Written in the Stars - The Final
The Final
It was rather disconcerting how much Harry resembled Charlus Potter as he paced back and forth, his expression thunderous and small bolts of lightning crackling at his fingertips.
At only fourteen-years-old, he already cut quite the intimidating figure, and Cassiopeia could only imagine how much more prominent that would become the older he grew.
“Is that all Dumbledore had to say?” Harry asked.
Cassiopeia nodded as she reflected on the conversation she had shared with the man.
She too was feeling a mixture of confusion and anger, and she had ensured Dumbledore had known her feelings before they parted.
Flashback
“You’re telling me that the man that Sirius murdered is not dead?”
Dumbledore nodded severely.
“According to two people whom I trust implicitly, Pettigrew is very much alive,” he confirmed. “He admitted that it was him that sold the Potters out to Voldemort. I believe that it was also him that murdered the muggles.”
“So, Sirius is innocent?”
“It would seem so,” Dumbledore sighed.
Cassiopeia released a deep breath.
“How did Pettigrew escape?”
“In a most unfortunate incident,” Dumbledore murmured sorrowfully. “Having been exposed to the Minister, he sent the man who had accompanied him to fetch the Aurors. That man was suspected to be a follower of the Dark Lord, but nothing was ever proven. Instead of the Aurors, he returned with Lucius Malfoy. I have no doubt they took advantage of the situation and allowed Pettigrew to escape.”
“And this Lupin did nothing to prevent it?”
Dumbledore deflated.
“Remus is a werewolf, and as luck that night would have it, it was a full moon,” he explained. “He transformed in front of Cornelius, and Hagrid was forced to intervene. There was a violent confrontation in which he was severely injured, and Remus fled. Naturally, Cornelius believed it would be best for all involved that the entire incident was forgotten about, including the re-emergence of Peter Pettigrew.”
“Which means that Sirius is still wanted.”
Dumbledore nodded.
“But still innocent,” he pointed out.
Cassiopeia snorted.
“He is still a fool,” she declared. “Why has Lupin or this Hagrid not pressed the matter?”
“You know how the public perceives werewolves,” Dumbledore reminded her, “and Hagrid’s words too would fall on deaf ears. He is of a similar position to Remus.”
“A werewolf?”
“Thankfully not,” Albus denied. “No, his own blood prevented him from being contaminated with lycanthropy. He is a half-giant.”
Cassiopeia shook her head irritably.
“So, there is nothing that can be done.”
“For the time being, I do not think so,” Dumbledore murmured unhappily. “Remus’s status was released to the media, and he has taken his leave of the castle of his own volition.”
“Lucius?”
Dumbledore nodded.
“He is a school governor, and he would not want his son to be educated by a werewolf.”
“What a mess,” Cassiopeia muttered. “Harry will not take this well.”
“But he deserves to know the truth.”
“He does,” Cassiopeia agreed. “I will speak with him, but I wouldn’t expect him to jump for joy.”
“Thank you,” Dumbledore replied gratefully. “What will you do about Sirius?”
“I do not know,” Cassiopeia answered uncertainly. “Despite what you have told me, his innocence has not been determined. Ultimately, it will be up to Harry what happens to him. As things stand, the world believes him a murderer, and he is wanted by the Ministry.”
Dumbledore nodded his understanding.
“I will attempt to find him,” he assured her. “Perhaps I will have more success than the Ministry.”
“Then I hope you find him before I do,” Cassiopeia snorted. “He may be innocent, but he is still a fool.”
With that, she took her leave of The Hog’s Head, before activating the portkey that would take her home, pondering all she had learned of what had transpired at Hogwarts.
End Flashback
“Do you trust what Dumbledore told you?” Harry asked.
Cassie nodded.
“I don’t see why he would lie.”
Harry hummed thoughtfully.
“So, Malfoy and Macnair?”
“You already know everything you will ever need to know about Malfoy,” Cassie assured Harry. “The Macnair family are nothing.”
“And this Pettigrew?”
“I can only assume that he was a close friend of your father,” Cassie answered with a shrug. “He must have been if he was trusted to be your secret keeper.”
“Was he though?”
“I don’t know, Harry, but the fact that he is alive and has gone to such great lengths to conceal it is troubling.”
Harry nodded.
“I want the truth, all of it,” he declared. “If Sirius didn’t give my parents up, then he has suffered a miscarriage of justice, and if Pettigrew really is as guilty as he appears, I will make the last moments of his life more miserable than he could ever imagine.”
Cassie felt herself filled with pride at his words.
“I will keep looking for Sirius.”
“Good,” Harry murmured. “If he is guilty in any way, have him taken back to Azkaban, and warn him if he escapes again, I will personally feed his soul to the Dementors.”
It was a cold approach, but it was a decision that only Harry had the right to make, and one Cassiopeia agreed with.
Harry may not be able to be seen killing a member of the family he would be head of, but the other Lords and Ladies would expect a suitable punishment for Sirius’s crimes.
If, however, Sirius was indeed innocent and it could be proved, they would equally expect Harry to see that his godfather was free and that the Black family was suitably compensated for the slight against them, unintended or not.
“I will leave it with you, for now,” Harry decided. “I need to let this all set in, and I still have the match to go to tomorrow for Viktor.”
“The others will be joining you?”
Harry nodded.
“For this one,” he confirmed, “but they are still waiting for the visitors visas from Britain for the final if Bulgaria wins tomorrow.”
“They still haven’t arrived?”
Harry shook his head.
“I don’t think they will,” he sighed. “Britain is less tolerant than most other countries, and they’re not likely to allow a werewolf, vampire, half-elf, and whatever Jonas is in if it can be avoided.”
Cassiopeia offered Harry a sad smile.
“Well, I hope it works out for them.”
Harry shrugged.
“If it doesn’t, there is something else waiting that will make the trip worth it, even without the Quidditch.”
“Why do I have a feeling that you’re up to something, Harry?” Cassie sighed.
“Because I am,” Harry answered unashamedly. “I’m rather interested in meeting Fudge, and it just so happens that the Bulgarian Minister will be attending the final. Now, where do you think he will be sitting?”
“With Fudge, and likely Malfoy,” Cassiopeia pointed out.
“Exactly,” Harry replied with a mischievous smirk. “And guess who is the Bulgarian Minister’s favourite person right now? I could get a seat with him rather easily.”
Cassie could only shake her head as Harry took his leave of the room.
She had been encouraging him to prepare for his eventual interactions with the likes of Malfoy, but she had not expected him to seek it out so soon.
Still, it would be in a favourable situation, and Malfoy would be compelled to behave in front of such an important foreign dignitary.
Perhaps Harry was not acting as rashly as she had first thought.
In a way, she felt sorry for Lucius.
The man had no idea just what a menace Harry was.
(Break)
Albus watched as Alastor emerged from the pensieve and returned to his seat on the opposite side of the desk, every other step he took echoing with a dull thud.
“I think it is proof enough,” the ex-auror declared. “Not that it will mean anything to the Ministry, especially with Fudge now ignoring it. Why would he not seek the truth?”
“Because acknowledging one truth will lead to others coming to light,” Albus sighed, “truths that Cornelius will never be able to accept.”
Alastor frowned at him questioningly.
“Voldemort,” Albus added simply.
“You believe he is alive?”
“I know for certain that he is,” Albus returned severely. “I encountered him twice in the past two years.”
Alastor leaned back in his chair as he released a deep breath.
“I can only guess that he is in no state to be in the position he was before the night at the Potter’s.”
“Indeed,” Albus confirmed, “but he is as resourceful as they come. It is only a matter of time.”
“Bloody hell,” Moody cursed unhappily. “What of Lupin?”
“Gone,” Albus murmured. “He is most upset by what happened. He visited Hagrid to offer his apologies, took his belongings and left. I expect that he too will be looking for Sirius.”
Alastor grunted his agreement.
“Pettigrew?”
“Nothing has been seen nor heard.”
Alastor nodded his understanding.
“I have no doubt that Malfoy and Macnair aided him,” he deduced. “Just imagine what Pettigrew would have revealed had he been arrested and fed veritaserum.”
“My thoughts reflect your own, old friend,” Albus replied.
“So, what do we do now?”
“There is little that can be done. Pettigrew will return to the one person he believes can protect him, and Voldemort will have a loyal servant once more. Even someone as incompetent as Pettigrew will be of great help. I expect he will return sooner rather than later.”
“That’s why you want me here this year?”
“Partly,” Albus confirmed, “but also because we will be hosting the Tri-wizard tournament, and Durmstrang has consented to join in.”
“Karkaroff,” Moody growled.
Albus nodded.
“He may no longer harbour loyalty to Voldemort, but I would be remiss in my duties if steps were not taken to ensure he remains civil and respectable.”
“Then I will do it,” Moody declared. “I’ll take the post, but for this year only.”
“Thank you, Alastor,” Albus returned gratefully.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Moody warned. “I do not think your students will. I will work them harder than they have been worked before.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Albus chuckled. “Now, would you come with me to visit Hagrid? He is still feeling rather put out, despite being awarded his Order of Merlin, Second Class.”
Alastor nodded and stood.
Albus led the man through the corridors of Hogwarts until they came to the Hospital Wing.
Entering, and spotting the enormous man in a bed that had been created to accommodate him, Alastor, a man who was no stranger to rather gruesome injuries, winced at the sight of the gamekeeper.
His face was heavily scarred from his fight with the werewolf, some of the seemingly healed wounds still weeping slightly.
Madame Pomfrey had been doing an admirable job caring for the man, but the injuries he’d sustained were not negligible, and Hagrid would carry the heavy scarring for the rest of his days.
Still, he remained rather upbeat under the circumstances.
Albus suspected he was merely happy that he had not contracted lycanthropy, nor did he seem to be suffering any significant side effects from his wounds.
“How are you today, Hagrid?” Albus enquired.
“I’m alright,” the man answered with a shrug. “Just looking forward to getting back to work.”
Albus chuckled amusedly as he gestured to Alastor who was still eying Hagrid thoughtfully.
“I’m sure you remember Alastor Moody. He will be joining us as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor this year.”
Hagrid nodded.
“Remus left then?”
“He did,” Albus confirmed. “We could not risk another incident, not after what happened to you or could have happened to the others.”
Hagrid scowled unhappily.
“They won’t tell the truth about Black, will they?”
Albus shook his head.
“I’m afraid not,” he sighed. “The truth would be problematic for those who currently control what the truth is. It was no coincidence that Pettigrew was able to get away.”
Hagrid nodded his understanding.
“What about little Harry, does he know?”
“I suspect he does by now,” Albus mused aloud. “What he will do with that information, I can only speculate, but I expect he will use it to his advantage.”
“Whatever happened to the lad?” Alastor asked curiously. “I’ve not heard any whispers of him being here.”
“Because he isn’t,” Albus explained. “He chose to be educated at Durmstrang.”
Alastor unleashed a bark of laughter.
“Oh, he’ll learn a thing or two there,” he declared, rubbing his gnarled hands together.
“Of that, I have no doubt,” Albus murmured as he turned his attention back towards Hagrid. “Worry not, I imagine everything will work out in the end. I certainly do not expect the silence on the matter will last.”
(Break)
It was the first time Harry had been in Britain since he had been a baby, and if he was honest with himself, there was no semblance of it feeling like his home. If anything, he felt like a foreign visitor.
Still, he would only be here for a short stay.
A single overnight visit, and then he would return to Greece for the remainder of his summer holiday.
Nonetheless, he felt put out being here alone.
All of his friends from school had received a letter only the previous day, denying them a visitor’s visa to watch the world cup final between Bulgaria and Ireland.
He had expected such, but it certainly had not endeared his homeland to him.
Despite this, Harry had decided to come to see Viktor play, and perhaps have a little fun of his own should the opportunity present itself.
Purposely, he had allowed himself to be seen publicly around the stadium, and as he had believed, it hadn’t taken long for the pointing and whispers to begin from those old enough to remember the look of the male Potters.
Not that Harry had hung around long enough to be approached, but he had left those that had recognised him with no doubt as to who he was.
Soon enough, the rumours of his presence would spread, and if Fudge hadn’t already planned on inviting the Bulgarian minister to sit with him, he certainly would now.
The man would be unable to resist being the first in Britain to be photographed with Harry.
For those that lived through the war, it would be a strong political statement.
The thought of offering Fudge any such favour sickened Harry, but sometimes sacrifices needed to be made towards a future goal.
“You are very popular, Mr Potter,” Minister Popov murmured from his left where they were surrounded by a contingency of white-robed aurors.
Harry nodded in response as they were shown into an empty box in the stadium.
These were excellent seats, but they were not granted much time to enjoy them before they were intruded upon.
“Minister Popov, Minister Fudge offers an invitation for you and your guest to join him in the top box.”
Popov replied in his native tongue and Harry nodded.
“What did he say?” the English auror questioned.
“He said that he would be delighted.”
“I’d rather be left alone,” Popov grumbled, releasing a deep sigh as they were led from the room.
“Don’t worry, Minister, I’m sure I will be providing you with additional entertainment. If you wish to enjoy it more, pretend you do not speak their language.”
Popov smirked as he nodded.
“Viktor said I would not regret spending time with you, Mr Potter.”
“Then I am glad to be of service.”
Popov chuckled, and Harry offered a smile to the scowling auror who eyed them unhappily.
“Are you Potter?” he asked.
“I am,” Harry confirmed.
The auror grunted dismissively, his gaze trailing over Harry critically.
“Here we are,” he declared only a moment later, showing Harry, Popov, and their group of aurors into an even larger box than the one they had originally been allocated.
“Ah, Minister Popov!” Fudge gushed, shaking the Bulgarian minister’s hand enthusiastically. “It is so very nice to meet you.”
“His hands are sweating,” Popov muttered.
“Cowards tend to sweat.”
Popov nodded as he smiled.
“The Minister is pleased to make your acquaintance also,” Harry replied to Fudge.
The man froze, his eyes shifting towards Harry’s scar.
“Harry Potter,” he greeted him in a whisper. “I’d heard rumours that you were here.”
“And of whom I am here with, I expect,” Harry chuckled.
Fudge nodded thoughtfully.
“It is possible,” he agreed. “May I introduce you to my other guests. Of course, we have Lucius Malfoy and his beautiful wife, Narcissa.”
Whatever beauty the Black-born woman possessed was nullified by the sour expression she wore.
Harry couldn’t blame her really.
Anyone married to a Malfoy couldn’t have a fulfilling life.
Were it not for Harry knowing the truth of the man’s character, Lucius Malfoy would cut quite the impressive figure.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and stood straight as he leaned on an intricately crafted cane. His blue eyes brimmed with cunning, but Harry once more reminded himself of what he knew.
Malfoy was the very definition of the word coward.
“Potter,” the man greeted Harry quietly, narrowing his eyes at him.
“Malfoy,” Harry acknowledged in return. “Mrs Malfoy,” he added, emphasising the name she now carried.
Fudge watched the back and forth between them almost nervously, but the tension was broken by a chuckle from Popov.
“He postures like a prized cock.”
“He does,” Harry agreed. “The Minister says he has heard of you and is pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Malfoy somehow stood taller from the recognition and offered Popov a shallow bow.
“Tell him it is an honour to share this momentous occasion with him.”
“He’s trying to kiss your arse now, Minister,” Harry spoke to his companion.
“And doing a terrible job at it,” Popov said airily.
“The Minister says that the honour is his,” Harry translated with a smile.
Malfoy lapped it up, and Fudge momentarily panicked and dropped his bowler hat before addressing the crowd and introducing the two teams.
The stadium erupted as Viktor was announced, and Fudge grinned as though the masses were cheering for him.
When the balls were released and the game had begun, Fudge took a seat and leaned back in it.
“It is a shame that Draco isn’t with us,” he declared with a gentle frown. “I suppose it would have been nice for Harry here to have someone his own age to speak with.”
“Draco had already promised that he would sit with the Notts,” Lucius explained. “As a Malfoy, it would have been rude to go back on his word.”
“Indeed,” Fudge agreed.
“Well, my friends were supposed to be here,” Harry cut in. “The British Ministry, however, denied them visitation visas.”
Fudge’s frown deepened as he sat up.
“That is unacceptable,” he declared. “You should have written to me. I would have personally allowed them entry.”
Harry offered the man a bright smile.
“It is nice to know that the Minister here is not as prejudiced as everyone else I have met.”
“Prejudiced?” Fudge asked cautiously.
Harry nodded.
“My friends, well, one of them is a vampire.”
“A v-vampire?” Fudge choked.
“Another is half-elf,” Harry continued, “oh, and one of them, his mother is a hag.”
“Half-breeds?” Fudge scoffed, and Popov’s own scowl deepened.
“I can’t forget the werewolf,” Harry spoke once more, “but we already know you don’t like them, don’t we, Minister? No, you seem to favour rats instead.”
Both Fudge and Lucius looked at one another.
“I do not think I understand,” the former denied and Harry chuckled darkly.
“You know exactly what I mean,” he countered. “The fact that Sirius Black is in fact innocent of the crimes he was imprisoned for.”
Evidently, this was news to Narcissa whose eyes widened in shock.
“H-how?” Fudge stammered.
“Secrets do not remain that way, even if you have those that would do everything they could to cover them up. I do find myself wondering, however, why you would allow Pettigrew his freedom. It would have been better if you’d killed him. Dead men tell no tales, after all,” he added to Lucius who narrowed his eyes.
“You have proof of nothing,” the man hissed.
“Not to bring before the Wizengamot,” Harry conceded, “but why does such a thing have to be handled there. In a few years, I will be finished with school and I will be free to spend my time however I wish. If you believe that I will let what happened to my parents go unpunished, then you are in for a rude awakening. Pettigrew will suffer for what he did, as will anyone else who had a hand in it. That is a promise I make here and now, and there is nothing that will stop me.”
Lucius and Fudge said nothing else and Harry offered a friendly chuckle.
“Not that anyone here has anything to fear from me, of course,” he declared. “I can sense that I am in good company with good men. Now, shall we enjoy the rest of the game and watch as Bulgaria loses?”
Once more, Popov scowled at him and Malfoy scoffed.
“Viktor Krum is the best seeker in the world. Bulgaria will not lose.”
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
“I will not argue that Krum is the best,” he replied, “but the Irish chasers are leagues above the Bulgarian ones. They will establish an unassailable lead, and quickly,” he added as the Irish team scored.
Malfoy shook his head.
“No, Krum will catch the Snitch before that happens.”
As much as Harry believed in Viktor, the Irish seeker was excellent defensively and would be able to keep him away from the Snitch long enough.
“Well, we will have to agree to disagree,” Harry shrugged. “My bet is that the Irish will win, but Krum will get the Snitch.”
“Preposterous,” Fudge muttered. “No seeker would make that catch if it meant their team would lose.”
Viktor would, and he had told Harry as much.
He had yet to be beaten in a professional match, and at the very least, he could ensure his national team did not lose by an embarrassing margin.
“That’s my prediction,” Harry reiterated.
“A fool’s bet,” Malfoy declared, eying Harry as though he was such.
“We will see.”
“Then why don’t you put your gold where your mouth is,” Malfoy challenged.
“How much?”
“One hundred galleons,” Malfoy decided calculatingly.
“Make it five hundred, and it might be worth my time.”
“I was not aware that the Potters had such a sum to spare on such a frivolity,” Narcissa Malfoy interjected.
“I expect what you don’t know about my family would be rather surprising, Mrs Malfoy,” Harry returned with a smile.
The woman quirked an eyebrow at him, reminding Harry of Cassie.
There was something of a resemblance between the two.
Not that it surprised him.
All of the women from the Black line he had seen photos or portraits of shared similarities.
“Five hundred it is,” Lucius broke in, confirming the bet.
“What about you, Minister, would you care to make a wager?”
Fudge shook his head.
“I’m afraid that being a servant of the people does not afford me such sums as yourself and Lucius.”
“Then perhaps we can wager on something that involves no financial loss for either of us.”
“Such as?” Fudge questioned cautiously.
“If you win, I will personally advocate for you for your next term as Minister.”
Fudge’s eyes lit up at the offer.
“What if you win?” Lucius interjected.
“I want a pardon for Sirius,” Harry requested. “It does not have to be made public in any way, but I would have his name cleared. That way, I do not have to make such a fuss about it when the time comes for me to join you in a few years.”
“Out of the question,” Malfoy snapped. “Minister, we cannot pardon him. Despite what Potter thinks, he is a dangerous man who is on the loose.”
“You seem to be very interested in the fate of Sirius Black,” Harry observed. “I would think that as a Lord of a great house, you would wish to see justice for another in the same position. You never know when you yourself may need the help of another. I can think of no one more powerful than the Lord Black.”
Lucius’s eye twitched irritably, but Fudge spoke, cutting off any reply he may have offered.
“I think Lucius is right,” he sighed. “Sorry, Harry, but it would be career suicide for me to do so, especially without an explanation. What I will do is lessen the search for him. I will have the Dementors returned to Azkaban and give him a chance to slip through the net. So long as he does so, he will be nothing but a slight stain on the Ministry’s reputation.”
Malfoy was severely displeased by Fudge’s offer, but he did not comment on it, wincing as the Irish scored their tenth goal of the match.
“That is very kind of you, Minister,” Harry replied to Fudge.
As much as he disliked the man, he was still amongst the most powerful people in Britain.
There was more of an advantage to being on his good side than making an enemy of him unnecessarily.
He was a fool who fell for the charm of the likes of Lucius Malfoy, but perhaps he could be swayed in the future.
“It seems that my prediction is becoming more likely,” Harry chuckled. “130 – 10 is not a promising score.”
Lucius’s jaw tightened as yet another Irish goal came.
“Krum still won’t catch it,” he denied irritably.
Harry said nothing as the rest of the game unfolded but smiled triumphantly when his prediction came true.
“You can deposit my winnings into my family account,” he instructed Lucius, who stormed from the box, much to the amusement of the Bulgarian Minister.
“That was quite the risk that paid off, Mr Potter,” Narcissa Malfoy commented, gazing at him through calculated eyes.
“I learnt from the best,” Harry replied. “I’m sure your Aunt Cassie would like for me to pass on her regards.”
“Cassie?” Narcissa whispered, unable to conceal her surprise.
“Come, Narcissa!” the voice of Lucius sounded from the door.
“I would have thought he was getting used to losing by now,” Harry chuckled. “Was it not him and Macnair that Pettigrew got the better of to escape. Now, that would be embarrassing if that information got out. No wonder he wishes to keep the entire affair under wraps.”
Narcissa swallowed deeply as she stared at Harry for a moment.
“I would tread carefully, Potter,” she urged. “Lucius is not an enemy you wish to make.”
“Is he not already my enemy, Mrs Malfoy?”
“I do not think so, but I suppose that depends on you, doesn’t it?”
Harry merely nodded at the woman as she took her leave.
Narcissa was very much mistaken if she believed Harry and Lucius were anything but foes.
He frowned as he caught sight of an elf sitting in the corner, pushing thoughts of the Malfoys aside.
“Who does she belong to?” he asked Fudge.
“Oh, she is Barty Crouch’s,” the man replied. “He was supposed to join us. I suppose he must have gotten caught up with something. His devotion to the Ministry may outstrip even my own.”
Harry hummed as he eyed the diminutive creature.
It wasn’t unusual to ask an elf to queue in their master’s stead if required, but to take a seat in a private box that did not necessitate it was odd.
“I’m afraid you will have to excuse Lucius’s demeanour,” Fudge continued. “He is not accustomed to being bested.”
“Well, maybe he should get used to it,” Harry replied dryly. “The day will come when someone in a position to do so will always best him. You must remember, Minister, that before the war, the Malfoy name was not the one that most feared. His equals were merely pushed aside for a while, but that will change soon enough. In less than three years, things will change.”
Fudge nodded thoughtfully and accepted the offered handshake.
“I cannot help but express my disappointment in what I have seen thus far, Minister,” Harry said firmly. “I would like to think that the changes to come can be for the betterment of us all, and not for the select few.”
“What do you have in mind, Potter?”
“More than you could imagine Minister,” Harry returned cryptically. “I’m sure you can understand that my enemies are plenty, and there are those that will harbour a grudge against me for what happened to their master.”
Fudge chuckled as he shook his head.
“The Death Eaters are already locked up. You have nothing to fear from them.”
“The ones that were convicted,” Harry said pointedly. “You do not strike me as a fool, Minister. You cannot believe that all of them were brought to justice.”
Fudge’s frown deepened, and Harry made his way to the door, pausing and looking at the man a final time.
“It was nice to meet you, Minister, and I do hope that we find ourselves on the same page in the future.”
Fudge said nothing, but offered the slightest of nods, and Harry left, pleased with what he had achieved today.
(Break)
“I think that you are worrying for nothing,” Gellert offered reassuringly. “From what you have told me about him, he is not a fool.”
“But he can be reckless,” Cassiopeia sighed. “He harbours so much anger towards so many, and he has a fiery temper if provoked. I should not have let him go.”
“Perhaps not,” Gellert conceded, “but you said yourself that he will need to stand on his own two feet whilst handling his affairs there. Having you with him would make him appear weak.”
Cassiopeia nodded.
“I know, but maybe I’m just not ready to set him free yet.”
Gellert smirked at her and Cassiopeia flared her nostrils.
“You have raised that boy,” the former pointed out. “He was a defenceless babe when you took him in, but he is not anymore. He may only be fourteen, however, how many have you met throughout your life who can handle himself the way Harry can?”
“Very few,” Cassie murmured. “That doesn’t mean I won’t ever stop worrying about him.”
Gellert offered her a smile.
“At this point, I would not believe you if you told me differently, and I would be disappointed in you if you tried to hide it. You may not have birthed him, but Harry is your boy, is he not?”
Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes at the mocking man who was unfazed by her efforts to immolate him with her glare.
“He is,” she conceded, “but he can still be a reckless prat if the mood takes him.”
Gellert chuckled amusedly.
“Would he be reckless enough to search for Sirius?”
Cassie shook her head.
“No, Harry has agreed that he will let me find him,” she explained. “Whether he is guilty or not, I will find the truth of the matter, and Harry will decide what to do from there. He will soon be head of the family, and he needs to learn how to make those decisions.”
“He does,” Gellert acknowledged. “And if Sirius is innocent?”
“I don’t know,” Cassie sighed. “Is it wrong that a part of me does not want him involved in Harry’s life?”
“No,” Gellert replied. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to keep someone to yourself. I was very much the same with Albus, though it did not end in a way I am happy with. I never wanted for his family to suffer, but I did want him all to myself.”
“Would you have done anything differently?”
Gellert shook his head emphatically.
“I would never have been content with watching the world pass me by as it is,” he explained. “My wish to see my vision come to life would have always been there, no matter what other ventures I may have pursued. No, I believed in the vision so much that I had to follow it, and I regret nothing despite spending the best part of five decades in here.”
“You have a purpose now,” Cassie reminded him.
“I do,” Gellert conceded, “and I would see Harry succeed. He deserves to find some happiness to balance out the misery that haunts him.”
“He does,” Cassie murmured, “but he will not find it until he can allow someone in. His heart is set on destroying his enemies, not beginning what should be his political career or any other expectation that would be had of him from the others on the Wizengamot.”
“Then let us hope his enemies become few, so that he may find a semblance of peace,” Gellert urged.
“And not get himself killed in the process,” Cassiopeia muttered, her mind drifting to just what Harry had been up to since he had arrived in Britain.
(Break)
It was to the smell of burning that Harry was woken to in the early hours, and he grumbled sleepily to himself, cursing the Irish for their celebrations getting out of hand.
All vestiges of the tiredness he felt vanished as a scream in the distance sounded.
It was not one of merriment, nor were the others that followed.
No, something was amiss, and it was causing mass panic.
The sound of pounding footsteps began passing his tent as the wails of distress drew closer, and with a wave of his wand, Harry dressed before stepping outside.
He was almost knocked to the ground by the stampeding witches and wizards, many clinging small children to their chests protectively.
It wasn’t until Harry spotted what they were fleeing from that he had any reaction. And seeing the cluster of people garbed in dark robes and white masks levitating others above them as though it were a sport, it was an unbridled fury he felt.
He had seen them in his dreams throughout his life, gathered at his feet, prostrating themselves, declaring their undying devotion to Voldemort, and boasting of the deeds they had carried out in his name.
As a child, the dreams had terrified him, had seemed so real, but it wasn’t until he had gotten older that he realised they were not merely dreams.
These were events that had taken place.
Still, Harry was not foolish enough to attempt to fight a dozen or so others so brazenly, but he could not bring himself to flee with the others.
The sounds of laughter from the Death Eaters reached him, and his anger only increased as he watched them destroying more tents that were in their path.
What they hoped to achieve, he knew not, but one glance at the woman in her nightgown and her children screaming helplessly only served to remind him of the position he had once been in.
None had come to save him in his moment of need, and seemingly, none would do so now for this family.
Gritting his teeth, Harry removed the cloak left to him by his father and draped it over himself.
Cassie would be furious with him for what she would deem to be reckless behaviour, but Harry could not sit idly by and allow the Death Eaters to continue with their torture.
Working his way through the stragglers of those that were fleeing, he was pleased to see that not all were doing so.
Another group had remained behind to engage the Death Eaters, for what good it was doing.
The small group, consisting of three redheaded men and two women were unable to prevent the advance of Voldemort’s followers. However, they would serve as the perfect distraction so long as they didn’t get themselves killed.
Where were the aurors?
Harry shook his head as he began working his way to the right flank of the Death Eaters, his hand flexing in anticipation.
He had envisioned having this opportunity, and he wouldn’t let it go to waste, not when there was a semblance of justice to be had for what many had suffered for.
When he was in position, he slid the tip of his wand through the gap in his cloak and took aim, choosing a target that was not levitating any of their victims.
Harry cheered internally as his chosen curse slammed into the back of one of the attackers.
The man lurched forward and unleashed a guttural, drawn-out roar of agony, collapsing to the ground and writhing as his robes began melting away, revealing skin that was bubbling.
The display did not go unnoticed, and the fighting seemed to reach a lull as those on both sides looked on in a mix of morbid curiosity and horror.
Without warning, the flailing man was engulfed by fire and his screams intensified.
“HELP HIM!” one of the other Death Eaters roared.
Another cloaked figure stepped forward to do just that, only for the fire to strike out at him and scorch his face.
He too screamed as he wrenched his mask off, pointing his own wand at his face and dousing it in water to alleviate the burn.
Trembling, he staggered back to his feet as the fighting began once more in earnest, and Harry took the opportunity to strike again, flooring a large man as he and another Death Eater faced off with one of the redheads who was struggling to hold his own against the odds.
The man’s knees buckled, and he dropped his wand as he gasped for breath before he was seemingly thrown to his back by an invisible force, the sound of his ribs being torn away from his sternum almost as jarring as the howl that cut through the ensuing battle.
“SOMEONE’S THERE!” one of the Death Eaters shouted, pointing in Harry’s direction, and the teen breathed a sigh of relief as a distraction arrived before any could fire curses towards him.
Not that he was pleased to see the Dark Mark hanging ominously in the sky.
The Death Eaters, however, seemed to lose whatever composure that remained with them at the sight of the mark they used to gather under.
“The m-mark,” one of them gasped, pointing unnecessarily towards it.
“AURORS!” another added, pointing towards the red-robed men and women bearing down on them, finally arriving to do their jobs.
Only a few seconds later, the campsite was bereft of any Death Eaters that remained standing, the first that Harry had struck already succumbing to his disturbing wounds and the second would undoubtedly follow his companion soon.
The curse he’d used was fatal, and only the Blacks were privy to the counter.
“Who’s there?” one of the redheads, the eldest by his ageing appearance, questioned, his wand pointed close to where Harry was standing.
Harry remained still, not answering the challenge, not even daring to breathe despite the adrenaline of what he had just done beginning to wear off.
“What the hell happened here, Arthur?” another redhead, a woman dressed in auror robes demanded.
“Death Eaters, Amelia” Arthur answered. “I think those two are dead,” he added, gesturing to the unmoving figures on the ground.
“Bloody hell,” Amelia muttered as she inspected the bodies. “Who did this?”
Arthur shrugged.
“We were fighting them off, but someone else was here,” he explained. “We didn’t see them, but we saw their curses. Me and my boys will happily surrender our wands for inspection.”
Amelia nodded.
“I’d best take them,” she sighed, holding out her hand. “I need to formally eliminate you from the investigation.”
The three redheads handed the woman their wands without hesitation, and Harry continued to watch, not moving.
“Isn’t that Thorfin Rowle?” one of the other aurors questioned, pointing to the larger of the bodies.
“It is,” Amelia confirmed, “as for the other, I have no idea.”
The man was burnt beyond recognition, his skin charred and expression one of sheer agony.
Perhaps Harry should feel guilty for what he had done, but he didn’t.
These men had tortured many others, those that could not defend themselves and had taken no small amount of joy in it.
They had never faced justice, but that had changed for two of them today.
No, Harry did not feel a shred of guilt for what he had done, not when both had deserved so much worse.
“Well, whoever it was, I don’t suppose they hung around,” Amelia sighed. “What a mess.”
With a slight smirk tugging at his lips, Harry had seen enough, and without any need to remain any longer, he carefully made his retreat, activating his portkey when he reached the woods in the distance.
His trip here had been more productive than he’d expected.
With two enemies down, he was a step closer to righting the wrongs done to him by Voldemort, and this was only the beginning.
If and when the Dark Lord returned, it would not be to pursue and torture those that fled from him and his followers.
No, Harry would be as bold as his mother and father had been, but more prepared.
He may not have truly killed Voldemort when he had been a babe, but he would.
Should the man resurface from whatever hole he was hiding in, Harry would take great pleasure in ending him permanently, ensuring he suffered more than Harry ever had.