The morning mist clung to the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry like uncertainty made manifest, which seemed appropriate given that the castle was about to receive visitors whose last official interaction with the school had involved wrongful imprisonment, systematic abandonment of professional duties, and what was probably going to be a very uncomfortable conversation about institutional accountability and the proper care of famous orphans.
Sirius Black and Remus Lupin walked up the familiar path from the gates with the measured pace of men who'd had twelve years to think about this moment and weren't entirely sure whether they were returning as alumni visiting their old school or as investigators conducting a fact-finding mission about administrative negligence and possible child endangerment.
Sirius moved with the fluid grace that had survived nine years in Azkaban, his dark robes billowing behind him in a way that made even a simple walk look like a dramatic entrance designed to make people remember why the Black family had been both feared and admired for centuries. His storm-gray eyes held the controlled intensity of someone who'd spent nearly a decade planning exactly what he wanted to say to various authority figures about their spectacular failures in judgment and basic human decency.
Remus walked beside him with the careful precision of someone whose scholarly demeanor masked the kind of protective fury that came from twelve years of guilt crystallizing into very specific demands for answers about systematic institutional failure. His amber eyes swept the familiar grounds with the assessment of someone cataloguing evidence that might be relevant to questions about child welfare and administrative accountability.
"It looks exactly the same," Remus observed, his voice carrying the weight of someone who'd expected the castle to somehow reflect the systematic failures that had occurred while its towers stood unchanged and its wards continued protecting students from external threats while apparently ignoring internal ones.
"Mmm," Sirius replied with the kind of non-committal sound that suggested he was more interested in what they'd find inside than in architectural nostalgia. "Still looks like the kind of place where authority figures might convince themselves that convenient assumptions are more important than actually protecting the children in their care."
Before either of them could continue this cheerful assessment of institutional reliability, a familiar figure emerged from the direction of what had once been called the 'pumpkin patch' but which now looked more like an agricultural operation designed by someone who'd taken the phrase 'bigger is better' as a personal challenge and a sacred mission.
Rubeus Hagrid appeared through the morning mist like a walking monument to the principle that size, loyalty, and good intentions could overcome most obstacles, even when those obstacles involved complex administrative failures and systematic child endangerment that should have been obvious to anyone paying attention to basic welfare indicators.
"Sirius!" Hagrid called, his voice carrying the kind of joy usually reserved for family reunions and really excellent news about unexpected inheritance. "Remus! Blimey, it's good ter see yeh both!"
But as he got closer, Hagrid's expression shifted from uncomplicated happiness to something considerably more complex, like someone who'd just remembered that this reunion involved twelve years of wrongful imprisonment, systematic abandonment, and what was probably going to be some very pointed questions about decisions made during crisis situations.
"Hagrid," Sirius said, his voice carrying the careful neutrality of someone who was prepared to be civil but wasn't particularly interested in pretending that twelve years of systematic failure hadn't happened or that everyone involved had done their best under impossible circumstances.
Hagrid stopped a few feet away with the uncertain movement of someone who'd just realized that apologizing for systematic institutional failure was considerably more complex than most conversations he'd had about gamekeeper duties and creature care.
"Sirius, I..." Hagrid began, his voice rougher than usual with emotion that had apparently been building pressure for over a decade. "I need ter say... I'm sorry. Really sorry. About believin' yeh were guilty without askin' questions. About not standin' up fer yeh when they took yeh away. About..."
His voice trailed off as he apparently tried to find words adequate for apologizing for systematic failure that had resulted in wrongful imprisonment and child endangerment.
"About deliverin' Harry ter those Dursleys when I should've questioned whether they were fit ter care fer a magical child," he finished, his beetle-black eyes bright with unshed tears. "Should've checked on him. Should've made sure he was alright. Should've been a better friend ter James and Lily by protectin' their son proper."
Remus felt something loosen in his chest that had been tightly wound for twelve years. Hagrid's apology was genuine, complete, and included specific acknowledgment of exactly what had gone wrong and why it mattered. It was the kind of accountability that Remus had been hoping to hear from various authority figures and had begun to suspect he never would.
"Thank you, Hagrid," Remus said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of someone who'd been carrying guilt about systematic failure and was relieved to discover he wasn't the only one who'd been thinking about what should have been done differently.
"That... that means more than you know."
"Aye, well," Hagrid said, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief that looked like it had been designed for someone considerably larger than most humans and had probably been useful for various gamekeeper emergencies involving emotional breakdown and possibly creature-related injuries.
"Harry's safe now, though, isn't he? With his cosmic partner and proper family who actually want him?"
"He is," Sirius confirmed, his voice warming slightly as he discussed Harry's current situation and the comprehensive support system that had developed around ensuring his welfare and happiness. "He's got adults who actually listen to him, magical education that's appropriate for his abilities and interests, and... well, he's got backup that specializes in systematic justice for people who hurt children."
"Cosmic justice," Hagrid repeated thoughtfully, his voice carrying the tone of someone whose experience with magical creatures had prepared him to accept that the universe contained things that operated on principles beyond conventional understanding. "Heard about what happened ter the Minister and Malfoy. Can't say I'm sorry ter see 'em go, considerin' what they've been up to."
"Educational experiences," Remus said diplomatically, his scholarly training providing neutral terminology for what had apparently been comprehensive accountability involving cosmic entities and permanent lifestyle changes for systematic oppressors.
"Very thorough educational experiences, from what we understand."
As they continued toward the castle, their conversation was interrupted by the approach of Professor McGonagall, who emerged from the main entrance with the brisk efficiency of someone who'd been expecting this visit and had prepared for what was probably going to be either a pleasant reunion or a very uncomfortable conversation about institutional failure and administrative accountability.
Minerva McGonagall moved with the controlled authority that had made her legendary among Hogwarts students for decades, but this morning her usual stern composure was tempered by something that might have been guilt if she'd allowed herself to feel normal emotions about systematic failure to support people who'd deserved better from the institution they'd served.
"Mr. Black," she said formally, her voice carrying the controlled professionalism of someone who was about to address something that should have been said years ago and was probably going to be more complex than standard administrative apologies. "Mr. Lupin."
She paused, her usually perfect posture showing the first signs of uncertainty that most people had ever witnessed from the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
"I owe you both apologies," she continued, her voice taking on the kind of controlled regret that suggested she'd been thinking about this conversation for years and had finally worked up the courage to acknowledge systematic failure.
"Mr. Black, I should have questioned the evidence against you. Should have demanded proper investigation, insisted on a trial, refused to accept convenient assumptions about your guilt when they contradicted everything I knew about your character and your loyalty to James and Lily."
Her green eyes met his gray ones with the kind of direct acknowledgment that suggested she was prepared to face the consequences of her failures without trying to minimize or excuse them.
"And Mr. Lupin," she continued, turning to address someone whose systematic abandonment had been motivated by genuine concern but had still resulted in a child growing up without proper family connections or understanding of his heritage,
"I should have reached out to you after James and Lily's death. Should have ensured that Harry had access to people who'd known his parents, who could share stories about their character and their love for him. Should have questioned the placement with relatives who clearly had no understanding of or respect for magical children."
The sincerity in her voice was unmistakable, and both men found themselves looking at someone who'd spent twelve years carrying guilt about failures that had contributed to systematic injustice and child endangerment.
"Thank you, Professor McGonagall," Sirius said, his voice carrying the kind of acknowledgment that suggested he understood exactly how difficult it was to admit systematic failure and take responsibility for outcomes that could have been prevented through better judgment and more courage.
"That takes character, and it matters."
"It does," Remus agreed, his voice warm with appreciation for someone who was demonstrating exactly the kind of accountability he'd been hoping to see from the educational institution that had helped shape his understanding of proper adult behavior and professional responsibility.
"More than you know."
McGonagall nodded with the controlled dignity that suggested she was relieved to have acknowledged her failures but understood that apologies were just the beginning of whatever accountability was required to address systematic institutional problems.
"I assume," she said, her voice taking on the brisk efficiency that had made her legendary for getting things done properly and promptly, "that you're here to see the Headmaster about matters related to Harry's welfare and your own... recent legal vindication?"
"Among other things," Sirius confirmed, his voice carrying the kind of controlled anticipation that suggested he was looking forward to having this conversation and wasn't particularly concerned about whether it was going to be pleasant for everyone involved.
"We need to collect some family property that should have been part of Harry's inheritance, and we have some questions about administrative decisions that affected his placement and welfare."
"Questions," McGonagall repeated, her voice carrying the understanding of someone whose administrative experience had taught her to recognize when 'questions' actually meant 'comprehensive accountability sessions that are going to be very uncomfortable for everyone involved in making questionable decisions.'
"I see. Well, then. I believe the Headmaster is expecting you."
The walk through the castle corridors was filled with the kind of tense anticipation that suggested everyone present understood that the upcoming conversation was going to be either routine administrative business or the most spectacular accounting of institutional failure in Hogwarts history.
Probably both.
---
The gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office looked exactly the same as it had during Sirius and Remus's student years—carved stone with the expression of someone who'd seen everything the educational system could produce and hadn't been particularly impressed by any of it.
"Lemon drops," McGonagall said crisply, apparently unimpressed by password security systems that relied on candy preferences rather than actual protective protocols.
The gargoyle stepped aside with the resigned movement of someone whose job security depended on accepting that educational administrators had their own approaches to office security that prioritized whimsy over actual protection against unauthorized access.
The spiral staircase carried them upward with the measured pace of people approaching what was either going to be a routine meeting about administrative matters or the most uncomfortable conversation about institutional failure and child endangerment in the history of magical education.
The office door was slightly ajar, revealing glimpses of the familiar chaos that had always characterized Albus Dumbledore's approach to administrative organization—shelves lined with mysterious instruments that hummed and clicked and probably monitored things that weren't covered in any standard educational oversight manual, portraits of former Headmasters who were currently pretending to sleep but were probably cataloguing every detail of this conversation for future historical reference, and enough accumulated magical artifacts to suggest that the Headmaster collected interesting objects the way other people collected stamps or regrets.
"Sirius, Remus," came Dumbledore's voice from within, carrying that familiar tone of gentle authority mixed with what sounded like carefully controlled anticipation. "Please, come in. I've been expecting you."
They entered to find Albus Dumbledore seated behind his desk, looking every inch the wise, grandfatherly figure who'd guided Hogwarts through decades of crisis and educational excellence. His long silver beard was perfectly arranged, his half-moon spectacles caught the morning light with calculated precision, and his blue eyes held that familiar twinkle that suggested he found most human behavior charmingly predictable and generally manageable through patient guidance and strategic candy distribution.
But both Sirius and Remus had spent the past twelve years developing very strong opinions about authority figures who relied on grandfatherly charm to avoid accountability for systematic failures, and neither of them was particularly interested in being managed through patient guidance today.
"Albus," Sirius said, his voice carrying the controlled courtesy of someone who was prepared to be civil but wasn't going to pretend that twelve years of wrongful imprisonment hadn't happened or that everyone involved had done their best under impossible circumstances.
"Thank you for seeing us."
"Of course, of course," Dumbledore replied, gesturing toward the chairs arranged in front of his desk with the kind of practiced hospitality that suggested he'd been preparing for this conversation and had arranged the office to encourage civilized discussion rather than systematic accountability sessions.
"I must say, I'm delighted to see you both looking so well after... recent developments. The vindication of your innocence, Sirius, has been a source of great relief to all of us who knew you during your school years."
"Has it," Sirius said, his tone carrying just enough edge to suggest that he wasn't particularly interested in discussing relief felt by people who'd spent nine years accepting his guilt without question or investigation.
"Well, that's... gratifying to hear."
Remus settled into his chair with the careful precision of someone whose scholarly training had taught him to observe details that might be relevant to understanding complex situations involving institutional failure and administrative decision-making.
"We're here," Remus said, his voice carrying the controlled professionalism of someone who'd spent twelve years thinking about this conversation and wasn't going to be distracted by grandfatherly charm or strategic deflection techniques, "to collect some property that belongs to Harry."
"Specifically," Sirius added, his gray eyes fixed on Dumbledore with the kind of focused intensity that suggested he was cataloguing every response for future reference and possible legal documentation, "the Potter family invisibility cloak that should have been part of his inheritance and has been sitting in your possession for over nine years without proper justification or parental consent."
Dumbledore's expression flickered slightly, like someone whose carefully prepared responses had just been derailed by people who were more direct and considerably less patient than he'd anticipated.
"Ah, yes," he said, his voice carrying the kind of measured consideration that suggested he was trying to figure out how to present his retention of Potter family property in terms that wouldn't sound like systematic appropriation of a child's inheritance for personal research purposes.
"The cloak. Yes, I have been... keeping it safe for Harry until he was old enough to use it responsibly."
"Responsibly," Remus repeated, his voice carrying the kind of scholarly precision that suggested he was very interested in hearing exactly what Dumbledore's definition of 'responsible use' might be and whether it had any relationship to standard legal concepts about property ownership and parental rights.
"Harry is now living with family who actually care about his welfare," Sirius said, his voice taking on the kind of dangerous quiet that made smart people remember pressing engagements elsewhere. "People who understand that his parents' property belongs to him, not to educational administrators who decide they know better than legal documents and parental wishes."
"Of course, of course," Dumbledore said quickly, rising from his chair with movements that suggested he was eager to resolve this particular aspect of the conversation before it became more complicated than routine property transfer.
He moved toward one of the many cabinets that lined his office walls, each secured with enough protective enchantments to suggest that the Headmaster collected objects that required specialized handling and possibly their own insurance policies.
"I was always planning to return it to Harry when he reached Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued, his voice carrying the kind of explanation that was probably supposed to make his retention of Potter family property seem reasonable rather than questionable. "Along with other items that belonged to his parents and were being kept safe for his eventual inheritance."
"Other items," Sirius said, his voice sharpening with the kind of interest that suggested Dumbledore had just revealed information that was going to make this conversation considerably more complex than routine property retrieval.
"What other items?"
"Oh, various family artifacts," Dumbledore said with the kind of casual tone that suggested he was hoping this wouldn't become a comprehensive inventory of everything he'd removed from the Potter house after James and Lily's death. "Photographs, letters, some of James's Quidditch awards. Things I thought Harry would want to have when he was older."
"Things that should have been part of his inheritance from the beginning," Remus said, his voice carrying the controlled fury of someone who'd just realized that Harry's systematic deprivation of family history and cultural connection had been even more comprehensive than newspaper reports had indicated.
"Things that might have helped him understand that his parents were remarkable people who'd loved him, rather than the 'drunken car crash' narrative his relatives provided."
Dumbledore retrieved the invisibility cloak from its secured cabinet, the silvery material flowing through his hands like liquid moonlight as he carried it back toward his desk. The cloak seemed to shimmer with its own internal light, and both Sirius and Remus could feel the powerful magic that made it one of the most valuable Potter family heirlooms.
"Here we are," Dumbledore said, offering the cloak to Sirius with the kind of benevolent gesture that suggested he was being gracious about returning property that had never been his to keep in the first place.
But Sirius had spent nine years in a prison where trusting authority figures without verification had been an excellent way to end up dead or worse, and his approach to accepting magical objects from people who'd demonstrated questionable judgment about child welfare had become considerably more cautious.
Instead of accepting the cloak directly, Sirius drew his wand and cast a detection spell that would reveal any enchantments, charms, or magical modifications that had been applied to the fabric.
The results made everyone in the office go very still.
Golden light erupted from the cloak, revealing magical signatures that had definitely not been present when James Potter had owned it. Tracking charms glowed like spider webs throughout the fabric, each one designed to monitor the cloak's location and possibly the identity of anyone using it.
"Tracking charms," Sirius said, his voice carrying the kind of dangerous quiet that preceded either spectacular explosions or very educational conversations about institutional accountability and administrative overreach.
"You put tracking charms on Harry's inheritance."
McGonagall's sharp intake of breath suggested that even someone who'd spent decades working with Dumbledore had not expected this level of... comprehensive monitoring of Potter family property.
"Albus," she said, her voice carrying the controlled horror of someone whose entire understanding of professional ethics had just been challenged by evidence of systematic surveillance that definitely wasn't covered in any educational administration manual, "you've been planning to track the cloak?"
"For Harry's protection," Dumbledore said quickly, his grandfatherly composure finally beginning to crack under the weight of having his monitoring activities exposed to people who clearly didn't appreciate the sophisticated reasoning behind surveillance of children's inheritance without consent or legal justification.
"The cloak has been used for... questionable activities... throughout its history. I thought it prudent to ensure that if Harry ever acquired it, his use would be... appropriately supervised."
"Appropriately supervised," Remus repeated, his scholarly training providing clinical terminology for what amounted to systematic surveillance of a child's property without consent, legal authority, or any consideration of basic privacy rights.
"By secretly monitoring his location whenever he used his own family's magical artifacts."
Sirius was very carefully placing the cloak on Dumbledore's desk while maintaining his detection spell, cataloguing every tracking charm and monitoring enchantment that had been woven into the fabric over the years.
"How long?" he asked, his voice carrying the controlled fury of someone who was beginning to understand that Dumbledore's approach to Harry's welfare had included systematic surveillance that went considerably beyond standard educational oversight.
"How long have there been Tracking Charms on this cloak?"
"Since shortly after James and Lily's death," Dumbledore admitted, apparently deciding that honesty was preferable to having his monitoring activities discovered through more direct magical analysis. "I felt it necessary to ensure that if the cloak ever fell into inappropriate hands—"
"Inappropriate hands," Sirius interrupted, his voice rising for the first time since entering the office. "Like the hands of the child who legally owns it? The hands of family members who actually care about his welfare? Those inappropriate hands?"
Hagrid shifted uncomfortably by the door, his beetle-black eyes wide with what appeared to be genuine shock at discovering that the Headmaster's approach to Potter family property had included comprehensive surveillance without consent or legal authorization.
"Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid said quietly, his voice carrying the confusion of someone whose simple understanding of right and wrong was struggling to process information about systematic monitoring of children's inheritance, "that don't seem right. Trackin' Harry's things without tellin' him. Without askin' permission."
McGonagall was staring at Dumbledore with the expression of someone whose professional respect was being systematically destroyed by evidence of administrative practices that violated every principle of educational ethics she'd spent decades upholding.
"The tracking charms," she said slowly, her voice carrying the controlled precision of someone who was trying to understand exactly how comprehensive this surveillance had been, "what information do they collect?"
"Location data, primarily," Dumbledore said, apparently hoping that limiting his admission to basic surveillance would make it seem less problematic than comprehensive monitoring. "The identity of anyone using the cloak, the duration of use, general activities while invisible..."
"General activities," Sirius said, his voice carrying the kind of dangerous quiet that made the magical instruments around the office begin humming nervously. "You've been planning to spy on a child's daily life through his own family's magical property."
"For his protection," Dumbledore repeated, but his voice carried considerably less conviction than it had at the beginning of this conversation. "The cloak could be used for dangerous purposes—"
"By a ten-year-old boy who's been systematically abused and neglected while you've been planning comprehensive surveillance of his private activities," Remus said, his scholarly composure completely abandoned in favor of protective fury that had been building pressure for twelve years.
"A child who deserved love, care, and basic privacy rights, not monitoring by educational administrators who apparently think children's welfare is secondary to their own convenience and control."
Dumbledore sat back down behind his desk with movements that suggested his carefully constructed authority was beginning to crumble under the weight of having his administrative practices examined by people who weren't impressed by grandfatherly twinkles or strategic explanations about the greater good.
"I understand that my methods may seem... excessive," he said, his voice taking on the kind of careful diplomacy that suggested he was trying to maintain some semblance of professional dignity while acknowledging systematic failure that was becoming impossible to justify or explain.
"But you must understand the complexity of the situation. Harry's safety required careful oversight, and the cloak represented a significant security concern if it were to be used without proper guidance."
"Proper guidance," Sirius said, beginning to remove the tracking charms with the systematic efficiency of someone who'd learned advanced ward-breaking before his years in a prison where privacy was a luxury and surveillance was a constant threat.
"From the same administrative judgment that placed him with abusive relatives, ignored explicit provisions in his parents' will, and spent nine years assuming I was guilty without bothering to conduct basic forensic analysis."
Each tracking charm dissolved under Sirius's careful magical work, unraveling like threads being pulled from fabric that had been contaminated by unauthorized surveillance and administrative overreach.
"I think," Remus said, his voice carrying the controlled authority of someone who'd spent years thinking about institutional accountability and had arrived at very specific conclusions about proper educational administration, "we have some fundamental disagreements about appropriate oversight of children's welfare and property rights."
He stood up with movements that suggested this conversation was approaching its conclusion and that further discussion would probably involve considerably less diplomacy and significantly more direct confrontation about administrative failures.
"We'll be taking the cloak," Remus continued, his voice carrying the authority of someone who understood both legal rights and the practical applications of systematic accountability, "along with any other Potter family property that you've been 'keeping safe' without proper authorization."
"And we'll be conducting our own assessment of Harry's needs and welfare," Sirius added, carefully folding the now-unmonitored invisibility cloak with movements that suggested this was just the beginning of what was probably going to be comprehensive review of institutional practices and administrative decision-making.
"With input from people who actually understand that children deserve love, care, and basic respect for their privacy and autonomy."
Dumbledore opened his mouth as if to continue explaining his sophisticated reasoning for comprehensive surveillance of children's inheritance, then apparently decided that further discussion would probably make this situation worse rather than better.
"Of course," he said finally, his voice carrying the kind of resigned acceptance that suggested he understood exactly how much credibility he'd lost through this conversation. "Harry's welfare is, naturally, our primary concern."
"Is it," Sirius said, his voice carrying just enough skepticism to make it clear that Dumbledore's track record with Harry's welfare was going to require considerable improvement before anyone trusted his assessment of primary concerns.
As they prepared to leave the office, McGonagall cleared her throat with the kind of diplomatic sound that suggested she was about to address something that might be relevant to their visit but wasn't directly related to systematic surveillance of children's property.
"Mr. Black," she said carefully, "I assume you and Mr. Lupin might be interested in... revisiting some of your old haunts while you're here? The castle holds many memories from your school years."
Sirius and Remus exchanged glances that carried the kind of meaningful communication that came from years of friendship and mutual understanding of subtle suggestions about activities that probably weren't entirely official but were definitely important.
"Actually," Sirius said, his voice taking on the casual tone that both McGonagall and Hagrid recognized from his student years as meaning he was about to engage in activities that were technically within the rules but definitely pushed the boundaries of acceptable behavior, "that's an excellent suggestion, Minerva. I think we would enjoy a nostalgic walk through the castle."
"Just to... reminisce about our school days," Remus added with the kind of scholarly precision that suggested he understood exactly what kind of reminiscing was being proposed and was looking forward to it.
"Of course," McGonagall said, her expression carrying the understanding of someone whose administrative experience had taught her to recognize when former students were planning activities that were probably necessary but definitely not entirely official.
"I'm sure you'll find that many things remain exactly as you remember them."
As they left Dumbledore's office, Sirius carrying Harry's inheritance and both of them carrying considerably more information about institutional surveillance and administrative overreach than they'd expected to acquire during a routine property retrieval visit, they knew that their mission was far from complete.
They had a diadem to find, a Room of Requirement to locate, and at least one more soul fragment to eliminate before Tom Riddle's immortality project could be permanently discontinued.
And if their nostalgic walk through the castle happened to involve systematic artifact hunting and creative applications of cosmic justice to dark wizard soul fragments, well, that was just going to make their school visit more educational for everyone involved.
The revolution was almost complete.
---
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