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09/14: Black, Harry
Title: Black, in the Smothering Dark
Chapter Title: Black, Harry 09/14
Words (this chapter): 7,941
Rating (this chapter): PG-13
Story Info/All Chapters: HERE
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maybe_someday8 and amelancholykiss.
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Black, in the Smothering Dark
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Chapter Nine
Black, Harry
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“Mum and Ginny are coming before dinner. Sirius wrote and invited us all over this morning—said that we might as well make a big thing of it since Hermione and I were coming. I think they’re going to stay for a few days,” Ron said, all in a rush.
Harry looked over at him, eyebrow raised. “Okay.” After Harry’s revelation, Hermione had finally taken notice of the library at large, and made a comment that may or may not have been along the lines of ‘wring my knickers out after a day in here’. Harry and Ron had then decided to retreat to Harry’s bedroom to play Exploding Snap, which was what they had been doing until Ron began acting shifty. “Is there any reason you seem upset about this? I don’t care who comes.”
Ron cut his eyes to the side and mumbled something. He blindly threw down a card and jumped when it exploded. “What was that?” Harry asked, ignoring for the moment that he’d just won the game.
Ron sighed and looked back. “Well, see, it’s like this, mate,” Ron said bravely. “Ginny’s been acting strange lately, and as soon as we got that letter from Sirius inviting the rest of the family over, she pulled me aside and told me, in no uncertain words, mind you, that she needs to talk to you and I’m to arrange it.” He paused and then added carefully, “I think she’s in love with you again.”
Harry laughed, because it was simply absurd. “Rubbish,” he said. “Isn’t she dating Dean?” The idea of Ginny liking him again was ridiculous. Once she’d starting dating Dean in Harry’s sixth year, they’d become a lot closer—especially with Ron and Hermione dancing around each other constantly. It was very plain to him that she didn’t like him anymore and most likely never would—although, he’d seen something on one of the porn disks his father had gotten him for his birthday that he wouldn’t mind trying with Charlie or Bill. Of course, he’d never tell Ron that.
“Well, yeah,” Ron answered hesitantly. “But you know how she goes through boyfriends.” He punctuated this with a series of snaps of his fingers, and Harry grinned. “I’m just letting you know, mate,” Ron continued, shrugging. “I don’t care if you date her or not, and I’ll keep Hermione out of the way if you want me to, but I’m just warning you…And if she does confess her undying love for you,” he added fiercely, “you’d better be nice about it.”
“Of course,” Harry answered. He picked up the cards and shuffled them before dealing them out again. “And while we’re on the subject of undying love,” he said mischievously, “what did you and Hermione get up to at the Burrow?”
Ron flushed, and hid his face behind his spread of cards. “Nothing,” he said, and sounded sincere enough about it. Or rather, bitter enough about it. Harry chose not to say anything. “She was only there a couple of days—came over after she got back from France or Finland or wherever she went because her parents were leaving for a conference in America and they wouldn’t be back until school had started again.”
“She didn’t make you revise for your NEWTs?” Harry asked, laughing.
Ron growled. “That’s about all she did—well she hung around Ginny and they giggled together a fair bit. I tried to keep my distance when they were doing that.”
Harry laughed and slapped a card down. No snap—he grinned. It was quickly turning out to be the best summer he’d ever had. He couldn’t imagine anything better, actually. It was great having Ron and Hermione with him for the rest of the summer, add having a father to that—he couldn’t ask for more.
After he and Ron got their apparating licenses, he could take them to Eweforic Alley—well, he supposed they could walk, but he still wanted to get his license. Hermione would definitely say something about the bar they would have to go through to get there, and he found that he was almost looking forward to her indignant nagging; yes, it was going to be a great summer.
“Snap!” Ron yelled. Harry broke out of his thoughts and looked down with a groan. “Finally—I was having a bad streak there,” he muttered. “Another game?”
Harry looked at his watch and shook his head. “It’s almost seven, and that’s when Ginger serves dinner. She’ll be furious if we’re late—and she’s pregnant,” Harry added with a shudder. “I don’t want to get on her bad side.”
Ron frowned. “Who’s Ginger?”
“One of our house-elves,” Harry muttered, rolling off the bed. “She and her mate, Fred, work for us.” He gave another shudder, and added, “She’s very feisty.”
“Odd name for a house-elf,” Ron noted, following Harry to the door. Harry nodded ruefully. “You should have her name the baby George—that’ll piss the twins off…or give them a good laugh. You can never tell with them,” he added thoughtfully.
Harry laughed and hopped on the banister, sliding down to the second floor. When he got to the bottom, he looked up to find Ron still standing at the top. “I’d like to see you try that at Hogwarts,” Ron said flatly. “You’d fall seven stories.”
Harry shook his head. “Si-my dad enchanted these. You won’t fall. Try it. It’s almost as good as riding a broom.”
Ron gave him a doubtful look, but slid down it anyway. At the bottom, he was grinning like a loon, and they took the next banister down to the first floor—laughing loudly the entire way. Harry hit the bottom, dusted off his pants and looked up at Ron who was halfway down. Behind him, a door opened, and Hermione stepped out of the library, holding two books, just as Ron landed, with a thump, at the bottom of the stairs.
“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione glared, carefully setting the books on the floor so that she had both hands free to put on her hips. Ron gave her a sheepish look from the floor. “What, in the name of Merlin, do you think you’re doing?”
“It was just a bit of fun,” he complained, standing. Hermione narrowed her eyes, and Harry thought it would be chivalrous of him to step in at that point.
“We should see if your mum and Ginny are here yet; let’s go to the floo room, yeah?” he suggesting, offering Ron and Hermione a beatific smile.
“Grand idea!” Ron chirped, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulder, and leading him back towards the antechamber very, very quickly. Behind them, Hermione uttered a low growl, but followed anyway. “They said they’d get here a few minutes before seven. Maybe we can catch them.”
Sirius was already waiting in the antechamber, sitting in a chair and reading over a stack of papers. He looked up when they entered and gave them a smile. “Have fun, did you?” he asked pleasantly. He checked his watch, and set the papers on a table next to the chair. “Ron, your mother and sister should be here soon. Care to wait with me? I’ve spoken to Fred and he said he’ll ask Ginger to serve dinner a bit late tonight—though he didn’t seem very enthusiastic about the request,” he added wryly.
Harry grinned and sat down on the floor near his father, as there were no other chairs in the room. “I can’t imagine why,” he said.
“Who are Fred and Ginger?” Hermione asked interestedly.
“No one,” Harry, Ron and Sirius all answered quickly. Hermione narrowed her eyes again, but did not respond. The men exchanged relieved glances, and Sirius struck up a conversation with Ron about the Chudley Cannons and their chances that season. Both agreed, although Ron agreed reluctantly, that they didn’t have a prayer.
A bit later, the fire flared green and Ginny stepped through, tugging a knapsack, which had tangled itself in the grate, free and pushing her long hair behind her ear. “Hi,” she said happily, and hugged Harry and Hermione, though she’d seen Hermione only hours before. Sirius stood and gave her a half-hug, asking how her summer had been so far. “Not too bad,” she answered happily. “I finished most of my homework early and spent the rest of it trouncing Ron in Quidditch.” Here, she gave Ron a triumphant smirk, to which he snarled. The fire flared again, and Mrs. Weasley stepped out, beaming.
“Harry!” she wailed, crushing him in a hug. “So good to see you again, dear—you look…” she paused and studied him carefully. “Actually, you look fine, dear. I was certain that I would need to fatten you up a bit, but it seems…Sirius, how good to see you!” she redirected, also crushing Sirius with a hug. She seemed genuinely disappointed that Harry didn’t need to eat more.
Harry turned to Ginny and said, “Was she calling me fat?” He looked down at himself in feigned concern, pulling his shirt up and poking his stomach. “Do I look fat?”
Ginny laughed and slapped him across the back of the head. “You look fine. She was probably referring to how well you’ve filled out,” she added, leering playfully at him and poking his bicep. On his other side, Ron groaned and gave Harry an ‘I told you so’ look. Harry laughed. “I like your hair,” she added thoughtfully.
Hermione leaned around her and studied him. “Oh! I didn’t even notice your hair!” she said apologetically.
“It looks like blood dripping off,” Ron said with raised eyebrows.
Harry stilled, but relaxed as soon as Hermione and Ginny laughed. “Yeah, it does,” Ginny grinned. “Are you trying to be rebellious?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, grinning. “Sirius made me get a haircut, so I had them do this, too, to get back at him.”
“Where’s Arthur?” Sirius spoke up, having just removed himself from Mrs. Weasley’s clutches. “Will he be coming later?”
“Oh no,” Mrs. Weasley answered. “He’s off investigating something or another for the Ministry. He’ll be there for another week at least.”
Sirius nodded, and led Mrs. Weasley towards the door with a hand on her back. “Well, let’s have dinner then. We can catch up while we eat,” he added, giving Harry a look. Harry grinned at Ron and Hermione, to Ginny’s confusion, and ushered all three of them out of the room.
They were eating in the dining room again, since the kitchen table was much too small for six people. It was huge though, so they all crowded around the end with Sirius at the head and Harry to his left. Ron sat next to him and the women sat across from Harry and Ron. Harry, Ron, and Sirius glanced warily at Hermione, and winced when Ginger popped in, carrying a tray.
“A house-elf?” Hermione said incredulously. Her voice was so quiet that all three men winced again. “You have a house-elf, Harry?” she repeated.
Harry opened his mouth, but only stuttering came out. Hermione repeated the question once more to Sirius, but he didn’t do any better. Ginger was calculatedly ignoring Hermione, until she came around to her plate and tried to serve her.
“No,” Hermione said, crossing her arms and glaring furiously at Harry and Sirius. Ginger, taken aback, looked to her masters for an answer, but their heads were ducked over their plates and could not answer.
“No, what?” Ginger asked Hermione when she realised she would get no help from either Harry or Sirius.
“No,” Hermione said. “I will not be served by a house-elf.”
Ginger immediately let go of the tray—which remained hovering in front of her—and put her hands on her hips. Harry and his father winced in sympathy for Hermione while Ron and Ginny looked on curiously. Mrs. Weasley seemed to be doing her best to ignore the situation. “Excuse me?” Ginger squeaked, but it sounded almost like a growl. “Is Miss too good to be served by a filthy house-elf?”
Hermione, taken aback, looked at Ginger with wide eyes while Ron, Harry and Ginny all hid snickers behind their hands. Sirius was looking at the ceiling and pressing his lips very tightly together, as if trying not to smile.
“N-no,” Hermione stuttered. “That’s not it at all.”
“Does Miss think that food served by house-elves is not fit to be eaten?” Ginger continued as if Hermione hadn’t spoken at all. Her huge eyes were narrowed almost to slits and her fists were clenched at her hips. She didn’t look very happy at all.
“No,” Hermione insisted frantically. “I just don’t think it’s right to enslave your people!”
Ginger’s eyes narrowed further. “Miss is being very rude. If Miss had any brains at all, she would know that house-elves like serving their masters as long as their masters are good to them—which Ginger’s masters are—and that house-elves would not be able to survive very long without a master to serve. House-elves’ magic weakens when house-elves are not bound; the longer house-elves go without being bound, the more magic house-elves lose. House-elves die without being bound, so if Miss does not want to enslave our people, then she can make her own dinner.”
“It’s okay,” Sirius said consolingly. “She didn’t mean to offend you, Ginger.”
“I really didn’t,” Hermione added quickly, giving Ginger a faint smile. “I didn’t know.”
Ginger narrowed her eyes, and continued to glare at Hermione, only stopping when Fred popped in very hesitantly and finished serving everyone before gently coaxing Ginger out. She disappeared reluctantly, and Fred looked at the people at the table apologetically.
“Ginger is having baby very soon,” he explained. “Days, maybe,” he shuddered. “She gets irritated quicker than normal. Fred knows very well,” he added, wincing. Then he, too, popped out and Hermione was left stunned, staring at nothing in particular.
“Is that true?” she asked the room in general. “Will they really die if they’re not bound?” Harry, Ron and Ginny shrugged. “Well, then what about Dobby? He hasn’t been bound for years!”
Everyone shrugged again, and it was Mrs. Weasley who spoke up, finally. “He must have been born to parents that weren’t bound. If a house-elf isn’t bound when he’s born, then their magic doesn’t require binding. I imagine that his parents died very quickly and he looked for a family to take him in, not knowing how to survive otherwise.”
“So that’s why they get so upset when they’re freed,” Ron muttered to himself. He shrugged, and then dug into his dinner, assuming the conversation closed. Harry followed, and then everyone else did. Hermione was last and only began eating with a resigned sigh and an embarrassed flush to her cheeks.
“So, Harry and I have news,” Sirius said several minutes later. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley looked up questioningly and Harry fought a delighted grin. Excitedly, Sirius recounted the events of Harry’s birthday in excruciating detail. The stunned silence afterwards was finally broken by Ginny.
“I thought you looked hotter than before,” she mused, sipping a glass of pumpkin juice. “I suppose your mum put charms on you to make you look like a Potter, and now they’ve worn off.” She shrugged, and then went back to eating. Harry stared at her incredulously.
“That’s it?” he asked slowly. He looked to his father who seemed to be thinking the same thing, and frowned. “You’ve just found out I’m not really Harry Potter, and all you think is that I’m more attractive now?” he asked, faintly amused.
Ginny shrugged, unrepentant. “Well, you are.”
“Ginevra!” Mrs. Weasley said, finding her voice after minutes of silence. Ginny smiled sheepishly at her mum, and Ron choked on his pumpkin juice, laughing. “Harry, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, redirecting her attention to him. “Will you be publicly acknowledging this new development?”
Harry grinned at her. “Yeah—we’re going to the Ministry…tomorrow?” he looked to his father for confirmation. Sirius nodded, so he turned back to Mrs. Weasley. “I’ll have my name changed in public record after my dad finishes his paperwork.” He looked back to Sirius once more and put on a pleading face. “And of course, Ron and I still need to get our apparating licenses.” His father snorted and rolled his eyes.
“The newspapers will love this,” Mrs. Weasley said dryly.
Harry winced. “Yeah—that’s what everyone else has said.”
After dinner, Sirius led Mrs. Weasley to the drawing room to meet the Evanses and to have an after dinner drink. Harry tried not to pay attention when Ginny gave Ron a series of pointed looks and weird hand gestures. Obviously, he understood because with a great martyred groan, he asked Hermione if she’d like to join him in the library. She’d been silent ever since the debacle with Ginger, but brightened at his offer and happily led the way out. Harry was left in the dining room with Ginny, and she looked determined.
“I suppose you want to talk,” he said, a hint of question in the words. She nodded and he smiled. “The garden’s nice—do you want to go out there?”
“That’s fine,” Ginny said, letting him lead the way. They walked in companionable silence until Harry reached the French doors leading from the living room to the back garden. It was dark by now and very quiet except for the crash of the waves against the cliffs that the manor sat on. “It’s really nice out here,” Ginny said conversationally, looking out at the firth.
Harry nodded and stuck his hands in his pocket as they walked along the path. “So, what did you want to talk about?” he asked after several minutes. Ginny didn’t respond, and when he looked over, she was biting her lip and staring at nothing.
“I’ve been having these dreams,” she finally said.
Harry snorted. “Those are normal,” he said wisely. “Be thankful that you don’t have to clean up sticky sheets afterwards.”
Ginny cuffed him. “That’s not what I meant!” she said in feigned indignation—it was obvious she was trying not to laugh with him. “They aren’t that kind of dream…But they’re really odd, and I knew I had to talk to you because no one else would understand them like you would.”
“I’m not Trelawney,” Harry said carefully.
Ginny scowled. “This is serious!”
Harry held up his hands in surrender, and Ginny scowled once more for good measure, then took a deep breath and started again. “They’re always the same. I’m back in the Chamber of Secrets, but I’m not scared this time. I’m actually looking for…him.”
“Voldemort?” Harry asked incredulously.
Ginny nodded, looking resigned. “Yeah. See—I used to have dreams about a dark-haired, pale boy before Hogwarts, and when I saw you at the train station the first time, I thought you were him…And in my dreams, it’s always been very important that I find him.”
Harry gave her an uncertain look. It was chilly out and he was beginning to shiver slightly, but he didn’t want to go in just yet. He had a feeling Ginny was telling him something important, and he couldn’t bring himself to cut her off. “Do you?” he asked. “Find him, I mean.”
Ginny shook her head and wrapped her arms around her chest to fight off the chill. “No. I mean—I see him, and I’ll run towards him, and he runs towards me, but something always happens before we reach each other.” She paused and shuddered before adding, “One of us always dies.”
Harry’s eyebrows shot up to his hair. “So what do you think it means?”
Ginny looked at him, biting her lip. “I’ve done some reading,” she said carefully. “Hermione had a book on traditional wizarding marriages—I think she’s trying to give Ron hints,” she added slyly. Harry grinned. “Anyway, there’s one in there called the Last Marriage which completely binds spouses together—magic, mind, soul.” She stressed the last word. “It kind of makes them into soul-mates, which means that each time we’re reincarnated, we search the other one out relentlessly until we find them.”
Harry shuddered. “So does that mean that—assuming that’s what it is—that you’re Voldemort’s soul mate?” he asked dubiously.
Ginny sighed. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” Harry said dryly. “You must be devastated.”
Ginny bit her lip. “You would think so, wouldn’t you? But the binding overrides all that. I may be on a different side of the war from him, but I still want him,” she added disgustedly.
Harry scoffed. He’d thought she’d been joking. “Are you serious? Have you seen the guy?”
Ginny winced. “No—but, it doesn’t matter, you know? Because if I’m right, we’re bound anyway…And when you kill him…I’ll feel it.”
That got Harry’s attention. He stopped walking, and several steps later, Ginny did, too. She turned to look at him curiously. “Feel it how?” he asked.
Ginny looked extremely vulnerable in that moment, Harry noticed. She looked so much smaller than usual with her arms wrapped around herself and her shoulders hunched desolately. She didn’t want to answer him, Harry could see, so he walked over and carefully put his arm around her shoulder. “Feel it how?” he repeated.
“Like…” she started and then faltered. “Like my—It’ll feel like my soul’s being ripped in half…because it will be,” she added faintly. “And the book said that when things like that happen, it’ll probably be too much for me, and I’ll go insane…maybe commit suicide.”
Harry’s mouth fell open. “Are you positive that this…marital bond is what it is?”
Ginny nodded desolately. “Yes, I’ve got all the signs: dreaming of him, obsessed with finding him, similar magical powers…”
“Like what?” Harry asked curiously. He couldn’t remember Ginny ever having a strong urge to do dark magic or an affinity for the Cruciatus curse.
She didn’t speak for several minutes, but when she did, her voice was higher pitched and her words were sibilant. “Like this,” she said, and it took Harry a second to realise she’d just spoken in Parseltongue. He jumped, startled, and stared at her with wide eyes.
“Merciful Merlin,” he whispered. Harry ran a hand through his hair roughly, and turned to look at the water. So she was right. She was bound to Voldemort, and she would go insane—maybe even kill herself—when he died. Would the same thing happen to him, assuming he was the one that lived? “I dream about him, and I’m obsessed with finding him, too. You don’t think I married him once, also, do you?” he asked, only half joking.
Ginny shook her head. “No, I checked that, too. There are records of various curses backfiring and leaving the attacker and the attacked with a connection of some sort. Never as strong as yours, but it’s happened before.”
Harry sighed in relief. “Well—we’ll figure something out,” he promised her. “I won’t let you go insane…or kill yourself, either,” he added with a shudder. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how he would feel if that happened to Ginny. This was entirely too odd for him.
“In the meantime,” he continued, “I want you to come to me any time something that has to do with this bond happens…and give me all the details so I know what I’m working with. It doesn’t matter what time. And I want you to stay until the end of the summer with Ron and Hermione; we’ll figure out something to tell your mum. Tell her we’re dating or something and we want to spend time together. I’ll want you around to give me updates.”
Ginny laughed genuinely. “She would be delighted if that were true.”
Harry gave her a wry grin and began leading her back to the house. “I’m sure—much more delighted than if she knew the actual truth, I’m sure.”
-x-
Excerpt from the Journal of a Necromancer, 492nd page.
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That night, after Harry and Sirius had shown Hermione and the Weasleys to their bedrooms, and turned in for the night, Harry sat on his bed, thinking of his conversation with Ginny. He could not deny that it was troubling him greatly. So much so that he was half-considering Voldemort’s offers to stop the war—but he didn’t want to stop it that way. If Voldemort was allowed to continue on as he was, more people than Ginny would die, and he couldn’t have that either.
He needed to think.
Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately depending on how he looked at it, someone appeared in his bedroom at that moment. He looked up, noticed gleaming red eyes, and jumped. “Holy Mother of Merlin!” he whispered frantically, scrambling back further on his bed. Where was his wand? Of all the times to not have it in his pocket, it had to be then. He thought it was on his night table—if he could only get to it…
“Good evening,” Voldemort said, looking around his room with mild appreciation. Harry looked at him again, and finally noticed that Voldemort was not fully solid. He could see the outline of the window behind him. He sighed in half-relief and stared warily at the Dark Lord. “Aren’t you going to offer me tea?”
Harry stared at him mutely, and then snapped his fingers. When Fred appeared—looking almost grateful that he’d been taken away from his wife, even if it was for a strange request—Harry requested two cups of tea, not taking his eyes off Voldemort. Fred returned seconds later, and Harry wordlessly floated the tea cup to Voldemort’s translucent form after he’d gone.
“You’re right,” Voldemort said conversationally. “You can’t taste the tea at all in this form.”
Harry waited.
When Voldemort had finished his diatribe on the tea, and found a chair to sit in, he looked back up at Harry, blinking his red eyes curiously. “You’re awake appallingly late,” he chided. “Shouldn’t you be asleep? It’s nearly two in the morning.”
Harry glanced at his watch and swore. His father had told him that he and Ron would need to be up and ready to leave by nine in the morning. He’d planned for everything at the Ministry to take most of the morning and afternoon. He was never going to wake up on time now. He’d spent entirely too long mulling over Ginny’s situation.
“Well?” Voldemort spoke up, breaking into his thoughts. Harry swore softly again. He needed to learn better; how in the world was he able to forget himself so quickly with Voldemort around? It couldn’t be safe. Harry looked up at him, inviting him to continue. “Have you given any thought to what I said the other day?”
Harry looked at him dubiously. “Exactly what is it that you want from me?”
Voldemort smiled—all sharp, white, glinting teeth—and leaned further back into his chair. He discarded his tea with a disgusted look, and folded his hands in his lap. “I want to test a theory, as I said.”
Harry scoffed. “I’m not going to be your puppet.”
Voldemort gave him a look that Harry was fairly certain said ‘Do you take me for an idiot?’—which Harry didn’t. Voldemort was many things, but an idiot was not one of them. He was obviously too smart for his own good.
“I’m getting old,” Voldemort said at last, looking as though he could not have cared less. “And I don’t have an heir.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “Couldn’t you have, I don’t know, had one then? You were pretty attractive in your time, you know,” he added, trying to keep the mocking out of his voice. He obviously didn’t succeed because Voldemort narrowed his eyes.
“I would have, once,” he mused. “My lover,” he said, politely ignoring Harry’s shudder, “was killed many years ago. She was pregnant at the time.”
Harry, feeling an uncharacteristic stab of pity, shrunk in on himself, wishing that he could take the words back. Of course, Voldemort was evil, but no one deserved to have their lover killed. He suspected it would probably be worse than dying—having to live without the one you loved.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last.
Voldemort waved him off. “It’s no matter. That was many, many years ago. There’s no need to drag up the past.” He seemed to be telling that to himself, so Harry did not respond. “Regardless, I am now without an heir.”
“Well, aren’t you supposed to be immortal?” Harry asked, trying to avoid what he suspected was coming next. “I kind of assumed, you know,” he continued. “It’s the impression I got from Dumbledore, anyway—that you were immortal unless killed in some special, heretofore unknown, way.”
“Oh, I am,” Voldemort sneered. “But there’s no reason not to be cautious, and I find that I might enjoy the challenge of working with someone new.”
“Me, you mean,” Harry said carefully. Of course it was him, he knew. Voldemort had been hinting at it too long for it not to be. “We don’t have the same ideals,” he added, just to make sure Voldemort hadn’t forgotten. “I don’t believe in what you do.”
Voldemort made the equivalent of a shrug. “So change my beliefs,” he said, unconcerned, though Harry didn’t think he was serious. “I’m giving you the chance.”
Harry opened his mouth to say that he reckoned it would be a cold day in hell before that happened, but Voldemort, predictably, cut him off. “Humour me,” he said harshly and Harry recoiled. “I want you to lead a Death Eater meeting; I want to see if you have the ability to be a leader.”
Harry sputtered. “I don’t think your Death Eaters would like that,” he said, trying to stall.
“They won’t know,” Voldemort dismissed. “You’ll take Polyjuice potion, and I will be there to guide you—in my animagus form,” he added when Harry opened his mouth. “It’s a snake, obviously, so you will have no trouble conversing with me without anyone else understanding.”
Harry slumped. “How will I get Polyjuice potion?” he asked, still stalling. “It takes a month to brew.”
Voldemort smiled wickedly. “I have some already. You will only need to add my DNA. If you don’t feel comfortable drinking a potion from me, then buy some. The Apothecary in Knockturn Alley sells it.”
“How do I know this isn’t a trap?” Harry asked. In his head, he was berating himself for even considering it, but he suspected that Voldemort would keep asking until Harry either gave in, or pissed him off enough to come through the wards and kill him in his sleep.
“I give you my word,” Voldemort said. Harry looked at him dubiously, obviously wary of how much Voldemort’s word actually meant. “Fine—I swear it on my magic that I will not allow you to come to harm—through my action or inaction—while you are testing this theory of mine. Further, I swear it on my magic that I will not allow my Death Eaters to harm you, should they realise that you are not me. I will kill them myself.”
“And if it doesn’t work out,” Voldemort shrugged, “I will leave you alone henceforth.”
Harry deliberated. He felt the magic once again sweep over him as Voldemort made the oath, but he was still wary. He wasn’t worried about being hurt or killed—the oath had taken care of that and Harry had checked over the wording—but he just didn’t want to do it. Then he remembered those boring lessons his father had been giving him over the last few days, and knew it was unavoidable if he wanted to prevent his entire family’s honour from being cursed.
With a sigh, he nodded. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
“Wonderful!” Voldemort crowed. “I shall fetch you when it is time. Be sure to have your Polyjuice potion ready—you are visiting the Ministry to get your apparating license soon, yes? Good, you’ll be able to come quickly.”
Harry opened his mouth dumbly, but could not get words to form, and then Voldemort was gone.
-x-
The next morning, Harry woke up to someone slobbering on his face. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, and found Padfoot staring at him excitedly. He groaned, rolled over, and tried to bury himself under his pillows, but Padfoot was insistent.
“G’way!” he croaked, batting the dog away with his hand. Padfoot yelped and jumped off the bed. A minute later, his father was standing over him, trying to look stern. Harry opened his eyes slowly. “You got dog hair on my bed,” he complained.
Sirius grinned. “Good. I’ve been trying to wake you up for ten minutes; you were sleeping like a log. Now, up you get. We have to be at the Ministry in thirty minutes and Ron’s already ready and eating breakfast.”
“Ron got up before me?” Harry asked dubiously. Sirius nodded wryly. Feeling a little flabbergasted at this turn of events, Harry slowly rolled off the bed and padded to the bathroom to have a shower. “I’ll be down in fifteen minutes,” he called over his shoulder.
Indeed, he was showered and dressed in a pair of jeans and his black frockcoat within fifteen minutes. Ginger had made pancakes for breakfast and he started in on them as Ron helped himself to a second serving. “Morning,” he yawned, absently tapping his head with his wand to dry and somewhat style his hair.
Ron mumbled a reply around a bite of pancakes and Sirius, sitting across from him at the kitchen table, turned a page in the paper, which he had recently decided to take after all. “They’re still going over what a tragedy it was that I was falsely imprisoned for twelve years,” he drawled. Harry looked up, trying to see his father’s face over the top of the newspaper.
“Are they?” he asked. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Sirius snorted, sounding quite amused. Harry turned back to his breakfast, losing himself in his thoughts—he was still a bit reluctant to follow through with what Voldemort had asked of him, but knew there was no way he could back out now. Suddenly, Ron swallowed rather loudly and cleared his throat.
“How did it go with Ginny last night?” he asked. Sirius, Harry noticed, looked up at that, seemingly very interested in what he had to say. He muttered something about ‘floo disks’ and Harry narrowed his eyes at him, though the effect was ruined by his flushed cheeks.
“She just wanted to talk,” Harry growled.
Ron smirked. “And you’re a bit disappointed are you?”
Harry rolled his eyes and refused to answer. Fortunately, his father, still smirking delightedly, saved him at that point. “Are you two about ready to go, then?” he asked. Harry swallowed a last bite of pancakes, chugged his juice, and stood up quickly—very eager to end the conversation before Ron could get it started.
“Yeah,” he said, already striding towards the door. Ron and his father met him in the floo room seconds later.
“We’re flooing to the Leaky Cauldron and walking to the Ministry from there,” his father explained. “We have to take the visitor’s entrance.” Harry nodded and tossed the floo powder in the flames, calling out ‘The Leaky Cauldron’ when he stepped in. He was swirled through the fireplace, every now and then catching glimpses of other people’s rooms, before he was roughly tossed out. He stumbled, but managed to catch himself before he hit the floor—thinking that was surely an improvement from his usual style.
Ron followed next, and then his father. They waved to Tom behind the bar, and then exited into London Proper, walking the several blocks to the phone booth that would take them to the Ministry.
“Still got your emergency portkey?” Sirius asked. Harry nodded and pulled the little Zippo lighter with a white greyhound on it out of his pocket—which he now carried with him everywhere—to show his father.
“What’s your mum, Ginny and Hermione going to do today?” Harry asked Ron as they walked.
Ron shrugged and pulled a Chocolate Frog out of his pocket. “I imagine Mum will try to convince your house-elf to let her cook,” he said and Harry snorted. He’d like to see Mrs. Weasley try that. “And Hermione’s obviously going to prowl your library,” he added wryly. “No telling what Ginny’s up to. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to rummage through your stuff, trying to find something to amuse herself with.”
Harry suddenly remembered the floo disks his father had given him for his birthday and blushed. Clearing his throat, he said, “I doubt she’ll find anything interesting. I’m pretty boring.”
Sirius shot him a grin. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said airily. “She might find something that tickles her fancy.” Harry glared at him.
“What do you mean by that?” Ron asked, curiously.
“Nothing,” Harry and Sirius said together. Ron narrowed his eyes, but wasn’t given the chance to speak because Sirius continued jovially with, “Oh look, we’re here.”
They were standing in front of the dingy red phone booth that led to the Ministry, and Sirius was ushering them inside. “Bit tight, isn’t it?” he asked wryly. Harry would have nodded in agreement if his head wasn’t stuck under Ron’s elbow. He wasn’t sure how that had happened.
Sirius fumbled with the keys, spelling out M-A-G-I-C on the pad, and then the dry, bored voice of the welcome witch came on. “Please state your name and business,” she said.
“Sirius Black with Ronald Weasley and Harry…Potter,” he said, deciding to use that name at the last minute. “For paperwork and apparating tests.”
The change return spat out three nametags, and Harry was chagrined to note that his and Ron’s both read ‘Having a Go at Apparating’ while his father’s read the much more dignified ‘Rectifying False Imprisonment Charges’.
The lift took them down and they stepped out, had their wands registered, and stared at the directory of the Ministry which explained what floor everything was on. “You two head down to Magical Transportation. Apparating tests are in Suite 4A, and then when you’re done—hopefully both with licenses—you can meet me at Magical Law Enforcement.” Sirius said. “I’ve got to sign all the papers that will formally clear my name, and I imagine that will take a while,” he groaned.
“Do you think you’ll pass first go?” Ron asked excitedly. “I still can’t believe that they failed me for leaving half an eyebrow,” he muttered, remembering his tests from sixth year.
Harry laughed. “I hope so—and I bet you’ll do fine this go round, too. You’ve had plenty of time to practice.” Ron looked sheepish. “You have practiced, haven’t you?”
“Yeah,” Ron mumbled, “but every time I do, the twins seem to know about it, and they always pop into the Burrow and distract me.”
Harry laughed and opened the door to Suite 4A. There was a plump witch in chartreuse robes sitting behind a desk with her head propped on her hand. She looked up when they entered and smiled. “Apparition tests, dears?” she asked.
Ron and Harry nodded. The witch passed over two clipboards. “Fill these out, then, dears, and turn them in when you’re finished. We’ll call you as soon as a tester is available.”
After filling in their names, ages, Hogwarts houses, favourite colours and shoe sizes, they passed the clipboards back, grinning excitedly to each other. A few minutes later, a door behind the witch’s desk opened and a tall, willowy woman stepped out. “Potter, Harry?” she called. Harry stood, accepted a pat on the back from Ron for luck and followed her into the hallway behind the door. She led him down and opened the last door on the right.
“First time testing?” the witch asked. Harry nodded nervously. “I’m sure you’ll do fine,” she said with a smile, and then became all business. The room was very large, Harry noticed, and as he looked around, the witch pointed to an X taped to the floor and to another, about fifty feet away.
“Step to the X,” she said, “and when you’re ready, I want you to apparate to the other X at the far end of the room. Remember your three D’s,” she added helpfully.
Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes and turned, concentrating on the other X. When he opened them, he was standing on the other X. He grinned at the witch.
“Very good,” she said, nodding approvingly. “Now if you can just apparate back for me—we have to make sure it wasn’t just a fluke, you know,” she added, smiling.
Harry concentrated again and apparated back to the first X. “Excellent,” the witch said. She motioned to a set of chairs against the wall and he followed her over to them. “Now, you’ve passed,” she explained, graciously allowing Harry a moment to control his grinning. “But we still need to go over the rules.
“Your license can and will be revoked if you violate any of the apparating regulations. These are very simple. First, it is illegal to teach—without having been properly certified—an unlicensed wizard how to apparate. Clear?” Harry nodded.
“Also, it is unlawful to apparate a muggle at any time without having prior Ministry approval, and lastly it is unlawful to apparate another wizard without having said wizard’s explicit consent first. Do you think you will have any problems following these regulations?”
Harry shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
“Very good,” the witch repeated. She swished her wand and a piece of parchment appeared in the air. “You need not carry this with you,” she explained, passing the parchment over to him. “But it is your license nonetheless. You’ll be entered into the Ministry database, but should something unfortunate happen—our files spontaneously disintegrating, say—you’ll have this as proof. I suggest you keep it in your vault, if you have one.”
Harry nodded, smiled, and the witch stood. “You’re free to go,” she said.
Back in the waiting room, Ron had already left to take his test, so Harry sat and waited. He struck up a conversation with the witch behind the desk—who seemed so delighted to have conversation at all that she didn’t mind talking about Harry’s school subjects which were, admittedly, rather boring. Ron came out about fifteen minutes later, fighting back a grin.
“Pass, did you?” Harry asked, standing up.
Ron grinned and held up a sheet of parchment. “Yeah—finally! Mum’ll be so pleased, and I can finally rub it in to the twins.”
Together, they walked back to the lifts, exchanging ideas of where they could apparate first, and rode to the floor where Magical Law Enforcement was. Harry’s father was just exiting one of the rooms as they left the lift. He saw them and grinned ferociously.
“Finished,” he said. “Did you both pass?” Harry and Ron nodded happily. “Excellent!” Sirius crowed. “That calls for a celebration, I think, but first we have one more thing to do here.”
“What?” Ron asked.
“Harry’s got to get his business in order,” Sirius said, grinning. Harry grinned back at him, truly excited. “We need to go to Magical Inheritances.” He stopped to check the directory and then nodded, ushering them back into the lift.
Magical Inheritances was on the fifth floor and in a room that was decorated in silver and gold. It was rather gaudy, Harry thought. Judging from Ron’s snicker, he agreed. Sirius went up to the desk and spoke with the young brunet wizard sitting there. There was a series of gaping and raised eyebrows from the wizard, and then Sirius ushered them over.
“We’ve got the birth certificate,” Sirius was saying. The wizard looked dubious.
“We’ll need to do the paternity test, of course,” he said. Sirius nodded, unconcerned.
“I expected as much,” Sirius said, smiling. “Harry, take the coat off so he can get to your arm.” When Harry did, the dubious little wizard walked around the desk and tapped his wand to Harry’s forearm, muttering a charm that Harry couldn’t quite hear. He pulled a vial from his pocket and held it to the tip of his wand, which was still pressed into Harry’s skin. Blood flowed, from no discernable puncture, into the vial and the wizard capped it quickly.
“And yours as well, Mr. Black,” the wizard said. Sirius rolled up the sleeve of his robe and held out his arm. When he was finished, the wizard capped the vial, muttered something else, and disappeared through a door.
“Doesn’t sound like he’s too happy about his job, does it?” Sirius asked as they sat down in the waiting area. Harry shrugged and Ron pulled out another Chocolate Frog.
“Finally!” Ron exclaimed, jumping up and tossing the Chocolate Frog in Harry’s lap. Unconcerned, Harry ate it. “I’ve got Ptolemy! I’ve got a full set, now!”
“What are you going to do with them?” Sirius asked, amused.
Ron was stumped. “I don’t know.”
Just then, the wizard who’d taken Harry and Sirius’ blood, returned, looking quite disgruntled. “Everything seems to be in order, Mr. Black,” he told Sirius. Sirius smiled smugly and Harry tried to console Ron, who still didn’t know what one did with a full set of Chocolate Frog cards. “Will…Harry…be legally changing his name?”
“It’s already legal, isn’t it?” Harry asked, looking up. “It’s on my birth certificate that way.”
The wizard frowned. “That birth certificate never made it to Ministry offices. You have a different one in our files, which proclaims you ‘Harry James Potter’. If you wish to legally change it, we’ll need to fill out a bit of paperwork. In triplicate,” he added.
“Whatever,” Harry shrugged. He turned back to Ron and said, “Do you know if they’re worth anything? Maybe you can sell them.”
“Very good, Mr. Potter…Black,” the wizard said in a very bored voice. He pulled open a desk drawer and extracted a stack of papers, sliding them across to Harry and Sirius. “Please complete these. Ministry records will be changed immediately.”
-x-
Next Chapter.
Chapter Title: Black, Harry 09/14
Words (this chapter): 7,941
Rating (this chapter): PG-13
Story Info/All Chapters: HERE
Beta’d by
maybe_someday8 and amelancholykiss.-x-
Black, in the Smothering Dark
-x-
Chapter Nine
Black, Harry
-x-
“Mum and Ginny are coming before dinner. Sirius wrote and invited us all over this morning—said that we might as well make a big thing of it since Hermione and I were coming. I think they’re going to stay for a few days,” Ron said, all in a rush.
Harry looked over at him, eyebrow raised. “Okay.” After Harry’s revelation, Hermione had finally taken notice of the library at large, and made a comment that may or may not have been along the lines of ‘wring my knickers out after a day in here’. Harry and Ron had then decided to retreat to Harry’s bedroom to play Exploding Snap, which was what they had been doing until Ron began acting shifty. “Is there any reason you seem upset about this? I don’t care who comes.”
Ron cut his eyes to the side and mumbled something. He blindly threw down a card and jumped when it exploded. “What was that?” Harry asked, ignoring for the moment that he’d just won the game.
Ron sighed and looked back. “Well, see, it’s like this, mate,” Ron said bravely. “Ginny’s been acting strange lately, and as soon as we got that letter from Sirius inviting the rest of the family over, she pulled me aside and told me, in no uncertain words, mind you, that she needs to talk to you and I’m to arrange it.” He paused and then added carefully, “I think she’s in love with you again.”
Harry laughed, because it was simply absurd. “Rubbish,” he said. “Isn’t she dating Dean?” The idea of Ginny liking him again was ridiculous. Once she’d starting dating Dean in Harry’s sixth year, they’d become a lot closer—especially with Ron and Hermione dancing around each other constantly. It was very plain to him that she didn’t like him anymore and most likely never would—although, he’d seen something on one of the porn disks his father had gotten him for his birthday that he wouldn’t mind trying with Charlie or Bill. Of course, he’d never tell Ron that.
“Well, yeah,” Ron answered hesitantly. “But you know how she goes through boyfriends.” He punctuated this with a series of snaps of his fingers, and Harry grinned. “I’m just letting you know, mate,” Ron continued, shrugging. “I don’t care if you date her or not, and I’ll keep Hermione out of the way if you want me to, but I’m just warning you…And if she does confess her undying love for you,” he added fiercely, “you’d better be nice about it.”
“Of course,” Harry answered. He picked up the cards and shuffled them before dealing them out again. “And while we’re on the subject of undying love,” he said mischievously, “what did you and Hermione get up to at the Burrow?”
Ron flushed, and hid his face behind his spread of cards. “Nothing,” he said, and sounded sincere enough about it. Or rather, bitter enough about it. Harry chose not to say anything. “She was only there a couple of days—came over after she got back from France or Finland or wherever she went because her parents were leaving for a conference in America and they wouldn’t be back until school had started again.”
“She didn’t make you revise for your NEWTs?” Harry asked, laughing.
Ron growled. “That’s about all she did—well she hung around Ginny and they giggled together a fair bit. I tried to keep my distance when they were doing that.”
Harry laughed and slapped a card down. No snap—he grinned. It was quickly turning out to be the best summer he’d ever had. He couldn’t imagine anything better, actually. It was great having Ron and Hermione with him for the rest of the summer, add having a father to that—he couldn’t ask for more.
After he and Ron got their apparating licenses, he could take them to Eweforic Alley—well, he supposed they could walk, but he still wanted to get his license. Hermione would definitely say something about the bar they would have to go through to get there, and he found that he was almost looking forward to her indignant nagging; yes, it was going to be a great summer.
“Snap!” Ron yelled. Harry broke out of his thoughts and looked down with a groan. “Finally—I was having a bad streak there,” he muttered. “Another game?”
Harry looked at his watch and shook his head. “It’s almost seven, and that’s when Ginger serves dinner. She’ll be furious if we’re late—and she’s pregnant,” Harry added with a shudder. “I don’t want to get on her bad side.”
Ron frowned. “Who’s Ginger?”
“One of our house-elves,” Harry muttered, rolling off the bed. “She and her mate, Fred, work for us.” He gave another shudder, and added, “She’s very feisty.”
“Odd name for a house-elf,” Ron noted, following Harry to the door. Harry nodded ruefully. “You should have her name the baby George—that’ll piss the twins off…or give them a good laugh. You can never tell with them,” he added thoughtfully.
Harry laughed and hopped on the banister, sliding down to the second floor. When he got to the bottom, he looked up to find Ron still standing at the top. “I’d like to see you try that at Hogwarts,” Ron said flatly. “You’d fall seven stories.”
Harry shook his head. “Si-my dad enchanted these. You won’t fall. Try it. It’s almost as good as riding a broom.”
Ron gave him a doubtful look, but slid down it anyway. At the bottom, he was grinning like a loon, and they took the next banister down to the first floor—laughing loudly the entire way. Harry hit the bottom, dusted off his pants and looked up at Ron who was halfway down. Behind him, a door opened, and Hermione stepped out of the library, holding two books, just as Ron landed, with a thump, at the bottom of the stairs.
“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione glared, carefully setting the books on the floor so that she had both hands free to put on her hips. Ron gave her a sheepish look from the floor. “What, in the name of Merlin, do you think you’re doing?”
“It was just a bit of fun,” he complained, standing. Hermione narrowed her eyes, and Harry thought it would be chivalrous of him to step in at that point.
“We should see if your mum and Ginny are here yet; let’s go to the floo room, yeah?” he suggesting, offering Ron and Hermione a beatific smile.
“Grand idea!” Ron chirped, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulder, and leading him back towards the antechamber very, very quickly. Behind them, Hermione uttered a low growl, but followed anyway. “They said they’d get here a few minutes before seven. Maybe we can catch them.”
Sirius was already waiting in the antechamber, sitting in a chair and reading over a stack of papers. He looked up when they entered and gave them a smile. “Have fun, did you?” he asked pleasantly. He checked his watch, and set the papers on a table next to the chair. “Ron, your mother and sister should be here soon. Care to wait with me? I’ve spoken to Fred and he said he’ll ask Ginger to serve dinner a bit late tonight—though he didn’t seem very enthusiastic about the request,” he added wryly.
Harry grinned and sat down on the floor near his father, as there were no other chairs in the room. “I can’t imagine why,” he said.
“Who are Fred and Ginger?” Hermione asked interestedly.
“No one,” Harry, Ron and Sirius all answered quickly. Hermione narrowed her eyes again, but did not respond. The men exchanged relieved glances, and Sirius struck up a conversation with Ron about the Chudley Cannons and their chances that season. Both agreed, although Ron agreed reluctantly, that they didn’t have a prayer.
A bit later, the fire flared green and Ginny stepped through, tugging a knapsack, which had tangled itself in the grate, free and pushing her long hair behind her ear. “Hi,” she said happily, and hugged Harry and Hermione, though she’d seen Hermione only hours before. Sirius stood and gave her a half-hug, asking how her summer had been so far. “Not too bad,” she answered happily. “I finished most of my homework early and spent the rest of it trouncing Ron in Quidditch.” Here, she gave Ron a triumphant smirk, to which he snarled. The fire flared again, and Mrs. Weasley stepped out, beaming.
“Harry!” she wailed, crushing him in a hug. “So good to see you again, dear—you look…” she paused and studied him carefully. “Actually, you look fine, dear. I was certain that I would need to fatten you up a bit, but it seems…Sirius, how good to see you!” she redirected, also crushing Sirius with a hug. She seemed genuinely disappointed that Harry didn’t need to eat more.
Harry turned to Ginny and said, “Was she calling me fat?” He looked down at himself in feigned concern, pulling his shirt up and poking his stomach. “Do I look fat?”
Ginny laughed and slapped him across the back of the head. “You look fine. She was probably referring to how well you’ve filled out,” she added, leering playfully at him and poking his bicep. On his other side, Ron groaned and gave Harry an ‘I told you so’ look. Harry laughed. “I like your hair,” she added thoughtfully.
Hermione leaned around her and studied him. “Oh! I didn’t even notice your hair!” she said apologetically.
“It looks like blood dripping off,” Ron said with raised eyebrows.
Harry stilled, but relaxed as soon as Hermione and Ginny laughed. “Yeah, it does,” Ginny grinned. “Are you trying to be rebellious?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, grinning. “Sirius made me get a haircut, so I had them do this, too, to get back at him.”
“Where’s Arthur?” Sirius spoke up, having just removed himself from Mrs. Weasley’s clutches. “Will he be coming later?”
“Oh no,” Mrs. Weasley answered. “He’s off investigating something or another for the Ministry. He’ll be there for another week at least.”
Sirius nodded, and led Mrs. Weasley towards the door with a hand on her back. “Well, let’s have dinner then. We can catch up while we eat,” he added, giving Harry a look. Harry grinned at Ron and Hermione, to Ginny’s confusion, and ushered all three of them out of the room.
They were eating in the dining room again, since the kitchen table was much too small for six people. It was huge though, so they all crowded around the end with Sirius at the head and Harry to his left. Ron sat next to him and the women sat across from Harry and Ron. Harry, Ron, and Sirius glanced warily at Hermione, and winced when Ginger popped in, carrying a tray.
“A house-elf?” Hermione said incredulously. Her voice was so quiet that all three men winced again. “You have a house-elf, Harry?” she repeated.
Harry opened his mouth, but only stuttering came out. Hermione repeated the question once more to Sirius, but he didn’t do any better. Ginger was calculatedly ignoring Hermione, until she came around to her plate and tried to serve her.
“No,” Hermione said, crossing her arms and glaring furiously at Harry and Sirius. Ginger, taken aback, looked to her masters for an answer, but their heads were ducked over their plates and could not answer.
“No, what?” Ginger asked Hermione when she realised she would get no help from either Harry or Sirius.
“No,” Hermione said. “I will not be served by a house-elf.”
Ginger immediately let go of the tray—which remained hovering in front of her—and put her hands on her hips. Harry and his father winced in sympathy for Hermione while Ron and Ginny looked on curiously. Mrs. Weasley seemed to be doing her best to ignore the situation. “Excuse me?” Ginger squeaked, but it sounded almost like a growl. “Is Miss too good to be served by a filthy house-elf?”
Hermione, taken aback, looked at Ginger with wide eyes while Ron, Harry and Ginny all hid snickers behind their hands. Sirius was looking at the ceiling and pressing his lips very tightly together, as if trying not to smile.
“N-no,” Hermione stuttered. “That’s not it at all.”
“Does Miss think that food served by house-elves is not fit to be eaten?” Ginger continued as if Hermione hadn’t spoken at all. Her huge eyes were narrowed almost to slits and her fists were clenched at her hips. She didn’t look very happy at all.
“No,” Hermione insisted frantically. “I just don’t think it’s right to enslave your people!”
Ginger’s eyes narrowed further. “Miss is being very rude. If Miss had any brains at all, she would know that house-elves like serving their masters as long as their masters are good to them—which Ginger’s masters are—and that house-elves would not be able to survive very long without a master to serve. House-elves’ magic weakens when house-elves are not bound; the longer house-elves go without being bound, the more magic house-elves lose. House-elves die without being bound, so if Miss does not want to enslave our people, then she can make her own dinner.”
“It’s okay,” Sirius said consolingly. “She didn’t mean to offend you, Ginger.”
“I really didn’t,” Hermione added quickly, giving Ginger a faint smile. “I didn’t know.”
Ginger narrowed her eyes, and continued to glare at Hermione, only stopping when Fred popped in very hesitantly and finished serving everyone before gently coaxing Ginger out. She disappeared reluctantly, and Fred looked at the people at the table apologetically.
“Ginger is having baby very soon,” he explained. “Days, maybe,” he shuddered. “She gets irritated quicker than normal. Fred knows very well,” he added, wincing. Then he, too, popped out and Hermione was left stunned, staring at nothing in particular.
“Is that true?” she asked the room in general. “Will they really die if they’re not bound?” Harry, Ron and Ginny shrugged. “Well, then what about Dobby? He hasn’t been bound for years!”
Everyone shrugged again, and it was Mrs. Weasley who spoke up, finally. “He must have been born to parents that weren’t bound. If a house-elf isn’t bound when he’s born, then their magic doesn’t require binding. I imagine that his parents died very quickly and he looked for a family to take him in, not knowing how to survive otherwise.”
“So that’s why they get so upset when they’re freed,” Ron muttered to himself. He shrugged, and then dug into his dinner, assuming the conversation closed. Harry followed, and then everyone else did. Hermione was last and only began eating with a resigned sigh and an embarrassed flush to her cheeks.
“So, Harry and I have news,” Sirius said several minutes later. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley looked up questioningly and Harry fought a delighted grin. Excitedly, Sirius recounted the events of Harry’s birthday in excruciating detail. The stunned silence afterwards was finally broken by Ginny.
“I thought you looked hotter than before,” she mused, sipping a glass of pumpkin juice. “I suppose your mum put charms on you to make you look like a Potter, and now they’ve worn off.” She shrugged, and then went back to eating. Harry stared at her incredulously.
“That’s it?” he asked slowly. He looked to his father who seemed to be thinking the same thing, and frowned. “You’ve just found out I’m not really Harry Potter, and all you think is that I’m more attractive now?” he asked, faintly amused.
Ginny shrugged, unrepentant. “Well, you are.”
“Ginevra!” Mrs. Weasley said, finding her voice after minutes of silence. Ginny smiled sheepishly at her mum, and Ron choked on his pumpkin juice, laughing. “Harry, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, redirecting her attention to him. “Will you be publicly acknowledging this new development?”
Harry grinned at her. “Yeah—we’re going to the Ministry…tomorrow?” he looked to his father for confirmation. Sirius nodded, so he turned back to Mrs. Weasley. “I’ll have my name changed in public record after my dad finishes his paperwork.” He looked back to Sirius once more and put on a pleading face. “And of course, Ron and I still need to get our apparating licenses.” His father snorted and rolled his eyes.
“The newspapers will love this,” Mrs. Weasley said dryly.
Harry winced. “Yeah—that’s what everyone else has said.”
After dinner, Sirius led Mrs. Weasley to the drawing room to meet the Evanses and to have an after dinner drink. Harry tried not to pay attention when Ginny gave Ron a series of pointed looks and weird hand gestures. Obviously, he understood because with a great martyred groan, he asked Hermione if she’d like to join him in the library. She’d been silent ever since the debacle with Ginger, but brightened at his offer and happily led the way out. Harry was left in the dining room with Ginny, and she looked determined.
“I suppose you want to talk,” he said, a hint of question in the words. She nodded and he smiled. “The garden’s nice—do you want to go out there?”
“That’s fine,” Ginny said, letting him lead the way. They walked in companionable silence until Harry reached the French doors leading from the living room to the back garden. It was dark by now and very quiet except for the crash of the waves against the cliffs that the manor sat on. “It’s really nice out here,” Ginny said conversationally, looking out at the firth.
Harry nodded and stuck his hands in his pocket as they walked along the path. “So, what did you want to talk about?” he asked after several minutes. Ginny didn’t respond, and when he looked over, she was biting her lip and staring at nothing.
“I’ve been having these dreams,” she finally said.
Harry snorted. “Those are normal,” he said wisely. “Be thankful that you don’t have to clean up sticky sheets afterwards.”
Ginny cuffed him. “That’s not what I meant!” she said in feigned indignation—it was obvious she was trying not to laugh with him. “They aren’t that kind of dream…But they’re really odd, and I knew I had to talk to you because no one else would understand them like you would.”
“I’m not Trelawney,” Harry said carefully.
Ginny scowled. “This is serious!”
Harry held up his hands in surrender, and Ginny scowled once more for good measure, then took a deep breath and started again. “They’re always the same. I’m back in the Chamber of Secrets, but I’m not scared this time. I’m actually looking for…him.”
“Voldemort?” Harry asked incredulously.
Ginny nodded, looking resigned. “Yeah. See—I used to have dreams about a dark-haired, pale boy before Hogwarts, and when I saw you at the train station the first time, I thought you were him…And in my dreams, it’s always been very important that I find him.”
Harry gave her an uncertain look. It was chilly out and he was beginning to shiver slightly, but he didn’t want to go in just yet. He had a feeling Ginny was telling him something important, and he couldn’t bring himself to cut her off. “Do you?” he asked. “Find him, I mean.”
Ginny shook her head and wrapped her arms around her chest to fight off the chill. “No. I mean—I see him, and I’ll run towards him, and he runs towards me, but something always happens before we reach each other.” She paused and shuddered before adding, “One of us always dies.”
Harry’s eyebrows shot up to his hair. “So what do you think it means?”
Ginny looked at him, biting her lip. “I’ve done some reading,” she said carefully. “Hermione had a book on traditional wizarding marriages—I think she’s trying to give Ron hints,” she added slyly. Harry grinned. “Anyway, there’s one in there called the Last Marriage which completely binds spouses together—magic, mind, soul.” She stressed the last word. “It kind of makes them into soul-mates, which means that each time we’re reincarnated, we search the other one out relentlessly until we find them.”
Harry shuddered. “So does that mean that—assuming that’s what it is—that you’re Voldemort’s soul mate?” he asked dubiously.
Ginny sighed. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” Harry said dryly. “You must be devastated.”
Ginny bit her lip. “You would think so, wouldn’t you? But the binding overrides all that. I may be on a different side of the war from him, but I still want him,” she added disgustedly.
Harry scoffed. He’d thought she’d been joking. “Are you serious? Have you seen the guy?”
Ginny winced. “No—but, it doesn’t matter, you know? Because if I’m right, we’re bound anyway…And when you kill him…I’ll feel it.”
That got Harry’s attention. He stopped walking, and several steps later, Ginny did, too. She turned to look at him curiously. “Feel it how?” he asked.
Ginny looked extremely vulnerable in that moment, Harry noticed. She looked so much smaller than usual with her arms wrapped around herself and her shoulders hunched desolately. She didn’t want to answer him, Harry could see, so he walked over and carefully put his arm around her shoulder. “Feel it how?” he repeated.
“Like…” she started and then faltered. “Like my—It’ll feel like my soul’s being ripped in half…because it will be,” she added faintly. “And the book said that when things like that happen, it’ll probably be too much for me, and I’ll go insane…maybe commit suicide.”
Harry’s mouth fell open. “Are you positive that this…marital bond is what it is?”
Ginny nodded desolately. “Yes, I’ve got all the signs: dreaming of him, obsessed with finding him, similar magical powers…”
“Like what?” Harry asked curiously. He couldn’t remember Ginny ever having a strong urge to do dark magic or an affinity for the Cruciatus curse.
She didn’t speak for several minutes, but when she did, her voice was higher pitched and her words were sibilant. “Like this,” she said, and it took Harry a second to realise she’d just spoken in Parseltongue. He jumped, startled, and stared at her with wide eyes.
“Merciful Merlin,” he whispered. Harry ran a hand through his hair roughly, and turned to look at the water. So she was right. She was bound to Voldemort, and she would go insane—maybe even kill herself—when he died. Would the same thing happen to him, assuming he was the one that lived? “I dream about him, and I’m obsessed with finding him, too. You don’t think I married him once, also, do you?” he asked, only half joking.
Ginny shook her head. “No, I checked that, too. There are records of various curses backfiring and leaving the attacker and the attacked with a connection of some sort. Never as strong as yours, but it’s happened before.”
Harry sighed in relief. “Well—we’ll figure something out,” he promised her. “I won’t let you go insane…or kill yourself, either,” he added with a shudder. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how he would feel if that happened to Ginny. This was entirely too odd for him.
“In the meantime,” he continued, “I want you to come to me any time something that has to do with this bond happens…and give me all the details so I know what I’m working with. It doesn’t matter what time. And I want you to stay until the end of the summer with Ron and Hermione; we’ll figure out something to tell your mum. Tell her we’re dating or something and we want to spend time together. I’ll want you around to give me updates.”
Ginny laughed genuinely. “She would be delighted if that were true.”
Harry gave her a wry grin and began leading her back to the house. “I’m sure—much more delighted than if she knew the actual truth, I’m sure.”
-x-
Excerpt from the Journal of a Necromancer, 492nd page.
14 July, 849
Beloved,
The Necromancers from the isles say it cannot be done, but I disagree. I have dedicated myself to the study for these last years and finally, with their help, I was given the last bit of information I need to begin work. It involves quite a bit of Arithmancy—which you know I was never good at—but I’m confident.
I am certain that it will work.
In the meantime, I have been dreaming of you. Every night, I see your face and smile because I know that I am one step closer to having you back with me. Your son is so big now; he will be delighted to finally meet you.
Sometimes, he rummages through my things when I have not kept a sufficient eye on him, and makes a terrible mess. Recently, he has taken to running his tiny fingers over the cover of this journal and digging through the box of your bones. He knows that they are yours. I am sure of it.
The ritual, I believe, will need to be performed on All Hallows’ Eve, and I hope to be ready by this one. If not, there is always next year.
So, until I see you again, my beloved, I will be dreaming of you—warm and happy in the knowledge that I am sure you are doing the same, wherever you are.
Yours always,
R.
-x-
That night, after Harry and Sirius had shown Hermione and the Weasleys to their bedrooms, and turned in for the night, Harry sat on his bed, thinking of his conversation with Ginny. He could not deny that it was troubling him greatly. So much so that he was half-considering Voldemort’s offers to stop the war—but he didn’t want to stop it that way. If Voldemort was allowed to continue on as he was, more people than Ginny would die, and he couldn’t have that either.
He needed to think.
Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately depending on how he looked at it, someone appeared in his bedroom at that moment. He looked up, noticed gleaming red eyes, and jumped. “Holy Mother of Merlin!” he whispered frantically, scrambling back further on his bed. Where was his wand? Of all the times to not have it in his pocket, it had to be then. He thought it was on his night table—if he could only get to it…
“Good evening,” Voldemort said, looking around his room with mild appreciation. Harry looked at him again, and finally noticed that Voldemort was not fully solid. He could see the outline of the window behind him. He sighed in half-relief and stared warily at the Dark Lord. “Aren’t you going to offer me tea?”
Harry stared at him mutely, and then snapped his fingers. When Fred appeared—looking almost grateful that he’d been taken away from his wife, even if it was for a strange request—Harry requested two cups of tea, not taking his eyes off Voldemort. Fred returned seconds later, and Harry wordlessly floated the tea cup to Voldemort’s translucent form after he’d gone.
“You’re right,” Voldemort said conversationally. “You can’t taste the tea at all in this form.”
Harry waited.
When Voldemort had finished his diatribe on the tea, and found a chair to sit in, he looked back up at Harry, blinking his red eyes curiously. “You’re awake appallingly late,” he chided. “Shouldn’t you be asleep? It’s nearly two in the morning.”
Harry glanced at his watch and swore. His father had told him that he and Ron would need to be up and ready to leave by nine in the morning. He’d planned for everything at the Ministry to take most of the morning and afternoon. He was never going to wake up on time now. He’d spent entirely too long mulling over Ginny’s situation.
“Well?” Voldemort spoke up, breaking into his thoughts. Harry swore softly again. He needed to learn better; how in the world was he able to forget himself so quickly with Voldemort around? It couldn’t be safe. Harry looked up at him, inviting him to continue. “Have you given any thought to what I said the other day?”
Harry looked at him dubiously. “Exactly what is it that you want from me?”
Voldemort smiled—all sharp, white, glinting teeth—and leaned further back into his chair. He discarded his tea with a disgusted look, and folded his hands in his lap. “I want to test a theory, as I said.”
Harry scoffed. “I’m not going to be your puppet.”
Voldemort gave him a look that Harry was fairly certain said ‘Do you take me for an idiot?’—which Harry didn’t. Voldemort was many things, but an idiot was not one of them. He was obviously too smart for his own good.
“I’m getting old,” Voldemort said at last, looking as though he could not have cared less. “And I don’t have an heir.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “Couldn’t you have, I don’t know, had one then? You were pretty attractive in your time, you know,” he added, trying to keep the mocking out of his voice. He obviously didn’t succeed because Voldemort narrowed his eyes.
“I would have, once,” he mused. “My lover,” he said, politely ignoring Harry’s shudder, “was killed many years ago. She was pregnant at the time.”
Harry, feeling an uncharacteristic stab of pity, shrunk in on himself, wishing that he could take the words back. Of course, Voldemort was evil, but no one deserved to have their lover killed. He suspected it would probably be worse than dying—having to live without the one you loved.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last.
Voldemort waved him off. “It’s no matter. That was many, many years ago. There’s no need to drag up the past.” He seemed to be telling that to himself, so Harry did not respond. “Regardless, I am now without an heir.”
“Well, aren’t you supposed to be immortal?” Harry asked, trying to avoid what he suspected was coming next. “I kind of assumed, you know,” he continued. “It’s the impression I got from Dumbledore, anyway—that you were immortal unless killed in some special, heretofore unknown, way.”
“Oh, I am,” Voldemort sneered. “But there’s no reason not to be cautious, and I find that I might enjoy the challenge of working with someone new.”
“Me, you mean,” Harry said carefully. Of course it was him, he knew. Voldemort had been hinting at it too long for it not to be. “We don’t have the same ideals,” he added, just to make sure Voldemort hadn’t forgotten. “I don’t believe in what you do.”
Voldemort made the equivalent of a shrug. “So change my beliefs,” he said, unconcerned, though Harry didn’t think he was serious. “I’m giving you the chance.”
Harry opened his mouth to say that he reckoned it would be a cold day in hell before that happened, but Voldemort, predictably, cut him off. “Humour me,” he said harshly and Harry recoiled. “I want you to lead a Death Eater meeting; I want to see if you have the ability to be a leader.”
Harry sputtered. “I don’t think your Death Eaters would like that,” he said, trying to stall.
“They won’t know,” Voldemort dismissed. “You’ll take Polyjuice potion, and I will be there to guide you—in my animagus form,” he added when Harry opened his mouth. “It’s a snake, obviously, so you will have no trouble conversing with me without anyone else understanding.”
Harry slumped. “How will I get Polyjuice potion?” he asked, still stalling. “It takes a month to brew.”
Voldemort smiled wickedly. “I have some already. You will only need to add my DNA. If you don’t feel comfortable drinking a potion from me, then buy some. The Apothecary in Knockturn Alley sells it.”
“How do I know this isn’t a trap?” Harry asked. In his head, he was berating himself for even considering it, but he suspected that Voldemort would keep asking until Harry either gave in, or pissed him off enough to come through the wards and kill him in his sleep.
“I give you my word,” Voldemort said. Harry looked at him dubiously, obviously wary of how much Voldemort’s word actually meant. “Fine—I swear it on my magic that I will not allow you to come to harm—through my action or inaction—while you are testing this theory of mine. Further, I swear it on my magic that I will not allow my Death Eaters to harm you, should they realise that you are not me. I will kill them myself.”
“And if it doesn’t work out,” Voldemort shrugged, “I will leave you alone henceforth.”
Harry deliberated. He felt the magic once again sweep over him as Voldemort made the oath, but he was still wary. He wasn’t worried about being hurt or killed—the oath had taken care of that and Harry had checked over the wording—but he just didn’t want to do it. Then he remembered those boring lessons his father had been giving him over the last few days, and knew it was unavoidable if he wanted to prevent his entire family’s honour from being cursed.
With a sigh, he nodded. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
“Wonderful!” Voldemort crowed. “I shall fetch you when it is time. Be sure to have your Polyjuice potion ready—you are visiting the Ministry to get your apparating license soon, yes? Good, you’ll be able to come quickly.”
Harry opened his mouth dumbly, but could not get words to form, and then Voldemort was gone.
-x-
The next morning, Harry woke up to someone slobbering on his face. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, and found Padfoot staring at him excitedly. He groaned, rolled over, and tried to bury himself under his pillows, but Padfoot was insistent.
“G’way!” he croaked, batting the dog away with his hand. Padfoot yelped and jumped off the bed. A minute later, his father was standing over him, trying to look stern. Harry opened his eyes slowly. “You got dog hair on my bed,” he complained.
Sirius grinned. “Good. I’ve been trying to wake you up for ten minutes; you were sleeping like a log. Now, up you get. We have to be at the Ministry in thirty minutes and Ron’s already ready and eating breakfast.”
“Ron got up before me?” Harry asked dubiously. Sirius nodded wryly. Feeling a little flabbergasted at this turn of events, Harry slowly rolled off the bed and padded to the bathroom to have a shower. “I’ll be down in fifteen minutes,” he called over his shoulder.
Indeed, he was showered and dressed in a pair of jeans and his black frockcoat within fifteen minutes. Ginger had made pancakes for breakfast and he started in on them as Ron helped himself to a second serving. “Morning,” he yawned, absently tapping his head with his wand to dry and somewhat style his hair.
Ron mumbled a reply around a bite of pancakes and Sirius, sitting across from him at the kitchen table, turned a page in the paper, which he had recently decided to take after all. “They’re still going over what a tragedy it was that I was falsely imprisoned for twelve years,” he drawled. Harry looked up, trying to see his father’s face over the top of the newspaper.
“Are they?” he asked. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Sirius snorted, sounding quite amused. Harry turned back to his breakfast, losing himself in his thoughts—he was still a bit reluctant to follow through with what Voldemort had asked of him, but knew there was no way he could back out now. Suddenly, Ron swallowed rather loudly and cleared his throat.
“How did it go with Ginny last night?” he asked. Sirius, Harry noticed, looked up at that, seemingly very interested in what he had to say. He muttered something about ‘floo disks’ and Harry narrowed his eyes at him, though the effect was ruined by his flushed cheeks.
“She just wanted to talk,” Harry growled.
Ron smirked. “And you’re a bit disappointed are you?”
Harry rolled his eyes and refused to answer. Fortunately, his father, still smirking delightedly, saved him at that point. “Are you two about ready to go, then?” he asked. Harry swallowed a last bite of pancakes, chugged his juice, and stood up quickly—very eager to end the conversation before Ron could get it started.
“Yeah,” he said, already striding towards the door. Ron and his father met him in the floo room seconds later.
“We’re flooing to the Leaky Cauldron and walking to the Ministry from there,” his father explained. “We have to take the visitor’s entrance.” Harry nodded and tossed the floo powder in the flames, calling out ‘The Leaky Cauldron’ when he stepped in. He was swirled through the fireplace, every now and then catching glimpses of other people’s rooms, before he was roughly tossed out. He stumbled, but managed to catch himself before he hit the floor—thinking that was surely an improvement from his usual style.
Ron followed next, and then his father. They waved to Tom behind the bar, and then exited into London Proper, walking the several blocks to the phone booth that would take them to the Ministry.
“Still got your emergency portkey?” Sirius asked. Harry nodded and pulled the little Zippo lighter with a white greyhound on it out of his pocket—which he now carried with him everywhere—to show his father.
“What’s your mum, Ginny and Hermione going to do today?” Harry asked Ron as they walked.
Ron shrugged and pulled a Chocolate Frog out of his pocket. “I imagine Mum will try to convince your house-elf to let her cook,” he said and Harry snorted. He’d like to see Mrs. Weasley try that. “And Hermione’s obviously going to prowl your library,” he added wryly. “No telling what Ginny’s up to. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to rummage through your stuff, trying to find something to amuse herself with.”
Harry suddenly remembered the floo disks his father had given him for his birthday and blushed. Clearing his throat, he said, “I doubt she’ll find anything interesting. I’m pretty boring.”
Sirius shot him a grin. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said airily. “She might find something that tickles her fancy.” Harry glared at him.
“What do you mean by that?” Ron asked, curiously.
“Nothing,” Harry and Sirius said together. Ron narrowed his eyes, but wasn’t given the chance to speak because Sirius continued jovially with, “Oh look, we’re here.”
They were standing in front of the dingy red phone booth that led to the Ministry, and Sirius was ushering them inside. “Bit tight, isn’t it?” he asked wryly. Harry would have nodded in agreement if his head wasn’t stuck under Ron’s elbow. He wasn’t sure how that had happened.
Sirius fumbled with the keys, spelling out M-A-G-I-C on the pad, and then the dry, bored voice of the welcome witch came on. “Please state your name and business,” she said.
“Sirius Black with Ronald Weasley and Harry…Potter,” he said, deciding to use that name at the last minute. “For paperwork and apparating tests.”
The change return spat out three nametags, and Harry was chagrined to note that his and Ron’s both read ‘Having a Go at Apparating’ while his father’s read the much more dignified ‘Rectifying False Imprisonment Charges’.
The lift took them down and they stepped out, had their wands registered, and stared at the directory of the Ministry which explained what floor everything was on. “You two head down to Magical Transportation. Apparating tests are in Suite 4A, and then when you’re done—hopefully both with licenses—you can meet me at Magical Law Enforcement.” Sirius said. “I’ve got to sign all the papers that will formally clear my name, and I imagine that will take a while,” he groaned.
“Do you think you’ll pass first go?” Ron asked excitedly. “I still can’t believe that they failed me for leaving half an eyebrow,” he muttered, remembering his tests from sixth year.
Harry laughed. “I hope so—and I bet you’ll do fine this go round, too. You’ve had plenty of time to practice.” Ron looked sheepish. “You have practiced, haven’t you?”
“Yeah,” Ron mumbled, “but every time I do, the twins seem to know about it, and they always pop into the Burrow and distract me.”
Harry laughed and opened the door to Suite 4A. There was a plump witch in chartreuse robes sitting behind a desk with her head propped on her hand. She looked up when they entered and smiled. “Apparition tests, dears?” she asked.
Ron and Harry nodded. The witch passed over two clipboards. “Fill these out, then, dears, and turn them in when you’re finished. We’ll call you as soon as a tester is available.”
After filling in their names, ages, Hogwarts houses, favourite colours and shoe sizes, they passed the clipboards back, grinning excitedly to each other. A few minutes later, a door behind the witch’s desk opened and a tall, willowy woman stepped out. “Potter, Harry?” she called. Harry stood, accepted a pat on the back from Ron for luck and followed her into the hallway behind the door. She led him down and opened the last door on the right.
“First time testing?” the witch asked. Harry nodded nervously. “I’m sure you’ll do fine,” she said with a smile, and then became all business. The room was very large, Harry noticed, and as he looked around, the witch pointed to an X taped to the floor and to another, about fifty feet away.
“Step to the X,” she said, “and when you’re ready, I want you to apparate to the other X at the far end of the room. Remember your three D’s,” she added helpfully.
Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes and turned, concentrating on the other X. When he opened them, he was standing on the other X. He grinned at the witch.
“Very good,” she said, nodding approvingly. “Now if you can just apparate back for me—we have to make sure it wasn’t just a fluke, you know,” she added, smiling.
Harry concentrated again and apparated back to the first X. “Excellent,” the witch said. She motioned to a set of chairs against the wall and he followed her over to them. “Now, you’ve passed,” she explained, graciously allowing Harry a moment to control his grinning. “But we still need to go over the rules.
“Your license can and will be revoked if you violate any of the apparating regulations. These are very simple. First, it is illegal to teach—without having been properly certified—an unlicensed wizard how to apparate. Clear?” Harry nodded.
“Also, it is unlawful to apparate a muggle at any time without having prior Ministry approval, and lastly it is unlawful to apparate another wizard without having said wizard’s explicit consent first. Do you think you will have any problems following these regulations?”
Harry shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
“Very good,” the witch repeated. She swished her wand and a piece of parchment appeared in the air. “You need not carry this with you,” she explained, passing the parchment over to him. “But it is your license nonetheless. You’ll be entered into the Ministry database, but should something unfortunate happen—our files spontaneously disintegrating, say—you’ll have this as proof. I suggest you keep it in your vault, if you have one.”
Harry nodded, smiled, and the witch stood. “You’re free to go,” she said.
Back in the waiting room, Ron had already left to take his test, so Harry sat and waited. He struck up a conversation with the witch behind the desk—who seemed so delighted to have conversation at all that she didn’t mind talking about Harry’s school subjects which were, admittedly, rather boring. Ron came out about fifteen minutes later, fighting back a grin.
“Pass, did you?” Harry asked, standing up.
Ron grinned and held up a sheet of parchment. “Yeah—finally! Mum’ll be so pleased, and I can finally rub it in to the twins.”
Together, they walked back to the lifts, exchanging ideas of where they could apparate first, and rode to the floor where Magical Law Enforcement was. Harry’s father was just exiting one of the rooms as they left the lift. He saw them and grinned ferociously.
“Finished,” he said. “Did you both pass?” Harry and Ron nodded happily. “Excellent!” Sirius crowed. “That calls for a celebration, I think, but first we have one more thing to do here.”
“What?” Ron asked.
“Harry’s got to get his business in order,” Sirius said, grinning. Harry grinned back at him, truly excited. “We need to go to Magical Inheritances.” He stopped to check the directory and then nodded, ushering them back into the lift.
Magical Inheritances was on the fifth floor and in a room that was decorated in silver and gold. It was rather gaudy, Harry thought. Judging from Ron’s snicker, he agreed. Sirius went up to the desk and spoke with the young brunet wizard sitting there. There was a series of gaping and raised eyebrows from the wizard, and then Sirius ushered them over.
“We’ve got the birth certificate,” Sirius was saying. The wizard looked dubious.
“We’ll need to do the paternity test, of course,” he said. Sirius nodded, unconcerned.
“I expected as much,” Sirius said, smiling. “Harry, take the coat off so he can get to your arm.” When Harry did, the dubious little wizard walked around the desk and tapped his wand to Harry’s forearm, muttering a charm that Harry couldn’t quite hear. He pulled a vial from his pocket and held it to the tip of his wand, which was still pressed into Harry’s skin. Blood flowed, from no discernable puncture, into the vial and the wizard capped it quickly.
“And yours as well, Mr. Black,” the wizard said. Sirius rolled up the sleeve of his robe and held out his arm. When he was finished, the wizard capped the vial, muttered something else, and disappeared through a door.
“Doesn’t sound like he’s too happy about his job, does it?” Sirius asked as they sat down in the waiting area. Harry shrugged and Ron pulled out another Chocolate Frog.
“Finally!” Ron exclaimed, jumping up and tossing the Chocolate Frog in Harry’s lap. Unconcerned, Harry ate it. “I’ve got Ptolemy! I’ve got a full set, now!”
“What are you going to do with them?” Sirius asked, amused.
Ron was stumped. “I don’t know.”
Just then, the wizard who’d taken Harry and Sirius’ blood, returned, looking quite disgruntled. “Everything seems to be in order, Mr. Black,” he told Sirius. Sirius smiled smugly and Harry tried to console Ron, who still didn’t know what one did with a full set of Chocolate Frog cards. “Will…Harry…be legally changing his name?”
“It’s already legal, isn’t it?” Harry asked, looking up. “It’s on my birth certificate that way.”
The wizard frowned. “That birth certificate never made it to Ministry offices. You have a different one in our files, which proclaims you ‘Harry James Potter’. If you wish to legally change it, we’ll need to fill out a bit of paperwork. In triplicate,” he added.
“Whatever,” Harry shrugged. He turned back to Ron and said, “Do you know if they’re worth anything? Maybe you can sell them.”
“Very good, Mr. Potter…Black,” the wizard said in a very bored voice. He pulled open a desk drawer and extracted a stack of papers, sliding them across to Harry and Sirius. “Please complete these. Ministry records will be changed immediately.”
-x-
Next Chapter.
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I particularly like the part where Ginger tells Hermione off!
Nicely done!
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(Anonymous) 2006-09-20 02:01 pm (UTC)(link)no subject
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Loved the whole Ron part near the end. with the choc frog card...
hey, is the diary extract like something to do with Voldemort (past self) since he killed Harrys parents on Halloween too?
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Glad you liked the Choc frogs, as they will be showing up again in part two.
Nope! The diary has nothing to do with Voldemort, but I'm pleased that you saw the parallel.
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damn it. the answer to that diary is determined to elude me!
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Go Ginger!! *cheers* And, Voldemort is amazing. *nods* Yay! :)
♥
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Ginger Babe
(Anonymous) 2006-09-22 09:36 pm (UTC)(link)