"Oui oui!"
A renewed burst of giggles broke out around the table, earning their group yet more looks of annoyance from the other guests in the restaurant. It was the coaches' fault, Harry decided, taking another drink of wine, which was perhaps the best he had ever tasted… not that he had tasted very much until this trip, even though he had a wine cellar at the manor that was supposedly quite well-stocked… wait, what was he thinking about just now…
Harry looked to Gemma next to him and was reminded of how at the start of the meal she had been attempting to speak French to the waitress, only to have failed somewhat spectacularly, leading to her going with the momentum and continuing to speak with an exaggerated accent from then on. Nothing she said seemed to be any funnier than it had been at the start of dinner, and yet it kept getting funnier and funnier in Harry's mind. It was the coaches' fault, Harry decided, taking another drink of wine, which was perhaps the best he—
The realization that his mind was going in circles amused Harry so acutely that he snorted in laughter, unfortunately resulting in wine shooting out of his nose and across the white tablecloth. The table of players, all under seventeen years of age, burst into their loudest laughter yet, which finally managed to get them all thrown out of the restaurant.
"Remember, this is a Muggle neighbourhood!" was the only comment made by any of the coaches, none of whom showed any concern that their players had just gotten them ejected from dinner.
The overall mentality of coaches and administrators involved with the Under-17 World Cup continued to surprise Harry. Practices and meetings had been excessively serious, but now that they were on the road playing, their time off the pitch seemed to have very few restrictions. Perhaps it was to balance the high-intensity gameplay, or maybe the coaches were just used to dealing with adults and were giving them the same freedoms, or perhaps this is just how the UWC always was.
"I don't know that I care," Gemma said after Harry shared these thoughts with her. She had her arm linked with Harry's as they walked down the sidewalk back towards their hotel. "As long as we get to have fun, then I'm all for it."
Deciding not to mention that he was holding up most of her weight to keep her from falling drunkenly onto the sidewalk during this time of fun, Harry just nodded. It took him a few seconds to realize that Gemma was still talking, her head bent over, facing the sidewalk.
"…isn't any reason other than having them all in the one place so often so what do they expect is gonna happen?"
Harry had no idea what she was talking about, but considering the fact that she seemed to not care, he let her continue on, zoning out her ramblings and enjoying the view as they crossed a small bridge. They were outside of Paris near a copse of trees that was being used as the magical boundary for the Quidditch pitch beyond it that was home to the semi-final game between England and France. Whoever won this match would advance to the Underage World Cup final hosted by Lithuania. Harry felt good about their chances, and was pretty sure that if they did win, they would be playing against Germany, who were undefeated going into their own semi-final game against Romania next week.
Fishing in his pocket with one hand while essentially carrying Gemma with the other, Harry thought about the past few weeks spent travelling with the team. He had really enjoyed getting to experience different cultures, and seeing the slight differences in the use of magic from one country to another. It made him wonder about how large a role the Department of International Magical Cooperation actually took in sharing those kinds of differences with other countries, or if the magical community was perhaps still secretive even with each other because of how long they had spent needing to hide their existence from Muggles.
"Is she all right?"
The question came from their right, in a little alcove outside the hotel entrance, and in French. Harry looked over to see a group of girls who looked a few years older than him smoking around a bench. An incredibly pretty girl with white-blonde hair seemed to be the one who was addressing Harry's current situation, which was to be carrying a mostly incoherent Gemma into a hotel in the dark of night.
"Well, she's blackout drunk, and frankly can be a little silly even when she's sober, but other than that, she's fine… most of the time," he said in perfect French.
Doubled over on his arm, Gemma was aware enough at least to laugh at his assessment of her. Harry's playful tone also seemed to have enticed an interaction, as the girl was now walking over to him as her friends whispered and giggled at the situation. Harry could feel himself sobering up after the initial rush of adrenaline at realizing there had been a little group of people he had not already noticed, which was amplified as the girl drew closer. By the time she was standing within arm's reach of him, Harry felt entirely clearheaded, even if it took a bit of effort against the attraction he felt for this girl, which had increased the closer she got. She even smelled amazing, and it took a tremendous amount of self-awareness and effort for Harry to realize that something was not normal here.
Dropping any pretence, but keeping a tight grip on Gemma, Harry drew his wand, keeping it at his side, but amping up his senses to the max, studying each of the girls for any sign of malice. If they were somehow enchanting him…
The blonde-headed girl cocked her head at him ever-so-slightly, her eyes moving to Harry's wand. She took a step back, and Harry prepared to duel, as he was certain she was about to reach for her own wand. But then, the girl stopped, staring at him, then turning to share a look with her friends, her mouth hanging open. Harry tried and failed to not find her surprised expression adorable. She took a step towards him, and he shifted his stance, ready.
"You're Harry Potter!" she exclaimed breathlessly, searching his face in wonder.
"Yes," Harry said, his features stony and his mind examining every aspect of her for signs of her intent. The more time went by, the less he saw of any cause for concern.
Her face lit up in the most charming, sincere smile Harry had ever seen. He had never before wanted to kiss a girl as badly as he wanted to kiss this girl right now. He thought about what he might be able to do to impress her enough to warrant a kiss, but still watched cautiously as she turned again to her friends, her smile now looking rather pleased with herself. She held her hand out to him as if expecting him to kiss it, which she seemed to fully realize she was doing.
"My name eez Fleur Delacour," she said, now in English.
Harry took her extended fingers in one hand. He was thinking that he would indeed kiss her hand, but at the touch of her fingers, he sensed something. He looked down at his thumb, gliding it in a quick swipe over her skin… When he looked back up at her, she seemed to recognize that his thinking had somehow changed, again cocking her head at him. The movement was incredibly cute, but Harry was able to recognize as much without getting swept away by her beauty, now that he had figured out what was going on.
He almost said it out loud, but stopped himself at the realization that doing so might commit some kind of faux pas. So, internally at least, Harry latched on to his realization that this girl was part Veela — magical beings whose appearance was known to entrance anyone attracted to women. While there was no denying Harry's attraction to Fleur, he was able to isolate and filter the magic radiating off of her so that he was only as attracted as her physical appearance warranted… which was still quite a lot.
After the momentary pause, Harry smiled and did indeed kiss her fingertips before releasing them. There was a soft look of disappointment on Fleur's face, leading Harry to wonder if she had sensed his inability to enchant him any further.
"But she eez all right?" Fleur asked, taking a step back and gesturing at Gemma.
It was now that Harry fully understood that this entire interaction had occurred because Fleur was concerned about Gemma's well-being. Now that she had discovered that it was Harry Potter himself carrying his drunken teammate into the hotel, her worries seemed to have ebbed somewhat, but he was still standing here with a girl under his arm in the dead of night.
"Yeah, she is," he said. "Too much wine. I really should get her inside."
Fleur nodded, and as her friends seemed to realize who she was talking to and began moving towards them, Harry unlocked the door and carried Gemma into the hotel, already planning how to lay the guilt on thick whenever she awoke for how she had kept him from chatting up an actual Veela.
"…even with the amazing efforts that led us here, from the entire team, against tremendous obstacles, I have to recognize the one person whose play on the pitch today sealed the victory that you all fought so hard for —" Coach Malkins had to pause, tears streaming down his cheeks, his voice breaking with emotion. " —and so, we award the game Quaffle to Harry Potter, who —"
Whatever Coach Malkins had planned to say was drowned immediately in the wall of cheers and applause from the English players and coaches. Harry beamed at the display of appreciation, revelling in pride for himself and his team.
"Hip-hip!" Gemma suddenly screamed.
"Harry!" everyone shouted.
"Hip-hip!" Gemma repeated.
"Harry!" they all screamed again, even more loudly.
"Bring it in!" Harry yelled, and the seven players moved into a huddle in the centre of the locker room, wrapping their arms around each other's shoulders. He revelled in the look of fire still burning on each of their faces, even after a seven-hour, exhausting match.
"One more," Harry said quietly, so that only the players could hear him.
They all responded with determined nods and grunts of agreement, squeezing each other even more tightly.
"Until then, we study," Gemma said just as quietly. "This match was too close, and too long. I'll be the first to admit that we weren't ready for the long range game their Chasers brought today."
The other Chasers nodded, One of them letting out a laugh. "You can say that again," he quipped.
"They frazzled us in a bunch of different directions," one of the Beaters added, her partner Winnie agreeing.
"We can do — we will do better next match," she said.
"I know we will," Harry stated. "In three weeks, we will be the world champions."
Homefield advantage in the UWC was decided by which team in each matchup had the best point ratio against their previously played teams, the final match excluded, being played in whichever country won last year's cup. Lithuania had dominated the tournament last year, winning against Brazil in a spectacular match, which had earned the unfortunate moniker of "The Cry-baby Cup" after the Brazilian coach had shed streaming crocodile tears protesting a Blurting foul that everyone watching the match knew had been painfully blatant.
Lithuania was not as strong this year, having been eliminated in the second round, so there was no homefield advantage for either team in the final this year, which would be England vs Germany, as Harry had predicted.
Germany's coaching staff had been in attendance at England's last match, and was undoubtedly studying the Wall recording in great detail. Harry had funded Wireless Wall coverage of all the UWC matches, and the transmissions had been heralded worldwide as a giant leap forward in the sport for both fans and clubs. There had, at first, been some pushback from those in the upper-echelons of the International Association of Quidditch that Walls could have a negative impact on in-person ticket sales, but the reality had been the opposite, with more tickets being sold than ever for these underage matches thanks to the boost in popularity the Cup had gotten in the early rounds from the worldwide Wall coverage.
Harry had purchased in-person tickets to the Germany/Romania match for himself and the rest of the English team, as well as their legal guardians, not wanting to leave any stone unturned in their ability to analyse their next opponent. So, all of Uni had been able to watch the match together in the private box Harry had secured. It had proven to be an excellent decision, with the team becoming closer than ever, and also able to front-load strategies and plans moving into practice for the final.
Harry's downtime leading to the match felt strange to him. So much of his mind was occupied with Quidditch, and yet he would inevitably return to the manor for days at a time. He tried to spend some time home just relaxing, which was aided by how long his days were thanks to the small amount of sleep he required. He could spend eight hours training for Quidditch, yet still have most of the rest of the day open.
There was one thing constantly battling for his focus, and while he had formulated the plans for how he wanted to handle it, he could not decide when to put the plans into action. He had a strong urge to take care of the issue as quickly as possible, but he just could not justify doing so when his Quidditch schedule might interfere with it. So, Harry tried instead to distract himself.
Something he worked on whenever he had a chance was his idea for turning Wireless Walls into two-way communication devices. Media outlets had already begun using the invention for as much, but only by utilizing two different Walls, transmitting to opposite locations. It worked for planned, large-scale conversations, but Harry wanted something more personal and only requiring one device. So far, he had not managed it. When he had started to become frustrated at the amount of time Quidditch was taking from this endeavour, he realized his priorities were falling out of focus, and decided to once again put the venture on hold.
That was perhaps a good idea on a few different fronts, as he had not been spending as much time with Toory and Zeely as he had planned to do this summer.
"Sorry, but I have to go to London tomorrow morning," Harry said to Toory and Zeely one night over dinner, when Toory suggested they do some work on the vegetable garden the next day. He was interested in having Harry's opinion on pruning, as the Dirigible plums were starting to overrun the Chinese Chomping Cabbage.
"That's all right, Master Harry," Zeely said. "Toory and I can… we…"
Harry looked at her, concerned. She seemed to be struggling with her emotions.
"Zeely… what's wrong?" he asked, putting his fork down.
Zeely looked back and forth from him to Toory, who Harry noticed was avoiding eye contact.
"We is…" Zeely started. "We is… we is…"
"We is wondering, Master Harry," Toory took over for her. "If we may be able to consult Master Hagrid on the garden, then, sir."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Hagrid had spent a good amount of time at the manor this summer, looking after the dragons and interacting with Toory and Zeely. Harry knew that it was an odd arrangement for house-elves to have a non-romantically-involved third party given such free-reign of their family's property, but it had been working out swimmingly, in his opinion. In fact, the arugula the elves had used for tonight's dinner had come from Hagrid's own garden, which Zeely had gushed over when Harry had brought the elves to Hogwarts to visit.
"Of course!" Harry said sincerely. "That would be wonderful!"
Toory and Zeely exchanged gleeful looks, and their demeanour was visibly relaxed for the rest of the evening. Harry was glad, as he felt guilty for not being able to spend as much time at home this summer as Toory and Zeely would have liked. Hagrid was the next best thing for them, in his opinion, which seemed to be a shared perspective from the elves as well.
And so, Harry committed himself fully to Quidditch, and by the time the World Cup final came around, he felt sure that his team was as prepared as they could have possibly been. Lithuania was beautiful and different, reinforcing Harry's newfound urge to visit other places. The team agreed to not take as much advantage of their freedom as they had in France, which turned out to be a smart idea, as Germany demonstrated early in the final match that they were playing at the top of their game.
"Wagner passes to Hassan, to Fischer, back to Wagner, a whirl of a move, and then back to — no, a feign, and scoooooooore! Wagner scores!"
The commentary echoed throughout the Lithuanian stadium, Harry grasping his Nimbus 2001 more tightly at hearing it, pushing himself forward against the cheers of the Germany fans. As the rest of his team fought to maintain their slim lead, Harry searched determinately for the Snitch, knowing he could do nothing about any other aspect of the match. If he could catch it now, England would win.
Germany scored two more goals within the next hour, the England Chasers struggling to keep up after Tiffany took a nasty blow to her hand from a Bludger. Harry put on an extra burst of speed, switching strategies from shadowing the German Seeker, Jäger, to pushing past her. The moment Harry did so, he actually did see the tiny Golden Snitch, flying close to the ground near one of the Wireless Wall Omnicorder operators.
For a brief moment, Harry wondered if the Snitch had shown up on the feed for the viewers at home, but he wiped the thought away and maneuvered his body in the air so that it would be blocking the Snitch from Jäger's view, trying to appear as casual as possible without arousing suspicion. When he saw his teammate Winnie in just the right location, he shouted at the top of his lungs the codeword he had worked out with the Beaters for exactly this type of situation.
"MAYBERRY!"
Harry did not change his flying, turning his head to scan the sky above the stands, all while his eyes rotated to stay fixed on the Snitch. He was formulating alternate strategies in case this did not work when he heard the satisfying crunch of Winnie's Bludger against Jäger's body. Not wasting any time turning to look at the result, Harry flattened himself on his broom and pelted towards the Snitch, which was now darting around randomly, as if nervous.
"Jäger is leveled by a Bludger from Winnie Cobblestep!" the announcer called throughout the stadium, fuelling Harry's resolve. "And Potter's seen the Snitch! Look at him go!"
Harry knew this could, and should, be the end of the match. It was all on him. Two of Germany's Chasers tried to get an angle to interfere with his pursuit of the Snitch, which was now accelerating up and away in a curve, but Harry did a quick spiral to confuse them, and they ended up cracking into one another, their bodies falling through the airspace in front of him as he flew.
When he was just about in arm's reach, he suddenly knew — he was going to catch it. He was about to win the World Cup with his team. He could not help but to grin, a smile captured by the Omnicorders, transmitted worldwide and talked about for months afterwards for the sincere pride and joy it had communicated. He gently closed his hand around the Snitch, the fluttering wings tickling his palm before his touch shut it down.
"Potter has it! England wins!"
The next several hours whirled by, all of them fantastic. For most of this time, the team was surrounded by fans, reporters from around the globe, VIP visitors whom Harry felt should have shown better restraint in their incursion into the locker room, and other well-wishers and party-goers, including the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team and their families, who were over the moon at Harry using his allotted tickets to their benefit. Harry wished he could have paid them more attention — especially the Weasleys, but they were all very understanding of the demands on his time.
At one point, when Harry had noticed a split second where the locker room was empty except for him and his teammates, and had quickly sealed all the doors and windows, allowing the team five minutes alone to celebrate, which were his favourite five minutes of the celebration.
"You're returning next year," Gemma said to him much later, each of them in bed but neither showing much interest in sleeping yet, despite the fact that they were scheduled to catch a Portkey in less than three hours.
Harry turned and propped himself on an elbow, looking across the room to Gemma, who he saw was positioned the same way, facing him from her bed.
"Was that a question or a command?" Harry asked.
Gemma thought about it, playing with the smooth fabric of her sheet. "I dunno, I guess," she eventually said.
"Does that mean you don't know what you want to do?" Harry asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. "I guess it isn't the right time to try to decide, but in some ways, it feels like…"
"…like we peaked…" Harry finished for her.
She nodded, letting her head fall onto her arm and taking a blink that lasted far too long.
"I guess if I was at someplace like Hogwarts, with so many other things to do, and with so many other people, I might not come back, but I'd probably be crazy not to, all things considered," Gemma muttered, but Harry saw her fall asleep almost before she got the last word out.
He smiled, but thought about what she had said. Playing for Uni was both a challenge and an adventure for Harry, and for Gemma as well, but it also served as something of an escape for her from the responsibilities she had at home, helping out with her mother's shop. Ultimately, Harry abandoned any thought of whether or not he would return to Uni next season, knowing he needed to let some time pass to think about it, and he instead allowed himself some sleep, knowing that when he awoke, his path in life would already begin moving in a very different direction.
With another feather in his cap, Harry had become even more of a celebrity. He was not doing very much with the added clout… yet, but he did enjoy the VIP treatment at any Quidditch match he chose to attend, and decided to spread the wealth by bringing friends to any big games they were interested in. Today, he had invited the entire Weasley family to join him for Puddlemere United hosting Ron's favourites, the Chudley Cannons. It made him happy to be able to spend time with them, enjoying the dynamics of a big family in a way only they could provide.
"They lost because their Beater murdered their Keeper. I don't know if you know this, Ron, but that's not standard play!" Ginny yelled, turning to shout towards the backseat from where she was sitting between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in their Ford Anglia. The car had clearly been magically modified to fit the occupants, with her in the front with her parents, and Ron, George, Fred, and Harry in the back, all of them enjoying plenty of space as they drove back to the Burrow. Percy, who had been made Head Boy, had insisted on Apparating home, having recently acquired his license. Ron opened his mouth to argue with Ginny (fruitlessly in Harry's opinion), but Mrs. Weasley cut him off.
"Harry, why don't you spend the night?" she said, looking at him in the side-view mirror. "It's terribly late, and if you stay, we can celebrate your birthday tomorrow!"
A cascade of agreements and encouragements flooded the car, halting Harry's initial reflex to decline her offer. He smiled, waiting for their urging to ebb while also finding them delightful. He opened his mouth to respond, but paused after taking a breath, not sure of what to say. After a second, Ginny turned around.
"You have to stay," she said as if revealing an absolute truth. "Just have Toory and Zeely come over too."
Harry looked at her for a moment, then smiled and nodded.
"Yeah, all right. Thank you. That's really nice of all of you," he said, meaning it.
"Yes!" Ron celebrated. "And we should play Quidditch tomorrow—all of us!"
After the affirmative responses from the Weasley kids, Ron seemed to realize something and went on.
"No, I mean all of us," he said.
Mrs. Weasley turned to look at him, and at seeing him gazing at her expectedly, faltered.
"W… Ron, what do you mean all of us?"
"I mean you and Dad!" Ron said. "You should play with us!"
Mr. Weasley laughed, and his wife seemed to agree with his assessment of the idea.
"Ron, we couldn't possibly—"
She stopped when she looked at Harry. He wondered just what percentage of his thoughts and feelings were being communicated by the look on his face. The idea of playing Quidditch as a family had caught Harry harder than he had been ready for. It sounded like a very enjoyable way to spend his birthday. After searching Harry's eyes for a few seconds, Mrs. Weasley looked as if she had a modicum of Legilimency skills herself, unless Harry's face had given him away that blatantly.
"Well…" she said, turning back to face the windshield. "…I'm playing Keeper, so figure out everything else."
Ron looked to Harry, his mouth hanging open in shock. The both of them smiled at each other.
"Believe it or not, I actually enjoy Seeker," Mr. Weasley said, checking his mirrors and hopping the car over an old Muggle woman who was driving rather slowly.
The match—christened the Teen Cup later by everyone involved, turned out to be quite the enjoyable experience. Team captains had been assigned to Harry and Percy, who had dragged his feet at the idea of playing at all, until he had been made captain. Fred and George had not only been split up but assigned as Chasers rather than Beaters.
In the end, it was Harry, Ron, Fred, and Mr. Weasley versus Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, George, and Percy. The match ended with an uproarious amount of laughter as Ginny and her father battled to capture the Snitch, with Ginny shrieking at an insane level, debilitating Mr. Weasley and managing to grab the golden ball to secure her team's victory.
Later, Harry happily cleaned the kitchen with the rest of his team, refusing to accept the pardon Mrs. Weasley had offered him and following along with the consequences that had been agreed upon before the start of the match.
"Mum cheated," Ron complained as he scrubbed the pan Mrs. Weasley had used to cook the treacle tart she had made for Harry.
"Right, but when you threw the Quaffle at her head, it cancelled that out, me thinks," Fred quipped, throwing his sponge at Ron's head in a very similar fashion to what Ron had done with the Quaffle.
Ron initially scoffed at his big brother's actions, but then a smile cracked on his face.
"It was funny, though, the way she ducked," Ron said, bursting into laughter when he did.
Thinking back on the moment, Harry too could not help but to chuckle, and when Fred imitated the yell his mother had belted at seeing the Quaffle coming towards her, even Mr. Weasley, drying the dishes the rest of them were cleaning, barked out several laughs.
After dinner, Mrs. Weasley wheeled out a very large cake decorated to look like a Golden Snitch, and Harry opened presents, feeling a tad overwhelmed by the affection and attention, but mostly feeling happy. He received a large tin of Muggle snack items from Mr. Weasley (who was so excited about the gift that Harry wondered if he perhaps ought to share it with him); a pair of white handmade earmuffs with golden lightning bolts on each side from Mrs. Weasley; a bottle of cologne from Ginny (which Harry was relieved to find quite pleasant-smelling); a guide to starting a career in politics from Percy (which Harry had a hard time convincing anyone else he sincerely appreciated); and from the twins, he received a haphazard collection of joke items, several of which Harry was glad that Mrs. Weasley had not seen as he perused the bag.
"Great, thanks! I'll have to go through them all later," Harry had said after seeing something labelled Spirit's Linger: An erection-booster for the eager and unaware alike.
"Take your time," George had said with a wave of his hand.
After a very enjoyable day and evening, the festivities slowly lost participants, starting with Percy, and filtering down until it was just Harry, Ron, and Ginny in the backyard, stargazing. Ron let out a giant yawn.
"All right. I'm knackered," he said, climbing to his feet. He looked at Harry and Ginny, still lying in the grass. "Erm…"
"Yeah, I think I'll probably call it a night too," Harry said, stretching. "I'll be up in a bit."
Ron hesitated for just a moment, but walked away as Harry got to his feet, offering Ginny a hand. He pulled her up, then looked back to the sky.
"Oh look!" Ginny said, pointing, but Harry had already seen it. A shooting star blazed rather spectacularly across the sky.
"Huh." Harry said. "A shooting star on your birthday — is that a good omen, or a bad one?"
"It depends," Ginny said without missing a beat. "Did you make a wish?"
"Oh… No," Harry said, looking back up.
Ginny winced and drew a breath in through her teeth. She reached up and squeezed Harry's shoulder.
"I'm so sorry," she said as if delivering a death sentence.
Harry fought a smile, and shrugged.
"Well, at least I made it to thirteen. And it was a great birthday."
"Happy last birthday ever," Ginny said, nodding.
"Thanks," Harry said, now letting the sarcasm loose.
Ginny made up for the dark humour by pressing against him for a quick hug, which caught him off guard.
"Happy birthday," she said into his chest, rubbing his back and then letting go of him and heading into the house, letting her hair hide her face as she did.
Harry stood there for a while longer, looking at the stars and thinking about what he might have wished for.
Later, after Ron's snores had reached a level Harry recognized as indicating a deep sleep, he got out of bed and moved to the windowsill, where Scabbers the rat lay in a patch of moonlight. His eyes burning into the small animal, Harry raised his hands and focused, wanting to perform this magic without the use of a wand so it could be as personal as possible. A blue light began to glow within the space between his two rotating hands, the light slowly manifesting into the shape of a box, which Harry let fall into his left hand when complete. Though it was fully conjured, the box continued to glow in tiny speckles thanks to the magic imbued in its walls.
With his other hand, Harry reached out, not wanting to dirty his hand by touching the rat, but still wanting to feel the magic in his fingers. Scabbers levitated up and towards the box. Harry had known there would be a temptation now to crush the life out of the rat, but had not anticipated how strong of an urge it would be. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself of the importance of what he was doing, and placed Scabbers into the box, letting out his breath only once the box was fully secure.
Sparing a glance at Ron's sleeping form, Harry walked out of the room and down the stairs, careful to avoid the squeaky step, and headed into the back garden. When he felt he was far enough away from the house, he called for Toory. It took a few seconds for the elf to appear.
"Master Harry?" Toory said, having clearly been woken up by the summons. "Is something wrong, sir?"
"No. Take this to my workshop, and put it on the table. Do not speak of it to anyone," Harry said seriously, handing the box to Toory, who took it at once, now fully awake in the face of Harry's orders.
"After that, get yourself a healthy amount of sleep," Harry added, putting his hand on Toory's shoulder and smiling appreciatively. "Now go," he said, and Toory was gone almost before he finished the command.
Taking and releasing another cleansing breath, Harry again looked to the stars, feeling good. The exhilaration of what he was starting overcame him, and he leapt into the air, transforming to his eagle form and soaring into the sky.
Harry had received a letter of congratulations from Professor Dumbledore for his victory in the UWC on behalf of the entire Hogwarts staff, but it was written with a heartfelt personal touch that warmed Harry's heart. He had responded with thanks, and also an invitation to tea at the manor on the first of August. While he had tried to make the invitation a sincere gesture, he had also inquired as to whether Emilia Bones might be able to join them to discuss a legal matter. Dumbledore had responded affirmatively, noting that Madam Bones was quite happy to spend the afternoon with him, as she was a big Puddlemere fan. Harry had no doubt that Dumbledore knew that there would be much more to the meeting than tea and Quidditch.
Harry skipped the tour when he welcomed them to the manor the next day, thinking it would have been awkward to drag them around, just the three of them. Instead, he gave the abbreviated version, and then they moved to the sitting room, enjoying tea prepared by the elves.
"It's fortunate you found it," Madam Bones said as she nibbled on a biscuit, talking about the estate. "There really ought to be more safeguards in place to ensure that entitled heirs are aware of their family property, should it fall to them."
"Which reminds me, Harry," Dumbledore said. "You mentioned something of a legal matter you wished to discuss?"
Appreciating the segue, Harry nodded and put down his cup and saucer.
"Yes…" he began. "It's… kind of a big deal, actually, which is why I hoped to get the both of you here, which I really appreciate."
Dumbledore inclined his head, while Madam Bones offered a more calculating look. Harry decided to abandon any sugar-coating.
"I have learned that Sirius Black did not, in fact, betray my parents. Toory, bring it."
The elf disappeared and reappeared faster than it took Harry's guests to question his dramatic statement. He rose to take the box from Toory, placing it on the coffee table in between them all.
"When my father was at Hogwarts, he and his friends taught themselves to become Animagi."
It was rare to see Dumbledore caught off guard, and right now he looked completely flummoxed at learning this information. Under other circumstances, Harry might have found it amusing, but he pressed on.
"It was my father, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew," he went on, noting Scabbers doubling his already frantic attempts to escape the box, which Harry's magic had made impossible. "The goal was to be able to accompany Remus Lupin at the full moon, when he transformed — yes, I know he's a werewolf," he added at Dumbledore's intensified expression. "It worked, and they had a lot of fun, it sounds like. But the reason I'm telling you this is because this," He pointed at the box. "Is Peter Pettigrew. He was not killed by Sirius Black, and it was he who murdered all those people twelve years ago."
The information was a combination of things Harry had learned from his father's journals, and what Sirius Black had told Hagrid. He tried hard to avoid sharing anything he had learned from his visions, instead bending the truth to make it seem that it had been Sirius's description of Wormtail and Harry's resolute memory that had led him to suspect that Scabbers was not what he seemed. Harry told them how he had verified what Sirius had said by discretely testing Scabbers one evening, getting the tell-tale results that he was indeed an Animagus. After that, it was a matter of planning the best route to take to achieve justice, leading to this moment.
After a long stretch of silence, both Madam Bones and Professor Dumbledore abandoned any pretence of tea and began levelling questions at Harry, which he attempted to answer as concisely as possible as the pair of them slipped further and further into their Wizengamot personas. Finally, Dumbledore stood up, drawing his wand. Harry drew his own and flicked it towards a corner of the room, where an Omnicorder sat. He wanted to record what he knew was about to occur, just in case anything went wrong.
"If this is true," Dumbledore said, looking to Madam Bones, "it is going to have strong repercussions for many who are still involved in the legal system today."
Madam Bones took a step closer to the table, looking thoughtfully at the box, then back up to Dumbledore. "As well it should," she said with a heavy tone.
Dumbledore nodded, then tilted his head at Harry, who pointed his wand at the box, focusing all of his senses on Scabbers. Madam Bones drew her wand as well, waving it around her head until Harry could feel the room being sealed, which he had been about to do himself. After taking a breath, Harry flicked his wand and opened the box.
Predictably, Scabbers made an immediate attempt to escape, and Dumbledore beat the others to his capture, easily stopping the rat and levitating him away from the table, his feet dancing wildly through the air as he squealed in terror.
"Just there," Madam Bones said, and Dumbledore held Scabbers where he was in the air. "It would be best to do it together," she noted.
Harry understood what she meant. The magic behind Animagus transformations was incredibly strong, and while there had been a spell developed which would force someone to return to human form, it took a great deal of power.
Dumbledore paused, and Harry imagined he was thinking of how best to release Scabbers from his current spell to be able to match Madam Bones's.
"I know the spell," Harry said. "On three?" he asked Madam Bones, who seemed a little unsure, but after a look of confidence from Dumbledore, nodded.
"On three," she confirmed. "One — two — THREE!"
A flash of blue-white light erupted from both wands; for a moment, Scabbers remained frozen in mid-air, his small grey form twisting madly. There was another blinding flash of light and then —
It was like watching a speeded-up film of a growing tree. A head was erupting out of the rat's fur; limbs were sprouting; a moment later, the full form of a man had developed, cringing and wringing his hands. Dumbledore let him fall to the floor in a heap, but all three wands remained trained on Peter Pettigrew.
He was a very short man. His thin, colourless hair was unkempt and there was a large bald patch on top. He had the shrunken appearance of a plump man who has lost a lot of weight in a short time. His skin looked grubby, and something of the rat lingered around his pointed nose and his very small, watery eyes.
He looked around at them all, his breathing fast and shallow. Harry saw his eyes darting around for any avenue of escape, his mouth opening and closing as if working to recall how to speak.
The thought of hearing Pettigrew say anything was, finally, too much for Harry to handle. He had managed to take the plan this far without harming the man responsible for his parents' deaths, but this could be the last time he was in a position to serve any personal justice. The image of his father sprang into Harry's mind, and somehow that was the final catalyst, sending Harry forward in a rush, drawing back his fist and delivering a blow to Pettigrew's jaw that shattered the bones and sent the man crashing into the wall, a horrible mix of sounds emitting from the impact.
"Harry!" Dumbledore yelled, and Harry felt a tug at his mind, which was enough.
He stepped back, looking at his fist still clenched around his wand. He relaxed his fingers and slipped the wand into his pocket, eventually looking up at Dumbledore, showing no sign of remorse as Madam Bones checked on Pettigrew.
"By the authority of the Wizengamot, I am placing you under arrest," she said to the mostly unconscious Pettigrew. She thought for a second, looking from Dumbledore to Harry. "Normally, I would call for support personnel, but they won't be able to find us here…" She thought again for a moment. "Albus, I think it best if you accompany me to the Ministry. From this point forward, I want no mistakes with this."
"Agreed," Dumbledore said, then turned to Harry. "Harry, I do hope you will forgive our hasty departure."
"I'll let it slide, this time," Harry said sardonically, earning the smallest of smiles from Dumbledore.
"We'll need to take your official statement, eventually," Madam Bones said to him. Harry got the impression that she was somewhat overwhelmed by the situation, which he could not blame her for.
She levitated Pettigrew between herself and Dumbledore, and Harry enjoyed seeing the firm grip the headmaster had on the man's arm.
"I will contact you shortly," Dumbledore said to Harry, then he and Madam Bones shared a nod, and Disapparated.
Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly into the silence of the room. He had not felt unsure of getting this far in the plan, but the fact that it had gone forward without a hitch was a heavy relief. Now…
Harry looked to the clock, confirming the time. Thinking hard for a few seconds, he came to a decision.
"Toory! Zeely!"
The elves appeared as though from thin air, though Harry knew they had used one of their passageways to get into the room.
"Is they gone sir?" Zeely asked somewhat frantically, looking around.
"Yes, but it's not a reflection on your hospitality. They had very important business to attend to. Don't worry, we'll have them back sometime," Harry said quickly. "Speaking of which, I need to go out as well. When I get back, how about we make pizza?"
Both of their faces lit up at the suggestion. This was something the three of them enjoyed doing together, but had not done in a while. Harry especially liked the meal because each of them made their own pizzas, which forced the elves to focus on what they themselves liked.
"Is Master wanting us to come with you?" Zeely asked somewhat desperately as Harry prepared to leave.
He smiled. "I appreciate the offer, but where I'm going… it isn't the nicest place."
(SIRIUS BLACK. POV)
Twelve, eleven, ten…
For all their faults, Dementors were at least punctual, a benefit Sirius Black had been glad to learn about early on in his imprisonment in Azkaban. Or perhaps it had not been early at all… No, it may have been years before he had figured out their pattern of movements within the fortress prison. It was difficult to say, considering his already-fragile mental state coming into Azkaban, compounded by the despair being near so many Dementors had on a person. No, Sirius reasoned. It was likely closer to a year… Yes, definitely a year, for it was only then that he had turned, in desperation, to transforming to his Animagus — a large, black dog. When he had first done so, it had been accompanied by an overwhelming sense of peace, as the Dementors did not affect him in that state. Only after weeks of changing to his animal state had he been able to have the wits about him enough to recognize the pattern.
Now, he only reverted to his human form when he noticed a diversion from the regular movement of guards, which always signalled something different happening, usually meaning someone was visiting the prison. Just a few days ago, it had been none other than the Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge, who had shown up in Azkaban for his yearly inspection. He had in fact walked right by Sirius's cell, where Sirius had said a friendly hello and asked if he might have the Daily Prophet he noticed in the pocket of Fudge's cloak.
The Minister had seemed disturbed at the interaction, Sirius having to work to hide a smile at the man's confusion as to why Sirius did not seem as affected by the Dementors as the rest of the prisoners. Regardless, he had given Sirius the paper, which was quite a gift in and of itself, but even more so when he saw the article on the Underage World Cup, heralding the success of the English team, with none other than Harry Potter reigning supreme as Seeker. Sirius had cried himself to sleep that night, staring as long as he could at the photograph of a smiling, happy, healthy Harry.
Weeks earlier, something had changed in Sirius. It was just a name spoken by one of the galley witches, in passing, that had done it. Hagrid. Hagrid was the person Sirius had trusted with Harry the night the boy's parents — Sirius's best friends — had been killed, given up to Voldemort by Peter in the ultimate act of betrayal. It was not long before Sirius realized that Hagrid was not here as a visitor, but as a prisoner. The idea that Hagrid could have been imprisoned for anything had sent Sirius into a panic, and he had worked to slip out of his cell as a dog and find him.
He had planned what he would say to Hagrid, but when he actually succeeded in getting to him, his emotions got the best of him. He had tried to get all of his points across, desperate for Hagrid to tell Harry that it had not been him who had betrayed his parents — that he would never!
In his cell now, lying with his snout resting on his paws, Sirius let out a frustrated sigh. He could hear the door opening at the third level, which could only mean that there was a visitor, which in turn meant that he would have to return to his human form.
After taking a big stretch, he did just that, returning to the ragged form that defined him these days, the oppressive coldness of the Dementor's presence enveloping him at once. Trying to concentrate through the despair, he wondered who was at Azkaban today, and why. He stood there for a while, listening as hard as he could with his human ears, and trying and failing not to shiver against the feel of the Dementors. It was only when he heard the voice that he realized he had succumbed to their power, losing track of time.
"Expecto Patronum!"
The spell was cast with what sounded like the angriest of voices, yet the effect was the complete opposite, filling Sirius with warmth and hope. After a few seconds of revelling in it, his mind cleared enough to realize that it was someone's Patronus that was providing the respite from the effect of the Dementors, and he blinked into the corridor.
For a long moment, Sirius very seriously thought that he had perhaps died. It would explain the sudden warmth, and would certainly explain the sight of James Potter standing outside his cell, looking every bit as determined and powerful as he did when they had been fighting against Death Eaters. It was surely James welcoming Sirius to the afterlife, which Sirius was entirely willing to follow him into. But then he caught sight of the glowing, white Patronus protecting them from the Dementors. James's Patronus was a stag — always a stag. But this…
A lion — huge and thick, stood in the corridor, its energy as fierce as its weighty image, protecting him and James. Only… Sirius stepped forward towards the small window of his door, staring wide-eyed at… was it James?
With a horrible wrenching sound, the thick metal door of his cell twisted out of its frame and flew away down the corridor. Sirius stood, shaken, having no idea what was happening. It took him a moment to focus again on the form in front of him. For a long while, he stared. Everything about what he was seeing screamed that this was James Potter standing there…but then… his breath caught in his throat.
"Harry?"