Chapter 25- What we have here is a failure to communicate.....

Saturday, July 15, 1995

Albus Dumbledore had a certain reputation for omniscience in the British magical community, and the world at large. Even before his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald, he had been well known for his magical strength, keen intellect, and meticulous attention to detail. There was just some intangible something about him that inspired confidence. Perhaps it was the way he always seemed to know what went on around him, or the way he could usually zero in on the cause of a problem. Perhaps it was his customary good humor and unflappable attitude. Perhaps it was his half-moon glasses and appreciation of chamber music and tenpin bowling. Whatever it was, it had earned him a great deal of fame and respect. People tended to breathe sighs of relief and feel an almost childish sense of confidence that everything would be all right when Albus Dumbledore took things in hand.

Albus was flattered by the trust in him, but privately considered it a bit excessive. He freely admitted that he was far from perfect or infallible, but the truth remained that he was an exceptional wizard. Most of the time the magical community's trust was well placed. Most of the time, he could be counted on to make the right decision, choose the proper course of action, and discover any errors that had been made.

Most of the time.

Probably a good 90 - 95% of the time.

But not always.

Formidable as he was, Albus Dumbledore was not immune to the occasional slip-up or oversight.

Unfortunately, people tend to react poorly, and be irrationally unforgiving when their heroes dare to show that they are indeed human.

The Hogwarts Headmaster surveyed his glaring guests with carefully masked unease. "So, what can I help you with?" he asked pleasantly, hoping to dispel some of the tension. By the looks of things, he might soon have a small riot on his hands.

Silence stretched out in response to his query, until Arabella broke it. Rising from her chair, she put the parchment she was holding down on Albus' desk. It was a status sheet, Albus noted. Harry Potter, Status: Unknown. Unknown?!

"Harry's aunt and uncle have left Privet Drive," she stiffly announced, when Dumbledore's startled blue eyes sought hers. Ignoring the shocked gasps from Sirius, Remus, and Arthur, she continued, "I called Grunnings Drills, his uncle's place of employment. They said Vernon accepted a position in Australia!" How could you have allowed this to happen! her body language shouted. Why didn't you know?!

Sirius opened his mouth to protest Harry's removal from Britain, but Arthur beat him to it, startling everyone with his vehemence. "No, Albus, that is absolutely unacceptable! Harry must come to the Burrow immediately, and legal action must be taken to remove him from those muggles' care!" Rising to stand next to Arabella, he gestured to the "garden gate" he had brought with him. "Summer of '92, that foul excuse of an uncle barricaded him in his room! These bars were fitted over his window, and they underfed him as well!"

Albus' face darkened like a thundercloud, as the suspicions he'd had about Harry a few days ago came rushing back. Damn! He'd allowed himself to be distracted by the boy's news about his scar connection, and he hadn't pursued the matter as he'd intended. "Why are you just now telling me this?" he demanded, amazed that Arthur Weasley would keep something this important to himself.

Arthur sighed heavily, and ran a weary hand down his face. "Because I just found out myself," he said, his voice thick with anger and self-reproach. "I feel like an idiot!" he snarled, causing Sirius and Remus to exchange nervous looks. Weasley was usually rather calm and mild-mannered. What on earth had set him off?

"Perhaps you should back up, and start at the beginning," Dumbledore suggested gently, gesturing for Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Figg to return to their seats while the others nodded their agreement.

"Very well," Arthur said, dropping back into his seat between Remus and Arabella. He paused a moment to gather his thoughts, then began.

"I suppose the natural starting point is September first, 1991. Molly and Ginny had seen the boys off on the Hogwarts Express. They also met Harry Potter, and directed him to Platform 9 ¾. I wasn't able to accompany them the train station that year, but I heard all about it when I got home that evening," Arthur said, smiling indulgently as he remembered his daughter's sparkling brown eyes and bright smile. Mum told him how to get onto the platform, Dad, but I wished him luck!

"Ginny was so excited she forgot to be sad that all her brothers were off at school. Molly was a little preoccupied, though," Arthur continued, ignoring Snape's indelicate snort. "When I asked, she shrugged and said it was probably nothing, but now that she'd had a chance to think about it there were several things about Harry she found odd. He was unaccompanied, he hadn't been told how to get onto the platform, and his appearance wasn't what one might expect. She was especially surprised by his taped glasses, and worn, baggy clothes." Arthur said, ticking off the points on his fingers.

"We talked it over and decided Harry's muggle family must be hurting financially. It didn't completely explain things, but it was the only solution we could think of, and something we could certainly sympathize with. Even Ron noticed. He mentioned in a letter that Harry never got mail from home, and asked Molly if she would please include something for him when she sent the annual Christmas parcel. We found that odd, but thought perhaps the muggles were having difficulty or didn't want to learn how to utilize owl post. We always had some explanation." Arthur paused here, face flushing angrily. "I found out last summer when I went to fetch Harry, that those muggles are very comfortable. I'd even say well off."

As she listened to Arthur's tale, a horrible suspicion was beginning to form in Arabella's mind. Since she babysat Harry quite often while he was growing up, she'd made it a point to get him some small treat for the holidays. Petunia generally left Harry with her at least once as the holiday neared, which suited Belle just fine. It gave her the opportunity to give the boy his present without having to get one for his brat of a cousin. Her gifts were never large or extravagant: some cookies or sweets (Harry especially fancied Mars Bars), a small box of crayons, a picture book, or some inexpensive plastic toy. They were nothing, really, but Harry always acted like she'd presented him with the world on a plate. He generally reciprocated with a drawing or craft he made at school.

She hadn't given him anything for the last few years, because she was supposed to be posing as a muggle, and as such wouldn't know of Hogwarts. Dear God, were her pitiful offerings the only Christmas presents the boy had? No, that couldn't be right. She wouldn't let it be right! "Are you saying he didn't get anything from the Dursleys?" she asked weakly.

"They sent him a bit of muggle money first year," Arthur supplied grimly. "50p, I believe. Ronald was fascinated by it, so Harry let him have it. I remember because Ron showed it to me when he returned to the Burrow for the summer holidays."

Mrs. Figg was looking a little pale, so Arthur gave her a reassuring smile. "He receives gifts from his friends, and Molly always makes it a point to include him when she sends the Christmas package to our lot. It's not much, but he always writes her a nice note, and makes sure to thank her again when she meets the train at the end of term."

"Yes," Belle said faintly, "he was always very appreciative of the little gifts I gave him as well."

Arthur nodded, then frowned a little as he got back on track. "The summer before Ron and Harry's second year, Ron asked Molly for permission to invite Harry over for a visit, and she agreed almost immediately. She hadn't been impressed with Vernon Dursley at all when she'd seen him at Kings Cross.

"Ron wrote to Harry several times, but he never responded." Arthur paused as though working through something, then shrugged. "I didn't think much of it at the time. Maybe something had come up. Maybe he'd changed his mind. Maybe he was slow about answering his mail. They were only twelve after all, and at the time I thought Harry must have a wonderful home life. Even if they didn't have material wealth, I was certain his family must love him very dearly.

"Then one morning in early August, I came home from an absolutely exhausting night at work, and found an extra person in my household. Ron and the twins had gotten worried about Harry, so they crept out of bed and fetched him from Surrey using a muggle car I was tinkering with. I found these in my shed this afternoon," Arthur said, indicating the bars with a look of extreme distaste. He raked a hand through his thinning red hair then proceeded to tell how his sons had rescued Harry after discovering him barricaded in his room. When he finished, even Snape looked faintly shocked.

"So how exactly did the bars come into your possession, Arthur?" Albus asked curiously.

"Ron said they left in a bit of a hurry, so they just brought them along. Evidently they woke Harry's family, and his uncle was none too pleased. The boys didn't want Molly to know they'd been out of course, so they stashed the bars in my shed when they got back to the Burrow." Arthur stopped a minute, and flushed slightly. "I have a fair amount of clutter in my shed, so this wasn't difficult. The boys were planning to tell Molly that Harry had 'shown up in the night,' but she was too quick for them. She'd noticed they were gone, and was waiting for them when they got back."

"Was she indeed?" Dumbledore asked, smiling in spite of himself at the mental image. Molly Weasley could be quite intimidating when she chose.

"Oh, quite," Arthur said, with a rueful grin of his own. "She was livid of course. The boys tried to tell her that Harry and Hedwig were caged and half starved, but she wasn't having any of it. At the time, she assumed it was another wild tale the twins made up, and you can't really blame her. About half of what they say is rubbish. Anyway, after she scolded the lot of them, she took them in and started breakfast. The whole thing blew over and never came up again. To this day, Harry's never said a word about it-to anyone. Ron said he'd almost forgotten about the bars until we found them just now." The wizard fell silent when he finished his tale, and the silence wasn't broken immediately.

At length, a voice was heard. "So, that was why. Thank you, Arthur. I'd wondered."

Everyone turned to face Sirius Black. Arthur swallowed tightly, a little unnerved by the deadly calm look on the other man's face. "Wondered what, Sirius?" he asked hesitantly.

"Why Harry was so quick to accept my invitation to live with me," Sirius said tonelessly. "I'd wondered at the time, but I was so pleased, I didn't question it.

"I felt I needed to make the offer," he continued, "since James and Lily had appointed me as his guardian. I honestly expected him to refuse. I imagined he would rather stay in familiar surroundings, and the best I could hope for was the occasional visit. I was a virtual stranger to him, after all, and we didn't exactly meet under the best of circumstances."

"Harry still thought Sirius had betrayed his family," Remus supplied, when Arabella and Arthur looked a little confused. "Don't anger the lad if you can avoid it. He's got a rather impressive temper when properly inspired."

"And a wicked right hook," Sirius murmured, absently touching the side of his head. Abruptly he shook off his shock. Remus saw this, and put a restraining hand on his arm, but Black managed to keep a firm grip on himself. He looked from Arthur to Albus to Arabella with a dangerous glitter in his eyes. "Harry has admitted that he and his muggle family aren't exactly close, but from what you're saying..." he trailed off, then rounded on Dumbledore, eyes blazing. "Am I to understand that my godson grew up in an abusive household, and no one noticed? "

"So it would seem," Dumbledore said wearily. "Although I believe Harry received a warning from the Improper Use of Magic Office that summer. It's possible that his uncle overreacted to an isolated incident."

"No, that doesn't sound right," Sirius said, frowning as he tried to remember. "I saw Harry and his uncle summer before third year." He closed his eyes, thinking harder, then made an exasperated noise. "I was in my dog form at the time...it's difficult to recall."

Snape abruptly rose from his chair, and headed for the headmaster's fireplace. "Just a moment," he said, stepping into the flames with a speculative look on his face. Two minutes later, he returned with a small vial, which contained maybe a tablespoon of orange liquid. "Here," he said curtly, handing it to Black. "It's the memory potion Voldemort wants. Let's see what his chances are of successfully dosing Pettigrew, shall we?" When the Animagus hesitated, he grew irritated. "It's perfectly safe, Black. I'm not daft enough to poison you in a room full of witnesses!"

Sirius glowered at him for a second, but complied when Dumbledore gave him a slight nod. "Cheers," he told Snape sarcastically, before draining the vial and grimacing at the taste. After a few seconds he could feel it taking effect. Belatedly he wished he'd asked what to expect.

"He will feel some disorientation at first," the potion master said calmly, meeting Remus' questioning gaze when Sirius closed his eyes and swayed slightly in his chair. "The potion stimulates the memory centers of the brain, making even vague remembrances more accessible. The initial rush of thought can be rather overwhelming-probably doubly so for Black seeing how its unfamiliar territory." He moved to stand in front of Sirius before anyone could respond. "Can you hear me, Black?" he asked. "Come on, man. Concentrate."

Sirius, for his part, watched with something like awe as the images of his life began to rise to the surface. Strangely, there were not very many recent memories. Instead he found himself remembering his early adulthood, his Hogwarts days, his childhood, and even a few vague impressions from his infancy.

Can you hear me, Black? Come on, man. Concentrate."