The Veiled Vestiges

Disclaimer – This is a work of purely speculative fiction. It is not intended to infringe on any rights by and of the companies and/or individuals involved in the production of any series mentioned here. The characters involved are the intellectual property of their respective authors/creators except for the ones that are listed as an OC, which are mine.

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A week had passed since Harry had smuggled Sirius within the ranks of the Minister's personal staff and he was yet to receive any update regarding his status within the Ministry. While he had expected this to happen, considering Sirius' abrupt departure and arrival in their midst, he was still a little on edge with the silence. Harry knew his godfather was more than likely being watched by the Ministry, but even that rationalization hadn't been enough to overcome the worry he felt in his gut.

It had been a tough decision on his part to lie to Sirius about the state of his being. The conversation that had taken place, as a result, had certainly taken a lot out of him. Even the oath he had taken in front of Sirius to make him believe of his good intentions had taken its toll, mostly because he had struggled with the decision every step of the way. While the oath had edged on a thin line between the truth and his own perception of it, it had been accepted by magic. And even then, he had known, going in, that the repercussions of what he was about to do could be catastrophic when it came to the relations between him and his godfather. But the will of the soldier had rallied against the will of an orphan and as it was wont to happen, he had not been able to muster enough support for the orphaned boy who had still yearned for some familial love.

The lives of many against his happiness. Didn't it always come down to this?

No matter what he sacrificed, no matter how much he gave of himself, there was always one more thing, one more mission, one more life to give to save the world from itself. He didn't relish the thought of being the chosen one. He wouldn't wish it on anyone. It was a lonely existence with a sprinkle of happiness mixed in. And yet, he had embraced the title, had accepted the job with a determined will, simply because… someone had to. Someone had to make this right. Someone had to take arms and protect those who couldn't protect themselves. But most importantly, someone had to protect what little people that had left in his life from the foulest evil that still roamed the earth. For them, for their happiness, there was no task too heinous and no sacrifice too much. As long as they lived and were happy, he could live with the guilt. He could and would swallow that mass of utter loathing that he felt for himself if it meant they were alive and happy to live their lives.

And it was for these reasons, he had let the soldier within to take the reigns and driven Sirius towards the path that he was currently treading. If the reality of the people that Sirius looked up to wasn't clear to him by standing in their midst, then there was nothing he could do that would steer him away. He had thought long and hard about Sirius' behaviour in his past life. He had played whatever little conversations they had had over and over again in his head. One thing that had jumped at him at once, had been Sirius' reluctance to look out for himself and his last remaining family if it meant going against the words of the meddler. He had freely given the reigns of his godson's life to the old bastard without even saying two words about it. And consequently, he had left Harry no other option than to marinate in the mass of questionable decisions and perilous actions suggested by the machiavellian leader himself, not that they had known his nature then.

To not let his past become Sirius' future, he had needed to make him see, for himself, to whom he had given his allegiance to. It was with this resolve that he had tapered off the part of himself that had been worried sick ever since he had delivered Sirius into Robards' care.

Shaking off the maudlin thoughts, he took another look at the table on which sat the reason for new worries, two galleon coins – one of which was a fake – a twenty-pound muggle note and a mouldy torn letter. They were actually the only things that were left of the little stash he had found inside the cottage and what he had been able to filch off of a street pharmacist a while back. The money had been tight for a few days now and his options were limited. While he had an arrangement in mind regarding how to go about increasing the cash flow, he still wanted to ponder some more about any better options than what he had planned.

The letter, however, took his thoughts in a completely different direction. It was important to him… this letter. Not because it contained something that was especially dear to him, no, and not even because it was the reason most of what he had planned had been largely successful. It was of great value to him because it signified the one simple thing that was every man's greatest strength and their most glaring weakness. Something that dwelled in the possibilities. The most powerful emotion anyone could ever possess.

Hope.

The letter carried with it, the faith and dreams of a house so long forgotten that even its name was barely spoken anymore. A house that had given him a new life. A house that he was simply using as a means to an end. An ancient house. The Ancient House of Kent. It wasn't an ennobled one. Nor was it largely popular. It was completely unremarkable in many ways, in fact. It was simply one among many, that had met its end by the hands of time. With the last of its blood carriers being alive over a hundred years in the past. And even all these years, the house still held on to its hope. The walls that lined the place still held a silent promise of acceptance and warmth for those who would embrace it as their own.

To whom this letter has found its way,

We hope this letter finds you well stranger. For it probably has been many years since the wards have weakened enough for you to reach the place we have kept this symbol of our hope. We know not how the world has fared in our absence and we know not the state of the world.

Does the world still burn in a fiery sunder? Do they still fight for perceived insults? Do the blood feuds still take hold? Do you have a reprieve? Answers to these questions, stranger, we know not. What we know is that it is happening even as I form these words on this parchment.

We are the last of us, stranger. We are all that is left of the House of Kent. My wife and I. There will be none left in a few months still. We tried to save our name. Oh, we tried, stranger. We did everything we could. But we know now that this curse will take us both. My father's last wish will be left unfulfilled. And if there is a shame that I feel for anything that I have done in my life, it is for this. For not being able to fulfil my duties as the head of my house. A house that is breathing its last breath even as we are. She has cursed us for what we did to her. She has cursed us to feel the agony of the pain we inflicted on her. But all we had done was save her life. We did not know then, that she was with child. We did not, stranger, I swear on my honour as a Kent, we did not. Had we known…if we had the time…we would have done something, anything to save both her and her child.

Alas, the past is catching up with us. Our time on these lands is very short after what we did to ourselves to get rid of this curse. Months. Weeks probably. The curse will take us to our end. It is all but certain after what we have uncovered of its origins. But there is still hope. Not for us, no. But for the House of Kent.

There is hope.

We do not leave behind riches, stranger. We do not leave behind any material possessions. Time takes those from us all, one way or the other. We leave behind something that makes us who we are. We leave behind our legacy, howsoever insignificant it has been. We leave behind our name, so someone may call us their own again. That is what we offer, stranger. The worse thing that can happen is for someone to be forgotten forever. I beg of you stranger, do not let it come to that. It might have happened so already, I realize, but you stranger, you have the one thing in your possession that could fulfil our last wish. When you open the box, you will know. You will know what we ask of you. And it will not be easy, I know. It is a harsh desire of a dying house that is asking you for this boon. But I implore you, stranger, if you choose not to do it, do not leave it here for it to rot. Find someone, anyone, who needs it even if you do not. I humbly beg this of you.

I do not know who will read this. I have no talent for the inner eye. But I do choose to believe. I believe there will be someone, somewhere, who would need what we are leaving behind. I believe that the House of Kent will not suffer its end by the sands of time. I believe…

It was here that the letter abruptly ended, the rest being torn away, possibly by the elements themselves. The faint half-lines were still visible on the edges as if trying to make one last effort to portray its meaning. There was something incredibly sad about it. Time had taken much from the Kents, their name, their beings, their home, and now… even their last words to the world had been erased from existence.

The find had been an eye-opener for many who had laid eyes on it, back when the resistance had found the ruins of the Manor House that had belonged to the Ancient House. It had been buried in what would have been the living room attached to a masterfully carved wooden box. The box that had remained a mystery to him for a long while. Until she had taken it upon herself to figure out what had actually happened to the couple and the House. It had taken a while, years actually, but she had found the way. They had lost most of the resistance by that time. There hadn't been any sense of excitement at the achievement when they had no one to share it with. Even, the contents themselves had seemed less than satisfactory at the time. A single vial of blood with some parchment that gave a slight hint of magic still being bound within itself that had barely legible words written on it, in what seemed to be the same blood. They had discarded the find as the foolish hope of a dying man at that point. Not seeing much point in it when the priority had been their survival and acquiring a meal for the few numbers that had left.

In the beginning, they had all despised the pureblood movement with everything they had. Had loathed it with every fibre of their being. But none of them had really understood the real reason behind this level of irrational behaviour from their society apart from the ravings of a madman who had used the dogma to rally gullible fools under his banner. Even then, none of them had really taken the time to sift through their history to figure out why the purebloods were so much against the mudbloods, as they called them.

Fear.

Fear of losing themselves to a world that belayed understanding. Fear of disappointing their ancestors by accepting the very same people who had burned and hunted them for being who they were. Fear of being the last of their kind. Fear. It had burrowed itself into the very heart of the community. And that fear had bred anger. Anger towards the world. Anger towards people who were responsible. Muggles. Irrational behaviour caused by a very rational fear.

For the first time, the resistance, the people, the ones who had struggled to overthrow a tyrannic reign of a madman, had given a sliver of thought towards why the monster had gained so much ground in that short of a time. For the first time since they had waged war against the Dark Lord, the group had had a reprieve from being hunted and they had sat down and talked. From their experiences of the world to the theories about what could have really happened to the Kents to a great many other things. No one had rallied against someone who had said that not every pureblood had been part of the movement. Nobody had decried anyone for their views whatever they may have been. They had known that every single person who had been present had lost at least one of their loved ones to the mercies of the dark. The session had lasted long in the night. It had been as much for the present as it had been for a hope of a better tomorrow. They had all been so naïve then. So sure that despite the odds, despite everything that had gone wrong until that point, they would pull through. That they would salvage their world and bring about new dawn where equality would reign true.

'Loss does change a person though, doesn't it? I wouldn't have ever thought that I would stop fighting for this world and here I am, willing to burn it to the ground if it means I can keep them safe,' Harry thought resolutely.

A few moments passed before he dragged the thoughts that had gotten away from him. He had resources to gather. He had, possibly, gained a very important asset in Sirius with his position in the Ministry but there was much that his godfather could not provide during their current circumstances. Most required of which, at this time, was gold.

While magic was capable of many things, things that an average wizard couldn't even comprehend in their current saturated state of mind, it did have its limitations. Some were imposed by nature itself, and some had been the creation of wizards. One such restraint that was levied by the venerable Ministry – handled by a subsection of the Department of Mysteries – was the Financial Gateway Monitoring System or FǤMOS, which was essentially a measure to prevent the wizards in the community from stealing wealth from the poor muggles by any of the numerous under-handed schemes that could be applied to do so. While it was highly unusual for a department whose only proclaimed duty was to study and research on various magical phenomenon to monitor gateways for the incomings and outgoings of their gold (at least, on the wizarding side) of their community, it was still largely left in their hands due to reasons many of the community's finest administrators had not been able to find. It was quite eerie too, that whenever the query had taken its hold on the political platform it had been quashed almost immediately by one thing or another. The last attempt being quite a few years ago when the head of a minor department had written a strongly-worded application and had read it out loud in a Wizengamot legislative assembly. The next thing people had heard about him was that he had had to suddenly move his family to the lone Maldives islands due to some medical aid that only people in that region were capable of providing. Nobody had raised a stink since then.

The real reason behind handing the reigns of the matter to DOM was their extracurricular activities. It had been the only department capable of handling the duties of such a central element of their lives without getting into pesky things like greed and embezzlement. The decision had been taken during the times when Ministry had actually been somewhat competent and honestly serving the public had been important to those in power. The DOM, seeing its importance, had accepted the responsibility readily and had kept it ever since.

The administrations since then hadn't ever tried to change the status quo mostly because it had given them a ready-made excuse for their underhanded dealings. Since they weren't the ones directly responsible for handling the money on a large basis except for their own budget, they couldn't possibly be made culpable in any large scale financial scandals capable of besmirching the administration. A so-called perfect defence that had satisfied a few morons who had been smarter than the general sheep of the magical populace. But as they say, in the kingdom of blinds, the one-eyed man is the king and so it was generally accepted.

Harry had pondered over these limitations for many-a-days now. And while it was true that there was a large amount of gold sitting-in in the Black vaults, accessing those riches now would send many alarm bells ringing throughout the Ministry especially since said Ministry was trying to get their hands on said riches.

The monetary resource had been one of the issues he hadn't been able to tackle much back when he was making plans in his past future.

When he had considered relinquishing his old name in favour of anonymity, he had felt more than a little disturbed about what it would all mean for him. Voluntarily making a decision to break his ties with his house, one of the very few things that tied him to his deceased family had been heart-wrenching. His nightmares had taken the form of his dead family cursing and spitting at him for abandoning them, for how he rightly deserved whatever that had happened to him. But the sentimental man had admitted defeat to the pragmatic leader when those same images had been replaced by the eviscerated bodies of the same family by the hands of the demons that had torn his world asunder.

He had given up then.

There really had been no other way. At least none where he could still keep himself attached to the name and hope to achieve most of the segments of his concocted plan. And those elements were paramount. Nothing could be allowed to divert him from reaching them.

Not even himself.

Another thing that had made him grudgingly accept the decision was the lack of major resources that he would be relinquishing along with his family name. House Potter was not an ennobled house. Though it was Ancient by the standards of the society, tracing its origins to the late thirteenth century, their usual lack of ambition and their tendencies to marry below their status hadn't endeared them to those in power and consequently hadn't helped in elevating their status to more than that of a family of average wizards.

And it had suited them just fine.

With the exception of his grandfather, Fleamont Potter, who had invented the famous hair care potion, Sleakeazy, none of the Potters had been very successful in their careers. While they hadn't ever had to scrounge for gold, they hadn't ever had a surplus of it either. Even the earnings from Sleakeazy had dried to a trickle after a bill had been passed in the Wizengamot that allowed the patents of potions of certain nature to be revoked and the method of their creation was made public knowledge. As such, House Potter had less gold in their vault than most thought was possible for a house an old as theirs. Even his own trust vault had been called as such, not because of the existence of a family vault or any such tripe, but simply because his parents – who in spite of being talented in their respective fields, had still earned mediocre emolument for their work – had allowed the goblins to invest small amounts of gold from his vault at the end of each year. It was called a 'trust vault' because it was goblin nomenclature for the vaults for wizards who trusted them with their money. And for that matter, his 'trust vault' only had enough galleons to get him through Hogwarts at any rate, which came down to, at most 64000Ǥ.

More or less pocket change for the players he had to entangle with.

He really needed to talk to Sirius about this. While he had some ideas, some of which were bound to get him some heaps of dosh, he really needed something that was less likely to trip any alarms that DOM might have set up.

As if on queue, the lone fake galleon on the desk vibrated twice and the numbers on the coin shifted to form a familiar sequence.

'Hmm…So, the trigger worked… It hadn't exactly been one of my finest efforts and I wouldn't have been surprised if it hadn't and had just kept itself buried in Sirius' subconscious. But if it works… I might have another avenue for quite a few plans that I'd deemed 'difficult' before. Hmm… Something to think about later, I suppose. Right now, I need to make sure Sirius is alright. I'd have to check him again. It should be safe enough if someone isn't tailing him. And even if someone is tailing him, the place is usually too packed for anything other than a small squad to move around, anyway. Getting inside shouldn't pose a problem then. It'd also be a good idea to have a portkey on me so a fast exit is covered. Don't think it should come to that as things have been quiet from Ministerial front for days now, but it's better to play it safe.'

With that thought and whistling a slow tune while making a mental list of the things he needed Sirius' help to acquire and then fetching the supplies he needed for him, he left the cottage house a little early. He needed a few things from apothecary other than what he already had in his stock. The lunar eclipse was a week from now…He'd need those supplies to prepare.

'A little shopping trip then…How quaint. Let's see what's in surprise for me this week. It's getting fucking tiring, cleaning up these messes. More than likely, I'd need to lay low for a while after this…'

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Amelia Bones was a hardy woman. She had been an Auror since she was eighteen. Ever since then, she had worked relentlessly, day and night, to prove herself worthy of the position she had earned. Her dedication towards her duty was something her peers admired about her greatly and had gained her their respect. She was the kind of woman who knew her limits and if something were to get outside her area of control, she knew how to direct the situation in such a way that it landed well within her reach. She knew how to get her hands dirty and could also play the political game like a cunning diplomat. She had reigned-in many wrongdoers on and off the field with relative ease. After Alastor Moody, she had the highest record for closing cases within the department. In the wizarding world, where a suspect had the means of being around the globe in a matter of minutes, it was quite an achievement. She also held the record for the quickest promotion, twice, a feat that had made her a Senior Auror of the DMLE at the young age of twenty-five, a Master Auror at twenty-nine and the head of the DMLE, what she was now, at thirty-six.

For most, it was an epic achievement, a bragging right in the family parties, a way to gain rooters or many other such things. For her though, it had been a means to an end. While it was not untrue that she was proud of herself and the work she had done, it was also not the reason for which she had applied herself so much. The reason was far…far more primal than any.

Vengeance.

Her most dear wish, one thing that had made her wake up in the morning to face the day, had been her desire, a fiery blaze that stoked her heart to avenge her fallen family by making those cowardly bastards pay for it their blood. She had been a firm believer in the law. She had respected the laws of their community and had worked within those constraints to catch the lawbreakers and prosecuted them. She had believed that if the letter of the law wasn't followed, then anarchy was just a step away. Despite all that. Despite her oath, she also knew, with complete certainty, that if she actually caught even one of the bastards, she wouldn't be able to keep herself from butchering them, most viciously.

Edger and Carter Bones were her brothers. They had been everything to her after the untimely demise of their parents. With only themselves to trust during those times, what with their family business in shambles and their community on the brink of war, they had been very close. They had grieved and mourned, but they had also risen back up. Taking the reigns of the flailing business her brothers had rallied every single worker behind themselves and with her as the youngest Senior Auror of British DMLE, they had raised Bones' family to its former glory as one of the Noble and Most Ancient Houses. They all had found happiness in their family. Edger with his wife and two sons and Carter with his wife and a daughter, they were her most precious treasure. Her love for them was frighteningly potent.

And so had been her grief when she had received news that Edger and his family had been murdered in their manor home while she had been on an assignment. Their bodies had been a horrific sight. It had been as if they had been mauled by an animal. There had been blood… so much blood, everywhere. The monsters hadn't even spared the children as their bodies have been found in similar condition as their parents'. The moment she had laid eyes on the scene, it had been as if the world had slipped from beneath her feet and there wasn't an end in sight. The echoes of their voices had rung in her ears for months after the incident.

What had increased her frustrations was that the department hadn't found any suspects, even after a whole month of investigations. While she had been mourning with her last living brother and his family, there hadn't been any progress. Even with it being a high profile case, the murder of the Lord of a Noble and Most Ancient House and his family, nothing had come of it. All that it led to was an endless series of interviews and procedures while the real culprits had not even on their radar. The allied Houses hadn't even raised the matter in the 'Mot. Hell, not one of them had even responded to their calls apart from the usual thin worded condolences and gestures that had meant nothing to her. The reason had become clear soon enough.

As the others had followed suit. The Prewetts, McKinnons, Buchanans, Coopers, Ollertons… One after another, all had fallen to the hands of the Dark Lord who called themselves the Death Eaters. Many of the families who had active seats on the Wizengamot and all whose primary heirs were well short of the of-age parameters – and thus not in a position to hold their seats – had been targeted. Even this little tidbit had been her find. The department hadn't been able to connect these simple facts in two fucking months.

Then came that night.

Their master had personally arrived to kill the whole Farley family in a bloody carnage at their own home. The department had received a distress floo-call from the owners before the floo had been disconnected abruptly. A force of nine Aurors had responded to the call with her as the lead-officer.

It hadn't made a difference.

He had played with them all. Had utterly humiliated and killed every last person in her detail… except for her. And just when she had been lying there with her wand out of reach and blood pooling around her, he had given her a parting gift and quietly disapparated. She hadn't even been able to move much less dodge the spell when it had hit her. She had woken up in St. Mungo's three days later. Others had confirmed what she already suspected, he had taken one thing from her which could have given her some hope for a future. He had snatched from her the chance to become a mother.

Even then, her spirit had remained hard as stone. Not a tear was shed even as it shone in her eyes. She had pledged to not let herself give that release until she had gotten her revenge. And this did not hold the strength to take her down. Not even Merlin himself could save the savages from her. Either she would catch them and make them pay or she would die trying.

Or at least, it had been the plan. Until it happened.

The Dark Lord was defeated by baby Harry Potter. A child! a one-year-old child had taken the Killing Curse and rebounded it upon its caster. The Potters, however, were only entitled to a single miracle it seemed, as just the babe had survived. She had gotten her marching orders and within a single week, she and her team had secured more than two dozen of the masked savages. About seven others had been put down by her, single-handedly, in the fights that had ensued. She had only recognized one of them. Dwight Runcorn. He had been one of the stupid ones who had decided to stick around and fight when most of them had started to flee when she had raided the compound. She had put a piercing hex between his eyes when he had run out of steam after casting Unforgivables one after another.

Amelia would have delivered more to their graves if she had been alone in the operations. As it was, she had been accompanied by a substantially large Auror force and had had to content herself with who she'd gotten. She had waited for this moment for so long… and now it was well within her grasp. They wouldn't be leaving the cold hard dungeons of Azkaban if she had any breath left in her body. She would plan her revenge then.

But fate had other plans.

While she had been hunting Karkaroff, who had done a runner, along with her mentor Alastor Moody, Crouch had decided to play it fast. Most of the trials had already been conducted well before she had gotten back. More to her shock, most of the savages she had arrested, had been acquitted of all charges. The fucking morons had believed the tripe of the bastards being under the Imperius Curse over cold hard facts and other evidence she had gathered.

She had given up then. Had resigned herself to the monotonous life as just another worker of a corrupt Ministry. She had even received her promotion as the head of DMLE a year after with a bored visage. She would do her duty. She would do what was asked from the chair she occupied, but she would not go any further, would look no further. She would not allow herself to believe again, to hope for justice again. Never.

That had been her sentiments for years after she had accepted her position in life. Until a few days ago…until the Minster had informed her of the secret operation he had conducted working alongside the office of Chief Warlock. And she had been struck dumb. To think, the portly man with a bowler hat, who could barely pass himself as a convenient choice for a peacetime Ministerial role, had done what previous war-hardened administration had utterly failed to do. He had been ruthless enough to use a child as bait and had eradicated the dastardly men who had taken her world from her. She had been so elated that she had even allowed herself to go through the motions when Minister had asked her to play her part in the press conference and field the minimal of questions asked of her by the press. It had been as if the burden that had been on her shoulders for years now, had lessened somewhat. She had even taken up Minister's suggestion and had enjoyed a leave for a couple of days to centre herself and be with her last living family. She had missed much of Susan's childhood. Her niece was growing up fast. It had been cathartic to spend some time with those who loved her with the same passion as she did them. And it was with a content visage that she had returned to her office.

Then the very next day, she had received a list.

A list containing the names of all the casualties of the operation that had recently taken place. As the formal notation of records for the deaths that happened during any investigative or operational procedures was under the purview of her department, it was her duty to sign off on it, which was what she was doing currently before she had to hand it to one of her Seniors for filing in the DMLE records. She had just reached the very last of the names when it all unravelled for her. She read it again, wondering if her recent thoughts had somehow caused her to see it. But it was still there. Written clearly, just like the others but still worlds apart for her to comprehend.

'Dwight Runcorn.'

'It couldn't be. There is no possible way for him to have been there. I know I ended him that night. It's a mistake… It has to be. A clerical error, perhaps. Minister's staff isn't known for their perfect record-keeping skills, anyway. Yes. It has to be it.'

But no matter how much she tried to let go, the thought kept burrowing itself in her mind deeper and deeper. Not even an hour later, she got up from her desk, her mind made. She had to find the reason for his name to be on the list before her sanity failed her.

With a determined mind, she jabbed her wand onto the single rune etched on a perch on her desk.

"Miriam, contact the Minister's office. Tell them Senior Auror Robards is to report to my office before the day is out."

"Yes, ma'am!" came the crisp voice of her secretary.

"And make sure I don't have any appointments for the day."

"Yes, ma'am!" Mirium repeated in the affirmative.

As soon as the connection to her secretary was cut, she got up like a coiled spring. It was a simple error. It had to be. From what the Minister had said, the operation had started relatively close to the raids that had happened where she had cut down Runcorn. Some confusion regarding the identification and documentation of bodies could easily have occurred. Or the dicta-quill operator might have made a mistake when copying names from one list to another. Yes, it was plausible. It had happened before. Not that often, but it had happened. Or a hundred other things could have happened. There was no point in fixating on it till she got some answers from Robards. He was the leading officer on Minster's personal Auror Squad, anyway. He would have been there during the operation. He would certainly know.

Before she knew it, three hours had passed by and she had just about dug a trench in the middle of her office with her pacing. A hard knock made her stop in her tracks. She walked back to her desk and got back in her chair before she answered.

"Come in," she responded in a clear voice.

Robards came through the door with a haughty expression on his face. She wasn't surprised. She knew he didn't like her. As long as she had known him, his attitude towards her had always been cold and sometimes even confrontational. She suspected that it was only her seniority that had kept him mum for this long. She had known as much when she had named him as one of the transfers for the 'Ministerial Squad' when the Fudge had been appointed as the new Minister. In fact, it had been one of the primary reasons she had done so. As she looked at him now though, she could tell that something had changed. What that was, she hadn't a clue, but it was almost like Robards knew she held no power over him. Maybe it was time to check that supposition.

"You called?" He drawled in a voice that was clearly portrayed the inconvenience that she had caused him when she had made that appointment.

Raising an elegant brow at him at his casual disrespect, she ignored it in favour of getting her answers. She did, however, take her time before she replied, "I did, Auror Robards," deliberately leaving out his rank hoping to incite him a little. Oh, she knew that he was aware of the tactics, but that didn't mean that they couldn't work on him. Better men than Robards had fallen prey to their self-conceitedness. "I received the casualties list from the Minister's office today. There were some things that I wanted to ask you as the Senior officer of the Squad assigned on the case regarding that."

"Such as?" he asked with a seemingly bored expression.

Had she been a newly minted Auror or anybody else who hadn't conducted as many interrogations as she had, she might have missed the subtle changes in his body language that sprung up as soon as she had asked the question. While he didn't exactly coil his form, his shoulders did tense a little. His right hand that had been lazily sitting on the top of his left, twitched ever so slightly. Ignoring her rising heartbeat, she rallied through.

"Firstly, I wanted to congratulate you on a job well done. The operation conducted by the Ministerial Squad in amalgamation with Chief Warlock and the Minister was one of the most successful ones of the Ministry. Your accomplishment brings honour to the DMLE as well as the minster's office, I'm sure. Also, pardon my curiosity, but you were the one who headed the operation, yes?

"Yes. I did. And Thank you. But I simply did my duty. If there is a credit to be given, it surely lands at the feet of Minister Fudge. He made it all possible. Is that all you wished to know?"

"Right. Well… No. You see, I saw some names on the list that I thought might have been related to some of the pending cases my Aurors are working on. I was hoping you would be able to confirm or deny their involvement in the matter as I am sure that the secret operation of such a scale would have involved substantial surveillance on these people."

"I cannot confirm or deny such things, Madam Bones, as you very well know, the matter is classified and the Minister's or Chief Warlock's offices have sealed all the information under their authority. The only reason you were given this list was that Minister wanted DMLE to have a little say in some of the procedures of the operation. If that is getting a bit difficult for the department then I can certainly inform him of your troubles." He replied stiffly.

"Of course, of course, I understand Auror Robards. There will be no need to tell the Minister anything. I was simply hoping to move along certain cases that had been stuck for months now and since some of the lead suspects in these cases have found their names present on this list, I am a bit stumped as to what do I tell my Aurors, that is all."

"I cannot disclose the details of the operation, Director, you know this. Now, was there anything else?"

Amelia knew that if she let it go now, there wasn't much she would be able to do later that would get her the answers she needed. Deliberately lowering her voice, she tried one last play.

"No… nothing." She softly replied.

Just as he was reaching for the door, an audible sigh escaped her lips.

"Auror Robards…" He turned to face her as she took in a deep breath. "…Gawain… I know you don't owe me anything. And from what I have seen, you do not have a high opinion of myself. It's not surprising considering in all my years of service to the Ministry, I have had to thumb a lot of noses. I know that look. But… but I do not fault you for it. I cannot. It is your opinion and you are entitled to it. But just for a minute… just for a little while… I need you to forget about it. Please…" She looked at him demurely.

Robards looked at her for a long while before he replied with a grunt, "What do you want?"

She picked up the list and picked it in a way that the lower half was facing him. "Tell me you made them pay. Please tell me they died begging for mercy. Tell me the years I spent in this place weren't for nothing. Atticus, Conrad, Elias, Montgomery, Runcorn… Tell me you slaughtered them like they slaughtered our own. Please, Gawain…" she pleaded as moisture glistened in her eyes.

Gawain Robards was a simple man. A man for whom his duty started and ended at his orders. His father had served the Ministry for forty years before he had passed and had managed to instil the same sense of duty within him. He was a man who did not hold any interest in the fledgeling feelings of the heart. So when he looked at Amelia, a woman who was practically crying and begging him to give her the answers to her long-standing questions, he simply registered it as the foolish behaviour of a weak-willed and broken woman. Knowing that he could shut down that line of questioning with a simple enough lie, he decided to take the opportunity.

"We did, Madam Bones. They died screaming and begging for mercy just like their victims," he replied with a straight fact.

Amelia gave a theatrical shudder at that.

"Truly? Even…Elias, even Runcorn? You killed those monsters, Gawain?" she whispered.

"I personally put them down, Madam Bones. Both of them. And that is all I can tell you about it. I hope this will be enough to settle your demons. Now, if that is all, I have a suspect in my office that I need to interrogate."With that, he turned around and stepped out of her office without waiting for her to answer.

Had he waited, he would have seen a stunned and horrified head of DMLE standing there with her eyes wide open that even she, with her years of experience and training, couldn't even hope to hide.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Diagon Alley was busy as ever. It probably had to do with the stragglers and the children who had waited for this long to buy their school supplies. School… It seemed forever ago. But it still made him remember his first time when he had visited the place with the gentle half-giant in tow. He had spent many of his years remembering those days. The days when his life wasn't this crazy. Days, where his only worry was if would have a decent meal before he got to sleep. Days, when the school had meant having friends sit alongside him as they unravelled the mysteries of magic together. Sure, there had been a mad-man after them and every year had been a challenge harder than one before, but at least he'd had people with him then. People who trusted him, whom he trusted. Now all he had was himself. That is, until he found a way to get her back to him.

A familiar sight brought his thoughts back to the present. The store was as grimy and filthy as ever. Even the scent of droppings and ordures was just the same as the last time he had visited the place.

'Magical Menagerie.'

As he stepped inside, mindful of the baby Runespoors who were lounging on the edge of the doorway to soak in some sun, he could hear the cacophony of quite a few species of magical creatures echoing in the semi-filled shop. He spotted at least three Puffskeins floating around, two Firecrabs snipping at each other, a knot of Horned toads croaking away as if they were conducting their own symphony. He even thought he spied one transforming rabbits sitting on a stool, but before he could see it again, it had already turned into a black top hat. Shaking his head in mild amusement, he approached the owner. Before he could even speak, the man looked at him and scowled.

"Back again, I see," the shopkeeper remarked as he saw him coming into the shop.

"Yes. Is she…"

"No. She ain't here," interrupted the shopkeeper. "Just like she wasn't here the last time you asked or the time before that. You ever gonna tell me how you knew to look for her here?"

Releasing a frustrated sigh, he replied. "I did tell you. A friend of mine said he will drop her at the Menagerie down in Carkitt Market. And he told me that it is the place where you get most of your supplies. So, where else could she be but here?!"

"Riiight. A friend told you," the shopkeeper replied, shaking his head in exasperation. "Well, as I said, she ain't here yet. If someone drops her, I will hold her for you. But just for a week. Not a day more. Got that?"

Turning away, Harry raised his hand in a vague goodbye gesture while still moving towards the door. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, I'll be here."

Once outside the shop, he started walking towards the northern corner of the Alley. Diagon was one of the primary shopping areas for the British Wizarding Community and had plenty of shops stacked throughout the area to show for it. With two more Alleys and a Market adjacent to Diagon, the shopping district was accommodated quite a stretch. Horizont and Knockturn Alleys were in the southern and eastern edge of Diagon while Carkitt Market sat on its northern front. If Diagon main, was a hubbub of the crowd then Carkitt was what a muggle would call a multiplex, fitted inside a street that couldn't possibly hold that many shops, if not for some major magical interference. All included, the place engulfed a little more than a mile radius in its occupancy. Size large enough to evade the regularly scheduled Auror surveillance, if one had the know-how of it. Seeing as he was still in his six-year-old body, he didn't really need to resort to such countermeasures. Even still, old habits died hard and just as he eyed a couple of Aurors on the edge of the intersection, he unconsciously slowed his gait until they had moved along.

Harry stopped at the intersection and leaned on a shop front. A discrete glance at both sides, and he was on the move again. Catching sight of a non-descript small bakery with patio seats on the front, he decided to make a stop. Ordering a custard tart and two apple crumbles for his 'still shopping parents', he settled in his chair. From where he was, he could clearly see people going in and out of a small tea-house. It came as no surprise to him that it had quite a few number of people going in. The little tea-shop had catered to many over the years and was considered a go-to place for informal meetings by many witches and wizards. Which was why he had chosen this place.

A while passed before he saw him. The distance from bakery to the tea shop wasn't much, and he had a good enough vantage point that he could clearly see his quarry coming down the street, fidgeting with their hands. He kept his eyes on him until they entered the little shop. He waited for fifteen more minutes to see if anybody had stood out around the area before he decided to make an approach. Giving a muffled shout as if he was hailing his parents he had spied just around the corner, he slammed fifteen sickles down on his table and gave a hearty smile and a thank you to the owner before briskly walking out of the shop.

Walking slightly behind a middle-aged wizard to give an impression of being with him, he managed to get inside without getting noticed. Eyeing the place, it took him two seconds to find the table he was looking for. Taking deliberately slow steps he moved towards the man sitting on a table with a single vacant chair. He contorted his face into a confused frown and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey Mister! You've got a stubble," remarked Harry in an innocent voice.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Sirius Black was tired. It had been just today that he'd gained some reprieve from the mind-numbing debriefing sessions he had been forced to sit through after the debacle with the woman he had murdered. They had asked him questions after questions about his actions during the week he had been away from their sight and he had answered them all as honestly as he could. He had told them every single thing that had happened, exactly as it had happened. It had surprised him that he could remember everything as if it had happened just yesterday. And when they had asked him to take the truth potion, he didn't know why, but he had readily agreed. He supposed it was because he had known that he had nothing to hide. He had murdered the woman who had been trying to blackmail him, after all. And when he had admitted it to them after they had asked him the question directly, he couldn't understand the reason, but it was as if…as if they had been relieved. An hour of berating about how stupid and rash his actions had been, Robards had let him go. And he had sighed in relief when he had finally gotten out of that cramped room.

But of course, that hadn't been the end. After another round of stink eyes and thinly veiled insults from Madam Undersecretary, he had been told that he would be attending the other debriefings on the operation every day so they could make sure he wasn't moving around causing any more trouble.

It had been then and even now, after a whole week, his mind was still conjuring images of the woman he had murdered, looking at him with her empty eyes as blood pooled around her. It was disturbing, to say the least. He hadn't been able to sleep much less do anything else when it had happened for the first time. It was as if his mind was conflicting with itself, trying to purge something that he didn't realize was even there. After the week, when the effects hadn't stopped, he finally decided that a breath of fresh air was needed. Getting out of the new apartment, Robards had set him up with, he walked around fidgeting with a galleon he had in his pocket. He had just been walking around the beach for half an hour when he had an irresistible urge to have tea, a very specific tea that was sold by a very specific shop in Carkitt. Unable to shake it off, he had apparated to Diagon's apparition point and moved towards the shop.

And here he was, sitting minding his own business and sipping the tea he had ordered when a kid with confused frown tapped on his shoulder. He was about to respond when the kid said something. He didn't catch what was said as at that moment a piercing pain shot through his head and his head all but slammed on the hard tabletop.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry saw Sirius' eyes going wide and a pained grimace marring his face and he knew, something unexpected had happened. His hand reacted reflexively and he took hold of Sirius' face before it could slam on it. Gently laying it down on the table and using his body as cover, he started casting. Weaving a quick silencing and notice-me-not ward he surreptitiously eyed the customers for any onlookers before taking the chair opposite to his now blacked out godfather.

'What the fuck happened? Did the trigger cause this? I knew it was a rush job and a fairly new technique, but it shouldn't have caused him any pain. While the neural network is complex and his subconscious may have tried to assert the control, but to cause this…' Harry worried. He watched for a few minutes before Sirius' breathing slowed down. Leaning forwards he checked the man's pulse. 'At least his pulse isn't riding high. With the traces of MB-COD still in his system, a stroke would have been catastrophic.'

Just as he was going over the reasons that may have caused Sirius' break down, the man woke up with a start.

Sirius stood up abruptly, frantically looking around as if searching for something. His arms were flailing about as he tried to keep his balance, which was tough considering he felt like he had drunk Tom the barman's entire stock of firewhisky. He was breathing quite heavily by the time he registered that a boy was holding onto his hand with both of his own, trying to get him to stop moving further from the table. And it took another couple of seconds before he recognized the boy.

"Mr… Mr Kent?" Sirius asked, confused. "Wha's…wha's going on?"

"Easy there, Mr Black," he remarked, helping Sirius get back in his chair. "You had a bit of an... well, let's call it an episode. Just rest for a while. Here, drink this," he said waving his wand over the cup which had Sirius' tea in it, warming it up a little.

Two hot cups of tea and a slice of Banoffee's pie later and half an hour later, Sirius was feeling remarkably better, except for his still mildly throbbing head.

"What happened to me? Before you pried my head open you said the trigger would be safe. You said it would help my cover at the ministry. Is this how it was going to help? Hunh, kid? By doing me in?" raved Sirius.

"…"

"Well? Got nothing to say, do ya?"

"I am thinking, Mr Black. To be honest it has got me a little stumped. While I know the likely cause of your selective memory lapse, I still can't figure out how I can prevent that from happening if the trigger ever has to be used again," Harry replied.

Seeing the frosty look he was receiving from Sirius, and hearing the growled 'Again?' from him, he sighed and continued. "Mr Black before, as you so eloquently said, 'I pried your head open', you were treated for many, many other ailments that you were suffering from. You were nothing but skin and bones when we rescued you," he emphasized to make Sirius less likely to interrupt him before he explained the situation in its entirety.

"Your body was significantly damaged, Mr Black. From physical issues like malnutrition to magical ones like damaged core, you had it all. Before we tried to spring you, we had thought of this and as such, the healers in our midst had devised a special treatment for things one might have incurred after years in the Azkaban prison. First, since we had to move you in a delicate state, there was a chance that your body might go into shock, so we dosed you with the draught of living death, to keep your body in stasis. And as you know, Draught of living death is a Grade-2 restricted potion, which can cause all hoards of issues from melting muscle fibres and nerve degradation to neurological issues." He paused to let the man understand the actual risks that had been involved, even if the side effects happened to one in sixty magicals, the combined treatment could have had a cumulative effect on him.

"Then, since we were short on time, we had to inject a muggle drug called Muscle Booster(MB-Cod) in your system. It's actually a misnomer. It doesn't really boost muscle mass in magicals as it does in muggles. During an incident we found that the MB-CoD could increase the rate of cell regeneration in magical beings and was an excellent general restorative, capable enough to make a man who had spent six years in prison at the mercy of the soul-suckers, you, to be able to get back on their feet, in a mere week. But that isn't exactly risk-free either. We have had some deaths where we couldn't save some patients even after we administered the drug. Believe me, when I tell you, there is a reason it is known as the Cocktail of Death in our midst," he said as the images of Creevey brothers flashed before his eyes.

"And after that, there were the usual recovery potions like the wit-sharpening potion for restoring your mental acumen, teeth rebuilder for your broken and chipped teeth, Skele-Gro for your broken and misaligned bones and that is on top of the pain potions you were under because of slight change in the bone structure of your face to match up with Boardman's and a whole load of others which could have caused you the symptoms that you were registering a little while ago. We were lucky that Boardman was on the thin side of the scale, else you wouldn't have been able to stand up to the scrutiny.

But… despite all of it, I do think the most correct diagnosis would be that the combination of all these and the trigger in such a short period of timewas the most likely cause of it all."

Harry paused to take a breath and gauged Sirius' reaction to his explanatory tirade. Sirius was looking at him with not a little amount of irritation and confusion on his face. Deciding to explain it in better terms, he elaborated.

"Look, the trigger was more or less an embedded instruction in your brain to make it, and essentially you, believe the memories that I had implanted in your psyche, as absolute truth. Like the memory of you killing Miss Chadwick, Boardman's supposed ex-paramour. While under the effects of the trigger, you honestly believed you had killed her. And since, by your nature, you would have certainly rallied against this, I also had to add some very delicate charm work to prevent you from doing that. Also, I had to add a mild compulsion for you to change the number sequence on that galleon I gave you whenever you felt that you've had a reprieve.

Then came the really hard part. I had to suppress your real memories of the week, which you had spent at the cottage house, recovering, with the false ones of you searching for her, and finally managing that, delivering her to death. The final aspect was to establish a phrase – I spoke when I met you just now – unique enough that it wouldn't be used around you before I got to meet you, which would then break the hold of the trigger and give you access to the correct set of your memories.

It was, as you can imagine, a complicated affair. I had to take into consideration your root behaviour and tie in certain locks in place so you didn't deviate from the story. It also involved some major uses of Confundus Charms as well as light behaviour modification. All these things are very volatile when working in an amalgamation and do not hold for long once the person realises that they had been behaving in a manner opposite to their inherent nature. Which is why you are only suffering from a simple but severe bout of headache and not running around like a headless chicken thinking you did two different things at the same time and also the reason why your brain isn't leaking out of your ears." Harry could see that Sirius was about to interrupt him and hastened to answer the unasked question.

"Why we did this? And here, when I am saying 'we', I mean you and me, Mr Black. Do remember that you agreed to go through with this. I admit I did not stop it, but that is only because it had seemed quite a harmless procedure back then. Had I known that it would cause you the discomfort of this magnitude, I would not have done the procedure. And before you decide to rage anyway, I would also like to remind you that it is because of these precautions that you are not sitting in a Ministry cell right now," he answered before giving the man a pointed stare to emphasize his point.

Sirius looked at him with scrutinizing eyes for what must have been a whole minute. In that minute, he didn't say anything, nor did fall to his need to blink. It was the first time in either of his lives when Harry had seen the intensity of his godfather's stare. The Blacks, all of them, had soulful grey eyes. Eyes capable of delivering everything they held within. Be it their madness or their love, their eyes showed it all. Sirius, after his stint at Azkaban, mirrored this quality of his family quite noticeably, as Harry could clearly see the edges of madness in his gaze as the man pondered over what Harry had done to him and if it had been malicious on his part. While it did send a pang in his heart to see his godfather look at him in such a way, it also signified one more thing. An important thing. Sirius was starting to come around to the idea of not believing things at face value even if the people who said those things had done him some major favours. And to Harry, that was an achievement worthy enough that even Sirius' hostile stare wasn't enough to put a damper on it.

As if the world had decided to move again, Sirius' stare relented and the man sighed deeply.

Having a little guilt on his part and seeing Sirius getting tired and withdrawn, he decided to throw his one last card.

"Mr Black, our relationship in this endeavour is based on trust. If that trust is lost on either of our parts, I do not think we will be able to work together. And to clear things, I can give you another oath that I did not and do not want any harm to befall you or Mr Potter. There is already a side in this venture who treats people like chess pieces. I can promise you, it is never our first course of action or second or third for that matter. There is a war coming, Mr Black, and the beings who were given the task of taking care of the world, don't care one whit what happens to it, or us all. We are the only ones we've got, Sirius. We need to be able to work together." With his peace said, Harry joined his hands on the table, waiting for the man to speak.

For a moment, it didn't look like Sirius had heard him. Then suddenly with a quick flourish, he brought out a wand from his robes and put it on the table, pointing towards Harry.

"No. I will not ask for an oath, Mr Kent," he said emphasising the name Harry had given him. "Oaths are finicky at best. My time with you has made me realise that a smart alec like you, would no doubt find a way around them if he was so inclined. I had seen you and pegged you for a snot-nosed kid who had somehow, gained his first magical majority a little too early. But even then, the reason that I had agreed for one(oath) before was that it was my only recourse at the time. In the cottage, I had gained clarity after what had felt like a century. Since you were helping me to get better and you did seem to have Harry's best interest at heart or had I not still felt the largely diminished but still pulsating connection with my godson, that my oath to him as his godfather had given me which told me he was still alive, I would not have let you do things your way…" Sirius paused here to look at Harry with his hard stare again before continuing, "…but it stops now. Whether I show it or not, I am a Black. We are not known to be amenable to those who betray us. Do keep that in mind before you do something as colossally stupid to mess with my mind without knowing the risks again, won't you?"

During his godfather's threat slash speech, Harry had kept his stare levelled at the man with his eyes slightly wide as if he had sprouted another head. He had forgotten something. Sirius was his godfather. His sworn godfather. He realised he would have to be careful when dealing with him. But something else struck him too. Never in either of his lives, had Sirius shown the backbone he was showing now. It also made him wonder why and how he hadn't realised this back when he had probed Sirius' mind? Then it came to him, he hadn't really been looking for something back then, just projecting. If Sirius kept his new – at least to him – found attitude, things would get easier in the long run, much easier.

Realising that Sirius had actually posed his threat – question – as one expectant of an answer rather than a rhetorical one, he responded, "It won't happen again, Mr Black. You have my word."

A single nod was all he got. But Sirius did lower the wand after a while.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence where both of them just sipped their tea, Sirius decided to roll the ball again.

"So, what is it?" He asked.

Not understanding the question, Harry simply raised his eyebrows in a gesture that told Sirius to elaborate.

"How is it you can do what you do? Your magic should not be stable enough for you to have this much control yet. Since I haven't seen you do any magic that requires more power than a second-year yet, I can only guess that you specialise in spells that require more control and finesse rather than brute force. Was I right? Did you do what I think you did to reach you magical majority earlier?" Sirius asked, genuinely confused about the abilities of the boy.

Harry sighed into his cup. Sirius was getting too close to things that he hadn't prepared himself to lie for. And to be honest, it was already too much to lie to one of his only remaining family members that he decided to forgo with the usual falsehood and thought it prudent to share something genuine.

"You can call me Harold, Mr Black. I think you have earned that much, at the very least," he started.

"Sirius then," he replied back.

Acknowledging the gesture with a calm nod, Harry spoke again, "As I have told you, I am not as young as I look. I apologise, but I cannot tell you how old I really am…"

"An oath or a vow?" Sirius interrupted.

"…Something like that. And to sate your curiosity, no, I have not yet managed to do what you are thinking of, to achieve my first magical majority that is." Looking to see if Sirius would let his inquisitiveness get the better of him again, he paused. When Sirius did nothing but stared at him expectantly, he relented. "You remember general magical theory for a magicals capacity to do magic? That our magical capacity is the combination of our mental and physical aspect of gathering magic?" he asked Sirius.

"Um…yeah, what of it?" Sirius inquired, confused with the line of questioning.

"Well, I am one of the anomalies of this theory. The most simple way to explain it would be that due to something that I cannot speak of, I have far exceeded in attaining my mental capacity for the magical resonance of the world to the standards that far leaves behind my physical capacity for doing magic. In other words, my control outstrips my power levels at this point in time." Harry finished.

Had Sirius been a deranged felon who had escaped prison after more than a decade under his belt and less than half of his mental faculties working, it could be easy to believe that he would have missed it. But a Sirius who was loads better with his daily dose of strengthening solutions which worked for both his body and mind and had not been incarcerated for as long, could clearly see what Harry was trying so hard not to say.

"But that doesn't mean you lack the power, does it? It just means it is not on par with your control. And since there is no concept of balance in magical theory, you can potentially wait for decades to achieve the power to go with the control that you have gained now." Sirius smirked.

"That may be so, but ask yourself this Sirius, do you think we have years?" And just like that, the slightly calm disposition of their conversation veered off into something serious.

"Way to kill the mood boyo," he remarked before continuing. "Hmm… You said that a war was coming. While I understand that what is happening at the Ministry is surreal, this isn't the first nor I believe would it be the last shady operation that an administration has created to push their own agenda. What makes you think it will escalate to a level to which you are clearly preparing for?" he asked to the now serious-looking kid-wizard.

Harry had thought a lot about how he would be fielding this question if someone ever asked him about it. He had thought of many elaborate theories he could spout of the side of his neck and still keep the people on track. With Sirius though, it all seemed to fall away. Because with him, it was different. Maybe it was because he had admitted to feeling lonely after all the years or maybe it was just a simple fact that he did not want to lie to his family… at least, more than he had to. But whatever it was, it made him realise that telling the truth at this point was prudent. And he did just that.

"Voldemort is alive."

It started with a chortle, then some chuckling and finally Sirius was laughing a full-bellied laugh which would have alerted other customers had it not been for the privacy of the spells weaved on their table. When it finally seemed to have stopped, Sirius looked at him with mirth in his eyes.

"Alright, I have to hear this one. The world knows what happened that night. Voldemort is dead, Harold. Harry destroyed him. I know that Minster's shenanigans have you and your pals spooked, but come on, do you honestly believe that he could have survived that night. I saw Harry in that memory you showed me. I saw his scar. If Harry survived the night, Voldemort couldn't have. And while we are on this, how did you even reach that conclusion in the first place?" Sirius asked confused.

For what felt like the twentieth time during the course of this conversation, Harry sighed. "Two things. First – everyone knows what happened that night is as stupid a logic as everyone knows Mr Potter is dead. Use your head, Sirius. If Mr Potter survived that night, how does it mean that Voldemort didn't? What proof do you have that he died? A black cloak that was left behind? Did they even find his wand? Second – how I reached the decision comes under the category of things I shouldn't tell you."

Sirius blinked. "Wait…shouldn't tell me? What's that supposed to mean?" He asked ignoring the jibe at his illogical leap.

"Sirius, for all essence and purposes, you are a spy. If I do tell you everything, it would be like putting all my eggs in one basket. Imagine for one second that you get caught. What then? I'll tell you what. The Ministry will know and more dangerously, Dumbledore will know and then you, me and everybody else in this venture would be getting their minds wiped or worse," Harry explained with as much patience as he could. It was wearing him thin, however. He wasn't used to talking to people much yet. This conversation marked the longest conversation he'd had in well over a year and from what he felt, it would be even longer still.

Sirius grimaced a little at that as if he had bitten something bitter. "I hadn't thought of it like that. Also, Dumbledore wouldn't do that. I know him. He wouldn't. You have to get over your fear that Dumbledore would harm you. I know, what they wrote in the papers and I heard what you told me about him but I haven't seen a single shred of proof that the man was involved in anything. He hasn't even come to his office in the Ministry even once ever since I have been there. Had he been the one colluding with the Minister, he would have shown up to those debriefings at least once, some of them seemed important enough for all parties involved to be there. Hell, even Fudge was there with his hat n' everything. It's probably the Ministry using his name to make their lie seem more believable. But I admit I do want to ask him some very pointed questions. Especially, what he was thinking when he put Harry with Lily's sister. And many, many more…but, he has always had a good reason for doing things the way he does. I will talk to the man before I make up my mind one way or the other. Also, I do not like this, Harold. I don't like being a spy. It's just not me. It makes me feel like I am…like I'm…"

"… Like you are doing what Snape did?" Harry finished for him, clenching his fists under the table to ignore the tripe about Dumbledore for now.

Scowling a little, Sirius replied with an affirmed grunt.

Taking a deep breath to stop his rampant thoughts of murdering long-bearded bastards, Harry spoke. "You are not him Sirius. You can never be him. He is a foul, self-serving, bigoted bastard who has destroyed many lives. You are nothing like him. Trust me, I know. I may not be able to tell you much but know this… you, Sirius Black, are a good man. I do not doubt that your friends up there are looking at you with proud feelings in their heart. And so should you be. You need to forgive yourself for whatever you think you did. Chasing the rat was more important than you realise and while not as compared to your still crying godson, but then you must have thought that he would be safer with Hagrid than you anyway. Whether you realised it or not, you were grieving Sirius, most likely it was the shock of it all that made you do what you did. I'm sure Mr Potter would forgive you for it just as I am sure that he would be more excited about finally having a loving family member than being angry at you for something he doesn't even remember.

And look at the present, you agreed to work inside the lion's den, in spite of knowing that they would most probably send you through the veil the moment they caught you. What does that make you, hunh? Surely…nothing like Severus Snape," Harry finished quietly.

A contemplative Sirius was looking into the distance as He wound down. Harry was just glad that he had been able to make Sirius think about things in his life. It had to be good enough for now. He would attempt to do more later but at present, Sirius needed to come to the given conclusions on his own.

'Maybe another memory from Harry would do some good?' he thought.

Harry cleared his throat to catch Sirius' attention. "Let's talk shop then."

Sirius leaned forward on the table a little before he spoke, "Yeah. But first, something's been bugging me for the last hour since the trigger released. You were very specific about which memories you suppressed and planted. What I don't understand is during that time, I knew that I was myself, that I was Sirius Black. How come they didn't catch me?"

Blinking in surprise at the question, Harry grinned. "Yeah. I suppose that must be bothering you. Well, the simple answer is… Robards is my bitch."

Seeing the amused but confused look on Sirius' face, he elaborated. "Before I sprung you out of the boat ride from hell, I didn't know exactly what was going on the inside and for some reason, I couldn't contact the others to find out. So for some three days, I was well and truly out of the loop. To resolve this, I had to accidentally bump into Auror Captain Gawain Robardsin an alley just behind Ministry entrance to catch up. He really has a weak mind. A little pressure and he was singing like a canary. While I don't think my hold on him would have lasted longer than this week, that is all I really needed.

Also, when he grabbed you in that apartment after your supposed week-long leave, I hit him with another compulsion charm to never directly ask you your name. As your name is something you are intimately familiar with, having been called that for as long as you can remember, I could not suppress or dissect it from your mind, which is also the reason that the trigger is a technique that can only be used when the person agrees to let it happen and also for things that are more recent. For other things, there are other behaviour modification spells that the obliviators of the Ministry use on people who have had to be obliviated more than once, to stop them from snooping. Anyway, You said they gave you Veritaserum? Was Robards the one questioning you?"

"Yeees?"

"Did he ask your name during questioning?"

Sirius stared at Harry with his mouth open. "No. He didn't. So you… That's why he…"

"Yup," Harry replied, still grinning.

"Man! You're one scary kid." Sirius remarked trying and failing to smother a chuckle.

"Anyway, what did you find out at the Ministry?" Harry asked getting a little serious.

"Well, there are eight people in the Minister's personal staff. His Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge, another Undersecretary, Alvina Afton – for Merlin knows what reason, I have never seen that woman work the entire time I was there. Then there are the six Aurors that answer directly to Fudge with apparently your bitch, Robards as their captain. These six people know of the exchange that they believe they have pulled off successfully. Also, it was supposedly Umbridge's idea to spin-off the attack on Privet Drive as an undercover operation going on for years. They have even pushed for commendations for all six Aurors and even Lucy Malfoy for some reason and for me too, I suppose." Harry raised his eyebrows at that. "Yeah. I know. Surprised me too. They are going to great lengths to make this seem like a legitimate operation, aren't they?" Sirius semi-asked.

Not even wondering along the same lines of thought as his godfather, he muttered a muffled yes before asking a question of his own.

"Anything else?"

Sirius paused to think on something for a few seconds before he spoke, "Well, there is…but I don't know how it even matters considering the thing will be stuck in limbo for a long time before they are able to get anything out of it. It's about the Black Vaults in Gringotts. The Ministry thinks that since the last legitimate Black is dead, they would be able to access the vaults. Goblins, obviously, disagree. Dirk Creswell, Head of the Goblin liaison office, he nearly pissed himself when that pink wearing harridan called him in the debriefing room and all but shouted at him for delaying her darling Minister's orders," Sirius answered.

Harry had been worried about this for weeks now. Goblin culture, outside the battle, wasn't as honourable as they made the wizards believe. While they did not ever outright steal from their own account holders, there were rumours of a few clans in Gringotts that tended to side with the wizards as long as they were given their fair share. While the practice was said to have been curbed during the time when Boneslaw Ragnok of the Boneslaw clan had fought and won to the right to be their King – which was now, at this point in time – they never knew for certain what had gone on inside the mined halls of the Sovereign Nation. And thus he couldn't use this knowledge to make any sturdy plans. Looking at Sirius, he decided to impress upon his godfather the truth of the matter.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Sirius. Whatever goblins may be, they have their own sense of honour, we really cannot expect them to keep saying no to the ministry. I suppose as you've never even donned on your Heir ring, you wouldn't know anything about who among the goblins tended to the Black accounts?"

"No, I don't. When father acceded to become the Head of the house, I had been in my fifth year at Hogwarts. During the holidays, when I came back, I heard that they had decided to support their precious Dark Lord. It was during that year I was supposed to be taken to Gringotts to don my ring. Some stuff happened and I went to live with the Potters. Since I had never been inside Gringotts other than to withdraw some money, I have no clue who handles the Black accounts." Sirius explained.

"Yeah, I figured as much. Well, it's going to be a difficult job to openly wrestle the control of the vaults with the Ministry. Hang on, how are they paying you now?"

"Oh, they have set up a stipend for me from the operational budget. The fuckers are taking the money from DMLE's budget and putting it in their pockets. Mine too, I suppose. I am guessing Director Bones found out about this recently, I was in the room when that Afton woman came and told Robards that Madam Bones had asked to see him urgently."

This caught Harry's interest. He was asking a follow-up question as soon as Sirius stopped talking. "Bones asked for Robards specifically? Did you get to hear why?"

"No. Why? Is it important?" Sirius asked, bemused.

"It could be Sirius. I have something in play there. You see, the last instruction that I gave Robards was to add a specific name on to a list he was making for her department. Never mind that, the point is, till we get the Black Vaults in your control, we are running on fumes, Sirius. The last of my cache was spent on getting the supplies for your potions. I have just got…" he reversed his pockets on the table "…two sickles left. I do have something in mind to change this but I would need your help with that. Also, I need half of your stipend…" he paused.

Sirius looked at him like he had asked him for a kidney. "You need half of the pitiful stipend they are giving me? Half? Do you know how much my stipend is?" without waiting for a response he continued. "200Ǥ, Kent. 200Ǥ for a whole fucking month. You want me to give you 100Ǥ. Just like that?… You know…I was…What do you even need it for?" he grumbled.

Harry scowled at him at that. "It's not even your money, you mutt. And I already told you, I would need your help with what I have planned so you would know it either way. But for now, I need it to buy some potion ingredients. I need to prepare something for the lunar eclipse next week."

Sirius stiffened for a moment when he heard Harry call him a 'mutt'. He narrowed his eyes before sighing and shaking his head a little. "Alright. But just a hundred. And just this once. The potions you gave me for my recovery are running low, I'd have to buy more soon. And…" He stopped when he saw Harry was looking at him with a dumbfounded expression. Getting annoyed at that, Sirius asked. "What?"

"You…you have been throwing away the empty potion vials?" Harry asked still looking at Sirius in that strange open-eyed manner.

"Yeees. They were empty. That is what you do with empty vials, you throw them, I suppose one could vanish it too, but that's just being lazy."

Harry answered with gritted teeth. "No, Mr Black, that is most certainly not what you do with an empty potion vial that a healer gives you. You see they have a charm on them, so they refill automatically, till your healer finds it appropriate." He paused to take a deep breath and also to stop himself from magically cuffing his godfather back at the head. "Give me a list of what you have thrown away already, I'll give you the replacements. And from now on, if a potion vial is running low, just tap on it with your wand, it will refill itself. Seriously, Sirius. I have been in the magical world for a lot less time than you have, how do I know this and you don't?"

Sirius gave him a sheepish chuckle and brought out a vial of which had a sliver of purplish potion left in it. He had to tap it twice before the vial refilled itself with the strengthening solution. Harry was watching him do this and when he looked closely at the wand, it suddenly hit him.

Sirius didn't have his own wand. And he was inside the Ministry for a whole week. How the fuck had he missed that?

Looking at Sirius sharply, he decided to address the problem before it got his godfather killed. "Sirius, I am sorry. I…It just slipped my mind. I didn't realise it until just now. But you're here. We will take care of it right now. I think I…"

"Take care of what? Why are you saying you're sorry? Just hold on a minute. Explain." Sirius interrupted.

"I didn't realise that you don't have your own wand. Yours was destroyed, I think. You have had to use Boardman's for a week and I had sent you there. It's not the kind of thing I am used to missing, Sirius. And it's not the first thing I have missed either. I need to stop doing this," Harry explained, peevishly.

By the time he had finished, Sirius was looking at him with a slight frown. Shaking his head he addressed the kid-wizard again. "Well…it alright. Nothing happened, right? I am still here. Handsome as ever. But we do have to take care of this. I can't be inside that place without a wand suited to me. I can't believe the thought didn't register in my head and I was the one using the damn thing."

"We can fix this. What do you remember of your old wand?" asked Harry.

"Ah! That beauty. You know, it was actually the first wand in two generations of Blacks that didn't come from the family vaults. Mother had to take me to Ollivanders to get me my own. She was right snippy the whole way too. It had taken the old man around fifteen minutes to get me my match. I think he was delaying on purpose, just to see her get more and more frustrated. But when he gave me that ol' thing… I still remember feeling whole again. Like I had gained a part of me I didn't even know I was missing. Ebony, slightly bendy, fourteen inches having its core as a dragon heartstring, one from an exceptionally Wily Swedish Short-Snout, or so Ollivander told me," he said in a slightly melancholic voice.

Harry was looking at the wand in his hand as he mentally checked the boxes for its similarities with the wand Sirius was describing. He still didn't have a clue what the wand he was using carried as it's core, but most other things were almost an exact match. Deciding to check his theory, he slid the wand on the table towards Sirius.

Sirius raised a brow at that. "What? You think yours will work better than what I am using now?"

"I don't really know. But it seems to check at least two of the characteristics of your old one. And it's not really mine. Go ahead, give it wave," he said encouragingly.

Sirius looked sceptically at the wand but picked it up. A few sparks shot out of the wand as soon as he gave it a wave.

Harry looked at him with a small smile as he remarked, "You were saying…"

Having calmed down after the familiar warm feeling had subsided within him, Sirius opened his eyes. "That was a rush. Didn't think, I would still remember how it felt when I had my wand in my hand for the first time back after all that time in Azkaban. I was never able to hold on to that feeling in there. Every night they allowed the Dementors to roam outside the cells. Like they were deliberately purging any coherent or solid memory I could muster to keep myself from giving up. Most nights, I used to turn in…" he paused as if struggling with something and then sighed. "Well, it's resisting me a bit, I can feel it. But it is still much, much better than the old one. Are you giving me this then?" he eventually asked.

"Yeah. Can't have you walking in the Ministry with that…" he waved his hand towards Boardman's brownish wand "…in your hand, can I?! I will think of something for myself. A point of note, do not ever bring this wand out in front of an Unspeakable. Don't ask me why. Just don't do it. Also, it has a magical discharge dampening array etched onto it. It helps with low to medium powered spells. And now, how good are you with binding transfigurations?"

Scratching his chin as he pondered the question, he replied, "Pretty good, I think? In our year, only James was better at it than I was and that is because he was just insane with what he could do with his wand when it came to transfiguration. Why do you ask?"

Harry didn't say anything for a while. He was actually imagining his father doing something spectacularly stupid with his transfiguration skills to impress his mother. Others had told him, that he had, in fact, done just that, and more than once. Hearing Sirius say it, brought out a happy little smile on his face. And then he remembered his godfather had asked him a query.

"I just thought it would be better if you transfigured your new wand to look like Boardman's. The runic array will not be affected but it will still be visible if someone looked at your wand closely. So, don't let it get to that. Yeah?"

"Alright. Let's do this." Three tries with a now thoroughly resisting brown wand later, Sirius had managed to get it just right enough to pass scrutiny. "That took a shit load of power," he grumbled.

"A wand which doesn't owe you it's allegiance would always resist you every step of the way unless it bonds with you. Like you did with your new one. Anyways, I have a task for you."

"What task?" Sirius asked, intrigued.

"In a few days, Bones will try to send a few feelers out, it would be subtle but now that I have told you about it, you'd be able to tell when she is doing it. If she does it before the lunar eclipse next week, make contact with her. Slowly. Remember this Sirius. You are not there to charm her pants off. For her, you will be a mark she is trying to get the information from. She just won't know that you want to give her that information. Tell her little things that would pique her interest but don't show her your hand. It needs to be delicate. Director Bones would not like it when she finds out she's been played. And therefore, you will be respectful of her station and intelligence."

That got Sirius' attention. It was the first thing that Harold had asked him to do. And boy, it was a biggie. Amelia Bones was as ferocious as she was cunning. To try to deceive her…it was a tall order. But he would do it. Even if it was to find out what Harold was planning, he would charm…unh…persuade, the Director to do their bidding. He was, after all, Sirius fucking Black and there was no woman who could say no to him. Well, except his mother, or that crazy bitch Bellatrix, or Narcissa, or that girl from the sixth year. Meh! So there were some women who could say no to him, but most couldn't. As he said. He was Sirius fu…"

"Yeah, are you done with that? Sirius, even if I was a wet behind the year firstie, I would still have been able to see that monologue that was running in your head. You were damn near projecting it. Close your head. And remember what I said. She is dangerous. She will eat you and then come for me. Capisce, Sirius fucking Black?" Harry interrupted.

"Hehe…Yeah, Got it," replied his sheepishly smiling godfather.

Shaking his head at the technically-older man-child's antics, he sighed.

They talked some more about other less important things after that. A couple of hours later, as the meeting was wounding down, Harry decided to ask the important question.

"So…about that 100Ǥ…"

-x-x-x-x-x-

~ Review Please ~

A/N – Damn! That was a big one. Follow and Review the story, please. While I would do it either way but I have recently realised that it does make me want to write more when I see people are appreciating this. Also, I have foreshadowed and hinted at more than a few things in this chapter. For those who get it right, there will be a…big ass thumbs-up waiting in their PM inbox. :P

(Ǥ) – Galleon

Thanks. Stay Tuned for more.