I - Storm at Grimmulaud
The row had started innocently enough. Harry had been desperate to know why he had been left in the dark, why no one had written to him, why his friends had ignored him all break. He confronted them as soon as he had arrived at Grimmauld Place.
"Harry!" Hermione's rushed forward, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug the moment he walked through the door. "We were so worried!"
Ron stood a few steps behind her, his face split with a wide grin. "Blimey, mate! When we heard about the dementors..."
Harry, however, did not return Hermione's embrace. He stepped back, shaking her off. "You were worried? Really? Funny, because you've both done a remarkable job of ignoring me all summer!"
Hermione's face fell, her eyes wide with hurt. "Harry, it wasn't like that—"
"How could you?" Harry shouted, his voice breaking. "How could you both just leave me alone like that?"
"It was Dumbledore's orders," Ron interjected, his tone defensive. "He thought it best for you to stay out of things, to keep you safe."
"Safe?" Harry's voice rose, echoing off the walls. "I was attacked by Dementors! In Little Whinging! How was I safe?"
"We didn't know, Harry," Ron said, his face reddening. "We only found out after it happened."
"And then what?" Harry snapped. "Nothing! Not even a word of comfort or explanation!"
Hermione stepped forward, tears in her eyes. "We're sorry, Harry. We really are. But we had to follow orders. Dumbledore's orders."
"To hell with Dumbledore's orders!" Harry shouted, his frustration boiling over. "You're supposed to be my friends!"
Ron opened his mouth to respond, but Harry cut him off. "No, Ron. I don't want to hear it. You should have stood up to him, both of you. You should have said no. But you didn't. You just went along with it, like I didn't even matter."
Hermione's eyes glisten with unshed tears. "Harry, we're so sorry. We thought—"
"You didn't think," Harry snapped. "You just obeyed."
"Harry, you have to understand," Hermione pleaded, her eyes wide with desperation. "Dumbledore thought it best. We didn't have a choice."
"No choice? You didn't even write me a single letter!" Harry shouted back, his voice cracking once more. "I needed you! I needed my friends! You abandoned me!"
Ron, standing beside Hermione, looked torn between defending their actions and reaching out to Harry. "Mate, it wasn't that simple. We wanted to, but Dumbledore—"
"Dumbledore!" Harry had spat the name like a curse. "I'm so sick of hearing about what Dumbledore wants! What about what I need? What about me?"
The room fell silent, the air thick with tension.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go get ready for my trial." Harry turned on his heel abruptly and stormed up the stairs, wanting nothing more than to be as far away as possible from his 'friends'.
His footsteps echoing ominously until he reached his room, slamming the door shut behind him. He threw himself onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind a whirled with anger and betrayal, gnawing at his insides like a relentless parasite. The argument with Ron and Hermione replay in his mind, each word cutting deeper into his already wounded heart.
~
Later on in the afternoon the Order members gathered in the dimly lit kitchen, Harry stood in the centre of the room, his eyes darting from one accusatory gaze to another. He clenched his fists, the bitterness within him growing.
"Ready, Harry?" Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep voice broke the tense silence. His tone was curt, devoid of the usual warmth Harry had become accustomed to.
"Yeah," Harry muttered, not meeting Kingsley's eyes. He looked past him, his gaze fixing on the wall as if he could burn a hole through it and jump.
Moody stomped forward, his magical eye whirring wildly. "Let's get this over with. We don't have all day."
Sirius Black stood near the doorway, his face twisted with frustration and sorrow. "I should be going with him!" he growled, his voice rough. "I'm his godfather. I have a right—"
"You know the risk, Sirius," Remus Lupin interrupted, his tone firm but gentle. "If you're seen—"
"I know, I know," Sirius muttered, running a hand through his hair. "But it doesn't make it any easier."
As the tension in the room grew thicker, Kreacher the house-elf scurried into the kitchen, his muttering loudly audible over the strained silence. "Unwanted guests... disrespecting poor Master Sirius... bad master, yes, Kreacher knows... but Mistress not happy..."
Harry felt a wave of resentment surge through him as Kingsley and Moody escorted him to his trial, he should be with his godfather, not these people. Dumbledore apparently did not see it important to escort Harry himself. Instead, he was waiting for Harry outside the court room.
No words were exchanged between any of the men as Harry entered and his trail began.
Harry Potter stood at the centre of the grand, dimly-lit chamber of the Wizengamot, his heart pounding in his chest. He was surrounded by the towering benches filled with witches and wizards in plum-coloured robes, all of whom were looking down at him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. The atmosphere was stifling, the weight of their judgment heavy on his shoulders. This was far from the closed court he and Dumbledore had expected; the entire Wizengamot was present, a clear indication that this trial was of significant importance. It was bullshit.
Harry's eyes darted nervously to the front of the chamber where Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, sat with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. To Fudge's right sat a woman Harry did not know it, dressed in a variety of violent pink shades, her face twisted into a simpering smile, Harry hated her already. To her left sat Madam Amelia Bones, who looked stern and impartial as she glanced through her papers. But it was Dumbledore who drew Harry's attention most. The headmaster stood near him, his expression unreadable, his eyes avoiding Harry's.
"Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August," Fudge began, his voice echoing in the cavernous room. "Into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter."
Harry swallowed hard. He felt the eyes of the entire Wizengamot bore into him, and he shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny.
"Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister; and Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Fudge continued, almost gleefully. "Court scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley."
Harry's heart sank as he saw Percy sitting at the edge of the courtroom, quill in hand, his face emotionless.
"The charges against the accused are as follows," Fudge said, lifting a parchment, "that he did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, perform a Patronus Charm in the presence of a Muggle."
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Fudge cut him off with a sharp look.
"You do not deny the charge, then?" Fudge asked, his eyes glinting.
"No," Harry said loudly, his voice echoing slightly. "But—"
"An immediate confession," Umbridge interjected with a sickly sweet tone. "How very sensible."
"But I did it because of the Dementors!" Harry blurted out, his frustration boiling over. "They were going to attack me and my cousin!"
A murmur spread through the Wizengamot. Madam Bones raised her eyebrows and leaned forward slightly.
"Dementors in Little Whinging?" she repeated, her voice carrying a note of skepticism. "That is quite unusual, Minister."
"Unusual indeed," Fudge said dismissively. "Highly unlikely, I would say."
"I saw them!" Harry insisted. "Two Dementors, they came out of nowhere—"
"Ah, and I'm sure you were the only one to see them?" Umbridge's voice dripped with condescension.
"No, Dudley saw them too!" Harry shot back. "Ask him!"
"A Muggle's testimony is hardly reliable," Fudge said, waving his hand. "Especially one as ... unruly as your cousin, I believe."
Harry felt a surge of anger. He looked over at Dumbledore, hoping for some support, but the headmaster turned away from him. Instead, Dumbledore addressed the court, his tone calm and measured.
"If I may," Dumbledore said, stepping forward. "It is certainly curious that Dementors should appear in Little Whinging. It suggests that someone might have sent them—"
"Ridiculous!" Fudge snapped. "Who would send Dementors to attack a boy? The Ministry certainly did not authorise this."
"Then who did?" Madam Bones asked, her eyes narrowing.
Fudge spluttered for a moment, clearly taken aback by her directness.
"Regardless," Fudge said, regaining his composure, "the fact remains that Potter broke the law. The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery is quite clear on this matter."
Harry clenched his fists. "I did it to save our lives! If I hadn't cast the Patronus, the Dementors would have—"
"Enough!" Umbridge's voice was suddenly sharp. "You are not here to argue, Mr. Potter. You are here to answer for your actions."
"Yes, but—" Harry began, but was cut off again.
"Mr. Potter," Madam Bones said, her tone softer than the others. "Do you have any witnesses who can corroborate your story?"
Harry's heart leaped. "Yes, Mrs. Figg! She saw them too!"
"Arabella Figg?" Fudge scoffed. "A Squib! How reliable can she be?"
"Mrs. Figg is known for her honesty and integrity in the community for many years," Dumbledore interjected. "She should not be dismissed simply because she is a squib. Her testimony should be considered."
Fudge looked momentarily flustered but quickly masked it with a look of disdain. "Very well. Bring her in."
The doors at the back of the chamber opened, and Mrs. Figg shuffled in, looking nervous but determined. She gave Harry a reassuring nod before turning to face the Wizengamot.
"Arabella Doreen Figg," Fudge announced, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You claim to have witnessed these Dementors?"
"Yes, I did," Mrs. Figg said firmly. "I saw them with my own eyes. They were going after Harry and his cousin."
"And you are a Squib, are you not?" Umbridge asked, her voice laced with false sweetness.
"I am," Mrs. Figg replied, holding her head high.
"And yet you were able to see Dementors?" Umbridge continued, her smile widening.
"Yes," Mrs. Figg said. "Squibs can see Dementors just as well as wizards can."
The Wizengamot murmured among themselves, and Harry felt a glimmer of hope.
"Thank you, Mrs. Figg," Madam Bones said. "Your testimony is noted."
Mrs. Figg gave Harry one last supportive look before she was led out of the chamber. Fudge cleared his throat, looking distinctly displeased.
"Despite this ... interesting testimony," Fudge said, "the fact remains that Harry Potter performed underage magic. The law is clear, and the punishment is expulsion."
"Minister," Dumbledore said, his voice ringing through the chamber, "surely the circumstances warrant a reconsideration. Harry Potter was acting in self-defense against a threat that should not have been there in the first place."
"The law is the law, Dumbledore," Fudge said, though his voice lacked some of its earlier certainty.
"The law also provides for exceptions in extreme circumstances," Madam Bones pointed out. "And I believe this qualifies."
Fudge looked furious but could see he was losing control of the situation. He glanced at Umbridge, who gave him a tight-lipped nod.
"Very well," Fudge said reluctantly. "All those in favour of conviction?"
A smattering of hands went up, but many of the witches and wizards looked hesitant.
"And those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?" Madam Bones asked.
A forest of hands shot into the air. Harry felt a rush of relief as he saw the majority clearly in his favour.
"The accused is cleared of all charges," Madam Bones declared, a hint of a smile on her face. "This hearing is concluded."
Harry felt his knees go weak with relief. He turned to Dumbledore, hoping for a moment of connection, but the headmaster still did not meet his eyes. Instead, Dumbledore gave him a brief nod before turning and striding out of the chamber.
Harry followed suit, his mind whirling. The trial was over, but the questions it raised remained unanswered. Why had the Dementors been there? And why wouldn't Dumbledore look at him?As he stepped out of the chamber and into the blinding sunlight, Harry knew that this was only the beginning of the challenges he would undoubtably face in the coming year.
~
After returning to Grimmulaud hours passed, though they feel like minutes to Harry. The house remained eerily silent, the distant murmurs of the Order of the Phoenix members in the kitchen the only indication of life. He knew they were discussing him, discussing the court situation after his use of magic against the dementors. A fresh wave of resentment surges through him. Why are all the conversation about him never with him?
The door creaked open, and Harry looked up to see Sirius standing in the doorway. His godfather's eyes filled with concern. "Harry, they're asking for you downstairs."
Harry's heart sank. He didn't want to face them, didn't want to hear their accusations. But he knew he has no choice. With a heavy sigh, he got up and followed Sirius down the winding stairs.
The kitchen was filled to the brim with members of the Order, their faces grim and disapproving.
"Harry," Lupin began, his voice stern, "we need to discuss the incident with the dementors."
"I already told you what happened," Harry said, desperately trying to keep his voice steady. "They attacked me and Dudley. I had no choice but to use magic."
"Yes, but you're still underage," Moody growled. "Using magic outside of school is forbidden."
"You think I don't know that?" Harry snapped, his frustration boiling over. "I was trying to save our lives!"
The room fell silent, the weight of Harry's words hung in the air. Then, slowly, the accusations began.
"You've put us all in danger," someone muttered.
"You should have been more careful," another voice chimed in.
"He's just a boy, for Merlin's sake!" Mrs. Weasley's voice, usually so warm and comforting, was now strained with worry and anger. "He shouldn't have to face this alone!"
"But he used magic in front of a Muggle!" Moody's gruff voice countered. "He put us all at risk!"
Harry felt his eyes sting with tears. He looked around the room, searching for a friendly face, but found none. Even Lupin looked away, unable to meet his gaze. The betrayal cut deep, and he felt the tears spill begin to spill over, streaming down his cheeks.
"Harry," Moody began, his magical eye fixed on him. "What you did was reckless."
"Reckless?" Harry echoes, incredulous. "I was attacked! What was I supposed to do, let them suck out my soul?"
"You risked exposure," Tonks says gently. "The Ministry—"
"The Ministry doesn't care about the truth," Harry interrupts. "They'll believe whatever they want to believe."
"Be that as it may," Kingsley interjects, his voice calm but firm, "you put yourself and others in danger."
Harry's frustration boils over. "I was defending myself! If I hadn't done anything, Dudley and I would be—"
"Enough!" Moody's voice cracks like a whip. "You need to learn that there are consequences to your actions."
Harry's eyes burn with unshed tears. He felt cornered, judged by people who should be on his side. "Why are you all blaming me? I didn't ask for any of this!"
"Harry," Lupin begins again, his tone softer, but Harry didn't want to hear it. He was so sick of everyone turning against him every chance they got. He didn't ask for this, for any of this. All Harry ever wanted was a chance to be normal.
The barrage of voices continues, growing louder and more condemning. Harry's shoulders shook with sobs, the sound of his crying barely audible over the cacophony of accusations. He felt so alone, drowning in a sea of anger and disappointment. He turned to leave, but Sirius stepped forward, his face dark with anger.
"Enough!" Sirius's voice rings out, sharp and commanding.
The room fell silent as everyone turned to look at him. Sirius stood tall, his eyes blazing with fury. "How dare you?" he says, his voice low and dangerous. "How dare you come into my house and speak to my godson, like this?"
"But Sirius," Elphias Doge began, but Sirius silenced him with a glare.
"It's Lord Black," Sirius snapped. "And you will address me as such in my home."
"Ha! of course it is. Should have known you'd turn out just like the rest of your family." Moody spat, his magical eye swivelling to glare at Sirius. "Harry's put us all at risk,"
"Risk?" Sirius scoffed, momentarily ignoring the insult to his family. "We're at risk every day. That's the nature of this war. But blaming a fifteen-year-old boy for defending himself is cowardly and shameful."
The room was tense, the air thick with unspoken words. Harry looked at Sirius, his heart swelling with gratitude and relief. Finally, someone was standing up for him.
"This is my house and I will not tolerate any more of this behaviour. If you cannot treat my ward with the respect he deserves, you are not welcome here."
The members of the Order exchange uneasy glances. Sirius's declaration hangs in the air, a clear and undeniable challenge. Being a ward is much more than simply being a child under their care. A ward is an heir and not just any old heir, the heir to the most Ancient and Noble House of Black.
"Sirius, please," Lupin says quietly, trying to placate his old friend. "We're all on the same side here."
"Are we?" Sirius retorts. "Because it sure doesn't feel like it."
Before anyone else could speak, there was a soft pop, and Dumbledore appeared in the kitchen. His presence commanded immediate attention, and the room fell silent once more.
"Enough of this," Dumbledore said, his voice calm but firm. He looked around the room, his gaze lingering on Harry for a fraction of a second before moving on. "We need to focus on what's important."
"What's important," Sirius interjected, "is that Harry feels safe and supported. And clearly, that's not happening here."
"Harry's safety is paramount," Dumbledore agreed, still not making eye contact with Harry. "But we must also consider the larger picture."
"No," Sirius snapped, his voice resolute. "I've had enough of your larger picture. This is about Harry. He's not just another piece on your chessboard."
"Sirius-"
Sirius cut the old man off quickly, "I don't care Albus, my loyalty lies with Harry, not you."
Dumbledore opened his mouth to respond, but Sirius raised a hand to stop him. "I've made my decision. This is my house, and I will not have you or anyone else mistreating my godson. If you can't accept that, you can leave."
The room was stunned into silence. No one moved, no one spoke. The tension was palpable, the air crackling.
"Sirius, be reasonable," Dumbledore said, a note of warning in his voice.
"I am being reasonable," Sirius replied coldly. "More reasonable than you've been, clearly. Now leave."
As if in response to Sirius's command, the house itself seemed to awaken. The walls creaked, and the portraits rustled as if in agreement. Kreacher, the old house-elf, appeared in the doorway, his eyes gleaming with a strange satisfaction.
"Master has spoken," Kreacher croaked with a wicked grin. "Unwanted guests should leave before they are forced."
With a wave of his hand, Sirius directed Kreacher to open the door. "You heard him," Sirius said, his voice brooking no argument. "Out. All of you."
The house reacted to his words. The walls creaked and groaned, and the portraits murmured in approval. Walburga Black's portrait, usually filled with venom, looked almost proud. A cold wind swept through the room.
When no one makes a move Sirius spoke again.
"Get out," Sirius repeats, his voice a low growl.
The wind grows stronger, and the doors to the house slammed shut with a resounding bang. The members of the Order look around, alarmed. Even Dumbledore seemed taken aback by the sudden shift in the house's atmosphere. The order were obviously not used to sentient houses.
Reluctantly, the members of the Order begin to file out, casting uneasy glances at Sirius and Harry who was almost forgotten as he huddled behind his Godfather. Dumbledore was the last to leave, his expression inscrutable.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Sirius," he said quietly.
"I know exactly what I'm doing," Sirius replied.
That night, after ensuring Harry was happy and settled into bed, Sirius stayed up until the early morning hours, meticulously changing the wards around the house. He worked in silence, the only sounds the occasional mutter of a spell and the crackle of the fire. The house seemed to watch him happily, a new warmth present that he hasn't felt since his father was the head of house. He casts one last protective charm over the house. The wards shimmer briefly, then settle, impenetrable and strong.
As the first light of dawn filters through the grimy windows, Sirius finally leaned back, exhausted but satisfied. He looks up at the portrait of his mother, who for once, is smiling.
"You've done well, my son," she said, her voice filled with pride. "You've upheld the honour of the House of Black."
Sirius nodded, a fierce determination burning in his eyes. "The House of Black will not be disrespected again. And neither will my godson."
"I am proud of you Sirius Orion."
"Thank you," He hesitated on her name for a moment, but only a moment, "Mother."
With that, he extinguishes the candles and heads to bed with his Mother's gentle smile replaying in his mind, leaving the house to stand guard over those he loves.