Reign O'er Me

Chapter 17 - I Don’t Even Know Myself

There's only five who know my real name,
And my mother don't believe they know it,
What she called me is the way I'm staying,
And no one'll ever know it,
Come on all of you big boys, come on all of you elves,
Don't pretend that you know me 'cause I don't even know myself,
I said I don't know myself.

- I Don’t Even Know Myself, The Who

Sirius returned to Grimmauld Place. He’d moved as quickly as he could through the lower levels of the Ministry before taking the elevator back to the Atrium level and the unshielded Apparition point, but when he entered Headquarters, he realized he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do next. He checked his watch; it read 2:20. That meant Harry and the other kids would be with McGonagall now; then, they would spend another two hours with Perenelle Flamel before he would have to deal with facing Harry.

Sirius’ first thought had been to find Remus; then, remembering the state he’d left him in, no, he couldn’t dump this on Moony quite yet. And Harry… for the first time, Sirius felt a touch of sympathy for Dumbledore, in trying to deciding what, when and how much to tell Harry. He headed towards the kitchen, more on autopilot than by conscious decision, and found it empty. Perhaps that was good; he needed time to think. He made a cup of Earl Grey, another acquired taste of his rebellious teenage years, and then sat at the table, deep in thought.

A few minutes later, he looked up to see Perenelle entering the kitchen. She too prepared a cup of tea and then took a seat beside him. Sirius nodded in greeting and observed, “Must be getting close to three.”

“We have half an hour before my lesson is scheduled to begin, Sirius, but right now that does not matter. I came here to find you.”

“Somebody’s been talking, eh?”

“I know from Nicholas that you left the Ministry looking like a Muggle who had encountered a ghost and that after you talked to Pettigrew, you sent them all scurrying without really telling anyone why. Your manner and expression was sufficient for Brian to place his political capital at risk in moving Pettigrew from the Ministry, at a time he badly needed every favor, every old debt, and above all to appear above reproach. And then I find you here, alone, and seemingly lacking the certainty you showed at the Ministry. Will you share with me what you have learned?”

“Preferably before I go and do something rash?” Sirius asked, his failed attempt at a grin ending in a grimace. “I was really expecting this particular conversation to begin with an offer of a sherbet lemon…”

“If there had truly been a secure place you could have talked, or the activities of the Wizengamot had not been so critical at this time, perhaps it would have. But it is also easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

Sirius gave her a puzzled look, but Perenelle only looked at him expectantly. He finally said, “Well, I’m going to have to say something eventually, I guess, or someone will go beat it out of Peter. Maybe that was a mistake, leaving him with the memory… But okay, what he said was….”

“No, not like that, child. Will you share the memory with me? I need to hear his voice, his words, the nuances of what he told you.”

“But how? Do you have a Pensieve? What do I need to do?”

“Take my hand, Sirius, and close your eyes, and think of how it started, then let your thoughts drift. My gift is much like legilimency.”

Sirius offered her his hand after a moment’s hesitation, then he closed his eyes and thought of entering Pettigrew’s cell for the first time after Kingsley had unlocked the door. He saw his meeting with Peter play out again in his head and then, after another moment, Perenelle released his hand.

“Merde, indeed, Sirius.” Perenelle took a sip of tea and then said softly, “I had thought that art had been lost…. I would have hoped that even all memory of Fetum Inter Matris had perished. The world would not have been diminished if it had.”

“How can I tell Harry this? Especially now.”

Perenelle looked thoughtful for a moment. “No, Sirius, do not be tempted; in the end, the cost of delaying would be too high. Harry must be told now, especially if Malfoy succeeded. Let me share a memory with you that Nicholas gave to me.” She again took his hand.

Sirius saw what Nicholas had seen that night, when Harry had cut his hand on the mirror; he saw his godson seize a tiny shred of hope and refuse to let go; he saw Harry rage at Dumbledore and how Ginny had pulled him back from the edge and then he saw Harry rally a dispirited Remus Lupin, gain the support of his friends, and even get Albus Dumbledore to follow his lead.

Perenelle released Sirius’ hand gently and waited for him to absorb what she had shown him; a series of emotions flickered across his features. He finally said, “Thank you. I… I had no idea… that Harry…”

“Understand, Sirius, that Harry would not give up until they found a way to you; had Hermione not proposed the solution she did, Harry would have gone through the arch with a portkey. The four of them obtained the means to try their method on their own, but Hermione was reluctant to combine so many diverse elements without guidance. Harry’s greatest concern wasn’t the risk of what Hermione had proposed, but that we would try to stop them.”

Perenelle paused, thinking back. “That morning, when they came to me, Harry had already made up his mind to conceal how far they had come on their own. He had not wanted to seek help at all, based on how Brian had handled him in the past; despite that, he heeded Hermione’s council. He still wanted to preserve the option to act on his own if we would not help; even so, he chose instead to trust me. I will not betray that trust.”

“I didn’t want to keep it from him; but all we’ve got is a story that Peter believes is true. No matter how you slice it, that’s not a lot to go on… Fifteen years is a long time; there’s never been as much as a whisper all these years; anything could have happened; we don’t even know….”

“A false hope that proves untrue might be very painful, but imagine the cost if he were to discover we were withholding this from him, Sirius. He might well never trust any of us again, and perhaps rightfully so.”

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She awoke with a start; it took a moment to get her bearings; she was unaccustomed to sleeping in such a small, enclosed space, especially in the summer. She stretched, reveling in the feel of the clean cotton sheets.

The room was sparsely furnished. Besides the single bed with its iron frame, there was a small desk, a straight back chair, a mirror hanging on the wall, and a small bedside table with a lamp. A clean but faded carpet covered the floor. As she looked about, she noticed that clothing had been left on the chair. She sat up and carefully placed her feet on the floor; her right angle was bandaged. She stood and made her way to the chair. A complete change of clothing was there, a pair of blue jeans, heavy ones, worn, but in excellent condition. Excellent; with luck and a little care, these would last a long time. And a shirt; it was heavier that the t-shirts she usually wore, it had a collar and two buttons. And socks, thick ones, and underwear… and there, on the floor, a pair of sneakers.

She took the clothes back to the bed and took off the pajamas and began to dress; it seemed silly to her having separate clothes to wear to bed, though sleeping in an actual bed was something she had not done much of recently; on the street, you had to be ready to pick up and go on a moment's notice. The shirt was a good fit; she liked the thickness of the cloth and that it came down further on her than most of her other shirts had. Perhaps this would give a little more protection to the appendectomy scar; it had become raw several times, probably due to what she had been forced to use as a belt.

She slipped into the jeans; these were loose, but no surprise there. But there was a real belt too; that made the ensemble perfect. She slipped on the left sock and shoe; to her surprise, the sneaker was stiff; it felt like it had never been worn, and the fit was good. It didn’t even have to be tied; it fastened with some sort of fabric. She pulled the other sock, being careful of her bandaged ankle and then gingerly worked the shoe on her foot.

She stood up, picked up a brush from the desk and carefully made her way to the mirror. She’d cleaned up pretty well, she thought. It’d take more than a couple nights of good rest and a soft bed to completely remove all the visible traces of life on the streets, but it was no longer so obvious. She really liked this shirt; there was no hint of her ribs visible at all. She brushed her hair, marveling at how so little - some clean clothes, a bit of soap and hot water, and a brush - could make her look - and feel - so different. Like this, she could move in public - through a mall, or down the street - without attracting attention. Perhaps it’d be worth the price, when it came. There was always a price, of course. These were the nicest clothes she could ever remember having; the price this time would no doubt be a hefty one.

She opened the door and looked out; she remembered being carried to the room three days before, some time Friday, after he’d worked on her ankle. She’d only left the small room in the past three days to hobble to the bathroom; she had spent hours soaking in the huge tub. He had brought her food several times a day, simple and delicious meals. She had carefully saved some of what would keep the best from each meal against the day she knew would eventually come - something would happen, and she’d have to strike out on her own again.

He had brought her books to fill the hours she was awake, but she found it difficult to read for very long; he’d encouraged her to spend as much time off her ankle as she could, and truthfully, with the combination of medication she’d been given and her worn-down condition, she had spent most of the weekend sleeping. But now she was wide-awake, and the pain in her ankle was mostly gone; it was time to find out just what she had stumbled into and discover how high the price would be.

He had found her Friday morning, early, just as the sun was rising. She’d walked for a long time after encountering the car full of teenagers, the pain in her ankle growing from a dull ache to throbbing pain with each step. She had started to feel fever chills; they’d grown increasingly worse until she finally took shelter in the first halfway-concealed doorway she’d found. She’d wrapped herself in her ratty blanket and drifted in and out of a fevered sleep.

By the time he walked up on her, she was beyond caring. At this point, if he called the cops, it’d be a relief. But he did not. He had picked her up, and taken her inside instead; he had placed her on a couch and covered her with the ratty blanket; then, a short time later, he had carried to her his car and brought her here. He had treated her ankle; he had done something with a small blade that hurt like hell for a moment, but whatever he had done caused it to suddenly drain a river of yellow pus mixed with blood, then he’d lightly bandaged it, given her some soup, and told her to soak it as long as she could stand in a hot bath, then she could go to bed and sleep.

The bathroom was at one end of the hallway, at the other end, a stairway going down. She carefully made her way down, holding to the rail; it opened up into a larger room; she saw him sitting at a large desk, writing.

She made her way toward him, intentionally making some noise to warn him of her approach; he turned and smiled. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

She noticed for the first time, though perhaps he hadn’t worn it earlier, that he was wearing one of those funny collars like some religious types wore; this was often a bad sign, usually of an avid do-gooder; still, like the cops, maybe some of them were okay, right now she was shaky enough to chance finding out. “Yeah, pretty well.”

“That’s good. Do you have a name?”

She tensed; this was usually where things started going downhill. “I’m Cat.”

“Is that what they call you? Ok, Cat, that’ll do for now, I guess. It’s better than ‘Hey, You!’ anyway. You can call me Joe.” She didn’t react to his joke, but the street kids rarely did, unless they were recent arrivals. Ordinarily, he’d have sent a child like her to social services after tending to her immediate needs; in his work in an inner city mission, her plight was hardly unique. Though she was younger than most of the kids he was used to dealing with, it was unusual for a girl her age to be on the street alone; she didn’t appear to be quite high school age. But in one way she was very different, which is why he had kept her here; she was one of the Istari, whatever they actually were. In that way, she was unique in his experience; before, he had only encountered adults, and few enough of them; in fact, finding her had confirmed what he had come to believe, that they were a separate order from humankind.

He’d come to use the word Istari for them in his own papers and thoughts, a word taken from a novel, one of several by a British author that sat among the hundreds on his shelves. He had chosen that word prompted by the sorts of things he had seen one of them do, defending against an unspeakable dark thing; it had been his first encounter with their kind. Somehow, the traditional beliefs and language of his training simply did not fit what he had personally experienced; at first he had thought them creatures of the spiritual world until additional encounters had proven they were both mortal and that some fought on the other side of the great war. Joe had seen many strange and frightening things in his line of work. He knew Vampires and other supposedly mythical creatures were far too real; he’d gotten up front and personal with evil enough times to know that civilization was at best a thin veneer; that the objective reality would scare the hell out of most of the so-called civilized people. He’d always been able to tell, at least when he got close; it was amazing how some of these creatures could blend in to the woodwork and remain unnoticed as they moved and acted in the so-called real world.

“Are you hungry?” Joe asked.

“Yeah, sort of, I guess. But tell me straight, what’s your deal?”

“Deal?”

“Yeah, you know how it works. The cops didn’t send me here, so they’re not paying you to keep me. Besides, the food’s been too good, and you’ve not yelled about all the water, so that can’t be your gig. You’ve not hit on me, at least not yet, and pimping don’t usually go with the collar, so give it to me straight, what’s the deal? These are pretty nice clothes. I’m good for a fair trade.”

She was direct; that was unusual too. “I don’t play those sorts of games, Cat. You needed help, so I helped you. That’s one of the things people in my line of work are supposed to do. You don’t owe me anything; just give someone else a hand up some day when you can.”

She thought about that; he seemed to be on the level; either that or this was some sort of new con and the price, when extracted, would be horrific. But if he was okay… maybe she could test that. “Can I go?”

He hesitated, even though he knew what the answer had to be. “Yes, when ever you want. I’ve washed your backpack and fixed the straps; I’ve got a couple more changes of clothes you can take too. But you should really stay for a few more days, stay off that ankle, and let me change the dressing. It was infected pretty badly. And three square meals for a few days wouldn’t hurt either.”

“Why are you doing all this?”

He’d asked himself the same question, actually. He had also encountered those of her kind that had been evil, very evil indeed, and a warning from the same author - “Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger” - had been running through his mind since finding her. He had no idea where she fit in the scheme of things; given how few of them there seemed to be, he’d have thought their children would have been carefully protected. “Because you needed somebody and because the system just doesn’t know how to handle someone like you. What I’d really like for you to do is tell me who you really are. Somewhere there has to be somebody who’d take care of you properly, and that’s where you should be, worrying about making the volleyball team and what to wear to school tomorrow,” or whatever was normative for her kind, “not how to survive for another day.”

“I don’t,” she hesitated for a moment, “belong anywhere. I’m just… different, ok? I was in one foster home after another until I finally couldn’t take it any more and just left.”

Joe hesitated, but so far, things had gone pretty well. “How long ago was that?”

“Uh… I guess I was around ten the first time I ran away. I got caught right after… but I’ve pretty much been on my own except for a week here, a month there since I was about twelve.”

“How old are you, anyway? You seem kind of young to be on your out on your own.”

“Fourteen.” Joe raised one eyebrow at this statement; it wasn’t the first time Cat had gotten this kind of reaction to her age. “I’ll be fifteen in December. My birthday’s the twenty-first.”

“Okay, maybe it’s just the short rations. Will you tell me what your real name is?”

Cat thought for a moment; this was different, he wasn’t demanding, but asking. It was getting dangerously close to do-gooder stuff; still, he could turn her over to the cops, and they’d come up with answers easy enough. “Lena. Lena Rosier.”

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An aide handed Dumbledore a parchment as he presided over the Wizengamot. Dumbledore glanced briefly at the individual now speaking; it appeared that Griselda Marchbanks could continue for quite a bit longer; she was aware Dumbledore wished to prolong matters as much as possible, and she was a willing accomplice. Fortune had favored them when Dumbledore, returning to the office of Chief Warlock, had found the resignations she and Tiberius Ogden had submitted had never been processed; Dumbledore had summarily refused both resignations. In any case, this was a good time; Dumbledore opened the note.

It wasn’t good news, however; the note read, “Could not locate all of the parchments you requested, awaiting further instructions.” It was not totally unexpected, but it would have been preferable not to add yet another issue to the mix they were dealing with now.

Marchbanks continued to meander through the history of the Wizengamot, discussing the problems of the last several Ministers and connecting it together - rather loosely in some cases - to their need to look for particular skills and capabilities in the candidates. As an elder, she was entitled to her say, and thus far, there were signs of restlessness but as of yet, no push to move things forward.

It had been almost two hours since Dumbledore had been handed the note, and Marchbanks was still going strong, when Dumbledore noticed that a number of members were slipping out one by one. All of these were in the group that was aligned against Dumbledore and the Order; the Order believed several of them to be Death Eaters. Not long afterwards, he was handed another note; this one appeared to be routine Wizengamot business, but a coded phrase told Dumbledore that a suspect Death Eater, observed by the Order, apparently had been summoned. A few moments later, another such token was brought to Dumbledore - this time an invitation to dinner. Over the next few minutes other Order members in the chamber received similar notes.

Dumbledore exchanged a glance with Nicholas Flamel, who had been watching - and counting. He nodded once, slightly; then Dumbledore waited for an opportune moment and interrupted Marchbanks, saying he looked forward to hearing her remarks continue tomorrow, but it was growing late in the day and that perhaps the members would find adjourning for the day to be useful, to allow those who worked in the various Ministry departments a chance to visit their offices to ensure things continued to run smoothly.

A number of those assembled seemed to find the request unusual, as they had expected to remain in session until at least the evening hours, but the motion to adjourn until the next day was duly made and approved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ron had just successfully Apparated from one side of the room to the other. Hermione had completed the same exercise a few moments before, and Ginny was preparing for her first attempt. Perenelle nodded, and there was a loud pop, and Ginny reappeared near Ron and Hermione. Perenelle said, “Excellent, Ginny! Harry, can you make it four for four?”

Harry nodded, but as he prepared, he felt a flicker at the edge of his consciousness… a flicker of emotion, not his, a feeling that had been all too familiar the last year - Voldemort was enraged. It did not overwhelm him as it had in the past, nor did he feel any pain, but Harry was very much aware that somewhere, Voldemort was murderously angry.

As Harry had stood there, Ginny had also felt Voldemort’s rage; she ran across the room toward Harry as quickly as she could. He took two steps toward her, and she flung herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around him.

“What has happened?” Perenelle demanded, alarmed, as Ron and Hermione brought their wands to ready.

“Voldemort,” Harry replied. “He’s angry.”

“More than angry,” Ginny added, still holding tightly to Harry. “He’s furious.”

Perenelle asked, “Can you still feel it?”

“No, not now,” Harry answered as Ginny shook her head.

“You both felt it,” Perenelle mused, “so it seems without question that the link between you did not falter. Was it like previous times, Harry? Before you and Ginny bonded?”

“No,” Harry responded, after a moment’s thought. “It was much weaker; there was no pain from my scar, just an awareness of the anger, and… well, and who it was, I guess.”

“In that case, Harry, would you and Ginny try separating by a step or two, and tell me what you feel?”

They each took a step away from the other, Ginny not looking particularly pleased about this, then Harry said, “I can feel something, just barely, but not more than it’s there, not even a specific emotion.”

“I don’t feel anything,” Ginny said.

Perenelle wondered if she had erred in proceeding with the lesson as planned; still, this was a skill that might prove useful to them. “Harry, I’d still like you to Apparate today, if you feel up to it. Perhaps a shorter distance, perhaps five or six paces would suffice,” she said, wanting to keep them close together.

Harry nodded, and Perenelle motioned Ginny to move a bit further away. “Beside Ginny, Harry, just do not arrive too close.”

Harry tried to regain his focus from earlier and concentrate on arriving beside Ginny. He took a deep breath and then there was an instant of dislocation, then he was beside her. Ron and Hermione clapped, and Ron said, “Way to go, mate.” Ginny wasted no time in moving beside Harry and taking his hand.

“Excellent, Harry. You have all done well. Now, remember, with the wards now in place, you can Apparate inside the house, but not to a location outside it. And until you have had a bit more practice, it would be a good idea not to attempt it on your own unless someone is nearby who can sort you out, just in case.” They all nodded, all of them having heard horror stories of Wizards splinching themselves and then being stuck for days before being found and put back together. Perenelle continued, “Harry, would you and Ginny remain for a moment, and Ron, would you locate Sirius, and ask him to join us for a moment?”

Ron nodded; he and Hermione exchanged looks with Harry, wondering what was up, but Harry shrugged; he was a little surprised that Perenelle would send for Sirius. Ginny squeezed his hand, reminding him of her presence by his side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the anteroom of the office of the Minister for Magic, the staff had continued to fill the hours as best they could. Today, the Minister had not yet even put in an appearance, though of late his presence had made little difference. Cornelius Fudge would pass through the outer portion of his office as quickly as possible, speaking as little as he could, and would remain in his office with the door locked. Occasionally a bit of parchment would emerge, usually instructions for some strange, inexplicable task, and occasionally a visitor, usually hooded, would enter the inner sanctum for a time; otherwise, there was little impact on the staff whether the Minister was present or not.

The rumors that had reached the staff from other parts of the building indicated that the Wizengamot was moving slower than most of them expected, it seemed that a number of the elders all wanted to have their say, and seemingly, some of them had quite a laundry list to go through, much of it lambasting the failings, or perceived failings of the current Minister. It’s funny, he thought, long as their lists were, those old busybodies didn’t know the truth by half. Still, the Prophet loudly trumpeted each new charge, and the reporters, many who had suckled complacently at the Press Liaison’s teat for years, were now starting to ask questions and dig. It’s about time, he thought.

As the afternoon wore on, he thought about leaving early, but rejected it quickly. He still had jobs to do, at least one of which was real. But not everyone in the office felt the same way, Roderick Baddock and Miles Bletchley were apparently going to make an early day of it. They nodded as they passed his desk, and he noticed they both seemed to be in something of a hurry and distracted. His eyes narrowed as he noticed Miles holding his forearm. Miles was a bit of a surprise; he must be a very recent recruit. He had not been in the office long; he was really no more than a junior intern.

He reached for a report that had been sitting on his desk for the last several days; it was late, but at the moment, no one seemed to care about such things, and odds were this particular report was usually looked at just long enough to identify it for what it was before binning it. He made a notation and initialed it, then called one of the pages away from their endless game - today it looked like they were playing Exploding Snap - well, at least someone here wasn’t completely bored out of their skull - and sent the scowling youth off to deliver the report, who clearly saw no reason the errand couldn’t wait until their game… or perhaps several more hands… were finished.

That bit of work now done, Percy settled back down to wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Albus Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel left the Wizengamot as quickly as they could manage - several members had wanted to talk to Dumbledore - and went straight to the Chief Warlock’s office. Pandora Jones, the middle-aged witch who ran the outer office, on seeing their approach, blocked the door to the private office, a stack of parchments and a quill in her hand. Before she would allow Dumbledore to pass, she insisted that he initial or sign, as needed, each of the waiting parchments, much to Flamel’s amusement.

Once they were allowed to proceed and Dumbledore had closed the door behind him, Flamel commented, “If the Hogwarts staff knew it was that easy, you’d be ambushed constantly outside your office door.”

Dumbledore replied, “Why do you think the gargoyle has been there since the school was founded? That’s not the only entry, as you know full well. But perhaps I should have someone like Pandora at Hogwarts. She handles many routine matters in my name; it is difficult when she takes vacation.”

Flamel nodded and then said, “Shall we return to the school? I would not mind an early evening and an early start myself,” though his eyes conveyed an entirely different message.

“Indeed, and shall we go directly to my office? That would be close for us both.” Dumbledore picked up a quill from the desk, and commanded, “Portus!” He held out the quill to Flamel, and a moment later, the Chief Warlock’s office was empty.

Dumbledore and Flamel arrived in the Headmaster’s office, but neither sought their quarters. Dumbledore took his usual chair behind the desk, and Flamel chose one of the comfortable armchairs. “Perhaps we should have gone directly to Headquarters,” Dumbledore said, “since it seems likely that the summoning of the Death Eaters is related to what occurred earlier today, and we are somewhat lacking in specifics.”

“I asked Perenelle to find Sirius before we returned to the chamber this afternoon. I have not heard from her, and she has not returned, so it is unlikely there is anything of immediate consequence. Do you wish to go there? Or we could question Pettigrew directly.”

“It may be better to go there. The situation in the Wizengamot will not hold much longer, even with Griselda’s best efforts, and unless the count has changed today, we will need Harry and Sirius. Perhaps now is the time to move Voldemort’s attention elsewhere.”

Flamel nodded and picked up the quill. “Then allow me. Portus.” They both stood, and Dumbledore walked from behind the desk. Flamel extended the quill, and a moment later the Headmaster’s office was empty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sirius entered the basement classroom reluctantly; he had spent the last two hours in the kitchen trying to think of what he would say, and was farther away from having an answer than he was when he started. But regardless of how he tried to sort it or find another solution, he kept coming back to what Perenelle had said about how Harry might react if he found they were withholding this from him… the memory she had shown him of Harry’s confrontation with Dumbledore wasn’t exactly reassuring either.

Sirius and Perenelle exchanged a glance; her calm demeanor was reassuring to him. She said, “Why don’t we adjourn to the fourth floor? This will give Harry and Ginny an excuse to Apparate, and it will be easier to talk there.”

The two teens needed little encouragement; they disappeared with a single loud pop. Sirius shrugged at Perenelle, as if to say no use keeping them waiting, and followed. A second later, Perenelle joined them.

Harry and Ginny had already settled on a sofa; Sirius took a seat in one of the overstuffed chairs while Perenelle closed the door and cast several spells; Harry was pretty sure one of the was the Imperturbable Charm. Perenelle then took another of the armchairs and exchanged another look with Sirius; he nodded, he would at least start.

“Harry,” Sirius began, “I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to tell you straight out.” He paused and then took the plunge. “Harry, I saw Peter today; Moony wasn’t up to it, so I ended up going alone. What he told me sounded like pure blagging, the most I’ve heard in a long time, but he insisted it was true; Dumbledore had Veritaserum and after giving it to him, his story didn’t change… so at least Peter thought it was true. But there’s never been as much as a whisper, never one shred of evidence….” Sirius paused, searching for words.

“What is it, Sirius?” Harry asked, becoming concerned that Sirius was somehow at risk.

“Harry…” Sirius again paused; there just wasn’t any way to lead into this or break it gently. “Harry, you may have a brother.”

Harry looked expectantly toward Sirius for a moment, then grinned and asked, “What is it really, Sirius? Go ahead and tell me, is Wormtail trying to blackmail you?”

“I’m not trying to wind you up, Harry.” Sirius looked to Perenelle for help.

“He is… sincere, Harry,” Perenelle said, as the smile left Harry’s face. Ginny moved closer to Harry, concerned; emotions rippled across Harry’s face as he struggled to come to terms with this. Finally, looking at the floor, he asked, “How?”

“Lily was preggers, Harry,” Sirius said, his voice breaking. “Prongs… James… had told me a month or two before they were killed…”

Perenelle took over. “The night your parents were killed, Harry, after you had defeated Voldemort and his spirit had fled, several of Voldemort’s followers entered your house to discover what had happened. Two of that number were Peter Pettigrew, and a Death Eater named Electra Rosier.”

“Electra Rosier was an Unspeakable,” Sirius said. “She was in a class three or four years ahead of us at Hogwarts and was more than smart enough to be in Ravenclaw, but she was Slytherin to the core, just like her brother, Evan. As they were going though the house - this must have been after Hagrid and I had left - Peter came across Electra Rosier in… in your nursery…” Sirius paused until he could maintain some measure of control over his voice. “She was standing over Lily, and Peter heard her say an incantation he didn’t recognize. I don’t remember….”

“It was Fetum Inter Matris,” Perenelle said, her tone harsh. “This spell was originally used by a handful of pureblood families, who would conceive a child, then some weeks later - usually about the onset of morning sickness, when it became inconvenient - transfer the unborn child to a surrogate mother. Usually this would be a half blood, but sometimes even a Muggle, who would bring it to term, then usually serve as nanny and wet nurse if not killed outright afterwards. But the spell was also used in other, much more cruel ways, and it was outlawed long ago. I had thought it almost completely forgotten.”

“At the time, Harry, Peter didn’t know what the spell did,” Sirius said. “But for whatever reason, it stuck in his mind, and at some point last year, he came across it in a book Voldemort had him searching. He realized then what might have happened.”

Harry was finding this difficult to comprehend. They all sat silently until Harry finally asked, “Why… why didn’t Wormtail tell Voldemort?”

“I’m not sure, Harry,” Sirius replied. “He told me a bunch of stuff, from he was tired of how Voldemort was treating him to guilt over what he’d done. I think he’d held onto it as a bargaining chip… and in the end, I guess that’s what he did. I persuaded Dumbledore to have him taken straight to Hogwarts, which is about the safest place he can be right now. And it’s possible he ended up telling Voldemort anyway. Lucius Malfoy had one of those damned ears the twins make, and he could have heard every word.”

“Oh, Merlin, No!” Harry groaned. “He knows, Sirius.”

Perenelle nodded to herself; the timing was about right.

“How do you know?” Sirius asked, puzzled.

“Today, just before our last lesson ended,” Ginny replied, “Harry… and I… felt his anger for a few seconds. He was livid.”

“I thought… I thought your being together prevented that,” Sirius said, concerned.

“They were apart at the time, Sirius,” Perenelle said, “and neither Harry nor Ginny felt pain or were overwhelmed by the experience. And when they came physically together, the feeling faded.”

“Harry,” Sirius said, waiting for Harry, who had closed his eyes and was sitting there, slowly shaking his head, to look at him. “Harry, look, this is all we know right now; we don’t know what happened after that, or if the spell worked at all… I’d have rather not said anything at all until we could find out more….”

“No, Sirius, thank you. And thank you, Professor, for telling me. I’d… I’d rather know.” But it was obvious to all of them, particularly Ginny, just how heavily this had hit him.

Perenelle said, “Nicholas is here, within the house. It is likely that Dumbledore is with him. They will most likely be here momentarily.”

“They don’t know, Harry. Not yet,” Sirius said as Perenelle dispelled the charms she had placed on the door and walked toward it to open it.

“Oh, that’s just great.” Harry said, wanting some time to absorb this before discussing it further.

Dumbledore and Nicholas had just reached the top of the stairs when Perenelle opened the door. They entered, and Perenelle started to close it again when Harry said, “Wait. If we’re going to have to go through this again, I want Ron and Hermione here.”

Dumbledore didn’t look particularly pleased with this, but Sirius said, “I’ll get them,” and Apparated out before there were any objections. He reappeared a minute later followed by two other pops as Ron and Hermione appeared.

Dumbledore asked Perenelle, “I take it they have all learned to Apparate?”

“Yes,” she replied, as she again applied a series of spells to the door. “I believe each of them has now done so exactly twice.” Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance; no point in correcting the Professor; the number she had given was still reasonably close.

Nicholas Flamel had taken a seat on the other couch before Ron and Hermione had arrived, so Hermione sat beside Ginny, and Ron squeezed in beside her. Perenelle sat beside Nicholas; Harry and Ginny noticed that their middle and index fingers had met at once, unobtrusively, as soon as Perenelle was seated.

Dumbledore looked around the room and said, “Am I right in assuming, Sirius, that you have already shared with Harry what you learned this afternoon?”

Sirius nodded, and Dumbledore continued, “And Harry, that this is what you wish to share with Ron and Hermione?”

“Yes,” Harry replied firmly. “I would tell them anyway, and I’d rather Hermione hear it directly anyway. She often picks up on stuff the rest of us miss.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly and said, “Then, Sirius, if you would.”

Sirius, with help from Perenelle, repeated what he had told Harry earlier. When Perenelle named the spell, it was apparent that Nicholas and Dumbledore knew the incantation; both visibly reacted with a mix of surprise and horror. “I did not know Lily had become pregnant again,” Dumbledore said.

“Wait, what does the spell do?” Hermione asked. Perenelle explained it; Hermione turned pale.

“James told me a month or two before… that Lils was back in the Pudding Club,” Sirius said. “He was pretty happy about it, though worried about everything else that was going on. Lily must have been close to six months along at that time, though she wasn’t showing much at all the last time I saw them. The baby was supposed to have been due around New Years.”

“Harry, I’m sorry, I had no idea….” Dumbledore began.

Harry cut him off. “No on else did either, Professor, but now it looks like Voldemort knows, too.”

Dumbledore asked, “Is that because of the notes, or is there something else?”

“Harry and Ginny felt Voldemort grow angry this afternoon, Brain, as our last lesson ended,” Perenelle said. “Only briefly and without ill effect, and it disappeared entirely when Harry and Ginny joined hands.”

“This afternoon,” Nicholas said, “The Death Eaters were summoned; they left, almost as a group, from the Wizengamot itself. It appears the timing is not accidental.”

“And Voldemort wasn’t just angry,” Ginny said. “He was livid.”

“Harry, if it’s any consolation, I reckon that you’re not the person Voldemort would most like to get his hands on right about now,” Sirius said. “You know, Albus, I really don’t think you’ll need to put a lot of effort into guarding Peter now. Somehow, I think you’d need a couple trolls to drag him out of Hogwarts at this point.”

“That may be, Sirius, but at least for the moment, Kingsley and Tonks are guarding him, though we’ll clearly have to come up with some other long-term plan,” Dumbledore replied. “Sirius, am I correct in recalling that once James and Lily went into hiding, Pomfrey took care of their medical needs?”

Sirius searched his memories. “Yes, I think so. I remember running into her at least once at the house in Godric’s Hollow.”

“And I find I do not recall the fate of Electra Rosier. I know Evan Rosier died resisting the Aurors; Alastor was involved in that if I recall correctly,” Dumbledore said.

“Moody would know,” Sirius said. “Not only can he tell you every detail about every Death Eater he personally captured, he knows what happened to any of them that were dealt with by Aurors while he ran the place.”

“I will talk to Alastor. Sirius, Harry, I had also planned to talk with you this evening about the Wizengamot. I’m afraid I have little choice but to ask for your help; it could be that we will need both of you to take your places as early as tomorrow afternoon; at this time, unless Voldemort’s followers change direction, it will happen this week.”

“What do we need to do?” Sirius asked.

“I had intended to discuss that tonight, but under the circumstances that we adjourned under, I believe it would be best if Nicholas and I confer further with a few other members, then brief you tomorrow, or perhaps send word via Perenelle. Do you think Remus will be up to teaching tomorrow?”

“I doubt it,” Sirius replied. “When he has a rough time like this, it’s usually the worst on the second day.”

“In that case, one of us will likely join you tomorrow morning to discuss the details, most likely Perenelle,” Dumbledore said. “I will talk to Alastor this evening, and Poppy as well if I can.”

“Will you let me know what you find out?” Harry asked.

Dumbledore and Harry locked eyes for a moment; Dumbledore realized how important this was to Harry, even as he tried to rein in his hopes, and Harry understood that the old Wizard’s reluctance was truly out of concern for him… and more. “Yes, Harry, I will. And, Harry, I know you will not sit idly by. Will you share with us what you learn, and seek advice and council as you did last time before placing yourselves and your friends at risk?”

Harry thought for a moment before answering. “Yes, Professor, but in the end, I will do what I think is right. But you’ll at least get a chance to help me figure out what that is.”

“I could not ask for more, Harry. A great poet once said, ‘This above all: to thine own self be true.’ If you can follow that maxim, Harry, usually everything else will fall into place.”

They exchanged farewells, and Perenelle told them to expect to see her in the morning. Dumbledore and the Flamels left for Hogwarts. Sirius remarked that it was nearing time for dinner, but Harry asked Sirius to send Dobby up again with a tray; he apologized to Sirius, Ron and Hermione, but told them he needed a little time to sort through this. They were all understanding and agreed that they would come back up around 8:30 to see how Harry was feeling.

As Sirius, Ron and Hermione headed downstairs, Harry entered the bedroom, Ginny trailing close behind. She closed the door behind them as Harry collapsed on the bed; she lay beside him, and slipped her fingers against his, waiting.

It was a long while before Harry finally spoke. “I’m not sure how to deal with this, Gin. How can I possibly have a brother at all… let alone one that a Death Eater gave birth to?”

“Harry, Sirius said all we knew was Wormtail thought it was true….”

“And that my Mum was pregnant.”

Ginny wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Harry finally continued, “And I keep thinking back to the prophecy, the last one. ‘One shall be two’… could that be what this means?”

“I don’t know; but how could this have happened and there has never been as much as a clue? If you had a brother, he’d be almost my age, but a year behind in school. There’s no one in Hogwarts that’s even a possibility.”

“Hey, that’s an idea,” Harry said, “Everyone doesn’t go to Hogwarts, but isn’t there some book McGonagall has that has the name of every Wizard child born in England?”

“I think so.”

“I guess we can ask. Remember a few nights ago, when I told you about the Mirror of Erised? I was the only kid in that reflection, Ginny. I couldn’t imagine…”

“Did you imagine me in that reflection?”

Harry slipped his arm around her before answering, “No.”

“Then that mirror doesn’t show everything.”

“I guess not.”

“And it doesn’t change anything; who you are, how I feel about you, how Ron and Hermione will feel…”

“I know.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“I’m… not sure, I guess. I don’t know whether to hope it’s true or… or a dead end. In some ways, yeah, it’d be nice to know I wasn’t the only one in my family, but I couldn’t wish some of the stuff I’ve been through on anybody.”

“You’re not the only one in your family any more, Harry,” Ginny said, giggling. “Have you already forgotten what I told you a couple days ago? Should I go ahead and start using Potter now to remind you?”

“You know that wasn’t what I meant.”

“I know, but I did get just a little bit of a smile there.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to cheer me up.”

“Maybe I am. There’s no point worrying about what you can’t do anything about.”

“Now that I know… and Voldemort knows… if there is any truth to it, he’ll be searching.”

“Maybe not; you’re the one in the prophecy.”

“No, if I do really have a brother, he’s now a target… or maybe Voldemort already has him, and all he’s angry about is Wormtail telling us.”

“If he did, he’d have used that last year,” Ginny said, softly. “He doesn’t know any more than we do.”

There was a soft knock at the door, and they could hear Dobby on the other side, saying that dinner was waiting in the dining room. Ginny sat up, and tugged at Harry. “Come on, you need to eat.” Harry let her pull him to his feet and lead him to the dining room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It is still very, very close, Albus,” Arthur Weasley said, sitting in the Headmaster’s office. “With most of the members, the vote could have been taken a week ago and there would be no difference. There are two or three who will throw in their lot with whoever they see the winners to be, and one who holds out, hoping to the kingmaker and barter a role for themselves in the new government.”

“How did they ever get so close?” Amelia Bones asked.

“When good people do nothing, or become complacent…” Dumbledore replied. “Voldemort made good use of the last year, and his followers have been preparing the way even longer. Are we decided, then? That, barring an unexpected change, we will attempt to see the question called late tomorrow and the vote scheduled for Wednesday?”

Arthur Weasley, Amelia Bones and Nicholas Flamel nodded their agreement.

“Thank you,” Dumbledore said in dismissal. “We will proceed as discussed tomorrow.” Arthur Weasley and Amelia Bones both returned to the Ministry via the fireplace.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and looked at his watch. “Alastor should be here soon.”

“You seem very eager to move things forward,” Nicholas said.

“I do not think the numbers will change further in our favor, and it is my hope that Voldemort is focused elsewhere, for at least a short time. If the Ministry is left in good hands, our task becomes easier, and in truth, I am concerned that we act before Harry or Sirius become focused elsewhere… as well as freeing ourselves to deal with what might arise from Pettigrew’s story.”

“Do you believe it to be true?”

“I do not know,” Dumbledore replied. “After Harry defeated Voldemort fifteen years ago, I saw some of the things which Electra Rosier had worked on at the Ministry. It is my belief that her research was in support of Voldemort’s quest for immortality. Undoubtedly she learned of Fetum Inter Matris during that research.”

“Even if it were, there can be little doubt that Harry is the one foretold in Trelawney’s first prophecy. Harry having a brother - or not - does not change that.”

“Remember, Nicholas, the protection Lily gave Harry. If another child, even unborn, survived that attack, that child would have the same protection as Harry. It is possible Voldemort could find a way to use that.”

“If he hasn’t already. Could learning of Pettigrew’s betrayal be sufficient to explain the events of this afternoon? The boy, if there ever was such a child, would have been born to a Death Eater, and may have been raised in service to Voldemort as well.”

“That seems unlikely; Voldemort would have already made use of such a child in some fashion.”

“In that case, if there were such a child, and if the child lives, we may be in a race…”

“To find the child first,” Dumbledore concluded. “And in fifteen years, the trail may have gone cold.”

“That may work in our favor,” Nicholas said. “Harry will have the strongest tie….”

“But Voldemort has a trace of Harry’s blood as well.” They heard two clanking footsteps, and there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Dumbledore said.

Alastor Moody limped into the room and took a chair. “Albus, Nicholas.”

“Alastor, do you remember a Death Eater named Electra Rosier?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes. She was the sister of Evan Rosier, the one who did this,” Moody said, pointing at his nose. “She was smart as a whip, worked at the Ministry as an Unspeakable before being ratted out. She managed to flee the country before we could corner her.”

“Do you know where she went?”

“No, we’re not even sure how she got out of the country, though my guess is she took some sort of Muggle transportation. But wherever she went, she ended up in New York. The Yanks got an ID on her, and had two Aurors trailing her. She must have realized it, because she sped up and looked like she was trying to lose them. Anyway, she stepped out in the street, right in front of a car. Was killed instantly.”

“Are you sure?” Flamel asked.

“Very sure. The body was shipped over here, and we checked it the same way we did every other Death Eater who was killed. It wasn’t a fake, any sort of simulacrum, polyjuice, anything like that. It was Electra Rosier all right, and she was a right good Death Eater then.”

“Was anyone with her?” Dumbledore asked.

“Nah, she was alone at the time. At the time, they thought she might have been in contact with others, but when she got killed, none of those leads panned out. There were a couple other sightings there over the next couple years, but nothing else.”

“Did Electra Rosier have any children?” Flamel queried.

“Not that I ever heard of,” Moody replied. “Seems unlikely, though she was a looker. Word we had on her was she played for the other team.”

Conversation then turned to other matters. Dumbledore drew Moody out at some length on the current state of the Auror division, and discussed possible changes and roles should a favorable government come to power. After perhaps an hour of discussion, Moody departed and Dumbledore and Flamel were again alone.

“So she left the country,” Flamel said. “Perhaps that explains the book.” Earlier they and Minerva McGonagall had looked carefully through the book of Wizard children, looking at all births recorded between October 30, 1981 and February 1982; there seemed to be no possibility among the names listed. Certainly, there were not a Potter, Rosier, or other children unaccounted for. Most of those listed were students at Hogwarts.

“That does not make things easier.”

“But it may give us a slight edge. As long as we can make use of the Ministry resources, we may be able to go through official channels,” Nicholas said.

“Without calling attention to our actions? There are many eyes and ears in the Ministry.”

“Perhaps some of those might be eliminated.”

Fawkes suddenly sang several trilling notes. Both Pymander and Fawkes had sat quietly on Fawkes' perch through the last two meetings; now both birds were active and watching Dumbledore.

“I’m not sure which concerns me more,” Nicholas said. “The times they take an active role or when they allow us to blunder along on our own.”

“Perhaps I am being reminded I have another call to make.” A single note from Fawkes confirmed this. Dumbledore stood, and approaching the fire, took a pinch of powder and after tossing it into the flames, said, “Poppy Pomfrey,” and placed his head within the flames.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At Grimmauld Place, Sirius knocked on the door of the master suite, and in response to Ginny’s invitation, he opened the door and asked, “How are you guys feeling? Up to a bit of company?”

Harry and Ginny were on one of the sofas; Ginny was sitting, Harry was lying with his head in her lap. Ginny waited until Harry answered, “Sure, come on in.”

Harry started to sit up, but Ginny pushed his shoulder back down, whispering, “Relax; you’re entitled.”

Sirius motioned to Ron and Hermione, waiting at the top of the stairs; they filed in and found seats. Ron seemed to be slightly uncomfortable, but Hermione took his hand as they settled on the other couch, and nothing was said.

“Harry, how are you coping?” Sirius asked.

“Okay, I guess. Somehow, I just can’t see myself with a younger brother any more than I can see Ginny as an only child. It’s… I dunno, it’s like Ron and Bill and Charlie and the twins are part of who she is. It’s hard to see myself like that, having any sort of blood ties like that, ties that are just there because they’re there… it’s different than ones I’ve been given by Ginny, by you, by Hermione and the Weasleys. It’s just been me as long as I can remember; I didn’t have any family at all before Hogwarts.”

“Relationships have to be made, Harry, a step at a time, just like with us,” Hermione said. “You’ll at least be starting off with something in common. It look a troll to show me what a true Gryffindor is.”

“Would I?” Harry asked. “If this brother exists, he was born to a Death Eater. He may have the Dark Mark and be following Voldemort already.”

“If Voldemort had your brother, he wouldn’t have needed your blood,” Hermione said.

“And remember what we felt,” Ginny said. “There was a lot of surprise mixed in his anger.”

Harry looked up at her; he had not realized that until she said it, but Ginny was right. “But still, all we have so far is a possibility.”

“Harry, have you compared this against the last prophecy Professor Trelawney gave?” Hermione asked.

“’One shall be two?’” Ginny said. “Harry mentioned that to me earlier.”

Harry sighed. “Why can’t just once a seer come up with something that can be used? Like dates, names, something definite. Who knows what it means?”

“All we can do is take our best shot, mate,” Ron said. “Having brothers isn’t that bad, other than the hand-me-downs. Actually, it can be right brilliant at times.”

“Like when they turn your teddy bear into a spider,” Ginny reminded him.

Ron shuddered. “Okay, maybe brothers aren’t perfect. But five brothers including the twins are preferable to even one sister, especially a kid sister. Kid sisters are always into your stuff. Mum never batted an eye when Fred and George used to pound the stuffing out of me, but none of us could even look cross-eyed at Ginny. Even now, she somehow manages to steal my socks, even at Hogwarts.”

Ginny was wearing her most innocent expression as Sirius and Harry laughed. “Yeah, but think about what she’s doing to Harry,” Hermione said, thinking of the snitch covered boxers.

“Yeah,” Ron said, “it doesn’t get better. After all that, your sister starts to grow up, and in addition to stealing your stuff, she starts snogging your friends. Trust me on this one, Harry, you don’t want a kid sister.”

“But I like snogging your sister,” Harry said, grinning, “At least as much as you like snogging Hermione.”

As they laughed, Ginny exchanged looks with Ron and Hermione, the gratitude in her eyes apparent. She had realized Ron was trying to get Harry to relax, and through their link, she knew how good that bit of laughter had been for him.

“Hey, that’s different,” Ron protested.

“How?” Sirius asked, amused.

“I was smart enough to pick a girl without any brothers,” Ron said smugly.

“Don’t forget about me,” Harry said. “Not that there’d be much left after Hermione finished with you. She’s like Ginny, she can take up for herself.”

“I thought Ginny was very high maintenance, Harry,” Hermione said, laughing.

Ron started to say something, but there was a flash of light as Fawkes appeared. With a flap of his wings, he landed on the back of the sofa near Harry and trilled two notes. Ginny noticed he held out a roll of parchment in one claw. She accepted it, and Fawkes disappeared; Ginny handed the parchment to Harry.

Harry opened the parchment and read; the laughter leaving his eyes almost at once. “According to this,” he said, “Electra Rosier left England not long after my parents… were killed. Moody didn’t have any idea how she left or where she went, but she turned up a year or two later in New York. She was killed when she was run over by a car when trying to get away from some Aurors.” He continued staring at the parchment.

“What else, Harry?” Ginny prompted.

“If Ron’s right, I might have a problem,” Harry said. “According to what Madam Pomfrey told Professor Dumbledore, my parents weren’t expecting a boy… they were expecting a girl.”