Awakening Truths
The return to Gringotts was markedly different from Harry's first visit hours before. This time, he strode through Diagon Alley with purpose, Sirius and Remus flanking him, his wings casting impressive shadows in the early morning light. The few early risers stopped and stared, but Harry barely noticed them. His focus was entirely on the task ahead—and the persistent ache through his mate bond.
Griphook was waiting for them at the bank's entrance. "Lord Potter-Black," he greeted, eyes flickering briefly to Sirius and Remus. "The ritual chamber is prepared."
"How long will this take?" Harry asked, following the goblin through the marble halls. His wings twitched with impatience—every moment spent here was a moment his mate remained alone.
"Breaking memory charms of this complexity requires approximately two hours per person," Griphook explained. "And the recovery period..."
"Will be significant," Remus finished grimly. "We'll likely be processing memories for days."
Harry's enhanced senses picked up Sirius's spike of anxiety. "It won't be pleasant," his godfather said quietly. "Especially the Azkaban memories..."
"I'll stay with you both," Harry promised, his wings curving forward protectively. "My inheritance seems to have granted me some ability to... stabilize others' emotions."
The ritual chamber was different from the one Harry had used earlier—smaller, more focused. Two ritual circles were inscribed on the floor, their runes glowing with stored power.
"Who wishes to go first?" Griphook asked, producing a ceremonial dagger.
Sirius stepped forward without hesitation. "Me. I need to know what that manipulative old man made me forget about James and Lily."
As Sirius took his place in the circle, Harry opened his father's journal, searching for any mention of creature inheritances and emotional influence. His eyes caught a passage:
The dragon blood grants more than just physical changes. There's a presence to it, an ability to project calm or authority. Lily says it's similar to a Veela's allure, but more focused on emotional stability than attraction. Useful for calming others during their transformations...
Harry looked up as the ritual began. Goblin chanting filled the chamber as Griphook drew the required blood from Sirius. The circle's runes flared bright gold, and Sirius gasped as the first memory charm began to break.
"Focus on my voice," Harry commanded, letting his inherited power fill the words. "You're safe. We're here."
Sirius's tension eased slightly, though his face remained contorted in pain as memories flooded back. Harry caught fragments through his godfather's mumbled words:
"James... the Fidelius... no, we shouldn't change... Dumbledore insisted... why did I agree...?"
For two hours, Harry maintained his protective presence while Sirius relived thirteen years of tampered memories. Some revelations brought tears, others rage. Through it all, Harry's wings remained spread, his inherited power helping to anchor his godfather through the storm of returning memories.
When the ritual finally ended, Sirius slumped forward, emotionally drained but clear-eyed. "I remember everything now," he said hoarsely. "The night they died... Dumbledore was there before it happened. He... he suggested the switch to Peter. Made it sound so logical..."
"Rest now," Harry advised, helping him to a conjured chair. "Process it slowly."
Remus took his place in the circle next. His transformation proved even more intense—the wolf inside him fighting against each revealed manipulation. Harry had to employ more of his inherited power to keep Remus grounded as memories of forced separations from Harry, suggested doubts about Sirius's guilt, and subtle compulsions were stripped away.
By the time both rituals were complete, the sun was high overhead. Harry's wings ached from maintaining their protective span, but he refused to lower them until both his godfather and Remus were fully stable.
"The compulsions went deep," Remus said finally, his voice rough. "Regular visits to you at the Dursleys prevented. Attempts to contact you at Hogwarts were deflected. Even our suspicions about your treatment... smoothed away like they never existed."
"But why?" Sirius demanded, anger overtaking his exhaustion. "What could he possibly gain by isolating Harry so completely?"
"Control," Harry said simply, thinking of his mate's continued distress through their bond. "The same reason he's manipulated so many others. The same reason—" He broke off as another wave of emotion flooded the bond: desperation, resignation, bone-deep loneliness that made his chest ache.
"Harry?" Remus noticed his distraction. "Your mate?"
"They're suffering," Harry ground out, wings shifting restlessly. "Isolated, just like I was. Probably for the same reasons."
"Can you track them?" Sirius asked, leaning forward. "Your father mentioned something about following the bond..."
Harry consulted the journal again, finding the relevant passage: The mate bond strengthens with proximity. In dragon form, the pull becomes almost visible—a trail of magical resonance leading to your destined partner...
"I need to try something," Harry said, closing his eyes. He focused on his inheritance, on the draconic aspects of his new nature. His wings spread wider, scales shimmering along their edges as he embraced more of his transformed self.
The mate bond flared like a beacon in his mind. No longer just emotions, but direction—a pull toward the southwest, toward...
Harry's eyes snapped open. "Wiltshire," he breathed. "They're in Wiltshire."
Sirius and Remus exchanged loaded looks. "Malfoy Manor is in Wiltshire," Remus said carefully. "Under Ministry surveillance since the war..."
Harry's enhanced senses caught their spike of concern, but his reaction surprised him. Instead of revulsion at the implication, he felt... protective. Possessive, even. His wings shifted, responding to emotions he wasn't quite ready to examine.
"We need a plan," he said instead. "The Wizengamot trials are coming up. If my mate is who I think they are..." He straightened, power rolling off him in waves. "We're going to need evidence. Not just of Dumbledore's manipulations, but of how far they spread. How many lives he's ruined in his games of control."
"The returned memories will help," Remus pointed out. "Not just ours, but others' too. The Prophet's been full of stories..."
"And I have access to the Hogwarts wards now," Harry added. "As heir to all four founders. The castle's memory runs deep—every spell cast, every manipulation..."
"We'll help," Sirius declared, standing despite his exhaustion. "Whatever you need. The House of Black stands ready."
Harry nodded, grateful for their support even as his attention remained partially fixed on that pull toward Wiltshire. Toward someone who needed him, who had perhaps been manipulated and controlled just as he had been.
"First," he decided, "we need to gather allies. People whose memories are returning, who are starting to question everything they thought they knew." His wings settled with determination. "It's time to show the wizarding world exactly who Albus Dumbledore was—and give everyone he hurt a chance at justice."
Through the mate bond, he sent a pulse of reassurance. Soon, he promised silently. I'm coming. And when I find you, nothing will ever hurt you again.