True Colors
Chapter 3: Freedom
By Anne B. Walsh
1 September. A day of wonder. A day of bliss.
At least, it was if you were eleven years old and magical.
It had to be hard on Meghan, Harry thought, glancing at her in the back seat of Letha’s car, sitting beside a furry Padfoot with her arms folded and a hint of a pout on her face. She’d done everything with him since they were babies, and now suddenly she couldn’t go somewhere he was going, just because there was a two-year age difference between them.
Hope she doesn’t throw a fit in the station...
But then Harry remembered that they were meeting the Longbottoms there, and his qualms disappeared. Neville could handle Meghan in all her moods, even better than Letha or Padfoot could. By the time the train left, he’d probably have her convinced she had the better end of the deal not going, and promising to write them both with every detail of what was happening at home.
Harry’s mind fluttered, free-associating. Home. Number four. The Dursleys.
His aunt and uncle had been less than pleased to discover he’d inherited his mother and father’s "taint," but since it wasn’t going to cost them anything to send him to Hogwarts, and it would get him out of the house ten months a year, they’d agreed that he could go. Not that he would have minded if they’d said no — what was the worst they could do? Lock him in his cupboard and hide away or destroy the things he’d bought? He had at least two different means of communicating with his family, and things could always be bought again.
Uncle Vernon had been more than happy to let Letha take him to London to catch the Hogwarts Express, but for one terrifying moment Harry’d thought Aunt Petunia had finally figured out about Letha. She’d certainly given Harry a searching look before agreeing that yes, Mrs. Black was very kind to take him, and then proceeded to lecture him about proper behavior in the car.
Harry had been able to keep listening only by reminding himself constantly of one of the only times Dudley had ever been blamed for his own mischief — he’d stuffed an entire chocolate ice cream under the front seat of Uncle Vernon’s last car but one. Since Harry had never ridden in the car, never even been near it except to wash it, and had certainly never had a chocolate ice cream (at least, not from the Dursleys), not even his uncle could blame him for it.
Not as if he didn’t try, though...
Harry had greatly enjoyed walking out of number four that morning, pulling his trunk behind him and carrying the cage containing Hedwig, his snowy owl, in his other hand. He’d had a curious feeling that it was the last time he’d ever be inside the boxy-looking house, although he knew it couldn’t be true. He’d be back next summer, and the summer after that, and all the summers until he was grown.
But that’s ten months away. I can stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. Wonder if I’ll make friends? Maybe they’ll stay too. And there’ll be feasts, and Quidditch at least to watch, and next year I can play...
Harry lost himself in pleasant daydreams of the coming school year, which ended only when Letha gently shook his shoulder to alert him to the fact that they had arrived.
Neville and Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom were waiting for them near the entrance to platform nine and three-quarters. Meghan’s pout, which had shown signs of becoming permanent, vanished at the sight of Neville, who greeted her eagerly and showed her the toad his Great-Uncle Algie had bought him, which he’d named Trevor. Letha shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom, and Padfoot wagged his tail to them.
"Good luck at school, Harry," said Mr. Longbottom, shaking hands with him. "I think you’ll do fine."
"I know you’ll do fine," corrected Mrs. Longbottom, hugging him. "Your parents would be proud of you, Harry."
Harry beamed. It was his favorite compliment. "Thanks."
Together, he and Neville crossed the barrier between platforms nine and ten, feeling the little wash of cool across them as they stepped through.
Time sped up until it was rushing past. He and Neville and Mr. Longbottom were lifting the trunks aboard the train and finding an empty compartment... he was hugging Meghan and promising to write every week without fail... he was hugging Padfoot, who had said everything at home and had to content himself now with a soulful look and a big sloppy lick ("Yuck!")... he was being held close by Letha, who kissed the top of his head and whispered, "They would be proud today," before letting him go... he was aboard the train, waving out the door with Neville as it began to pick up speed...
"Let’s go sit down, then," said Harry, shutting the door as the train rounded the corner.
The bang of the door closing must have startled Trevor, as he gave an emphatic wriggle and leapt from Neville’s hand, vanishing into the next car.
"Oh no!"
"Harry!"
The two exclamations came almost simultaneously, and for an instant Harry wasn’t sure which way to turn. Footsteps coming down the car helped clue him in. He turned. "All right, Ray?" he said.
"All right. You?"
"All right. Do you know Neville Longbottom?"
"No, I don’t."
"Neville, this is Draco Malfoy, but he likes to be called Ray, and his dog, Zelda..."
"Wolf, actually," corrected Ray quietly.
"Fine, your wolf Zelda."
Zelda tossed her head proudly.
"Ray, this is Neville Longbottom, and I’d introduce his toad, Trevor, but he just got away."
"That’s too bad," said Ray as he shook hands with Neville. "Do you want Zelda to see if she can find him?"
Neville looked hopeful. "Could she?"
"Have you been holding him for long today?"
"All morning."
"Zel," called Ray, and the wolf came to sniff at Neville’s hands. "Since you’ve been holding him, your scent’s on him," he explained. "She’ll go and find anything that smells like you, but isn’t you, and then either bring him back here or come and get us to get him, if she can’t reach him."
"Will she hurt him?"
Ray shook his head. "She fetches things alive all the time. She’s very gentle and very smart."
Zelda smacked Ray’s leg with the back of her paw, then nosed open the door of the next car and vanished through it.
"She’s also temperamental," said Ray. "May I sit with you, or are you full up?"
"We’ve got room," said Harry. "But shouldn’t you go with Zelda? Someone’s going to make a fuss if they see a wolf wandering around without a human."
Ray made a face. "Didn’t think of that. Neville, you want to come too? It’s your toad."
"Er, all right. See you in a minute, Harry."
Harry returned to the compartment and sat down, not really thinking about much of anything, just enjoying the fulfillment of his dream, to be on the Hogwarts Express and going away to school at last.
The door slid open. "That was quick," said Harry, turning to see.
But it wasn’t Ray or Neville, it was another boy, fast turning as red as his hair. "I’m sorry, you’re expecting someone — I was just going to ask if I could sit here, everywhere else is full, but you’ve got people coming—"
"It’s all right," said Harry, standing up to stop the boy from leaving. "You can sit in here, there’s only me and two others. First year, too?"
The boy nodded, coming in. He was tall and gangling, with a long nose and large hands and feet. "Ron Weasley," he said, holding out his hand.
Harry took it and prepared himself for the inevitable. "Harry Potter."
Ron goggled at him. "Are you really?"
Harry nodded.
"And d’you really have..." He pointed to his forehead with his free hand, since he hadn’t let go of Harry’s yet.
Harry disentangled his hand and lifted his fringe to show his lightning-bolt scar.
"Wow." Ron sounded truly impressed. "Who’re you waiting for?"
"Some friends of mine," said Harry, stretching a point, since he wasn’t quite sure if he was friends with Ray yet, though he liked the blond boy. "They’re in our year. Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy. But he likes people to call him Ray."
"Have you known them long?"
"I just met Ray at Diagon Alley a month ago, but I’ve known Neville my whole life."
"Oh." Ron sat down. "Is that your owl?" he asked, pointing to Hedwig, on the luggage rack above Harry.
"Yes, that’s Hedwig. Do you have a pet?"
"Just my brother Percy’s old rat," said Ron dismissively, pulling a lump of gray fur from his pocket. "He’s totally useless. Never wakes up unless he’s eating. I suppose he must be magic somehow, but he’s never showed it."
"What’s his name?" asked Harry, looking more closely at the rat.
"Scabbers. Percy’s had him forever, but now he’s a prefect and he gets an owl for it, so Scabbers gets handed down the line."
"Do you have any other brothers?"
"Only four," said Ron just a trifle bitterly. "And a younger sister."
"I’ve got a younger sister," said Harry. "Sort of. She’s my neighbor, her mum babysits me, and we’ve been together so much it’s kind of like we’re brother and sister. Does yours steal your chips at lunch?"
"Yes — and then tries to claim you ate them yourself when you weren’t looking!"
The conversation was in full swing when the door opened again. "I’m glad we were there," said Ray, coming in behind Neville, clutching a squirming Trevor. "Otherwise she might have got warts on her tongue..."
Zelda, coming in last, stopped dead in the doorway.
"What’s that?" asked Ron, looking at the wolf.
"Her name’s Zelda," said Ray. "Who’re you?"
"Ron Weasley. Who’re you?"
"Draco Malfoy, but call me Ray. What’s that?" Ray pointed at the lump of Scabbers on Ron’s knee, at which Zelda was now growling.
"It’s my rat, and keep your dog away from him. I don’t like that look." Ron bundled Scabbers away in his pocket again.
"She’s not a dog, she’s a wolf. And she won’t hurt your rat." But Ray was looking in the direction Scabbers had been with an oddly angry expression himself, Harry thought. "When did you get him?"
"Why’s it any of your business?"
"I’m just asking! I—" Ray broke off, frowning fiercely for a moment. Then his face cleared. "I’m sorry if I insulted you somehow," he said carefully. "I didn’t mean to. And I promise Zelda won’t hurt your rat."
"All right." Ron looked at Neville and held out his hand. "Ron Weasley."
"Neville Longbottom. And this is Trevor."
"A toad! I didn’t know anyone still brought those."
"He was a gift," said Neville, reddening slightly. "From my great-uncle."
"You mean someone besides me has great-uncles?"
After Ron and Neville had compared families, everything in the compartment settled down, and the boys could have a good long talk about topics that interested them all. Such as Quidditch, Hogwarts, Quidditch, food (as the lunch cart came around and Harry treated everyone), and Quidditch. Zelda curled up on the seat between Ray and Harry and went to sleep.
"When did you get her?" asked Neville.
"We’ve been together since I was a baby," said Ray. "I think ‘Zel’ was one of my first words."
"Is she like a guard dog?" asked Ron. "Would she hurt someone who tried to hurt you?"
Ray nodded. "That’s supposedly what she’s for. But she means a lot more to me than that. She’s really more like my friend." His hand rested on the back of Zelda’s head for a moment. "She’s almost all the company I have at home. My father and mother are busy with their own things a lot."
This brought the conversation neatly back to their families, with it being Harry’s turn to talk this time. He kept to his story about Letha and Meghan being his neighbors and said nothing about Padfoot except as the family pet. The other boys were more interested in his stories about the Dursleys anyway, being all three pureblooded and not familiar with Muggle life.
In what seemed like no time at all, the train was slowing down, and they were getting off, dressed now in their Hogwarts robes, following the bellow of "Firs’ years! Firs’ years follow me!"
"That’s Hagrid," whispered Harry to the others. "He’s the gamekeeper." He smiled at Hagrid as he passed — Hagrid had often come to visit Letha when Harry had been there, and he’d liked the big man who always had something interesting in his pockets. Letha teased sometimes that Hagrid only came to visit her when he knew Harry would be there.
The first years made their way down the steep, slick trail to the shore of the lake, where a fleet of little boats awaited. Harry climbed into a boat with Ron and Neville and craned his neck looking for Ray, finally spotting him far down the shore, already in a boat. He was looking unhappy about something... oh, of course, there were three other people in his boat, so there wasn’t any room for Zelda, who was standing on the shore, whining.
Harry waved to get Ray’s attention, then pointed at Zelda and beckoned. Ray leaned out of his boat and said one or two words to the wolf, and she raced down the shore and leapt lightly into Harry’s boat, almost making Neville drop Trevor again. Ron snickered, and Zelda smacked him with her paw as she had Ray on the train.
"Ow." Ron rubbed his knee. "What was that for?"
Zelda snorted and turned away from him, resting her head on Harry’s knee and looking up at him amusedly. Tentatively, he offered her his fingers, and felt gratified when she sniffed them and gave them a delicate lick.
Ron shook his head. "That animal is not normal," he said.
Zelda favored him with a look that said as clearly as words, And you are?
Harry tried not to fidget as he stood in line, waiting for the Sorting Hat to finish with Neville.
"He’ll be a tough case for Sorting," Padfoot had said of Neville. "His father was a Hufflepuff, but he’s the bravest Hufflepuff I know, and his mum was a Gryffindor, but the hardest-working and fairest-minded one I know. So he could go either way."
The Hat opened its mouth now —
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry wished he could cheer, but there was no guarantee that he’d be a Gryffindor himself. He could hope, of course, but the Hat placed you where it thought you would fit best, and that wasn’t necessarily where you wanted to be...
Neville was jogging back to Professor McGonagall now, a bit red-faced, to return the Sorting Hat, which he’d run off wearing. She set the Hat on the stool and looked at her list, frowning.
Harry felt Ray tense beside him. "What’s wrong?" he asked under his breath.
"Nothing."
But Ray looked worried, all the same, and only relaxed when McGonagall read out, "MacDougal, Morag!"
It was a short reprieve. "Malfoy, Draco!" was the next name on the list.
Ray went forward to sit on the stool. McGonagall lowered the Hat onto his head, and another long waiting process began. Zelda whined uneasily, watching him.
"He’ll be all right," Harry told her out of the corner of his mouth. "You’ll see. He’ll be all right."
The Hat straightened up. "GRYFFINDOR!"
There was a great deal of cheering from the Gryffindor table. Ray, as the Hat came off his head, looked surprised, pleased, and relieved. Zelda gave a joyous bark and bounded forward, leaping at Ray —
No, it was the Hat she was leaping at, and she’d snatched it out of Professor McGonagall’s hand before anyone knew what was happening.
"Zelda!" shouted Ray, although he was handicapped by laughing. "Come back here!"
Zelda wasn’t listening. She’d bounded down the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables, and was now worrying her head into the Hat, for all the world as if she wanted to be Sorted too. She came prancing back up the aisle wearing it, causing gales of laughter, both for the incongruity of the sight and because it was obvious that she couldn’t see where she was going.
And then, to top it all off...
"GRYFFINDOR!" announced the Hat loudly.
More laughter still, and Gryffindor House cheered its newest member, as Ray, rather pink in the face, removed the Hat from Zelda’s head, gave it back to Professor McGonagall, and led Zelda firmly to the House table, where Fred and George Weasley made a production of making room for the wolf on the bench beside them.
Dear Meghan,
The Sorting’s over, and we’re all in Gryffindor. That’s me, Neville, my new friend Ron, and the boy I met in Diagon Alley, Ray. And his pet wolf, Zelda. She stole the thing they use for Sorting, and it Sorted her before anyone could stop it. (No, I’m not telling you how it happens. You’ll just have to wait.)
I guess it’s true that you can bring other kinds of pets than cats or owls or toads. Ray has Zelda, and Ron has a rat called Scabbers. We have a nice dormitory, with two other boys — Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan — at the very top of Gryffindor Tower. The food’s just as good as Padfoot and Letha always said, but I haven’t had a chance to go exploring yet. I’ll write again soon and tell you how classes are going, and if I’ve found any new secret passages.
Harry
"Harry?"
Harry looked up. "Hmm?"
"Does that have to go out tonight?" Ray pointed to the letter in Harry’s hand. "Because I was just going to ask if I could borrow Hedwig for something."
"When would she be back?"
"Tomorrow morning at the very latest. It’s not far."
"What kind of thing?"
"A little package. Nothing heavy or hard to carry."
"How about it, girl?" Harry asked Hedwig. "You think you can do that?"
Hedwig clacked her beak.
"Go ahead," said Harry. "I’ll hold onto this and send it out tomorrow."
"Thanks." Ray held out his wrist for Hedwig to step onto, then climbed onto his bed and pulled the curtains shut. Zelda, holding something in her mouth, leapt neatly up after him.
"Harry, have you seen Scabbers?" asked Ron. "He’s not anywhere around."
"He’ll turn up," said Harry, yawning. "You need the light on, Ray?"
"No, you can turn it off," said Ray’s voice from inside his bedcurtains. "Good night, all."
"Good night," the other boys chorused, and Dean blew out the lamp.
He summoned a light within the closed space, then shut his eyes and relaxed all over, surrendering control in the familiar process he’d known since he was a baby. When his eyes opened again, they moved without direction from his own mind, and his wand moved in gestures he himself wouldn’t learn for years, sealing the curtains so that no sound could escape.
She dropped what she’d appropriated, and his hand brought the wand down sharply, stopping its flight before it could even start. Another tap and muttered incantation secured the container he would use, and he touched the lid to his light, making an air hole, before securing that too.
Death was not what he desired for this one. Since he was old enough to understand the concept, he had hated injustice. And a long-standing injustice was about to be righted.
Albus Dumbledore returned to his office tired, but elated. His years-long quest was bearing fruit. Four of the objects he had sought, he had found, and dealt with them appropriately, even the one which had been removed from its original place. As far as he knew, only one remained, and he had an idea of where it might be found, and, if he was correct, the people who were in a position to deal with it.
Perhaps, after all, Harry’s impossible task will not be so impossible.
A small cylindrical package waited on his desk.
I wonder what this can be?
He picked it up and saw the superscription, and one mystery was resolved. Over the years since the war had ended, he had received many notes from an unknown pair of correspondents, who called themselves his "friends in low places." They were always addressed in the same handwriting that graced this package, though the handwriting itself had changed over the years, becoming more firm and confident. One note, in three terse words, had warned of an attack on a married pair of Aurors and their young son. Another, in a sentence or two, had revealed the current locations of some of the missing Death Eaters. And a third...
A third started me on this quest I have undertaken.
Minerva keeps asking me why I leave the school so often, and for so long. He smiled thoughtfully. I wonder what she would say if I told her the truth? All the truth? What I have been doing and why, who I suspect sends me this information, and from whom they obtained it, and how?
She might well start proceedings to have me declared incompetent.
But the communication had always been in writing only. Never before had his "friends" sent him a package. That argued for something extremely precious, highly dangerous, or both. Perhaps even the last piece of his puzzle...
Carefully, Dumbledore ripped away the brown paper.
A glass jar was revealed, with an extra sheen to it making him believe it had been charmed Unbreakable. A wise precaution, he realized when he saw what the jar contained. Not the puzzle piece he sought, but still something of great value. His tiredness vanished in a flare of righteous anger and satisfaction.
Finally. Time and past it for justice to be done.
He picked up the jar, considering it and its contents. For one moment, he thought he smelled smoke, and wondered whimsically if his eyes could set things on fire.
If they could, this might well be one of the things I would choose to ignite...
But not yet.
Slipping the jar into a pocket, he turned to his fireplace.
Meghan was up early the next morning, playing quietly by herself in the living room of her home, making fanciful sculptures with her magical building blocks, which stuck together no matter what configuration one put them in. She often built chairs with them for her playhouse, and very comfortable they were too, though Mum said they ruined her posture.
I wonder when Harry and Neville’s letters will start coming? She got up to peer out the window, though she knew the boys probably wouldn’t write after just one night at school. Still, she wanted to look.
Behind her, the fireplace ignited with a whoosh. She turned in surprise — they weren’t expecting visitors. But the first person out of the fireplace allayed her worries. "Hello, Professor Dumbledore," she said happily. "Would you like some tea? Mum lets me use the kettle on my own now."
"Thank you, Meghan, perhaps later. Is your father here?"
The question nonplussed Meghan. It had been drilled into her from infancy that she must never speak of her father outside the walls of her own home, or when there were strangers present, and there were no fewer than three — four, she corrected herself as another person climbed out of the fire. Four strangers in their living room, tracking soot on the carpet, and Professor Dumbledore had mentioned her father as casually as if he were supposed to be living with them...
"Dumbledore, what are you talking about?" said one of the men, echoing Meghan’s thoughts. "Surely you don’t think Black would be here?"
"Where do you think he lives, Rufus, if not with his family?"
The man called Rufus frowned a little, looking Meghan over with his yellowish eyes. "I could see him visiting, perhaps, sneaking in from time to time, but it’s unlikely that he’s here now, don’t you think?"
"Thus, my question. Is your father here, Meghan?"
Meghan looked at Professor Dumbledore in dismay. What was going on, she tried to ask with her eyes alone — were these Aurors here to take her Dadfoot away? Should she tell the truth, or lie?
"Everything is all right," the Headmaster reassured her, making a small motion with the hand away from the Aurors that reaffirmed what he was saying aloud. "You may speak."
"He’s here," said Meghan, squaring her shoulders. No matter what was going on, it was her duty to meet it bravely. "Should I go and get him?"
"If you would."
Harry woke up a little late that morning. He could hear voices calling him, but he wanted to hold onto his marvelous dream, another in the continuing series. He and the dream-family had been celebrating something, something they’d been waiting a long time for. They’d been having such a good time that he hadn’t wanted to wake up, but when the boy and girl ran off, the parents started shooing Harry away after them, pushing him back to reality, out of the dream...
"Harry, come on, we’re going to be late for breakfast."
Harry muttered something indistinct, then pulled his bedcurtains back and squinted at the world. One set of blue eyes, two of brown, and one of gray (Ron, Neville, Zelda, and Ray) were regarding him closely. Zelda’s eyes, in particular, were a soft, warm shade of brown that seemed familiar somehow...
He blinked, breaking the almost-trance he’d been in. "Be ready in a second," he said, and climbed out of bed.
It wasn’t quite a second, but it wasn’t very many minutes before four boys and one wolf were clattering down the stairs and out the portrait hole, which Zelda navigated easily with a leap. "I still can’t find Scabbers," Ron said as they walked. "I don’t know where he could have got to."
"Maybe he’s asleep under the bed or something," Harry suggested, "and just isn’t hungry enough to come out yet."
"Yeah, but he normally never misses a meal." Ron looked suspiciously at Zelda. "What does she eat?"
"Same things I do," said Ray. "And usually more of it. Don’t worry, she didn’t eat your rat."
"How do you know?"
"Because I asked her very nicely," Ray retorted, "and she said that was disgusting. She likes her food cooked most of the time. And even if she did want to go hunting, she wouldn’t go hunting a stupid, fat, old rat."
"There are an awful lot of cats around, you know," Harry said, hoping to head off Ron’s indignation. "Owls too. And you didn’t look under the bed, did you?"
"No," Ron admitted. "I’ll look after morning classes. You’re probably right, that does sound like something he’d do."
"Trevor’s gone too," said Neville gloomily. "Watch where you step in the bathroom." He stopped, looking around. "Where are we?"
"I don’t know," said Harry, realizing he’d never seen the hall around him before.
"I’m lost," said Ron bluntly.
Ray blinked a couple of times, and his face seemed to change a little, subtly, but it only lasted a second. "Fourth floor," he said. "And we took a wrong turn at that corridor back there, we wanted to go right, not left." He led the way back to the branching, and proceeded to get them to the Great Hall in three minutes flat.
Ron inhaled the odors of eggs, bacon, kippers, and toast appreciatively. "How’d you do that?" he asked, leading the group into the Hall itself.
Ray shrugged and mumbled something about being lucky, which Harry didn’t pay much attention to, since he’d just discovered he was starving, and Hogwarts food was every bit as good as Letha and Padfoot had always claimed. He served himself a huge bowl of porridge, poured sugar on top, and dug in.
"I can see her eating the same food as you," said Ron, staring at Ray and Zelda.
"Good, because if you didn’t, you’d need your eyes examined."
Ron ignored this. "But why does she sit at the table?"
"Because she has good manners," Ray said, grinning.
"Something else your dad trained her to do?" Harry asked, licking his spoon.
"What — oh, yeah." Ray pulled the bacon over to himself. "Two pieces or three?" he asked Zelda.
"Weird," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of eggs.
"Harry," Neville said. "Everyone’s looking at you."
Harry looked around. It was true. Almost every head in the Great Hall was turned his way, those that weren’t hidden behind newspapers.
"Oy, Harry." It was Ron’s twin brothers Fred and George, both looking confused. "Is it true?"
"Is what true?" asked Harry, bewildered.
For answer, Fred spread out the newspaper he had under his arm.
Two large photographs caught Harry’s eye. One showed his godfather, much younger than Harry was used to seeing him and laughing maniacally, obviously taken on the day he’d been imprisoned. The other —
Harry’s heart leapt. The other photograph was of a fat little man, balding on top, fidgeting nervously in his frame. He knew that face. He’d seen it in pictures from the Marauders’ school days often enough.
His eyes flew to the headline.
SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT!
True killer, Peter Pettigrew, captured last night
Black discovered to have been hiding in Surrey
Wild excitement rose in Harry.
They found him — they found him — Padfoot’s free! Really and truly free! He never has to hide again!
"Harry," repeated George, joggling his shoulder. "Is it true?"
"Is what true?"
"Is Sirius Black really your godfather?"
Harry laughed aloud. "Yes. He is. He always has been."
"Always has been?" Ron sounded amazed. "Do you know him?"
"See him every day. Or I did, until now." Harry took the paper from Fred and glanced through the article. Bits of phrases leapt out at him... credibly, but as it seems, wrongfully accused... hiding in plain sight, in the home of his wife of ten years... daughter, Meghan, and often sees his godson, Harry Potter...
"But he killed people!"
"In case you can’t read, ickle Ronniekins, it seems not," said Fred, pointing at the paper. "Who’s this Pettigrew bloke?"
"He was another friend of my mum and dad’s." Harry stared at the picture. "I’ve always heard about him, but I never thought they’d actually find him."
"A toast," said Ray from across the table, lifting his glass of pumpkin juice. "To freedom."
"To freedom," answered Harry, touching his goblet to Ray’s.
"To freedom," chorused Ron, Neville, Fred, and George.
Ray tapped his goblet against Zelda’s saucer of juice before drinking from it.
"So what do your mum and dad have to do with it?" asked Fred, sitting down beside him.
"What’s he going to do now?" George added.
"What’s he like?" Neville wanted to know.
"How did he hide all that time?" was Ron’s question.
Trying to answer all four questions at once, Harry barely noticed Ray’s appropriation of the newspaper, or his holding it down where Zelda could see it. Her whimper as she pawed at the page, though, got his attention. "What’s she doing?" he asked, breaking off his explanation of the Fidelius Charm.
"Oh, she always thinks she can dig people out of photographs," Ray said lightly. "I think she likes your godfather, Harry. She keeps going after him. Stop it now, Zel," he added, rapping the wolf on the head. "You’re not a cub anymore."
Zelda took Ray’s hand lightly in her teeth, then let it go.
"How old is she, anyway?" said Neville. "You said you’d had her since you were a baby, and dogs and wolves don’t live as long as people."
"She’s about as old as me. So eleven. But she’s still strong, so she should have plenty more time."
"Never mind that," said Ron impatiently. "Keep going, Harry. He was going to be the only one who could tell anyone where they were?"
Ray sighed wistfully, tracing the edge of Sirius Black’s photograph with a finger, his other hand lingering on Zelda’s back.
Freedom was a nice toast.
It would have been an even nicer reality.