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Chapter Text

"Ron?" Harry called frantically, scrambling up, his hands - white from all the dust and debris - desperately trying to shift the rocks. "Ron! Are you okay?" 

"Harry!" Ron sounded only relieved, so he couldn't have been harmed too badly. "I'm fine! Lockhart's alive too - even though he got blasted." There was a dull thud and a loud "ow!" It sounded as though Ron had just kicked Lockhart in the shins.' You?" 

"I'm good!" Harry shouted back. Amidst the mess he caught sight of a struggling animal almost indistinguishable from it - Scabbers. He hadn't realized Ron had brought him along. He scooped the limp rat up, tucking him into his robe. "I have Scabbers!"

Ron swore, likely checking his pockets from the clapping noise. "I forgot I had him. What do we do? We can't get through this!"

The desperation in his voice was obvious. Noise came as though he was scrabbling at the rocks.

"Be careful! It looks like it's going to cave in," Harry warned.

"But then it'll take too much time!" Ron said miserably.

Harry knew there was only one thing to do. "Wait there," he called to Ron. "Wait with Lockhart, try to clear this up a bit. I'll go on.... If I'm not back in an hour. ."

There was a very pregnant pause. "Okay," Ron answered, subdued. "And Harry—"

His voice cracked.

Harry did not want to hear the end of that sentence. "See you," he said quickly and hopefully not too shakily.

As he made his way through the slimy tunnels, farther away from any sign of life and his best friend, through the door with the creepy snakes on it, the - not fear - but something similar at what he might find at the end caused all his nerve ends to tingle.

Heart in his throat, he reached out for Scabbers, who was awake now, and urgently nudging his fingers. The feel of the soft fur calmed him.

Maybe he should've left the rat with Ron - the basilisk would've had one less being to terrorize then. Then again, Scabbers was trembling so much even now; he might have been even more afraid at being left alone in the tunnel, able to hear his master but not see him.

He raised his wand as the tunnel seemed to widen, heart pounding fast. He could barely see with how closed his eyes were out of fear of the basilisk.

When he spotted red, he rushed forward, eyes widening heedlessly. "Ginny?" He called breathlessly, falling to his knees next to her. His heart nearly stopped when he saw there were traces of blood on her hands - looking like it had been washed off, but not nearly enough.

He tried desperately to recall the reviving spell he'd hear older years use more than once, shaking Ginny rougher and rougher as seconds went by without her so much as stirring. She was as limp under his hands as Scabbers had been.

It was the rat's squeak that alerted him to something going on.

He whirled around, wand raised again to see a familiar figure. "Tom?"

"She won't wake," Tom Riddle said slowly as though savouring the words, though sourly eyeing Harry's wand. He lowered it, glad to see someone he knew.

"What do you mean?" He demanded, voice trembling. "Why won't she wake up? She isn't - she's breathing—"

"She's alive," Tom confirmed, not looking as happy as the news ought to prompt. Harry didn't really care about that, though, as relief flooded him. He'd felt and heard her breathing, as soft and irregular it was, but he trusted Tom's judgement over his own.

"But only just," he continued, very softly. The voice echoed around the chamber nonetheless.

"She - she's dying?" He didn't dwell on this. "C'mon, we need to get her out of here, to Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore—"

"Dumbledore," Tom snarled, and it was now that Harry properly looked at him, form still translucent, but more solid than he'd been when he'd shown Harry his memory. Face twisted in a dangerous looking expression.

Unease filled him. There was something funny going on here.

"Let's get out of here," he said impatiently, pointing his wand at Ginny and floating her with the spell he'd seen McGonagall use on the petrified.

Tom laughed. "Oh, you won't be going anywhere anytime soon." He forefully lowered Harry's wand, and he only just prevented Ginny from falling with a thud in the nick of time.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He lost his temper. "You do know there's a basilisk here, right? You were wrong about Hagrid and Aragog!"

"That thing had a name?" The older boy asked distastefully, and continued before Harry could answer. "And I'm never wrong, Harry Potter."

Harry had only ever heard that sibilant hiss of his name once in real life, though it featured in his nightmares often enough. He took a step back, alarmed.

"We need to get out of here before the basilisk decides to attack," he urged again, not able to understand what was going on, but instinct still making him stand in front of Ginny like a human shield.

"Don't worry, it won't," Tom replied, his tone pleasant again, making him wonder if he'd supplanted Voldemort's voice over the boy's. But why would he remind him of the Dark Lord? They were nothing alike.

Then the words registered. "How would you know?" He asked suspiciously, his wand going up automatically.

Tom smiled now, greedy. "Because I ordered it not to until we finished our conversation."

A moment of silence.

"You're the Heir of Slytherin," Harry whispered, horrified. Scabbers squeaked and burrowed himself more inside.

"The one and only," Tom hummed, gaze not shifting from Harry's face. "But I doubt you mean what I do by those words. If you wish to accuse someone of attacking your precious mudblood friend, you should look behind yourself."

"Don't call Her— what? Ginny?! She wouldn't do that! You're a liar!"

Riddle's visage darkened. "I would be more careful with your words, Harry." Then he smiled tolerantly as though Harry was a child to be indulged.

No. Like he was an inconvenience to be indulged.

"Of course, you're right. Little Ginny wouldn't attack anyone - of her own volition. But, you see, she made the mistake of trusting a stranger."

Harry grew more and more horrified as Tom told the story of how he'd manipulated and enchanted Ginny with growing entertainment.

"You're a monster," he whispered.

Far from his reaction to the last descriptor Harry'd used, he only looked smug. "And you don't even know most of what I've done."

"I know you killed Myrtle," Harry spat. "And framed Hagrid for it."

"My beginning," Riddle agreed, looking proud. "The beginning of Lord Voldemort."

The strangled squeak that escaped Scabbers encapsulated exactly how Harry felt in that moment. "What the hell are you talking about?" He asked weakly. "Voldemort was after your time."

"Voldemort was my future," Riddle intoned, the mixed tenses making no sense to Harry. "Don't you wonder why I want to talk to you? Why I haven't killed you yet?"

Harry swallowed. "Why?"

"Because I want to know how you - a baby - defeated me - the greatest sorcerer in the world!"

"You can't be Voldemort," he argued, despite the feeling that it was futile. "He -" A thought occurred to him. "You said you were a memory." He could hear the heavy, disbelieving dread in his voice, feel it in the pit of his stomach.

Riddle smiled, clearly pleased Harry was finally getting it. "The memory of Lord Voldemort meant to guide the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. Tom Marvolo Riddle - as though I would keep my filthy muggle father's name when it could be reshaped into one so much better suited."

Harry stared at the flickering ghost-like man. This was the person who had killed his parents, whom he had thwarted last year.

Scabbers leapt out of his pocket abruptly, before he could finish processing the information. Harry was too startled to even call out for him as he scurried towards the threat, to Riddle, who didn't look any less surprised, staring disgustedly down at him.

And suddenly, in a second, there was no longer a rat. Instead there was a man, kneeling at Riddle's feet. He was short, hair brown but with colourless streaks - aged byong his years, features stretched as though not used to being worn, gaunt with the hint of plumpness.

That - that was Ron's rat, right? Harry checked the floor instinctively to see if he had missed the rat still there.

"Master!" He cried out in supplication, joining his hands. "I knew you would return! I had faith! And as then, I remain your humble servant, Peter Pettigrew!"

Chapter Text

Ron's rat—was a man?

A man named Peter Pettigrew?

Who apparently served Tom Riddle—or Voldemort.

Pettigrew was still talking. Riddle's ghost? apparition? kicked at him. "What do you mean, you filthy rat?" He snarled.

"I—I served you during the war, my lord! I spied for you on the Order of the Phoenix, the organization Dumbledore led against you. I even gave you the Potters!" Pettigrew pointed wildly at Harry, whose mouth had gone slack. "They made me their Secret Keeper for the Fidelius and I betrayed them to you!"

"So you're the reason my older self died." Riddle's voice was soft.

Pettigrew flinched bodily. "I—no, my lord."

"That is what I gathered from your little speech." He raised his hand. "Crucio!"

Pettigrew screamed like Harry had never heard before in his life. Even from someone who was apparently his parents' betrayer, the sound made him flinch back. He wanted to run away, but he couldn't leave Ginny here.

Could Riddle do that to him too? Wandlessly? Why wasn't he, then?

"I do have a lack of decent servants right now," Riddle mused. "So I suppose for now you will do."

Pettigrew fell to his knees again then went down in full obeisance, kissing the ground at Riddle's feet. Harry was beyond revolted. His stomach turned. How could he do that to the man who had caused him so much pain just now?

Were all of Voldemort's Death Eaters like that? Would they truly be loyal even at their own expense?

"Thank you, my lord," he gasped, still shaking. "Thank you so much."

His parents' killer and the one who had given them to him—the reasons he had grown up at the Dursleys', an orphan—in the same room.

Harry swallowed his anger and pain as they turned to him. Too late, he realized he could have levitated Ginny and gotten out of here by now.

Or not.

Because Riddle was behind him in the blink of an eye. He wasn't fully corporeal yet, so maybe that was how he was able to do it.

"So, tell me," he said pleasantly, as though they were having a conversation about school and he was just another students rather than the person who murdered his parents.

Except. . . His younger self.

"When he—" He nodded at Pettigrew, who was still on his knees. "Sent me to your house and I tried to kill you, how did you survive?"

"Why the hell would I tell you that?" Harry demanded.

"Because the longer you talk, you survive," Riddle said with an awful smile.

Harry was the one with the wand. Then why did he feel so scared?

If it had to come to a fight, better now than later.

"No one knows why you lost your powers when you attacked me," said Harry abruptly. "I don't know myself. But I know why you couldn't kill me. Because my mother died to save me. My common Muggle-born mother," he added, shaking with suppressed rage. "She stopped you killing me. And I've seen the real you, I saw you last year. You're a wreck. You're barely alive. That's where all your power got you. You're in hiding. You're ugly, you're foul—"

Riddle swallowed, eyes glowing red with rage. Harry suppressed a shiver. "So. Your mother died to save you. Yes, that's a powerful countercharm. I can see now ... there is nothing special about you, after all. I wondered, you see. There are strange likenesses between us, after all. Even you must have noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself. We even look something alike ... but after all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me. That's all I wanted to know."

"We are nothing alike," he spat. "I'm a Gryffindor!"

"And Dumbledore's golden boy, I suppose," Riddle sneered. "He never trusted me."

This was a sore point, Harry realized. He capitalized on it: "And he was right! How did it feel, to know the greatest wizard in the world could see right through you?"

"He is not the greatest wizard in the world! He couldn't even save his school!"

"He's not gone like you might think!" Harry shot back. "The school will always help those who ask for it!"

He was shouting at random, hoping, wishing that Dumbledore's final words before he'd left had meant something, had been some sort of message—

"He couldn't even see a spy in his own organization!" Pettigrew snorted.

Riddle shot him a look and he shut his mouth, mumbling apologies.

They were interrupted by music coming from somewhere. Riddle whirled around to stare down the empty Chamber. The music was growing louder. It was eerie, spine-tingling, unearthly; it lifted the hair on Harry's scalp and made his heart feel as though it was swelling to twice its normal size. Then, as the music reached such a pitch that Harry felt it vibrating inside his own ribs, flames erupted at the top of the nearest pillar.

A bird appeared—Dumbledore's phoenix!

A second later, the bird was flying straight at Harry. It dropped the ragged thing it was carrying at his feet, then landed heavily on his shoulder.

The bird stopped singing. It sat still and warm next to Harry's cheek, gazing steadily at Riddle.

"Fawkes?" Harry breathed, and he felt the bird's golden claws squeeze his shoulder gently. Hope filled him—if Dumbledore had sent the bird, and the thing—

"And that—" said Riddle, now eyeing the ragged thing that Fawkes had dropped, "That's the old school Sorting Hat—"

So it was.

Riddle began to laugh now—an eerie, high sound. He laughed so hard that the dark chamber rang with it, as though ten Riddles were laughing at once "This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?"

Not safe, no. But he felt lighter now, better equipped to face danger, less desperate, no despair.

He would save Ginny, with Dumbledore's help or not.

He would get out of here.

This resolution was to be tested immediately: Riddle turned to the great statue at the heart of the Chamber. Harry turned slightly to face it too, but not entirely, having to keep an eye on Riddle. "Let's see how the great Gryffindor Harry Potter, along with the best weapons his dear mentor can give him—a songbird and a hat—fares against the powers of the Heir of Slytherin!"

"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four," he hissed in Parseltongue.

A great groaning noise erupted from inside the statue, stone moving and opening, and a sliding noise. Something was slithering out from in there.

Harry knew instantly what it was. He turned away completely and backed up against the wall of the Chamber.

Then he heard Riddle's hissing voice: "Kill him."

How was he meant to fight the King of Snakes?

He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut and raising his wand.

He had to try.

Chapter Text

Harry might not lack in spirit, but he absolutely did in resources.

As Riddle had pointed out, a bird and a hat were no match for him and the basilisk.

But then he thought about Ginny dying to power the spirit of Lord Voldemort, their bodies lying forever down in the chamber, and his resolve strengthened.

Closing his eyes, he racked his brain for any spells that might come in useful right now. He could use the Reductor curse they'd learned only recently, but that might bring the Chamber down upon them.

Was it worth it? He and Ginny, lost forever?

But Riddle would be gone too.

Decision made, he pointed his wand in the vague direction of the Slythering statue just as the Basilisk gave a loud shriek.

Harry couldn't help it—he shaded his eyes and was careful to look in the direction of the tail, but he had to open his eyes.

To his astonishment, Fawkes was fighting the basilisk.

"The songbird has plenty of use, it seems," he quipped at Riddle.

Riddle looked mutinous. "The boy!" He hissed. "Ignore the bird! Go after the boy!"

"Master, it's trying to blind the snake!" Pettigrew cried out.

Riddle raised his hand. "It can't when it's dead! Avada Kedavra!"

Harry knew the spell wouldn't work, not wandless, somehow. But he also knew a simple shield wouldn't block it.

He could feel it, somewhere deep in his bones.

This spell sent a chill down his spine for some reason. As though it had triggered a long-lost memory.

The same way making coloured sparks brought nostalgia, this brought a cold certainty.

But this spell was directed at Fawkes, not him. His eyes found the diary immediately, and with a slight grin at the memory of the troll, made it float right in front of the green light. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Riddle screamed as though in pain—and Harry shuddered, reminded of what he'd used on Pettigrew.

"Master! Master, are you alright?" Pettigrew fussed. "The Killing Curse—did it—?"

The Killing Curse. So that's what it was.

Harry knew immediately why it had felt so familiar.

So lost in thought and rage and memory and grief, he didn't notice the Basilisk thrashing near him as blood poured out of its eyes. He hurriedly leapt out of the way, now able to keep his eyes open thanks to Fawkes.

He landed on the diary he'd used, and looked between it and Riddle. If that curse on the diary had hurt or weakened him. . . .

"Incendio!" He cried out and pointed his wand at the diary.

Sure enough, Riddle flinched, but didn't otherwise seem affected. "It'll take more than that to destroy my horcrux, Potter," he smirked, then switched to Parseltongue. "You can still smell the boy! Go after him!"

Harry didn't have time to contemplate the unfamiliar word or more ways to hurt the diary—he was too occupied by the Basilisk.

But if Fawkes had been of such immense help. . .

He darted for the Sorting Hat as the Basilisk snarled, going after him. It was behind Pettigrew, who squealed and ducked in terror.

Harry jammed it onto his head. "Help!" He said out loud, and help arrived, literally, on his head.

Blinking stars out of his eyes, he reached out to the object and realized it was a sword—a beautiful one, silver with rubies encrusted in the hilt.

Harry had no experience with weapons like this—unless one counted dodging Dudley's Smeltings stick—but he had always thought experience to be the best teacher.

He hefted it up and experimentally swung it—at Pettigrew, who screamed again and ran out of the way.

He turned to the Basilisk, sword in one hand and diary and wand in the other, adrenaline and terror coursing through his veins in equal measure along with a strange sense of reckless confidence.

Harry knew enough to aim for the weak spots. The eyes were too high up for him to reach. So the mouth it had to be.

First, though, he had to try something else. He ran again, this time for Riddle, who was behind Pettigrew, still hissing desperately at the Basilisk, moving out of the way of the flailing beast still unused to its lack of sight.

He stabbed the sword clean through the diary. Riddle only laughed at him, glee in his eyes. "Your Gryffindor is no match for the powers of the heir of Salazar Slytherin!" He proclaimed.

Harry's eyes fell to the inscription on the sword. Godric Gryffindor was indeed what it said.

Before he could marvel at it, the basilisk roared, having knocked Pettigrew out of the way. It opened its giant maw, clearly intending to consume Harry in one giant bite.

Biting back his fear, he stabbed the sword—still in the diary—again at the mouth.

He achieved his goal, for his aim was true—the sword went straight through the roof of the monster's mouth, but it got stuck in one of the fangs, that pierced the diary.

Riddle gave a howl. When Harry glanced over, he was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing and then he was gone.

Black liquid poured out of the diary, torrents of it, that blinded Harry and some of which went into his gaping mouth.

This was why he didn't notice another fang piercing his arm as the great basilisk keeled over until it was too late.

The Chamber spun around. Harry stumbled and fell to his knees.

"Master. . .?" Pettigrew asked groggily, and this reminded him of the existence of people other than himself.

Ginny, he thought.

She'd be okay, he reassured himself immediately as Fawkes settled onto the arm, crooning softly, obviously trying to comfort him. Riddle was gone now, so he couldn't suck the life out of her anymore. Ron would get through the blockade of rocks, bring the teachers with him. Find her.

And Pettigrew.

His vision darkening at the edges, he nevertheless looked for the man, the traitor. Who had sold out his parents apparently. Who had pretended to be their friend.

He was dangerous. Harry needed to fight him.

Fawkes nudged him as he tried lifting his wand, having dropped it and the sword while falling. "I need to do something before I go," he muttered sluggishly.

There were two Pettigrews. He aimed at somewhere in the middle. "Petrificus Totalus!"

There was a thud, he was pretty sure. That meant it had worked, hopefully.

Would the spell last past his death? He hoped so. Fawkes was crying now.

"Hey," he said quietly, as the pain, at last, began to fade. Dying wasn't so bad after all. "Don't cry. It's okay. I've done what I needed to."

Saved his best mate's sister, caught the man who betrayed his parents and led them to their deaths.

And now he would die honourably like them, and maybe, just maybe, be with them.

He closed his eyes, letting the darkness take over.

Chapter Text

"Harry? Harry, wake up!"

Harry woke to an anxious voice that sounded absolutely nothing like Aunt Petunia's—it was too high and worried.

"Ginny?" He asked groggily, for a moment not remembering where he was, what had happened. "Ginny! Are you okay?"

The girl looked fearful, eyes darting here and there. "Where's Tom?"

"He's gone," he promised her. "I destroyed the diary." He pointed out the thing which still had the sword and fang stuck through it.

She sniffed, wrapping her hands around herself. "Then I'm fine."

She didn't sound fine.

"Come on, let's get out of here."

Fawkes perched on Harry's shoulder, crooning soothingly at Ginny as she tearfully explained what had happened, despite Harry's protests that she didn't need to, that she ought to take it easy.

"—And then you wouldn't wake up," Ron's sister babbled through tears. "I was so scared, I thought I'd killed you—"

"Even if I had died, it wouldn't have been your fault," he said firmly. "Do you mind holding the hat? I have to take the sword and Pettigrew."

"Who is that?" She asked, taking the proffered object. "Is he—did he help Tom?"

"Of a sort," he said grimly. "Come on, I'll explain along the way."

After a little more chivvying, they were soon on their way out, reaching the cave-in where he'd left Ron and Lockhart.

That felt like an age ago.

"Ginny!" Ron exclaimed, voice cracking with relief as he pulled his sister into a long, fierce embrace. "Thank Merlin! Harry, I—who is that?"

"That's Peter Pettigrew," Harry said, having to tell someone. "Apparently he's the one who sold my parents out to Voldemort."

Ron even forgot to shudder and shush him at the name in his shock and outrage. "What?!"

"Oh, and he was Scabbers," Harry added, just remembering.

"What?"

It occurred to Harry just then he could have broken the news in a gentler manner, but he tried to explain, citing McGonagall as an example, that Scabbers had transformed into this man and proclaimed his loyalty to the Heir of Slytherin.

"I don't believe it!" Ron said, and Harry flinched. "I let him sleep in my bed!"

"You—you believe me?"

"'Course, mate, why would you lie about something like that?" Ron asked, sounding bewildered.

Harry felt a warmth rise in him that more than dispelled the grime and terror of the chamber.

"How are we going to get out of here with two deadweights, though?" Ron asked.

"Two?" Harry asked, and then noticed Lockhart, who had a wide grin plastered on his face.

"Hello!" He said airily.

"His memory's gone," said Ron. "The Memory Charm backfired. Hit him instead of us. Hasn't got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait here. He's a danger to himself, and even less use than he was before."

Fawkes swooped off Harry's shoulder and shook his tailfeathers at him. Ron blinked at the bird, seemingly taking it in stride after all this. "Looks like he wants you to grab hold. But how can he—?"

"He's not an ordinary bird," Harry told him. "He saved my life from the basilisk."

Ginny let out another sob at the mention of the beast, and Harry winced, shaking his head at his friend when he opened his mouth to ask. "We have to hold onto each other," he said hurriedly.

"I'll take Pettigrew," Ron said with grim certainty. "He was my rat, after all."

So it transpired that they were flown out of the Chamber in a manner that Harry thoroughly wished he could experience more of—as much as he loved brooms and quidditch.

Fawkes led them straight to Professor McGonagall's office, before settling back on Harry's arm—the one he'd healed, he realized. He was more than welcome to the perch.

Harry knocked and then they entered, in probably the oddest procession to ever go in that office.

"Ginny!" It was Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire. She leapt to her feet, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, and both of them flung themselves on their daughter.

Professor Dumbledore beamed, looking deeply relieved. Professor McGonagall, next to him, was taking great, steadying breaths.

Mrs. Weasley turned to him and Ron, grabbing them in a hug. "You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?"

"Who is that?" Professor McGonagall pointed at Pettigrew, who'd been shoved in by Ron. He was still petrified, but clearly awake now, eyes darting everywhere in fear. "He—he looks familiar. Is he the Heir of Slytherin?"

"No," Harry said, and began to explain.

He hesitated over how to explain that Ginny had not been at fault for any of it, that it had all been Riddlemort. But Professor Dumbledore saved him there.

Mrs. Weasley burst into tears, same as her daughter, and Mr. Weasley clutched at the two of them, face pale. "Oh, Ginny," he said sadly.

"Tell them about Scabbers, Harry," Ron urged.

"Scabbers!" Mrs. Weasley sounded bewildered, voice shaky. "What's your rat got to do with this, Ron?"

"He transformed into him," Harry explained. "Like you do into a cat, Professor McGonagall. Then he went to Riddle—Voldemort—" Shrieks at the name. "And called himself his loyal servant, Peter Pettigrew."

Then a marvellous thing happened: Headmaster Dumbledore's jaw dropped into an unseemly gape. Professor McGonagall collapsed into a chair. "Peter Pettigrew!" She said faintly. "But he's dead!"

"Obviously not," Ron muttered, and his mother shushed him.

"It seems Sirius Black did not kill him after all," Headmaster Dumbledore sounded far away. "I must floo the Ministry at once—"

"Who's Sirius Black?" Harry asked at once. "Sir, this man—Pettigrew—said he spied on your organization against Voldemort during the first war. That—that he betrayed my parents to him." Annoyingly, his voice cracked as he said the final sentence.

"Albus!" Professor McGonagall put her face in her hands. "If that is true, then Sirius Black—in Azkaban eleven years—Potter's godfather—"

"My what?" Harry's voice rose in disbelief.

He'd never been told he had a single scrap of family other than the Dursleys left.

"A godfather?" Ron, knowing this, scowled. "Why the hell did Harry not know he had one?"

"Ron! Don't speak to them that way!" Mrs. Weasley scolded, but her voice lacked her usual fervour.

"But Mum, Harry has a right to know—"

"Because he's in Azkaban, Mr. Weasley," Headmaster Dumbledore said weakly. "The—"

"Wizard prison," Harry finished. "I know."

"An innocent man in Azkaban, that horrible place—" Mr. Weasley shuddered.

"Enough," Professor Dumbledore said firmly. "Miss Weasley must go to the hospital wing at once, I think she has been through quite enough."

Ginny, who had been watching this interplay with wide eyes, looked torn between relief and indignance at missing the further goings-on. Exhaustion seemed to win out; she lay her head on her mother's shoulder and closed her eyes.

"And I will summon the Minister's law-enforcement at once," he continued. "If this is all true, I will do whatever need be done for your godfather, Harry."

Harry could only nod, overwhelmed, as the headmaster threw Floo powder into the fire.

"I'm staying with Harry," Ron said firmly when his parents tried to make him go with them.

Mrs. Weasley cast a glance at him. "Oh, very well. Arthur, stay with them, will you?"

Heart warm at being included like that, Harry settled into the comfortable chair at Professor Dumbledore's desk, prepared to wait.

Chapter Text

Harry, Ron and Mr. Weasley curled up in the comfortable chairs as Professor Dumbledore knelt to use the fireplace.

It struck him how odd this was—sitting in the headmaster's office and watching him bend down on his knees. Did wizards have things like arthritis?

Despite knowing about the Floo, he couldn't help but wince when Professor Dumbledore ducked his head into the flames. Ron squeezed his hand, and he looked at his friend in surprise.

They weren't typically physically affectionate.

Ron was looking stubbornly ahead, his ears red.

Finally, Professor Dumbledore withdrew from the fireplace. He sighed, brushing the ash off his garish robes. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is sending an Auror team and a prosecutor."

"An Auror?" Harry asked Ron in an undertone, but he realized the other two had heard too. He went red as well.

"The highest level of magical law enforcement," Headmaster Dumbledore explained witha kind smile and he thanked him.

"They're like detectives and spies," Ron muttered excitedly. "I have a storybook series that describes an Auror's adventures. Dad's friends with some of them."

So the wizarding world had police and detectives and spies? Cool.

Mr. Weasley frowned. "Some of them, yes. Ron, Harry, I want you to be prepared. Some of them can be—" He struggled for words. "Unpleasant."

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance. They did not want to meet someone Mr. Weasley—someone so kind—described as unpleasant.

And Harry especially did not want them handling Pettigrew's and his godfather's case.

But the man only heaved a sigh of relief as the fire turned green and someone stepped through. "Albus," he growled, and Harry couldn't help staring.

This Auror had a prosthetic leg, and that was only the start. His nose had a chunk gone as though bitten out, and his eye was magical, whirling in an artificial socket.

"Awesome," Ron muttered under his breath, and he couldn't help but agree.

"Hello, Alastor," Professor Dumbledore said pleasantly.

"Mad-Eye. Good to see you." Mr. Weasley got up to shake hands.

"Arthur. You too." The Auror—Mad-Eye or Alastor?—said as someone else came through.

This one wasn't nearly as graceful and fell into a pile, nearly knocking over one of the Headmaster's flimsy gadgets.

Harry felt a sense of kinship with them.

The Auror sighed. "Get up, Nymphadora, and introduce yourself."

"Don't call me that!" Her hair flashed Weasley red for a second and Harry couldn't help but stare at it. "And have you introduced yourself?"

How had she done that?

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "This is my son Ron Weasley, and of course—Harry Potter."

Harry really hated the 'of course' that preceded his name.

The Aurors seemed briefed, though, since the younger one only let out a squeak at his name but didn't even look at his scar. He flattened his fringe over it anyway.

"I'm Auror Alastor Moody, and this is my trainee Nymphadora Tonks."

"Just Tonks!" Nymphadora Tonks added hastily.

"Anyway, we should wait for Runcorn." Moody continued without even a glance at his trainee.

Mr. Weasley looked worried. "Runcorn is the prosecutor?"

"Don't worry, we'll manage," Tonks promised them with a wink, but Harry couldn't help the worry that suddenly settled in his stomach.

The fabled Runcorn came through next. He was over six feet tall and very severe looking. "Where is the alleged Peter Pettigrew?" He asked in a clipped tone.

Harry took an instant dislike to him.

He didn't mind the 'alleged'—though it was a little insulting—but the tone in which he said it. . .

"Right here," he said loudly, pointing at the petrified man, who now looked as though he were going to transform. "Be careful, he can transform into a rat. Like how Mc—Professor McGonagall does into a cat."

"You mean he's an Animagus," Headmaster Dumbledore corrected gently.

But Runcorn's eyes were focused on Harry. "Harry Potter himself," he mused. "Why are you going along with this story that would release the man who is You-Know-Who's righthand?"

Harry blinked. He hadn't been told that about Sirius Black. "Because he told me he betrayed my parents to Voldemort." Everyone except the Headmaster flinched at the name.

"He just came up to you and told you this, did he?" Runcorn sounded very skeptical.

"No, he told—" He almost said Voldemort again, but he looked at the Headmaster, who gave a tiny shake of his head. "The Heir of Slytherin."

"And who was this?"

"That's enough, Runcorn," Moody said sharply. "We're here to interrogate the suspect not children."

Mr. Weasley looked relieved, even if Harry wouldn't have said Ginny's name in a million years.

"We'll have to take a blood sample to confirm this is really Peter Pettigrew," Tonks said, now in a subdued voice.

Moody pointed his wand at Pettigrew, and Ron winced and looked away as a cut was made. Pettigrew's eyes went wide as though he would scream if he could.

Harry watched, however. He couldn't not.

"Tonks, give this to the lab technicians, with a sample of Mrs. Pettigrew's blood."

Harry startled at that. He hadn't expected Pettigrew to have a mother, somehow, even if he knew he must've come from somewhere.

"Yes, boss," Tonks saluted. She smiled at him and Ron. "I'll be seeing you, kids."

"She's one of Charlie's friends, I think," Ron said thoughtfully as she left through the Floo. Harry hoped she had better luck this time.

"Yes," Mr. Weasley confirmed. "She's been by the Burrow once or twice."

Now, Auror Moody was reviving Pettigrew. Harry couldn't help but take his wand out, despite the presence of people far better than him at magic, better equipped to deal with Pettigrew.

Moody grinned at him. "Good," he said approvingly. "Constant vigilance!"

Pettigrew instantly transformed. Harry and Ron shouted in alarm, but he was stunned immediately by Auror Moody.

"Why would he run if he was innocent or not Pettigrew?" Ron demanded of Runcorn.

"Excellent question," Auror Moody growled. "You two would make good Aurors."

Ron went red, and Harry smiled bashfully. He never was sure what to do with compliments or praise.

"I can have Veritaserum brought," Professor Dumbledore suggested.

"No," Runcorn shut down. "That's inadmissible in court. I agree, he doesn't look innocent." He sounded very sullen saying this. "If the maternity test comes out positive—"

As if on cue, Tonks descended from the fireplace again, this time taking out a desk in her excitement. "It matches! That's Peter Pettigrew!"

DNA tests took a long while in the muggle world, he knew. He couldn't help but be impressed by this.

"Very well. I shall inform Minister Fudge and Madam Bones of this. They shall decide how to proceed further." Runcorn shut his notebook.

"Wait, that's it? You're not arresting him?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"There's no proof he did anything wro—"

"He's been masquerading as my rat for years!" Ron said, outraged. "Harry said he went to help the Heir of Slytherin!"

"I think we have enough evidence to take him in," Tonks mused.

Auror Moody shot her a sharp look, and she subsided. He unceremoniously went to the fireplace and disappeared through the Floo.

Somehow, Harry felt betrayed despite not even knowing the man.

"I will be taking my leave now—" Runcorn said, eyes once again greedily fixed on Harry, making him uncomfortable. He threw a disdainful glance at the Weasleys and then went to the fireplace, just as Auror Moody came back in, nearly throwing him off his feet.

Ron snickered. Harry just managed to contain a smile. Runcorn glared at them.

"An arrest warrant," Auror Moody held up a piece of parchment. "Signed by the Head Auror, for Peter Pettigrew."

Chapter Text

Ted and Nymphadora were the ones who broke the news to her.

Andromeda had been gardening—the way she always did early in the morning.

Her husband had appeared before her with a solemn expression, telling her their daughter was there to see them.

She hadn't understood why he hadn't looked overjoyed about that, not then.

Nymphadora's hair hadn't been some ridiculous colour, her next hint.

"Mum, Peter Pettigrew's under arrest."

The words took a moment to register.

She knew who Peter Pettigrew was, of course. Even if she hadn't remembered her little cousin's sly, cheerful friend, she'd remember him as the man he'd killed.

Her knees gave out and Ted was quick to push an armchair behind her. "But he's dead," she whispered dumbly.

Nymphadora looked grim. "Apparently not. He was discovered at Hogwarts, by Harry Potter and one of the Weasleys."

"What do you mean, discovered? How was he—"

"He's an Animagus, a rat. He was posing as a pet." Nymphadora hesitated. "Mum, this might mean Sirius—"

"No," she said sharply. "No. It can't be."

Because that would mean her baby cousin had been suffering needlessly all this while, and she'd believed him guilty. Hadn't lifted a finger to help.

"Dromeda," Ted said quietly. "It isn't your fault."

"No, he can't be innocent." She shook her head adamantly. "What—what about all those muggles? Maybe both of them were colluding as Death Eaters—"

"That's what we need top find out," Nymphadora said sincerely. "Moody managed to get Pettigrew arrested on the technicality of being an unregistered Animagus and living in an underage boy's room, but we can't hold him long."

"They need a trial for him, to find out the truth," Ted added softly. "And we're the people best equipped to get him one. Peter and Sirius."

"Maybe you're right," Nymphadora said. "Maybe they were both Death Eaters. But he didn't kill Peter Pettigrew, and he doesn't deserve to be in prison for that part." Her expression darkened. "Not like most people care about the muggles beyond the horror of it all."

It was true, admittedly.

But Andromeda still couldn't wrap her head around all this. "I never even visited him," she bemoaned.

"You weren't as close, the later years," Ted reminded. "We were busy with Dora, and he was busy with his job, whatever it was, and the Potters."

"His other alleged crime! Betraying the Potters to You-Know-Who, Harry Potter says Peter Pettigrew confessed to that." Nymphadora's hair changed colour with excitement.

"Then he really might be. . ." She trailed off. "Ted, find the papers regarding his interrogation and arrest. I need to go to Hogwarts."

Professor McGonagall smiled sympathetically at her when she requested access to Harry Potter. "I'll ask him," she promised. "He's still recuperating from … everything, but I don't think he'll refuse."

And hadn't that been a revelation. That a twelve-year-old had found the fabled Chamber of Secrets and vanquished the Monster within.

She'd have to get the details of that too.

Whether Sirius was innocent or not, Harry Potter was his godson. Which made him family.

She oughtn't to have forgotten that, whatever else the case.

She was guilty of so many things.

As the Professor had predicted, the young Mr. Potter agreed to meet with her, on the condition that he could bring a friend along. She agreed instantly, though worried about who this friend was.

It was settled when she saw it was a Weasley. "I believe I've met one of your brothers a few times," she greeted him.

"Charlie, probably," the redheaded boy said. "I'm Ron."

"Mr. Weasley said they were friends," Mr. Potter added. While his friend was open, he was cautious.

Andromeda approved. It as a good trait to have.

"Mr. Potter," she acknowledged.

"It's just Harry," he said awkwardly, flattening his hair and drawing attention to his legendary scar. She wondered if he was doing that on purpose, to remind her of his status.

But then, why tell her to call him by his first name?

"My name is Andromeda Tonks. I am Sirius Black's cousin." And for so long that had been a title she had not thought of at all, burned with shame the one or two moments of thought she'd given to it over the years.

Both boys perked up. "My godfather?" Harry asked.

"You know, then. Yes."

"He didn't until a couple days ago," Ron grumbled, settling only when Harry sent him a look.

It was good that he had such loyal friends, but: "You should have known before," she frowned. "I should have contacted you prior to this, Harry. I apologize for not doing so."

His eyebrows went up. "Why? You have no obligation to me."

"You're my little cousin's godson." She smiled in reminiscence. "Whatever he became, we were close when we were younger."

When they were children, Sirius and Bella had always been closest, thanks to their similar natures. Once he'd entered Hogwarts, though, he'd gravitated towards her instead.

She thought that was part of Bella's resentment towards her in the beginning.

"He might be innocent," Harry said sharply.

"I am finding that hard to believe," she admitted. "But that's why I came here. Could you describe in detail the events that led you to this conclusion?"

The boys exchanged a look and then began their tale.

If Sirius' innocence was hard to believe, this story was impossible. Andromeda listened with growing incredulity.

"Why did you boys take on this responsibility?" She demanded. "Why not go to an adult, a teacher?!"

Both looked at her as though she were suggesting something crazy. "Adults aren't always dependable," Ron said darkly.

"Ron's sister was in danger, and we could do something. Why wouldn't we do it?" Harry demanded.

Why, indeed, she thought, quickly revising her opinion on young Master Potter. As similar as he looked to James, he was quite different from the happy-go-lucky teenager she'd met a couple times.

"I hope you will feel similarly towards this," she responded quietly. "I am trying to get both my cousin and Peter Pettigrew a trial."

"Shouldn't that have been the automatic response?" Harry demanded.

She smiled wryly. "In an ideal world, it would have been. However, our Minister is afraid to dredge up the mistakes of the previous administration, in the belief that it will cause people to lose faith in our Ministry now."

"Wouldn't correcting their mistakes just make him appear better?" Ron looked puzzled.

She nodded, impressed. "Indeed. And with your status, if you made a statement to that effect, Harry. . ."

Ron looked worriedly at his friend. He chewed on his lip. "I'll do it, of course. But I'll need help drafting it."

Andromeda smiled, finally having some hope about finding out the truth. "I'm a lawyer. That's what I'm here for."

Harry smiled back at her, and whatever the outcome of this scheme, she knew she had gained a new family member.

Chapter Text

When the petrified were being woken up using the draught, Harry and Ron were right there in the hospital wing.

Hermione eased back to life, slowly opening her eyes and blinking.

"Careful, Miss Granger, don't move," Madam Pomfrey fussed.

Then:

"It's a basilisk!" Hermione leapt up, startling all of them back. "It's going through the pipes—Harry, Ron, did you find the—?"

"Miss Granger, calm down!" Madam Pomfrey said sharply. "You have been petrified for nearly a month!"

"A month?" Hermione squealed. "But! Exams!"

She had to be sedated.

"Of course her first concern is exams," Ron rolled his eyes fondly.

They shared a chuckle, but Harry reminded him: "She probably doesn't want to be expelled for failing."

He certainly didn't.

Ron just snorted. "Like they'd ever expel her for something like this."

Harry just shrugged. "Imagine what her reaction is going to be when we tell her everything that happened."

"She's going to go mental," was the reply, that came with certainty.

And she certainly did.

"You have a godfather, Harry? An imprisoned godfather who might be innocent?" She fumed. "Who controls the justice system around here?"

Harry realized he didn't know either. They both turned to Ron, who looked awkward, which was his normal defense to questions. "I dunno," he shrugged. "There's the Wizengamot—they're the ones who make and pass the laws."

"The legislative," Hermione provided.

"Yeah, and a section of them also act as judge and jury during trials—criminal or civil."

"But that's—!" Hermione appeared to be speechless. "The judiciary and legislative can't be the same people!"

"I don't know, Hermione, we're not muggles, alright?" Ron sounded annoyed now.

"Separation of powers is important! Right, Harry?"

"I guess," he hedged, not wanting to upset either of his friends.

"Didn't your godfather get a trial, Harry?" Hermione rallied.

"I don't know, actually," he frowned. "But he must have, right, if he was imprisoned?"

Ron cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Back during the war, there was a fast-track system—I think people were thrown into prison based on circumstantial evidence just so they could try only the major criminals."

"But that's barbaric! It's against all ethics!" Hermione sounded outraged, and now Ron didn't disagree.

A weight settled in Harry's stomach. He'd learned, of course, that the world he'd entered wasn't perfect, that it had its own prejudices and flaws, but it was never nice to have to face them like this.

"And what about you, Harry? Will you have to stay with your relatives if your godfather is proven innocent of his crimes?" Hermione's question was innocent, pure curiosity, and yet the stir it caused in Harry was a storm.

He hadn't even considered that possibility—he'd been angling for a trial based on Mrs. Tonks' advice purely because the idea of someone innocent languishing in prison troubled him.

It had never occurred to him that this might ebenefit him too. That this could get him away from the Dursleys.

"Could it work like that?" He asked the other two, stumbling over his words in his eagerness.

"I think wizarding relatives would be preferred over muggle ones for custody, mate," Ron said with an apologetic glance at Hermione who scowled but said nothing, clearly reading the joy on Harry's face.

"Plus your parents' wills, I think," Hermione mused.

"What is this about wills?" Professor McGonagall's stern voice interrupted their discussion. "I dearly hope you aren't discussing death so soon after being unpetrified Miss Granger—"

Hermione flushed, and Harry rushed to explain: "We were wondering if Sirius Black could take me in, if he's proved to be innocent, Professor."

She stared at them. "Why on earth would you even think of something like that?"

"Oh, so it can't happen?" Hermione asked, disappointed, while Harry shrank back and Ron scowled.

Professor McGonagall looked between them, probably noting their expressions. "I—I don't know." She sounded uncertain now. "Are you—Potter, do you not like living with your maternal relatives?"

"How do you know he lives with his maternal relatives, Professor?" Ron asked sharply. Hermione frowned at his tone, but looked as curious as the two of them.

The teacher seemed flustered. "I—I was there when Albus sent you to them after your parents' deaths, Mr. Potter. I … observed them for a day."

Harry wondered how the Dursleys could have allowed that, before remembering a salient fact: "As a cat?"

"I—yes." She changed the subject. "But Sirius Black will likely need a long stay in the hospital, will probably be extremely mentally unstable. . . I wouldn't get my hopes up, Mr. Potter."

"But after that," Harry pressed on. "He can take me in? I can leave the Dursleys?"

For a long moment, she just stared at him. "Are they really that bad, Mr. Potter?"

Harry opened and closed his mouth, not knowing what to say. How could he express that—even though only Dudley had ever hit him, and the starvation had only happened sometimes and not to a large extent—he just knew he wasn't welcome at the Dursleys' house? That feeling like an inconvenience, like a pet to be tolerated but not liked wasn't pleasant?

That literally anything would be preferable to that?

She seemed to read the answer on his face and sighed. "I. . . am not sure, Mr. Potter, regarding all that. It will depend on, as Miss Granger said, your parents' wishes and the court's decision. But I will talk to Albus. We will see what we can do about your living arrangements even if Sirius Black is guilty."

Harry's heart lifted. "Thank you, professor!"

"You can get away from the muggles, mate!" Ron said encouragingly even as she left. "I bet Mum would take you in in a second."

He flushed, uncomfortable and yet delighted at the thought. Would the Weasleys really be an option? Would they really like that, him being a part of their family?

"Muggles aren't all that bad," Hermione reminded Ron frostily.

"She's right," he added, because he knew that.

"My parents are muggles," she finished with a grateful look at him.

Ron looked abashed. "I know, Hermione. I just. . . Harry's muggles locked him up! They starved him! That isn't okay!"

"No it isn't," she agreed with a sigh.

Harry looked between them, a divot between his eyebrows. They talked about this familiarly, like—"Have you been talking about me, about this, behind my back?" His voice rose in his rage.

Both of them started and then looked horrified—which was answer enough. "We were just worried, mate," Ron began.

"Then you should talk to me, not to each other!" The embarrassment rolled in his stomach; he couldn't meet their eyes as he fumed. "I can't believe you two with your loving families. . . Probably pitying poor Harry because he's an orphan and his family hates him—"

"Harry, no, of course not, please—" Hermione sounded close to tears, which would've normally swayed him, but he was too far gone for that.

"I'll leave you two alone in case you want to do that now," he finished frostily and then turned his back on them and left the hospital wing.

He swiped an angry hand at his eyes, betrayal making them sting, and spotted Professor McGonagall.

"I need to talk to Mrs. Tonks."

Chapter Text

Mrs. Tonks looked down at him. "You remember what we discussed, right?"

He nodded silently, not wanting to make trouble.

Back in Hagrid's hut, the Minister of Magic had not seemed like an impressive figure, so desperate to have a scapegoat.

But Mrs. Tonks had impressed upon him the need to remain on the man's good side so that his godfather would get a trial and Peter Pettigrew's crimes would be revealed.

Mrs. Tonks had taken him to the Ministry's visitor entrance—a phone booth—via the tube. Unlike Hagrid, she seemed quite familiar with how muggles did things.

Harry was curious about that, but couldn't ask, of course.

He watched as Mrs. Tonks clearly stated their intention to visit the Minister to what seemed like an inanimate telephone, and their visitors' badges fell out.

He pinned his on nervously. "Don't worry," she said soothingly. "I'll do most of the talking."

Harry was just there to show off his celebrity. He knew that.

Still, he couldn't help the bitterness.

They made their way through the Ministry, and he pressed his fringe to his forehead to avoid scrutiny. It was of no use, of course—it seemed the Minister had told anyone and everyone of his impending meeting with the Boy-Who-Lived.

"With me, Harry," Mrs. Tonks said sternly. Then her voice quietened: "Is it always this bad?"

He laughed wryly. "You should see it in Diagon Alley." He remembered Lockhart dragging him in for a photo.

At least at school everyone except the incoming first years had gotten used to him.

He almost preferred Malfoy's harassment over the gapes and whispers.

He frowned at the statue. "I can't see centaurs looking at witches and wizards like that," he commented, remembering Ronan's fury when Firenze had given him a ride.

Mrs. Tonks stared at him in surprise. "You've met centaurs?"

"Yeah. We had to go to the Forest for detention."

"The Forest? Is it not forbidden anymore?"

"Oh, it is. But we were with Hagrid," he said reassuringly. She just shook her head.

"As for your question," she said with a little distaste and he shrank back. "This is just what the Ministry the appropriate response from creatures ouight to be."

"But that's ridiculous!" Harry's indignation flared immediately.

"It is, indeed," she said tightly. "But do be careful, dear. You don't want others hearing you saying something like that."

"Sorry," he muttered, abashed, but to his surprise, she just smiled.

Huh.

They made their way to the lifts. Even Mrs. Tonks had to consult the directory to see where the Minister's office was.

"You haven't been there before?" Harry couldn't help but question.

"Dear, the only reason we've been permitted entry there is your name," she told him, and he swallowed.

He'd known he was famous, of course, how could he not? But he hadn't realized all the ways he could use that celebrity.

At least this was a good cause.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, Mrs. Tonks, welcome, welcome!" Minister Fudge beamed, still wearing his bowler hat.

Harry blinked, having expected a secretary or something, but his companion just smiled as though this were all normal.

She shook hands with the Minister, who then held it out to Harry, almost trembling with eagerness.

He tamped down his grimace and shook it gingerly.

"What brings you here?" The Minister asked, taking his seat and gesturing at them to take the chairs on the other side of his desk. Harry hated his—it was too low and he felt like a child.

"Advocating for a trial for Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew," Mrs. Tonks said softly. "Here is my cousin's arrest record—"

He felt startled; he hadn't expected her to bring up her relation with a prisoner that readily. The Minister blinked, sweating a little.

"There was no trial," Mrs. Tonks concluded.

"Yes, well, there was a lot of fast-tracking in those days," he dismissed.

"But new evidence has come to light," Mrs. Tonks pressed. "Mr. Pettigrew being alive means Sirius didn't kill him. That was the main crime he was charged with."

"There was also being an accessory to the Potters' murders," he pointed out, and Harry felt a surge of anger that the muggles weren't brought up.

"Pettigrew told the Heir of Slytherin that he had been the one to betray my parents," he spoke up, despite this not being part of the plan.

"He was probably bluffing," the Minister said with a kindly, condescending smile that made his blood boil.

"He had no reason to," he snapped.

"Harry," Mrs. Tonks said warningly. "Minister, we aren't asking you to declare Black innocent or rescind Pettigrew's Order of Merlin just yet. We are simply asking for a trial, to clear up the facts."

Remembering what Ron had said, he added: "And you'd be a hero for that. Correcting the mistakes of the previous administration."

Minister Fudge sat up at that, and Harry felt his disgust increase. "Yes, but still. . ." He yet seemed a little reluctant. "A lot of people were fast-tracked into Azkaban in that time."

"Then give them all trials," Harry spoke up suddenly. "And what about Hagrid? You still haven't released him!"

"Young man, he could be allying with the Heir of Slytherin—"

"Then I'll speak otherwise at his trial," he said stubbornly. "You never had one, right? You said you had to be seen doing something." He couldn't keep the scorn out of his voice.

"Where did you hear that?" Fudge's eyes sharpened, and Mrs. Tonks grimaced.

Shit.

"Professor Dumbledore told me," he said hurriedly.

"Of course," Fudge said restlessly. "Always looking to undermine me, even in front of the Boy-Who-Lived."

What?

Harry had the feeling he'd gotten the Headmaster in trouble without meaning to. He looked helplessly at Mrs. Tonks, and she took over again.

"Harry is willing to testify at the trials of Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew," she started hurriedly. "That would be good press, too. Reuniting the Boy-Who-Lived with his godfather."

"I suppose. . . And it would make me look better than Dumbledore. . ." He mused and Harry wanted to say nothing could ever make him look better than the greatest wizard alive but bit his tongue.

He'd caused enough damage.

"And we can see about an Order of Merlin for you, for slaying a basilisk, make the ceremony on the same day as the trial," Fudge continued thinking out loud.

He opened his mouth to object but Mrs. Tonks shook her head. "My friends did as much as me," he said, heart pounding. "Hermione figured out that it was a basilisk, and Ron came down to the Chamber with me."

"A Weasley, yes? That would be good, too. . ."

Now Harry was going to explode. Hermione was being ignored because she was a muggle-born? Seriously?

"That all sounds wonderful, Minister," Mrs. Tonks said smoothly. "Can we count on you to arrange it? We have also agreed to give an interview with the Prophet."

"With—with the Prophet? No need for that! I shall arrange everything with the DMLE," Fudge said hurriedly.

"Thank you," Mrs. Tonks said with a small smirk, and Harry decided he never wanted to be on her bad side.

They shook hands again and left. "I'm sorry," Harry said immediately. "I shouldn't have—"

"No, you shouldn't have," she agreed severely, making him cringe. "But you are a child. It is understandable that you became emotional with a friend in Azkaban."

He wanted to refute that he was a child, but kept his mouth shut. Something else burst out however: "Why did you agree to the Order of Merlin? I don't want it."

"Because combining that with the trial will make the latter forgettable, and that is what the Minister wants," she told him.

"But we don't want that!" he exclaimed.

"I have no doubt the revelations at the trial will cause it to be very memorable," she smirked again.

He kicked at a pebble as they exited the Ministry, glad to be away from all the stares. "Still," he sulked.

"Your friends will be honoured, too. Isn't that nice?" she asked coaxingly.

He remained silent. He hadn't really spoken to Ron or Hermione since their argument.

"Yeah," he said softly. "I guess."

Mrs. Tonks seemed to understand he didn't want to talk about that. "Come. Why don't we go get lunch before I drop you off at school?"

"In Muggle London?" he asked hopefully.

She smiled. "Of course."