to Mummy. Come on, Harry. I know you’re cold and scared, but Paddy’s here.”

The light in the hallway behind the door went on, but now Harry was up on unsteady legs and gazing at them, blanket still draped around him and trailing behind him. “Mummy,” he said, and he clambered down the sole step and toddled down the pathway, even as the porch light flickered on.

“Be ready,” Sirius said, and a moment later Harry had trotted through the wards into his arms. Sirius clutched him tightly to his chest, and even as the front door opened and light spilled out, they were apparating.

888

The cold dampness on his cheeks turned to cosy warmth, and behind his closed eyes the dimness of the road turned to golden light. He was still crouched, a sobbing Harry against his heart, but Sirius didn’t stand or open his eyes. He just held his boy close and rocked him, murmuring reassurances under his breath, mingled with prayers of thanks to whatever god might be listening.

Around him he heard the prayers echoed, the sounds of relief and laughter and Alice crying noisily. It was long, long moments before Sirius could stand, open his eyes, and take in the warm, cosy room, and the four adults standing and sitting around him.

Stout sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Denby was sitting next to him, her arm wrapped around his shoulders, her face displaying a curious mixture of shock and joy.

Frank was framed by the firelight, his wife in his arms. He was patting her back with one hand and rubbing at his eyes with his other.

“That was too fecking close,” Frank said, and Sirius huffed a laugh against the fragrant softness of Harry’s hair. Stout snorted a laugh and Denby chuckled, then suddenly burst into near hysterical laughter.

“Paddy,” Harry said, and lifted his head from Sirius’s shoulder to gaze around the room. “Mummy?” he said, and suddenly all laughter was gone. Denby scrubbed fiercely at her face and stood up determinedly.

“We all need a cup of tea,” she announced, her voice shaky. She grabbed Stout’s hand and hauled him to his feet. “Come on, let’s leave Sirius with Harry for a few moments, all right?”

“I’ll bring Neville too,” Alice said, but it was Frank who scooped Neville up from the crib where he lay, and with a pat on Sirius’s shoulder, Frank led his wife after the two Stewards, and out of the room.

Sirius sank down onto the couch and sat Harry on his knee, running a trembling hand over his soft waves of hair, studying the red, swollen mark on his forehead. For some reason it looked even more shocking in this quiet, cosy room, with the fire crackling before them, than it had the night before in that nightmare scene of murder and violence.

“Are you okay, baby?” he said, running his hands over chubby limbs, down to Harry’s tiny feet in socks now grubby from the damp path.

Harry patted Sirius’s face and blinked his big green eyes at him, lashes still wet and heavy with tears. “Want Mummy, Paddy. Daddy. Want Daddy.”

Holding back tears, Sirius nodded. “I know you do, Harry, I know. I do too. But Mummy and Daddy can’t be here right now, so they asked Paddy to look after you. Okay?”

Harry shook his head and started crying again, but it was just a soft sobbing now, not the anguished wail of earlier.

Sirius cuddled Harry close and patted his back gently, his hands trembling, his heart breaking. “I’m so sorry, love, I’m so sorry. But we’ll be okay, you and me, I promise.”

He repeated his soft reassurances as Harry wept a little longer, then snuffled his wet face on Sirius’s coat.

“You’re tired, love,” Sirius crooned. “You sleep now, and tomorrow it will all be better. I promise.”

Another promise I must try to keep, Sirius thought as Harry’s head grew heavy and he dozed off. A few minutes later Alice poked her head around the door, and seeing him sitting back with Harry fast asleep in his arms, she pushed the door open and made way for Frank carrying a heavy tea tray. A steaming pot sat in the middle, surrounded by four gleaming cups.

888

“I can’t believe Dumbledore just left him there,” Alice said for the third time, dotting up the scone crumbs from her tea plate with the tip of one finger and absently licking them off. “Like a sack of old clothes. Why on earth would he do that?”

“That’s one of a thousand questions,” Frank said, lounging back in the armchair. He stifled a yawn behind his hand. “And even the questions don’t make sense.”

“Why leave him with muggles?” Denby said, counting off on her fingers. “Why go to the time and trouble to betray one of his precious Order in the first place to take him, if he was just going to hand him to someone else anyway? Why dump him like that in the middle of the night? And why not just ring the blessed doorbell?”

“And this,” Alice said, lifting up the note Sirius had found pinned to Harry’s shirt when he’d laid him down beside Neville in the cot. “What an horrific way to tell someone their sister is dead! ‘Your sister and her husband have been murdered. You must take care of their child’,” she read in a deep voice and then huffed in exasperation. “Who does that?”

“A fecking dark wizard,” Sirius said, feeling his own exhaustion rise up inside of him.

“We all need sleep,” Stout said, sitting up straighter and cricking his neck. “There are plenty of bedrooms, and I aired them all out and made up the beds this afternoon. Go, find one, sleep. We’ll still have a thousand questions tomorrow.”

“First thing tomorrow we contact your healer friend and get her to look at Harry’s wound,” Sirius reminded Denby, standing up himself and stretching wearily.

“I already left her a message,” Denby promised. “Come on. Down the hall and turn left to the bedrooms. Sleep, recharge. Tomorrow’s going to be another big day and we have no idea what we’ll face.”

Murmuring good nights, even though it was closer to the early hours of the morning now, they gathered their sleeping children and made their way down the hall as directed. Frank opened the first door and gestured for Sirius to take it, then followed Alice to the second door. He paused in the doorway as Alice brushed past him and Sirius heard her murmur ‘Lumos’ and saw the dim light frame Frank in the doorway.

“We’re glad you got him back, Sirius. More than we can say. I know you’re still grieving for your friends, we are too. But wherever they are they’re incredibly grateful that you kept your promise and took care of Harry.”

Sirius nestled the sleeping toddler closer on his shoulder, dropping a kiss on his head. “I almost didn’t,” he whispered. “I couldn’t have done it without help.”

“You did it, that’s all that matters now,” Frank said, and then sketched a wave before closing the door behind him.

Sirius cast how own quick light spell, then lit the lamps scattered around the spacious room. With a wave of his wand he kindled a low fire in the small fireplace grate and instantly felt the chill of the room dissipating. A huge bed, its covers invitingly turned down, beckoned and Sirius gave in to its temptation, laying Harry down in the centre, then collapsing next to him, head bowed, taking deep breaths.

The last day and a half had been a nightmare. The betrayals, the senseless loss of lives, the endless hours of nagging fear and worry. His own sense of failure over losing Harry. And now the sheer relief of having him back in his arms, arms he should never have been stolen from at all.

Over everything else, over the grief and bewilderment and guilt, dominating everything, there was the rage over the betrayals. It burned in his gut, simmering like the low burning fire he’d kindled in the grate. Sirius had no desire to put it out. No, he’d feed it, nurture it, keep it burning. And when the time was right it would roar into a huge conflagration – and if Sirius Black had his way, it would burn down Peter Pettigrew and Albus Dumbledore’s lives and turn everything they had into ashes.

End of Part One.

Part Two.

Sirius woke to Harry patting his face, and opened his eyes to Harry’s grumpiest expression peering down at him. “Wet,” Harry complained, mouth turning down. “Hungy,” he continued, and patted Sirius’s face again. “Get up, Paddy.”

“I’m up, I’m up,” Sirius said, sitting and scooping Harry into his arms. He grimaced. “You are wet, aren’t you?”

“Potty,” Harry complained.

“I know, that’s my fault.” Sirius stood and looked around the well appointed room, finally giving in and laying Harry back on the bed. “You needed your potty last night before bed and I didn’t even think of it.”

“Big boy,” Harry said, mouth turned down, and Sirius couldn’t help dropping a kiss on one tear stained cheek.

“You are a big boy, I know,” Sirius said, swiftly pulling off the grubby wet nightgown and nappy. With a spell he cleaned Harry and grimacing he decided he had no choice but to scourgify the offending clothes and put them back on the grumpy toddler. They’d be clean, but it wasn’t ideal, and getting Harry fresh clothes was just one more thing to add to the list.

Pausing only to avail himself of the adjacent bathroom and use the facilities, Sirius finally picked Harry up and headed for the kitchen. “Walk, Paddy,” Harry insisted.

“I’ll put you down when we get to the kitchen, love,” Sirius said. “We don’t want you getting lost in a strange house, do we?”

“Strange,” Harry repeated.

“We’ll get used to it,” Sirius reassured him, pushing unwelcome thoughts away. Would they get used to it? Would they even be staying here? Undoubtably Harry being the Peverell Heir had saved them both, but what exactly did it all entail? Did he have the right to accept it on Harry’s behalf? Wouldn’t it be better to wait until Harry was older and let him make that choice for himself, as apparently the McGee had done?

The kitchen was warm and fragrant but Sirius frowned as he saw only Denby and Stout at the table, Neville between them in a high chair tucking enthusiastically into a plate of scrambled eggs.

“Bumpies!” Harry exclaimed and arched in Sirius’s arms. “Bumpy neggs, Paddy!”

“Alice had a high chair in Neville’s go bag,” Stout explained, and gestured to its twin, empty beside him. “We duplicated one for Harry to use.”

“Frank and Alice are in the sitting room,” Denby said as Sirius hesitated. Harry was now kicking his little feet and still demanding ‘bumpy neggs’, his code words for scrambled eggs. “You should probably look in on them. They had some bad news,” she finished quietly, glancing at Neville and then Harry.

“We’ll watch him while he eats,” Stout said, and Sirius gave in and sat Harry in the highchair, unable to help smiling as the toddler slapped his hands on the shiny wooden tray in front of him. Stout laid a bowl of gently steaming scrambled eggs on the tray and Harry snatched the spoon from his hand and started scooping up eggs, with more enthusiasm than accuracy.

“He’ll be fine,” Denby said, sitting a sippy cup beside Harry’s rapidly emptying bowl.

Wondering if Dumbledore had bothered to feed the baby at all the day before, and anxious about his friends, Sirius hurried to the sitting room, cautiously pushing open the door and putting his head around, ready to retreat if the couple were on a private floo call.

But the fire wasn’t burning green, and Alice and Frank were sitting on the hearth in front of it, arms around one another, rocking back and forth.

“What is it?” Sirius asked, finally pushing his way through the door. “What’s happened?”

“I floo called my mother to check in on her,” Frank said, and broke off with a shuddering gasp.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Frank managed. “But she was contacted by the Aurors in the early hours. Our house, our dear little house…”

“Death Eaters attacked our house,” Alice said, pushing herself to her feet. Her voice was steady but her hands as she rubbed at her wet cheeks were trembling. “A mob of them, led by the LeStranges.”

Sirius heart clenched in his chest. “Bellatrix,” he murmured.

“They were looking for us, Sirius,” Frank said, shakily getting to his feet too. “If we’d been there, we wouldn’t have stood a chance. They’d blocked off apparition and the floo with powerful ward busters, and when they didn’t find us there, they burnt our house to the ground!!” he finished in a burst of rage.

“Blocking apparition backfired on them though,” Alice said steadily, and Sirius was reminded that despite her small stature and youthful, almost doll-like appearance, Alice Longbottom was a well respected Auror in her own right. “When the Aurors arrived on the scene they managed to round up half a dozen of them, including Bellatrix and her husband.”

“They caught them?”

“And killed the ones they didn’t catch,” Alice said in satisfied tones. She wrapped her arm around her husband’s arm and leaned against him. “It’s just a house, love. Everything that matters to our family is safe.”

“Thanks to you, Sirius,” Frank said, looking at him with wide, shocked eyes. “If you hadn’t contacted us, we’d have been there last night. We wouldn’t have stood a chance,” he said again.

Sirius sank down on the couch and absorbed this. “Am I insanely paranoid here, or would your deaths have played right into Dumbledore’s hands?”

“You’re not paranoid,” Alice said. “I’m not saying Dumbledore is actually a Death Eater, but it’s obvious he set us up to die. Or worse,” she finished soberly. Then she shook her head. “I’m hungry,” she said decisively. “And I want to be with my baby. Frank, you contact Kingsley, okay? I need to be with Neville.”

The men watched her leave the room and Frank sank back down on the stone hearth and stared at Sirius. “What’s going on, Siri? How can we negotiate our way through this mess when we don’t even know who to trust?”

“We trust those who have proven to be trustworthy,” Sirius said thoughtfully. “We trust each other.”

“And Denby and Stout?” Frank said, lowering his voice. “How far do we trust them?”

“They have their own vested interest,” Sirius mused. “Harry is the Peverell Heir, and it’s clear they’ll do anything to protect him. They need me and Alice because we’re his guardians now, magically and legally. Apparently that means something to the Peverell Legacy.”

“We need to find out a lot more about that then.” Frank rubbed his chin. “But if being the Guardians of the Peverell Heir gives you and Alice some kind of power? We need to know. If Dumbledore is our enemy now, and it seems clear at the very least we are all considered expendable by him, then the power of the Peverell Legacy may turn out to be a weapon in our arsenal.”

“In my case I may need it just to solidify my claim to Harry’s guardianship,” Sirius said bleakly. “Its clear Dumbledore has already laid the groundwork to paint me with the same brush as my Death Eater and purist family. Want to bet that every news story about this latest attack will play up the ‘Bellatrix LeStrange née Black’ aspect?”

“If necessary then Alice and I will take custody of him legally,” Frank said, and raised a hand as Sirius opened his mouth to object. “On paper,” he hurried to add. “And only until we can figure out a way to defang Dumbledore’s attack.”

Sirius stood up decisively. “Then that’s our agenda for the day. Have Harry examined by the healer, then learn everything we can about the Peverell Legacy.”

Frank nodded. “And what it will mean not just for Harry, but you and Alice as the Guardians of the Peverell Heir.”

888

They chose to keep their questions until after breakfast, especially since Denby’s healer friend was due to arrive at 9am. Instead they tucked into their scrambled eggs on toast, and watched the boys enjoying their own meal.

“Sojers,” Neville said, picking up a piece of toast cut into a thin strip.

“Sojers,” Harry repeated, groping for his own toast and jamming it into his mouth.

“Soldiers,” Alice correctly gently, and Neville nodded and munched on his toast.

“Sojers,” he agreed.

“Nummy,” Harry added. With two sticky hands Harry picked up his sippy cup and took a long drink, gasping theatrically and smacking his lips as he plonked it back onto the wooden tray in front of him. “Joos,” he said in satisfaction.

“Joos,” Neville echoed, and slurped happily at his gaily painted sippy cup.

The fond parents exchanged looks while Denby and Stout chuckled at the two little boys echoing one another.

“Are they close?” Denby asked, standing to clear the table. Sirius jumped up to help her and she smiled gratefully as they carried the breakfast dishes to the nearby sink. “Considering they’re godbrothers?”

“Not as close as I’d like,” Alice said, digging into Neville’s bright blue bag and pulling out a handful of damp cloths. She handed one to Stout and the two of them began the business of wiping sticky fingers and faces. “We’ve all been in hiding for the last few months, and Frank and I tried to work as much as we could as well. It seemed important,” she said, huffing a laugh as Neville helpfully lifted his chin so she could wipe the damp cloth over the sticky traces displayed.

“You have toast in your hair, young Harry,” Stout said, and playfully dabbed a fold of the cloth on Harry’s nose. “How did you do that?”

“Sojers! Dippy negg sojers!” Harry exclaimed, and drummed socked feet against the high chair foot rest.

“Ah, I see,” Stout said, and continued wiping until Harry’s small face shone.

“I have plenty of Neville’s clothes in his bag, Siri,” Alice said as she wiped the wooden high chair tray. “I wasn’t sure what we might need if we had to flee, so I pretty much put in everything that still fits him.”

“Just as well,” Frank said grimly. Alice squeezed his hand and he grimaced and shook his head. “ I know I should just be grateful we all…” He broke off and looked at the two boys, who were surveying them curiously now that their appetites had been satisfied. “You know. But our home…” He heaved a deep breath and obviously tried to get a hold of his temper. “Well. It was our home. We saved up and bought it before Neville was even born. I carried Alice over the threshold,” he said and Alice leaned her head on his shoulder and chuckled.

“And I was enormous carrying this one at the time,” she said with a grin and a nod at Neville. “So that wasn’t easy.”

Surveying her small, slim frame, Sirius raised his eyebrows and exchanged a humorous look with Frank.

“You’re entitled to be angry, Frank,” Sirius said, carrying the tea tray from the bench and laying it on the table. “We all are. Our lives have been hit with a wrecking ball, we don’t know who to trust, and we’re imposing on people who are still – no offence meant,” he added, nodding at Denby and Stout. “Still virtually strangers to us.”

“None of that, none of that,” Denby said briskly, plonking herself back in her chair and handing out mugs from the tray. “While it’s true we’re technically strangers to one another, you’re not imposing in any way. Harry is the Peverell Heir.”

“I’m Harry!” Harry said, waving his arms happily.

“I’m Neva,” Neville said, then frowned. “Neva, Mama?”

“Neville, my love,” Alice said. “Nev-ill,” she then pronounced slowly.

“Nev-ill,” Neville repeated, and Harry echoed him again.

“Nev ill,” Harry said. “Harry Neville Harry Neville Harry Neville!”

“Exactly,” Denby agreed over Harry’s raucous refrain. “Harry is the Heir to the Peverell Legacy, Neville is his godbrother, Stout and I are Stewards of the Peverell Estate, and you, Alice and Sirius, are Guardians of the Peverell Heir.”

“And that’s where all the questions start,” Frank said, and Denby nodded.

“I know, and we will answer as many as we can. But for now we need to finish our cuppa and get Harry dressed for his healer appointment. Healer Singh is due here in a quarter of an hour, and trust me on this, she is always punctual.”

888

Healer Singh was punctual, and dead on 9am the floo flared and a soft, accented voice requested entry. Denby invited her in, and a moment later the short, compact figure in lime green healer’s robes stepped through the green flames, wand in hand. She silently cast and shed the inevitable soot from floo travel, neatly gesturing it back into the grate. She then pocketed her wand and stood smiling at the crowd waiting to greet her.

“DeeDee!” she exclaimed, and allowed herself to be engulfed in a hug by Denby. “It’s been too long, my friend!”

“You know my door is always open to you,” Denby said, stepping back and chiding gently. “But that practice of yours keeps you way too busy.”

“Well, there’s been a war on,” Healer Singh replied, and then turned her smile on the others in the room. “Which I understand is over now, thanks to someone in this room? At least that’s what the newspapers are saying.”

“They are?” Sirius exclaimed.

“I haven’t even looked at the last couple of days of the Prophet,” Stout said. “The owl delivered them as usual, but I really haven’t even opened them up.”

“Maybe we can do that now while Healer Singh gives Harry his check up. Oh, where are my manners?” Denby said, shaking her head in despair. “I’m all at sixes and sevens these days. “Lela Singh, this is Sirius Black holding his godson Harry.”

Healer Singh briefly shook his hand and smiled at Harry, who was now dressed in warm dungarees and a soft green cardigan. His little booted feet kicked excitedly at the sight of the newcomer.

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” she said in her quiet voice, and then greeted the Longbottom couple and their son as Denby introduced them. “Now, she said briskly, opening her medical bag and pulling out jars and potions. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

888

Sirius kicked his way through dead leaves and twigs as he followed the winding cobbled path from the back door. Harry trotted happily ahead of him, stepping on the old dry leaves and chuckling at the crunching sounds his little boots made. Now and then he squatted, peering at something of interest, before picking it up and dashing back to Sirius.

“Look, Paddy!” he said and held up a round pebble.

“That’s amazing,” Sirius said, carefully studying the smooth stone. “You’re so clever, Harry.”

Harry nodded and tried to push the stone in his coat pocket. Sirius helpfully held the pocket open wider, and beaming, Harry pushed the round pebble inside. Then he was dashing off again, stamping on leaves and chortling under his breath. The sight of him so happy and well eased something in Sirius’s aching heart, and he turned his face up to the weak November sunshine and breathed in the fresh, wintry air.

“Neva!” Harry called excitedly, and rushed back, reaching for his godfather’s hand and tugging. “Neva, Paddy! Come on!”

Neville was trotting towards them, followed by his watchful father, and from a bench up ahead Alice called a greeting.

“Come, sit with us,” Alice invited, sliding along the smooth wooden seat. “We’re enjoying the sunshine while we can, Stout is predicting a cold snap tonight.”

“And I’m never wrong,” Stout called, and Sirius followed the sound of his voice to a glass framed greenhouse, its mellow panels gleaming in different and curious shades of hand blown glass. It looked as if it had been put together out of old windows and door panels, and even the round bases of ancient old bottles fused together and reflecting the morning sunlight in odd and curious ways.

The path meandered on past the bare tree and the bench Alice and Frank were now sitting on, with Harry and Neville squatting at their feet chattering away in their own toddler language. Around them the winter garden looked stark with its denuded bushes and slumbering plants, yet there was still an oddly wild feel to the comfortable tangle. Out of the straggling garden beds small statues blankly stared, worn and speckled with age. Tiny stone dragons and griffins and unicorns peered out, looking as if they had grown in place along with the mysterious plants and bushes.

“Well?” Alice said, as Frank admired a leaf Neville had presented for his inspection. Not seeming to care it was identical to the thousands of other leaves scattered around them, Frank promised to hold onto the treasure while Harry and Neville searched for more. “What did the healer say?”

Sirius summoned a smile. “Healer Singh was incredibly thorough in her examination. She cast diagnostic runes I’ve never even seen before, took samples of his blood and hair and mixed them with various potions. Painlessly , of course,” Sirius assured them. “She was so gentle and kind, Harry was completely at ease. She even made him laugh when she amplified the sound of his heartbeat so we could all hear it. Like I said, she was very thorough.”

“But?” Alice said shrewdly.

“But.” Sirius glanced at Harry and Neville, who were now peering through the greenhouse glass and chuckling at their own distorted reflections in its many surfaces. “The curse wound…”

Alice clasped her hands together anxiously and Frank wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. Sirius wished for a fleeting moment that there was someone to wrap a comforting arm around him, and then banished the thought with a shake of his head.

“Bad news?” Frank asked.

“Confusing news. Healer Singh said she’d never seen anything like it before, even on a Saturday night in Casualty at St Mungo’s, where she did her residency. She showed me a diagnostic rune she cast with her wand, to try and demonstrate the confusion.”

“And?”

Sirius lifted his hands, palms upwards and shrugged. “There’s a blank spot in the runes. And the thing is, there shouldn’t be. There should be something there, even if the something is just the usual nothing. But it’s just… blank.”

Frank and Alice looked blank too, and exchanged a glance over Alice’s shoulder. “Does she have any idea what that means?”

“Not a one. She recommended we find a specialist in the field of curse wounds and scars, but she couldn’t think of one off the top of her head.” Sirius sighed and rubbed at his weary eyes. “She said she’ll get back to me.”

“Should we get a second opinion?” Alice said tentatively. “Nothing against Healer Singh, but right now…”

“I know what you mean,” Sirius said, and waved his hand, trying to convey something he couldn’t yet put into words. Trust, for him, was in short supply at the moment. Perhaps it would be for a very long time, especially where Harry was concerned. “Denby recommended her, and I don’t think she would have done that if she weren’t a good healer. It’s just…”

“It’s hard,” Frank said sympathetically. “Believe me, we understand. “We all trusted Dumbledore with everything, literally putting our lives and the lives of our families in his hands. And you trusted Peter with a life and death secret. How do we ever trust anyone ever again?”

“What would Mad-Eye say?” Alice said, with a huff of laughter. “Don’t trust, verify!”

“Words we might all have to live by,” Sirius muttered. “And honestly I’m beginning to have a lot of sympathy for that paranoid old wizard. Sometimes the world really is out to get you.”

“Not the whole world,” Alice said gently, and squeezed his hand. “Neville!” she called, making the two men jump. “Do not throw leaves at Harry! Naughty!”

“Naughty,” Neville said, dropping the handful of leaves he was clearly planning on throwing. “Good boy,” he said firmly.

“You’re both good boys,” Alice assured him, and the boys grinned and went back to their serious business in the piles of leaves.

“You know it occurs to me,” Frank said thoughtfully. “We might know an expert in curse wounds and scars. You remember, Alice, the Snapcase affair?”

“Oh, yes,” Alice said, keeping one eye on the boys in the way  some parents seemed to do effortlessly. “Elias Snapcase was dealing in black market dragon blood, and double crossed one of his suppliers. They cursed him six ways to Sunday, and by the time he turned himself in to the Aurors he was begging for help. We had to take him straight to St Mungo’s Spell Damage Ward.”

“The specialist was named…” Frank snapped his fingers, trying to recall.

“Nightshade,” Alice said.

“That’s it, Baxter Nightshade. I believe he had to be called in to the hospital to consult, he was giving a lecture at the Magical Exploration Society on curse wounds and scars in Ancient Rome at the time.”

“And did he cure the smuggler?” Sirius asked curiously, still fascinated as he’d always been by Auror tales.

Frank grimaced and cast a look at the playing toddlers. “That’s a story best left for later,” he said. “Away from delicate ears.”

Sirius waved a hand. “That leaves me out then, I’m planning on declaring myself delicate every time I can get away with it. By all means keep the gruesome details to yourselves.”

888

Finding Baxter Nightshade proved far more difficult than they’d hoped, as the Magical Exploration Society refused to give out any private details of their guest lecturers, even when Frank identified himself as an Auror. Finally Sirius decided to contact Amelia Bones again, and use the opportunity to check in on the progress in the hunt for Peter Pettigrew.

“Not a sign of him,” Amelia said in her brisk way. She was in her office now, severely dressed in her usual sharply pressed suit and black horn rim glasses. “Which is somewhat suspicious in itself. Even Kingsley is starting to wonder why the man hasn’t come forward.”

“No doubt Peter is in hiding because he assumed that the Aurors were doing their damned jobs and hunting him down for the vile betrayer that he is,” Sirius said sarcastically.

Amelia glared at him.  “Nice attitude considering you contacted me for a favour,” she said caustically. She waved the piece of paper in her hand. “Maybe I should tear this name up right now?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Fine, you’re right, that was out of line. I know you’re taking me seriously at least. But come on, Amelia, you have to admit. Men like Shacklebolt give Albus Dumbledore way too much power. Why is my sworn testimony given less credence than his whispered rumours?”

Amelia grimaced and her tense shoulders relaxed. “You’re preaching to the choir on that subject. You know my opinion on Albus bloody Dumbledore.”

“I know.” Sirius sighed deeply. “I wish I’d listened to you a year ago. But to tell you the truth, Amy, I’m not sure Dumbledore allowed me to listen to you or anyone else.”

Amelia’s gaze sharpened. “Well well,” she said slowly. “That’s a change of tune and no mistake. Care to share a few details with me?”

Sirius made up his mind in a moment. Anyone else he might have been reluctant to tell the whole story, but Amelia loathed Dumbledore, so hopefully she at least wouldn’t think he was crazy or a liar if he gave her all the facts.

So he did, picking up the story where his written report had ended.

Amelia listened intently, holding up a hand and gesturing when he revealed that Dumbledore had cursed him in the back. She pulled out her wand and cast a privacy spell around her, then nodded for him to continue. So he continued his tale, while she sat cross legged on the hearth, stroking her chin with her perfectly manicured fingers as he spoke.  “The Peverell Legacy,” she repeated when he was done, and whistled under her breath. “Merlin, Siri, you don’t do anything halfway. Old McGee didn’t do much with his power until the war really started to get serious, but I know there were a lot of Nobles who feared and respected him. And now you’re the Guardian of that Legacy?”

“Me and Alice,” Sirius reminded her.

Amelia nodded, obviously still turning over his revelations in her mind. “That’s the part that worries me the most,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “What he did to you was terrible, and to my mind inexcusable, but no doubt that wily old spider would have a hundred inscrutable excuses, all of them citing ‘the greater good’.”

Amelia grimaced as she spoke the words and Sirius grimaced back, unable to count the number of times Dumbledore had explained away his actions with that homily.

“But this thing with Frank and Alice,” she murmured. “Is a horror story from beginning to end. If what you say is true – and I don’t doubt you – then he set them up to be murdered by Death Eaters.”

Sirius nodded. “Even if you doubted me, Frank and Alice will tell you the same thing. In fact a quick examination will show they were under the influence of multiple compulsion spells.”

“They’d have to have been, for two experienced Aurors to drop their damn protections on Dumbledore’s say-so,” Amelia retorted. “The question here is why. Why did Dumbledore want the Potter child so badly, only to give him away to muggles 24 hours later? It makes no sense.”

“If we could find out the exact wording of the prophecy,” Sirius began. Amelia interrupted him with a scornful laugh.

“You know my opinion of prophecy,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s all batshite.”

“A lot of people believe in it though.”

“Sure, and their false belief just feeds the damn prophecy, making it self fulfilling. Look at the old legends about various prophecies through the ages. Some conman tells a king a redhead will kill him in 20 years, so the king goes round and slaughters every redhead in his kingdom. But inevitably he misses one, who grows up hating the king for killing his entire redheaded family. So what happens? As soon as he grows up the kid kills the king. Self fulfilling prophecy. If the king hadn’t gone around slaughtering people, the redheaded kid would have grown up to be a tailor, or a chef, or a professional kneazle walker.”

“Now you’re the one preaching to the choir,” Sirius said. “I distinctly recall Lily making exactly the same point. But what reasonable people believe is moot, if crazy, gullible people believe it. And the Dark Lord is pretty fucking crazy.”

“So what you’re saying is that Dumbledore doesn’t even have to believe it himself, he can assume that You Know Who does? How would the Dark Lord even know this prophecy?”

“Come on, Amelia. You think he doesn’t have followers in the Ministry? How hard would it be for one to tell him a prophecy about him has been recorded? The way security is run these days, the Dark Loony could have strolled into the Department of Mysteries and viewed the prophecy himself.”

“I wish you were exaggerating,” Amelia grumbled. “Look, Sirius, I’ll find this Professor Nightshade for you, and send him your way, no problem. But my advice to you in the meantime – to you and the Longbottoms – is stay where you are. Keep your heads down and your mouths shut. Right now the Ministry is pressuring Dumbledore to give up the location of the Potter child, and he’s doing that infuriating thing he does with his twinkling eyes and beard stroking, insisting that the whole thing should be left in his hands.”

“So, you think he doesn’t know that I have Harry?” Sirius considered this. “You could be right. I mean he dumped the baby on the front porch and strolled away like he didn’t have a care in the world. What’s the odds he’d bother to check on him now when he couldn’t even be bothered to ring the doorbell before dumping him?”

“Exactly. So let him labour under that pleasant delusion while you move around in the background. And my last piece of advice, Sirius? Accept the Peverell Legacy on young Harry’s behalf. You need that power and protection behind you. Because when Dumbledore does realise his schemes are falling apart…” She shook her head. “It’s not gonna be pretty.”

She ended the floo call abruptly, leaving Sirius sitting on the hearth, lost in thought.

“She’s right.”

Sirius turned and saw Frank standing in the doorway.

“She usually is. That’s one of the things about her that drives me nuts.”

“So while we wait to hear from Professor Nightshade, we find out everything we can about the Peverell Magic, and what it’s Legacy will mean to Harry, and you and Alice.”

888

Sirius stirred from his restless sleep at Harry’s first cry, and was out of bed and casting a Lumos charm before his eyes were even open. In the wand’s dim light he saw Harry standing up in his crib, clinging to the wooden rail, head thrown back as he wailed. Instantly Sirius flashed back to that terrible scene just a few nights before, Harry standing in his crib, just a few feet away from his mother’s lifeless body, wailing out his grief and fear.

“Oh, baby,” Sirius said, dropping his wand onto his pillow and gathering Harry up in his arms. “Oh, Harry, it’s okay, you’re okay now love. Please don’t cry.”

“Mummy,” Harry sobbed, choking on his tears. “Mummy.”

“I know, baby, I know,” Sirius crooned, holding him close and rocking him. “I know you miss her, I do too. And I promise you, Harry, I promise you, she’d be here with you if she could be. I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.”

He sat on the side of the bed and rocked the sobbing child, murmuring whatever reassurances he could think of, feeling the tremors of grief in the tiny frame as Harry’s sobs faded to hiccupping tears.

There was a soft knock on the door and Alice poked her head around, soft blonde curls escaping her sleeping cap and curving around her cheeks. “Is he all right?” she whispered.

Sirius shook his head. “Come in,” he murmured back. “He’s settling down a bit.”

Alice perched next to them on the side of the bed and gently stroked Harry’s back. Her eyes were wet and dark with grief. “Poor little boy,” she said softly, and Harry lifted his head and peered at her in the gloom.

“Mummy,” he said, and reached for her, arms outstretched. Gladly Sirius passed Harry to her, watched sadly as she gathered him to her breast and cradled him gently. “Mummy,” Harry sighed, closing his swollen eyes.

“Sorry,” Alice said quietly to Sirius, but he shook his head.

“If it gives him comfort, I’m glad of it,” Sirius said. “And let’s face it, you’ll be the only mother figure in his life from now on.”

“Surely not the only one.” Alice pressed a soft kiss on Harry’s brow. “I know in my heart that Lily would be glad of whatever comfort we can give him,” she continued in her gentle voice. “And I’m sure of that because if it were Frank and I gone and Lily and James were raising Neville, I would be grateful to my very soul for whatever love and care they gave him.”

Sirius stroked Harry’s soft locks where they lay on his brow as Alice rocked him to sleep. “I don’t know what’s worse,” he said sombrely. “Him crying for his parents, or knowing that soon he’ll stop crying for them.”

“It’s better he forgets for now,” Alice said firmly. “They wouldn’t want him weighed down with grief after all. Harry needs to grow up surrounded by love and safety, and all the good memories we can give him. And when he’s old enough, it will be our job to tell him about Lily and James. About his parents, and how much they loved him.”

Alice stood and tenderly laid Harry back in his crib, pulling up the soft quilted blanket and tucking it around him. “Rest easy, sweet baby,” she whispered. “And dream of happy days.”

After she was gone Sirius lay back down on his bed and let his own tears come.

888

Baxter Nightshade was not all how Sirius had pictured him. Expecting a studious, professorial type in old fashioned robes, it was somewhat of a surprise when a red bearded giant stepped out of the fireplace, shaking soot from his long, flame red locks. He looked like he’d stepped out of a Highland painting, and that impression was confirmed when he spoke with a broad, Scottish accent.

“Professor,” Sirius greeted him, stepping forward and shaking his hand. “I’m Sirius Black. Thank you so much for taking the time to consult on this matter.”

“Well, well,” the huge man said, shaking hand after hand as everyone was introduced. “I admit my curiosity was somewhat roused when a little birdie whispered in my ear about a connection to the Peverell Legacy. The last time I saw the McGee was only a few weeks before he was killed. We argued about a point of history, then got roaring drunk in the Golden Eagle, my favourite pub in Edinburgh. I was terribly sorry to hear of his murder at the hands of cowardly traitors. We’ll not see his like again, I fear.”

Reluctantly fascinated by the way the Professor rolled his r’s, Sirius nodded politely. “I’m sorry I never met the man. It’s my godson Harry we’ve asked you to examine, sir. He’s the Peverell Heir.”

“So that’s the way of it, ey?” Nightshade said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Well, that might go some way to explaining the outrageous stories that miserable excuse for a newspaper has been printing for the last week. The Boy Who Lived they’re calling him. Have you ever heard of anything so disrespectful?”

When Professor Nightshade drawled the word ‘disrespectful’ in his broad brogue, he painted whole new meanings to the word.

“We quite agree,” Frank said, grimacing. “We’ve only caught up with the headlines over the last few days, but they’re clearly ridiculous bordering on the absurd. I understand that people are relived You-Know-Who is dead, but how they can attribute his demise to a 15 month old child is utterly senseless.”

“Oh, I do agree,” the Professor nodded. “But by the same token, they’re not in full possession of the facts. If being the Peverell Heir helped save the young lad’s life from that most deadly of curses, it’s in fact highly possible that same protection somehow rebounded on the scoundrel who cast the curse. Who knows? Perhaps in his cowardly act of attempting to take the life of a mere babe, somehow that monstrous traitor brought about his own demise?”

He clapped massive hands together. “Now, where’s the laddie? Let’s have a wee look at him then, eh?”

888

Sirius appreciated that everyone else cleared out to the kitchen and left just him and Harry with the Professor. They used a rather grand dining room just off the sitting room that Sirius had not yet seen. Professor Nightshade clearly needed the space, he unpacked his leather physicians bag and laid a dozen instruments out on the surface of the large table.

“Don’t let my devices intimidate you,” he said, pulling a kind of headband fitted with a large round magnifying glass out of the charmed bag. “Most of them are just precautionary, ya ken? When it comes to curse wounds, why, you never know what you might face. Better to be safe than sorry.”

“Is Harry in danger?” Sirius said nervously, surveying the admittedly intimidating range of devices. One was a frame with golden balls hanging from a series of fine wires. They hung perfectly straight and still, even though the Professor had pulled them out of the bag sideways. One looked like a set of scales, but instead of lead weights there were piles of brightly coloured gems sitting on the trays. And one was clearly a living plant in a pot, delicate green stems wove upwards, each tipped with a blossom like a tiny silver bell.

“Pwitty,” Harry said.

“Ay, my lad,” the Professor agreed. “She’s pretty indeed. That’s my argentus gracialenta. Also known as Morrigan’s Bells. If you ever hear them sing their sweet song, then count yourself fortunate indeed. They only peal when dark magic has been driven away, and sweet clean light magic has triumphed. Now, Mr Black. Shall we see if the little lad will take a nap for us?”

“No nap,” Harry said firmly.

“Uh, Harry has a knack of shaking off sleep spells,” Sirius said, and Harry smirked, every bit as if he understood what his godfather was saying.

“Well he won’t need to be under for long, I promise. With your permission?”

Sirius hesitated for a moment, then finally nodded. “Please,” he said. The older wizard cast a quick spell, and Harry yawned and closed his eyes, dusky lashes fanning his plump cheeks. “And do call me Sirius,” he said as he laid Harry down on the padded rectangle the Professor had laid on the table.

“I will, and thank you for it,” the professor said, pulling the headband on and adjusting the large magnifying glass over his eyes. “Please call me Baxter. Now let’s see what we have here.”

Despite his tension over the examination, Sirius was soon bored with the long process. Now and then Baxter would set one of his gadgets into motion with a wave of his wand, but they did little that Sirius could see, and there was certainly nothing flashy or interesting in the results.

Harry snored softly and Baxter shot a small smile at Sirius over his shoulder. “The lad’s slipped into a natural sleep,” the Professor murmured, adjusting one of the dials on a low, black device. “Hardly surprising he can shake off a simple sleep charm. The traces of the Peverell Legacy are all over his magic.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Well it’s not a bad one,” Baxter said humorously. “I remember the McGee telling me he could shake off all manner of charms and curses.”

“Denby said you knew him.”

“Aye,” Baxter said, his expression growing sad. “Knew him and admired him. The McGee was a force for goodness in the world, but he was never one to push himself forward and be flashy about his good works. Never got his face on a Chocolate Frog Card,” Baxter said, rolling his eyes.

After another half an hour, Baxter straightened and pulled the magnifying headband off with a weary sigh. He nodded at Sirius, who jumped up and carefully lifted Harry from the padded tabletop. “Well?” he asked anxiously, before Harry was even settled against his shoulder.

“Well enough,” Baxter said thoughtfully. “I’ll need time to look through my books and study my results.”

“Can’t you tell me anything?” The idea of waiting even longer to find out about Harry’s wound was agonising.

“Ach, don’t fret,” Baxter advised, reaching back into his leather bag and pulling out a thick tome. “I can do all that right here, perhaps over a cup of tea?” he added hopefully.

Sirius blinked and stared for a moment. “Uh, yes, of course. I’m sorry, Professor, uh, Baxter,” he corrected as the wizard raised a brow. “I know it’s a complicated business and I don’t mean to rush you…”

“Think nothing of it,” Baxter said, pulling another two books from his bag and then neatly packing his devices back into it. “I’m used to it. There are two kinds of cases in my line of work,” he confided. “The recent, like young Harry here, and for that matter the majority of the cases I’m called to St Mungo’s to consult upon. Or the historic. Where a person didn’t even realise they had been cursed until a wound didn’t heal, or a scar resisted removal. In both circumstances though, everyone is anxiously awaiting the diagnosis.” Leaving his bag on the table and gathering the books into his brawny arms, Baxter lifted a hopeful brow. “Tea?”

“Cakey,” Harry murmured, and raised his tousled head, blinking sleep from his eyes. He frowned and stuck out his lower lip. “No naps,” he said reproachfully to Sirius.

“Sorry, pup,” Sirius chuckled. “No more naps today, I promise. Let’s go get cakey, eh?”

“Lead the way,” Baxter invited.

888

The day dragged by. Baxter set up in a corner of the sitting room, surrounded by books and a notepad. He accepted cup after cup of tea, and for lunch hardly looked up from his books when Denby laid a plateful of thick cut sandwiches and a steaming mug of soup on the table.

After lunch they took the boys back outside to get some fresh air, and because Sirius thought if he saw the scholarly wizard drink one more cup of tea he might scream.

The predicted cold snap had arrived, but the group didn’t let that stop them, wrapping the toddlers up warmly and casting a couple of charms to keep the worst of the biting breeze away. Neville and Harry followed the path, gazing around wide-eyed at the wintry landscape. In the distance Sirius could hear the roar of the ocean and he wondered how far away from the coast they were. Harry had never been to the seaside, he thought, and started planning a summer excursion in his head. Ice creams and cold roast chicken and Harry in a big floppy hat to protect his skin.

As to hats, Neville didn’t seem fond of his, stopping occasionally to pull the woolly item off his head and stare at it as if he’d never seen it before.

“Bobble,” he said, handing it solemnly to his father.

“Yes, love, it’s a beanie with a bobble,” Frank said with a laugh. “And it goes on your head.”

Neville submitted to the beanie being tugged over his silky brown curls, then lifted his arms. “Up,” he urged. Frank lifted him and bussed a kiss on his cheek.

“Me too!” Harry said, toddling back to Sirius and raising his arms. “Up.”

“Yes, master.” Sirius lifted him and nuzzled his cheek, trying to keep his eyes from the red wound marring Harry’s smooth brow.

“Harry,” Harry corrected, and Sirius smiled.

888

“Well, if you don’t mind I’ll cast a small muffling spell,” Baxter said as they gathered in the sitting room to finally hear the results of his examination and research. He glanced at the two boys who were sitting in a playpen, happily playing with a box of brightly coloured bricks. “Some things little ears don’t need to hear.”

“Allow me,” Frank said, and cast a spell.

“Now then,” Baxter said, nodding approval. “I wish I had better news for you, and a better way to break it to you.”

Sirius felt Alice’s hand grope for his, and he looked down to see her other hand gripping her husband’s. The three of them sat on the couch, while Denby and Stout flanked them in the armchairs. Baxter held court before them, the flickering fireplace at his back.

“Taking into account Sirius’s description of Harry’s nursery the night of the incident, and the information Healer Singh gathered, as well as my own more in-depth examination, and of course Harry’s position as the Peverell Heir, I can come to only one conclusion. At some point the Dark Lord… split his soul.”

Frank gasped and Sirius felt a cold numbness in his chest.

“Is that even possible?” Alice whispered.

Baxter nodded gravely. “Possible, although incredibly rare in this modern age. Anyone even attempting such a soul rendering would have to be quite insane, and rife with corruption.”

“That’s You Know Who all right,” Frank muttered.

“What’s that got to do with Harry?” Sirius asked.

“Everything. We can only speculate what protections desperate parents might put upon their young child when told a Dark Lord was hunting him. And we can only guess what protections the Peverell Magic might put upon its Heir even before the Legacy has been claimed. But combined with Harry’s curse wound and the fact that he survived while the Dark Lord didn’t, we can conclude that the Killing Curse rebounded and struck the Dark Lord.”

“But how do you get from there to the notion that the Dark Lord split his soul?”

“Because Harry’s wound is a soul shard,” Baxter said.

Next to him Alice began to cry, and Sirius felt the heat of tears in his own eyes, as Denby and Stout murmured their shock. Sirius glanced across the room and saw that Harry and Neville had dozed off, curled together with their heads resting on a stuffed bear.

“Are you sure?” Sirius managed.

“I’m very sorry to say I am,”” Baxter said regretfully. “I know it’s a lot, and a truly terrifying thing to hear. But don’t despair, the news isn’t all bad.”

“That’s all very well to say,” Denby exclaimed. “How is this not the worse news possible?”

“Because the very circumstances that led to Harry’s survival may be the key to removing the soul shard from his wound.”

“The Peverell Magic,” Stout said. He was the only one not weeping, his expression was stark but stoic, his eyes gleaming a brilliant bright blue. “You think his Guardians should claim the Legacy on his behalf.”

“Of course,” Denby gasped. “Surely the Peverell Magic will drive out any darkness the Heir is carrying.”

Sirius frowned, scrubbing at his damp eyes as he tried to absorb this. “How can you know that?”

“We can’t,” Baxter interrupted. “We can speculate with the little we know about the Legacy that it might. We obviously can’t be sure that it will. But what we do know is that the Legacy is powerful, and claiming it will offer him unique protections. And if we can’t remove the soul shard, he will need those protections.”

“What’s it doing to him?” Sirius again, glancing across the room to the sleeping children.

“Right now, so newly embedded? I doubt it’s affecting him at all. But if we do nothing, and let the wound become a scar…” Baxter shook his head solemnly. “I’m afraid his own soul might become tainted. Certainly his magic would be influenced, although it’s impossible to say what form that might take.”

“Nothing good,” Frank said grimly. “Isn’t there a way to remove it without claiming the Legacy?”

Baxter stroked his red beard thoughtfully. “It’s possible that I might find a way with enough research. Bearing in mind every documented case of soul splitting occurred in antiquity, and the records might not be accurate. But that will take time.”

“And the longer it’s in him, the harder it will be to get it out,” Sirius said, swallowing down bile at the very thought of any part of that foul murderer touching Harry, let alone slowly corrupting his very soul.

“We can’t risk it.” They all looked up in surprise at the firm declaration. Alice stared back at them, her back straight, her eyes fierce. “Again I find myself speaking on my friend’s behalf, and as a mother, but I know what I’d do if it were Neville. The Legacy won’t hurt Harry, that’s right, isn’t it?” She turned her steely gaze in Denby and Stout.

“Never,” Denby swore. 

“The opposite in fact,” Stout said firmly.

“And that filthy thing leeching itself onto Harry can do nothing but hurt him,” Alice continued, and then her eyes widened and she gasped. “Oh,” she said, looking shocked. “Do you think that’s why Dumbledore wanted him? Do you think he knew that Harry carried part of that creature’s soul?”

Into the moments of stunned silence that followed her question, a throat was cleared and  Baxter spoke. “Did you say Dumbledore?”

End of Part Two

Part Three

The solstice was fast approaching and all the preparations for Yule were in place. They had all chafed at the thought of waiting until a few days before Christmas to perform the simple ceremony, but Baxter had advised that the date was important as the next great Sabbat in the Wheel of the Year.

“It’s no coincidence that the Dark Lord chose Samhain as the time to put an end to a powerful prophecy of his demise,” he had said. “He wanted to increase his power during this sacred time of ritual.” Baxter had frowned thoughtfully. “In fact this might have been his ultimate undoing, as the power of the protections on Harry were also increased, causing his killing curse to rebound on him to his death.”

Sirius and Alice had agreed, still dumbfounded as they were by the possibility that Dumbledore had somehow known that Harry’s curse wound was in fact a soul shard.

“It’s frightening,” Sirius had muttered to Frank and Alice, after they had filled Baxter in on their entire predicament, including Dumbledore’s involvement. “How much power and knowledge that old wizard has accumulated in his long life.”

“What’s even more frightening,” Frank had murmured back, “Is the fact that he wasn’t even going to attempt to take that thing out of Harry. That his ‘solution’ was to hide Harry with muggles, out of the sight of any magical who might have helped him.”

“What’s his endgame?” Alice had wondered.

The question was still unanswered.

Every day they scoured the Daily Prophet, looking for news about Pettigrew, but the headlines were full of grim trials and lists of the dead and missing. The war was over, and the magical people of Britain wanted to move on, so the trials it seemed were being rushed forward, some Death Eaters finding themselves shipped off to Azkaban, and some seemingly buying their way out with claims of potions and Unspeakable spells controlling them.

“At least Bella and her crazy brother in law weren’t allowed to buy their way out,” Sirius pointed out cynically one morning after breakfast.

“Not even the Ministry is stupid enough to let those monsters walk free,” Frank said, scowling fiercely. He was still enraged at the loss of his home, and spent hours in front of the floo arguing with his insurance company over his claims. His mother had also taken to floo calling once a day to demand he and Alice relocate to Longbottom Manor. So far Frank had put her off with his insistence on safety concerns.

“But we might end up moving there after Yule,” Frank said gloomily. “Even once the insurance pays out, it’ll be a while before we have time to look for a new home.”

After Yule, Sirius thought. After the Winter Solstice.

888

Soft grass tickled his toes as he walked, shade from the trees overhead dappling his skin, flashing gentle light in and out of his vision. There was a fragrance of flowers in the air, and somewhere in the distance a meadow lark sang melodious.

What a pleasant dream, Sirius thought. And so real! Even to the scent of the crushed young grass under his bare feet curling in his nostrils. Had he ever had such a dream before? He hoped he wouldn’t forget it upon awakening.

“You won’t,” a voice said in his head, and Sirius jerked to a stop, blinking his eyes in the dreamy sunlight. There, ahead of him, standing under a tree, face half in shade was…

“James,” Sirius breathed. The tall, lean figure, the shock of wild dark hair, the round lenses of his glasses catching the rosy luminance of the light. “James!” he shouted joyfully, almost leaping across the distance between them, crushing grass and tiny nodding wildflowers under his tread.

Then he screeched to a halt, even as his arms came up to grab James, pull him close, never never let him go. The face in front of him looked like James, the features, the golden tanned skin, those glasses. But the eyes weren’t James’s merry blue, the blue eyes Sirius had gazed into for more than a decade. The stranger in front of him had eyes as green as sea-glass. Familiar eyes, eyes that for some reason filled Sirius with grief and dread.

Lilly’s eyes.

“Harry,” Sirius said blankly, without quite knowing he was going to say it. “I’m dreaming about Harry all grown up.”

“I’m not Harry,” the young stranger said, and, oh, it sounded like James’s voice, although curiously with an accent closer to the upper class drawl Sirius himself had grown up with. “I’m an image of a future Harry, or at least, one possible future. Would you like to see more?”

“Uh, what?” Sirius managed, still caught up in the rush of grief and disappointment. Was he not to get one last hug from James, one chance at goodbye? Even in his dreams?

The Not-Harry leaned forward confidingly. “You’re not dreaming,” he murmured, and then he waved a lean hand and another Harry was there beside them, the one Sirius had left sleeping in his crib a few hours before. Dressed in his warm coat and boots, a sky blue scarf around his little neck, a woolly bobble hat on his silky head.

Before Sirius could take in the image of the smiling toddler it was replaced by a slightly older Harry sitting on a mattress. This Harry wasn’t smiling, his face was swollen with tears, his cheeks hollow and thin, the little shirt he wore hanging off one shoulder, sizes too big.

Sirius cried out in alarm, but then the Harry changed again, Harry after Harry blinking by, almost too quick to take in. Laughing, maybe six or seven, sailing a few feet off the ground on a toy broom. Trudging along in too big clothes, hair limp and hanging in his eyes. thin wrist bones protruding as the Harry impatiently pushed the threadbare cuffs off his hands. Sitting by a fire in a deep armchair, a huge book perched on his lap, the lenses of his glasses gleaming in the flickering firelight. Again on the mattress, a thin boy huddled under a torn blanket, shivering with the cold.

Image after image, a normal Harry interspersed with a nightmare vision of Harry, hungry, cold, weeping. Until finally two Harrys stood side by side, the tall lean one that Sirius had momentarily mistaken for James, and a short, thin man peering through the lenses of his glasses with eyes that looked too old and sad to belong to such a young man.

The two Harrys looked at one another for a moment, then the smaller man shrugged ruefully, and faded out of sight.

Sirius breathed harshly, felt grass and dirt between his fingers, and looked down to see his hands clenched in the forest floor. When had he dropped to his knees, he wondered dizzily. “What… What was that?” he finally managed to gasp.

“Harry,” the Not-Harry said, dropping down into the grass next to him. “Sorry, that was a bit more disturbing than I expected it to be.”

Sirius blinked at the regretful tone and shook his head, once more meeting those sea-glass green eyes. “This isn’t a dream, is it?” he said weakly.

“No,” the Not-Harry said, his voice kind. “It’s a test. I’m the magic of the Peverell Legacy, you see. This night I will grace my heir with his rightful legacy, and depending on the results of this test, name you as his guardian to bear it until he’s of age to wield my power himself.”

Sirius tried to take that in, mind whirling. “But, but, the ritual,” he managed. “We thought there had to be a ritual.”

Not-Harry smiled. “Wizards always think there has to be a ritual,” he said fondly. “It’s kind of adorable. Ornate athames when a kitchen knife would do. Fancy iron cauldrons when the original cauldrons were literally just a damp skin over a fire. Elaborate rituals on a sabbat when a few magicals gathered in a circle work just as well.” Not-Harry shrugged. “It’s all good. It makes them happy, and does the job.”

Sirius was feeling calmer now, sitting on the grass, listening to the soft voice, looking with a kind of wonder at the face so like his friend. Was this really what Harry would look like as a man his own age? He realised the Not-Harry had stopped speaking and was looking at him curiously, head tilted a little to one side. Flushing, Sirius rushed to keep up with the conversation.

“But you didn’t even wait for us to sit in a circle,” he said a bit weakly. “Let alone wait for Yule.”

“I wish I could have,” Not-Harry said, smile fading, green eyes turning serious. “But more lives than just Harry’s are in play now. Yours, Sirius. Alice and Frank’s. Even young Neville, all in danger now. Time is of the essence, and the sooner Harry can claim the Legacy, the safer he will be.”

“And, and showing me all that.” Sirius gestured to the place the series of Harrys had been. “That was a test? For me?”

“No,” Not-Harry said. “That was showing you the consequences at stake in Harry’s life. And I obviously wasn’t clear enough, Sirius. The test isn’t just for you, its for me too. We must test one another to see if you’re ready and willing to take on the magic of the Peverell Legacy in Harry’s stead, and whether I believe you’re worthy and strong enough to do so.”

Sirius heaved a ragged sigh, taking this in.

“I can show you your possible future selves if you’d like,” Not-Harry offered, raising a slim, tanned hand. Sirius grabbed it and held on tight.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said hastily. “I get it. Two possible futures at the very least, one of them pretty damn horrible. At least for Harry, and I’m guessing if Harry is going through all that then it’s a pretty horrible future I face too. Or probably no future at all, because the only way I’d let Harry suffer like that is if I was dead and couldn’t stop it.”

The Not-Harry gazed at him steadily, face enigmatic.

“Yeah, no, I don’t want to know,” Sirius said firmly. “And nothing you’ve shown me here could make me refuse the Legacy. Not unless…” A horrible thought occurred to Sirius. “The nightmare future,” he blurted out. “That’s the one that won’t happen if I accept the Legacy, right?”

Not-Harry tilted his head, green eyes going blank for a moment. Then they sharpened and he gazed directly into Sirius’s eyes. “Two futures stretch out in front of the Heir,” he said solemnly. “The nightmare future, as you call it, was based on Dumbledore’s choices. The other is your choices, yours and Alice and Frank’s.”

Sirius heaved a sigh of relief, the vice that had tightened in his chest loosening. “Thank Merlin,” he breathed. “But why? What does Dumbledore want? Why would he do that to Harry? To any of us?”

“I can only see the lives of my heirs and their guardians,” Not-Harry said. “I can’t see into the minds and motivations of wizards.”

Sirius absorbed this. “So I’m to… test you? Test the magic of the Peverell Legacy? And you’ll test me?”

Not-Harry inclined his head.

“With questions?” Sirius asked tentatively, not wanting to appear ignorant, but really. What was one supposed to do in such a situation?

“Do you have questions?”

“Only about a million!” Sirius exclaimed, and Not-Harry nodded, green eyes warming.

“Then you start, Sirius. Ask me what you will. With so many questions, what will you ask first I wonder?”

That was easy, and Sirius didn’t even have to think twice. “How do I protect Harry? How does the Peverell Legacy help me protect our boy?”

Not-Harry smiled.

888

At quarter past three in the morning, still a fortnight before Yule, a brilliant light shone under the door of the bedroom Sirius and Harry shared. The old house shook, window panes rattling, shutters flapping, and every occupant woke with a fright and rushed from their beds and down the hall to the door where the bright golden light still shone all around the edges. Frank cast a Auror strength shield in front of them, glanced once at his wife clutching a sleepily protesting Neville to her breast, and flung open the door.

The brilliant light faded to a soft glow, or rather two soft glows, the sources of which were a blinking Sirius sitting up in bed, and a giggling Harry standing up in his cot and rocking back and forth. The soft glow of lights split and twinkled and rose around the pair, dancing in the air, leaving sparkling trails behind them. Chuckling Harry reached for one and almost caught it, the beautiful glow lighting his sea-glass green eyes as if from within.

“What in Merlin’s name!” Baxter rasped, clutching at his wild red beard. “Is that what I think it is?”

“The Peverell Legacy,” Sirius said, climbing shakily out of bed.

Swearing under his breath Frank dropped his shield and hurried forward, catching Sirius in strong arms and steadying him.

“But how?” Alice whispered, as Denby lifted Harry from his cot and clutched him close. “Why?”

“It was time,” Sirius said, reaching out to take Harry from Denby, smiling gratefully over his shoulder at Frank, who still held him steady. “The magic said it was time.”

“The magic said,” Stout repeated dazedly. “What?”

“By Merlin, look!” Baxter exclaimed, and they all jumped at his roaring burr. “Look at the lad’s forehead!”  Then scarcely giving them time to peer he lifted his tartan robe to burly knees and ran from the room. “Hurry!” he called over a broad shoulder. “Hurry!”

Sirius and Frank and Alice and Denby and Stout tore their gazes away from the thin, almost invisible white scar on Harry’s forehead and exchanged stunned glances. Then Stout rushed after Baxter, followed by Denby, and then a shrugging Frank who caught Alice’s hand and hauled her after them.

“I guess we’re running now,” Sirius said. But he paused long enough to lay a soft, grateful kiss on the smooth, soft skin of Harry’s forehead, scarcely feeling the tiny, healed scar beneath his lips. “Thank you,” he breathed.

Following the sounds of exclamations Sirius carried Harry to the ornate old dining room, which Baxter still used as his study and laboratory. He stopped in the doorway and blinked at the entire crowd of Peverell House, standing in a wondering circle around the huge table. In its centre a pretty plant with flowers like bells shivered and shook as if in a gentle breeze, and from each curved blossom a perfect, melodious note sounded.

Together the notes seemed to make up a song, soft and gentle and old, as pure a sound as anything any of them had ever heard.

“Morrigan’s Bells,” Baxter whispered. “They’re ringing for Harry tonight. Dark magic has been driven out.” He turned a shining face on the crowd gathered dumbfounded around him. “Pure magic has triumphed!”

Epilogue

Albus Dumbledore took his time meandering through the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, nodding amiably to acquaintances and strangers alike. It was quiet, even for a Saturday morning, as if even the Ministry was taking a long deep breath after the turbulent weeks of Death Eater trials behind them. A few employees hurried past, but it was the haste of efficiency rather than one of desperation. Everyone lived in hope that the desperate times were now behind them, and Dumbledore allowed himself to hope too.

True not all his plans had worked as well as he’d expected, but enough had. He, and the wizarding world,  could take that deep breath and repair some of the damage that had been done in the years of war. Of course some things could not be replaced, like the lives tragically lost, and Dumbledore sincerely mourned them, even the ones that had been necessary sacrifices. But his plans were laid, most of his pieces were in place, and when trouble started brewing again – as it surely would – Dumbledore and his weapon would be ready.

“Albus.”

Dumbledore looked up at the sharp voice, smiling cheerfully at the sturdy, handsome witch addressing him. “Milly!”

Millicent Bagnold, Minister for Magic, grimaced slightly and Dumbledore twinkled at her. She really disliked being called Milly, especially in public. She had called him out on it once or twice, and his answer was always the same. He reserved the right to be informal with anyone he’d given detention to for conjuring a rain of frogs over the staff tables during the Halloween feast.

“Thank you taking the time to see me, Albus,” the Minister said stiffly. “Please, come into my sitting room, I have tea and scones waiting.”

“Ah, I am a little late,” Dumbledore said, proceeding her into her impressive office and ambling to the adjacent sitting room. It was as ornate as her office, heavy drapes blocking the morning sunlight, richly embroidered fabrics on the gilded armchairs, a gleaming porcelain tea set sitting on an ancient silver tray. Steam wafted gently from the teapot’s spout. “You know how it is, everyone wants to say hello. Shall I play mother?”

“Never mind that,” Bagnold said brusquely. “I presume you’ve seen this?” She thrust a folded newspaper in his face and Dumbledore squinted at it even as he lifted the teapot and poured a fragrant cup of amber tea.

“The Peverell Legacy?” he said, swiftly pouring another cup. “Of course, of course, it’s all everybody is talking about. Milk, Millie? Oh no, that’s right, you like yours black and sweet.” He deftly wielded the tongs, dropped two sugar cubes in her cup and another three in his. “I was rather chuffed to see a new heir has finally been found. People need some good news, and I see it got those terrible trials off the front page.”

“Yes, yes,” the Minister said impatiently, sinking down in the armchair opposite and accepting the tea cup. She placed it directly back on the low table and clasped her hands together.  “Of course that part is welcome.” She shuddered. “I’m glad to see the end of all that nasty business as well. But Albus, surely you see why I’m concerned?” She straighten out the folded paper and gazed down at the front page, it’s headline announcing the Peverell Legacy had been claimed filled most of the paper, squeezed in under the Daily Prophet’s banner. “It’s distressingly short on details, and I can’t get a single one of my sources at Gringott’s to tell me anything.”

Dumbledore relaxed back in his chair and blew delicately on the surface of his steaming cup. “Hardly surprising,” he mused. “They’ll be busy trying to plug the leak and find out who sold the story about the newly claimed vaults to the Prophet. The goblins take such things terribly seriously you know.”

“Believe me, I know,” Bagnold said fervently. “I can’t even find out how many vaults have been claimed, let alone who’s doing the claiming.”

“I’ve heard estimates ranging from three to seven,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully. “Personally I think it’s somewhere in the middle.”

Bagnold edged forward in his seat. “And do you have any idea who has claimed it?”

“Not a one,” Dumbledore said airily. He sipped from his cup and smacked his lips together with a hum. “Oh that’s a lovely blend.”

“I’ll have some sent to you,” Bagnold said automatically, inveterate politician that she was. “You surprise me. I thought for sure you’d have some idea.”

“Not a one. Although we can be pretty sure the Legacy is being claimed by a guardian on behalf of a very young heir. Perhaps even a newborn.”

Bagnold gazed at him intently. “We can?”

“Pretty sure,” Dumbledore repeated. “An adult heir would have been announced as soon as the official mourning period for The McGee had ended. That’s anywhere from three months to a year,” he added. “And The McGee has been dead for five years. Now it’s entirely possible an adult could have held off actually claiming the Legacy until now, but why would they do that? The Peverell Legacy confers a set of very strong protections around the heir, and we’ve just emerged from a terrible war. Presumably anyone with access to those kinds of magics would have embraced the Legacy as soon as they could.”

“It didn’t protect The McGee in the end though,” Bagnold muttered.

“He survived a hundred years and a previous Dark Lord,” Dumbledore pointed out a bit sharply. “And in the end it took a coward stabbing him in the back to bring him down.” He cleared his throat and attempted a genial smile. Millie really did work his last nerve.

“Of course, of course,” the Minister dismissed. “So you think it’s a guardian claiming on the heir’s behalf? Hmm.” She picked up her cup and sipped thoughtfully. “I need to get my legal team on this. The Peverell Legacy holds three votes in the Wizengamut, Dumbledore, three votes! I have post war legislation I want passed, and I don’t need any wild cards showing up and interfering with my plans.”

“It’s only three votes,” Dumbledore said serenely. “And I’m sure whoever we have to deal with will be amenable to our goals.” They would if he had anything to say about it, he added in his head.

“That’s one of the reasons I called you here today, Albus, it’s not just three votes. Augusta Longbottom informed the Chief Warlock yesterday that her son would be taking up his late father’s seat starting in the next session.”

Dumbledore’s attention sharpened, although he took care to keep the expression on his face calm and amiable. “Did she?” he murmured, his mind racing.

“You assured me that young Frank had no ambitions beyond his Auror career,” the Minister said sharply.

Because I made very sure he didn’t, Dumbledore thought, shrugging away his annoyance at her strident tone. Unfortunately Frank and his wife were two of the game pieces he’d lost track of lately.

“Add to that Arcturus Black announcing he’s named Sirius Black as his heir,” Bagnold muttered irritably. “And that’s another two votes in the wind.”

And there was the third game piece, Dumbledore thought, something cold growing around his heart.

“You hadn’t heard?” the Minister said in surprise, and Dumbledore blinked and swiftly controlled his expression.

“No,” he said coolly. “I haven’t seen much of young Sirius since the Potter’s were killed.”

“I heard some rumours about that,” Bagnold said, her interest suddenly diverted. “About young Black being their Secret Keeper and betraying them. But I spoke to my Auror Department, and was assured it was Peter Pettigrew who had betrayed them. Apparently Bones and a few others had him cornered on a Muggle street, but he tried to detonate a bomb spell and they were so busy containing it that he transformed into a rodent and scuttled away. They saved all the muggles, but at the cost of letting that vile betrayer walk free. Or crawl free at any rate,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Dumbledore nodded as she chattered, mind racing, pieces of a puzzle whizzing about in his mind. Six votes on the Wizengamut suddenly in play. Frank and Alice had requested leave and with the war over and their home destroyed their request had been granted. And Sirius Black…

“Here, Albus,” Bagnold said suddenly. “You don’t think this is all connected, do you? Could the Longbottom baby be the heir? Or..” Her eyes widened. “Or Harry Potter?” she breathed.

Dumbledore stood suddenly, causing Millie to jerk back and almost spill the remains of her tea. “I have to go and check on a few things,” he said hurriedly.

“But, Albus,” Millie protested, jumping up to face him. “We haven’t sorted this out. Could the Peverell Heir be Harry Potter? The Boy-Who-Lived? Would the guardians you left him with know if he was the Peverell Heir? Would they know how to claim the Legacy? Who did you leave him with anyway?”

And that was a question Dumbledore had been nimbly dodging for months, and wasn’t about to be cornered about now. “I sincerely doubt any such thing could happen without my knowledge, Minister,” he said, carefully backing towards the door. “But of course the wisest thing now would be to check with all my sources, see if we can’t track down the truth.”

“So you agree with me then,” Bagnold said sharply, pacing after him, eyes fixed on his. “You don’t think it’s a coincidence that six votes show up all at once. Is it a plot against me? Trying to topple me from my position?” She bared her teeth. “I know they’re out there, you know. Circling me like carrion crows. Bleating about a new Minister for a new age of peace.”

“Minister,” Dumbledore said firmly, holding up one authoritive hand. Bagnold closed her mouth with a snap. “You may in fact be right about some nefarious plot against you.”

“I knew it,” Bagnold breathed.

Politicians were so easy to manipulate, Dumbledore thought cynically. “All the more reason for me to go talk to some old friends of mine, seek out the truth.”

“Yes, yes,” Bagnold said, nodding vigorously. “Good idea, Albus, well thought out. I knew I could count on you.”

“Always,” Dumbledore murmured.  

This time Dumbledore strode through the Ministry and no one greeted him or attempted to tempt him into a gossipy chat. The few weekend employees and scattered citizens in the halls and galleries rather stepped back and away from the striding wizard, some instinct perhaps, or more likely a palpable intensity on his face and in his step. Dumbledore scarcely noticed or cared. He had one destination in mind now, one sudden suspicion forcing him into action, compelling him to do something he had firmly decided he was never going to do. For his own peace of mind if nothing else.

He was going to check on Harry Potter.

***

The door opened under his loud knock and a young woman answered, her smooth brow creased in an irritated frown. “All right, all right,” she grumbled. “No need to beat our… door… down.” She froze, one hand arrested in the act of pushing back her curling blonde hair. “You…” she whispered.

“Me,” Dumbledore agreed. “Let me in, Petunia, unless you want to do this on your front doorstep.”

Blinking wide brown eyes Petunia seemed to still be frozen in shock, then she hurriedly shook herself and stepped back. “Come in,” she said urgently, edging around him to peer out the door as if she was expecting gawking neighbours to have followed him down the street.

Dumbledore took a moment to glance around the narrow foyer, decorated with an immaculate carpet runner, a small side table with car keys and unopened letters, and a wall covered in photographs. Muggle ones of course, so they were eerily flat and unmoving, but the subject in all of them was the same. A round, brown haired child with a wide grin and muddy brown eyes.

“What do you want?” Petunia hissed, her back against the door closed front door. “Lily isn’t here, she knows better than to come here after the things she said about my husband. When you see her you just tell her…”

“Lily’s dead, Petunia,” Dumbledore said, his mind racing too quickly to even attempt to temper his news. “She and James were killed on October the 31st.” And if she didn’t know that then she’d never read the letter he’d left with the child. Which meant something had gone very wrong with his plans.

Even so he had to ask. “Where’s Harry?”

Petunia was still leaning back against the door, her hands now clutching at the jamb as if it were all that was holding her up. “Dead,” she repeated blankly. “Lily’s… dead?”

“She and her husband were murdered by the Dark Lord on Halloween night,” Dumbledore said, reining in his impatience. “I did leave you a note with young Harry when I dropped him off. Did you not get it?” He didn’t hold out much hope, but the blank sheen in her eyes as she met his dashed what little he had.

“Harry?” Petunia said, then blinked heaving in a breath. “Lily’s son, Harry. He… he wasn’t…?”

“He survived the attack,” Dumbledore said shortly. “And the next evening I left him on your doorstep, with instructions for you to take care of him.”

Petunia stared at him in disbelief. “You did what?” she demanded wildly. “You left him on our doorstep? With a note?” Her voice rose to a crescendo with the last words and with a sigh Dumbledore waved his wand and silenced her. Instantly her face went slack, mouth gaping slightly, eyes filmed with white.

“Petunia Dursley,” Dumbledore intoned. “Cast your mind back to the evening of November 1st. Just before midnight. It had been an odd day, with clouds of owls seen flying across the sky, and strange fireworks going off on the horizon. What happened that night, Petunia Dursley?”

“I was unsettled,” Petunia said a a calm, clear voice. “I knew what the owls must mean, I knew it was something magical going on. I remember the owls coming and going from our house for years when Lily was at that school.”

“So you went to bed, you and your family,” Dumbledore coaxed. “The house was dark, the neighbourhood quiet. Did you hear anything?”

“We… the baby was crying,” Petunia said. “Vern said he’d get up, it was his turn. But it wasn’t the baby, and Vern said maybe it was those ruddy cats fighting in the street again, so he went to the front door to look.”

“And?”

“He came back and said they must have run off. But…”

“But?” Dumbledore bit out, his patience at an end.

“But there was an old blanket on the steps, and he said something went pop. I thought it was magical stuff so I told him not to worry about it. He…”

“Enough,” Dumbledore said, slashing his wand through the air. “Go back to the kitchen, Petunia. Forget I was here today. Forget what I told you.” Better she hear the news afresh when he brought the child back, Dumbledore thought as he watched her obediently walk past him and down the hall.

Casting her from his mind he spent the next ten minutes scanning the porch, the steps, the narrow pathway and finally the pavement, just outside the wards he himself had laid down that night. Someone had apparated from just outside the wards, that was certain. The traces were easy enough to detect in a muggle area where magic was virtually nonexistent. But too many weeks had gone by to even attempt to trace them, and…

Dumbledore paused in his casting, tilting his head as the results became clear. More than one person had apparated from this spot. But who? And how on earth had anyone magical known to be in this place at that time? Could it have been Death Eaters? Sirius had claimed that Peter Pettigrew had betrayed the Potters, could he have known where Lily’s sister lived? And what of Dumbledore’s wards? Lily’s own blood wards?

One thing was certain. The Harry Potter piece on Dumbledore’s game board was missing, and while a few pawns could be spared in the game yet to come, Dumbledore could not win the game without Harry.

Without Harry there may well be no game at all.

The End