7

Chapter 7 – The End of the Greatest Wizard

Monday 26th August 1991

Staff Room, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Albus Dumbledore reflected back on the changes that he had seen over the last decade as he relaxed in his favourite comfortable armchair in the Hogwarts staff room ahead of their meeting.

Had he known in advance how swiftly he and his allies had been able to react to the attack and deaths of the Potters back in 1981 and turn the tide of the civil war that Voldemort was waging, he would have been very surprised. It was amazing what a small amount of co-operation and sharing information he had once though best kept concealed had helped to get the right people in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement onside.

"I probably haven't given you enough credit, Rufus," he had recently told the Minister for Magic when they had last met. "Just having someone willing and capable of taking tough decisions made a world of difference."

Minister Scrimgeour had demurred of course, but it was easy to see that he was pleased by the Headmaster's comments.

"I'm equally grateful for your support in becoming Minister," Scrimgeour had replied.

"I dread to think how bad things might have become if Cornelius had managed to gain the post," he added with a shudder. "That nasty woman he had lined up to be his Undersecretary... and then foisting her on you as a teacher..."

Yes, the Headmaster decided, things had worked out quite well, and he was pleased to have left behind the political manoeuvring that dealing with the Ministry involved in order to focus on making Hogwarts a better school.

The faces around the staff room had changed quite a lot over the preceding decade, Dumbledore realised as he looked around the room. He thought it was very much for the better, and that his charges were getting a much higher quality education as a result.

He'd first realised ten years ago that he had been delegating far too much to his Deputy, and that although Minerva was hugely capable, it was unfair quite how much he was forcing upon her. He'd taken a good hard look at himself, and come to the conclusion that Hogwarts and its pupils were suffering from his lack of attention to them and he was spreading himself across too many roles to be effective.

As a result he had slowly but surely divested himself of his responsibilities outside Hogwarts. He'd first stepped down from his role as Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, releasing a good portion of his summer to reflect upon the standard of education that Hogwarts was providing, and resolving to improve it.

The following year he stepped down as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, meaning that he was no longer called away from Hogwarts to deal with the Ministry's running of the country or to make a ruling as Head of the Judiciary.

With Scrimgeour a decisive Minister he felt that the country was in better hands than it had been for some time, and resigning as Chief Warlock freed up more of the school year for him to be able to keep a closer eye on the students whilst they were in the castle and to run the rule over how his teachers were performing on a day-to-day basis.

The results had initially horrified him.

First to go had been Cuthbert Binns. How so many had managed to achieve OWLs and NEWTs in History of Magic was unfathomable, given Binns' soporific classes and heavy focus on Goblin Wars and the complete lack of any instruction in more modern Wizarding history. Binns hadn't even understood why he was being replaced.

"I'm afraid that I'm going to have to release you from your contract, Cuthbert," he had told the ghost teacher at the end of the 1982-3 academic year.

"Whatever for?" Binns had asked.

"I'm afraid that your teaching no longer meets the school's required standards."

"What on earth do you mean, Headmaster?" Binns said with an affronted look. "I've been teaching exactly to the curriculum."

"Yes, the curriculum as it was in 1894," Dumbledore replied. "It's now 1983 and whilst the content of the OWLs and NEWTs has been changed and updated over the years to focus on more recent events in the Wizarding world, your class content has not, despite the literature on the new standards and expectations that I know you were sent by the Wizarding Examinations Authority."

The ghost had floated off through the wall in a huff, parting with a "Well I never!" and muttering about how Headmaster Longbottom would never have treated a member of staff so disrespectfully.

As far as Dumbledore knew, Binns had never been seen or heard from since.

In his place had come two new teachers: a Canadian scholar, Mackenzie Jones, taught a wider course on recent magical events across the whole Wizarding world (not just Britain), and Augusta Longbottom had been convinced to run a course on British Wizarding History and Traditions. The latter had been warmly welcomed across the political divide, with pure-bloods happy that proper Wizarding etiquette was being taught and muggleborns relieved to have some instruction in the traditions of the new world they were joining.

Augusta had retired from the post two years ago, citing her recent appointment as Chief Witch in the Wizengamot as the reason, and had been replaced by Andromeda Tonks.

Defence Against the Dark Arts had proven to be an utter disaster for a further three years, despite the Headmaster's best efforts. More than a decade of having to replace the teacher every year had culminated in the Ministry intervening and (short-lived) Minister for Wizarding Education Cornelius Fudge appointing his unpopular underling Dolores Umbridge to the role. Apparently she had pushed hard for the Traditions post and was zealous in protection of pure-blood customs, seeing Augusta's time in the role as a direct insult to her and adamant that Hogwarts needed to be reined in.

Unfortunately she had been completely unprepared for the job, and students from all years had complained about her, some directly to the Headmaster himself.

Discrete assessment of her classes had shown that she was a pure-blood bigot, a sadist, and (even worse) couldn't teach, and whilst Dumbledore was tempted to leave her in place to fall foul of the curse on the job, he knew he owed it to the pupils to be proactive, and sacked her after barely three weeks of classes. He was horrified to discover that she had a Blood Quill among her possessions, which she had intended muggleborns and half-bloods to use during detentions with her to 'ensure they knew their place'.

"That's an illegal Dark artefact, Dolores," he had told her when she objected to him calling the Aurors to take her away.

"I'm an heir of the Selwyn family, a family of pure blood, and I can use whatever I want," the deluded witch had insisted in her high-pitched voice. "I personally drafted the legislation that makes it so."

"I'm afraid that whilst your legislation might permit you to own such an implement, it doesn't give you the right to use it, especially not on underage children as a torture device during their detentions."

As the Aurors took her away screaming and shouting her revenge, he reminded her smugly that he was sure she'd get a fair trial.

"I'll be sure to send on the Pensieve evidence from the students involved," he said as a parting shot.

In the end Umbridge was sentenced to five years in Azkaban, and following her release spent most of her time and energy repeatedly petitioning the Wizengamot and various Ministry officials to try and get her job back – and being forcefully rejected on all counts.

The incident also prompted the Headmaster to take a closer look at the state of the castle's wards, and he was alarmed to find that they had degraded badly over the years.

He had suspected some degradation given that they had not alerted him to the presence of such a Dark object, but the degree to which they were failing was a real shock, and he spent many hours over the following weeks and months lobbying the Ministry to pay for the wards to be renewed and upgraded to protect the pupils.

Umbridge's replacement, procured from the Ministry's Department of Mysteries, was a massive improvement, and also managed to dispel the curse on the Defence post within weeks of being appointed, before coming to the conclusion well before the end of the school year that he preferred teaching to working in the Ministry and signed a longer-term contract that had only ended this past July.

Dumbledore had also relieved each of the Heads of House of their duties and allowed them to focus on teaching, appointing replacements from outside the school specifically to fill those roles and to become much closer mentors to their respective Houses.

Argus Filch had clearly been an unhappy man as school caretaker, and once detailed reports of some of the detentions that had been served under him reached the Headmaster's (more receptive) ears, he was soon out of a job. There had seemed little point in replacing him, given the abilities of the House-elves, and so what authority he had wielded over them was handed over to one of the more senior Elves who was prepared to be seen by the students. Everyone seemed much happier as a result, from the Elves themselves to the teachers and students.

He, too, ended up in Azkaban, once evidence of his perpetual ill-treatment of the students came to light, a stint he didn't survive.

Suggestions for other improvements had come from all parts of the school once the staff and students realised that he was taking an interest in enhancing their school experience.

Today, however, was the day that his latest group of staff would come together for the first time.

A week before the start of term was an excellent time to ensure that all members of staff were present and correct and that their plans for the year ahead were well-developed. If there were any last-minute needs that he would have to authorise payment for, then these needed to be sorted out now, before the children arrived, and final decisions about the locations for classes and any other cleaning needs that were required could be relayed to the House-elves in plenty of time.

"We're just waiting on Quirinus," Minerva told him, interrupting his musing as the appointed hour for the meeting arrived.

Chatter between the other Professors continued around him as he mused on the case of Quirinus Quirrell.

Previously the Muggle Studies Professor, Quirrell had been moved aside as the Headmaster had realised how out-of-date the Muggle Studies curriculum had become, and how resistant to changing it Quirrell was. He'd been encouraged to take a sabbatical, and had been replaced last year by one Charity Burbage, on the proviso that she engage with the parents of new Muggle-born students to get a feel for how the course could be re-vamped. He was pleased to see that she had approached the task with relish and was already planning trips out for some of her classes to look at the wider world in person.

Quirrell was now back and filling the role of the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, with an expectation that he had used his year off to review and enhance his existing skills in that area.

The door was pushed open and Quirrell entered the staff room.

"Ah welcome, Quirinus," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "I thought we might have to send out a search party for you!"

"S-s-s-sorry, H-headmaster," Quirrell stuttered, and Dumbledore knew immediately that something was wrong. Before his sabbatical, the teacher had not had a stutter.

Professor McGonagall took charge of the meeting, and the Headmaster used the time she spent introducing everyone to surreptitiously examine the late-arriving Professor.

The most obvious physical difference was the purple turban he was wearing. It was not an affectation that Quirrell had possessed in his previous tenure, nor had he worn it when Dumbledore had re-interviewed him a month earlier to ensure that he was still willing to take the post up. He had not had a stutter at that time, either.

The turban smelled faintly of garlic, but underneath that smell was something else... something slightly rotten, Dumbledore thought as he considered matters, and was coming to a rather horrific conclusion.

His attention to Quirrell was distracted by his Deputy's invitation to him to address the staff.

"Thank you, Minerva," he said, refocusing on the meeting. "I hope you have all had an enjoyable and relaxing time off. Welcome to those of you new to the school, or returning after an absence. Hopefully you will slot into a comfortable routine here very quickly."

The meeting progressed fairly smoothly. A few Professors had additional requisitions that they wanted him to sign off on, and all were keen to have his take on the proposed changes they had made to their courses.

It was quite promising, Dumbledore thought.

"Does anyone have anything else for us to cover before we go off to finalise our lessons?" McGonagall asked.

"Two final items from me, please, Minerva," he said thoughtfully.

At her nod, he continued.

"Firstly, in light of how well our addition of an elective on Enchanting has gone down with the students in the last couple of years," he nodded at Filius Flitwick who had been teaching the subject after handing off the first and second year Charms classes to another new recruit. "I'd like you all to consider what other subjects we might offer in future, whether in your own spheres of knowledge or from outside. We need to keep Hogwarts' curriculum fresh and relevant, and I'm aware that in years gone by we may have become too fixed in our ways."

Nods from all around greeted this particular request.

"And your second item, Albus?"

"Yes, could you and Quirinus meet me in my office after lunch, please? I have a couple of things I want to go through with you."

"O-of course, H-headmaster," Quirrell replied.

McGonagall nodded too, and there being no further business for the meeting dismissed the gathering to their own devices.

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Monday 26th August 1991

Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts

Between the end of the meeting and lunch, Dumbledore had been meeting separately with Professor Babbling, double-checking calculations he had made and a runic field he had drawn up.

"It will prevent all magic being cast from within the circle, won't it?" he had asked the Runes Professor. "No matter how strong the wizard?"

"Definitely, though you should still be able to cast into it,"she replied. "If you made it large enough you could even use it to contain a magical creature, but if you do that, I want to see it in action!"

"Thank you, you've been a great reassurance," he told her.

Now he was putting the final touches to his work as he crouched down and carved the runes he had come up with into the wooden floor of his office. The line of power led to his desk, where he would be able to activate the null field with a single drop of blood into a rune carved into his desk at his right hand.

He stood up straight and stretched out the muscles in his back looking down at the design in front of him.

Satisfied with his work, he nodded to himself, and rolled the carpet back over the floor to hide the carvings. Carefully, he placed the most comfortable of his chairs where the centre of the field would be, and smiled. Yes, it was the natural position for the chair whenever someone came to his office for a discussion.

Despite the years that had passed, Dumbledore had never assumed that Voldemort was completely gone, and had, on occasion, taken himself across Europe during the school holidays on the trail of rumours of mysterious cases of temporary possession that strongly reminded him of the acts perpetrated by the former Tom Riddle.

The latest rumours, coming around a month earlier, suggested that the malevolence was active in Albania, but he had been unable to find the time to follow this up.

He strongly suspected that this was where Quirrell had been, though, and that having him in the castle posed an unacceptable risk to the student body.

The runic trap he had devised was hopefully going to be strong enough to contain the threat.

And finished just in time, too, he thought, looking at the ornate timepiece he had above his office door. Perhaps there was enough time for a cup of tea and a sherbet lemon before the confrontation he was expecting.

Prompt as usual, his Deputy was at his door a bare fifteen minutes later. Confiding in her that he thought Quirrell had fallen under the sway of a dark spirit, his behaviour having changed in the time since their interview, he warned her to be on her guard.

"Surely he wouldn't try anything with you, Albus!" she challenged in surprise.

"You never know what a desperate man might do, my dear Minerva," he replied. "Better to be prepared than surprised."

She looked at him with curious concern in her eyes, as if wondering what mischief he might be up to, but relented and sat down in one of her own, conjured, hard-backed chairs, just as Professor Quirrell knocked on the door.

"Come in," he invited, and sighed slightly as Quirrell took the seat he'd prepared without the slightest fuss.

"Thank you for joining us, Quirinus," he began. "I trust you had an enjoyable remainder of the summer since I last spoke to you?"

"V-v-very much so," Quirrell said nervously.

"The turban?" Dumbledore asked. "Is that something permanent? It rather smells of garlic, dear boy."

"I'm s-s-s-sorry," Quirrell apologised. "I h-h-hadn't thought to had it w-w-washed, H-h-headmaster. I h-h-hope that's not a problem? It was a gift from an African Prince for whom I had performed some minor services last year."

"Not at all. I'm sure the House Elves can see to it for you overnight, if necessary. Now, I understand you had a bit of a trip to Eastern Europe over the last few weeks – is that where you've picked up that odd speech impediment? I hope that it won't affect your classes?"

"W-what makes you think I've b-b-been ab-b-b-broad, H-headmaster?"

"Well, Quirinus, you seem to have picked up a distinct air of Dark magic about you," the Headmaster said, adopting a less genial mien. "Something that I haven't seen for some years. Perhaps not since the last vestiges of Tom Marvolo Riddle were disposed of."

The reference to Voldemort's birth name was enough for him to realise that the game was up.

"You dare speak that name?" Quirinus growled, all traces of his stutter disappearing as the Dark Lord forced his will upon the professor.

"Of course," Dumbledore said firmly, noting that his deputy was slowly backing into the corner of the room and drawing her wand. "Why should I fear such a name? After all, I spent seven years teaching the boy Transfiguration. Perhaps I should speak with your master directly, Quirinus?"

Quirrell ripped off the turban to a quiet gasp from McGonagall, who was first to see the face on the back of Quirrell's head, and she knocked her chair over as she scrabbled backwards towards the door, wand swiftly to hand. Dumbledore held up a hand to calm her.

"You would confront me now?" the face of the Dark Lord asked him. "You dare? When I am finally on the verge of taking my rightful place in this castle?"

Dumbledore slowly drew his own wand under the desk, keeping it pointed downward. He nicked his finger on a sharp corner of the desk and dripped a little blood into the rune cluster that would power his array on the floor.

"Your rightful place is buried six feet down, Tom, where you should have been when your curse backfired on you at the Potters. Not here at Hogwarts."

"That will never happen, Dumbledore. I laugh at Death," Voldemort sneered. "Nobody has gone so far down the road to immortality as I! Though it has taken me ten years to return, though I rely for now on this poor, overconfident imbecile's body, it is a mere reflection of the power that I have come to possess that I have cheated Death at his own game."

"It is unwise to take Death lightly, my boy."

"Hah! You think that this runic array you've set up means anything? Whether I can command my magic here is irrelevant! You can destroy the body I wear, but you can never dispose of me!"

"It should be sufficient to contain you."

Voldemort laughed contemptuously.

"Do you not feel the blood ward it projects binding you, Tom," Dumbledore asked. "Preventing you from using your magic?"

He sneered back. "It won't contain me forever, old man. Sooner or later you'll have to release me and my magic will return. Any runic array is limited by its fixed bounds."

"And if I do not?"

"Perhaps I'll take up residence here in the Headmaster's office," the Dark Lord suggested snidely. "I can't imagine that you've developed the guts to actually kill me, Dumbledore, and even if you did I would still have the means to return."

"Is that so? You believe that the Horcruxes you have made protect your soul from being separated from this plain of existence?"

The distorted face jerked slightly in surprise.

"So, you know of the Horcruxes, do you? I suppose that weak-minded, fat-bellied fool Slughorn finally found his conscience too much to bear, did he? Then you know that you cannot hope to prevent me returning and taking my rightful place, even if you kill me here and now."

"Horace was quite helpful, yes," Dumbledore acknowledged, "but he was far from the only one. There were those among your followers... your former followers... who were quite happy to assist once they thought you had disappeared."

"Those who betrayed me will pay the traitor's price in full! Their families will be the first to feel my wrath, my justice."

"I'm afraid you've rather missed the boat with that, Tom. Most of them are, I'm sad to say, beyond your reach."

"Even if they are interred in Azkaban, they will be found."

"I meant rather more permanently out of your reach than that, dear boy. I think you will find that almost all of your Death Eaters have passed beyond the pale – many at the hands of their compatriots, as it turned out."

"Then, if necessary, I will raise a new cadre of loyal followers," Voldemort insisted.

"I'm afraid I cannot allow that."

"You cannot stop me!"

"You are operating under an incorrect assumption, I'm afraid, Tom," Dumbledore told him. "You are assuming that your Horcruxes will protect you once again as they did a decade ago. They will not."

"What rot is this, Dumbledore? All my research has shown that Horcruxes can be effectively many times, not just once."

"Ah, that might be true, if they still existed."

"And now I know you're just bluffing, old man. They're far too well protected for you to even find, let alone destroy."

"Then you will be most surprised that when I free your shade from poor Quirinus here, it will find no tether, nothing with which to anchor itself to the mortal realm."

"You would kill Quirrell just to have me reappear once my strength is regained," the Dark Lord insisted. "I doubt you have it in you to murder the man, let alone the lack of conscience to simply push my resurrection back to a time when you may not even be around to alert people to it."

"Quirinus is dead already, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said, to a look of mixed sorrow and relief on the face of McGonagall. "His fate was sealed once you bound your spirit to him, and nothing I do now to his body could prevent that."

"Is this true, Albus?" McGonagall asked.

He merely nodded.

"Even if all my Horcruxes were gone, the Potter child still lives," Voldemort noted. "My shade clung to him when I was so inconveniently discorporated. Would you have me return in the form of an eleven-year-old? Would you want to be forced to kill him, too, Dumbledore?"

"That won't be necessary, Tom," he replied. "Young Harry has been cleansed of your taint through an exorcism."

"Pah! Muggle rubbish!"

"Yet surprisingly effective. And now," the Headmaster said, "I'm afraid I've heard enough of your boasts and threats, and it's time for you to finally set out of the last great adventure."

Dumbledore raised his wand and pointed it at his possessed teacher.

"Goodbye, Tom."

"Hah! I'll be back, and you know it. You haven't- urk-"

The sudden end to the sentence came as a bolt of red light flashed out, not from Dumbledore's wand of elder, but from the other side of the room.

"Thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore said, as Quirrell's body dropped to the floor.

The Headmaster paused a moment, then cast a different spell, one which he had designed himself after years of research after discovering the soul fragment that had attached itself to young Harry Potter, one which would painlessly separate the soul from the body.

A misty spirit arose from the body, with the face of a young man. It looked about desperately, as though trying to find something, then in panic started flailing around, before dissipating into thin air with a tiny wail.

"Can you let the rest of the staff know that we might have to postpone Defence Against the Dark Arts classes for the first week, please? Again."

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Sunday 1st September 1991

12, Grimmauld Place, and Platform 9 ¾, Kings Cross Station, London.

"Come on," Harry Potter said impatiently as he pulled his Godfather along the hall at Grimmauld Place. "You know Neville said they were going to be early so that we could be sure to get a carriage together!"

"Slow down, kiddo," Sirius said, trying to hold in his laughter at the boy's antics. "We've got plenty of time. And there's always loads of room on the Hogwarts Express. It's not like everywhere will be full."

Harry gave him a glare typical of every eleven-year-old that knows he's right and his parents are wrong.

"That's not what Fred and George said," he reminded Sirius.

Sirius was already regretting introducing Harry to the Weasleys. Molly had looked askance at him for having raised Harry alone (regardless of Sirius's explanation that he'd effectively had three parents for much of his childhood, living with the Longbottoms until he had turned seven). Arthur had seemed delighted to hear that they lived on the Muggle side of London, and had peppered Sirius with unending questions that he rather thought someone as high as he in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement specialising in Muggle Artefacts should already know about.

The twins were not what Sirius considered to be reliable sources. On anything. Mostly because they were skilled in the art of the wind-up, and therefore not to be trusted.

He could only imagine how much worse they would all have been had Harry been identified as the original defeater of Voldemort when he was nothing more than a toddler.

Eventually, Sirius was ready to go.

"Got everything?" he asked. "Trunk? Books? Clothes? Owl Cage? Hmm. Let Hedwig out, Harry. She'll do better flying to Hogwarts."

Harry released his snowy owl from the cage and then opened the front door and let her loose.

"You can leave the cage here, Harry. You won't need it at Hogwarts. I'm not sure why the woman at Eeylops insisted you needed one anyway. Got your money? Your wand? Is that everything?"

"Yes, Sirius. Come on!"

"Okay, okay! Let me shrink that trunk down for you."

They stepped out into Grimmauld Place and walked off down the road to the nearest Tube station, about half a mile away.

Twenty-five minutes later they were pushing their way through the barrier between platforms nine and ten at Kings Cross to see the bright red steam engine ahead of them and a cluster of people on the platform.

"Quarter to Eleven, Harry," Sirius said with a smirk. "Told you we had plenty of time."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Can you see Neville anywhere?" he asked.

Sirius peered around as they strolled down the platform.

"Over there," he said eventually, spotting Frank and Alice waving to him, and they made their way over to join their friends.

Neville's eyes lit up as he saw them approaching.

"Hi Harry. All set?" he asked.

"I was ready about an hour ago, but I had to drag slowcoach here along," he said, gesturing towards Sirius.

"Well, you couldn't get here without him," Neville said.

"Sure I could. We came on the Tube. Not like I haven't done it loads of times before."

"On your own?"

"Sure. Quickest way to get home from school. It's only two stops."

"Don't they let you Floo home?" Neville asked.

"Not from Hereward House. No Floo."

Harry had started going to the Prep school in London when Arcturus Black had died and Sirius had moved into his Grandfather's home in Grimmauld Place, just off Baker Street. He had initially missed sharing home-schooling classes with Neville, which they had done since they were four years old, but had made friends quickly at his new school and settled in quite nicely.

Neville was still being home-schooled, of course, as his Grandmother had insisted (and Frank and Alice hadn't had any strong opinion either way), and he'd been on the Tube himself, though always with his parents.

"Come on, let's find a carriage then come back to say goodbye to this lot," Neville said. "We'll be waiting ages if we have to wait for them to finish nattering."

They dashed off, much to the bemusement of the adults, and stowed their belongings in the nearest carriage. Harry wrote a quick note on a piece of paper with their names on and stuck it to the door so that others who came along would know who the trunks belonged to.

"He's gone for good?" Frank was asking back on the platform.

"Yep!" Sirius replied. "Dumbledore confirmed it. Said Quirrell had been possessed by the last remaining fragment of his spirit, and without the Horcruxes to anchor him, when he separated the Dark Lord's spirit from Quirrell, that was it. Poof! Gone!"

"Thank Merlin!" Frank exclaimed. "I know we thought we'd seen the last of him, but to know for sure is a relief."

"And the Prophecy?" Alice asked.

"Dumbledore says to ignore it. It's a load of bunkum. Could mean anything. Might not refer to something this century, even, given the number of Prophecies he saw still 'live' when he visited the Department of Mysteries. Definitely nothing to do with Harry or Neville, whatever Pettigrew thought that the Dark Lord thought."

"And houses for these two, Sirius?" she asked. "What's your best guess?"

"The safe bet for both of them would by Gryffindor," he replied, "but I wouldn't say that's sure for either of them. Harry could end up in any of the houses."

"Not Slytherin, surely?"

"Don't see why not. He's got Salazar's special gift, so you never know."

Frank and Alice had not been shocked when Harry had found that he could talk to the snakes on the Longbottom estate, though Augusta had apparently been quite off to Harry for a couple of weeks afterwards without him even realising why. Sirius had thought it hilarious, which had sent the Longbottom matriarch into an even greater snit when she found out.

Even more funny had been Dumbledore's expression when he was told. Sirius was later to find out that the Headmaster had spent a significant sum on searching for and hiring a parselmouth in order to dispose of the basilisk that had been found in the Chamber of Secrets under the school.

"And Neville?" Alice asked, bringing Sirius's attention back to the present day.

"Probably Gryffindor, but he's put a lot of effort into learning about all those plants of his in the greenhouse – could easily be a Ravenclaw if he's got that academic bent for other things as well."

"You don't think he'd go into Slytherin?" she asked worriedly.

"I wouldn't think it likely, but I wouldn't be concerned about it if he were. You should know as well as anyone that Slytherin isn't synonymous with evil – look how many Aurors come from that house. The worst of those who supported Voldemort all got taken out years ago, so few of their sons and daughters will have been raised with quite that sense of superiority, and the older ones will have seen the way the wind was blowing. Most don't have fathers to push them that way."

"And their mothers?"

"Walpurga was the exception, if you ask me," he said. "I don't think there are many mothers whose idea of a sensible career for their children is to get involved with a civil war – even the prejudiced idiots."

"Your mother was off her rocker though, Sirius," Frank chipped in.

"Was that who the nasty portrait in the hall was of?" Harry asked, surprising the adults who hadn't seen him and Neville come back.

"Yes. I'm amazed it got up there," Sirius said. "Grandfather wouldn't have put up with it, and she's not been dead that long. I suspect Kreacher had something to do with it. He always doted on her. Disgusting old elf."

Harry's nose wrinkled up at the reminder of the old House-elf who had supposed to have been looking after the house after Sirius's Grandfather had died. It had been completely demented and incapable of doing its job, and Sirius had been forced to put him out to grass when he'd seen the state of the house, even though it had only been a month since Arcturus had died. For a House-elf that had been shame enough, even through the poor creature's mental state, that it had lost the will to live, and eventually had starved to death in the outhouse where he'd been retired to.

Sirius certainly didn't keep the House-elf's head on the wall with its predecessors like his Mother had done. They'd all been removed and incinerated the day that he and Harry had moved in.

Shrugging off the sad memory, Harry and Neville said goodbye to Sirius, Frank and Alice, and if there were a few tears and snuffles amongst them, then perhaps they were better not mentioned.

The two boys climbed up onto the train and waved a final goodbye as the Hogwarts Express took them off to their new school and the adventures that awaited them.

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Monday 2nd September 1991

Little Whinging, Surrey

Mr and Mrs Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange and mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

So when Mrs Dursley's sister and her husband had been killed, nearly a decade ago, they were most relieved that their son Harry had not been brought to them as his closest family to be taken care of.

The Dursleys knew that Mrs Dursley's sister, Lily, was some sort of freakish magic user and that they belonged to some weird secret society, and the Dursleys wanted nothing to do with anything of that nature. Whilst Mrs Dursley did attend her sister's funeral, which was rather swamped with these odd characters, she was happy that the least 'freak-like' of Lily's friends was the only one she would have to deal with.

This man, a Remus Lupin, helped her make the necessary arrangements to report and record Lily's death and that of her husband, and assured her that their son would be well looked after.

Over the years, Mrs Dursley had occasionally corresponded with her nephew, including sending small gifts for Christmas and on his birthday, but was glad not to looking after him. Her own three sons, Dudley, Edward, and Vernon Junior were more than enough of a handful.

When she heard in a letter from Harry that he was excited to be going away to his new school in Scotland, where they would teach him all kinds of 'magic', she heaved an even greater sigh of relief than usual, and added additional thanks in her prayers that evening that the child had not been foisted upon her. Heaven knows what what have befallen her perfect family had that come to pass.

The Dursleys certainly cared nothing for the defeat of a Wizarding terrorist they'd barely heard of once more that a decade earlier.

Had they known the full story, perhaps they might have added a small note of thanks to whatever had guided Albus Dumbledore and Sirius Black's actions on that Hallowe'en night a decade earlier, which had ensured that their crisis had not descended upon the Dursley household.