24: Ends and Beginnings

The return to Hogwarts was far from quiet. Harry and Krum Apparated outside the front gates and walked the main path to the castle. It should have been easy to slip in unnoticed, but Colin Creevey happened to be studying on the lawn at that moment, and his shriek of excitement turned every head on the grounds. By the time they made it to the Entry Hall, it seemed that the entire school had their eyes on the AWOL Chosen One and the idolized Quidditch player--and their tongues wagging in whispered speculations about their presence.

Harry glanced at Viktor, amazed by his ability to appear unfazed by this attention. "Doesn't it ever bother you?" he murmured quietly, his mouth barely moving as he formed the words.

"Alvays," said Krum succinctly, his face as impassive as ever.

They climbed the marble stairs to the Gryffindor common room. Seeing that neither Ron nor Hermione were about, Harry headed straight up the spiral stairs to the dorms, Krum quietly shadowing him a few steps behind. I wonder where he's supposed to sleep? Harry mused.

"Hey, Harry," Ron mumbled with a wan smile when Harry burst into the dormitory. He was sitting in a rumpled heap on his bed reading the Charms textbook, and looked as though he'd had the wind beaten from his sails recently. When Krum followed and closed the door, however, Ron's eyes bulged. "Viktor." He glanced between them a few times. "The bodyguard?" he asked, addressing neither of them in particular.

Harry nodded. What more needed to be said? He flopped onto his bed, then eyed Viktor uncertainly. Unruffled, Krum strolled to the window and sat on the sill, putting his feet up on Neville's trunk and looking perfectly bored.

Ron closed his textbook. "Looks like you're pretty well tethered, eh? Both of you," he corrected. "At least you can move a bit. McGonagall put me and Hermione under house arrest. We're stuck in our rooms for everything except classes for a week. Even meals--the house elves bring us a tray. She's got them carrying it all the way up the stairs, too, so it's cold once it gets here." Ron brightened slightly. "I reckon Hermione has a fit every time."

Harry hung his head. "I'm sorry, Ron." He really meant it, too; he would much rather have had McGonagall take out her wrath on him.

Ron smiled warmly. "Ah, forget it! We got Sirius back, and we had a wild time doing it. I swear, I wish we'd had more danger than we did--they might have felt sorry for us and lightened up a bit on the punishment side!"

Krum snorted, then immediately reset his features into their typical cool mask. "Sorry," he said with a little wave.

A breathless first-year arrived shortly to summon Krum to the Headmistress's office. He said nothing upon his return, other than, "I haff my orders." McGonagall never called for Harry. She must have known that the silent treatment was much worse than simply punishing him. He spent the weekend in self-imposed exile with Ron, and the house-elf not-so-subtly brought food for three at every meal.

On Monday morning, Harry and Ron slunk down to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom at the last minute, arriving just as the bell rang. Ondossi gave Harry a murderous glare as he came in, and her angry words popped into his mind: You were supposed to assist me yesterday. He stopped in his tracks and smacked his forehead; he'd forgotten all about his volunteer duties. Ondossi taught Remedial Defense to the locals in Hogsmeade on Sunday mornings--he could have gone into town for a few hours.

Receiving funny looks from several people (including Ron), Harry collected himself and took his seat. Krum was only a few steps behind, and when he entered, there was a fresh round of gasping and whispering. Harry nearly smacked his forehead again, having become accustomed to his bodyguard's presence in his room. Of course Viktor's appearance would cause a whole new uproar.

Ondossi frowned as she looked for the source of the disruption. She spotted Krum leaning against the wall by the door, where he apparently planned to lurk during class. She stared at him in surprise, then looked him up and down with an intensity that Harry found strangely unsettling in the pit of his stomach.

"Alo, kraciv," she said, in a throaty, rolling manner quite different from the gutteral bark she used when speaking Inupiaq. Viktor raised his brows for an instant, but responded only with a sharp nod and a brusque, "Professor."

She stared at him a moment longer with a hard smile, then turned to address the class. "Apparently you all know this gentleman," she observed, drumming her fingers loudly on the podium. "I believe this class is about to get even more interesting."

Harry nudged Ron with a grin, but one look at Hermione and he sat up straight and faced the blackboard. She could poach eggs with that scowl.

When they paired off to practice the lesson, Hermione grabbed Harry's arm with a pinch to rival a giant crab and hauled him to the furthest corner of the room. "Will you look at them?" she snarled, tossing her head toward Ondossi and Krum, who were huddled in the front corner in a quiet discussion. "Who does she think she is?"

Harry, who had braced himself for the full force of Hermione's wrath at being banished to her room for a week, was at a loss for words. "Who... what?" he finally squeaked.

That was obviously not the correct response. Hermione gave him a new glare that could wilt a steel rod. "Don't you dare cover for her, Harry Potter! I saw her look him over--she's up there flirting with Viktor!"

Too stunned to speak at first, Harry just gaped, which did nothing to soothe Hermione's temper. "No!" he finally said, quietly but firmly. "She's just..."

"Being friendly?" Hermione interrupted, then scoffed. "Please. Since when does she get chummy with strangers?"

Suspicion began to nip at Harry as though he'd stumbled into an anthill. He watched them intently until he caught Viktor's eye; it was brief, but sufficient. He felt a puff of pride at his progress in skimming thoughts, then turned triumphantly to Hermione. "She's just asking him what Dark magic he learned at Durmstrang."

Jealousy quickly turned to outrage. "She what? Viktor doesn't know any--"

Harry put a finger to his lips and shook his head. "Yes he does, Hermione," he whispered, surprised at his own certainty. "He doesn't use it, but he was taught. They all were."

Hermione stared at him, her mouth popping open and shut as the ideas she was processing attempted to spill out and were forced back down. Harry suddenly felt sorry for her. "Come on, Hermione," he said gently. "Moody showed all of us the Unforgivables... that is, Crouch did, as Moody. That doesn't make us Dark wizards. Viktor's all right."

She fell silent, lost in thought. Harry raised his head with another tingle of self-congratulations at his success at averting this latest crisis; Hermione had forgotten all about Ondossi for the moment. But then he spotted Ron standing midway along the wall with his back pressed tight against it, peering bitterly back and forth between Viktor and Hermione.

Harry hunched in defeat. I've really got to stop messing with Remus.

The week crawled by at a snail's pace, cooped up in their rooms during the last few pleasant days of autumn. Dark clouds began to gather on Saturday afternoon, the last day of their banishment, and sure enough, a terrific storm struck that night. All the crisp fall leaves were blown into dank corners and turned to slime, and the temperature went from pleasantly brisk to downright cold. Thus when Harry finally regained the freedom to leave Gryffindor Tower, it was just the sort of day one preferred to stay in bed under the covers.

He found Viktor in the common room, wearing an obviously toasty overcoat of brown wool with fur trim. Harry gulped; his own coat would come up to his elbows--if he could get it all the way over his shoulders. It was going to be a chilly walk.

Ondossi was waiting for them them in the cloudy gloom outside the oak doors, wearing an even toastier-looking leather parka with a huge hood. "Morning!" she said cheerfully, her breath turning to steam in the damp air, then she did a bit of a double take. "You gonna be warm enough like that, Harry?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm fine. Let's get moving."

His fingers were white from the cold by the time they reached the Three Broomsticks, but Madam Rosemerta met them with mugs of hot butterbeer. He wrapped his hands around his mug and gritted his teeth at the sting of the thaw, but by the time the townspeople had taken their seats, he was ready to duel.

Ondossi had squirrelled Viktor off to the back room, so there was no awed muttering about the famous Seeker--yet. "We have a guest today," she began, addressing the class. "He's going to add a whole new level of realism to our lessons. He'll be using a modified wand so that his spells won't be powerful enough to cause lasting damage, but they're going to be the real thing. Not just hexes and jinxes, but true Dark magic."

The room went silent, and Tura peered intently at each student in turn. "Some of you think I'm joking. I'm not. Most of you are afraid. That's good. If you ever face a Dark enemy, you'll be afraid, possibly overwhelmed by fear. Today you'll practice doing what you must do, even when you're too scared to think. POTTER!"

Harry jumped at her sudden shout, resulting in nervous twittering throughout the classroom. His wand was already in his hand, though he'd been holding the butterbeer only a second earlier.

Ondossi grinned wryly and pointed at him with her thumb. "Did you all catch that? Bonus for not even spilling your drink, Potter." She paused for the laughter to die down. "Reflexes. His reaction to the unexpected was not to turn and look, not to duck, not to wince, run, hide, put up his fists... all a huge waste of time when faced with a magical threat. No. He had his wand ready in an instant. Automatically. Which means that even though he was just standing there casually enjoying a hot drink, he knew at some level exactly where his wand was--and how to get it in a hurry. That's half the battle, right there: being ready when the moment comes. Well! Let's see what happens in the moment, then." She clapped her hands and stepped back against the bar, making room for Harry and Viktor to duel.

When Krum stepped out from his hiding place, Harry had to cover his face to hide his snort of laughter. Viktor had a paper bag on his head, undoubtedly to conceal his identity from any Quidditch fans in the class, and to make him appear more like a masked Death Eater. The bag had come from the Eyelops Owl Emporium, however, and the eye holes were cut out right in the middle of their logo, a fat owl delivering a rolled-up parchment with an enormous smile. Viktor's eyes, peering out from an upside-down owl's face, utterly ruined the effect Ondossi was obviously shooting for.

That is, until Krum flicked his wand and shot a bolt of purple light at Harry. "Protego!" Harry shouted, barely deflecting the spell.

"Nicely done--both of you," said Ondossi. She turned back to the class. "Your Ministry--" she spat the word, as usual "--advised all of you to 'be aware' of emergency measures like the Shield Charm. However, I'd be surprised if half of you can cast it. Hand me your wand, Mr. Potter."

Harry's stomach lurched, but he obeyed. He had no idea what would happen next, but he was pretty sure it was going to hurt.

Ondossi nodded at Krum, who flicked his wand again and launched another purple bolt. This time it hit Harry square on, knocking him flat on his back. The spell did more than that, however. From the ground, Harry saw a copy of himself stagger from the blow, clutching at his chest. Blood suddenly spattered all over the floor before this other Harry, but just as the class began to scream, the image went still, flickered, and disappeared.

Ondossi pulled him to his feet. "Line up, people," she ordered the class. "Mr. Potter, if you'll assist with the actual casting, I'll set up the preliminaries." She smiled at Krum. "Mr. Bad Guy? Ready?"

Two hours and dozens of sore bottoms later, nearly all of the locals could produce a basic Shield Charm, and when Ondossi dismissed the class, they hobbled out of the Three Broomsticks with an air of pride. When the room had cleared, however, Krum yanked the bag from his head to reveal an uncharacteristic scowl. "Dat vas unpleasant," he said.

Ondossi nodded. "I know." She shrugged and patted Viktor warmly on the shoulder. "Thank you, though. It really helped them." She wrapped a black cloth over her eyes and left without another word.

Krum seemed to take it all in stride, as usual. "Tell me, vat is up vith her eyes, Harry?" he said.

Viktor hadn't really spoken much since he'd come to Hogwarts. Harry smirked and took a seat at one of the tables, beckoning Krum to join him. He caught Rosemerta's eye; she immediately drew two more tall glasses of butterbeer. It was time to catch up a bit.

When they finally returned to the Gryffindor common room, Hermione jumped up and bustled them right back out through the portrait hole. "For Merlin's sake, Viktor, can't you even keep him out of trouble?"

"What?" said Harry defensively. "We were helping Ondossi--"

"Which ended an hour ago! Professor McGonagall sent for you right after class. Honestly, Harry! As if a week in your rooms wasn't enough."

"Well, at least I wasn't alone this time," he noted weakly.

Remus Lupin was sitting by himself in the Headmistress's office, balancing an empty teacup and saucer on his knee and drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. He glowered at Harry, who cringed, then at Viktor, who didn't. "I assume there was a delay after Ondossi's class," he said, looking as though he didn't believe that for one second, but he didn't want to waste time going through the excuses. "Harry, there's something we need to discuss. Mr. Krum, if you could wait outside..."

That was startling. Harry glanced at Viktor. "No, it's all right. Let's just hear it."

Lupin frowned a bit, but closed the door with a flick of his wand. "Very well; I suppose you'll be talking about it with the others later anyway." He paused a moment, then resumed speaking in a gentler tone. "There's been some... developments, Harry. With Sirius."

Harry' skin tingled all over as he broke out in goosebumps. "What developments?"

Lupin bit his lip briefly. "He's all right, mostly, Harry. We're not sure what they mean. For one thing, he can't sleep. He hasn't so much as catnapped since he returned. It doesn't seem to bother him; he's not tired at all. We're all hoping he's just been immersed in dreams for so long that he's full up on sleep for the moment."

Harry was holding his breath. Remus didn't come all the way to Hogwarts to tell him Sirius was having insomnia. He fought the urge to simply sweep the real issue from Lupin's thoughts.

"There's more, though. Again, no one knows how or why, or if it's just a temporary thing, but... Harry, Sirius can't seem to do any magic."

Harry had to sputter a moment before any words would come. "What?"

"I know, Harry. We can't believe it either. Twelve years in Azkaban couldn't break him..." Lupin's voice broke, and he closed his eyes to compose himself. "No, no, we don't know that anything's broken. None of us have ever seen anything like this. People do lose their magic, but usually they're wounded or starving... something debilitating. Then as often as not, they've just given up using their magic because they've lost all hope--but they still have magic.

"Sirius, though... He's been happier this week than I've seen him in years! Flirting with girls at dinner, going over strategies; it was like the last fifteen years hadn't happened! But then he borrowed my wand to straighten up his old bedroom, and he couldn't do it. He couldn't even levitate a sock. It doesn't make any sense!" Lupin smacked the arm of his chair with his fist.

He immediately looked sheepish, and brought his voice back down to a civilized tone. "We've only got one Healer in the Order. She hasn't been able to come see him yet. And it's not like Sirius can just drop in at St. Mungo's!"

"He can if that's the only choice!" Harry burst angrily. "He's not a criminal, Remus; it was fine to keep him hidden for the sake of the Order, but if he needs a Healer, the secret's over! It's not worth it!"

"Calm down, Harry! I told you, our Healer will see him, she's just been busy. Voldemort's been stirring up trouble in Hong Kong, where she lives, and she hasn't been able to get away. That was in part why I came here; I'm trying to decide if we should get Poppy Pomfrey involved."

"Yes! Why not?" demanded Harry.

"Because I'm not sure she knows the whole story, Harry. She's seen Snuffles in the past with you and Dumbledore, and she might know who he really is, but I'm just not sure! Plus it's bad enough that half the Order knows he's back--if we're going to keep mum about this, we have to start somewhere!"

Harry sat back, silent. This whole "secret weapon" idea was looking more misguided all the time.

Once again, Lupin lowered his voice. "Besides, I know for certain Madam Pomfrey's never seen a case like this here at Hogwarts. Loss of magic is the sort of thing only a top-level Healer would address. But believe me, Harry, it's killing me to sit around and wait as well. That's why I'm considering this." He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"This explains why he couldn't use my dad's wand," said Harry, gazing out the window at the roiling clouds. "He can't do anything? Even Apparate?"

Lupin shook his head sadly. "We've tried everything, Harry. He can't even morph into a dog. He never needed a wand for that."

All three wizards sat pondering this heavy news for a moment, then Lupin spoke up again. "Obviously, we hope it's only temporary. Like the sleep problem. Perhaps they'll go hand-in-hand. Or the Healer will have some ideas. But Harry, in the meantime... Sirius isn't taking this very well. He was so happy when he first got back, but now he's... not. And to make it worse, he can't sleep, so he sits all night by himself, thinking about it."

Harry winced as though his scar had suddenly heated up, and Lupin's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, Harry! I probably shouldn't have mentioned anything, but--"

"No," said Harry. "I'm glad you told me. You know how much I hate being left out." He managed a quirky grin, and Lupin returned it. "But what should I do?"

"I don't know, Harry. I have a feeling he's going to try to avoid you--he doesn't want to be seen like this. He didn't even want me to tell you, but I reminded him how you hate being left out. Just... just talk to him, when you can. I don't want to see him shrink back into himself like he used to. When he was alone too much."

Harry nodded, remembering how bitter his godfather became, cooped up in that gloomy, Dark house.

Lupin rose and gave Harry a hand up. "I've got to get back to Headquarters; it's tomorrow in the Pacific Ocean already, and I have a meeting in the Phillipines. They've made a potion from some jellyfish or eel, which seems to confer some immunity to the Cruciatus. Or so they say. It's worth looking into."

The three of them descended the moving staircase. Harry stopped Lupin at the bottom. "You know, before you go back, maybe you could go down and visit Hagrid," he said. "I bet Buckbeak would love an invitation to go home."

Harry-and-Viktor, Ron, and Hermione spent the next week in the library, hoping to find, if not a cure for Sirius, at least an explanation of what had happened to him. Unfortunately, there was not a single report mentioning the Veiled Archway in the Healing section of the library. Either no one had ever come out of it alive, or the Ministry had kept such news under lock and key.

They asked Neville to check his Herbology texts for plants that affected dreams or restored magic, crossing their fingers that he wouldn't piece together what they were up to. They questioned Professor Flitwick about unusual sleeping charms, on the pretext that stress was making Hermione sit up late into the night. Harry even paid a call on Professor Slughorn, hoping he might have a helpful potion, but he had to be even more cautious about the details he gave to the nosy professor. In the end, it was impossible to ask for what he needed without raising suspicion, so he took a last chunk of crystalized pineapple and left.

Hermione seemed to take it as a personal insult that she couldn't find anything to help Sirius. "I wonder how long they've kept that thing down in the Department of Mysteries?" she grumbled one evening. "I've never even noticed a reference to it, not in any book I've ever read. It might as well not even exist, for all that's known about it!"

Ron peered up from an obscure Muggle text about alleged magical artifacts, something he'd pilfered from his father's bookshelf at the Ministry. "Well, it's not like they call it the Department of Everyday Household Items, is it?"

She scowled. "Obviously. But they might have a filing cabinet full of cases like Si--Snuffles, for all we know, and yet we're stuck reinventing the wheel out here."

Ron shrugged dismissively. "Eh, the thing's obviously dangerous; I'm glad they have it under lock and key, myself."

"Lock and key is one thing, Ron. They keep the Time-Turners under lock and key, too, so that people don't go around rewriting history. But they still let people know about them, and use them!"

"And they keep the Prophecies locked up and DON'T let people use them. Which I'd say is a good thing, considering what You-Know-Who would have done if he could have just checked out that one about Harry like a library book."

Harry was watching a couple of third-years struggle with a copy of The Monster Book of Monsters in order to ignore the bickering, but that last bit caught his attention. "I wonder if they have the latest one about me?" he said.

Hermione looked up from the argument. "I'd imagine so. Why not?" she said.

Harry shrugged. "It's not like it was made in private--Trelawney shouted it for the whole school to hear. Do you suppose they'd tuck it away in a little globe anyway?"

"Does seem a bit wasteful," Ron agreed.

"Wasteful would be putting in all the little nuggets she comes up with during class," noted Hermione, shaking her head in distaste. She sat up abruptly and looked at him. "You know, Harry, it just occurred to me--I think it already came true!"

"Really?" said Harry skeptically. "This I have to hear."

"No, seriously, Harry. She would rise up from ashes and mud--isn't that what your Aunt Petunia did? Returned from her burnt-up house? And she had a gift for you, 'at long last:' the wands! You said she'd wanted to just throw them away over the years. That sounds like something she was 'loathe to give'." Hermione sat back in her chair with a smug grin, clearly pleased with her interpretation.

"But there's also that part about answering with my own blood," Harry reminded her.

Her smile became a frown in an instant. "That's true. I wonder, then... You wanted to give a wand to Siri--Snuffles, right? Perhaps this prophecy is actually saying that your blood needs to be spilled in order to restore Snuffles' magic." As soon as she finished speaking, Hermione's jaw fell in alarm.

Ron made a wry face, but gazed wide-eyed at Harry. "You know, mate, I think she's onto something. I mean, it's a bit silly for Trelawney just to prophesize that your aunt would bring you those wands back! And didn't she say that the gift was 'his' due? As in, someone else's besides yours?"

Harry groaned. They were right; he hadn't thought about it before. The boon was meant for someone else, not himself; if it had been meant for Harry, it would have said "the boon that is YOUR due." "Oh, bugger," said Harry, recalling the night he was bound to the tombstone in the Hangleton cemetary. "I'm in for another bloodletting, then. I'll be lucky to have a drop to my name before this is over."

On the day Arthur Weasley was sworn in as Minister of Magic, all of the seventh-years were allowed to attend the ceremony. They Apparated as a group from the Hogwarts gates to the Ministry atrium. It had been polished up for the affair, but still seemed gloomy and dull. Harry's thoughts turned immediately to the cave under the cliffs where Slytherin's locket had once been hidden. Perhaps the Inferi created some sort of lingering magical aura, a trace of their misery from being reanimated and abused.

The swearing-in was held in the Wizengamot chamber, obviously in anticipation of a crowd of onlookers. The terraced rows of seats were far from filled, though, and the ceremony itself was short and terse, as though all present simply wanted to get it over with and disband before any Dark forces could attack. Harry watched from the back with a cynical eye, trying not to look at the prisoner's chair in the center of the room, chains still attached to its arms and legs. You'd think they could have taken that out for the occasion, he mused, but on second thought, perhaps they were worried that Mr. Weasley might come to his senses and run away. The chair would be handy if they had to chain him down and force him to take the office.

At the close of the ceremony, an enormous red banner suddenly popped into existence with a loud bang, proclaiming "Way to Go, Da!" in huge gold letters. The view was especially clear, since most of the bystanders dropped in terror at the noise. Harry was not among the crowd sprawled on the floor; he would have been more suprised if Fred and George hadn't done something spectacular. The Prophet photographers immediately began snapping pictures for the front page, ensuring that Weasley's Wizard Wheezes would go up another notch in the esteem of pranksters everywhere.

The Order held a little celebration in Mr. Weasley's honor afterward, since no one in the Ministry was brave enough to host a congratulatory affair. At his first opportunity, Harry scampered to the top floor bedroom and knocked. He refused to take silence for an answer, but he dared not pound too loudly, even with the noise of the party to cover the sound. Sirius finally gave up and let him in, just as his knuckles were turning pink.

"I hope you were sleeping," said Harry, a bit grouchy at being snubbed for so long.

Sirius snorted. "I should be so lucky. Mother of Merlin, Harry, I thought time moved slowly in Azkaban. I had no idea how long a week really is."

Harry bowed to Buckbeak and sat down on the end of Sirius's bed. "Has the Healer found anything yet?"

Another snort. "Nothing. She gave me a double-shot of Draught of the Living Dead, and I didn't even yawn. And I'm still not tired, just bored. When I think of all those times in school when I'd drop off in my chair in the common room with a half-finished roll of parchment, then scramble the next morning to get it done before class... Ah, Harry, if I could bottle this stuff and sell it, I'd be a rich man."

"You are a rich man."

Sirius's face twisted up far beyond sneering. "Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting. Must be all that wild carousing."

Harry sighed. At least Sirius was talkative. Cheerful really was too much to hope for. He reached into the pocket of his robes. "Exploding Snap?"

"Ah, go on, Harry. You should be down there celebrating." Sirius tipped his head at the bedroom door and the sounds of the party.

Harry made a raspberry sound. "I'd rather be up here playing cards with you than shmoozing with that lot. Even with the free mead!"

A real smile, one that reached the eyes, finally spread over Sirius's face. He reached over and cut the deck.

Presently there was another knock. "The man of the hour!" said Sirius, when Arthur Weasley's head poked around the door. "Congratulations, Mr. Minister of Magic!"

Mr. Weasley closed the door behind him, grinning bashfully. "Yes, yes, yes," he said with a dismissive wave. "All this fuss is like an Engorgement Charm on my ego. Molly swears I've gone up three hat sizes this week." Even in the gloom of Lady Black's old bedroom, his eyes sparkled cheerfully.

Sirius shook his hand, blinking in surprise when Mr. Weasley pulled the chair from the dressing table and sat. "In for a hand or two, then?" he asked.

Mr. Weasley smiled wearily. "You know, I would rather be up here playing cards, but sadly, parties are now a duty I can't avoid. But I do want to talk a bit." Harry started to get up, intending to give them some privacy, but Mr. Weasley raised his hand. "To both of you."

Harry and Sirius exchanged a curious glance, their game forgotten.

"I've been thinking a bit more about your re-introduction. Been getting a few lessons in Advanced Politics, you know, from Fleur. I have a lot to learn, it seems." Mr. Weasley's smile faltered, as though a bug had suddenly flown up his nose, but he continued gamely. "Anyway, her family has quite a bit of experience with the press.

"As I said before, some of the Ministry, particularly MLE, knows the truth about you, Sirius. There were all sorts of rumors regarding who was present that night in the Department of Mysteries, but since you had disappeared before the crowds started arriving, your name didn't come up too often in the press. Most of the confessions in the Wizengamot were kept out of the Prophet, too, but again, your name came up now and again.

"Fudge had promised that there would be an official inquiry into the matter, after he was forced to tell the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement that they'd been chasing down an innocent man for three years. But he put it off, and then Scrimgeour took over--and he found the whole fiasco embarassing, to say the least. In the end, he brushed it under the carpet, too."

Mr. Weasley sat up straight in his chair with a fresh twinkle. "I think it's time for that inquiry, Sirius. We need to establish that you were fighting beside Harry that night, as a member of the Order. We have plenty of witnesses, plus testimony from the trials--from our side and theirs. All we need is for the press to cover the investigation, and the evidence will speak for itself. And I--that is, Fleur already has several reporters curious about the story."

Sirius looked skeptical. "And just how'd she manage that? The Prophet's always hated me."

"She called it 'bait and sweetch.'" I think she originally invited them to interview her about 'the plight of the modern Veela' or some such, then mentioned your name at a few key times. She's really quite good at working the press, and life certainly is easier when it's on your side."

Having received both support and scorn from the Prophet, Harry heartily agreed.

"Once people hear that you were fighting for our side in the Ministry, they'll naturally wonder why--you're supposed to be this cold-blooded murderer, after all. That's when the formal inquiry will really kick in. They'll go back and re-open your case, this time without prejudice. There may even be a new trial, since you were sentenced without due process the first time."

"And with the head of the Order and the Boy who Lived both testifying they've seen Peter Pettigrew alive, minus one finger, who would question my innocence?" said Sirius, nodding animatedly. "Merlin's beard on toast, Arthur, this could work!"

Mr. Weasley smiled broadly. "It's an art form, managing the press, and I thank the stars that I've got Fleur around to do it. Worse than putting your head in a dragon's mouth, as far as I'm concerned. But the Delacours are famous socialites in France; they've been honing their technique for generations."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Reminds me of the Malfoys."

Mr. Weasley grimaced, but acquiesced. "They both appear on the gossip pages, it's true, but the similarities stop there. A scandalous article about the Delacours typically involves eating salad with the shrimp fork." He peeked back up with a guilty expression. "I didn't just say that."

Sirius laughed. "Arthur, you sound like a Minister already!" But instead of chuckling at his little jest, his godfather suddenly frowned and slumped against the headboard of the bed. "So, once the wizard world is ready to embrace me again, who's going to tell them I'm a Squib?"

"Stop it," said Harry.

"You're not a Squib," chided Mr. Weasley at the same time. "And I'm still not sure I want the world to know you're alive yet, just that you aren't a criminal. I have faith, Sirius, that you're going to recover from whatever it is that's inhibiting your magic, and I want to keep you as my ace-in-the-hole." He reached over and flipped the top card on the deck; it was the Archchancellor, the top trump in the game. Normally such a play would cause the opponent's cards to explode, but since Mr. Weasley wasn't technically dealt in at the time, the deck apparently became confused. Both Harry's and Sirius's piles of cards went off like packets of firecrackers.

"Brilliant, that!" said Mr. Weasley. "Couldn't have gone better if I'd planned it, could it?"