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Prodigy: Born Again | ||||||
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Category: Alternate Universe Characters:All Genres: Action/Adventure, Comedy, General, Humor Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG Reviews: 51 Summary: Some people think that Prodigies are born. Some people think Prodigies are made. What would happen if both sides of the coin were right? Follow such a Prodigy, one called Harry James Potter, as he finds within himself the ability of Magic and he makes his own way into the Magical World. NOTE: For those that wonder, this is a re-write of the original Prodigy. I have taken this route in order to eliminate the plot-holes that were in the original. Thanks for your support. The author has stated this story will not be continued. SIYE Note from SIYE: The original author of the story “Prodigy,” jmcqk6, has told SIYE he has abandoned his story and has given permission to other authors “that anyone could do whatever they want with it.” There is no issue of plagiarism involving this story. ~Sir Ollivander ~SIYE Administration Hitcount: Story Total: 39518; Chapter Total: 3902 |
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Friend — n. s. friend. A person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relations. The next days were spent with the same routine everyday: sleeping, having breakfast, taking notes, having lunch, practising magic, having dinner, repeat. From the day he had found it, he had taken to sleeping in his parents' bed, since it made him feel connected to them. Other than, from time to time, using charms to clean the house, he did not do something that was much different. He was able to finish the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 in less than a week, and soon moved onto the Grade 2 book. As he kept reading the books, he kept using the dictionary more and more, helping him in advancing his comprehension of the more difficult words, even if sometimes the actual meaning escaped him. It had been seven days from the moment he had arrived to his new house when he first noticed the stench. It was foul, invading everything from the rooms to the bottom. Harry tried to find the source, but he was completely unable to locate it, even though it was everywhere. When, after a few hours of failing to find it the normal way, he tried several basic revealing charms that he had learn to find the source, he gained no information about what was causing the odour. Not even the best cleaning charms he knew could push back the malodour! What he had really succeeded at was at setting up most anti-vermin wards around the house. They were quite difficult to put, because they were mostly intended to be directed against a certain kind of being, but in the end he managed to do it. In a couple of days, rats, mice, spiders, insects, frogs and many other animals were forbidden from entering his house. The only one he had found himself unable to cast was the ward to prevent snakes from entering. This was something very confusing to him, given that the book of household spells stated that it was a relatively easy one to use, but for some reason Harry could never make it work. Whenever he started to speak the incantation for the ward, he suddenly started to feel a sharp pain in his head that broke his concentration and prevented him from finishing it. He finally gave up, deciding that he should keep practising and maybe try to cast the ward later. It was in his tenth day there that he glimpsed an old man walking around the house, looking for something. The man wore a pointed midnight blue hat and matching midnight blue robes, and had a long grey beard. It was the archetypical image Harry had of a wizard, or at least that was how he thought one would like, after he had seen that drawing book from The Sword in the Stone. ~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prod igy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~ It had been nine days since he had been told Harry Potter had disappeared, and ten from the moment Arthur told him about the mystery he had encountered, but it had not been until now that he had been able to get enough free time to go to Godric's Hollow. By some whim of destiny, or just some deity he did not know wanting to have a laugh at him, the day after being told about Harry he had had to attend a meeting with the Board of Governors, where he had been forced to play the politics game to prevent Lucius Malfoy from attempting to implement several of his ideas, which Dumbledore knew could become the first step in Malfoy's attempt to expel him from his position. Two days later, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge had called for an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot. One Dumbledore also had to attend since he was the Chief Warlock. There, Fudge had presented several pieces of legislation, one of which would cut down some of the few rights werewolves still had. The rest of the legislation was pointed in similar ways at other non-wizard sentient species, such as centaurs or merpeople. Dumbledore, who suspected Malfoy had had a hand behind it — he knew that Malfoy liked to bribe the Minister in order to get things done the way he wanted, but he could not prove it — fought for hours to avoid it, but in the end, and to his everlasting pity, were passed, although at least he was content to see that it happened by less than ten votes of difference. Finally, two days after that, the International Confederation of Wizards met in Geneva to determine several things that had to be done. The ongoing efforts by the Soviet forces to retire from Afghanistan were talked about, and the Russian representative presented a resolution so that wizards were allowed to help with the withdrawal of the Red Army. The resolution was narrowly approved, and even that was on the proviso of that help being done in a stealthy way. That week had been a very hard one for Albus. Several times in the past, he had considered the possibility of leaving both the ICW and the Wizengamot to concentrate on Hogwarts, which was what he had always liked to do. However, the fact that he was one of the few people in the British Ministry of Magic that had both international experience and good relations with most of the ICW representatives prevented him from leaving it, and he feared that, as soon as he left the Wizengamot, Fudge would place one of his cronies as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, which, given how Malfoy controlled Fudge through the mighty galleon, could spell disaster. Maybe he could take someone as an apprentice that could eventually replace him in the ICW, but for the moment he would have to keep up. As bad as it was, the week had ended, and now that he was able to do it, Albus would start his investigation. As soon as he finished with the paperwork — and lamenting all the time that he could not sneak out since Minerva had reminded him it had to be finished that day — he left Hogwarts and Apparated to Godric's Hollow, Harry Potter's birthplace and also the town that held so many memories of his past, some of them not good. Appearing in a dark alley near the town's main square, Albus was able to walk around without getting disturbed. The people at this town were quite used to seeing people wearing strange clothes, and thus did not pay much attention to the old man who was wearing a midnight blue dress and a pointy hat of the same colour. Careful to not be caught doing magic in front of the Muggles, Albus cast a spell that would allow him to find the boulder he had charmed years ago to avoid missing where the Potter's house stood. Once he reached it, he smiled, knowing that he had not lost his touch to the ravages of age, and sat down on the boulder. He had to relax, if he wanted to activate his Mage Sight ability. Once he opened his eyes, it was a truly wondrous sight what awaited him. Down on the ground, he could see the ley lines, the reason why Godric's Hollow had been built where it was. Much like Stonehenge, Diagon Alley or Hogwarts, Godric's Hollow sat in the point where several of these magical lines crossed. They could be used to power wards and, if a wizard was able to connect with them, he could use those to power his own spells. Raising his eyes, he noticed that the Fidelius Charm surrounding the Potter's house was working as intended. Not even his magical sight allowed him to see the house or the charm, but he could see a faint haze in the same place, one that he could have only noticed after many years of experience in using this ability of his. He kept looking for a few minutes, and noticed that, at some point in the middle of the air, several tendrils of magic appeared. Albus suspected this was the magic of the Fidelius at work: it was like an invisible line that determined what could and what could not be seen from those not in the secret. He was sure that, had he been told the secret about the house by Sirius Black, he would have been able to follow those tendrils towards its source. He also wondered if this meant that he had found the outbursts' source that had been detected by the sensors at the Ministry. Given the great number of those tendrils, he suspected as much. He could not do much more right now. Without knowing the secret to the Potter's house, he would not be able to enter it. He would keep looking for other places that may have potentially disappeared under a Fidelius Charm, which he hoped were not too many to reduce that part of his investigation. Once he knew that, he would then work on getting permission to speak with Sirius Black. ~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy* **~~~***Prodigy***~~~ After he saw the old man leave, Harry went back to his task. He really liked to learn about magic, as he felt even more connected to his parents when he did it. The rest of the day, however, was also spent in thought over who the man that had left was. He thought that maybe it could be the man that had given the book on ancient magic to his mother. After all, he looked like the image that Harry had imagined days before. The next morning, Harry woke up feeling well rested. If he were to say so, he had never been this happy before coming to his parents' house. There was nothing for him to worry about except learning magic, and that suited him just fine. He did not have to get up early to cook for his abusive relatives without being allowed to eat it. There were no more chases down alleyways as he tried to escape his cousin and his cousin's friends. There was no more being imprisoned in a cupboard late at night, wishing for something to eat after more than a day inside. There was no more suddenly waking up when one of his relatives walked down the stairs and dropping dust on his face. No more fat yelling Uncles, obsessed-with-cleanliness hypocrite Aunts or pig-headed-and-bodied stupid cousins. It was quiet, and peaceful. “Ah, this is the life,” Harry tried to say, but it came out as a raspy croak, and made him begin to cough. As he wheezed, he felt his throat begin to clear, and he realized what had happened. He had not spoken out loud at all for more than a week, save for saying his spells. And even that had been less common lately, because as he said the words out loud he always felt a bit awkward and stupid. He did not need to tell anyone which spell he was going to cast, because the only thing that mattered was that he himself knew it. After a few minutes coughing, he managed to calm his throat and tried to speak again. It was difficult, but in the end he managed to say some words. “I hope I get better,” Harry said, not able to think of anything else that could fit the situation the sound rattled in his throat, while his vocal cords tickled. He laughed both at the stupidity of what he said and the reaction his body had to it. However, the experience he had just gone through taught him something important that had not thought of yet. He definitely needed to develop a way to keep his voice in shape. From that day on, Harry Potter would spend at least thirty minutes every day reading his books aloud, or talking to himself about anything that fancied his curiosity. It helped much when he wanted to better understand some parts of the books. He had even taken to singing in the shower. An unexpected but welcomed consequence was that, once he began to bathe himself again, the smell that had been permeating the house and that he had been unable to eliminate disappeared. ~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Pr odigy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~ The morning of the first day of the fourth week at his house, Harry woke up with a yawn as he came downstairs to have breakfast. Not that he knew what day it was; time had, right now, no actual meaning for him. The mere idea of having a timetable had been cast away, since there was nowhere else he had to go to. He lacked deadlines, school worries or any other time related issues. He simply did what he wanted when he wanted to, and he did not have to explain why to anybody. When he felt the need, he woke up, and he went to sleep when he felt tired. He ate meals when he was hungry. He showered when he realised he needed it, and he had his fun whenever he was bored. The artificial construct known as “weekdays” had quickly lost its meaning, and the same was happening to the idea of “month”. This did not mean that the time at the house was not well spent. The day before, he had finished his study of the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 book, but it had taken him longer to understand this book than the Grade 1 book. This was because the concepts in the book were slightly more difficult to grasp for a seven year old, as it was a more advanced book, meant for children that were five years older than him, and Harry had to skip some of them. However, the fact that he could not understand part of the book did not mean that he would not take a large amount of notes. He was sure that these notes would help him understand everything. Every once in a while, Harry was “visited” by the mysterious old woman in his head. The old woman apparently knew the exact thing he needed to know at just the right moment so that he could understand the concept he was working on. All of Harry's attempts to ascertain the old woman's identity went unanswered, and were instead met with a slight chuckling from the old woman. “You have not figured it out yet, young one?” the woman had said the day before, when Harry had — once again — asked who she was. Harry had shaken his head, answering that he had not been able to, yet. “My name is unimportant right now, although I believe that you shall discover it in the moment you need to know it. The Fates have said that you do not need to know my name yet, and believe me when I say that the Fates are never wrong.” That answer had only served to confuse Harry even more. He had searched the library for who or what the Fates were, but he had only found something about three women that controlled the life of every mortal. This search also allowed him to learn what “destiny” meant, as in the note Albus Dumbledore had written in the book he had lent to his mother. He decided that it would be better to try not to think about it. He tried to focus on learning more magic, but the task was beginning to wear on him. Sure, it was an interesting and exciting task, but as he advanced the spells were becoming harder to cast. The books' author had clearly not thought of kids his age trying to learn the things on the books. Fortunately, something he discovered by accident would allow him to advance in his knowledge of magic, only that he would do it in a completely different field As Harry came down, intent on having some nice breakfast, he took a wrong turn and opened the door to the basement. The young boy realised what was happening in time to take a hold of the doorknob and not fall down the stairs that would take him below the house. Harry remembered that he had planned to go down there before, but had forgotten about it in the excitement of learning magic. He decided that, after breakfast, he would go down there, to see what he could find. After a hurried breakfast, Harry took his stick for protection and started to step down the stairs to the basement. Soon, he had to will his stick to glow so that he could find his way there. At the bottom of the stairs, he found another door, which Harry could tell was reinforced with iron. “I wonder what's at the other side,” he said to himself as he opened it. When the door was opened, it was to reveal several different-sized shapes he could not see well due to the lack of light. Harry could see that, next to the door, there was something that looked like a torch, so he pointed his stick at it and thought of the fire spell, Incendio. A flame was sent flying from his stick and hit the torch, lighting it. Harry directed the flame towards other torches he could see on the walls of the room. Only when the illumination was secured did Harry put out the glow in his stick and use it to clear the dust from the room. And it was then that he realised where he was. This had to be a potions lab, he was sure of it. It had several tables of different sizes, shelves that went up to the ceiling full of vials and containers, cauldrons of different sizes and materials, one shelf full of books, a small wooden cupboard, something that seemed to be used to heat those cauldrons and many other things Harry was completely unable to recognise. The mere idea of having his own potions lab, where he would be able to learn how to make potions, was something that really excited Harry. He had read about potions in one of the books that was in the library, but he had not imagined that he would actually be able to make some of the potions the books talked about, given that — he thought — he did not have the proper equipment. But now he knew this room was available to him, and he was going to put it to good use, he would work to his hearts content or until he ran out of supplies. He knew that, eventually, he would need to figure out how he would get supplies at some point, but since he still had plenty of food, finding potion supplies was not at the top of his priorities. The first thing Harry did was to walk to the side of the room, in order to examine the contents of the containers in the shelves at the sides. The first shelves' containers were labelled with names like 'Aconite', 'Bubotuber Pus', 'Graphorn' or 'Moonstone', all placed in alphabetical order, which Harry suspected were ingredients. The opposite shelves, by contrast, had vials with liquid substances, labelled as 'Murtlap Essence', 'Pepper-Up Potion' or 'Skele-Gro', also in alphabetical order. One of the tables had several notebooks, like the ones he had been using to take notes on spells. A second table had a short knife, which was used to cut the ingredients, and a wooden board. The other tables were bereft of anything else. Harry opened the cupboard and saw several more potion making instruments like a mortar. The bookshelves had, as he had expected, books on potion making, but also about the ingredients that could be used and their properties. After having looked to everything that was in the lab, Harry's excitement grew even more. The whole thing was really great. He had been stuck without knowing what to do after starting to get stuck with spells, and here was something he could do that was interesting, that he had yet to try, and that was easy to learn. He read the titles of the books, and when he found Easy and Useful Potions, he pulled it out of the shelf and opened it to the first page. He saw that there were many potions he could do, so he chose one of them. The sleeping potion seemed to be pretty easy, and, after checking the stores, he knew he had all the required ingredients to make it. He filled one of the cauldrons with water and began boiling it, while he sliced and ground the ingredients as the book stated. The problem appeared when he went to add one of the ingredients, the moonstone. He had taken all the moonstone dust he had ground before and put it into the half-made potion. At first, nothing happened, but then the potion acquired an intense red colour Harry was sure was not the colour stated in the book — a mix of red and green — and it exploded. Harry was thrown off his feet towards the door, flying around ten feet until he fell to the floor, getting also knocked out. The points of his unruly black hair were also singed. When he came around fifteen minutes later, the cauldron — which now sported a nice crack in one of the sides — was still throwing thick grey smoke into the air. Harry, with the help of one of the chairs, managed to stand without having his legs wobble below him, and cleared the air in the room with a swish of his stick. “Well,” he mused, rubbing his head at the disaster he had accidentally caused, “perhaps making potions is not as easy as I thought it would be.” Sighing, he gathered the book and several notebooks and sat on a chair to start taking notes. His mother's notes, which were in one of the notebooks, were not very useful right now, but he nonetheless kept them. The books on the shelf, though, were a different story. As he had seen before, he had a treasure trove of interesting potions books that he would be able to go through right now. The first thing he would do was to check some of those books, in order to try to figure out what had exactly gone wrong with the sleeping potion he had tried to brew. He would have to clean up the mess soon, but perhaps the broken cauldron would still have some clues regarding what had failed him. Then, he remembered that the explosion had happened a few seconds after he had added the moonstone, so perhaps that had been the cause. He looked between the books and found two that looked quite informative: The Complete Guide To Potions Ingredients and The Complete Guide To Potions, both by a man called Nicholas Flamel. The first book seemed to list every ingredient used in potions, all of them with a long list of properties and alternate names for each, while the second book mentioned all the potions that had been developed by the time it had been published, with a short set of instructions on how to make them for most of them. He opened The Complete Guide To Potions Ingredients and searched for the moonstone, as he hoped it may give him an idea about why it had gone this bad. He soon found the entry for the stone and read it. Moonstone: A gemstone known for its power over emotions. Usually used in powder form for emotional balance. Classification: Solidus Saxum Gemma Luna Commonly used in: Sleeping Draughts, Peace Potions, and Counter Love Potions History: Discovered by Zosimus in 342 A.D. while attempting to energize a Heart Diamond. Hazards: When adding to a potion with salamander blood, add only 1 gram every 3 seconds to avoid explosions. When adding to a potion with dragon blood, add only 1 gram every 10 seconds to avoid explosions. Harry checked the recipe for the sleeping potion in Easy and Useful Potions, and sure, it had salamander blood as one of its ingredients, but it had no mention of how the moonstone had to be added to prevent the explosion. It was probably something everyone that did potions knew from learning, without needing to be reminded of it. He wondered, though, why it had exploded, and whether there would be some way to actually understand those reasons. Harry started turning the pages, looking at the information it held in a random fashion. It was amazing: the book was written in a simple way, that made it very easy to understand what the author was talking about, and it helped him gain some comprehension on those. He also checked a bit on what the classifications meant, and it seemed to be quite straight forward: first, an ingredient was divided by its nature — solid, liquid or gas; then where it came from — animal, plant, rocks or fungus; then, depending of what it came from, it would state what kind of animal, plant, rock or fungus it was; and, finally, the actual ingredient would be mentioned with one or two words. So engrossed was Harry with his reading, that he did not leave it until his stomach growled. Despite his interest in this new subject that had engrossed him so much, he decided that it would be better to just go back upstairs to have some food. Perhaps, once he had calmed his stomach, he would read some more about this interesting new world of potions. ~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodig y***~~~***Prodigy***~~~ A mile away from the house Harry Potter was living in, a snowy owl was feeling restless, imprisoned in her small cage, in a rickety carriage pulled by a horse. She had been caught three days ago, several miles to the north from where she was now, while she was sleeping in the tree trunk she lived in. The owl did not like her new surroundings at all: it was too small for her liking, and it completely impeded the possibility of flying away. She kept rattling her cage, hoping to break the door open, but the bars were too strong for her. The door was securely locked thanks to the seedy wizards that had caught her. In the past, she had not minded wizards too much. Once, she had delivered a letter for an old man that had been very kind to her, and had fed her very tasty things. That wizard had never tried to put her in a cage, or something similar, so she had liked him. But these wizards were very different. They did not seem to care about her at all, they just talked about how much money they were going to get for her and the other owls they had captured, and at no moment they had bothered to check if any of the owls had water. Had they done so, they would have seen that the water dishes in the cages had spilled due to the rocking of the carriage. All of a sudden, the right wheel of the carriage hit a pothole in the dirt road. All the cages flew into the air and hit the ground, hard. The hit caused the locks that were holding the doors closed to break, which allowed the white owl and most of her kind to leave. The white owl took off flying away as fast as she could, evading the red spells the wizards that had caught here were shooting at her by changing directions with her tail feathers. A minute later, as she was still avoiding the wizards, she spotted a safe haven. There was a place on the ground, not too far away from where she was, that she could see perfectly, but that she knew the wizards would not be able to. The old wizard she had helped before lived in a place that was similar to this one, so she knew she would be safe there. She dived and, to the astonishment of the wizards, she disappeared from outside view. ~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy** *~~~***Prodigy***~~~ Harry had just finished eating his omelette when something entered through the window he had left open to let some fresh air enter the house. He jumped out of his chair and pointed his stick there, when he saw the beautiful white owl that had flown inside. The avian was next to the sink, and was pecking at the tap. Harry was extremely amazed at this behaviour: it seemed as if the animal was trying to tell him something, to communicate with him. “Are you thirsty?” Harry asked, wondering if that was what the bird wanted. He did not expect an answer, so he was more than surprised when the white owl hooted, as if she was answering 'yes'. “What kind of owl flies into a house just to get some water?” Harry asked himself, but he ran towards the cupboard and picked a dish that could hold water and that would allow the owl to peck inside. He then put the dish under the tap and turned it on, filling the dish with water. He set the dish on the counter, and the owl eagerly drank the water for several minutes. Harry smiled: this owl was really thirsty. When she was done drinking, satisfied, the owl flew over Harry — apparently in joy — before settling down on his shoulder, and hooting something Harry interpreted as a thank you for helping her. “You are welcome,” Harry told the owl. “You are a very pretty owl, you know.” The owl nipped at his ear in an affectionate manner. “Would you like me to show you around? You must be a bit tired, if you were that thirsty,” Harry said. The owl hooted affirmatively, and Harry carried the owl around, showing her all the rooms of the house, as he kept with her the first conversation with someone other than himself for the first time in nearly a month. After seeing everything, and noticing how nice Harry was, the owl decided to stay, at least for a few days. She liked this human, and knew he liked her, too, so she knew it would be good to be here. ~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy** *~~~***Prodigy***~~~ He started to hear footsteps coming from the corridor that lead to his cell. He changed forms, from dog to person, as a voice he did not know said “Expecto Patronum” and a silver tiger jumped forward, pushing the hated Dementors back, away from his cell. A few seconds later, the door opened and a dark-skinned, bald man entered the cell, his wand pointed at him. “Stand up, Black,” the dark-skinned man said in a neutral tone. “You have a visitor.” “Hey, Kingsley, still shacking things around?” he said, smiling and winking at him. It was the small private joke the dark-skinned man — Kingsley Shacklebolt — had shared with the Aurors he liked the most, and Black had been one of them. “You do not have the right to make that joke, Black, not after everything you did,” Kingsley hissed, apparently trying not to let his feelings towards the former Auror show. “Awww, come on, the King himself should have known of the chance that I was framed of everything.” “Get moving, Black, before I decide to move you myself. And you had better not attempt to do any funny things on the way.” “OK, OK, I'm coming,” Black replied, standing up and moving towards the door. He had now a chance to escape this place and find the rat, but he knew it would be practically impossible to get away. Kingsley Shacklebolt was one of the best Aurors the Ministry had under its employ, and the other Auror that was escorting him seemed to be quite good in his job, too, given that he had been able to cast a Patronus Charm without much problem. “Here, Black,” Kingsley said, opening a door. “You'd better collaborate, or else you are getting back to your cell, and those Dementors will be back.” “Take it easy, King, I am not going to do anything weird. Well, I might prank your knickers if I manage to get out of here soon,” Black replied, before entering the meeting room, where he found someone he had never expected to see. “Nice, this is like going back to the past, first the King and now no one but Albus Dumbledore himself,” Black said, sitting down on one of the chairs, just opposite to Dumbledore. “Ah, Mr Black, I would like to make this visit short,” Dumbledore said in a serious tone, but also one that betrayed his shock over the fact that his former student was still quite sane after nearly seven years in Azkaban, “so I would really enjoy it if you answered my questions soon.” “Just out of curiosity, what day is it? It is been a lot of time since I lost count.” “Today is the twenty-eighth of May, nineteen eighty-eight.” “Not bad. This visit has only come... six years and seven months minus three days too late. I thought you would have arrived sooner, you know.” “Mr Black, that is enough. I have only come for one thing, and that is the secret to the Potter's house. Tell me and I will try to get you sent to another cell, one with less Dementors.” “What is this about? Is it Harry?” Black asked, his earlier mood changing into concern. “Has something happened to the pup?” he asked himself. “That is nothing that should worry you, Mr Black. The secret, please.” Black laughed, one of his dog-like laughs that he had had since he first turned into a dog. “That will be slightly difficult for me to do, you know, Albus?” “What are you talking about, Black?” “Well, there is this detail about the secret, as in I do not know it. Oh, I was told the secret, but it can not tell it, due to the tiny, minimal fact that I was not the Secret Keeper.” “Impossible! I thought...” “You thought that I had betrayed my best friend, his wife and the kid I loved from the moment he was born? Please, Albus, you know that I was loyal to James, Lily and Harry, I would have never sent Voldemort towards them. I would have died for them, damn it!” “I find it hard to believe you, especially after the way you killed your friend Peter.” “Peter? I did not kill the little bastard, if that's what you are worried about. Peter was the Secret Keeper, not me, and when I caught up with him after his betrayal, he blew up the gas line that passed under the street we were fighting in and then he cut off his finger to make everybody else believe he had died.” “What?” Albus asked, surprised. “You would have learned this if you had... how is it... oh, yeah, done the right thing instead of the easy thing and pushed for me to get a trial, you know?” “Still, I find it hard to believe your entire story.” “I'm sure you must have a vial of Veritaserum somewhere in the pockets of that robe of yours. Honestly, Albus, I thought James had told you years ago that robe was way too garish to wear it around.” Albus did not answer to that, but pulled something out of a pocket and set it on the table. “Are you sure you want this, Mr Black? I have no problem with sending you back to your cell once I learn the truth.” “Given that the truth is that I am innocent, I am sure whatever you ask me with this thing will show you that I am innocent.” Albus was surprised at the confidence Black was showing. Here he was going to be asked about the crimes he had committed and he was sure that the truth would set him free. He opened the flask and Black opened his mouth, letting three drops of the powerful Truth Serum enter it. A minute later, Sirius was under its influence, and Albus was ready to ask his questions. ~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prod igy***~~~***Prodigy***~~~ Arthur stepped on the rotating stairs, ready to meet Albus Dumbledore. It had been more than four weeks since he met with him, to tell him about the strange behaviour of the Department of Accidental Magic Reversal's sensors. He had spent those four weeks getting used to his new job at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Department, which did not pay as well as his old job, but it allowed him to be in close contact with the things he liked the most. The only thing he hated about his job was that, while he could provide for his extensive family without much problem, they would have to buy most everything else from second-hand stores, and their younger children would have to use their older brothers' clothes as they grew up. The day before, Dumbledore had sent him a message with his phoenix, Fawkes, telling him he had discovered something important related to the matter that had changed his life so much, so he had arranged his timetable around to get a free day, and he had Apparated to Hogwarts as soon as he had been able to. “Hello again, Arthur. Please, sit down,” Albus said, pointing him to the chair in front of his desk, “Sherbet lemon?” “Thank you,” Arthur replied, taking the offered sweet and sitting down. “What is it that you found, Albus? From what I read in your note, it seemed important.” “It is very important, Arthur. I have nothing specific about the matter you told me about, but I do have my suspicions based on certain facts I have discovered in the last month.” “So, you are making progress in the investigation?” “Indeed, I have made progress, but what I have learned could be a bit troubling if it were to fall in the wrong hands.” The Headmaster had a grave look on his face, as he pondered the problem he had discovered once more. “Is it what we feared, Albus?” Arthur asked. He did not want to think of the possibility of Voldemort being resurrected somehow, and being behind the disturbances. “You can relax on that, Arthur. If it truly were Voldemort, we would have seen the signs of his return by now. So far, nothing untoward has happened that can be connected to him,” Albus replied with a small smile. He decided that he could tell Arthur what he had found: he trusted the red-haired man, and perhaps he could bounce his hypothesis off him, as he knew Arthur was a bright man that could offer him some ideas he had not considered. “Arthur, what I am going to share with you is something that must stay between you and me only.” “I will not tell anyone about this, Albus,” Arthur replied. “Thank you, Arthur,” Albus said, grateful. “The day after you told me of the sensors, I discovered something that could be related to it. Harry Potter has disappeared from his relatives' house.” Arthur was surprised. The little he knew about Harry Potter was that he was protected behind some very powerful wards at his relatives' house. “Was he kidnapped?” “No, Arthur. I am not sure of the details, but I believe, based on a few things I learned when I visited there, that he was able to Disapparate from his Muggle primary school through accidental magic. I fear that, when I sent Harry there to live as a baby, I did not make a good choice. I knew Minerva had watched them for a whole day, and she had told me they were 'the worst sort of Muggles', but my fear of Harry dying at the hand of some still free Death Eater, as well as my wish to make sure Harry grew somewhere where he would not be reminded every day of his having defeated Voldemort, overruled my concerns over what could happen to him if Minerva was right.” “Do you know anything about him? What if he has been taken by someone else after he Disapparated?” “I believe I know where he is. Now, it took me some time to find the moment to do it, so as soon as I was able to I Apparated to Godric's Hollow in order to investigate the location. Since the Potters' house is still under the Fidelius Charm, I was unable to investigate the house itself, but I managed to spend a few hours looking through the surrounding areas, as well as learning a few things through my Mage Sight.” “What about... Sirius Black? I suppose you must have already visited him; since he was the Potters' Secret Keeper, I guess he must have already told you the secret to the house,” Arthur said. “Ah, therein lies the problem, Arthur. A few days ago, after I made sure that there was no alternative and checking whether there might be some other place under a Fidelius Charm, I went to Azkaban and visited Sirius Black. He still seems sane, even after six years at one of the highest security cells in Azkaban, and he told me a few things that I checked through the use of Veritaserum. What he told me under the serum confirmed what he had said, and that was quite startling. It seems that Sirius Black was not the Potters' Secret Keeper after all. “WHAT?” Arthur asked, jumping from his chair. The revelation was more than enough to unsettle any wizard or witch that had been alive in the last twenty years. Arthur was not sure if he could believe it: in fact, if it had been someone other than Albus Dumbledore, Arthur would have declared them a liar immediately. “I am afraid it is true. It seems that sending Harry to live with his relatives was not the only mistake I made that week. Sirius Black was denied a trial by Minister Bagnold at the behest of Bartemius Crouch Senior and was imprisoned under a Ministerial Order I, in my anger and pain, allowed to pass. I have no doubt that, if I had pushed for a trial, Sirius Black would not only be a free man, but also in charge of Harry Potter, which would have probably been the best for both of them.” “I do not understand this. How come Black was not the Secret Keeper? And why did Pettigrew say all that about Black betraying the Potters?” “Sirius Black told me under Veritaserum that they had changed Secret Keepers at the last minute, giving Pettigrew the responsibility of keeping the secret within him, but it seems all of us made a mistake in trusting him, since he was a spy for Voldemort and told him the secret as soon as he was able to. As for the incident after which Sirius was imprisoned, it happened the other way: it was Sirius that went after Pettigrew, and it was Pettigrew that blew up the street, to then cut off one of his fingers and then transformed himself into a rat. Oh, yes,” Albus said, after seeing Arthur's surprise written on his face, “it seems that Pettigrew, Sirius and James Potter managed to train themselves as Animagi while they were studying at Hogwarts, in order to give company to their friend Remus Lupin during the full moon nights, and they never registered, of course. Pettigrew's form was a rat, which is the way he managed to get away through the sewers after framing Sirius.” Arthur sat down again, struck by the knowledge that had been revealed to him. What knowledge he had regarded as the truth for years had suddenly been revealed to be a falsehood. An innocent man had been sent to what was basically hell on Earth without the chance to defend himself. The man that had betrayed his friends and killed so many people had been free for more than six years. And no one had known until now. “What do you plan to do now, Albus?” “If I were able to, I would pull Sirius out of Azkaban and start a trial, but, knowing them, the Wizengamot will not vote to rescind Bagnold's Ministerial Order. The only way we would be able to free Sirius would be to have Pettigrew found and tried, but, knowing that he can transform into a rat, it means that there are thousands of places where he could be hiding. The only clue we could have regarding Pettigrew's identity would be the lack of a finger.” Arthur nodded his understanding. He knew how hard it was to push the Wizengamot to do something useful, especially when a part of it had supported Lord Voldemort in the sly during his attempts to take control of Britain's Magical World. If they suspected that something could buckle them out of the Wizengamot, they would fight it tooth and nail. “Alas, I have been sidetracked a bit here, with everything surrounding Sirius Black. Back to Godric's Hollow, what I discovered there seemed to point out towards the Potters' house as the place from where the magic detected by the sensors came from. As the Potters' house is still under the Fidelius, we can assume that, whoever has taken up residence there, was told the secret by Pettigrew before that night. Remus Lupin, the last I heard, was in America, helping in the investigation of a possible cure to his illness, so it could not be him there. Since Sirius Black is in prison, it is not possible for him to be at Godric's Hollow. Peter Pettigrew, while a somewhat resourceful wizard, would have not been able to display such powerful magical outbursts, since he always was a weak wizard. And, as I said before, if it had been Voldemort we would have seen the signs, and Death Eaters would have once more struck. So, that leaves only one person who could be doing this.” “Who is that one person?” Arthur was sitting on the edge of his seat. He thought he had the answer, especially given what had been discussed previously, but... it could not be, could it? “Harry Potter, of course.” ~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodig y***~~~***Prodigy***~~~ Indeed, as Albus Dumbledore suspected, Harry Potter was the one who now lived at his late parents' house, which was now his own. Lately, a second living being had taken shelter there as well, when she had first sought refuge from her captors, but now she had decided to live there as well. This visitor was not human, but a snowy white owl, that from the moment she had appeared at the kitchen, had not left the house save for when she went hunting to the garden. Harry was enjoying the company of his new friend. While he had not fully left the practise of magic, he had instead spent most of his time playing with the owl, something he had never been able to do: any friends he might have had while he lived at the Dursleys' were always scared away by Dudley, and the Dursleys never allowed him to have any free time. One of the first things they played was something Harry had seen people playing with their dogs in the park once: fetch. It had taken Harry some time, a lot of coaxing and some bribes in the form of bacon — which Harry had discovered the owl loved. Harry would throw a stick — not the one he used for magic, but another one — and the owl would fly and attempt to catch it before it would hit the ground. There were other games as well: for example, hide and seek. Playing it against an avian instead of another person had been very different and funny for Harry. The owl had the advantage in this game, as her smaller size meant she could fit into places Harry could not even see, like a hollow trunk that stood in the garden at the back of the house. However, Harry held an advantage, in that he could do things like opening and closing doors, which could prevent the owl from following him. The first time he did that, the bird had somehow sensed him hiding in the cupboard at the entrance hall and nearly pecked a hole through the door trying to get in. The main problem they had was the lack of real communication between them, given that the owl could not actually speak. However, Harry knew the owl could understand human speech perfectly, and she always knew what Harry was talking about. As for the owl talking back, Harry was starting to understand the owl's language: whenever he asked her a question, she always replied with a hoot, which could mean 'yes' or 'no'. The young boy sometimes failed to distinguish the owl's answers, but as time passed that happened less and less. “Do you want to do something?” Harry asked the bird, the same morning Dumbledore and Arthur were having their conversation. The owl hooted in a tone Harry understood meant that she did not care. He had not thought of giving the owl a name yet: it was just the two of them at the house, and there was no need for names when he could not get confused. Although sometimes he talked to himself, the owl always seemed to know when Harry's thoughts were directed at her. “How about a game? I once saw a couple of people playing this once, and it seemed interesting. One of us thinks of something, and the other has to figure it out by asking questions, but you only have twenty questions. What do you think?” The owl gave a hoot that seemed to be a mix between a 'yes' and 'how are we going to play that?' to Harry. Harry realised that it would be difficult to play it: it had been so long since he had been around other humans, he sometimes forgot what it was like, and that part of him was trying to turn his avian friend into another child — a human child. He sighed deeply, before speaking again. “OK. I know I can not think of it... but maybe you could think of something.” There was a moment of silence and then a hoot that Harry interpreted as her being ready to be asked. “OK, is it blue?” Negative hoot. “Is it alive?” Negative hoot. “Can you wear it?” Positive hoot. “Is it a shirt?” Negative hoot. “Is it socks?” Negative hoot. “Do you wear it on your head?” Positive hoot. “Is it a hat?” Negative hoot. “Is it glasses?” Negative hoot. Harry frowned, and tried to think of more questions. He soon realised that he had created a hole in his thoughts by asking those questions. “Can you wear it other places on your body?” Positive hoot. Harry paused to consider his thoughts once more. “Do you wear it on your legs?” Negative hoot. Harry was stumped. He had already used half of his questions, but still did not have the slightest idea of what the owl had thought. “Can you wear it on your shirt?” The answer was a positive hoot, but with a strange tone, as in asking why would anyone do it. “Is it made of fabric?” Negative hoot. “Is it made of metal?” Another negative hoot made Harry think even more deeply. He was really enjoying this. “Is it made of wood?” Negative hoot. Harry was grasping at straws. He only had six more questions left. “Is it made of plastic?” Negative hoot. “Is it valuable?” This time, the negative hoot was very intense. “Is it made?” Positive hoot. “Is it hair?” Negative hoot. Harry was not sure hair was that valuable, but he thought he would give it a chance anyway. Only two questions left. Then he realised that he had only asked one colour, so he tried to ask another colour. “Is it green?” Surprisingly, the hoot was positive. Harry thought hard to consider his last question. It could be worn, but it was not a good idea. It was green. It was not valuable. It was made, but not of the normal substances. It was primarily on one's head, probably. In a flash of inspiration, Harry asked his last question. “Is it a bogey?” There was silence. Then the little owl erupted into a sound that had to be the equivalent of laughter. Harry could not help but join in. What a crazy little owl this was. ~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy*** ~~~***Prodigy***~~~ Arthur Weasley Apparated home, still thinking very hard about the meeting he had had with Albus Dumbledore. Everything he had learned there had been very unsettling: the knowledge that Sirius Black was innocent, that Peter Pettigrew was the one who had betrayed the Potters and the Order of the Phoenix, and that Harry Potter was the most likely candidate for being the one disrupting the Ministry's sensors felt very heavy on him. The first member of his family he met was his ten-year-old son Percy, who had come out of the house to greet his father when he saw him walking up the road that led towards the town of Ottery St Catchpole. The boy, who was to start at Hogwarts next September, had been playing with his pet rat, Scabbers, which he had found six years ago in the garden. Arthur kneeled in front of his son, to hug him and give him a kiss on his forehead, but when his gaze passed by the small ball of fur in his son's hands, a light turned on in his brain. He remembered Percy had given him that name because the rat seemed to have recently lost one of its fingers. “Surely it can not be,” Arthur thought, as he forced his face into a smile, to avoid making the rat suspicious. “Could it be this easy to find him? Have we harboured a murderer and a traitor for the last several years in this house without knowing it?” “Hi, dad,” Percy said. “Hello, Percy. How was your day?” “Pretty good, dad. I have been reading some of Bill's old books, so that I know what to do when I go to Hogwarts. How was yours?” “Oh, it has been another great day in the department. Muggles are really fascinating, you know,” Arthur replied with a smile, as he carefully tried to look at the rat's paws. When he finally found that the animal's right paw lacked one of his fingers, he knew he had found him, but he could not do anything too sudden or he might alert the Animagus. Then, an idea struck him. “Son, have you been listening to the wireless today?” “No, dad. I stayed in my room most of the morning, and then I came out here with Scabbers. Why?” “Well, do not get alarmed, but it seems that some rats not too far from here have been caught, and they were carrying a strange disease. It only affects rats, but it could be harmful for him. I think we should get Scabbers checked out soon, just to make sure that he has not caught it and that he can not pass it to other rats,” Arthur replied, skilfully lying. He did not like to lie to his son, but if the rat was really Peter Pettigrew, it was a necessary precaution to take. Percy stood up immediately. “We should do that at once, dad! I hope there is not anything wrong with Scabbers!” he said, pulling at his father's sleeve. “Do not worry, Percy. Look, I can take care of it right now, and I'll be back soon.” “Sure, dad, I'll just go upstairs and grab my coat.” “There is no need, son. I'll be back soon,” he said, conjuring a small cage for the rat. Percy, trusting his father, put Scabbers in the cage, and let his father go. As he walked down the road, Arthur charmed the cage to be Unbreakable and changed it into a metal box, to prevent the rat from seeing its surroundings. Only then did he Apparate back to Hogwarts for the second time that day. This time, he had a companion, though. ~~~***Prodigy***~~~***Prodigy ***~~~***Prodigy***~~~ Inside the box, the rat in question was slightly confused. No, he was very confused and worried. He perfectly knew that he was not infected with a rodent disease, but it was not as if he could pop back into himself and explain that. He just hoped that, wherever Arthur Weasley was taking him, no one would discover his special circumstances. It never occurred to him that all of this was just a set up. He thought the Weasleys were not bright enough to figure his identity out, and as such he thought himself to be safe. However, when the box was opened, it was to a place he knew all too well, and where he did not want to be in. His former friends and himself had been at this office too many times, mostly for the pranks they had played on the rest of the school, and also an extra couple of times when, despite the help the others were giving him, he was about to fail his subjects at Hogwarts. He forced himself to be calm: he knew that, if he got too nervous, he might lose the hold he had on his Animagus form, and then the game would be up. However, his efforts were for nothing, for someone had picked him by the tail and had cast a spell on him. He soon felt as if he were being stretched quite forcefully, as if his bones were growing up at a high speed, as if everything was starting to contract — or, more exactly, as if he himself was growing — and soon he had recovered his human form for the first time in six years. “Hello, Peter. Fancy meeting you here,” Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts Headmaster, said as soon as the feeling had passed and he was aware of his surroundings. Peter felt as if his feet were glued to the floor. While the headmaster had spoken calmly, the fury that Peter saw on the old man’s face truly scared him. The thunderous expression was the one the Supreme Mugwump wore when duelling with his master and the other Death Eaters. No wonder the Dark Lord feared Albus Dumbledore more than anyone else. Peter himself felt as if he was going to pass out in terror. “I fear I cannot allow you to run away, Peter. Or else you might find out how much I disliked what you did six years ago. Incarcerous!” Dumbledore rumbled, and ropes appeared in front of his wand, before wrapping themselves around Peter's body. Peter fell down to the floor, too scared to try to transform back into his Animagus form. Dumbledore stood up and cast a second charm on the ropes. “That will prevent him from Apparating away or transforming. We have him well secured. First, we shall go to Godric's Hollow, and then we will take you to the Ministry.” “Albus...” “Arthur, you have nothing to worry about regarding Peter's stay at your house. In fact, I'll make sure to tell the Minister that it was your actions that allowed this... man... to be caught and judged.” Dumbledore took one of the knick-knacks from his table and transformed it into a Portkey. “Please, grab a hold of this, Arthur. It will take us to Godric's Hollow.” Arthur touched the Portkey, and Dumbledore took a firm hold of Pettigrew's bound form. Soon, the three men were travelling towards their first destination of the day. |
| Reviews 51 |
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