In which Harry goes "Umm, WTF was that?"
In the smallest bedroom of Number Four, Privet Drive, Harry Potter suddenly sat up from his bed as a surge of magic crested over him. He had never felt any magic like this before. The magic felt ice cold and sharp-edged, but strangely, it filled him with warmth and a sense of protection and security that he hadn't felt in years or perhaps ever. In a moment of wild hilarity, Harry compared it to what he might feel if something like the Hungarian Horn-Tail he had faced a few months ago had wrapped him up in a tight hug and aimed its fire-breathing snout at those who sought to hurt him. The magic felt dangerous...but not to him. Slowly, the magic faded until it was reduced to a tight knot of magic that seemed to lodge itself directly beneath Harry's collarbone. Harry placed a hand on his sternum and would swear that his skin there felt a few degrees cooler than the rest of his chest. Harry wouldn't complain about something cooling him down, considering it was already sweltering hot in mid-morning Surrey.
Slowly, Harry reclined back on his bed, returning to his previous position before glancing at the clock on his bedside. The radio didn't work, and it had spilled paint on it from one of Dudley's short-lasting obsessions a few years ago, but it still told the time. It was nearing 11:30 in the morning, and Harry was shocked that Petunia had left him alone this long. He had only returned from Hogwarts two days ago, but Harry could already tell this would summer would be business as usual for the Durselys. Meaning they'd lounge around in the house with the air-con blasting while Harry was expected to do all the yard work in the blazing sun and clean up the house in a manner that wouldn't disturb them from their oh-so-important relaxing time.
For the Dursleys, this summer was expected to be normal and nothing special. For Harry, it was anything but. He was still reeling from the events at the end of the last school term. Harry returned to the graveyard nightly in his dreams, where he witnessed over and over again Cedric's death and Voldemort's rebirth. In the nightmares, what happened that night would be even more horrific - Voldemort would rise from the cauldron dripping with blood, Cedric wasn't killed quickly but was instead made to suffer and cry out, begging Harry for help, or in Harry's least favorite version, when his parents ghostly-selves exited Voldemort's wand, they turned on him with hatred and disgust and despaired over having such a disappointment as a son. When he woke in the morning, Harry would have to remind himself of the truth of what really happened in the graveyard. He'd walk himself through that night and force himself to remember every detail. This also led to Harry thinking of things he could have done differently.
What if I had been on guard as soon as the portkey dropped us in the graveyard. I knew something was weird about me being entered into the tournament. I should have been ready.
What if I had pushed Cedric out of the way from the killing curse. As soon as I heard "Kill the spare," here Harry would shiver, goosebumps rising just at the memory of that cold, high-pitched voice, demanding the death of someone just for the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time "that should have clued me in that something was very wrong. I have good reflexes. Why did I just stand there like a moron and let Cedric be killed?
What if I had swung at Wormtail when he was tying me up, or used my head to hit him like that one guy did in the action movie Dudley loved? I don't need a wand to protect myself. How have I let it become a crutch after just four years?
And so on and so on. Objectively, Harry knew it wasn't healthy to be so obsessed with "what if" scenarios. He knew he couldn't do anything to change what happened. But also objectively, Harry didn't really care if he wasn't responding to this latest terrible end to a school year in the most healthy way possible. Considering he now had four out of four years at Hogwarts end in disaster and nearly dying, Harry thinks a little irrationality is to be expected all things considered. In comparison though, the conclusion of his fourth year at Hogwarts had really beaten out all those that came before it on a scale of "gruesome and deadly ways to end a school year." And to top it off, Harry had barely had time to catch his breath before boarding the train back to the Dursleys.
Harry went back to contemplating the weird rush of magic he felt. It hadn't felt like it sought to harm him. And he didn't notice any other effects besides the feeling of protection and that lingering cool spot on his chest. Harry thought he should probably tell someone though. Strange magic finding Harry in the home Dumbledore swore was safe days after Voldemort was resurrected probably wasn't good. Still, Harry found himself strangely reluctant to tell anyone and describe the magic that visited him as if it was a bad thing.
Harry contemplated for a moment who would be best to tell something like this. Hermione would start researching immediately, but her access to magical books would be limited while spending the summer with her muggle parents. Ron would try to find an answer, but he'd probably go to one of his parents, who would quickly inform whichever parent Ron hadn't told. Harry didn't want to worry either of the Weasley parents. They already had seven kids to fret over after all, and after Harry brought back word that Voldemort was back on the scene, both Weasley parents must be frantic with trying to protect their own kids. No reason to bother them with Harry's issues too.
Like last summer when Harry had his first odd dream of Voldemort and Wormtail in a decrepit manor, Harry wasn't comfortable writing directly to Professor Dumbledore. Something about writing to him outside of the school term felt wrong. Harry wasn't Dumbledore's problem during the summer months; he was just another student. That had been made clear to Harry even in just the short week between the Third Task and departing for the Dursleys. Other than their conversation in Dumbledore's office immediately after the Third Task and the brief moments in the hospital wing, the headmaster hadn't sought out Harry at all. Harry would swear Dumbledore was even avoiding eye contact whenever Harry sought it out during mealtimes or the few occasions they passed each other in the hallways. He knew Dumbledore was probably busy. After all, the man was Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump. As far as Harry knows, that seems like three full-time positions, on top of just being told war was likely to start up any day now. Of course Dumbledore doesn't have time for Harry.
Considering Harry hadn't seen or heard from Professor Lupin in a year, he was definitely out as someone Harry would contact about this morning. In truth, Harry knew who he'd be writing to as soon as he decided he ought to inform someone. Standing from his bed, Harry walked over to his propped open trunk and dug through the crumpled-up robes and old books before pulling out some lightly wrinkled parchment, a quill and ink, and a book to use as a hard surface. He returned to his bed with his supplies and settled down to start his letter.
Dear Snuffles,
I hope you're well. I got back to the Dursleys a few days ago. Things are okay here. The same as usual I guess.
I'm not sure where you ended up. It sounded like you were going somewhere specific when you left, but I don't know how long you were staying there. Hopefully, Hedwig can find you. She's brilliant of course, so I'm sure she'll be able to.
Something kind of weird happened this morning, and after the "weird" thing that happened last summer that I wrote to you about, I thought it'd maybe be a good idea to let you know about this too. Honestly, though I don't think it was anything bad, so no need to worry! It felt kind of nice actually, even though I don't know what it was. I was just lying in bed this morning when I suddenly felt some unfamiliar magic. It didn't come from me (and I haven't gotten any warnings for underage magic and I'm sure the Ministry would have sent one if they could - remind me to tell you about Dobby and the cake in second year if I haven't already).
Anyway, I was lying in bed and this cold magic ran all over me. It didn't hurt, it felt nice and like...gentle? If that makes sense. I don't want you to worry and do anything risky, but it also seemed like it stuck to me. There's a little spot on my chest where if I press my fingers to it, I think I can feel the magic.
Do you know what this might be? I don't really have enough books here to do any research, so I'm hoping you either know what this is or can look into it for me. If you have time. Dumbledore probably gave you work to do, so you might be really busy. But if you can look into this or give me any ideas to start looking into it, I'd owe you one!
That's really all I had to say. Can you let me know if you have any news about what Voldemort is getting up to? I'm a bit cut off from information here at the Dursleys.
Stay safe,
Harry
Glancing back over the letter, Harry figured it was good enough and quickly rolled up the parchment and tied it with some string. Hedwig had flown through the window early that morning after being out all night hunting. Harry hated to wake her but thought this strange magic might be an urgent issue and wanted to get news of it to someone more knowledgeable right away. Harry approached Hedwig and began stroking her wings in an effort to wake her up gently. Slowly, her head rose from where it was tucked under her wing, and she gave Harry a clearly annoyed look.
"I'm sorry, girl. But this is important. Can you get this to Sirius right away? I'm not sure where he is right now."
Hedwig stares at him a moment longer as if considering whether or not she'll take the letter. She eventually sticks out one letter to allow Harry to tie the letter to her, as Harry knew she eventually would. After a brief nibble on his fingers, she takes off towards the open window, catching an updraft quickly and gliding away towards his godfather.
Harry watched Hedwig's form until she was just a tiny dot in the sky before sighing and turning around to recheck the time. Almost noon. He figured it was time to leave his room and start the day's chores, even though the Dursleys had been surprisingly quiet so far today. Harry kept his eyes peeled for Petunia or Dudley, making his way out of his bedroom and down the stairs. Harry knew he shouldn't have to deal with Vernon; his uncle would be at work at this time of day. But at any time, his Aunt or Cousin could pop out and either give him a chore as punishment for breathing in their direction or just decide to slug him for the fun of it. However, by the time Harry made it to the kitchen, it seemed like he had lucked out today, and all three Dursleys had vacated the house. Harry glanced around for a note but was unsurprised not to find any explanation for where they had gone or when they would return.
Figuring it'd be better to get started on his chores now than to still have them undone whenever his Aunt returned home, Harry made himself a single slice of toast and gulped down a glass of water before setting himself to the breakfast dishes the rest of his family had left for him to clean.
I can almost be glad I'm back at the Dursleys this summer. If I was at the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley would never let me get away with eating so little, Harry thought to himself. Usually, the little food he received at his relatives' house during the summer was a problem he had to get creative to work around. However, his appetite had significantly decreased this year since the third task.
Harry filled the sink with hot soapy water and thought about the upcoming school year as he began scrubbing dishes. He was barely home from fourth year, but already he wished he could go back to Hogwarts. Fifth year was supposed to be a challenge. OWL year and all. Mid-way through last the year, a few of the Professors had all started stressing how vital their current curriculum would be as a building block for the much more difficult lessons of fifth year. At the time, Harry had brushed them off. He had more important things to worry about last year, and besides, he was excused from the end-of-term tests. In the moment, Harry told himself the difficulties of OWLs and fifth year would be a problem for later. Thinking back now to the panic and stressed studying he had witnessed from multiple people in the year above him in the weeks leading up to the end of term last year,
Well, I suppose it's later. Maybe I should review some of the material from this year? I probably will need it, he considered as he scrubbed the last frying pan and moved to dry it with a hand towel. Harry had never really taken his school work seriously. Early on, the Dursleys had demonstrated they didn't really care how well he did on his schoolwork. As long as he didn't do so poorly that they had to deal with school administrators or his teachers trying to get in touch with them to discuss his performance, they couldn't care less. Then when he got to Hogwarts, the end-of-year exams didn't seem to matter much other than the OWLs and NEWTs. As an eleven-year-old without much practice in taking his studies seriously, with no adults who cared overmuch, and a much more exciting mystery regarding a secret item hidden away in the Castle, Harry kept up his tendency to exert the minimum effort possible towards his schoolwork.
It's not like I had much time to focus on school anyways after first year. What with the nonsense in second year, with the entire school being terrorized by the basilisk and everyone hating me for being the "Heir of Slytherin." And then, in third year, once again, the school was terrorized by "escaped mass-murderer Sirius Black" and the dementors. Harry supposed that most of the school lucked out last year, as it was just him (and the other Champions, but they signed up for it) being targeted by the particular horror show of that year. The rest of the school got to sit back and watch the Champions nearly die as entertainment.
Not that I'm bitter, of course, Harry thought with a laugh, "Binding contract" or not, couldn't someone have found some way around it. That would have solved so many problems. If I hadn't been a Champion, Crouch Jr wouldn't have had reason to turn the Cup into a Portkey. Cedric would still be alive. They probably would have still grabbed me at some point during the year, but no one else would have been in danger.
Now finished with the dishes, Harry moved on to wiping down the counters and completing a quick sweep of the kitchen as he turned his mind back to his study habits. Sirius probably wouldn't get back to him right away, and once he finished his chores for the day, there wasn't anything else for him to do here in Little Whinging besides try his best to avoid Dudley and stare at his bedroom ceiling. He might as well try and study the fourth-year material had had mostly ignored last year. At least Hermione would be happy!
Harry wrapped up in the kitchen by lighting his Aunt's favorite lemon-scented candle and started towards the front door to take care of any new weeds in Aunt Petunia's flowerbeds. He paused in the lounge on his way out the front door to straighten up the sofa pillows, pointedly looking away from the cupboard door as he passed.
As he plucked any weeds he could find amongst the begonias, Harry started quietly reciting the fourth-year spells from Charms class. "Colloportus - to lock doors," Harry followed this with a quick example of the wand movement, using a limp dandelion as a makeshift wand. "Diffindo - to sever. Depulso - to banish. Vermillious - will create red sparks. Can be used to signify an emergency. Bombarda - to explode. Bombarda Maxima - to explode a lot. Best to take cover. Cistem Aperio - to blast open a container. Scourgify - to clean," Harry paused and spent the time it took to pull out a particularly well-rooted clump of weeds wishing Hogwarts students weren't forbidden from using magic during the summer. If he could just throw a quick Scourgify around, he'd have his chores done in no time. Harry continued with more charms and wand movements, moving on to the third-year spells, but skipping over Accio. He was confident if he could successfully summon his broom in front of the entire school, a good portion of the British Press Corps, and international media representatives while staring down a literal dragon, performing it for his OWLs would be a piece of cake.
By the time Harry had worked his way back to practicing the first-year spells, he had finished weeding and mowing the front lawn, had pruned the roses, and Number Four once again looked like he had never left last summer. He thought it was also nearing when the Dursleys would be coming home. Petunia and Dudley were probably off "socializing" or sticking her long neck into as much neighborhood gossip as possible in his Aunt's case and bullying anyone he could find regarding his cousin's activities. Vernon would probably be another hour or two before his return, and he'd surely want dinner on the table as soon as he arrived home. Moving on to what he could remember of last year's transfiguration lessons, Harry went to the kitchen to wash up and put together a quick dinner that he could throw in the oven. After a quick glance through the fridge, he settled on lasagna and started the process, all while continuing his transfiguration revision.
Although he now wasn't cooking regularly thanks to being away at school, Harry was still a dab hand at cooking thanks to being given the responsibility at a young age. The lasagna was in the oven within thirty minutes, with the timer set for just a few minutes after Harry expected his uncle to return home from work.
Tasks for the day finished, Harry went up to his bedroom and was surprised to see Hedwig perched on his desk with a return letter from Sirius. Harry hadn't expected to hear back from his godfather until tomorrow morning.
He must have written back as soon as he got my letter. Merlin, it's probably to say whatever that magic was will probably kill me, and he wants me to pass along his "hello's" to mum and dad when we're reunited or something. Fantastic.
Moving quickly to relieve Hedwig of her burden and give her an owl treat for all the flying she had done today, Harry opened the letter from Sirius and sat down at his desk to read and frowned at the short, one-sentence reply Sirius sent him.
Prongslet,
Think of the map and swear. - Snuffles
Harry looked up at his trunk, where he could see the tip of the Marauders Map peeking out over the edge before grinning. Leaning over and snatching his wand from where he had stuffed it beneath his pillow, he tapped the letter and dutifully recited, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," and settled back against the wall, as the neat cursive he recognized as coming from Sirius's quill quickly filled the parchment.
Harry,
First, I have to say I'm sorry for probably giving you a start this morning! I caused the magic you felt, and it's nothing to be concerned over. I'm sorry I didn't warn you that something like that might happen. I didn't realize the Family Magic would extend past the boundaries of where I'm staying right now. The last time I was involved with this ritual, it happened next to me, so the magic didn't have to travel as far. I had no idea it could even extend as far as Surrey; it must have really wanted to meet you.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me try to explain. I know you'll probably have plenty of questions, Harry, and I'm not sure how much of the intricacies of Wixen Society you're aware of. I promise I'll try to answer every question you have, but some of them might need to wait until we're together in person to be fully explained. I could send rolls and rolls of parchment trying to explain all of this, and I'm sure there'd still be things you need to learn.
I suppose talking about when we'll next be together is an excellent place to start anyways. For some reason, Dumbledore has gotten it into his fuzzy-haired head that you need to stay in Surrey this summer. Not just a few weeks before heading to the Weasley's like I know you were hoping for; Albus thinks staying with your relatives until the first of September is the safest thing for you. Additionally, he's asked everyone to limit their letters to you, as he's worried they might fall into the wrong hands and compromise security.
As you can tell by this letter, I think that's a load of waffle and promptly decided to ignore him.
I tried to argue that you should be brought here where I'm staying (can't give much more details than that, unfortunately, I'll explain when I see you) but was overruled. I told Albus that cutting you off from information wasn't the best thing for you. Considering you're the boy-who-hasn't-met-a-mystery-he-didn't-wanted-to-solve, keeping you out of the loop for two months will likely drive you insane. But again, I was vetoed. The thing is though, Prongslet, I'm trying to understand why Albus Dumbledore gets to make these kinds of decisions for you. I know you respect him a lot, and he is a great wizard who has accomplished a lot in his long life...but I can confidently say that your parents did not leave Dumbledore as an option for your guardian in their wills, and there is no way in hell Lily would have wanted you to go to her sister.
Unfortunately, I can't do anything about this right now. I don't have any authority to question Dumbledore's right to make decisions for you, and I certainly am not in a place where I can try and claim guardianship. I can just imagine trying to file a complaint with the WICCED Office (sorry, kid, that stands for Wixen Infrastructure for Children's Control and Education Department). I'd send in a polite note requesting that your guardianship be transferred over to me and ask, "Please can I go pick Harry up from muggle purgatory right away?" They'd laugh me right back into Azkaban. So I will attempt something that I probably should have tried two years ago instead of running off after the traitor again. Clearing my name.
I had hoped that I'd be able to get someone to help me with this. But in the little over a year that Dumbledore has believed me to be innocent, he hasn't mentioned it at all. Recently, we've even had to inform a few active Aurors (plus one retired one you're somewhat familiar with) about my situation. Dumbledore trusts all of these people, so I trusted them with the truth. But none of them mentioned the possibility of getting me a trial. But, like your dad and I used to say, "If you want a prank done right, have the Marauders do it." It'll just be one Marauder on this prank, but with the stakes this high, I will do everything possible to see it through. It'll be you and I laughing in the end kiddo. As we pull one over on Dumbledore and the Wixen society at large.
This brings me to phase one of my plan to clear my name, which also caused the "cold magic" that you felt this morning. I don't know how much you know about the Wixen Nobility (one of those things that would take way too much ink and parchment to explain fully), but as of this morning, I have completed the ritual to claim the Black Lordship. I hope this will give me enough power to get my case heard. Or at least the social standing to make them pause long enough for me to explain everything to do with the rat before they toss me lips first to a dementor. Part of the ritual to claim the Lordship is naming an heir. It's a requirement that a Black Lord must have a stated heir to ensure the continuation of the line.
Since the moment you were placed in my arms on the day you were born, I've known that you would be my heir Harry James. Everything I had, I wanted to leave to you. Granted, at the time of your birth, "everything I had" wasn't much - my motorbike, an admittedly kick-ass leather jacket, and some crummy records that you'd probably make fun of me for now. I never thought I'd claim the Black Lordship and all that comes with it. And you might come to hate me for it one day because Merlin does the title come with a lot of expectations and society bullshite, but there's no one else on this Earth I'd name my heir than you, my little Prongslet.
The magic you felt this morning was the Black family magic searching you out. Your Great Grandmother Dorea was born a Black, so you're of the Blood, and certainly powerful enough for the Family Magic to accept and join with. It's nothing to worry too much about now. You're safe with your relatives, but the family magic will provide a little extra protection in case of emergencies, and you don't need to worry about anything that goes along with the Black heir while you're in the Muggle world.
In the next few weeks, I'll be working on clearing my name. I plan to start by reaching out as the new "Lord Black" and seeing where that gets me. I have to be honest with you though, Prongslet...I don't know if this will work. They might just ignore me. Or maybe I'll get my trial, but there won't be enough evidence, and back to Azkaban I go. This is a calculated risk I'm taking, but I can't be the godfather you deserve, the godfather you need, when I'm just a criminal in hiding. And what's life without a bit of risk?
I'll keep you informed as much as possible, but I wouldn't expect much communication from others. Dumbledore can be convincing when he wants to be, and he's got everyone believing it's for your own good. I know that probably has your temper rising, but remember, those who would usually write to you are only refraining because they think it'll keep you safe. That probably doesn't help much, but I'll get you through this, Harry. I promise. Even if I can't clear my name, I'm always here for you, and if I have my way, you'll be joining me by the end of the month and will never have to return to your relatives again.
Keep your chin up, godson-of-mine, and just give me a little time. Hope to be reunited soon.
Sirius Orion Black III
Lord Black of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Duke of Sunderland
( HA, going to have to get used to signing letters like that in the future, I suppose!)
Harry lowered the parchment, absentmindedly muttering "Mischief Managed" to make his godfather's words hidden again. His head was spinning with the information Sirius had sent.
The Magical world had Lords that weren't self-named Dark Lords? Sirius is a damn Duke? And he wants me to inherit it? And bloody Dumbledore wants me to stay here in Little Whinging until September? Where does he get off?
But nothing shocked Harry more than the reasoning behind Sirius claiming his family's title. Harry couldn't even believe just how far his godfather was willing to go on Harry's behalf. Harry knew Sirius didn't care for his family. He knew that Sirius was terrified of being caught and sent back to Azkaban or being Kissed. Up until now, Harry also had thought Sirius respected Dumbledore enough to fall in line with any of Dumbledore's orders. But here Sirius was, going against all of that...for Harry. Because he wanted to claim Harry's guardianship and bring Harry to wherever Sirius was living so that Harry wouldn't have to spend the summer with the Dursleys.
Is this what having a parent is like? Harry thought a bit hysterically. No one had ever prioritized him like this before. Laying the letter next to him on the bed, Harry leaned his head against the wall and stared at the ceiling without really seeing anything as he thought back over everything Sirius had told him.
This had the potential to go very, very badly, Harry thought with a sinking stomach. Sirius could be sent back to Azkaban, and then Harry wouldn't have anyone. Harry ought to send a letter straight back to Sirius and beg him to leave it alone. Harry could survive two months with the Dursleys, totally cut off from the Magical world, he assured himself. Harry did it for ten years, after all. What's two months with his horrible relatives when the alternative meant he might lose Sirius forever. He should send the letter...
But...but what if it worked. As low as his stomach seemed to sink (it was currently somewhere in the region of the floor, Harry was sure), his heart was steadily rising in his throat. What if it worked? What if Sirius finally got the trial he deserved, cleared his name, and was able to take care of Harry the way his parents always wanted Sirius to. The dreamy imaginings of a happy life with his godfather that Harry had for those few joyful moments at the end of third year all came rushing back, and for a moment, Harry felt like he was floating.
Harry didn't think he could bring himself to ask Sirius not to pursue this course of action. As he thought more of writing that letter, of asking his godfather to give up before he even really started, his hands curled up in protest, and he unconsciously shifted away from the trunk with its parchment and quills. He couldn't do it.
Harry let out an explosive sigh and shook himself, forcing his body to relax. If he couldn't ask Sirius to let this go, the very least he could do would be to help him with whatever he needed and act as a sounding board for the plan. Harry wasn't known for his cautious nature, but he could try. He had already decided to try and become more studious, so he supposed it was just a day for some self-improvement.
Harry's hand moved up to that spot on his chest that apparently housed a touch of the Black Family Magic. He didn't really understand what that meant yet. Based on what Sirius wrote in the letter, there was probably a lot that went along with being the Black Heir that Harry didn't understand yet. Still, as he felt that little spot and it seemed to hum beneath his fingers in recognition of Harry's attention, Harry couldn't find it in him to regret his godfather's actions.