Tree Trimming
Breakfast was more peaceful than Harry anticipated. He’d been expecting some kind of argument between Sirius and Aunt Wally, but Sirius kept quiet the entire time. There was a tense moment when he first walked in and she tried to guide him to sit on his grandfather’s right side, and he refused. Aunt Wally had opened her mouth to say something, but Uncle Arty waved her away, so she gave her son a sour look, then left it alone.
Instead, Mr. Malfoy took that spot, and Sirius sat beside Harry.
The food was extravagant. It was fancier than anything Harry had ever eaten, even at Malfoy Manor. He got heaping plates full of all sorts of French food that he had to ask Draco the names of, before promptly forgetting. It was all delicious, and he wound up stuffed.
He’d been smarter than the opening feast, though. He left plenty of room for digesting, and didn’t give himself a stomach ache. That was not a lesson he needed to learn twice.
After breakfast, Uncle Arty retired to his rooms, while everyone else headed to the sitting room. Aunt Wally’s house elf, Kreacher, lit a fire and played some music on the gramophone while the others chatted and decorated the tree.
The ornaments weren’t like the usual Christmas ornaments. Draco explained that they were all clear and hollow, because you were meant to fill them with ingredients to turn them into charms. That’s what all of the pieces on the long table were for. It was ancient magic, from long before the use of wands. The way Draco described it, it seemed a lot like potions, only with no cooking involved, and far less wet.
These charms were a lot less direct than ones done with a wand, and a lot more ambiguous in intentions. The whole process was a bit ritualistic and primitive. Harry found himself enjoying it a lot. He particularly liked coming up with his own combinations of ingredients to use, instead of having to follow any specific recipe.
At first, Sirius sat on the couch, staring off into the distance absently, instead of participating. He was completely silent, and absolutely still. It was a little eerie, once Harry noticed it. He had a blank expression, and a dejected look in his eyes, and Harry couldn’t help but remember the way he looked in the photos from his stay in Azkaban.
He didn’t want the man to feel that way anymore, so he approached him with an empty ornament.
“Mr. Black,” he addressed him quietly. The man blinked, but otherwise didn’t react. “Mr. Black?” Harry repeated, wondering if his godfather had even heard him. This time, he jerked slightly, as if the sound startled him, but didn’t turn to look. Harry put a hand on his shoulder, then called to him again. “Mr. Black,” he called.
This time, Sirius turned to look at the boy, expression still flat. “You know,” he said blandly, “you can call me Sirius.”
“Oh, okay.” Harry frowned at the strange response, but continued on anyways. “I was wondering if you’d like to make an ornament?” He offered the hollow bulb in his hand. Sirius stared at it strangely, then lifted his eyes to meet Harry’s. He gazed into them for a moment, and Harry was afraid he would say no. But after a few seconds, he nodded, then stood. Harry smiled widely at the man, then led him to the table.
Sirius took the proffered ornament, then pondered for a second as he looked over the ingredients. Finally, he picked some out to fill the hollow bulb. He started with a few dried marigold petals, then covered them in bay leaves. He pushed two pieces of a hawthorn twig inside, then followed it up with a small bunch of honeysuckle. He stoppered it with one of the premade corks that already had a hook attached to it, then went to hang it about midway on the left side of the tree.
“I like that one,” Harry complimented. “Could you tell me what it’s for?” he asked. “If you want to, that is.”
Sirius looked down at the boy, mouth pressed firmly into a straight line, but eyes glittering with sadness. “I made it for your parents,” he replied simply.
“Oh.” Harry didn’t really know what to say to that. “That’s kind of you. Um, thanks… and I’m sorry.”
Sirius drew his eyebrows together in confusion, expressing the most emotion Harry had seen on his face that entire morning. “Sorry for what?” he asked.
“Um,” Harry started. “Sorry for your loss. Of my parents, I mean.”
Sirius shook his head. “But, you lost them just as much as I did.”
“Not really though,” Harry explained. “I was too young to know my parents. What I lost was more like an idea of parents, than actual parents. But you did know them. They were actual people that you lost, and I’m sorry for that.”
Sirius frowned pensively as he considered what Harry said. “You’re very clever,” he complimented. “You’re much too insightful for an eleven-year-old boy.” Tentatively, he reached an arm out and wrapped it around Harry’s shoulder in an awkward sort of half hug. Harry could tell it was strange for the man, and wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it either, but cherished the contact anyways.
They both went back to making ornament charms with the others, and soon the tree was covered in wishes of good will, hopes for fair fortune, and a single ornament meant as a curse to those who wished to ruin tradition.
That ornament was the subject of the only actual argument between Sirius and Aunt Wally that Harry had witnessed so far.
Sirius just knew it was meant as a thinly veiled threat against muggleborns, and remanded his mother for it.
“I will break that if you put it on the tree!” he threatened. “It’s a symbol of hate, and it has no place there!”
“It’s your mother’s tree,” Mr. Malfoy cut in, voice weary with exasperation. “She can put whatever she wants on it.” He balanced his elbows on the arms of his chair and rubbed his temples, as if the arguing were giving him a headache.
“Quit being so dramatic, child!” Aunt Wally scolded. “Of course, it’s a symbol of hate! I’d hate anyone who wants to threaten our culture! You should too!”
“Don’t act like this is about culture!” Sirius yelled. “This is about your blood purism, plain and simple!”
“It’s really not!” Aunt Wally argued. She waved her Trinket around in his face. “Not with these! These prove blood status doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is magic and tradition. Anyone who wants to threaten that deserves to be cursed.”
“I don’t believe that for a second! Your racism comes second only to that of Voldemort’s! There’s no way I’m buying that you’ve just abandoned all that because of a couple of bracelets!”
“She’s right!” Harry interrupted. Sirius turned to look at the young wizard, perplexed expression twisted onto his face. “I mean,” Harry continued. “She believes what she believes, but it’s a little hard to argue about muggleborn and halfblood when you’ve got these Trinkets saying that it doesn’t matter. Look!” He showed his own Trinket to Sirius. “I should be a halfblood, but this says I’m Pureblood. If she was still as blood purist as you say, she wouldn’t even tolerate me. Let alone allow me to stay in her home.”
Sirius couldn’t argue that Harry had a point. He just couldn’t believe that he was actually sticking up for Walburga.
“The Trinkets prove that everyone was wrong about the way magical genes work,” Harry continued. “So, none of that stuff matters anymore,” Harry continued. “It’s a hard thing to accept, but it’s true. Aunt Wally’s being honest when she says it all about culture. She even said herself that she wants to teach muggleborn children how to behave like proper magical folk. Like she’s doing with me.”
Sirius stared at Harry, not wanting to argue with him, but unwilling to believe.
Narcissa stood up and put a hand on her cousin’s shoulder. “A lot has changed in the years since you’ve been away. Most of these changes are very recent. So, I get it’s difficult to get accustomed to them so quickly, but we have all honestly changed.”
“Some, more than others,” Mr. Malfoy interjected. “But it’s like Mr. Potter said. It’s hard to argue when the proof that you’re wrong is sitting in your face.” He twisted his own wrist around, jingling his Trinket noisily as if to emphasize his point.
Having recognized his defeat, Sirius huffed in exasperation then stormed out of the room. Harry wanted to go follow the man, but Aunt Wally put a firm hand on his shoulder and smiled down to him proudly.
Harry was more confused than ever. He was happy to have made Aunt Wally proud, and was hard put not to preen under her attentions. But he didn’t want to push Sirius away either. He was in a difficult predicament. He needed to tread carefully, but he wasn’t sure at all how to do that.
Sirius stayed hidden away for the rest of the afternoon.
Meanwhile, Harry and Draco were busy investigating the library. Aunt Wally only agreed to let them, under the condition that Mr. Malfoy chaperone their excursion. At first, Harry didn’t understand why they would need a chaperone to read books. By the 3rd book that attempted to bite him, he was starting to get it.
Harry reached up to grab a book on one of the higher shelves. It was titled “Beginners Guide to Spellcrafting Vol 3: Dark Curses.” He didn’t think he’d actually try any, but it was the first book on spellcrafting that he saw that wasn’t glowing a strange color. He thought the topic was interesting and wanted to give it a look. Right before his finger made contact with the spine, a silver snake head blocked his reach, brushing his hand out of the way gently.
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” Mr. Malfoy warned. The snake head was the handle of his cane. Harry looked up at him curiously, so Mr. Malfoy gently rapped the snake head against the book. In response, the book created a loud cracking noise and a bright orange light glinted off the point of contact. “I imagine that would have hurt.”
“Uh, thanks, Mr. Malfoy.” Harry was grateful to be protected from burning his hand off, or something equally painful. “If I may,” he started, “why are so many of the books in here cursed?”
“To keep them out of the wrong hands,” Mr. Malfoy replied simply. “This entire townhouse is covered head to toe in curses and protections. This library in particular happens to be the home of many a valued item. Might I direct you to this section,” he gestured to a few rows away, where Draco was skimming a book on potions. “You’ll find its contents to be far less dangerous than here.”
Harry wanted to look around the whole library, but figured he’d rather keep all of his fingers, so he led the way to the section by the windows that overlooked London. The blinds were open and streaming in lots of light, but Harry knew the windows were charmed to look eternally closed from the view off the street.
“Did you know,” Draco asked as Harry walked past him to another shelf. “That if you make a boil curing potion in a solid silver cauldron, that it’ll turn into a skin dissolving acid?”
Harry scoffed. “I had no idea. I guess it’s a good thing Hermione talked you out of buying that silver cauldron to match your eyes, then.”
Malfoy chuckled. He’d forgotten about that. “Could you imagine the look on Professor Snape’s face if I’d have pulled that out on the first day in class?” The boil curing potion was the first one they’d brewed. “Uncle Sev would’ve gone mental.”
“Is it possible for him to go mental?” Harry asked, smiling. “He can be mean, but he’s always so calm. I think it’s even scarier than if he were yelling. What would “going mental” for him even look like?”
Draco laughed. “I don’t know,” he pondered. “He’d probably just glare at you so hard, your head exploded.”
“I don’t think that’s possible!” Harry denied, even as he was caught up in giggles himself.
“Well,” Mr. Malfoy cut in nonchalantly, “if anyone can do it, he certainly can.” That had both boys in a fit, cackling at the unexpectedness of Mr. Malfoy joining in on their teasing of his long-time friend.
After having settled down a few minutes later, Harry went to a shelf against the wall, and randomly selected a book, hoping it wouldn’t cause him any harm. After a second of weighing it in his hands, it seemed innocuous enough. So, he took it back over by the window, settling into one of the cushy green chairs that were spread about in the streams of light.
He skimmed the table of contents and found a section about the famous alchemist, Nicolas Flamel. As Harry recalled, he’d created the philosopher’s stone. It was a stone that could turn any metal into gold, or could become the Elixir of Life.
That sounded rather interesting, so he decided to read that. Surprisingly, there was a lot of information about Dumbledore in the article. Harry hadn’t realized that they’d worked so closely in the past.
When he finished the article, the Philosopher’s Stone was on his mind for a while after. Such a valuable stone likely had to be under threat of being stolen at all times. He wondered where a person would hide such a thing. Flamel was 600 years old. He was clearly a powerful wizard, but Harry doubted anyone that old could be at their dueling best. It would need a lot more protection than Flamel could likely give.
Draco and Harry soon grew bored of the library and headed to one of the townhouse’s many empty rooms to hang out in. They started off playing exploding snap, but eventually abandoned it in favor of practicing their spellwork.
Harry was grateful that neither Aunt Wally nor Narcissa cared if they practiced magic. After learning the way that the trace on underage wands worked, it was rather pointless in a house full of wizards anyways. Just another way that muggleborn students were disadvantaged from their lack of magical heritage.
The boys were laughing hysterically at their failed attempt to transfigure a pillow into a frog, when Narcissa found them. They had so many tears in their eyes, they could barely even see the shiny cylindrical pillow with slimy green legs anymore, as it hopped around the room.
“There you are,” Narcissa called. “It’s time to come down for dinner.” With a wave of her wand, she turned the hopping bolster pillow back to its original form, and it landed gently on the couch.
“Aw!” Draco groaned for a second, but then he stood up from the spot on the floor where he’d doubled over in laughter, and followed a still smiling Harry out the door.
Dinner was another peaceful affair, with lots of desserts. Sirius was still missing, and didn’t finally show up until about an hour afterwards.
The Malfoys, Blacks, and Harry were gathered in the sitting room, preparing to open gifts. Draco and Harry sat on the floor near the tree, doling out the presents to their respective recipients.
Sirius came slinking into the room quietly and sat on the floor in the furthest corner from the others. None of the adults paid him much attention, but Harry watched as he walked across the room, and offered him a small smile when he sat down. The older man didn’t smile back, but offered him a head nod in return.
When all of the presents were properly dispersed, Harry was surprised at how large his pile was. Given his treatment by the Dursleys, he didn’t often receive anything for Christmas. When he did, it was never much more than an old coat hanger, a box of pencils, or hand me down socks. From the Malfoy-Black family, he’d received enough presents to make Dudley jealous.
He liked Yule a lot more than Christmas already.
He received several books, a few wizard board and card games he’d never heard of, lots of candy, more expensive robes that everyone else claimed were “casual,” and a host of other things. He’d never felt so spoiled in his life. He treasured the feeling.
There were a few items of note, one of them being a lumpy package from Dumbledore with a long letter accompanying it. As soon as Harry saw who it was from, he was a bit wary of opening it. He didn’t even bother to read the letter. He just set it aside and moved on to a different present, deciding to open that one last.
He was very excited about the gift he received from Mr. Malfoy. It matched Draco’s, but it was absolutely perfect. They each got a brand new Nimbus 2000 broomstick. Harry couldn’t wait to ride his. He nearly dropped the rest of his gifts and took off with it in the house. He glanced at Uncle Arty, who was grinning at him pleasantly, but decided not to. He was a quiet, old man, but something told Harry that he was worse than Aunt Wally when angered.
He hadn’t been expecting a gift from Sirius at all, so he was taken by surprise to even see one. When he opened it, he was absolutely heartbroken.
Sirius had given him a scrapbook full of pictures of his parents and their friends in their Hogwarts days. Every few pages, there were handwritten notes, doodles, and even a few full letters that were spellotaped to the pages.
Harry could feel his eyes burning with tears that wanted to be shed, but he wouldn’t allow it. He closed the book quickly, hugging it to his chest before looking up at Sirius. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and said, “Thank you, Sirius.” The man looked up at him cautiously and met his eyes. “This is the greatest thing anyone has ever given to me,” he added, sincerely.
Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. Instead, he snapped his mouth shut and nodded at Harry in acceptance, before dropping his eyes down to the floor near his own pile of presents that he hadn’t even touched.
Harry kept the book in his lap as he moved to open the only thing he had left, Dumbledore’s gift. He flipped it over in his hands, eyeing it warily, still not sure if he wanted to open it or not.
“What’s that one you got, there?” Draco asked, setting aside the kit of vials and jars for potions ingredients that he received from Severus.
“Dunno,” Harry admitted. “I’m not sure if I want to open it. It’s from Dumbledore.”
Aunt Wally grimaced when she heard the name, turning away from the portrait of herself that Narcissa gifted her with.
“What could that old fool possibly want?” the portrait asked haughtily.
“Probably trying to weasel his way into Harry’s good graces,” the real Aunt Wally replied. “I’m sure he’s realized by now that my Harry wants nothing to do with him.”
“I don’t know why he’s so obsessed with our boys,” the portrait exclaimed. “First, he turned Sirius against us. He tried to get Regulus, but he was too clever for the man’s nonsense.” Across the room, Sirius scoffed at that statement, but the portrait ignored him. “Then he got Sirius locked up for no reason, and now he’s after my Harry. You’d think he has some type of complex or something.”
“That man’s no good at all,” Aunt Wally agreed. “He’s poison, I tell you.” She turned to Harry, who was glowing with pride at being considered one of her boys. “Go on then,” she urged. “Open it, and let’s see.”
Harry couldn’t quell the golden feeling he had inside, even as he tore open the plainly wrapped gift. Inside it was a silky, silvery fabric. He unfolded it to reveal that it was a cloak.
Upon seeing it, Sirius gasped loudly. “I don’t believe it!” he cried, standing up with incredulity. It was the first time he spoke that evening.
“What is it?” Aunt Wally asked, not seeing all the fuss.
“That’s James’ invisibility cloak!”
“Invisibility cloak?” Draco asked with a mischievous glint in his eye, at the same time that Harry asked-
“My father’s?” He stood with it, and wrapped it around his shoulders. His entire body disappeared, so now he looked like only a floating head.
Draco cackled at him, partly in amusement, and partly in anticipation of the trouble they could get up to with it.
“Yes,” Sirius replied, walking over to where Harry was. “It’s been in the Potter family for generations. Your grandfather wasn’t even entirely sure how long they’d had it.” He reached a hand out, brushing his fingers against the light fabric. He pinched his fingers to grab some, then pulled it a bit closer to himself, revealing just a bit of Harry’s torso. He relished in the nostalgic feeling of the cloak, remembering times long lost, before letting it go. “I wonder how Dumbledore got to it,” he mused aloud. “This should have been in the Potter Vault.”
“He has the key,” Harry replied.
“What?” Sirius asked in confusion.
“He has the key,” Harry repeated. “When I went to Diagon Alley on my birthday, Hagrid already had the key to my vault. Said he got it from Dumbledore.”
Sirius shook his head. “That makes no sense. Dumbledore wasn’t the beneficiary to anything in your parents’ will. I was with them when they drafted it. Their accounts should have gone to me, then when I was arrested, it should have gone to the Longbottoms. When they were incapacitated, it should have reverted back to the Blacks, to remain sealed until you came of age. The only thing you should have access to right now is your trust fund vault, and the cloak wouldn’t have been in there.
“Your parents’ other vaults and accounts should have been sealed, then become property of the House of Black. No one should be able to get into them.”
The portrait scoffed again. It was a very talkative thing. “We already knew that Dumbledore has no concern for propriety.”
“Or the law,” the real Aunt Wally finished.
Harry had gotten caught on something Sirius said. “Accounts?” he mumbled to himself. So then, that vault he saw with all of those galleons was only a small portion of his parents’ fortune? He couldn’t fathom how much money it must have been.
“So, my family was filthy bloody rich,” he said aloud, interrupting Aunt Wally besmirching the headmaster’s name. “But, I was forced to live in a cupboard all my life?” His voice was full of rage, whole body shaking slightly as he tugged the cloak from his shoulders. “Because of Dumbledore?”
“WHAT?” Sirius exclaimed. The entire room went silent, with the exception of the gramophone in the corner, playing music quietly.
Harry could feel that all eyes were on him. Part of him was embarrassed at his admission, but he was too angry for it to bother him.
“You lived in a cupboard?” Sirius asked, face drawn into a blank expression that somehow showcased every ounce of his fury. “They put you in a cupboard?” he gestured to his family, eyes locked on Harry’s.
Harry’s surprise at the accusation was strong enough to temporarily distract him from the anger he felt. “No!” he insisted.
“We would never!” Aunt Wally cried.
“The Dursleys did that to me,” Harry explained. “They treated me like a slave! Worse than a house elf! Like a… a freak.”
“Hold on,” Sirius took a step back, trying to wrap his head around what Harry was saying. Just then, Harry realized he never had the chance to give Sirius that explanation he’d asked for earlier. So, the man must have come to his own conclusions. Clearly, they weren’t very near to the truth.
“You mean Lily’s evil sister, and her hateful lump of a husband? Who the hell took you to the DURSLEYS?” Sirius still had a blank face, but his voice loud and echoing across the room.
“Hagrid did,” Harry answered, anger swelling back up slowly. “On Dumbledore’s orders. That’s what he told me.”
Sirius’ face paled, and he took a few more steps back, legs stiff and moving awkwardly. He dropped his eyes to the floor, frowning, and almost appearing to draw in on himself.
“That’s utterly outrageous!” Aunt Wally stood from her seat, brushing past Sirius and coming to envelope Harry in her arms. “I knew that muggle scum treated you poorly, but I didn’t know it was that bad!”
“Absolutely disgusting!” the portrait added from where it had been left on the seat. “Poisonous little creatures! All of them! That utter filth would dare treat my Harry poorly? They should be eradicated!”
“Perhaps,” Narcissa added quietly, patting Uncle Arty on the shoulder where he seemed to be wearing an expression as acidic as the one Sirius had been bearing moments ago. “It is possible that Dumbledore didn’t know the extent to which they were treating him…”
“No,” Harry contradicted. “He knew all about it. My first Hogwarts letter was addressed to the Cupboard Under the Stairs.”
“First?” Draco asked.
“Well,” Harry elaborated, not even trying to move from where he was folded into Aunt Wally’s chest. “The Dursleys didn’t want me to go to Hogwarts, so they wouldn’t let me read the letter. After that, they moved me to a bedroom. I was sent more letters, and they were addressed to the Second Bedroom. Technically, I received hundreds, if not thousands. The Dursleys kept taking them from me until the whole house exploded with them.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Draco scoffed, but Harry wasn’t finished.
“After that,” he continued, “they moved us all out of the house and we were on the run for a while, staying in random hotels, and driving around for days, but the letters kept coming. Eventually, the day before my birthday, my uncle rented a cabin on a tiny island off the coast somewhere, out in the middle of a storm. Right after midnight was when Hagrid barged in and explained everything to me. Some of it, anyways.”
“Why on earth would they try so hard to keep you from going to Hogwarts?” Draco asked. “If they hated you that much, you’d think they’d send you just to get you away.”
“Because they didn’t just hate Harry,” Sirius explained in a dejected tone. “They hated magic entirely.”
Harry nodded. “They wanted to force the magic out of me. They hoped if I didn’t learn it, it would just go away.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of,” Lucius muttered. It had been the first time he spoke in a while.
Aunt Wally hugged Harry tighter for a moment, before letting him go and putting her hands on his shoulders. She looked him right in the eye, making sure he understood the seriousness of her next words. “I hadn’t expected you to go back there this summer anyways. However, rest assured knowing that Dumbledore will have to pry you out of my cold dead fingers before I allow you to be sent back there.”
“Even if he manages that,” Lucius added, “he’s got the full force of the Malfoys to deal with as well.” Narcissa nodded, and Draco looked resolute as well.
The anger in Harry seeped out and was replaced by a familial warmth as he realized that he had so many people around to support him. It wasn’t something he was used to, but he completely trusted these people, and knew they would follow through on their words.
“Harry,” Uncle Arty spoke up. The typically quiet man surprised Harry with his words. Harry hadn’t heard him say anything at all since their introduction at dinner the night before. His deep, raspy voice was a surprise amongst the din of the others’ chatter. “Tell me,” he asked, a curious light in his eyes, “what exactly did the address of your first letter say?”
“It said, ‘Mr. H. Potter. The Cupboard Under the Stairs. Four, Privet Drive. Little Whinging, Surrey.’” Harry recited it from memory. Somehow, the words seemed to be etched into his mind, from that first moment onward.
“Ah.” Arcturus nodded his head, but said nothing else. Harry wasn’t sure what he’d been looking for, but he appeared to have found it.
“Well then,” Narcissa stood from her seat. “I think that’s enough drama for one night.” And with that, all discussion of Dumbledore and the Dursleys came to an end. “Dobby, Kreacher!” she called, and the 2 elves appeared in front of her. “Why don’t you two help move all of these presents to their respective owners’ rooms?” Both elves bowed to her, then set about their task, vanishing with groups of presents one at a time.
“Drilby,” Narcissa called another house elf that Harry hadn’t met yet. He appeared before her in the standard grubby pillowcase, with slightly droopy lids half covering his bulbous brown eyes. “I’ll leave it to you to clear the trash from the presents and neaten up in here.” Drilby bowed deeply, then set about his own task.
“Boys,” she continued. “You two should prepare for bed.” Draco opened his mouth to complain, but she cut him off. “I know it’s not late, but I’m sure you’ll want to be well rested when we drop by the Manor in the morning for you to test out your brooms.”
That was enough to get Draco off the floor and moving. Aunt Wally gave Harry a kiss on the top of the head, before allowing him to trail off behind the blonde.
“Now,” Narcissa’s voice drifted into the hall as the boys headed up the stairs. “Why don’t we find a place to hang that portrait of yours, dear Auntie?”