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Author: parakletos Story: The Sins of the Fathers Rating: Teens Setting: AU Status: Completed Reviews: 11 Words: 104,346
September 5th Friday “Get out of my sight, you worthless imbeciles!” It was a sound all too familiar to any student in Hogwarts, but rare enough in a NEWT-level class for the students to be shocked into standing still rather than fleeing as any younger student would have. “Move, you idiots!” bellowed Snape, furiously casting spells that were unfamiliar to Ginny as he fought to contain the deadly but invisible damage caused by the disaster. “Too much of this in your lungs and you will not live long enough to even breathe your last!” So they ran—or rather scuttled—away, leaving the choleric Potions Master to clear up the disaster as best he could. “And Vane!” he shouted after the gossipy girl who had failed so spectacularly that morning, “One hundred points from Gryffindor and a month of detentions with me!” As she reached the door, Ginny felt a tightness in her chest and had to slow her pace to accommodate it. But whilst those around her who appeared to be suffering from the same symptoms began to cough violently, she did not. As she reached the relative safety of the corridor, she watched as her fellow NEWT students dispersed to the common rooms and to the infirmary. The door to the Potions dungeon slammed shut, cutting off the fumes and making the air considerably fresher, but the tightness remained. A scuffed footstep behind her made her turn, revealing the reason for her discomfort: Harry. “Harry!” she shouted excitedly and rushed to greet him. She flung her arms around him, kissing him on the cheek, and rather enjoying the flustered look it brought forth. A hand came to rest on her back, slowly patting her like an awkward uncle dealing with an over-exuberant child. “It is good to see you, Ginevra,” he finally managed to say as he slowly disentangled himself from her. “You are not in Potions this morning?” “No, Romilda buggered up her potion and Snape kicked us out. You?” “I was intending to walk around the lake, as it is such a fine day.” His conversation was stilted and she wondered if the day would ever come when he was able to chat to her like a close friend. I wonder if he would still be calling me Ginevra whilst we make love? A few days ago she would have railed against such thoughts, but now she merely laughed. She knew how his body reacted to hers and it wasn’t too big a jump for her to imagine how it would feel inside rather than outside her body. “Well, let me join you.” Without waiting for his reply, she slipped her hand in his and started leading them towards the Entrance Hall. ~*~ As he neared the Slytherin dungeons Harry became aware of a commotion near the Potion Master’s classroom. Something caught in his throat and he realised that things were not proceeding according to Snape’s lesson plan. He stopped and sniffed the air: Confusing Concoction with… he sniffed the air again… the dandelion whiskers added before the earwig hairs…easily done, if you have no idea what you’re doing. Deadly, too. The door burst open and students began to pour into the corridor, spreading the poison further. This could get nasty. Without thinking, he cast two air-based spells into the area above the door, helping the gas to disperse safely. His attention was caught by the flash of red hair that paused by the door before proceeding slowly into the corridor. Wouldn’t do to linger, Ginevra. He cast a few more dispersal spells before walking past the dungeon and waiting. She took a few more steps forward before halting in front of him, looking down the corridor in the opposite direction to him. He felt a twinge of disappointment as she took a step away from him. Without thinking about it, he took a step towards her, the scuffing of his leather soles unusually loud in the now-deserted corridor. She spun around, delight in her eyes as she yelled out his name: “Harry!” She rushed towards him, her hair mirroring her excitement as it fanned out behind her. One moment she was a bundle of energy powering towards him, the next she had enveloped him in her embrace and was planting a kiss on his cheek. He made to speak, but nothing would come, his mind a jumble of conflicting thoughts and emotions. The only thing that appeared to matter was the closeness of her body and the need to maintain it. Sure that he should be doing something, but unsure as to exactly what, he allowed his hand to come to rest on her back, patting it awkwardly. It felt like a miserly gesture in the face of her explosion of affection, but anything more would have started them down a road which he was not prepared to travel, at least for the time being. “It is good to see you, Ginevra,” he eventually managed to utter as he reluctantly withdrew from her embrace. “You are not in Potions this morning?” “No, Romilda buggered up her potion and Snape kicked us out. You?” Ah, Romilda Vane, niece of Barnabus Cuffe, proprietor of the Daily Prophet and Death Eater Sympathiser. Perhaps I should have sealed the door shut and left Snape and his pupil to die? But then, came the voice that had become increasingly assured over the last few days, Ginevra was the last to emerge, wasn’t she? She was waiting for his answer, so—ignoring his discomfort—he managed to continue the conversation. “I was intending to walk around the lake, as it is such a fine day.” Inwardly, he cursed himself. This is the woman you are to marry; she has sought you out and clearly wishes to spend her much sought-after time with you. And yet you cannot summon the words to convey even friendship towards her? “Well, let me join you.” And with that, he felt her hand slip into his. As she led him away from the dungeon and towards the entrance hall he allowed his mind to wander. Her hand was small, her fingers long and delicate, and for a brief moment he allowed himself to daydream, enjoying her touch and wishing for more. ~*~ For all of his life, Harry had been trained and trained again. He had endured endless mission briefings and debriefs, had Pensive memories implanted and extracted… nothing in his training left room for any lack of preparation for a mission. Until now. Attempting to talk to a seventeen-year-old girl was, perhaps, the hardest thing that he had ever tried. His limited interaction with the fairer sex had been confined to formal introductions, set piece dances and stilted and meaningless conversations over a formal dinner. But here he was, with a beautiful girl who talked endlessly, and he hadn't got the slightest notion as to how to respond to her. Of course, he would try, and did, but all that he knew belonged to an age and a way of life that was dying and had nothing to offer the vibrant vision of the future that she represented. "Your family, they are well?" he enquired. He wasn’t particularly concerned as to their wellbeing, especially when it came to her brother, but this was, he was certain, a question with which both parties could feel secure. Instead of the formal response of: "Yes, they are well. Thank you for asking," Ginevra embarked on a discourse as to the trials and tribulations of her over-large family. The contents of this colloquy were so prosaic that, if it had been any other, he would have made his excuses and left. However, her speech delighted him: the way that it rose and fell; her habit of asking a question and proceeding before he answered; the way that she assumed so much about his knowledge of her family and her history and her attitudes and her opinions, all without bothering to check whether any of what she was saying was making any sense to him whatsoever. He supposed that he could take her assumptions as an insult, that she wasn't bothered whether he understood or was even interested, that she only liked to hear the sound of her own voice. But as she continued, he realised that she spoke in this way because she felt comfortable in his company, and that it didn't matter whether or not he understood. As she continued, he began to learn that, if he nodded and gave his verbal assent to what she was saying now and again, she would continue unabated. However, this happy state of affairs did not last as he found himself giving the wrong answer to a deliberately-misleading question. "Really, Harry? You'd prefer wearing my knickers to yours?" He supposed that if he were the suave and sophisticated, not to say urbane, young man that everyone supposed he was, he would have laughed it off or responded with some witticism worthy of Oscar Wilde. Instead, all he could do was blush and mumble his apology. "It's all right, Harry, I was only teasing. But you really should pay more attention. Much as it is a good thing to let a girl talk about what interests her, you need to pay more attention or she will think that you are only humouring her." "Duly noted, Ginevra." "And now that I have your attention, what do you think of the Headmaster's recent announcement?" "What announcement was that?" "Don't you read anything that is posted on your common room notice board?" "I'm sure that if it was anything of significance, my handlers would have alerted me to it." "Well,” she replied with a smile, “as they have not seen fit to do so, then I will take pleasure in enlightening you. Unlike previous years, there won't just be one Hogsmeade weekend per term but two. The first one is next month and the second one will be in November. And that's not all…" here she paused for dramatic effect. However, as Harry really had no idea as to what she was talking about, the effect was lost on him. His lack of response did not dissuade her so she continued. "There is going to be a Yule Ball!” Harry knew that he should respond with something that indicated he was as excited as she was by the prospect. However, he couldn't see what there was in this announcement that would excite anybody. He had only attended two balls in his lifetime, both of which he was in disguise for, and both of which he had found excruciatingly boring. "Oh, come on, Harry, even you must find the prospect of one of those exciting." "I have been to Hogsmeade on numerous occasions. The selection of goods for sale is normally of fair quality but is of limited supply. It has been my misfortune to attend two balls in the past. Neither of them is leading me to believe that there is any form of social interaction more boring and more pointless." "Oh," replied Ginny. He could hear the disappointment in her voice and cursed himself for his lack of understanding. He knew that he should have responded differently but he could not see the point in lying to her. In an attempt to salvage the situation, he caught her eye: "I suppose that, with the right companion, I could be persuaded to change my mind." He remembered to smile as he said it to reinforce the fact that he was trying to be positive. He was rewarded with a smile far greater than he thought his fumbling efforts deserved. "Thank you, Harry. I look forward to it." The arm that was linked with hers was joined by her other arm and she squeezed it tightly and allowed her head to rest upon his shoulder. Harry's pleasure at her response faded quickly. He knew that he had just agreed to do something, but quite what he couldn't fathom. If he were going to invite her to walk out with him, or to attend the Yule Ball as his companion, there were formalities that needed to be observed. The fact that she had, from what he'd been able to discern, accepted an invitation from him for all three events without the proper courtesies being observed troubled him greatly. She, however, appeared far from troubled, and as they continued their walk, she hummed quietly, holding tightly to his arm, obviously content with the outcome of the conversation. ~*~ This was the moment she had been waiting for ever since she had begun to be in his presence without descending into a tornado of desire. No, that wasn’t true: it was one of the things she had been waiting for. She had a rather long list, and whilst walking arm-in-arm around the grounds on a sunny day had been fairly high up, she had greater ambitions than that. Today would be a test of how far things with Harry would go. His nervousness was amusing—that he could be tongue-tied by the softest of her touches was endearing—but her frustration was building: if he didn’t show any progress away from the stuffed-shirted exterior he presented to the world, she might be forced to take matters into her own hands. She knew that he had mixed with the great and the good—and the not so good—and that her family and its humble circumstances were a million miles from the society he frequented, now and in the future. But she couldn’t stop herself from hoping that she would one day be the one to host a grand ball as the mistress of his household. So… if he wasn’t going to talk, then she would. And so she did, trusting that his social awkwardness would mean that he would let her continue uninterrupted. She would seize the opportunity to tell him just what her life had been like up to this point so that he might have an understanding of the impact he had made on her. He was quiet to begin with, and as she continued he began to nod in purported agreement with the occasional grunt of apparent assent at appropriate times. Eventually, however, it became clear that he was merely humouring her and that he had more than likely ignored everything she had said. Galvanised rather than crushed by that revelation, she decided she would make him pay for his inattention. “My new underwear has arrived, and it’s every bit as alluring as it promised to be -surprisingly comfortable too. Want to swap?” “Yes, Ginevra.” "Really, Harry?” she snorted with laughter, “You'd prefer wearing my knickers to yours?" He blushed and stammered an apology. "It's all right, Harry, I was only teasing. But you really should pay more attention. Much as it is a good thing to let a girl talk about what interests her, you need to pay more attention or she will think that you are only humouring her." She watched him closely as she waited for his reply. "Duly noted, Ginevra." The barest of smiles graced his lips and she was content. And now, Mr Potter, let us see how far you are prepared to take this. "And now that I have your attention, what do you think of the Headmaster's recent announcement?" She felt her excitement rising as she waited for his answer. "What announcement was that?" What? "Don't you read anything that is posted on your common room notice board?" She wondered if the Slytherin common room had a notice board, or whether school announcements were merely daubed on the wall using the blood of students who were deemed to be disloyal to the cause. "I'm sure that if it was anything of significance, my handlers would have alerted me to it." "Well,” she said forcing herself to smile, “as they have not seen fit to do so, then I will take pleasure in enlightening you. Unlike previous years, there won't just be one Hogsmeade weekend per term but two.” She had hoped that he would interrupt at this point, but instead he merely listened. Well, at least he is actually listening to me as I speak. “The first one is next month and the second one will be in November. And that's not all," she added, pausing for dramatic effect, before realising that however excited she was, he was as unmoved by the social events she was describing as Filch was. Undaunted, she continued. "There is going to be a Yule Ball!” She had expected some response from him, even if it were just to mirror her excitement. But then, what was a ball full of teenagers when compared to the social calendar of the head of a proud and noble family such as the Potters? But it was all she had to go on, so she would try. "Oh, come on, Harry, even you must find the prospect of one of those exciting." "I have been to Hogsmeade on numerous occasions. The selection of goods for sale is normally of fair quality but is of limited supply. It has been my misfortune to attend two balls in the past. Neither of them is leading me to believe that there is any form of social interaction more boring and more pointless." "Oh," she replied, unable to hide her disappointment any longer. "I suppose,” he offered, catching her eye, “that, with the right companion, I could be persuaded to change my mind." He smiled as he spoke and that was all she needed. She beamed at him, all the worry about his response disappearing. "Thank you, Harry. I look forward to it." She linked her other arm with his and squeezed it tightly. Deciding to push the barriers just a little further, she allowed her head to rest upon his shoulder. As they continued their walk, she was in seventh heaven, no longer feeling the need to talk, her mind full of plans for the future. ~*~ Harry returned to the castle with a smile on his face. He was amazed how spending an hour with her could transform his day. His happiness, however, was short lived because as soon as he entered the castle he found himself confronted by a gaggle of Gryffindor males and their companions from other houses. Quickly scanning the crowd, he started to assess the risk they posed. All male and all with angry looks on their faces. Angry, I like angry. Angry doesn’t think and angry doesn’t plan. They were led, of course, by Ginevra’s brother. "Anything I can help you with, Weasley?" he asked, knowing full well why the Weasley boy was there. "I've told you before, Potter, that I want you to leave my sister alone.” "And I've told you, and I think she's told you herself as well, that that isn't going to happen.” Weasley took a step towards him. That’s new, he thought, perhaps this time he is going to fight. “Ron," he said trying to adopt a conciliatory tone, "she is of age. Why not let her make her own decisions? If she is bright enough to be Head Girl, why isn’t she bright enough to choose her own companions?" If he thought Ginevra was bright enough, he certainly did not think the same of her brother. Still, it didn’t hurt to appeal to reason, and it would always look good in a Pensieve memory if things went pear-shaped and he was forced to account for his actions. "Let's just say that, in this case, I think she’s lost a bit of her perspective. Me and my mates think she needs a little bit of help, don’t we, boys?" the redhead said, turning to the assembled rabble for support. They all nodded and murmured in agreement. Some near the back, feeling emboldened by the distance between themselves and Harry, were more vociferous in their agreement and in their opinions. "Your behaviour I can understand, Weasley, even if I don't agree with it. You are, after all, her brother, and it's only natural that you want to look after her. But this lot," he indicated the rest of the crowd, "only have their own interests at heart. Every one of them would be asking your sister out as soon as your back is turned. They no more want to protect her from me than you want to be in Slytherin house. " He paused for a moment, hoping that Weasley’s brain would make the connection and realise that it was jealousy that was motivating his cohorts. As if realising that they'd been rumbled, the other boys became more vociferous in their condemnations of Harry, continuing to egg Ron on. "I'll tell you what, Potter," sneered Weasley, "to make it a fair fight, why don’t we put our wands away and settle it like men? Or are you not man enough?" Harry heard the sniggers and guffaws of the other boys and laughed inwardly. The fact that any one of them would dare to suggest they had achieved adulthood given the closeted lives they had lived would have amusing, if he hadn't realised that they were serious. "I don't want to fight you, Weasley. I think you're wrong even if I understand why you're doing it, but it's not worth spending the night in the hospital wing over it." "On the contrary, Potter, I think that your spending the night in hospital is well worth it." And without waiting for a response, he launched a fist in Harry's direction. Harry avoided the punch with ease and ducked under the follow-up as well. Several more blows came his way and they were avoided with similar ease. Weasley was already beginning to tire and Harry began to watch for the easiest way to end it all. As soon as the first spell was cast, Harry knew instinctively that it hadn't come from Weasley. Apart from the fact that his opponent’s hands were balled into fists and thus incapable of holding a wand, Harry also knew that—however stupid the boy’s sense of honour was—pulling his wand out when he’d declared his preference for a fist fight would have been betraying that honour. No, the spell was cast by one of the other boys that were now gathered around, cheering the redhead on. Harry managed to avoid the spell and quickly cast a Shield Charm in case there were others following. Unfortunately, the time it took him to cast a Shield Charm gave Weasley the opportunity to land his first punch, and Harry's nose was soon bleeding profusely. Bastard! Once the first hex had been cast, others followed and soon the only person not trying to curse Harry was Weasley. For someone who had been trained to fight since he could walk, the spells being cast caused no problem for him, especially when a stray Stunner hit Weasley and removed him from the equation. Rather than seeking to fight back, Harry decided his best course of action was to defend himself, wait until his attackers got tired or, as he reflected their spells back towards them, they were taken out by their own handiwork. After five minutes, it was all over. Lying on the floor of the Entrance Hall were twenty-nine sixth- and seventh-years, all of whom were unconscious. He knew from his knowledge of the security spells at Hogwarts that members of staff would be turning up soon, so he sat patiently on a nearby pedestal until they arrived. He had nothing to hide so it didn't occur to him to say anything but the truth about what had happened. That said, he knew that he was in trouble, come what may. Taking Veritaserum and submitting a memory for investigation would prove that he was not guilty of either instigating the fight or injuring any of the students, but there were bound to be questions asked about allowing such a powerful student into Hogwarts without having his magic suppressed. And, knowing his luck, it would be him that would pay the price and not those who had previously ducked such a decision. ~*~ Ginny was furious and her mood hadn’t been helped by the fact that it had taken her well over an hour to find him. “Ron, you idiot!” she shouted when she finally cornered him in a disused classroom, “what the hell do you think you were doing?” Her brother was strangely silent, looking at his feet rather than her. She hoped that he was ashamed of his actions but she was wrong. He lifted his head slowly, the bruise that had covered the side of his face was now gone – Madam Pomfrey had done her work well. His defiance, however, remained. “Ginny,” he said his voice slow and measured, “please try and understand-” “Understand what? That you decided that you wanted to take on Harry Potter? And for what reason?” “I was defending your honour!” “You were what?” How dare he! “Defending your honour!” “Did I ask you to?” Her brother was silent. “Did I?” “No, you didn’t because you were so caught up in him you couldn’t see what he was doing to you.” “And what was he doing to me?” “His hands were all over you and—” “He hasn’t so much as tried to kiss me, you idiot! And what if he had? What if he’d had his hands all over me? You don’t see me complaining, do you?” “He thinks he can get away with anything because he’s the bloody boy who lived.” “Well, let me tell you this, Ronald Weasley, he’s probably going to get expelled because of the antics of you and your so-called friends. And if he does, then I’ll never speak to you again, do you hear me?” “Ginny—” “It’s Ginevra, and don’t you forget it!” And with that she stormed off to try and find Harry before he reached the Headmaster’s office. ~*~ “Do take a seat, Harry,” said Dumbledore, indicating the one empty seat in the room. As he took it, Harry took note of those who would sit in judgement of him. Apart from Dumbledore, Professors Snape and McGonagall were there on behalf of the Hogwarts staff, with the remaining member of the inquisition being the smirking Sirius Black. Perhaps it was a measure of how much had changed for Harry, that he viewed Black as the person least likely to support him in this. It was clear that Black had an agenda for Harry’s time at Hogwarts, one that went far beyond the need to provide lessons in social etiquette and intercourse. Again, this was something he had missed until it was too late. He had assumed that the only manipulation had been his being sent to Hogwarts and the betrothal to Ginny, but it was clear now that he had been wrong. So many puzzle pieces to sort out, and he had no idea if they even came from the same puzzle, let alone how he was to solve it. Okay, I have no choice but to take whatever comes my way and work with what I am given. Ginevra, if only you could be with me now! “So, Harry,” began Dumbledore, “perhaps you could, in your own words, explain to us how twenty-nine of your fellow students came to be unconscious in the castle’s entrance.” Harry took a moment to compose himself: if he had read the body language correctly, then his fate had already been decided it was just a question as to whether he could influence his punishment. “I have already submitted my memory for inspection, as required by the DMLE, is that insufficient?” “We are interested in your motivations, Harry, something that a memory cannot give us.” Harry looked at Dumbledore in disbelief. “My motivation? What the fuck has my motivation got to do with any of this?” “Please moderate your language, Mr Potter.” Harry turned towards the voice. “I know,” continued McGonagall, “that this is a stressful time for you, but that is no excuse to descend to such levels.” He shook his head, incredulous. Here he was, defending himself against accusations that he had been responsible for the injuries sustained by the idiots who had attacked him, and she was worried about his language? “I’m sure we can forgive Mr Potter for one such outburst,” said Dumbledore, in full grandfather mode, “this is a trying time for us all.” He picked up the bowl of sweets in front of him and proffered it in Harry’s direction. “Lemon drop, Harry?” Sweets with a minor Cheering Charm were not what Harry needed. “Dim diolch,” he replied, causing the Headmaster to smile and all the others except for Black to look puzzled. “What’s next, Harry,” Black asked, laughing, “a chorus of Sosban Fach? Where’s Dangerous Dai when you need him, eh?” It was Snape and not Harry that responded. “As much as your Brythonic exchange amuses me, we are not here to play linguistic games, but to discuss how to deal with your godson’s inability to control his desire to attack people.” “Now, now, Severus, let us not prejudge the issue, we haven’t yet heard from Harry.” “There is little doubt,” continued Snape, “that, instead of using his alleged superior skills to remove himself from the situation as soon as possible, Potter turned others’ magic back on themselves, thus causing them injuries which could have been avoided.” Harry’s defender against these accusations was not Black, but McGonagall. “Whilst I agree with Severus that Harry should have extricated himself as soon as possible, the salient facts are these: that without provocation, a large number of students took it upon themselves to organise an unprovoked attack against another student. However unwise Harry’s response may have been, he was not the protagonist and should not be punished as such.” Harry carefully schooled his features, but inside he let out a huge sigh of relief. He had arrived at the meeting with little hope of a fair hearing, but now that he had some support from an unexpected source, he began to believe that he might escape from the meeting relatively unscathed. A few days ago he would have been provoking everyone in the room so that they had little choice than to expel him. Now he wanted to stay: stay and prove Black wrong, stay and see things through with Ginevra. He had no desire to use the magic of the contract to force her to bend to his will. She had proved herself a witch who was both worthy of his time and capable of fulfilling the roles of companion and mother to his children. No, he would stay and put up with this injustice for her. And what if she rejects you? She is strong of will and may not take well to her life being dictated so? Then we shall watch as each of us succumbs to the demands of the magic making us old before our time. Ever the optimist, aren’t you? No, ever the realist. McGonagall’s support did have its limitations, as he discovered. “But given the inability of others to control themselves and Mr Potter’s inexperience in dealing with his peers, I am minded to recommend that we take steps to avoid this happening again in the manner discussed in our earlier meeting.” Harry sat up a bit straighter when he heard this. It was as he had thought; asking his opinion had been nothing more than a sop to the façade of fairness and the discussion he had been called to was a sham. “Good,” said Dumbledore, still smiling benignly at Harry over his half-moon spectacles, “then we are all agreed?” Harry looked around the room and watched as one by one the adults nodded in agreement. “Good! Sirius, if you would be so good as to do the honours?” Black stood up and walked over to Harry’s seat. “Hold out your hands, Harry.” “What are you doing Black?” “It’s for the greater good, Harry. Now hold out your hands.” “I’ll repeat the question, Black; what are you doing?” “Do you want to stay here, Harry? With Ginny?” Harry was silent. “I thought so. If you want to stay, hold out your hands. If not, I’ll tell her you’ve left and couldn’t be arsed to say ‘goodbye’.” Reluctantly, Harry held out his hands and watched as Black drew his wand and cast the one spell Harry dreaded: Ic binde þin cræf. As soon as the incantation had finished, Harry felt his magic retreat. No longer did it surge like a lion ready to defend him in any circumstance, but instead it was circumspect and wary like a domestic cat’s first time in a neighbour’s garden. In short, he was now vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been since he had been a child, except this time he had no one to watch his back. “How long?” he spat, not bothering to hide his anger. “For as long as you remain a student at Hogwarts, Harry.” He nodded, a plan forming in his head even as he made his way out of the Headmaster’s study. He wouldn’t stay but he wouldn’t leave her. He would propose to her, trusting that she would accept and that they would leave together and begin a new life away from Hogwarts. He made his way slowly down the spiral staircase, mulling over his idea as he did so. If she wanted to finish her NEWTs then he would arrange for a governess to teach her. She was bright, and with individual tuition she should be capable of passing with marks sufficient for her future as a wife and mother before the end of the year. They would marry soon after and would welcome their first child this time next year. His plan was simple, but effective. Now all he had to do was to survive long enough to make it happen. ~*~ After McGonagall and Snape departed, Sirius Black remained in Albus’ office a little longer. Their discussion was brief but nonetheless important. “Are you sure that this is the only way, Sirius?” “I’m sure, Albus.” “And will Harry ever forgive us?” “He has to, how else are we to flush out the remainder?” “I know, I know. But I’ve told you before that ‘For The Greater Good’ is not a philosophy that I can live with any longer.” “It’s a bit late for regrets, Albus. What’s done is done with Harry.” “My regret started long before Harry, dear friend, long before.”
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