chapter thirteen
The morning of Harry’s hearing, he descended the grand staircase and padded into the kitchen where he heard hushed voices. There sat Mrs. Weasley, Tonks, Remus, Sirius, and Marigold. Had the mood not been so anxious, it might have reminded the last three of their summers with friends.
“Good morning Harry, how did you sleep?” Mrs. Weasley was the first to spot him.
“As well as I could, I suppose,” He was pretty miserable.
“I’ll take you to work with me today,” Marigold tried to put on a smile to ease his worries.
She was dressed how she normally was for work, in a nice muggle outfit of brown corduroys and a professional button-up blouse. She kept a robe in her large work satchel for when she traveled to Diagon Alley with her muggle-born students or when she was doing work within her ministry office.
They were almost out the door before Sirius stopped them to say his goodbyes. He hugged Harry tightly, reassuring him and bidding him good luck. Oh how terribly he wished he could escort the two of them, having the Leopolds and Harry so near to him now only made him long for the formal use of the word family.
Their walk through London was brisk, Marigold didn’t want to make him late, and Harry wanted the whole thing over with as soon as possible. Harry didn’t have the mind to spare any gazes at the city.
Marigold looped an elbow with his, hoping it would provide some sort of motherly comfort. It did, but he couldn’t articulate it enough to thank her. Upon their arrival she guided him to her small desk, sitting him down in her chair while she fetched him tea and a biscuit.
While she was absent, he took a gander at her desk. A photo of Marigold and his mother Lily sat there framed, the moving image depicting the women as young children, probably around their first year when they met. Harry picked it up and held it in his hands, Lily’s long red hair juxtaposing Marigold’s two dark braids.
Their eyes were similar colors, he noted. Marigold’s maybe a lighter shade of green, holding more yellow than his mother’s emerald iris’, but it wasn’t until now that he took to thought the fact that the eye color he inherited from his mother could look like Marigold’s own.
He didn’t have much more time to ponder, as the woman he arrived with rushed back without either of the things she promised.
“Harry, they’ve changed the time and place of your hearing, we have to hurry or we’ll miss it!” She rushed him up but noticed the look he had given to the photo.
She hugged him swiftly before the grand doors to the courtroom, and he stalled.
“You’re not coming in with me?” He asked as she retracted her arms.
“I’m sorry Harry, I’m not allowed,” She frowned. “I’ll be right here as soon as you’re done!”
Marigold was overcome with anxiety as Harry turned away from her and slipped into the room. She knew it wasn’t the end of the world either outcome, but feared for his happiness.
Dumbledore had greeted her on his way in, pleased to see Marigold. She felt more assured about his arrival and thanked him with a shake of her hand.
When the decision was finalized and the courtroom began to empty, Marigold rushed up to Harry, grabbing his shoulders.
“I’m not expelled,” He let out.
“Oh that’s wonderful, I’m so glad,” She beamed at him.
“Professor?” Harry called after Dumbledore as he passed the two of them, but the man did not spare Harry a glance. Marigold saw the hurt expression her godson wore, and decided to try and cheer him up.
“Let’s go grab that tea, hm?” She offered. He nodded meekly and tried to shift his focus from Dumbledore back to the good news.
Instead of remixing in the ministry for the tea, Marigold took him for a leisurely stroll through a public park. It was slightly out of the way on their route to the Black Mansion, but it was one of her childhood favorites, real serene, and would take them right down Lilac street.
She’d bought them both a hot chocolate from a mobile cart and they sat on a park bench to sip the sweet drinks. It was a little warm out for a hot drink, but he didn’t mind.
Harry felt so relieved, and the kindness Marigold was showing him felt so maternal and comforting.
“I saw you looking at the photo of your mother,” Marigold hummed, watching the pidgins at their feet peck at nothing.
“I didn’t mean to snoop, I’m sorry,” He looked at her.
“Don’t be, I’ve got some more with me now if you’d like to take a look?” She opened her satchel and pulled out an old and worn leather photo album.
It was mid-morning on a workday, and the park was mostly empty spare some elderly here and there.
“Here’s a note from Sirius and Remus, they filled the first half with photos of our Hogwarts days and gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday,” Marigold hummed fondly.
The inside cover had two messages from the boys, one in messy handwriting from Remus and his characteristically adorable scrawl, the other in loopy cursive from Sirius’ strict education and training growing up.
“To know you is to adore you my darling Goldie, never stray far from us, please. I hope we’ll be in each other's lives for a very long time. Endlessly Yours, Padfoot”
“You’ve enchanted us; mind, body, and soul. I hope you never forget how special you are to us, beautiful and bright Gold. Love, Mooney”
“This is all of us before Christmas our fifth year, at a party,” She pointed to the image.
Harry gazed at his father first, in the middle, with Sirius under one arm and Lily under his other. Marigold sat squished between Remus and Sirius, her hair a messy shag cut not so unlike the one she sported now. On Lily’s other arm leaned Dorcas and Marlene, Peter on the end. They all sat on a once grand crimson couch in the Gryffindor common room, one that Harry recognized to now be beaten up and aged.
An air of teenage mischief was apparent in the photograph, all of them laughing over each other, silly faces sported all around.
The next was one of just Remus, Sirius, and Marigold. It was at Remus’ over the summer, both of them kissing her cheeks at the same time before she threw her head back to giggle, and the boys sent the views a wink or a smirk.
There was an image of Marlene on Peter’s back, and another of Lily and Marigold sitting under a tree, legs entwined as they whispered back and forth.
Harry traced over a photograph of James and Lily hugging and waving at the camera. There was a photograph of Remus and James passing a bottle of fire whiskey in their dormitory. Another showed Sirius and James at the Potters, looking down from an upstairs banister, laughing uncontrollably and clutching each other.
There was one of Sirius dipping Marigold as they danced in front of a fire, and another next to it of Remus and her dancing cheek to cheek. There was one of Remus and Sirius pretending to kiss.
There was another of Dorcas and Marlene doing spells on each other's hair in front of a vanity, one with Marlene and Marigold smoking a pipe somewhere outside, and one of Dorcas and Marigold picking oranges from a tree on a balcony. There was also one of those two girls Harry had noticed on Marigold’s desk earlier.
“You all had so much fun,” He breathed, admiring his mother and father especially.
“I’m sorry you haven’t gotten the carefree experience we had, having to deal with Voldemort and all,” Marigold apologized in a low voice. “Your parents were incredible, and they would be so proud of you,”
Harry smiled up at her.
“I’m never going to let you go back to Privet Drive,” Marigold continued. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but if you had been expelled from Hogwarts Sirius was going to ask you to live with him.”
“Really?” Harry glanced down to look at Sirius and Marigold dancing again.
“Now, on holidays, you can go back to his…the girls and I will visit often. If you wanted to even, we’d be delighted to have you stay with us in Greece,” She wrapped a parental arm around his shoulder.
“I’d love to, Marigold,” Harry leaned into her touch. He flipped the page and was greeted by a photograph of young adult Marigold and Lily, two infant girls in her arms, a young baby in his mother’s. “Is this me?”
“It is, right after you were born,” She nodded.
The next had Harry in Marigold’s arms as she danced around with him in a kitchen. Another had James on a couch with Pip and Pralice as toddlers on his lap, a man Harry didn’t recognize leaning over the arm.
“Is that Henry?” He pointed to the man.
“It is,” Marigold sighed fondly. “He was a great man, a muggle, and I cherished him. I married him after graduation, we eloped to Greece and lived with my grandparents till…well till they died in the war.”
“They both died?” He looked at an image of Pip on an old woman’s hip, and Pralice on. An elderly man’s shoulders.
“Death eaters ambushed us in the night, we were vacationing on our old boat, and they killed my grandparents and Henry that night. They wanted to kill the girls and I too, but your mother and father showed up with more from the Order and saved us,”
Harry’s smile faded instantly, he knew Henry had died because the twins had always made it a point to defend Harry at Hogwarts whenever someone brought up his deceased parents. He just hadn’t realized the scenario of death was so similar to his family’s.
“If Peter hadn’t framed Sirius as the murderer, would have helped him raise me?” Harry asked, forgetting boundaries because of how close he felt to the woman now.
Marigold looked up at the tree canopy above them and thought.
“Yes,” She answered after a few moments of reflection. “Yes. I loved Henry, his death affected me deeply, and god I’d never put anyone through single parenting if I could help it. And you would have gone to my care, but your parents hadn’t formally signed me as a godparent so legally you went to next of kin, but I regret it so deeply.”
“I wish I had lived with you and Sirius and the girls,” Harry indulged.
“Me too, sweet kid,” She smiled softly at him. “There are a few more photographs I think you’ll like,”
The last two photos were of Sirius holding a baby Harry to his chest by a window, smiling preciously down at him, and another of Harry in a carriage being pushed by Remus.
“Sirius still looks at you the same way he does in those photos,” Harry noted with a mischievous smirk, flipping back through the pages.
“I know,” She chuckled at his quip.
“Professor Lupin too, but not as often,”
“Come on, I grew up just down the street, I’ll show you some more of the area and then we’d better head home. It’s not safe out in the open like this, and everyone will be anxious for the good news,” Marigold stood. “Keep those photographs safe for me for a while, won’t you?”
“Of course, thank you,” Harry grinned, how had she known he wanted more time to look at his parents?
Lilac street brought a mix of emotions for the woman as they strolled down it. Its brick buildings held a mosaic of childhood memories and heartache.
“You see the top floor of that building? It used to be the tallest on this street before these high-rises were built ten years ago. I grew up there.” Marigold pointed to a red brick building with big windows, appearing a century older than most of the buildings around it.
“Do you remember it fondly?” Harry asked.
“Mostly, my parents weren’t incredibly affectionate, nor accessible, but I’ve forgiven them long ago. I wish I had them again. My mother was in the order of the Phoenix back then, you know? My brother and his boyfriend were too, but they were young. They all died in the war as well,” She spoke like her mind was far away.
“You didn’t have any family left?” Harry felt an overwhelming pity for her.
“No it was just me and the girls after that, collateral damage of fighting for what’s right,” She shook her head.
“Me neither,” Harry looped an elbow with hers again. “We can all be each other's family this time around,”
“Thank you,” She came back to reality to mess up his hair with her other hand affectionately. She spotted a familiar flower cart a block away. “Let’s bring a bouquet home to brighten up the house!”
Harry found himself immensely comforted by his conversation and walk with Marigold, somehow even more so after the flower. Marigold had just paid him wizard money, much to Harry’s surprise.
“I never knew you had a son, Ms. Noble,” The short and stout old man chirped happily.
“He’s a few years younger than the girls,” She nodded eagerly, winking at Harry. “What kind of flowers should we get?”
“Oh um, I don’t know,” Harry was taken aback, but not upset in the slightest. As he looked to the woman beside him instead of at the man or his flower cart, he noticed her brown hair tied up in a bun. Her heavy fringe hung down, flashing a couple of gray pieces in its chocolate waves. To this man, he thought, Harry's dark brown mess of hair must have appeared the same as her's.
“How about something for celebration, Mr. Rhubarb?” She inquired the man Harry could only assume to be an old acquaintance.
“Here, some chamomile for peace in adversity, crocus for cheer, white hyacinth for loveliness, and some lilac, of course, for the joy of youth,” The man plucked the flowers from their sorted arrangement, binding them together with twill at the stems. “I’d give you a Marigold, but it symbolizes grief, my dear.”
“Oh thank you, sir, we appreciate you and your flowers immensely!” Marigold hugged the old man before their departure.
Harry carried the large bouquet home and relished the presence of his declared mother figure. It was a sunny day in London, something Marigold noted out loud for its rarity. She said it must be a good omen for times to come. Harry was amazed at the woman’s optimism.