Chapter 20
Padfoot woke up, lying on grass, rather than carpet. His pup was there, but so were three others, with their wands pointed at him. One was a stranger; the other two were Andy and Ted. They were talking to him, and he didn't catch all the words, but he definitely heard his name in there. His other name. They knew who he was! He tried to flee, but the thorn bushes at the edge of the property caught and immobilised him. The branches curled around his limbs; the spikes pressed down threateningly, but didn't actually break the skin, even when he thrashed and struggled. He was caught. And the thorns and walls were familiar, so like Potter Manor, but Potter Manor had burned down, and Euphemia and Fleamont were dead. He howled. The wizards were coming closer. He couldn't let them kill him, not before he told them the truth. He transformed, and the bushes moved with him. He was still trapped.
"Please, Ted, Andy, Harry, I need to kill Peter! Don't kill me now. Let me kill Peter first! He's at Hogwarts. He's going to be at Hogwarts. I have to kill him. I have to keep Harry safe. Please. It's all my fault, I deserve to die, but let me kill Peter first."
"We aren't going to kill you, Sirius," said Andy, slowly and firmly. "No killing."
"But Peter!"
"Nobody is killing anybody tonight," said Andy. "You need healing and feeding, and you need a lawyer. Harry and I have hired Rodelinda for you, and she's going to act in your best interests."
"I don't need a lawyer. I need to kill Peter. For Harry."
"I'm right here," said Harry. "And I don't want you to kill anyone. And you do too need a lawyer. The Ministry thinks you did all kinds of bad stuff, and I know you didn't do at least some of it. There's a big manhunt after you. You're safe here, at Potter Manor. But you're not safe out on your own, and a lawyer might be able to change that."
"I don't deserve to be safe. Not after what I did. It's all my fault." And so the evening wore on. Andromeda Tonks slowly and patiently coaxed Sirius Black's story out of him, gently drawing him back when he went off on tangents or devolved into incoherency. Rodelinda Fawley took notes. Finally, they got to the end of it.
"It's an incredible story," pondered Law-witch Fawley, "but there's enough in there that should be verifiable. If we do things right, it'll hold up. And it'll be an excellent case for the firm. You're not going to be doing anything silly like forgiving the Ministry for the mess they've made of things, are you, Mr Black? You'll get on board when it comes to suing them?"
"I'll get on board with anything if you let me kill Peter," said Sirius.
"No!" said all three adults simultaneously.
"What's the point in killing Peter?" asked Andromeda Tonks, sweetly. "We need him eliminated as a threat, true. But killing's too good for him. He needs to suffer. If we capture him and turn him into the Ministry, with a journalist or two copied in so nobody even thinks of sweeping it under the rug, he'll be tried publicly. Forced to admit what he is. Sent to Azkaban - and they'll know he's an animagus, so they can ward his cell to stop him transforming. He'll suffer." Ted looked besotted.
"And you'll be free. Not locked up for murder," said Harry. "You wanted to keep me safe. Do you actually want to get to know me? As your godson?"
"Of course I want to get to know you!" said Sirius indignantly. "I just- I don't deserve to. Not after what I did. I don't think I'm good for much besides killing."
"Well, I want to get to know you," said Harry. "I don't have much immediate family right now. Just the twins. I'd like to have an actual adult there, too. If you're well enough." Andromeda gave a fairly comprehensive list of all the things she thought were actually wrong with Sirius' mental and physical health, finishing up with, "but you're much saner than I'd expect, especially given the way your name split." Sirius actually looked a little sheepish when she explained that one.
"I was in my animagus form when they did the spell?" he asked. "Padfoot's my nickname, but it's also the name of my Grim form. Do it again now." She cast indicitas nomen, and surely enough, a single silver name appeared, and shone unwavering. Sirius Orion Black.
"I still say no-one who fills Professor McGonagall's office with catnip plants is entirely sane," she said, but she was smiling. Ted yawned, and pulled out his watch.
"Blimey," he said. "It's after midnight. Harry, that means you're unquestionably thirteen. You may as well hop to it." Andromeda started lecturing her husband about respect for the sacred rituals of wizardkind, and Sirius actually chuckled. Madam Fawley excused herself, and when Harry came back from letting her out, Andromeda and Sirius were actually arguing about something other than the merits of homicide.
"You can take the witch out of House Black, but you can't take House Black out of the witch. All that stuff about the sacred ways of wizardkind - that's a bit too much like the kind of thing my old family would say. Phemie and Monty - my real family - they didn't go in for all this ritual stuff. And James didn't bother, when he became Head of House."
"James Potter was eighteen when his father died," said Andromeda briskly. "He didn't need to do a ritual. If Harry doesn't do it, he'll have a negligent regent overseeing his affairs for another four years; a regent who put him with abusive guardians once, and who might interfere again if he found out Harry had parted ways with them now. Harry doesn't have the luxury of not doing the ritual. He needs it for his safety."
"James wouldn't have liked it."
"No, he wouldn't," said Andromeda, "but then he would have hated the whole situation. And if push came to shove, he would have put his son's safety over his own squeamishness about tradition. Look. James had a proper bonding ceremony for his marriage, yes? And they didn't just name you godfather, they held a proper ceremony with proper oaths, yes?"
"They did," Harry piped up. "It showed up on the inheritance tests."
"This is the same kind of thing," said Andromeda firmly.
"And I want to do it," said Harry.
"Fine," said Sirius. "It's your call, Pup. And I broke out of Azkaban because I had concerns for your safety. I suppose I can't quibble at a bit of traditional ritual, if it's to keep you safe. You'll check it for him, Andy?"
"If he wants me to," she said.
The best spot for the ritual, Harry thought, was the atrium: what had been a courtyard garden in the middle of the house. It had a rectangular pond in the middle that would fit nicely into the design he'd copied and re-copied from two different books; that was water taken care of. For earth, there was the garden soil. He had a beeswax candle for fire. That left air. It was all right if one or two elements predominated - it symbolised the direction you wanted your House to go in under your stewardship, and Harry definitely felt the Potters were more in need of quiet, inexorable strength, and growth and endurance, than they were of achieving lofty ambitions, or cleansing and purifying. But he still needed something for air. Hedwig had gone to Neville's, but he checked the tree she had been roosting in. Erroll was sleeping again, but multiple discarded mouse pellets suggested that he had at least eaten. Several of Erroll's feathers were scattered about; there was also a single white one. Hedwig's feather would be excellent.
He looked rather silly, he imagined, standing at the centre of a chalk-drawn diagram, up to his knees in a pool of water, one hand holding a candle, the other buried in soil, and an owl feather in his hair. But that didn't matter.
"I am Harry James Potter, and I call upon the Potter family magic," he repeated three times. The diagram began to glow, and he could feel the power building. "Last of my father's line, I call it to answer me as I answer to it. In this, the heart of my family's magic, I shed my blood freely and willingly." He had cut his hand before the ritual started. "Potter blood to Potter land, like to like. I call upon the Potter family magic. I call upon the Potter family land. I call upon the Potter family itself. To the ancestors who have gone before me, I ask you to look upon me with favour, as I lead our House forwards. Per terram et sanguinem, principem fio. I am Harry James Potter, Head of House Potter." He had learned the lines by heart, of course, but as he said them now, he believed them, meant them utterly. And he felt the magic answering him; felt his family answering him. The light flared brighter as he finished speaking; the owl feather floated down from his head, and down into the soil his left hand was buried in. The candle in his right hand guttered, spent entirely. It was done.
"I'll do my best," he whispered, feeling a thousand years old, and went to join the others. Scrambling over the heap of blackened rubble in the dark, he felt something different about his left hand. There was the cut, yes, with soil ground in. But something else on his little finger, something metallic. The adults had their wands lit as they talked.
"Congratulations, Head of House Potter," said Andromeda as he drew closer. "May you do your ancestors proud." The others echoed her, and Harry thanked them. "Let me see that hand!" she insisted. One swipe of her wand cleared the dirt off; another stung terribly; the third fixed the cut as if it had never been, all with no words spoken. The metal remained: a small, silver ring on the little finger of his left hand, with the Potter shield carved into it, dented and backwards.
"A seal ring," said Sirius. "Monty and James never bothered, but Henry wore one in his portrait. The same one, I think. I didn't know it was magic-generated. Impressive." Harry tried to thank him, but ended up yawning. Ted practically carried him back to Privet Drive.
"Sleep well, Harry," he said, ruffling his hair. "We have a lot of paperwork to do tomorrow."