Padfoot's Puppies

Chapter 6: Grimmauld Kennel

"What's the ruddy matter now?" Uncle Vernon demanded. Ever since those dire warnings from those freaks, Uncle Vernon had been pulling out what he considered an arm and a leg for his wretched nephew. Certainly by Dursley standards, Harry's home life was now positively loving. The Dursleys still drew the line at the m**** word and were not, by Muggle standards, warm or close to Harry. But in most ways, everything was a vast improvement. Harry was not obliged to share Dudley's diet. Dudley was firmly keeping his distance (a fairly tall order with a bulk like Dudley's) but adequate enough for Harry, if not for the poor defenceless neighbourhood kids. The Dursleys had made suitable alterations to Harry's room so they could no longer lock him in or shove his meals through the cat flap. Harry was even allowed to watch whatever he liked on television. For the most part this had been the news. Harry was scouring the news most avidly for any signs of what the Dursleys termed "unnaturalness".

But for all that, the little whelp did not seem in the least bit grateful. He remained morose, sulky and even dared to be snappy to poor little Diddikins. He was having trouble sleeping, he was heard sobbing in the night, he was restless, losing weight and looked positively haggard. Under normal circumstances the Dudleys' only concern that the little freak would linger on instead of dying on the spot. But on this occasion they were under dire warning that if Harry got ill-treated in any way, those freaky friends of his would hear about it. Uncle Vernon paled at the thought that if those freaks got to hear about this, they might come and turn them all into pigs.

Now the little tyke stood before him in the doorway, looking most fed up and morose indeed.

"What's the ruddy matter now?" Uncle Vernon had said.

The cheeky brat didn't answer. He just pointed that - thing - at his uncle.

"Out of my way! I'm going for a walk!"

Uncle Vernon positively shrank away. Harry stormed out of the house. He marched down Privet Drive like that hardened hooligan from St Brutus's that the Dursleys told their neighbours about.

Harry felt like it too. The core of his being was shaking with fury. Or more honestly, guilt that was being smothered with fury. In the past few days in particular, guilt had overridden Harry in his all-consuming mourning for Sirius Black. His mind was tortured with the thought that this was all his fault Sirius had died. For being so stupid to believe that vision...for not keeping up his Occlumency lessons...if only he had been a bit smarter...this must be how Sirius felt when he was locked up in Azkaban. Endless cycle of guilt and torment that it was all his fault that James and Lily were dead, even though it was Pettigrew who betrayed them. There were no Dementors around to ensure the mental torture was ceaseless as they would in Azkaban, but it hardly seemed to make any difference. The thought just kept going around in an endless cycle, as if Harry were in the company of Dementors.

And speaking of Dementors...

Harry was abruptly snapped out of his guilt when he suddenly found himself facing that very alley where he had fended off Dementors the year before. He had conjured his Patronus to save his dearly-beloved cousin and himself from receiving the dreaded Kiss. And what did Harry get for his trouble? A full trial at Wizengamots and nearly getting expelled from Hogwarts for using magic in front of Muggles!

Harry had thought at the time that it was the first sign of Voldemort. It turned out, however, to be the work of corruption and under-handedness within the Ministry itself. Minister Fudge's own Under-Secretary, Dolores Umbridge, had dispatched the Dementors. It had been a nearly-successful scheme to get Harry expelled and discredit Dumbledore. Dumbledore, in Fudge's most idiotic opinion, was conspiring to oust him from the Ministry instead of warning him that Voldemort was back and he should prepare for a second war.

Fudge had now been obliged to publicly announce that Voldemort had returned - but too late to forestall a second war. Now Fudge was paying the price for his folly and obstinacy. Political and public pressure had forced him to resign from the Ministry. Umbridge, too, had resigned - ostensibly to take a "rest cure." Harry snorted at that, but admitted it could be true. After all, Umbridge had indeed been left a wreck of her former obnoxious, toad-like self after nearly getting killed by centaurs who did not appreciate being called "filthy half-breeds". As of yet, there was no clear candidate for Minister. So for the time being, the Ministry was in a state of what Muggles might call "martial law". From what he gleaned from The Daily Prophet, Harry did not like the sound of this at all.

All of a sudden, Harry felt a presence within that alley. His being prickled and his fingers instinctively whipped for his wand. He paused, waiting...

A pearly-white form began to materialise. It too, stood still. This seemed to be out of coyness...

Then it seemed to gain enough confidence to move forward. Harry was most taken aback to see that it was a ghost! He was accustomed to ghosts, but - but right here - in a Muggle alley?

Just then, Harry startled himself when he remembered that he had two other encounters in this same alley - both of which had to do with Azkaban. The first time it had been Sirius Black, the first prisoner to escape from Azkaban. Then only last year, he met Dementors in this alley - the guards of Azkaban.

And now - what is this? The Ghost of Azkaban?

It was a ghost, all right. Just like the ghosts that resided in Hogwarts. And there was no mistaking its clothing. It was the same grey prison clothing, just like the tattered rags Sirius had worn when he escaped Azkaban. But these clothes were not tattered. They were splotched in the silver splotches that denoted blood, just like the ones that covered the Bloody Baron.

As Harry looked even further, he saw that the ghost's head, too, was covered in blood. A clear sign that he had died from a smashed head. Apprehension now left Harry in favour of sympathy for this poor ghost, and a sense that it was a kindred spirit for Sirius.

As Harry thought this, a gush of warmth swept through him. For the first time in days, his heart eased at the thought that his godfather seemed to have a kindred spirit...a second Sirius...

The ghost smiled warmly at Harry. He seemed to sense the pity within Harry and welcomed it gratefully. Unlike the Bloody Baron, he was most happy to tell Harry the story behind his bloody blotches...and then he revealed to Harry the secret that that had been etched on his ghostly soul...

*~*~*

Harry could do nothing but reel back to 4 Privet Drive in a floating, giddy half-daze. It was just too staggering to believe. His godfather had fathered puppies? And these puppies had been right under his nose at Hogwarts for the past three-odd years? His mind could scarcely boggle at the thought of what twelve miniature copies of Snuffles would be like...though the idea was now starting to send hysterical giggles bubbling through him.

Harry barely registered the imposing bulk of his uncle as he staggered back upstairs to his bedroom. The room remained as much a tip as when Harry had first left it the previous summer. Harry was too consumed by grief, guilt and mounting anxiety (not to mention throbbing scar) over Voldemort's return, that the state of his room matched the state of his own mind. Aunt Petunia might have been driven to take a hand over sheer house-pride and deference to Harry's wizard friends. However, Harry spent so much time in his room either glumly lying on his bed or pacing the room, that she had little chance to do so. So a tip it remained. The only exception was Hedwig's cage. Hedwig's reproachful hoots had been a constant reminder for Harry to keep her cage clean this time around.

Harry sank down on the bed, still stunned. For a while he just lay there as his grieving, aching heart tried to accommodate the idea. It had been so eased at finding out that Sirius had a kindred spirit, a man just like him. But that thought of twelve little Padfoots just couldn't sink in at all...

Harry barely noticed the rising moonlight filtering through the window, replacing the daylight of mid-June, or Aunt Petunia indifferently dumping his tea in his room because he had not responded to her calls to come downstairs. Needless to say, Harry hadn't even noticed the tea, much less consume it. Nor did Harry notice the shadows approaching in the passage...

The shadows loomed in Harry's doorway. One shadow took the form of his uncle, looking extremely flustered and awkward. Looking at the other shadows, it was not hard to see why. Harry was most taken aback to see them taking the forms of Hestia Jones, Professor Lupin, and Mad-Eye Moody, his bowler hat again covering his magical eye.

Their faces bore strained, frazzled looks and they gave Harry looks of anxiety and urgency that told him that he was wanted most urgently.

Uncle Vernon now spoke to Harry in the most subdued tones that Harry had ever heard him say. "Your...friends say they've come to collect you. You're going right now." His voice constricted even more tightly, no doubt feeling most uncomfortable to be in the presence of such freaks, one of whom had that freaky eye that had sent him recoiling at King's Cross. Professor Lupin told Uncle Vernon politely enough that his presence was no longer required. Uncle Vernon couldn't get down the passage fast enough.

He closed the door to words of "there, that's your trunk packed," and, "where's the Portkey?" Uncle Vernon scurried away as fast as his bulky form would allow. He had no desire to find out what unnaturalness a "Portkey" was. It was just as well that he had no curiosity to look in Harry's bedroom and bellow at the sight of them all having completely...vanished into thin air.

Harry found he had become more accustomed to the familiar yank on his navel and the rushing through the air, so it was less jarring when his feet landed on the ground. Harry looked around and found himself once more in front of 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry shuddered, his anguish wrenched anew as he remembered the first time he had entered and he had felt the odd sensation that it was like entering the house of a dying man...how prophetic that had turned out to be...

They entered the familiar musty hallway, which now seemed to have taken on an even deeper hue of depression. The troll leg umbrella stand still stood in its usual place, the serpentine candelabra still swung, the dormant portraits still lined the corridor...then Harry noticed that the rack of elf head trophies had been removed. And that reminded him -

"Where's Kreacher?" He demanded loudly. Harry remembered all too well Kreacher's treachery that ghastly day. Kreacher had helped to lure Harry into a trap at the Department of Mysteries, and had consequently caused Sirius' death. It had been his revenge. He had always despised Sirius in any case, but he had been embittered by Sirius' own embittered, and indifferent, attitude towards him. Dumbledore had said of Kreacher...he is to be pitied...

But Harry didn't have an ounce of pity for Kreacher. "Where's Kreacher?" He demanded even more loudly, his hands pulsating and clenching, the fury he had vaunted in Dumbledore's office now rising anew. He wanted to scream and tear at that little house elf...tear him into pieces and smash those pieces at the wall...

Professor Lupin pressed Harry very firmly on the shoulder in a knowing empathy. "Kreacher has been dealt with."

Harry stared at him. "What?"

"Kreacher has been dealt with, Potter," Moody growled with finality. " I don't care what Dumbledore says about being nice that filth. "Nice" was too good for the likes of him. He was scum, through and through. End of story."

Harry was still insistent. "How? What have you done with him?" Sheer disappointment about being cheated of his revenge was flushing.

Lupin grew slightly more taciturn. "I don't think I should tell you; Hermione would not approve. Suffice it to say that Kreacher has paid the price for his treachery. And -" he gave the impression of hurriedly changing the subject to a more cheery one - "we do not have to pussyfoot around the hall any longer. We may not be able to get rid of Mrs Black's portrait, but we can ward it with extremely powerful silencing charms." He waved a triumphant hand at the familiar tattered curtains that covered Mrs Black's portrait, except when she woke up to scream the house down in a most blood-curdling manner. He pulled them to show the same horrible old hag who now looked like she was desperate to screech at them yet again, and extremely frustrated because all that issued from her screaming mouth was silence.

"I can't think why we didn't this of this before." Lupin grinned sheepishly and closed the curtains firmly back over her.

"My poor dear. She feels so frustrated," came the familiar voice of Phineas Nigellus. He sighed most heavily. "And my poor dear Sirius..." Harry was most surprised to hear Phineas call Sirius "poor".

"What do you care about Sirius? You said he was 'worthless'!" Harry snapped most bitterly. He would have done his own screeching at the portrait had he not suddenly felt a tongue nuzzling at his wrist and a wet nose nudging at his legs.

Harry looked down. "Snuffles?!?"

He stared at the dog in total shock. It looked so uncannily like Snuffles that Harry thought for one moment that Snuffles had indeed come back.

His voice then croaked and stifled in a blend of anguish, astonishment and sheer joy as more black dogs appeared down the hallway. Some of them were dead ringers for Padfoot. Others bore unmistakable bulldog traits that reminded Harry of Aunt Marge for some reason. But all of them were jet black, just as Padfoot had been.

Padfoot's puppies were emerging to greet Harry. They were still called puppies - but they were hardly puppies now, of course. They were now fully-grown dogs, wiser and sharper from two years of living near the perimeter of the Forbidden Forest, and accompanying Hagrid as he ventured into the Forest. There were even scars of the Forbidden Forest visible. During an encounter with Aragog's offspring, Alphard had lost an eye and scarred his face. So now he resembled Moody in appearance as well as character. Luna had grown even more nervous and jumpy. For this reason she had stayed the most often with Hagrid and hardly ventured into the Forest. Tonksy, Moony, Weasley and Alphard were braver about venturing into the Forest, though motherly Tonksy and Moony usually stayed behind to keep Luna company - not to mention Fang. Their bond had grown even tighter when their great big human pet, Hagrid, had to leave them and this intruder, "Grubbly-Plank" had taken over his house. It all had to do with that toad human. They remembered her all too well. Their noses wrinkled and their teeth bared whenever she was around. They had chosen to spend time up in that mountain cave, instead. They simply loved the cave. It brought them great comfort because it smelt of their father. And when Hagrid came to live with them, they simply couldn't stop bounding for ecstasy. Meanwhile, Syria and Kingsley could not keep themselves contained, and had lived the most often in the forest. Nimbus Firebolt and Midnight, being the hunters of the pack, had found the Forbidden Forest the perfect hunting-ground. Now they had become even more powerful and swifter hunters. Hagrid had frequently opened his door to find their trophies on his doorstep. The puppies who chose to linger near his hut grew fat with them as well. Prongsy and Padfoot II had acted as the watchdogs, guarding over their siblings who remained near the hut, over their Hagrid and his funny pets, and tagging along with Hagrid when he ventured into the Forest. Like their father, Prongsy and Padfoot had become more sober, but they still retained vestiges of their puppy-dog mischief and getting into the odd scrape. Scrapes were happening a lot these days with this funny "Grawp" pet that Hagrid had brought home. Nimbus often left Grawp some of his trophies in the hope they would pacify him.

There hadn't been much scope for fun in the Forbidden Forest. But the puppies had been living at 12 Grimmauld Place for the past few days. The puppies were remembering their days of mischief-making and having fun. And they were having so much more fun in this place than their father ever had over the past year.

For one thing, the puppies had been the only one who got any fun out of that screeching portrait of Mrs Black. They had deliberately woken her up and listen to her screaming in far greater volumes than usual as they applied their "filthy mutant" tongues to her pureblood form - not to mention applying their "filthy mutant" teeth as well. And while they had been doing that, the rest of the puppies had been bounding around the corridor, snarling and growling at the other portraits as they screamed in empathy with Mrs Black.

It wasn't quite so much fun now that Mrs Black seemed to have fallen silent for some reason. Still, the puppies had been getting other amusement out of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. Fred and George had found the puppies most eager volunteers to try out some of their latest invention. The puppies had had hours of endless fun with "Weasley's Wheezer" - a ball that made farting noises wherever and whatever it hit as it bounced around. And now that the Wheezer had Padfoot's puppies playing with it, farting noises had been shattering the grim of Grimmauld Place at a most constant, undignified manner. The members of the Order had found it most distracting - not to mention sending them off into giggles when they were trying to concentrate on their work. Snape had taken a much dimmer view and tried silencing the Wheezer. In true Fred & George fashion, the Wheezer had responded by making a fart so loud that it shook the whole room with the volume of a Howler. Vanishing the Wheezer didn't do much either - the Wheezer just shot out the other end of the wall and fart quite contentedly when it bounced on Snape' head. In the end Mrs Weasley had compelled Fred and George to get rid of it, on pain of hours of their mother's own brand of endless screaming.

However, it wasn't all fun and games that were keeping these puppies occupied. For one thing, there was Buckbeak. The puppies related far more to hippogriffs than any Hogwarts student, for they had met hippogriffs so often, having met them often enough during their stay with Hagrid. They related to this hippogriff even more since it carried their father's scent. However, Buckbeak seemed to be in a most surly mood and kept aloof from them. So the puppies just left offerings at the door.

Although the puppies didn't seem to make much headway with Buckbeak so far, they had been getting along most splendidly with their human namesakes. The puppies had felt particularly drawn to Remus Lupin. Lupin just seemed to smell of their own father as well. So much so, in fact, that they sensed a second father in Lupin. This was a father who suffered from intense, long-standing pain, with which he had been forced to live with for such a long time. The puppies did not understand what his pain was, as the moon was not full at this stage and they had yet to witness Lupin during his werewolf phase. All they knew that this Lupin needed the most intense companionship. Whenever Lupin dropped by, the puppies simply clung to him like a Permanent Sticking Charm, trying to envelop him in the best puppy companionship possible. Closest of all was Lupin's own puppy namesake, Moony. Moony was the only puppy to regularly leave Grimmauld Place so far, faithfully and empathically on the heels of Lupin. Alphard had ventured outside Grimmauld Place, hot on the stumping trail of his own wizard counterpart. Moody certainly adored the dog and saw a lot of himself in the grumpy one-eyed canine. Unfortunately the sight of them together had attracted too much attention for Moody's liking:

"Muggles say that pets look like their owners! Well, I see what they mean!" (Unmistakable guffaws and titters within Moody's earshot)

"Yes, that dog is Moody to a Knut! Any day now he'll be coming in with the magic eye!" (whispers and sniggers, and wizards collapsing in hysterical laughter)

So Alphard had rejoined his siblings in Grimmauld Place and only lavished his attention on Moody when he turned up at the place.

But now there was a whole new human puppy to grab their attention. They were drawn to him right away...

They approached him, eager to sniff him...and then start licking him as they welcomed him into their pack. And never before had they felt a human so close to their pack. As they continued to sniff him, they seemed to feel a part of themselves in him...

Phineas now sounded most sniffy as well. "Just look at the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black - completely gone to the dogs...with these...mutants!"

Moody growled at Phineas for the dogs, as none of them had even noticed. They were just so absorbed in the human pup who seemed to be the very sum of themselves...Harry, for his part, just couldn't stop the torrential tears pouring down his face. First that kindred spirit for Sirius...and now his very own puppies...

*~*~*

It was a very long time before Harry could muster enough composure to hear what Moody and Lupin had summoned him here for. The puppies clustered around Harry, their ears pricked high in rapt attention.

Although Sirius was now officially registered as dead, clearing his name had taken on a whole new urgency. Owing to the political turmoil, panic and hysteria at the Ministry, a certain Angus Scrimgeour had been posted Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Scrimgeour was a man of Bartemius Crouch's heart. Just like Barty Crouch, Scrimgeour was totally, utterly ruthless and over-zealous in stamping out anyone and everyone whom he suspected was linked with Voldemort. The shameful spectre of the Barty Crouch witch-hunts, once thought a dark, distant memory, had risen again like that terrifying spectre of the Dark Mark hovering over the World Cup stadium nearly two years ago. History was repeating itself. Just as Barty Crouch had done before him, Scrimgeour was throwing people into Azkaban without trial; sometimes even without charge.

Harry groaned as he remembered that blatant, vituperant farce that had passed for Crouch Jnr's trial in the Pensieve. Had nobody learned anything from Barty Crouch's witch-hunts?

But there was worse to follow. Allied most proudly at Scrimgeour's side was a certain Percival Ignatius Weasley. Harry gasped at hearing this. He had expected Percy to be well and truly humbled this time, but it seemed that Percy had become an even bigger git than ever. It was all to do with saving political face, and his career and ambitions from a two-time political embarrassment. First the very man he had idolised, Barty Crouch, and now the Minister of Magic himself. So Percy had latched himself onto Scrimgeour with all the servility and sycophancy to rival that of Igor Karakoff. Scrimgeour had welcomed it. So now the Scrim and the Weasel, as they had been dubbed, were razing the Ministry of anyone who might smell of Voldemort.

Ron had once warned that Percy was quite capable of throwing his own family into Azkaban if it meant furthering his own ambitions.

Now Ron's warning had proved chillingly ominous.

This morning Percy had helped Scrimgeour to throw his very own father in Azkaban. And he was going to preside over his own father's trial.

And it was not just Arthur Weasley. Kingsley Shacklebolt and don't-call-me-"Nymphadora" Tonks had been arrested with him.

They were to be tried on charges of perverting the course of justice and aiding and abetting a supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. In other words - helping Sirius Black to evade capture.

They had already perceived that Scrimgeour had cast his suspicious eye on them before, forcing them to be extra careful when they worked at the Ministry. Now Percy and Scrimgeour had seen enough to have them arrested. They were now rotting in Azkaban, awaiting trial for helping Sirius.

Azkaban was no longer be quite the horror it used to be now the Dementors had abandoned it in favour of Voldemort - but the very thought of Percy throwing his own father in there...! Harry's stomach plummeted into a sea of nausea. Poor Mrs Weasley...Ron...Ginny...tears glistened Harry's eyes and dread overtook him as he pictured how they must be feeling, what they must be going through. Relations between them and Percy had deteriorated enough the previous year - but what Percy had done now had taken him well and truly beyond the term of "git" or the title of "son" or "brother"...totally, utterly - UNFORGIVABLE.

....

....

....

....And what about Tonks and Kingsley? How were they holding out? The tears, already burning hot with betrayal, shock and fury, now turned cold at the memory of Tonks amusing the Weasleys by changing her nose into Dudley's snout, Snape's hook nose...who did she have to amuse now, in such a depressing, dismal place? And Kingsley Shacklebolt, supposed to be in charge finding the escaped prisoner of Azkaban - was now himself a prisoner of Azkaban...

Tears now totally consumed Harry. The puppies joined him, whining in sorrow and commiseration. Tonksy and Kingsley, who were named for two of the people now locked up in Azkaban, reached up to lick Harry's tearful face as they whined the loudest. If they could shed tears, theirs would have mingled with Harry's.

It was such a long time before Harry could muster enough composure to demand how the hell these people could have been thrown into Azkaban after all they had done to round up the Deatheaters that fateful day in the Ministry. Wasn't fighting Deatheaters enough proof that they were not Voldemort's party?

Lupin shook his head incomprehensibly. Logic was not something that applied the likes of Angus Scrimgeour, the late Barty Crouch, or anybody who was driven by hysteria or political interests. The fact that they had concealed a known supporter of You-Know-Who, the most wanted wizard in the world, was enough for Scrimgeour.

Still, the thought had occurred to others. The shadow of the Crouch purges re-emerging like a Dark Mark looming in the sky, had not been lost on them. And now, the arrests of Shacklebolt, Weasley and Tonks were now sparking off outrage, horror and protests, both within the Ministry and in the wizard world. Outrage had been further inflamed that the popular, genial Arthur Weasley, best known for his rather bizarre fascination with Muggles, had been arrested by his own son. The WWN had reported this very evening that there were now public demonstrations for Scrimgeour and Percy Weasley to resign along with Fudge - or better yet, be turned into bullfrogs. The WWN was also reporting interviews with friends and relatives of the victims of the infamous Crouch purges. They were jumping on the bandwagon to demand that the cases of their friends and loved ones be re-opened.

This did not bode well for the public relations of a Ministry already reeling from the Fudge/Umbridge fiasco - plus facing the crisis of the second Voldemort War.

Public outrage, however, was still not ready to concede that the infamous Azkaban escapee, Sirius Black, was not You-Know-Who's right-hand man, a mad mass-murderer, and all the rest of it. Most preferred to believe that Weasley & Co were being wrongly accused of concealing the infamous Sirius Black, rather than believing that Black himself had been wrongly accused. Not to mention feeling intense relief that at least the infamous Black was now dead and gone.

Had Scrimgeour had his way, Dumbledore would be rotting in Azkaban by now on the same charges. But with Dumbledore's newly-regained influence in the Ministry, even Scrimgeour dared not touch him. And it was thanks to Dumbledore's influence that there would not only be a trial for Kingsley, Arthur and Tonks - but for Sirius Black as well. Sirius was to be tried posthumously, alongside his living "accomplices". And for all the defendants' sakes, the Order of the Phoenix had to assemble the best defence they could find.

Unfortunately, this was easier said than done. The trial was in three days. Infuriatingly slow for the likes of Angus Scrimgeour. Far too short a time to put a decent defence together.

There was not enough evidence for a decent defence either. Harry, Dumbledore and the Order could all attest to Sirius' character, but character references were nowhere near enough to vindicate a man whose reputation was second only to Voldemort himself. They could not produce Peter Pettigrew, which would have been the real clincher. Lupin, Harry, Hermione, Ron, John Earnest the ghost and Moody could all attest to Pettigrew being alive and well, and a Deatheater to boot. But being a werewolf and an old friend of Sirius, Lupin went without saying. John Earnest was himself a former prisoner of Azkaban and claiming that he himself was framed by Pettigrew (not to mention being a little tipsy at the time) was going to be extremely difficult to sound credible. Harry, Ron and Hermione were underage wizards, one of whom had just rescued his reputation from the Skeeter slanders and the other was a defendant's son. Moody had a reputation for being paranoid when it came to Deatheaters. It was going to be something of a joke to convince the jury that a man who was supposed to be dead had helped to stuff him into his own trunk for nearly a year.

Hard evidence was far too scanty. Barty Crouch himself had snapped Sirius' wand, as he had done with John Earnest's. So neither could be tested for Priori Incantatem, and thereby demonstrate that they had not fired the killing curses that sent their owners to Azkaban. At Kingsley's instigation, Sirius had left behind a sworn statement, taken under Veritaserum. But the principal witnesses who attested to this statement were now themselves defendants.

So Dumbledore had hatched upon a plan. It was a bold, daring plan that was almost incomprehensible to even comprehend. It was not without precedent, but it was scarcely performed. Dumbledore had to pull every single string he could, and assemble all the ingredients he could, to make this one of the rare occasions that it would be performed .

They were going to perform the Rite of Safe Passage through the Veil.

Harry gulped and shuddered. He remembered all too well his own inexplicable, overwhelming desire to walk up those steps and step right through that Veil in the Death Chamber. Then the scene that Harry had so many nightmares over - the scene of Sirius falling through that archway, never to be seen again. And then, what Luna had said about those strange whispers on the other side. They were the voices of those who have passed over, but never truly leave their loved ones.

But there was a means of safe passage through that Veil? His stomach turned into a pit of somersaulting snakes. He was going to go beyond that Veil, just like he had inexplicably yearned to do...maybe see Sirius again? Maybe see even his mum and dad again?

What on earth was the Rite of Safe Passage?

In a low voice, Lupin began to recount the history of the Veil.

As its ancient, crumbling archway had attested, the Veil had been there ever since anyone could remember. How exactly it had come to be there was a complete mystery. The only thing that was known about it was that it was the only known fixed portal that could permit intercourse between the between the world of the living and the world of the dead.

The first thing that was known about the Veil was that those who passed through it were never seen again. So in the early days of the Ministry the Veil had been used as a very simple means to punish those who had committed the most ultimate of crimes. Crimes so heinous they warranted this ultimate separation from the world. The condemned were simply pushed through the Veil and were never seen again. It was known as the Punishment of the Veil.

It had been no coincidence that the great ampitheatre surrounding the Veil had looked so much like a Wizengamots courtroom to Harry. It had indeed been a Wizengamots courtroom. In fact, it was the ultimate Wizengamots courtroom - the Death Chamber. For many centuries the Veil had stood as the most dreaded form of punishment in the wizard world. This was largely because nobody knew what awaited on the other side. None of the ultimate condemned knew what might lie in store for them once they had been pushed through it. The fires of Hell? The Pearly Gates of Heaven? An unearthly limbo where they would be stuck forever between hither and yon? Or were they completely snuffed out, both body and soul and just ceased to exist? Nobody could say. It was this, more than anything else, had made the punishment of the Veil such a terrible thing to face. Hundreds, if not thousands, of evil witches and wizards must have received the Punishment of the Veil over the centuries.

So why, then, was the Ministry now punishing the ultimate criminals with a life sentence in Azkaban or worse yet, the Dementor's Kiss? Apparently, the Punishment of the Veil was brought to an abrupt end when the Ministry discovered that the punishment carried a most unexpected, and terrible, sting in its tail.

In 1665, the most evil wizard of the day, Chernabor the Terrible, was ravaging the land. His reign of terror was considered one of the most heinous, unspeakable and darkest eras in wizard history and rivaled the Voldemort War for being spoken of in hushed tones. And even death had not stopped Chernabor. He had broken through the Ministry, scattering and killing its officials wherever he passed - until he himself was struck down by the Killing Curse. He had none of Voldemort's precautions at stopping himself from dying - but he could still become a ghost. And a ghost he had become. In his ghostly form he had passed through, of his own free will - the dreaded Veil.

And being a ghost, he could be the first to pass straight back out again.

And gliding behind him was the foulest army that the wizard world had ever seen.

Namely - the first Dementors.

The Dementors had once been the evil wizards and witches who had passed through the Veil. Still nobody could say where they had been all this time on the other side of the Veil - and they were not answering. All that was certain was that over the centuries these condemned criminals had languished and been corrupted so much that there was nothing left of them now but soulless, evil beings. The watching Ministry officials quailed and trembled as they discovered that this foul, unspeakable army could feast itself on all forms of happiness until there was nothing left but black holes of bottomless despair for their victims to wallow in.

And for centuries, the beings had wallowed themselves - in their own hate and rage. Now they were back on this side of the Veil, they were fuelled with long-festering bitterness, and thirst for revenge. They were most eager to begin the first quenching of their thirst on the Ministry officials, who were the first to receive their dreaded Kiss.

So the Chernabor War broke out anew with even more terror than before. Chernabor could not simply kill and torture people now - he had the means to suck out their very souls and leave them mindless shells. Such was a fate even worse than death itself and the very mention of it brought wizards trembling with greater vigour than before.

After a most ghastly, prolonged, soul-wrenching war, the wizard world finally managed to destroy Chernabor forever and round up his army of Dementors. The Dementors could not be destroyed, but the Ministry of the day had now discovered means to keep them contained.

Needless to say, the Punishment of the Veil had been abolished. The Ministry could not risk any more wizards to lie in wait on the other side of the Veil and wait to be unleashed as newborn Dementors should another Chernabor pass through the Veil. Thereafter, such wizards and witches were to be sent to Azkaban for the rest of their lives - guarded, most fittingly, by the very creatures who were once like themselves.

But what to do with the Veil? It was at this stage that the Department of Mysteries decided that the Veil warranted more serious study. The Department of Mysteries had long devoted considerable study to the matter of death. They had known that the voices of departed ones could be heard on the other side of the Veil but had never been terribly successful in communicating with them. However, the example of Chernabor had demonstrated that it was safe for a ghost to pass through the Veil. So the dead could pass in and out of the Veil, if not the living.

But wait - suppose a living person should accompany a dead person through the Veil?

It was known that on certain occasions, such as Halloween, or a simple Deathday, the distinction between the world of the living and the world of the dead became more blurred than usual. It thinned into a "grey" area. Perhaps it could be better described as Limbo, an in-between place. Whatever you might call it, it was a place where the dead and the living could be invited to intermingle on common ground. But of course, they must be invited first.

Could the Veil be a doorway to, perhaps, a more permanent kind of Limbo? What was to happen to a living person should he be invited by the dead to enter the Veil, as he might be invited to a Deathday Party? Excitement and speculation mounted, particularly among those who, like Voldemort, sought to cheat death and live as immortals.

It was no wonder that the Department of Mysteries kept any results of its studies of the Veil a most jealously-guarded secret. So nobody knew how the Department of Mysteries had devised the Rite of Safe Passage through the Veil. It was a most rare, and exciting spectacle indeed. When the Rite was performed, it enabled a living person to pass through the Veil. It even allowed a soul from the other side to come back into this world and communicate with the living. Why did not this soul return as a Dementor? The Department would not say. It would only make the veiled assurance that they took...precautions. What nature these precautions took was not known, though it was known that Ministry officials who could perform the Patronus Charm stood on stand-by throughout the Rite.

As said before, the Rite of Safe Passage was rarely performed. When it was performed, it was most often at the trials where a witness had to be called from beyond the grave. But you couldn't just use the Veil to summon a dead witness for any old court case. The circumstances had to be most special indeed.

For one thing, Dumbledore was exercising all his recovered prestige with the Ministry to pull all the strings he could to get the Rite performed. Such was the reputation of Sirius Black that most people were terrified that he might come back out of the Veil as the most terrible Dementor of all time. The Ministry was already hard pressed rounding up errant Dementors and issuing the best Dementor-repelling information for terrified citizens of the wizard world.

For another thing, there needed to be relatives who were willing to venture through the Veil. Harry seemed the most obvious choice. First, he was Sirius' godson. Second, he had already been through the Veil, of sorts, when he attended Nick's Deathday Party nearly four years before. And third, he could perform the Patronus Charm, should there be any threat of Dementors.

However there were problems. First, Dumbledore was concerned about risking Harry with a passage through the Veil. More pointedly however - Harry was not a blood relative of the Black family. If the Rite was to be successful in summoning the soul of Sirius Black, the person passing into the Veil must have his blood flowing through their veins. The problem was, Sirius had been the last of the Blacks. There was nobody left with any Black blood coursing through their veins...except...

...Moody and Lupin looked down at twelve wide-eyed puppy stares.

The puppies stared back up at them in turn. They thumped their tails and yapped imperiously to hurry these humans up and tell them how they could help their father.

*~*~*

Harry didn't know how he managed to find any sleep that night. His whole mind was a turmoil at what had happened today...and what might happen in three days time. Was he actually going to go into the Veil? He remembered all to well that inexplicable, overwhelming impulse to just walk right through that Veil. For the first time in days, excitement began to bubble. Sheer excitement that he was going to go through that Veil at last - and maybe even see Sirius again!

His mind was just so overought and over-excited that he just couldn't empty his mind. Since coming back from Hogwarts, he had been more mindful of at least trying to empty his mind every night. Failing to apply what he had been learning in Occlumency had been one reason Sirius had died. Voldemort was able to fool with his mind with the false vision of Sirius being tortured, thereby leading Harry into a trap at the Department of Mysteries. It had been far more difficult because Harry was now grieving for Sirius. But the consequences of his negligence and stupidity had been transmuted into applying his Occlumency lessons with his best effort . And much to his surprise, he had actually succeeded in recent nights to empty his mind before falling asleep.

This night, the last thing he remembered was Luna and Tonks licking his face before he drifted off into dreamland. All the puppies wanted to spend the night with Harry. Even Moony and Alphard, who normally stayed with their human counterparts, had opted instead to remain with their new human puppy. Most of the puppies were a little coy about sleeping on Harry's bed, and preferred to spend the night on the floor around his bed, as if offering to guard him. Only the motherly Tonksy and the high strung Luna who held greater need of comfort, had sought to share Harry and his bed. Harry was more glad than ever that he was away from Aunt Petunia - she would have had a heart attack at the sight of dogs sleeping on his bed, and no mistake.

Once more Harry found himself descending downstairs towards the Grimmauld hallway...he passed the rack of elf heads - except that the heads were all Kreacher's. They laughed vicariously at Harry like ghoulish, ghostly turnip heads, and said they were all going to hit Stubby Boardman on the ear.

Suddenly, the heads shot out of their brackets and sailed through the air to hit Harry on his ear. But Harry, sharpened by his battle with the Deatheaters in the Department of Mysteries, had reached for his wand just in time -

"PROTEGO!"

The heads bounced off his Shield Charm and bounced down the steps. They smashed on the floor. Ghostly forms swirled from their shattered remains. They seemed to be speaking but Harry could not hear what they were saying. They lingered for a few moments before melting into the chilling air...

Harry now set foot in the downstairs hallway, and found it encased in icy, inky blackness. It reminded Harry of that corridor he had entered when he and his friends had first entered the Department of Mysteries. Harry looked down at the floor, which also shone like glass and reflected him as a ghostly shade, just like it had done before.

Suddenly, Harry raised his head to see if there were any black candles that burned an eerie blue. Sure enough, the serpentine chandelier was now festooned with jet-black tapers and radiated a brilliant azure. The blue flames startled him, for they contrasted against the inky blackness so sharply as if they had been normal candle flames.

Harry looked back down at his reflection on the floor. The blue lights shone eerily against it, and made it seem even more ghostly than before. The cold now chilled him to the bone, and a discordant cacophany of whispering voices now assaulted his ears.

All of a sudden, the cold enveloped him as Nearly Headless Nick floated across and bowed low before him. "My dear friend, welcome...welcome...so pleased you could come."

Nick swept off his plumed hat and pulled back the tattered curtains that covered the portrait of Mrs Black.

But it was not Mrs Black who stared back at Harry.

It was Sirius Black who stood in the portrait.

Sirius now shone with the most brilliant pearly-white that Harry had ever seen thus far. He was so dazzling that he was almost blinding Harry.

Sirius' arms started clawing out of the portrait - but not as if to tear Harry to pieces. They were urging arms.

Sirius started calling out to Harry. And he was calling so loudly that he was as ear-splitting as his screeching mother.

"Harry, the mirror! Harry, the mirror! Harry, the mirror! Harry, the-"

Harry shot upright in bed, his whole body drenched in sweat and his heart pounding like never before. Luna nuzzled up to him and cuddled her body against his while his entire body shook and shivered. Poor Harry just couldn't stop shaking.

More of the puppies had been aroused, sensing their puppy human needed help. Harry's body was encased with comforting puppies as he continued to tremble.

Lupin flung open the door, his wand raised. "I heard you call out, Harry! Are you all right?" He stopped as he took in Harry's pale, trembling, sweat-drenched form.

Lupin pointed his wand downstairs. "Accio Butterbeer!" A bottle of Butterbeer sailed into the room at Lupin's call.

The puppies shifted aside as Lupin cradled Harry and helped him to sip down the butterbeer. "Did you have a nightmare, Harry? Quickly, what did you see?" His eyes rounded as he remembered when Harry had that vision about the snake attacking Mr Weasley. Was this a repeat?

Lupin seemed most relieved when Harry finally managed to mumble that he had seen Sirius - and Sirius was calling about a mirror.

"What mirror?" Lupin breathed.

Lupin's ear suddenly heard rustling, scrabbling and anxious whining coming from the other end of the room. He turned to see Luna nosing in Harry's trunk, as if looking for something. Lupin held his breath to see what would happen.

Luna started yapping in demanding excitement. Lupin came over at once. He saw that Luna was nosing very pointedly against some broken pieces of glass.

Lupin pushed Luna aside and pointed his wand. "Reparo!" The pieces instantly snapped back together into a complete piece of glass. Much to his surprise, Lupin recognised it. It was one of the mirrors Sirius and James had used to secretly speak to eachother when they were in separate detentions. Lupin snatched up the glass and brought it to Harry.

Harry suddenly stopped trembling and just stared and stared. "The mirror!"