University's kept me busy, but I'll have more free time to write in February. Hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 16

They were in no hurry to return Harry to his cell, it seemed. He remained seated at the table, staring at the clock on the wall opposite of him. It was old, and rather plain, blue at the edges, white dial.

He followed its hands with his eyes, determined to keep his thoughts from spiralling out of control, determined to keep from second-guessing his decision.

The second hand marched on slowly, steadily. Every sixty seconds the minute hand jumped forward, accompanied by a low tick.

Another sixty seconds, tock.

Tick – Tock – Tick – Tock – Tick…

The longer he concentrated on it, the louder the noise grew, filling Harry's head, and suddenly he couldn't take it any longer.

He stood abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair, and walked towards the window. Kneeling on the small sofa he looked outside. There were no bars visible, but then again, wizards didn't need bars to hold someone captive – the ones in his room, his cell, had been installed for psychological reasons, he was sure. They symbolised his captivity, didn't let him forget that he was trapped, separated from the rest of the world.

The sound of heavy footsteps approached. They paused right outside his door. The lock clicked. When he heard the hinges creak, Harry turned slowly.

"Potter."

Not ''Mister' Potter. It seemed the time for pleasantries was well and truly over.

"Yes?" he said, addressing the two heavily built wizards blocking the exit.

They too were dressed in the uniform Harry had come to associate with L.E.S. officers - dark blue robes, light blue hat, collar and cuffs.

"Wipe that arrogant look off your face boy, or I'll do it for you," the one standing to the right said. His bulging eyes and pockmarked forehead gave him a wholly unpleasant appearance.

The second L.E.S. officer stepped forward. He had red hair, which was parted down the middle and grew down both sides of his face until it seamlessly merged with his rugged beard. He wrinkled his bulbous nose at Harry. "You don't look like much, boy." His deep voice carried a curious undertone of disappointment.

"What'd you expect him to look like?" Pockface said, while binding Harry's wrists with the silver gleaming rope.

"Dunno," the red-haired man said. "I mean, he's supposed to have fought all those vampires back when he was eleven." He shoved Harry out of the room. "I just thought he'd be bigger."

The wizards led Harry down the now familiar corridor. The other witches and wizards were staring at him again, but this time they didn't stop their conversations, instead a furious whispering picked up, generating a low, constant buzz that reminded Harry of an angry beehive.

Pockface snorted. "Bollocks. That boy didn't do shit. He's a show-off, just like his father."

Harry's head swivelled sharply. "What did you just say?"

A cruel smile played upon Pockface's lips. "Yeah, that's right. I knew your father, went to school with him. James Potter." He grimaced in disgust, and it wouldn't have surprised Harry had he spit on the floor in that moment. "Cocky bastard. Thought he was better than everybody else."

"Stop it," the second guard said.

"Oh come on, Potter and I are only having a little fun." He put his meaty hand on Harry's shoulder, and Harry cursed the shackles restraining him. "Only who's laughing now? He's pushing daisies and I'm escorting his criminal son back to his cell. Bet he wouldn't dare mock me now."

Harry ducked and took a step to the side, shaking off the wizard's hand. "Bet he would," he said, his voice even, hiding all his built-up frustration and anger. "Your ugly mug's basically asking for it."

Pockface's eyes bulged even further (something Harry hadn't thought possible), and his breathing became laboured.

He raised his arm threateningly, but his colleague's hand closed around his wrist before he could do anything more.

"Calm down," the redhead said. "Don't do anything stupid. This is not worth ruining your career over. A criminal or not, this is still Harry Potter." He continued to quietly talk to Pockface, but Harry's attention was elsewhere.

There, inside one of the offices to their right, was Megan, the witch with the chestnut curls he and Alfred had encountered on their way to the interrogation. She didn't look as busy as she'd claimed to be before. She wasn't gossiping with her colleagues, and when her eyes met Harry's a satisfied smile curled her lips. Or at least that's what he thought he saw. When he looked back, her expression was blank.

.

Alone in his room Harry started pacing its length, the memory of Megan's face haunting him. Why would she smile at him like that? What reason did she have to be satisfied?

Their interaction had only been brief. She'd mostly talked to his guard, Alfred, and spilt the beans about the newspaper, the public's opinion.

Harry stopped dead. What if… What if that hadn't been as unintentional as she'd claimed? Could she have known about Umbridge's impending proposal? Maybe she'd wanted him to turn it down.

But then again, he hadn't acted only on what she'd said. The nurse, Sirius…

It couldn't all have been an elaborate plan to get him to act a certain way, could it?

Harry shook his head. He was being stupid. Sirius was his godfather. The man had even offered to break the law to help him. Sirius cared for him, he wouldn't set him up to fail.

Not knowingly, a tiny, nagging voice whispered.

Harry sat down on his bed, eyes closed, and tried to recall the exact way she had smiled, but it had only been such a brief encounter that her face swam before his eyes, and her smile looked different each time he tried to remember.

With a huff, he gave up. There was no use in driving himself crazy. What's done was done.

Outside his window, the sun was going down, tinting the sky in deep purple. The thick bars stood out starkly against the evening sky. Harry averted his gaze, but not even that allowed him to escape their sight; their ugliness was reflected in the shadows on the floor.

He turned to the side, away from the offending view, and not much later tiredness swept him away.

.

When he woke in a tangle of sheets, facing towards the window, he noticed immediately that the sky outside was purple again - or still?

His mouth tasted of sleep, and his right hand was red where his head had lain on it. He also felt so well rested that it was hard to believe he'd only slept a couple of minutes. But then again, he never slept a full twenty-four hours, it just didn't happen. Reflexively he searched the room for a clock, but no such luck.

With a soft plop a tray appeared by his bed. Toast, butter, scrambled eggs, tea – breakfast. No matter if he'd slept twenty-four hours or only a few minutes, sunset was never the right time for breakfast. Harry's stomach grumbled, and he turned his back to the window and started to eat.

When he was finished, he immediately sought out the window.

He approached it, letting his eyes roam over the buildings beneath, the fluffy clouds partly obscuring the sinking sun. This was doing his head in, and there was nothing in this room to distract him. Right now he'd even be thankful for a couple of Lockhart's most inane books, but they had all been gone upon his return from the interrogation.

He tried to keep himself busy playing memory games. He'd look at one part of his room, then close his eyes and try to reconstruct the image in his mind. It wasn't has hard as it used to be in the woods, the room was too plain to be challenging. The view from the window though…

He ignored the annoyingly purple sky and concentrated on the buildings, the birds in the air, the clouds. He closed his eyes and took a few minutes to imagine it. When he looked back, he did a double take.

Nothing had changed. The clouds floating in the sky were identical to the ones he remembered; the number of birds flying above them was exactly the same. Upon closer inspection, Harry realised that even the occupants of the buildings below were stuck in the same routine as before. Horrified, he watched as a tiny figure opened and closed the drapes of their window again and again.

It had to be an illusion.

He didn't like to admit it, but this was getting to him.

Not to know if it was night or day, not to know how much time passed… It was messing with his mind.

He lay down on his bed again, the memory of Megan's smile dancing before his eyes unbidden. He forced her face to the rear-most corner of his mind.

The next days - it couldn't be weeks, even though it felt like it - passed in the same manner.

Food appeared by his bed in regular intervals. Toast. Butter. Scrambled eggs. Tea. Never any variation.

When he was done eating, Harry would either try to exhaust himself physically by dishing out punches and dodging imagined ones, or spend his time staring out of the window, at the never changing clouds, the never changing purple hue of the sky.

One day, just after he'd finished eating and sat down in front of the window, the door to his room finally opened. He'd known somewhere in the back of his mind that they couldn't keep him in here forever, but the more time passed, the more his ludicrous fear that they would do just that had grown.

He turned slowly, unwilling to show just how eager he was for a visitor.

The two guards who had escorted him back to his room after the interrogation stood in the doorframe. Actually only one of them stood in the frame, the other one was waiting outside. They were too fat to walk in side by side.

"Get over here," Pockface said.

"What's going on?" Harry asked.

The L.E.S. officer pressed his lips together, a small smile on his lips.

"We are to bring you to your interrogation", the redhead said.

Pockface scowled. "What did you tell him that for? He doesn't get to ask the questions."

"Oh come off it Paul. It's not a state secret."

With a swish of Pock-faced-Paul's wand a familiar silver rope bound Harry's wrists. He hadn't been prepared for it, and when he jerked back in surprise, the light burned him.

Paul smiled, watching Harry closely for any reaction, but Harry wouldn't give him the satisfaction. This pain was nothing. He'd been through worse on a daily basis back when he'd still been training with Al.

"You think you're so tough, don't you?"

Harry was listening to Paul's taunts with half an ear. They were walking down the hall again, only this time it was deserted. Not a single witch or wizard was bustling about the corridor, not a single office was occupied.

They stopped in front of the same door as last time. Upon Paul's knocking, it opened of its own accord.

After the psychological mind games he'd been exposed to in his cell, Harry had expected that this room would have changed too, that this time it would resemble an actual interrogation room closer than a family room, but he was proven wrong. The small sofa still sat beneath the window, framed by dark red curtains, in the middle of the room there was still the wooden desk, with its two comfortable chairs, and on its surface still stood a floral-patterned tea-pot accompanied by two matching cups.

The room was disturbing in its coziness.

"Go, boy," the red-haired guard said, while Paul gave Harry a shove that would have made him stumble if not for his hard-won reflexes.

"Take a seat. The Undersecretary will join you in a minute," Paul said, and they left without dispelling Harry's bounds.

Harry flopped down into the same chair as last time, keeping his gaze on the door. It opened not a minute later, and two women stepped through. One of them was Umbridge, and the other one…

Harry almost stood from his chair when he recognised the second witch, her chestnut curls gleaming in the artificial light of the room.

What the hell was she doing here?

She gave no sign of recognising him, and while Umbridge sat down she conjured a chair right next to the Undersecretary's.

There was definitely something fishy going on here, more so even than he'd come to expect.

Umbridge tapped the teapot with her wand, and when she lifted the lid to put in a tea-bag thin wafts of steam escaped.

They waited in silence for a few minutes, until Umbridge poured tea into the two cups. To his surprise, she pushed one towards Harry, not Megan.

"Tea, Mr. Potter?" Her voice sounded as cavity inducing sweet as ever. There was no sign of the anger he'd provoked in her last time.

"No thanks," Harry said, feeling caught in a weird deja-vu. She behaved as if their last meeting had never happened. Well, if she thought that a few days alone in his cell had softened him to her proposal, she was in for a surprise.

"Nonsense, it's an excellent blend," she said, just like the last fucking time.

Creeped out, Harry shook his head.

"Oh, but I insist," she said, pushing the cup further towards him.

Well, this was new.

"No, thank you," Harry repeated through clenched teeth.

She tutted, waving a finger at him. "Did your guardians not instil any manners in you?" she said, smiling, smiling, always bloody smiling. "It's only polite to accept tea when it's offered."

Harry couldn't care less what she thought of his manners, and stared at her unmoved.

"Well then," she said, standing slowly, "it needn't have come to this, in fact I wish it hadn't, but if you insist on being uncooperative, you leave me no choice."

All hairs on Harry's body stood on end as he watched her round the table. She stopped in front of Harry, and looked down on him with an expression one used when dealing with a wayward child - part disappointment, part frustration.

"Now, explain to me, Mr. Potter, why you're so opposed to having a nice, warm cup of tea."

Harry was about to tell her to go fuck herself, but the moment he opened his mouth he felt his whole body freeze. It had happened so fast, that her murmured Petrificus Totalus still rang in his ears when he grasped what had happened.

The bitch had petrified him.

"Now, hold your mouth open like a good little boy," she said, and the absence of any mocking undertone in her voice made the whole situation even more surreal.

Harry's eyes – the only part of his body he still had control over - flitted towards Megan, who had not moved an inch since sitting down and was watching the proceedings with a stony expression.

In the privacy of his mind, Harry imagined the disfigured bodies of two tortured, and very dead witches.

Umbridge took a small flask out of her robes, unscrewed it and used a pipette to absorb the clear liquid. She proceeded to drop a small amount of it into Harry's mouth. "There's a good boy," she cooed, softly patting one of Harry's cheeks.

He was boiling with rage.

Once she had returned to her seat, she lifted the charm on Harry. He stood so fast he nearly turned over the table.

"Oh no, that simply won't do," Umbridge said, and with a swish of her wand the silver ropes binding his hands grew tentacles that wound around his whole body, forcing him to sit down again.

"Now, Mr. Potter, let's start with something easy. What's your name?"

Harry was so furious he wanted to shout at her, to scream bloody murder, but his mouth formed the words to answer her question without his consent.

"Harry James Potter." The words escaped him in a monotone slur, and there was nothing he could do about it.

For the first time since he'd been brought to the Ministry, real, bone-deep fear took hold of him.

She must have given him Veritaserum, the truth potion. He'd read about it years and years ago, and the existence of such a concoction had instilled a healthy dose of respect in him even then, when his chances of encountering a witch or wizard other than himself had still been slim to none.

She must have seen the realisation on his face, because her smile grew even nastier. Again he looked at the other witch, and again her face was blank, not giving away anything.

"Now tell me," she said, "where did you hide the boy's body?"

"What boy's?" Harry's mouth was working on its own.

Umbridge scowled. "Where did you hide the Durmstrang champion's body?" she asked, more precise this time.

"I did not hide it."

"Where is the Durmstrang champion's body, then?"

"At a graveyard."

"Oh yes," Umbridge said triumphantly, "you are a murderer, aren't you?"

Harry tried to fight it, tried to clamp his mouth shut, but it didn't work. He could feel the truth forming on his lips, and in a last effort to stall the answer he bit his tongue. With the coppery taste of blood invading his mouth, the word he'd been trying so hard to hold back slipped out.

"Yes."

"Who did you kill? And how? Tell me," Umbridge continued, her eyes gleaming eagerly.

"I killed a rabbit when I was ten. I used a bow and arrow. Then I killed another rabbit. Also with a bow and arrow. Then I killed another rabbit…"

Harry was horrified and glad at the same time, as his mouth continued to spew unimportant detail after detail. He'd killed quite a few rabbits, if the interrogation continued like this he could at least try to think of a way out of this mess.

His hope was short-lived.

"We're not interested in the rabbits you killed," Megan said, speaking up for the first time.

The word-flow stopped for a moment, but then continued as if nothing had happened.

"When I was thirteen I accidentally killed a cat, thinking it was a rabbit."

The Undersecretary gasped.

"A few weeks later, I killed a stag. It was a young one, and had been grazing on a meadow. I killed it with a Summoning Charm and a knife. I killed another deer shortly later-"

Umbridge looked severely disturbed, and for the first time was not smiling, but that sadly didn't keep her from continuing the interrogation.

"Stop it. We are not interested in the animals you killed, you sick, sick boy," she said. "Did you kill the Durm-"

The noise of a door opening somewhere outside invaded the silence of the room.

Both women glanced at the door.

"Dear, please find out what's going on out there," Umbridge said to Megan, waving towards the hall. "And keep them away from this room."

Megan hesitated. "Wouldn't it be better if you went yourself, Madam? They might not listen to me, but they have to listen to you."

Umbridge looked annoyed, but nodded slowly. "You're right. In this case, it might be best if I went myself. Don't continue without me." She chuckled girlishly, as she left.

Alone with Megan, Harry tested his bonds, gritting his teeth against the pain. If there ever was a moment to escape—

A bony hand grabbed his chin, and forced his head to turn to his right. Megan was standing next to him, her hard brown eyes staring into Harry's.

"What do you know about the organisation?"

"What organisation?" Harry said, the potion still forcing him to answer.

"The Organisation. What do you know about The Organisation?"

"What organisation?" Harry repeated, and Megan looked like she wanted to pull at her hair – or more likely Harry's – in frustration.

"You are tricking the potion, you have to." She seemed to be talking more to herself than Harry, pacing up and down in front of him. " You must know about The Organisation. It all fits. Your connection to Alphard Bl-"

The door to the interrogation room opened with a bang, and two men stepped in. Sirius and Dumbledore. The Minister for Magic and Umbridge, who was talking to him in hushed tones, followed closely behind them.

Dumbledore looked around the room. His gaze rested on Harry for a moment, passed over Megan and finally focused on Umbridge. "What is the meaning of this?" He wasn't shouting, he didn't even sound particularly forceful, but he didn't need to. His presence filled the room, and the fury in his eyes was unmistakable.

"This is a Ministry issued interrogation of a suspect in a murder case," Umbridge said, raising her chin, though she didn't meet Dumbledore's eyes and was instead looking at the Minister.

"He is under Veritaserum!" Sirius was nowhere near as calm as Dumbledore. "He's a minor in your care, and you are interrogating him under the influence of a restricted potion!"

"Is that true?" the Minister asked, in a calm tone that should probably reflect the severity of the situation, but was nearly drowned out by Umbridge's cry of outrage, "He was just about to confess!"

"Is this true?" Fudge repeated, addressing the Undersecretary sharply.

Umbridge looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "You said to get him to confess, Cornelius."

"But not through illegal means!" the Minister shouted. "This would never hold up in court. In fact"- he gulped -"did you think for one moment how this is going to make us look?"

"Obviously she didn't think she'd get caught," Sirius said scornfully.

"I will give Harry the antidote"- Dumbledore was already opening a small bottle -"and then we'll discuss how to proceed from here."

Harry opened his mouth, so eager to be done with this horrendous experience that he only wondered for a fleeting moment why Dumbledore carried the antidote to Veritaserum around with him. Or how they knew that he was under its influence in the first place.

It took only one drop of the liquid, in colour and smell as equally unremarkable as the truth serum itself, and Harry felt like a huge weight was taken off him. The pressure that had loosened his tongue before was gone now, as were the magical bounds restraining him.

"But he was about to confess," Umbridge whispered into the silence.

"I wouldn't worry so much about Mr. Potter, Dolores, not when you've gotten yourself into such an unfavourable position."

At Dumbledore's words, Umbridge shrank back from him and stepped behind the Minister, as if expecting him to give her his protection.

Fudge looked flustered. "I know this looks bad, Dumbledore-"

"Looks bad?" Sirius shouted. "This is bad. You, your Ministry, is neck deep in this. Don't think that people won't hear about it."

"Sirius, please," Dumbledore said. "I'm sure we can come to some sort of understanding here, can't we, Minister?"

Fudge perked up, eager. "Yes, yes, of course."

"First of all, I think you agree that Harry can't be held here any longer, not after the treatment he had to endure while in the care of your officers."

The Minister didn't seem to like the idea at all, if the way he was twisting his mouth was anything to go by, but he didn't contradict the Headmaster.

"Secondly, the charges against Mr. Potter should be dropped. Of course I won't keep you from pursuing this particular line of investigation anytime in the future, but until you have concrete proof of any wrongdoing on Mr. Potter's part, he shouldn't have to undergo any further interrogations."

The Minister nodded, looking increasingly unhappy.

"And thirdly, I think you will agree that Harry should be given into the care of his rightful guardian, his godfather."

"What?" Fudge said, looking between Sirius and Harry. "He's a ward of the Ministry."

"Not after what happened today, I don't think," Dumbledore said. "Do you agree?"

Fudge put on a smile so forced it looked painful. "And then you, all of you in this room"- his eyes flickered to Sirius, then lingered on Harry -"will never mention what happened here today?"

When Harry nodded, Sirius did too. Dumbledore clapped his hands. "Excellent. I will take Harry down to the Law Department to retrieve his wand, and then our business here is concluded for the day."

"I don't think anybody is down there this late, Dumbledore," the Minister said. "Why don't I get one of my men to return it to you in the morning?"

The hell Harry would leave his wand in the clutches of the Ministry for one more night.

"I don't think so," Harry said, standing up. "After what I went through tonight I feel rather uncomfortable without it."

Umbridge scowled at him from behind the Minister, and Harry returned her look with a murderous one of his own.

"I- Well- Alright," the Minister finished, defeated.

Only when they were leaving the room did Harry realise that nobody had talked to Megan about the incident. He turned around and found her sitting quietly on the sofa in the back of the room, ignored by its other occupants, and seemingly unbothered.

.

After they had retrieved Harry's wand, and agreed that he would stay with Sirius for the foreseeable future, Dumbledore Apparated away, leaving Sirius and Harry to wander down the darkened streets of Diagon Alley by themselves.

"I don't live far from here," Sirius said, smiling. "It's only a small apartment, but it's got two bedrooms, and…"

Harry really wanted to listen to Sirius excited chattering, but his thoughts always returned to the interrogation. Finally, he interrupted his godfather. "Sirius, how did you know to come looking for me tonight? How did you know that they had given me Veritaserum?"

"What?" For a moment Sirius seemed confused. "Ooh… I forgot you didn't know yet. Megan told us."

The last sentence had Harry stop in his tracks. "Megan?"

Sirius mistook Harry's shock for confusion. "Yeah. You know, the witch who was in the interrogation room with you and Umbridge."

"Yeah, I know who she is," Harry said, harsher than he'd intended to. "What I don't get is why she'd be helping me."

"Because she knows you're innocent, of course. She owled us as soon as she heard of Umbridge's plans, to make sure Umbridge wouldn't get away with it."

"But that doesn't make any sense," said Harry. "She continued to ask me questions, even after Umbridge had left the room."

"Seriously? What did she ask you?"

That question gave Harry a pause. She had asked him about some organisation that was apparently connected to Al. He wasn't yet ready to tell Sirius, or anybody for that matter, about the old man.

"I don't remember," Harry said quietly. "It all happened so fast."

"Maybe she just said something to you and accidentally phrased it like a question. I don't think it's likely she did it on purpose. After all, she is the reason you're free in the first place... " Harry could hear the doubt in Sirius voice. If he told him the truth now, Sirius surely would be on his side. But Al…

"Maybe you're right," Harry agreed.

"We'll just keep an eye on her. Helps that she's not the worst to look at." Sirius grinned mischievously, and steered Harry into a side street of Diagon Alley. "We're almost there."

Sirius lived on the topmost floor of an old apartment building. Harry followed the older wizard into the foyer. The wooden floor was squeaking under their feet.

"It has character, doesn't it?" Sirius said cheerfully, closing the door behind them.

Character was one word to describe it. The walls were painted in a deep red, and a huge, gold-framed mirror resting on disturbingly real looking bear paws occupied the free space opposite the entrance door.

"Wotcha," the mirror-Harry said, winking at him.

"Yeah, the mirror got character too." Sirius added, kicking off his boots.

"You put those away where they belong, Mister!"

Mirror-Sirius was already bending down to pick up the boots, and after a moment the real Sirius sighed and put away the real boots too.

"And sometimes it's a real pain in the ass," Sirius whispered, as if afraid the mirror might overhear them. "Just never ignore it, or it will keep shouting until you tidy up."

"Why don't you get rid of it?" Harry asked, following Sirius through the door next to the mirror into the kitchen.

"Nah," Sirius said. "It was here when I moved in. It's grown on me."

"Right..."

The kitchen was a small room, longer than it was wide, with a kitchenette on one side and a small table with two chairs on the other. Harry went to the end of the room, where a window overlooked the street below. The sky outside was dark, not a wink of purple in sight.

"You hungry?" Sirius asked. "I have some bacon and eggs, maybe toast…"

"Oh Merlin, no." Harry groaned, turning back towards his godfather. "Anything but toast. That's all they fed me at the Ministry. I'm happy if I never have to eat another slice."

Sirius smile vanished. "They didn't starve you, did they?"

Harry shook his head. "No, they just didn't offer much variety."

"Well, I think I might still have some left-over meat pie. I put a stasis-charm on it, so it should still be edible."

Sirius summoned the pie, and they sat in silence while Harry ate.

When he was finished, Harry took his wand and without thinking about it charmed his plate and cutlery to the sink, where a sponge was already waiting mid-air, ready to start cleaning.

Sirius cleared his throat. "Um, thanks Harry, but, um… You do know that you're not allowed to use magic outside of school, don't you?"

"What?" Harry said flabbergasted. "Why not?"

"Restriction of Underage Magic. How- how can you not know about that?"

"That's bollocks," Harry said, ignoring Sirius' question. "Who comes up with this stuff?"

"The Ministry. And they make sure the law is followed."

Harry groaned. The bloody Ministry. Of course. "So, what happens if I use magic anyway?"

"Not sure," Sirius said. "I think the first time you get away with a warning, but if you violate the law repeatedly I think they can even take away your wand."

"For good?!"

"Yeah, I think so."

"So I will get a warning from the Ministry for cleaning the fucking dishes?" Harry couldn't believe it. He'd only just gotten out of there.

"No, they can't tell who exactly did the magic, only that magic was done around a minor. The cleaning spells? They'll just assume it was me," Sirius said.

"Do they pick up on the spells too? Or just that some sort of magic was done?" Harry asked, crossing his fingers that the answer was the latter.

"Spells too, I think, but I'm not sure. That's one thing I never got in trouble with the Ministry for. You have to be especially careful though. After today the Ministry's sure to keep tabs on you."

Harry cursed. This new revelation really didn't agree with the plans he had for the near future.

"But it's not that long until you're of age, Harry. Only a few more months."

A few more months. He didn't have months. He wanted to go out and take revenge on Al's killers right this second. He knew he wasn't ready yet to take on Voldemort, but the two measly wizards who had actually killed Al? Their days were numbered.

"So you're saying," Harry said slowly, "that if I want to use magic before I turn seventeen I basically have to go to school?"

"Yeah," Sirius said, looking down. "I mean, I'd also prefer if you could stay with me, but I think school wouldn't be half bad either. You could get to know people your age, see how your skills measure up compared to the standard curriculum."

Sirius prattled on about Hogwarts, but Harry's thoughts had returned to the past, to the stories Al had told him about Hogwarts, to the books he'd read about the school. When he was younger, he'd sometimes wondered what it would be like to actually go to this magical place, to live in the castle, talk to the ghosts, climb a moving staircase…

"Is it even possible to join this late in the year?" Harry said, interrupting Sirius. "It's only a few more months until the summer holidays."

Sirius beamed at him. "That's no problem. I already discussed it with Dumbledore. You'd be admitted as a special student, and if you want to continue your education next year, you can start the next term as a regular."

Harry smiled tentatively. Maybe this wasn't all bad. He'd just have to sneak out of the school to take care of his extra-curricular activities.

I'd love to know what you think, any input is welcome!