Harry Potter and the Years of Rebellion

Chapter Four

LEAVING PRIVET DRIVE

No one dared speak as the red smoke rose and dissipated. Dumbledore broke the silence. His voice remained even and calm, though his eyes seared into Harry as he asked, “Why?”

Harry glared back. He gripped the signed will and said nothing.

Dumbledore turned away from Harry, and sighed deeply. “I continue to fail you, it seems. Mr. Weasley?” Bill nodded. “Mr. Weasley, please contact our mutual friends immediately, and tell them to double the numbers at Privet Drive. I fear that we shall have to interfere with the Dursleys' lives very soon.”

As Bill hurried out into the Gringotts great hall, Harry scowled. “You think they're going to let you walk in and muck about with their lives? You know what they think of -”

“As we speak, it is possible that the protections at Privet Drive are giving way. And so I ask you again, Harry - why?” For a brief instant, Harry felt a flash of the power and righteousness that Dumbledore had displayed at the Ministry of Magic.

Harry refused to wither. He snarled, “Because it was Sirius' right to give this to me, and it's my right to claim it.”

“Did you for a moment consider the cost, Harry?” Dumbledore asked. “Is it worth the pain and suffering of others? Would you have this at the cost of a life, Harry? Two lives, perhaps? Even three lives?”

Harry crossed his arms. “What lives? What are you talking about?”

“Listen to me, Harry,” Dumbledore insisted. “The protection afforded you, the protection your mother gave her life to provide, was sealed when her sister took you in. Your willing acceptance of this emancipation may have been enough to unseal the charm, to lift the shield around you - the same shield that has been around the Dursleys.”

“Dudley!” Harry exclaimed. Dedalus Diggle looked excitedly around the room, Madam Bones looked puzzled, and the scribe looked as though all of this was an everyday occurrence.

Dumbledore crooked an eyebrow. “What about your cousin? Harry, is he in trouble? Have you had a vision? Do you know something that would help him?”

Harry felt a blush spread across his cheeks. “He's at the Leaky Cauldron,” he managed to say.

Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly, and then returned to their normal cast. He slid down into a chair. “Please help me understand, Harry; I am certain that I failed to hear you properly. You brought your Muggle cousin here with you, and left him at the Leaky Cauldron?”

Harry nodded. “He's my ride.”

“He is your `ride',” repeated Dumbledore. “Your cousin transported you from Surrey to London - in an automobile, I gather? Young Mister Dursley is surely not old enough to hold a legal licence to drive. Shall I also presume that you used the Dursleys' automobile?” Harry nodded again. “Without the consent or knowledge of your aunt and uncle?” Harry closed his eyes.

Dumbledore frowned, and drew an old pocket watch from his robes. “I see. Rather a limited amount of time you left yourselves, I should think… fifty miles, at an average of, say, twenty-five miles per hour… I do believe you should be going, Harry. I would lend a hand, of course, but it seems that you would prefer to handle things in your own fashion.”

He turned on Dedalus Diggle, who had unsuccessfully Disillusioned himself. “Dedalus, you have started this and now you shall finish it. I expect you promptly at eight o'clock this evening, at the usual place. Harry, you must begin attending to your affairs immediately. Someone shall come by to collect you no later than seven-thirty. It may be quite a bit earlier, depending upon the state of the wards. I would appreciate it if you were packed, as I doubt that you shall remain at the Dursleys.”

Harry stood frozen in place.

Dumbledore looked again at the pocket watch. “Harry, do not linger… and be sure to mind your box. It may prove to have been quite costly.”

Harry set the signed copy of Sirius' will on the desk next to the box. He said quietly, “Mr. Diggle?”

Diggle looked at Dumbledore first before answering, “Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“I need money, Muggle money. Is it possible to…?”

“Mr. Black was always prepared to, er, relocate without notice,” said Diggle. “Unless he changed the contents of the box since I last met with him, I believe that you'll find your needs adequately addressed.”

Harry fumbled with two catches, one on each side of the nondescript wooden box. He looked inside, looked again to be sure of what he was seeing, and quickly closed the box.

Diggle took off his top hat and dabbed at his brow with a violet handkerchief. “Satisfactory, Mr. Potter?” Harry nodded.

Dumbledore gestured to his pocket watch, still frowning, and Harry left the office with the box balanced awkwardly over one shoulder.

To his credit, Dudley was not in hysterics when Harry returned to the parlour in the Leaky Cauldron. Tom gave him a mild tongue-lashing for taking so long, to which Harry chose not to object. Dudley became slightly more relieved when he saw that the car was still parked, with no wheel clamps in sight and three minutes remaining on the meter.

Neither of them spoke for most of the way to the M23.

Abruptly, Dudley asked, “How's your friend?”

Harry, lost in thought, said, “What?”

“Your friend, the one in trouble. How is she?”

Harry said, “Fine. Frightened, apparently, but fine.”

The car was silent a while longer. As Dudley sped onto the motorway, Harry said, “I messed up.”

Dudley's brow furrowed and his small eyes narrowed. “Damn right you did, you git! You left me in that loony bin with those nutters for nigh on two hours! Some of `em were going spare, I tell you, talking about killing mutts, or mingles, or something!”

Harry barely listened, and shook his head. “Not what I meant, though I'm sorry for taking so long. I meant that I messed up with the arrangements.”

Dudley's hands tightened on the wheel. “Please don't tell me that I nicked this car, my - own - parents' - car, for nothing.”

Harry shook his head. “No, no, I signed the will. I have your money. That's not the problem. I signed the will, Dudley. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry.” He opened the box, pulling out one of a half-dozen tan envelopes marked Pounds stuck to the inside of the lid. After thumbing through the contents, he tossed a wrapped bundle of bank notes onto Dudley's lap. Dudley glanced down, then back up, and then back down again, and accidentally tapped the brake pedal. He wrestled with the wheel for a moment, and then quickly pulled to the side of the motorway.

Dudley lifted the bundle to eye level, then slipped out a bill and held it toward the windshield. “Sweet Lord almighty, these are real fifty-pound notes! A whole bundle of … that's five - thousand - bloody - pounds!”

Harry closed the box and set it on his lap, letting his chin rest on the lid. “I hope that will cover all the equipment,” he said softly.

Dudley laughed, “Cover it? Hell, yes, it'll cover it - and professional quality besides! I never really thought… Potter, I guess you keep your word.” He appeared slightly uncomfortable with that idea, Harry thought.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and then felt like he was going to be sick. He realised that he looked it, when Dudley asked, “You all right? I mean, if you're going to spew up, then open the door and lean out!”

“Dudley, I signed the will. I agreed to it,” Harry said.

Dudley stared at him, and then said, “Right, then. I spent the afternoon hiding in a ruddy pub, so what in the bloody hell are you babbling about?”

Harry squirmed in his seat. “I've been emancipated.”

“Emanciwhatted?” Dudley asked.

“Emancipated,” Harry repeated. “It means I've been made a legal adult, as part of the terms of the will. And I signed it.”

Dudley sat silent, with a pained expression that Harry recognized from their study sessions, before he asked, “So what's the problem? I mean, congratulations - you can do whatever you want, then?”

“Dumbledore sent more people to your house. He said it wasn't safe anymore. He said you might have to be moved. Do you understand, Dudley? I'm an adult now.” Harry watched for signs of recognition.

The signs came slowly; Dudley's eyes widened and his eyebrows rose as it sunk in. He said nothing, but quickly whipped the car back into traffic and sped up to eighty miles per hour. Harry imagined that he might have to Obliviate a traffic officer, but there were none to be seen.

Forty minutes later, Harry recognised that something was amiss. They had driven through Little Whinging for five minutes, and there was no sign of the train station or the lot where the car belonged. By the time he recognised what had happened, Dudley had pulled off of Magnolia Road and onto Privet Drive.

“Dudley!” he shouted. “Dudley, what are you doing?”

Dudley took his eyes off the road and shot Harry a manic stare. “Getting home! What'd'ya think I'm doing?” The car slammed to a halt in the Dursleys' drive.

Dudley threw open the car and dashed for the front door, shouting, “Mum! Mum, are you all right? Mum!”

Harry followed more slowly, his fingers wrapped around the body of his wand. Then, he heard a low but very shrill voice call out from the front room, “What - were - you - thinking?”

Harry cringed, but decided that the Gryffindor thing to do was walk into the house and deflect responsibility away from his cousin. Never thought that day would come, he thought, knowing that a month earlier he would have longed for the opportunity to have Dudley punished.

Aunt Petunia was seated on the couch. She stared daggers at Dudley, who stood defiantly with his arms crossed. He said, “I was thinking that I might like a drive. Sure enough, I liked it!”

Aunt Petunia launched herself from the couch. “We'll see if you give your father such cheek,” she sneered, and slapped him across the face.

Harry said, “I'm the one to slap, Aunt Petunia. I'm responsible for this.”

She whirled around, frowning. “You - you probably don't even know how to start a car.” Turning quickly back to Dudley, she railed, “But you - you know how to drive, all right. Did you think I didn't know, boy? Who do you think covered for you with your father last summer, when you took your little joyride?” Dudley's arms dropped to his sides, and he looked intently at his own shoes.

Aunt Petunia put her hand out. “Keys. Now,” she commanded. “You could have been killed. You could have killed someone else, or demolished the car! You - don't - think! For God's sake, Dudley Dursley, you're old enough to know better. If you want to go to London, take the train!”

Dudley's jaw dropped. Harry felt a catch in his throat. How did she know? he wondered.

“Thank you again for the tea, Mrs. Dursley,” a voice echoed from the hallway. The woman who entered the front room wore a very plain dress that fell to the tops of her very sensible shoes, and her hair was pulled tightly into a very familiar bun.

Harry winced. “Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall,” he managed, and tried hard not to gape at her Muggle wardrobe. He decided that McGonagall would look severe if she were wearing pink fluffy pyjamas and Fwooper-feather slippers, before he quickly banished the image.

McGonagall snapped, “I was just explaining to your aunt about the possibility that the protection on this house may fail. You should congratulate yourself. Only one student has ever succeeded in disappointing Professor Dumbledore this profoundly, and you are well aware how he turned out.”

“I - I - I -” Harry began, unable to decide what to say.

“Correct, Mister Potter” she spat. “Two points to Gryffindor for recognizing that your actions today have been all about you, you, you. If it was within my power, I would take a thousand points on your behalf from - my - own - house for your utter lack of consideration!”

For the second time in the same afternoon, Harry was frozen into place. McGonagall moved toward him, with unmistakeable authority. “Of course, Potter, matters involving you seldom turn out as expected. I have thoroughly examined this entire house and its property. When you brought that will into force, you severed the ties of childhood. Against both my expectations and those of Professor Dumbledore, the protections remain intact.” She leaned in, a griffin prepared to pounce. “What do you think is at work here? An answer, now, if you please.”

Harry decided to regard this as a practical examination. He thought for a while, and then began to talk through an explanation. “The protections were built on blood ties. The blood ties haven't changed, simply because of the will. So…” The professor's eyes narrowed. “So ruling that out… the protections weren't up to me. I'm in the blood line, but the seal was between my mother and Aunt Petunia…” He hesitated, before seeing the answer. “…and now it's between the Dursleys and me. The protections are still in place because I want them to remain.”

Professor McGonagall nodded. “Three more points to Gryffindor for a plausible explanation, although Professor Dumbledore will surely weigh in.”

Aunt Petunia, who had been staring at Harry since McGonagall entered the room, cleared her throat. Harry thought he saw moisture dot the corners of her eyes. “Are - are you saying that… I, I don't understand… I…”

Harry said, “I can't be protected anymore. Dumbledore…”

“Professor Dumbledore,” McGonagall interjected.

Harry scowled. “Dumbledore knows it. He tried to protect me for five years, and it all came crashing down. It's finished now.” Turning to McGonagall, he added, “It was finished whether or not I signed Sirius' will. You know that.” The professor scowled, but said nothing.

Harry continued, focusing on the Dursleys. “You have to be protected, though. You can't defend yourselves against the Death Eaters or Voldemort -” Aunt Petunia flinched, and Professor McGonagall breathed in sharply. Harry moved closer to his aunt and cousin, and continued, “ - and he will use anything or anyone to get at me, including you.” He looked at Dudley, and then said to Aunt Petunia, “Thank your son for this. A year ago, I might have walked away without a thought.” Her mouth dropped open, but no words came out.

“I know that you hate what I am, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said, trying to assume the bearing that came naturally to his Head of House. “I'm sorry for that, but I'm also accustomed. You can hate me if you like, but don't take it out on Dudley. I meant what I said. I was responsible for the drive today.”

In a feisty tone, Dudley cut in, “I'm able to make up my own mind, you know.”

Harry smiled faintly. “I'm finding that out.” Turning back to Aunt Petunia, he continued, “I don't know if I'll be back next year, or for how long. It's possible that this will be the last time you ever see me. There are things that I have to do -”

McGonagall said quietly, “Harry, you'd best stop at that.”

Harry nodded, without taking his eyes off his aunt. “It will be dangerous for me from now on, very dangerous.”

Aunt Petunia closed her eyes tightly, and said in a low monotone, “You are the only son of my only sister. You are the only part of Lily that remains. I was so jealous of her - always the pretty one, the smart one, the popular one. If I'd any idea how it would turn out, I would have… but I didn't know - well, I knew it was freakish and wrong, but the danger - I really didn't know… what I'm saying is, be safe if you can.” She reached out and clasped his hand. “Harry -”, Aunt Petunia said, her voice reduced to a strangled whisper tinged with horror and rage. “I want revenge… for my parents… and for my sister.”

Harry reeled - acknowledging his mother was odd enough, but what did she mean by asking revenge for her parents? He looked to Dudley, who was staring at him with his mouth open, and reached out to shake his hand. “You have my, er, `gift'?” Harry asked.

Dudley quickly shook his head, coming out of a fog. “Uh - yeah! It's in my pocket.”

Harry nodded. “Good. If you need to reach me - if anything happens, you can send a letter in care of Mrs. Figg. I'll be interested in the results of your exams… and the boxing tournament, of course.”

Dudley nodded and playfully sparred in front of Harry, hitting him on the shoulder. Harry winced - Dudley still hit hard even when he was playing around.

Harry asked McGonagall, “Professor, will the Order maintain watch on this house?”

“At your request, I suspect that they will,” she replied.

“Good. I'd like a small watch at Dudley's school, as well,” Harry added.

McGonagall told him, “The protections move with your relatives, Potter - at least they did. Failing that, your uncle couldn't have worked and your cousin couldn't have attended school.”

Harry started toward the stairs. “I should pack. Will you be taking me to… to Sirius' house?”

“Potter, your room is a pig sty!” another female voice called down the steps, followed shortly by a series of thumps. “Sorry!”

A male voice chimed in, “Just pack, for Merlin's sake! I'll take care of it!”

Aunt Petunia said, “I took the liberty of having those frea… er, your friends pack your things. Dudley and I will fetch Vernon at the station, and I expect it would be best if you weren't here when we return. Dudley, there is a small trunk in the kitchen; bring it to Harry.”

Dudley returned with a worn wooden trunk, unmistakeably marked with the crest of Gryffindor house. Aunt Petunia looked around the room at anything but Harry. “This trunk does not belong here. Best that it leave with you,” she said, again in a monotone.

Harry heard a thump and a loud crack! as his own school trunk bumped into the side of the stairwell and slowly drifted to the base of the stairs. Tonks bounded down the stairs after it.

“Wotcher, Harry. Long time between owls,” she said. Her hair was dark black and shoulder length. It framed her face rather pleasantly, Harry thought. He wondered if this was her everyday hair. She was dressed in jeans and a sleeveless shirt. Dudley was watching her all too closely.

Tonks smiled at Harry and said, “I like the hair; it works for you.”  She cocked her head to one side, looking him up and down.  “Filled out a bit, I see,” she added.  “Your fan club should be in a flutter, eh?” 

Remus Lupin followed behind her, carrying Hedwig's cage. Turned out in a tweed jacket and dress trousers, he could have passed for a tired Oxford don. He looked at the stairwell, gave a baleful shake of his head, pointed his wand and muttered, “Reparo.”

“Hello, Harry,” Lupin said. “Where's Hedwig off to?”

Harry shrugged. “Off hunting, or sulking. She's not happy with me.” Lupin looked more pale than usual, and Harry caught himself trying to remember when the full moon was expected.

“Oh! Professor Lupin, could you take care of another repair for me?” Harry asked. “It's just downstairs.”

McGonagall said, “If you're referring to the damage caused by your unfortunate emission, I have already resolved that.”

Tonks grinned, and asked, “Having control problems, Harry?” Dudley instantly snorted.

“Yes, and that will have to be addressed firmly. You need to learn patience, Potter,” said McGonagall firmly. She crooked an eyebrow at Dudley, who had his hands over his mouth to hold in the howls. “It's really not funny, young man. Uncontrolled nocturnal emissions can be an indication of a serious problem.” Dudley squeezed his eyes shut, and Aunt Petunia's cheeks reddened.

“May we go now?” asked Harry through clenched teeth.

“The three of you may go on ahead, Harry,” said McGonagall. “I must conclude my conversation with your aunt.”

Lupin cast a quick feather-light spell on both Harry's trunk and the mysterious trunk from Aunt Petunia. He said, “Harry, you carry your trunk. I'll carry the other trunk. Tonks, you manage the cage. We're walking to Figg's house; Dumbledore arranged for us to Floo from there.” Dudley half-waved and Aunt Petunia nodded curtly as Harry walked out the front door.

As they walked down the block, Lupin shook his head. “I'll never thoroughly understand Muggles. What was so amusing about energy emissions, anyway?”

Tonks snickered. “Remus, you must be joking. Tell me that you're joking.”

Lupin looked at her blankly. She shook her head. “Think about it. Nocturnal emissions? Control problems?” When Lupin maintained his vacant stare, she added, “Remus, Harry is a teenage boy. Think!”

Lupin's eyes widened. “You don't mean … oh, no!” He started laughing. “How could they think … did they actually think that the Ministry would concern itself with that sort of thing?”

Tonks laughed, “Muggles don't exactly learn about magical energy in school. They only know about one kind of emission.” She nudged Harry with her elbow, and he tried in vain to hide behind his own trunk. Yep, banner headline, full-page article - “Harry Potter's out-of-control nights”, he thought. Just perform the Killing Curse now.

###############

 

Harry brushed ash from his jeans and his hair, and lightly massaged the bump on his forehead. He was really looking forward to his Apparation licence, so that he would never have to Floo again. He moved aside just in time for Tonks, Lupin and the trunks.

Someone called out, “Potter!”

Harry instinctively flung his trunk toward the sound of the voice, dove for the floor, and drew his wand as he rolled. He shouted at the top of his lungs, “Lumos!!”

A brilliant white flash preceded the normal stream of light from the tip of his wand. Four people shrieked. Harry blinked furiously to clear the yellowish spots from his vision. Lupin moaned weakly, his hands obscuring his face.

Tonks snapped, “Bloody hell, Harry! Don't twiddle with a spell that way!” Harry blinked again, and took in the unpleasant sight of Mad-Eye Moody smiling.

“Bit keen, aren't yeh?” Moody observed. “Shacklebolt's one to blind his opponents. Never seen him do it with a basic lighting spell, though. `Course, he also has the good sense to close his own eyes first. Take a page from that, Potter. And you, Tonks - you should have picked me up the moment you Floo'd in!”

Moody walked over to Lupin, offering a hand. “You all right there, lad?”

Lupin waved him off. “I'm fine. We… er, I'm sensitive to bright light, that's all. What were you playing at, anyway, scaring us that way?”

“Dumbledore thought that I should have a go at the house before you brought the boy,” Moody explained. “Sitting empty for a few weeks, you know - have to be cautious. Thank Merlin he warned me about the new toe rag. I barely managed to talk my way past the damn thing -”

“Who is entering the home of Harry Potter?” called a squeaky voice from outside the drawing room door.

“Dobby?” asked Harry, walking out into the hall. “Is that you?”

Dobby gave a little skip. “Dobby is so very happy to see Harry Potter! Harry Potter is a grown wizard, so Dobby can now serve him!” Dobby bowed down to Harry, and his face nearly dragged against the floorboards. The two hats he was wearing both slipped off. He wore a floridly coloured tie, a jacket of sorts and a pair of child's short pants, along with thick woollen mismatched socks. The house-elf swiftly ran into the drawing room, grabbed Harry's trunk, ushered him back into the hall, and firmly closed the drawing room door.

Moody pounded on the door. “Potter! Deal with the house-elf now, or I'll do it for you!”

Harry said to Dobby, “Dobby, I'm likely to have quite a few people visiting.”

Dobby's vast eyes twinkled. “Of course, Harry Potter, sir! You need only tell Dobby who may and may not enter your home, sir.” Dobby proceeded to open the door. “Are all of these people acceptable, sir?”

Harry said patiently, “Yes, Dobby, they're acceptable.”

Dobby bowed to Lupin and Tonks. “Welcome to the home of Harry Potter, sir and madam,” he announced. “May Dobby receive your cloaks and provide refreshments?”

While Lupin and Tonks surrendered their cloaks, Moody said to Harry, “Improvement over that filthy Kreacher, I'll grant that,” and grunted at Dobby, “I'm still keeping my cloak, and they'll take butterbeer.”

Tonks made a show of staring at Moody in shock, and said, “That could impair our vigilance, you know.”

Dobby frowned. “I am sorry, sirs and madam, for there is no butterbeer in the home of Harry Potter. It has been removed. I would offer pumpkin juice, if it does not offend?” As soon as Tonks nodded, the house-elf abruptly disappeared.

Lupin said, puzzled, “How did you manage a new house-elf so quickly, Harry?”

Harry shrugged. “I didn't. Dobby and I go back a bit, you could say. He's free, actually, and has been working for Hogwarts.”

“The hats and the clothes are a bit of a shock. Sure he's all right?” asked Tonks.

Harry nodded. “Dobby's all right. Dumbledore must have sent him over. He'd never hurt me intentionally; he's always been just a bit too, erm… eager?”

“I should say so, Harry. Look at this place - he couldn't have been here more than a couple of hours, after all.” Lupin said, with a hint of admiration.

Harry looked around the room, and immediately agreed. The ratty carpet had been removed, to reveal clean but unpolished wooden flooring. The remnants of wallpaper had also been removed and the walls scrubbed nearly white. The serpent candelabrum was nowhere to be seen.

Dobby reappeared in the clean front room. “Pumpkin juice and light snacks have been set out in the kitchen for the sirs and madam,” he said, bowing again.

Harry made his way to the basement. Juice, glasses and two plates of small sandwiches and cookies were arranged on the table.

“I hope this is to your liking, Master Harry, sir,” a very high squeaky voice quivered. Winky was clad in a skirt and blouse, as at Hogwarts, though they were cleaner than Harry recalled. That explains the lack of butterbeer, he thought.

Harry smiled. “Very much so, Winky. Welcome to Grimmauld Place, I suppose.”

The house-elf looked down at the floor. “Dobby thought I should come with Dobby to work for Harry Potter, sir. Dobby told Professor Dumbledore we was quitting Hogwarts, but didn't tell Winky. Dobby often thinks above his station.” The house-elf's huge brown eyes began to water. “I don't want paying, sir. If Winky's presence displeases…”

Harry knelt down in front of Winky, who took a startled step backward. “Welcome,” he said again. Winky curtsied, and looked away from Harry. He added, “Winky, may I ask you something?”

“Harry Potter may ask of Winky anything he requires,” she said.

Harry said, “Well, I see the house is very clean - thank you, by the way - but I would have thought that Kreacher would get in your way.”

Winky hissed, and showed a glimpse of pointed and sharp-looking teeth that startled Harry. “Kreacher was a bad elf, Harry Potter. A terrible elf - evil. Kreacher led his master to death. Abomination!”

Harry nodded in agreement. He could barely hold in his anger at the simple mention of Kreacher's name. “But Winky,” Harry asked, “where is he? I mean, he isn't free… is he?”

Winky's smile completely bared the sharp teeth. She dripped malice. “Kreacher is not free. He will not betray this house.” Her eyes narrowed, and she added, “Kreacher has earned his reward.” Harry chose not to press the matter.

Dobby re-entered the kitchen. “To your liking, sirs and madam?” he asked, and was met by nods from Tonks and Lupin. Moody took a swallow from his hipflask and grunted. To Harry, he added, “Dobby has put the two trunks and the owl cage in Harry Potter's room, sir.”

Harry said, “My room? Dobby, how would you…? I suppose this means that I was left the house, and… ah, never mind. Could you show me to my room?”

Lupin swallowed a mouthful of cookie, and looked at Harry. His eyes oozed sadness. “We really do need to talk. It's important, Harry,” he said.

Harry tried to think of a way to avoid the conversation to come, but failed. “I'd like to see my room,” Harry said. “I'll meet you in the Drawing Room.” He added, in the direction of Moody and Tonks, “Hope you don't mind - I imagine this will be a private conversation.”

Dobby led Harry up the stairs. The walls in the staircase had also been scrubbed, and -

“Dobby! Where are the portraits? Did you…? How…?” The moth-eaten threadbare curtains that covered Mrs. Black's portrait were still there, closed, but there hadn't been a sound since they entered the house. Of the other portraits, only the one that housed Phineas Nigellus remained, and he seemed to be absent.

Dobby continued to climb the stairs. “Instructions for the preparation of this home were left by Mister Sirius Black, Harry Potter. The instructions were left in the way that they are always left. House-elves have things to do when homes change hands. Dobby understands his duties, sir.”

Harry skipped steps to keep up. “Dobby, I don't understand why you're here. I mean, you had a job at Hogwarts, and… how did you find out about this, anyway - the house going to me, and all?”

Dobby tapped his index finger to his forehead. “Dobby is always thinking these days, sir. Dobby heard from Professor Dumbledore that this house was changing hands, on account of what happened to Mister Sirius Black. Dobby is so sorry, sir. Harry Potter must be very sad!”

Harry cut him off firmly. “Go on.”

“There was quite a commotion at Hogwarts this day, sir. Much unpleasantness, very upset people. Dobby brought tea to Professor Dumbledore in his study, and overheard -” Dobby stopped climbing and stood rigid, began to quiver, and then banged his head repeatedly against the handrail. “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!”

Harry grabbed Dobby by the back of his jacket, pulling him away from the rail.

“Thank you, Harry Potter, sir,” said Dobby, who wobbled slightly.

“I don't need to know what you heard at Hogwarts,” Harry told Dobby. “I was simply interested in how you came here.”

Dobby nodded. “Dobby… found out that Harry Potter was receiving this home because he was bringing the tea. Dobby asked Professor Dumbledore if he could serve Harry Potter, told him he would work for free just to have the chance to serve Harry Potter. Professor Dumbledore told Dobby this would be a good idea, if Dobby were willing to bind to Harry Potter and not to this house. Dobby reminded Professor Dumbledore that he is free, and can only bind hisself.” Dobby hopped up and down like a child before a stack of Christmas presents. “Dobby chooses Harry Potter!”

Harry asked, “What about Winky?”

Dobby looked down at his socks. “Winky needs Dobby, Master Harry, sir. Winky is… better, but Winky is not strong. Winky needs Dobby, sir.”

Harry smiled a little. “Does Dobby need Winky?”

Dobby kept looking at his socks. “Dobby… does not have an answer, Harry Potter.”

Harry patted Dobby on the shoulder. “Both you and Winky are welcome here. I mean, goodness, look what you've done already. You've finished more cleaning in a few hours than a dozen of us managed in a month!”

Dobby looked up and squeaked, “Winky and Dobby will make this home worthy of Harry Potter, sir. Here is Harry Potter's room.”

Harry hadn't been paying any attention. Now he realised that they had climbed past the bedrooms where he and Hermione and the Weasleys had stayed, and past Mrs. Black's old room. They had arrived at the top of the staircase, at a small landing with a single red door.

Harry said very quietly, “This was Sirius' room, wasn't it?”

Dobby nodded vigorously. “The instructions left by Mister Sirius Black say this room, sir. Mister Sirius Black wanted Harry Potter to have this room. I have prepared the house by the instructions, the way house-elves always do, sir. May I open the door, sir?”

Harry clenched and unclenched his fists. “Not right now, Dobby. I - I'm not ready for this yet.”

Dobby's green eyes peered intently at his chosen master. “Dobby can prepare a second room, sir.”

“NO,” snapped Harry, and the house-elf recoiled. “Sorry,” he quickly added, “I'm a bit on edge, Dobby. The room will be fine. I'll look at it later.”

He began walking back down the stairs. “Professor Lupin and I will be in the Drawing Room,” Harry said. “I'd prefer it if we weren't disturbed. Dobby, if anyone else comes to visit, you can let them in if my other guests approve.”

############## 

 

The drawing room still seemed dingy, probably owing to the olive colour of the walls. The enormous tapestry of the House of Black remained, as did the writing desk. The cabinets astride the mantle were clean and empty. The table and chairs from the ground floor dining room had been moved into the centre of the room. The wooden box that Sirius had left for him was set on the table. Harry nearly gasped, and he wondered frantically where he'd left it and how it had found its way to Grimmauld Place.

Lupin stood before the tapestry, deep in thought, and his fingers traced across a burn spot near the bottom. He whispered, “I miss him.” He turned and motioned for Harry to sit at the table.

Lupin sat next to him. “I miss him, even though he's just pulled the biggest prank of his life. And believe me, Harry, Sirius pulled some whopping pranks in his time. It's just like him, to stir up everything and then walk away.”

Harry felt the anger burn and the rage swell inside of him, filling the empty places. “He didn't walk away! That - that bitch Lestrange shoved him through the veil, in case you've forgotten!”

Lupin said calmly, “I know very well what happened. I'm simply telling you that Sirius enjoyed setting up pranks that came to fruition after he left the scene. Most of the time, your father was his partner in crime. I remember once, after the Halloween Ball, the two of them -” He stopped, gazing across the room at the mantle as though it were a pensieve.

“Where is this going?” Harry asked wearily.

“I loved Sirius like a brother - we all did. But he was a child trapped in an adult body. He was selfish, judgmental, impetuous, demanding… and when he wrote his will, he was trapped. Dumbledore wouldn't let him leave, not even for a moment. He hated this house with every fibre of his being. I imagine that in some ways, it was worse for him here than in Azkaban. He didn't trust Dumbledore at all on matters that concerned you. I think he felt that Dumbledore was doing the same thing to you - trapping you in a horrible place, because he felt it was for your own good.”

“So you think that Sirius did this to get back at Dumbledore?” Harry asked. “You don't think he might have done this because he thought that I was ready for it?” The rage still flickered inside of him, waiting for Lupin to provide it a window of escape.

Lupin sighed. “Harry, you have been Sirius' opposite in so many ways. You've been a man trapped in a child's body. No child should have had to face what you have; yet you've managed it. I think Sirius saw that in you, and yes, I suspect he thought that you were ready to govern your own affairs. I also suspect he remembered James, and remembered how strong he was. Your father did have an old soul, Harry, but he didn't face anything like you have until he was in his seventh year. You're not your father, Harry. At least, you don't have to be.”

Harry said dangerously, “What do you mean by that?”

Lupin looked at Harry for a long time. Harry couldn't remember ever being so unnerved by someone's eyes - they were sad and happy, judgmental and forgiving all at once. Finally he said, “Your father was capable of cruelty. You haven't shown that trait - at least not regularly. He could be terribly judgmental. Goodness, he could hold a grudge! He could be rash, although not as rash as Sirius. He didn't trust easily, either, and his trust could be quickly shaken. That cost him dearly, Harry. He - he paid a terrible price, as terrible as any person could ever pay. You're not your father, Harry. Don't make his mistakes.”

Harry stood bolt upright. “What gives you the right to talk about my father that way? I don't need to hear this!”

“Yes, I think you do,” said Lupin calmly. “You're so angry, Harry. Most of the people around you can see that, even if they haven't experienced it. My kind… we can sense anger and pain more acutely than humans. I can feel it, Harry, the pain inside you. I felt that same anger, that searing sense of betrayal inside your father, when his parents were killed. It clouded his judgment, ate away at his trust, and drove people away. It started James on a path. Other events fed that path, as well, but you know where it ultimately led.”

The rage in Harry began to melt into something else. I won't cry in front of him, he thought. I won't!

Lupin stood next to him, and awkwardly put an arm around Harry's shoulders. “I'm not your guardian, Harry. Sirius has asked me to shoulder some responsibility for you, but I can't compel you to do anything. I'd make a poor father figure, so I won't even try. I only ask that you listen to me, not that you do what I say. What Sirius has done is done. I just want you to make the best of it, instead of the worst.”

Harry struggled for control. “I don't understand why it's so horrible for me to be free. I just - is it wrong for me to want something for myself, for a change?”

Lupin shook his head. “No. It's best when freedom comes in stages, though. Most of us get to try freedom on for size during our school days - we make a decision here, or have a choice there. You haven't been afforded that chance. I imagine that you must feel trapped by fate, Harry.”

Harry nodded, his vision fogging with moisture. “Professor Lupin -”

Lupin smiled. “We're all legal adults here, Harry. I'll ask you to call me Remus, please.”

Harry took a few rapid shaky breaths, causing Lupin to look more concerned. “Remus,” he whispered, “there's something I have to tell you. I have to tell someone. I don't know if I can bear it -”

Lupin tightened his grip on Harry. “Harry, whatever it is, we'll deal with it. You can tell me anything, of course.”

Harry began, “I heard the whole prophecy. I -”

Lupin closed his eyes. “Dumbledore told me that there is more to the prophecy than the Order has been told. We spoke at length, the two of us, when I found out I was to be your conservator. I'm going to ask you to listen to me now, Harry. I want you to be very careful with whom you share what you know about the prophecy. Voldemort surely remains interested in the details.”

“Then you know…?” Harry asked.

Lupin nodded slowly, before telling Harry, “I will do everything I can to help you. I owe that to your father and mother, and to you, Harry.”

Harry stiffened, and then changed the subject. “Dumbledore said Mr. Diggle would be over this evening, to go through the will. Will you be there?”

“It's required, Harry,” Lupin said.

Harry said, “I'm glad.”

 

############## 

Dedalus Diggle finally left Grimmauld Place at a quarter to one. Lupin sat with Harry for hours while Diggle walked through parchment after parchment describing Harry's inheritance from Sirius. Then, he explained about the Potter Family Trust in excruciating detail - the money, the investments, the rights of inheritance, and restrictions on the use of funds, and on and on. It was like listening to a History of Magic lecture at the bottom of the ocean.

Lupin left for bed at one, and Harry sat alone in the kitchen.

A squeak came from behind him. “Dobby wishes to know if Harry Potter is ready for bed.”

Harry almost fell out of his chair. “Dobby, please don't sneak around like that!”

Dobby jumped all the way across the table, and quickly skittered back to Harry's side. “Dobby is so sorry, Harry Potter, sir! Dobby did not mean to cause a fright!”

Harry sighed. “It's fine. Let's get this over with.”

When Dobby opened the red door at the top of the staircase, Harry hesitated. “It doesn't feel like it should be mine,” he said.

“Dobby thinks Harry Potter will be pleased,” ventured the house-elf.

The room took up about half of the topmost floor of the house, by Harry's reckoning. It was done almost entirely in Gryffindor colours. The oversized gold-sheeted bed was set before an expansive bay of windows - Harry was curious what the view would be in daylight. There was a writing desk with two adjacent sets of shelves. His schoolbooks had been unpacked and set on the shelves, he noticed. At the far end of the room from the bed was an ornate fireplace, with a scarlet couch and two armchairs arranged before it. There were two more red doors, in addition to the entry. One door led into a closet about the size of Harry's bedroom at Privet Drive. The other door led into a private bath. Harry thought it was remarkable, almost overwhelming, and really…

“Too much,” he said. Dobby beamed.

Harry looked at the writing desk and the shelves. All the papers Diggle had left were neatly stacked on the desk, the wooden box from Sirius took up most of one shelf, and the strange trunk from the Dursleys' house set on the floor next to the desk.

“I see that all of my papers are here,” Harry said idly.

Dobby puffed up. “Dobby knows how to run a household, Harry Potter, sir,” he said.

Harry smiled. “I wasn't criticising, Dobby. I was just surprised. I'm not used to having someone else do things for me, like this.”

Dobby looked down at his own socks. “Dobby can leave well enough alone, if that is what Harry Potter prefers.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I mean, it's really nice. Thank you, Dobby.”

Dobby beamed, and his eyes filled with tears. Harry was still uncomfortable with Dobby's roller coaster of emotions; he wondered if all house-elves were that way.

“Dobby is so happy, sir, to be serving the great Harry Potter,” the house-elf gushed. “He is too kind and too generous for Dobby to understand!”

Dobby skittered to the bed, and drew down the sheets. He laid out Harry's worn T-shirt and boxers that he used for pyjamas. “Dobby thinks that Harry Potter should buy new clothes,” he muttered. Dobby went into the closet and fetched a pair of Harry's heavy woollen socks, placing them next to the pyjamas.

Harry laughed, “What are those for? It's the middle of the summer.”

Dobby looked at Harry with life-or-death seriousness on his face. “Dobby does not think that Harry Potter should sleep without socks. He can never know when he might need them.”

Harry shook his head. “I'm going to read for a while, Dobby. Good night.”

“Dobby wishes Harry Potter good night and good rest, sir.” The house-elf closed the largest red door behind him.

Harry pulled Sirius' box off the shelf and set it atop the papers on the writing desk. I think I'd even sit down with `Hogwarts: A History' at this point, Harry thought. He wanted - no, he needed distraction.

He opened each of the envelopes attached to the inside of the lid, and counted the money inside. He was certainly ready to run, thought Harry, and apparently in style. He wondered how Sirius had managed to accumulate nearly a hundred thousand pounds. It wasn't like he could walk into Gringotts, and his vault must have been sealed, or watched, or something, he figured.

There were two bundled stacks of photographs, a mix of Muggle and wizard. Some appeared to be duplicates of pictures in the album that Hagrid had given to Harry. Next to the bundles was a small box in gold wrapping paper with a scarlet bow. Harry set that aside.

Beneath was an envelope hand-addressed to `Harry Potter, top floor bedroom, 12 Grimmauld Place, London'. On another envelope Sirius had scrawled “Orion's Belt”. Sirius' Hogwarts ring sat in a small open box. At the bottom of the box was a thick, leather-bound book. Harry flipped it open, and realised that it was a journal. He wasn't up for a letter, a journal, or anything more from Sirius - not right then. He felt the same way about the mystery trunk on the floor; he just couldn't bring himself to open it.

He placed everything back in the box except the hand-addressed letter and the gift-wrapped package, and returned the box to its shelf. He was tempted to open the letter, but his eyes closed before he could follow through.