Chapter 60- Appointment with minister.

July 25, 1995

Sirius Black stood in front of the mirror in Arabella Figg's lounge, glaring at the property it monitored with a ferocity that should have melted the glass. The sight of the house on Privet Drive was enough to make him want to smash the bloody thing to pieces, seven years' bad luck or no.

Sirius had never had a high opinion of his godson's Muggle relatives, but now he found himself tapping reserves of self control that he didn't know he possessed to prevent himself from journeying to Perth and taking care of the Dursleys himself. Even now, two days later, he was still reeling from his most recent meeting at Hogwarts.

The good thing was, the majority of the blind rage he'd felt in the beginning had subsided to a more manageable level. He was still furious, of course, but now he was at least thinking clearly.

Or clearer, anyway.

Sighing, Sirius tore his eyes away from the hated structure, rubbing weary hands down his face. In truth, the meeting really shouldn't have been that much of a shock. From what had been verified and pieced together, they had known or at least strongly suspected that Harry's life with the Dursleys hadn't been all peaches and cream. Those hateful Muggles abandoned Harry for Heaven's sake!

Still, it was one thing to suspect abuse, another thing to hear the suspicions confirmed, and something else entirely to witness an event in living color. Sirius reckoned that everyone, himself included, had been guilty of wishful thinking. Even when someone had noticed something, they hadn't really wanted to believe. In that way they'd proven themselves little better than that idiot, Fudge, always ready with some handy excuse:

Harry claiming his family hated him and didn't understand him could have been so much adolescent angst. He certainly wouldn't be the first teenaged wizard at Hogwarts to feel that way.

Even after the window bars thing came to light, proving there was truth in Harry's claim, they'd consoled themselves by noting that the Dursleys seemed more reactive than proactive. That didn't excuse their behavior by any means, but perhaps these were isolated events.

Poor choices made in the heat of the moment.

Overreactions to occasional mishaps.

An unfortunate inability to deal with stress in a civilized manner.

Aberrations in other words, not the norm. Bars on Harry's window couldn't possibly be an example of everyday life!

Snorting bitterly, Sirius began to pace as his mind wandered back to the last meeting at Hogwarts he'd attended a couple of days ago. He and Remus had been summoned to the Headmaster's office along with Filius, Minerva, and Poppy Pomfrey.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Dumbledore had greeted, after everyone was present. His tone was brisk, almost short, and there had been an unusual hint of gravity in his demeanor. Worse yet was the headmaster's appearance. Albus had looked dreadful-absolutely knackered. He had also hesitated in a manner quite unlike himself before he finally announced, "Some new information has come to light with regard to young Mr. Potter."

Sirius had jumped on that immediately, grinning broadly and drawing relieved smiles from his companions. "He's been found then?" he'd questioned, looking around eagerly. "Where is he? Is he here? Harry!"

Dumbledore, instead of appearing relieved or gently chiding the Animagus for his impatience, had looked even older and more tired than before. "Forgive me, Sirius. I did not mean to give you the wrong impression. The news I have is not related to our search efforts. Rather, it has to do with Mr. Potter himself."

Dumbledore had paused a moment more, as though searching for words, then appeared to grow impatient with himself. "There is no easy way to say this, so I'll just get on with it. Before proceeding I must caution you that this is an official school meeting regarding a student, and anything discussed must be kept in the strictest confidence."

Sirius had thought this a rather inauspicious opening and felt the fine hairs on his neck begin to rise as the headmaster peered at each of them in turn. When Dumbledore was satisfied that they all understood, he had continued.

"As you all know, concerns have sprung up this summer regarding Harry Potter and his Muggle relatives. I have looked into the matter, and regret to say that these concerns were not unfounded."

Sirius paused in his pacing, recalling the sinking sensation the old wizard's words had caused. With that one statement, Dumbledore had swept away all the excuses and forced them to stop kidding themselves. The fact that Albus himself had misjudged the matter was very cold comfort. Almost against his will he found himself drawn back to the mirror, looking at the silent house while Dumbledore's words echoed in his head.

"Information has come to light during the course of my research that you should be aware of. Sirius is here as godfather, of course, Remus was invited because of the rather spectacular results of his tutoring during Mr. Potter's third year and you three," here Albus indicated Pomfrey, McGonagall, and Flitwick, "are here as Mr. Potter's Mediwitch and primary spellcasting instructors."

"Potter's spellcasting Albus?"

Sirius had felt a warm rush of pride when McGonagall shared a puzzled frown with Flitwick, then spoke up in her student's defense. "While I will admit that the boy could apply himself to his studies a bit more assiduously, there has never been any question about his magical talent or ability."

"No, he has performed as well as any other incoming student, but only as well, I think."

Dumbledore had let the implications of that statement hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "Right or wrong, I believe we expected better than average performance out of the Boy Who Lived when he came to Hogwarts. We believed him capable of more."

Sirius had been a little miffed at that, but it had been Remus who'd voiced the objection. Ah, Remus, what would we do without you, mate? Sirius thought, smiling fondly at his friend who was currently dozing in one of Arabella's comfortable armchairs. The amber-eyed wizard was normally so congenial and self-effacing, it was easy to forget the beast he carried within him.

The wolf had been in fine fighting form that day, however, Sirius recalled with a smirk. As soon as the Headmaster finished speaking, Remus had jumped in, almost bristling with indignation. "With respect, Headmaster, Harry is capable of more. He managed a corporeal Patronus in his Third Year, which is ridiculously advanced magic!"

Dumbledore had quickly moved to soothe him before even more fur flew. "You misunderstand, Remus. I was not belittling Mr. Potter's accomplishments, but given what he has shown himself capable of, do you not find it odd for him to struggle so with more basic ideas?"

Sirius had answered that one. He and Remus had gone over this at length just a few nights ago. "If you're referring to the Summoning Charm, that was probably nerves," he had stated firmly. "Harry was upset with Ron and he had the bloody First Task coming up. That would be enough to throw anyone off their game!"

The others had nodded their agreement. "Initial difficulties aside, Mr. Potter eventually mastered the Summoning Charm, and used it most effectively," Filius added proudly.

"That is true," Albus conceded. "Mr. Potter was dealing with undeniably stressful circumstances on that particular occasion. Had it been an odd incident, I would not be so concerned, but alas, it was not. He has had similar difficulties with Wingardium Leviosa and others over the years. No, I regret to say, we are dealing with a little more than a student's poor performance as a result of a bad day."

Sirius rolled his eyes as he remembered the headmaster's understated words. That was like saying the North Sea had a little more water than your average mud puddle.

Taking the reins again, Dumbledore had explained his strategy for removing Harry from the Dursleys, and briefed them on the "impressions" Dobby had gathered.

"Sorting through the impressions was very tedious and time-consuming," he explained, retrieving his wand. "Fortunately, Severus came to deliver a report when I was first examining them. The skimming ladle Dobby provided is a useful but rather literal tool. It required a rather subtle line of questioning for maximum effectiveness. Severus made several suggestions that allowed me to get to the heart of the matter much more quickly. As it turned out, wording was everything. I had started with words like 'starved' and 'beaten'. 'Underfed' and 'struck' yielded much better results."

Sirius had been a little taken aback by that bit of news, and had protested Snape's involvement. As usual, this line of proved ineffective with the Headmaster, so he'd subsided fairly quickly. At least the greasy git hadn't been present for the meeting. Of course he wasn't one of Harry's spellcasting professors.

"Viewing all the house impressions would take literally years, so in the interest of time, I selected a representative sample," Dumbledore continued, after Sirius' ruffled feathers had been at least partially smoothed. "One incident in particular seems to address most of the issues at hand. I also believe it is an indicator of just how long the folder has been malfunctioning," he lectured, drawing their attention to a largish Pensieve on his desk.

"Wait, Albus," McGonagall had interrupted when Albus raised his wand, preparing to activate the Pensieve. "Wouldn't it be best to simply tell us what disturbed you so?" she asked, looking uncomfortable.

Dumbledore, Sirius noted, had the appearance of a man who had argued long and hard with himself about that very issue. "I do not wish to intrude upon Mr. Potter's privacy any more than necessary, Minerva. However, I fear I might not be able to adequately describe what I wish you to see. The event could have repercussions on his future schooling, and there is every possibility that one of you might spot something I missed." Raising his wand again, Dumbledore held it at the ready. "Brace yourselves," he warned as he tapped the Pensieve with his wand, "being immersed in non-sentient impressions is rather jarring."

Truer words were never spoken, Sirius reflected, recalling the experience, and marveling again at the professor's gift of understatement. He had dealt with Pensieves before on a rather limited basis, but Dumbledore was right. This was altogether different. The house's impressions took over in a much more forceful way than human thought, making the headmaster's office vanish, and bringing its own prissy interior to the fore. While he and the others fought to regain their equilibrium, Dumbledore calmly lectured.

On one hand, the old man's unflappable attitude was reassuring. On the other hand, it had also made Sirius want to smack him.

"From what I have been able to gather, the first twelve to eighteen months that Mr. Potter lived with his Muggle relatives were relatively uneventful," Albus said, unconsciously slipping into his professorial tones. "Mrs. Dursley very obviously favored her own son, and she and her husband were not as demonstrative towards Harry as one might wish or expect, but all his physical needs were met."

Remembering the Dursleys made Sirius angry all over again. He glared at the house in the mirror and gave a disdainful snort. After the meeting was over, Dumbledore had reluctantly given Sirius permission to investigate the Pensive himself. It hadn't taken long for Black to decide that it was fear of possible discovery or consequences that kept Petunia Dursley in line, rather than any altruistic tendencies she might possess. The woman obviously considered Harry an inconvenience at best, a freak of nature at worst, and squandered all her love and care on her own unappreciative brat.

Still, he had to admit Dumbledore was right. Compared to later, the first year or so that Harry had spent in Surrey had been exemplary. Caring for two toddlers could be a challenge, so for Petunia's convenience, Harry had slept in a little cot in Dudley's bedroom. He was never a favorite in the family, and always came in a distant second in his aunt and uncle's affections, but in the beginning they had at least tolerated him.

Once, Petunia had noted the lack of magical activity and theorized rather hopefully that the trauma to the head Harry had suffered might have rendered him "normal". Sirius had nearly choked when he'd stumbled across that one. Idiot Muggle, he thought contemptuously, as he glared at Privet Drive once again for good measure. How dare she wish Squib status on Harry! Frowning, Sirius turned from the image again before he gave into temptation and cursed the Dursleys into next week.

When he'd entered the Pensieve with the others, he'd thought he'd had a pretty good idea of what he was going to see. Forewarned and primed for the worst, Sirius had dredged up every bit of his Gryffindor courage and steeled himself for the sight of Harry hurt or worse. As the scene stabilized he had been rather taken aback when the sound of childish laughter greeted him.

Laughter? Sirius had raised a questioning eyebrow at Remus, and received a perplexed shrug in return. Almost as one, the group had turned questioning eyes to Albus, silently asking for an explanation. Was he sure he had called up the right impression?

Dumbledore hadn't responded directly to the unvoiced question. Instead he simply gestured for the rest to follow, and led them through the doorway that opened into the lounge. Once inside, the source of the merriment became clear. Sirius had felt his jaw drop in disbelief as he surveyed the scene, barely acknowledging similar displays of wonder from his companions.

Dudley Dursley, who could not have been more than three, clapped and squealed in delight as an equally youthful Harry Potter grinned broadly. Sweeping his arms through the air, Harry was making several of the toys scattered about float and twirl in lazy circles around his cousin.

Sirius and Remus had watched in fascination for a couple of minutes along with everyone else, then it occurred to them what Harry was doing. "Carousel! He's playing carousel, Sirius!" Remus had whispered, using the name Lily had given the game while Sirius nodded excitedly. "I can't believe he remembered that!"

The dark-haired wizard half-smiled at the memory. Everyone had been pleased and amazed, of course, but Sirius had to admit that Flitwick had probably been the most excited. The little Charms professor had been almost beside himself with delight. "Albus!" Filius had squeaked gleefully, "he has perfect control of at least two dozen objects! Wandlessly! Do you realize what this means?"

"Yes," Dumbledore had replied, smiling seemingly in spite of himself, as Harry spread his arms and spun in circles along with the toys. "Mr. Potter's cousin had an unfortunate tendency to poke and torment him. This was his rather ingenious method of distracting young Mr. Dursley," he explained, then suddenly looked very grave.

Sirius had just opened his mouth to ask what the matter was, when the answer became horrifyingly clear. Dudley had grinned at Harry and demanded, "Duddy up!" Harry had innocently complied about the same time the elder Dursleys had peeked in through the hall door to see what their "little poppet" was up to, and the situation had deteriorated rapidly.

Not unexpectedly Petunia had shrieked in horror, startling Harry and breaking his concentration. The entire lot of flying objects had gone tumbling to the ground in a series of thumps and frightened wails. Sirius reckoned the cousin was more surprised than hurt, especially with all that padding, but the parents clearly didn't share that view.

It had been a mistake. Even Sirius had been forced to admit that. Angry as he was, the uncle hadn't truly intended to cause physical injury. While Petunia snatched Dudley off the floor and began to soothe his tears, Vernon rushed forward with an inarticulate roar of rage and seized Harry's small arm in his sausage-like fingers. He'd yanked the boy around, presumably to spank him or lead him to the "time out" chair and...

Crack!

Sirius ground his teeth together and clenched his fists, recalling the small sharp sound of the snapping bone and Harry's terrified, pain-filled shriek. He'd hoped the malfunction had occurred later and Harry had been watched over at least through his toddlerhood, but no. The folder's alert mechanism had failed earlier than even Dumbledore had guessed. At the tender age of three, Harry had been essentially on his own in a hostile environment, and no one had been the wiser.

The unfairness of the whole mess made Sirius' blood boil. If anyone had come to the house at that moment, Harry's arm would have been healed with a single wand-wave, and he almost certainly would have been removed from his relatives' care, or at least monitored more closely if the Ministry wanted to push the issue of blood protection.

What happened? What went wrong? Sirius wondered, resuming his agitated pacing. While it was true that his godson had never been severely beaten or molested, thank heavens, years of living in that atmosphere of tension and unreasoning fear had clearly left its mark. Some of Harry's behaviors and mannerisms that he'd found odd in the past made more sense now.

Cringing, Sirius privately admitted that loosing his frustrated anger on the boy when they'd "spoken" via the enchanted parchment probably hadn't been the best decision he'd ever made. Hell, given his godson's background, it was possible, highly likely even, that Harry was frightened or mistrustful of him now!

Wonderful. Just bloody brilliant. Sirius growled, shaking his head in disgust.

To give credit where it was due, Vernon and Petunia Dursley had actually been rather horrified at what had happened, even if "what will others think" or "what will happen to us" had more to do with their distress than their nephew's injury.

Forgotten, Harry had hugged his broken arm to his chest and paled until his face was the color of milk. His large green eyes grew wide and glassy, and for a minute or two he seemed to be in very real danger of fainting dead away.

Not that Sirius and the rest of Dumbledore's group of observers had been in much better shape by that point. Time seemed to stop. No one moved or even breathed for the space of several heartbeats, each trying to process what they'd just witnessed. At length, McGonagall found her tongue.

"You think some of his magic may be subconsciously blocked, Albus?" she asked in a clipped little voice, shaking Sirius out of his own shocked stupor. Turning, to face his companions, he had been a little surprised at the intensity of their reactions.

Remus' anger, he was expecting. Moony, he knew, would be as furious as he was, but it had been profoundly unnatural to see the usually unflappable Madame Pomfrey gripping and releasing her wand in a show of helpless frustration. Professor Flitwick was alternately wringing his hands and clenching his fists, and McGonagall...

Sirius shook his head in awe. The Transfiguration professor had been standing ramrod-straight and peering at him through her square glasses in a very no-nonsense way. In the majority of Sirius' experience with the witch, that posture usually meant a student was about to get their head handed to them.At least a dozen handy excuses came to mind before he realized that McGonagall's focus wasn't him. She had actually been looking over his left shoulder at the headmaster, and her angry look had a very "I Told You So" feel to it. Her eyes were suspiciously bright as well, and the small part of Sirius' brain that wasn't busy being stunned and furious wondered if McGonagall had been against leaving Harry with his Muggle relatives all those years ago. Intrigued, he made a mental note to discuss it with Remus later.

Dumbledore, for his part, had stepped forward and met his deputy's accusing glare without comment. When it became clear that she wasn't going to back down, he sighed and answered her question. "It is possible, Minerva. When we find Mr. Potter, it might be enlightening to have him take some of the proficiency tests we give to our incoming Muggleborns. We shall get to that shortly, but for now there is a bit more," he admitted, including the others in his address and looking apologetic. "Be assured that the worst is over," he said, waving his wand and allowing the scene to move forward again.

Up until that moment, Sirius had reckoned the "time stopping" sensation he'd experienced earlier had just been shock. At that moment he'd cottoned on to the fact that Dumbledore had just been allowing them time to gather themselves.

Once back in motion, things began to happen very fast. The elder Dursleys had soon worked themselves into a full blown panic. They'd babbled nonsensically about what they were going to say, now that the "freaks" were coming.

Would the boy be leaving?

Would they be blamed? Punished?

It was an accident, of course. Anyone with eyes could see that!

Sirius had winced at the unnatural angle of Harry's arm when Petunia finally remembered him. Surrendering Dudley to Vernon's care, she'd grabbed her nephew (by his good arm at least), dragged him upstairs to his cot, and left him there, crying and uncomforted.

"A few hours passed," Dumbledore said at that point, sweeping his wand around in a clockwise motion that mercifully made the memory speed up. Harry cried for a while before eventually succumbing to sleep, all the while hugging his injured arm tightly against himself.

"When no one arrived, the Dursleys determined that they would have to deal with Mr. Potter's injury on their own," Dumbledore commented while the images flew by. Now," he said, making the impression flow in real time again, "observe what occurred."

Madam Pomfrey saw the change at once. "Albus! His arm!" she exclaimed, rushing forward and trying to run a diagnostic in spite of herself. She made a frustrated noise when she encountered a mere memory instead of a solid flesh-and-blood boy, but even to Sirius' untrained eye, Harry's arm looked much better. Petunia hadn't seemed to notice or care and had soon ungraciously bustled her nephew off to get him checked over.

Dumbledore had sped up the events again while they were gone for which Sirius was profoundly grateful. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to stomach Vernon fretting about how this was going to affect his chances of promotion, or Dudley whining to be fed or entertained.

When Petunia returned, Albus allowed the impression to resume a normal pace. "Well?" Vernon demanded impatiently before she'd even had time to remove her coat.

"It was nothing, Vernon," Petunia had replied, looking a little shell-shocked. Mechanically, she removed Harry's jacket, exposing the new cast he sported before shooing him away. "They examined the arm, and only found a little hairline fracture. I told them the boy had a small accident...fell...they didn't question it."

"But..."

"I know."

"But his arm..."

"I know! "

"How, then?"

"I haven't the slightest."

"Do you think they came here without us noticing?"

"I don't know. It's possible, I suppose, unless the wards take care of that sort of thing or the boy healed it himself."

"About that, Pet, I'm as sympathetic as the next fellow, but I can't allow such goings on in this household. What will people think?"

"Surely you aren't suggesting that I fancy it!"

"No, no, of course not, but there must be something we can do!"

Watching, Sirius had felt the same sort of horrified fascination usually associated with witnessing an accident-aghast at what was happening, and yet unable to look away.

It had been amazing how they'd convinced themselves that they had no choice-that the magic had to be "stamped out" of their nephew. Instead of being relieved that Harry's arm had been mostly mended, she and Vernon had become even more antagonistic towards the boy, certain that some "freak" must have come and given aid without their knowledge.

Not too surprisingly, Harry had been moved out of Dudley's room because of safety concerns. At first he'd been put in the toy room, then they'd begun to worry about him somehow "sabotaging" or "contaminating" Dudley's toys. Petunia hadn't wanted to give up her guest room, since Marge Dursley was a regular visitor, so eventually he'd ended up in the cupboard under the stairs of all places!

Dudley, not understanding why his favorite game had been discontinued, resumed his habits of picking on Harry. It hadn't taken long for his frustrated pokes and shoves to turn to punches, and since his parents never corrected him, the aggressive behavior continued unabated. For all Sirius knew, it might have still been going on.

What a mess, Sirius thought, raking an agitated hand through his hair.

After the first incident ended, and Harry had been moved to his cupboard, the images shown began to go faster. The other Impressions Dumbledore had selected skipped time and tended to show snapshots of Harry's life rather than full instances. A fact that had surprised everyone was that the cousin had caused more physical damage than his parents did-he and those "friends" of his. The results were always the same, though. On the occasions he was caught by Dudley's gang, Harry would slip into his cupboard scuffed and bruised, and emerge the next morning looking as though nothing had happened.

Worst of all, the exquisite control Harry had demonstrated seemed to have been destroyed. He never consciously initiated magic after that day, and instead became prone to wild spurts of accidental magic when sufficiently stressed. This, of course, did nothing to endear him to his Muggle family, and the vicious circle continued to spin.

Sirius found his gaze drawn to the house yet again, and uttered a very doglike growl. It had somehow escaped those blockheads' notice that keeping Harry calm and happy would have minimized or eliminated those incidents entirely. Once again the desire to journey to Australia and rip them limb from limb asserted itself. The dark-haired wizard looked at Arabella's fireplace longingly. It would only take a few minutes...

"Sirius?"

Pulled from his unpleasant plans and memories, Sirius turned to find Remus watching him. "Alright?" the werewolf asked, frowning worriedly.

"Yeah," Sirius responded, deflating a little.

Always able to sniff out lies, Remus arched a dubious brow. "Are you sure?" he pressed.

Sirius sighed. "No," he admitted sulkily. Truthfully he felt ready to fly into a thousand tiny pieces, and wanted to hit something. Hard.

It had been agony trying to keep himself together during the meeting. He'd managed, but only by a very narrow margin. The strain, the desire to just do something, had been incredible, and when Arthur Weasley, Ron and Hermione had arrived his control had very nearly snapped. You were supposed to be his friends! Why didn't you help him? Why didn't you see? he'd wanted to shout. Only the knowledge that he was being unreasonable had allowed him to maintain a modicum of control.

Ron and Hermione had also helped their cause in Sirius' eyes by being touchingly loyal to Harry. They cooperated with their headmaster, but only as far as they felt they could without contacting Harry first.

"I think Arabella's gotten over most of her upset," Remus offered uncertainly, dragging Sirius back to the present and making him wince at the memory. After everyone left, Sirius had asked for some time to examine the impressions in more detail. Dumbledore had strongly suggested that he take a little time before examining the Pensieve but Sirius had been adamant, so the headmaster had allowed him a brief look. He'd kept himself together splendidly during most of the meeting, but the Pensieve had finally been his undoing.

By the time he'd returned to Magnolia Crescent he'd been beyond furious. It made him sick how the Dursleys' unreasoning fear had compelled them to belittle Harry, to underfeed him, lock him away, and to withdraw even the small amount of care he'd been given at first. When he'd flooed in and caught sight of Arabella dozing on the couch while Remus kept watch he'd finally snapped, and poor Arabella had borne the brunt of his helpless anger and frustration. He'd castigated the witch so severely that she'd fled up the stairs in tears.

Later, he'd regretted it and had apologized. Unless she happened on Harry when he was newly injured, which wasn't often, there was very little solid evidence for her to go on. Petunia had always pleaded expense when questioned about her nephew's clothing, and Harry himself was frighteningly good at adapting and keeping his own secrets.

Realizing Remus was still watching him, Sirius tried to articulate his dilemma. "Harry tried to please his relatives, Moony, he truly did. He wanted nothing more than some small sign of love and acceptance, especially in the beginning," he said, recalling how he had watched with an aching heart as his godson's attempts to win his relatives over met with failure again and again. "Eventually he just gave up and begun to withdraw. You can almost pinpoint the moment when he decided enough was enough, and he was young, Moony! Still just a little thing. He stopped reaching out, stopped asking for help and just went his own way. We're all furious that Harry didn't come to us, but he never really had anyone to go to. It probably never occurred to him," he said with a heavy sigh. "Remus, how can we help him?"

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