Mrs. Pompey, to many people, was a professional version of a shrewd grandmother, a woman who could be just about anything and act anyway without it being out of character. She was a short woman, standing at a height of exactly five-feet tall, her heels normally adding an extra three or four inches. She was plump, too, complete with broad shoulders, thick legs and a chubby face that made her look like a life-sized baby doll. Her eyes, hidden behind a pair of thin glasses, were grey-blue and slightly crinkled at the edges. Her graying hair was shoulder length and strictly straight, curving only slightly at the ends and always held back with a thin, black or white headband. Her usual attire was a knee-length skirt suit - which she had in just about every colour under the sun - that did little to hide her rotund shape.
She was a kind-hearted soul, though, and prided herself on making others feel comfortable and welcome. Many of the visitors to the Art Studio always complimented the service and the fact that Mrs. Pompey actually made time to care for her patrons without any reservations. She also had quite a sharp and imaginative mind, one that had gotten her to the top of the Art world at the tender age of twenty-one and kept her going for thirty plus years. She was amazingly talented and could spot the skills of a person before anyone else could even get a first glance, an ability that had earned her many gifted artists on her staff and contributions to her studio.
But the one thing only few people knew about this woman was the fact that she was most definitely not one to be crossed. And, unfortunately, Ginerva Weasley and Hermione Granger were learning that truth the hard way.
Her voice was thin and screeching, reaching an abnormally high pitch due to her current mood – that of being completely ticked off. When she had come in to work at exactly 9:30 that morning, she had expected to see a few of her staff artists hard at work, dutifully fulfilling their daily obligations and working on the next big thing. She had been highly disappointed, however. Instead of this expected scene, she had walked in only to be greeted with a stammering security guard and a room full of confused, worried and angry staff members. The source of such behaviour had been evident. Her entire studio had been battered, turned upside down and after a quick investigation, had discovered that only two people had been present when the mess occurred.
“ - we just kinda -”
“ - and then it all just -”
“ - but we tried to –”
“ – and -”
“ENOUGH!” Mrs. Pompey shouted, squelching Hermione and Ginny’s ramblings. “I asked you to explain, not gabber like a bunch of lunatics!”
The two feel completely silent, even bowing their heads from the admonishment.
They knew they were in trouble; they had never heard her shout or yell, even when someone did something horribly wrong. But they couldn’t expect anything less. They had practically destroyed her studio, after all, permanently obliterating a few sculptures and paintings in the process. A part of them knew that it was all out of their control. They could have been killed had they not fought their way out of that attack but they couldn’t tell Mrs. Pompey that a werewolf and a wizard had come in, looking to kill them. She was a Muggle, for Merlin’s sake and was in enough of a tizzy at the moment; they didn’t need to send her over the edge with stories that would do nothing but incriminate them as insane individuals. They were treading on thin enough ice, as it was.
For a few moments, the only sounds in the room were Mrs. Pompey’s breathing and the loud tic-tocking of a huge Breitling analog clock on the wall. Then, when the silence was becoming more unbearable than being admonished, the plump woman sighed, lifting off her glasses for a few moments to rub at her eyes. She replaced the spectacles and peered over the rim at the two women standing in front of her.
“We’ve lost business today because of our attempts to straighten things out,” she said with a clipped tone. “I will not have the same thing happening tomorrow so I would like for this mess to be sorted out by morning.” She turned once the two nodded and walked towards the exit. When she reached the door, she turned her head sideways and added, “If it isn’t, I will really lose my temper.”
Ginny and Hermione watched flabbergasted as Mrs. Pompey exited the building, leaving them standing in front of the battered security desk. They were the only two left in the studio and probably would be all night. After they were completely sure that their boss was gone, Ginny put her hands on her hips and tilted her head to look at Hermione.
“Really lose her temper?” she asked sardonically.
“Yep. Really lose her temper, Gin,” Hermione repeated, knowing full well that such a thing seemed impossible given the woman’s outburst a few moments before.
Ginny obviously had the same thoughts. “With an outlandish demeanor like that,” she mused, “the woman could scare the tentacles off a giant squid.”
Hermione laughed at Ginny’s quip and then surveyed their surroundings. The team had managed to clear this area up quite well. The only thing still broken was the security desk but Mrs. Pompey had arrangements to get a new one instead of trying to fix it.
“I guess they left the art room for us to do,” Hermione finally said, heading towards the double doors. “We should probably get a move on.”
Ginny reluctantly agreed. “Yeah. It could take a while, even with magic.”
“So, we’re going to chance using magic then?” the bushy-haired woman asked, finally reaching the doors and pushing them open. “Even though we’re in a Muggle area?”
Ginny shrugged. “I don’t see why we can’t,” she replied. “No one else is here and we’re gonna be in the back so even if someone walks by they won’t see a thing.”
“Good point. Maybe it won’t be so difficu – Oh, Merlin!”
The pair finally arrived at the art room, the door open enough for them to peer inside. And it was worse than they had originally thought. Paintings were scattered all over, some broken in half, others covered in stray paint and a few completely unharmed. Supplies like paint brushes, bottles and trays littered the ground while a few of the work tables, chairs, stools, easels and canvases were overturned and back ended. The floor itself was graphitized with dry paint in all colours as well as water from emptied cups. It was indeed a complete mess.
“I didn’t realize things were this bad.”
Hermione groaned but didn’t respond. Instead, she whipped out her wand and set to work, determined to get things done in an appropriate amount of time. Following suit, Ginny took out her wand and began siphoning the numerous paint marks that covered the floor and a few of the paintings, careful to remove only the stray particles. Once she had done that and hung the frames back on to the wall, she began to gather up the paint bottles and brushes, depositing them in their rightful places. In the meantime, Hermione worked on repairing a few of the broken easels and torn portraits, hoping that their fellow colleagues did not notice the impossible change.
The pair worked in silence for an hour, too concentrated on their various tasks to participate in mundane conversation. The quietness was easy, though. They had been friends for so long that they could remain in peace with either one feeling uncomfortable. However, the silence was suddenly broken by Hermione’s voice.
“So, um, what’s the deal with you and Harry?” she inquired, trying to keep her voice as impassive as possible.
Without looking up, Ginny asked, “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you two seem to be getting along pretty well,” Hermione answered. She paused, using her strength to turn a newly repaired table upright and slid it back against the wall before continuing. “I thought you’d be at each other’s throats considering the rivalry between your families.”
“You heard what you said right?” Ginny asked, suspending a few paintings in the air before placing them neatly back on the wall. She turned to look at Hermione, who just shrugged and then sighed. “Our families are rivals, not us. I never had anything to do with the war, so I have no qualms or personal issues with or against Harry, especially since he’s not responsible for any of the murders.”
Hermione crossed her arms and smiled cheekily. “So, you like him, yeah?”
Ginny, caught off guard by Hermione’s bold query, nearly tripped over the chair she was guiding back to the table. “What? How could…er…you…I-I-I never said that,” she stammered, avoiding her best friend’s gaze by staring far too intently at the offending chair.
“Y-y-you never said that?” Hermione laughed at her own mimicry and then quickly ducked as a bottle of paint flew towards her, narrowly missing her forehead. “Touchy, touchy,” she said, straightening up, although the grin never left her face.
“I do not fancy Harry,” the red-head exclaimed, a little too defensively.
At her friend’s suggestive look, Ginny rolled her eyes. “No, Hermione, I don’t.” She turned away and her voice dropped as she added, “I mean, yeah he’s cute and all but it’s only business. Remember what I said when we first agreed?” She looked back at her friend. “I want to keep things strictly professional.”
“But who’s to say that Harry wants to?” Hermione raised her eyebrow, her focus long drawn from cleaning. “Because you do realize that pleasure can very much accompany business sometimes.” As if to prove her point, she did a horrible imitation of a pole dancer, choking with laughter at her friend’s scandalized expression. “Oh, come on. Are you telling me you wouldn’t at least shag him?”
“No!” Ginny protested, although the image of Harry’s body towering over hers flitted through her mind. She turned away from Hermione, hoping to hide the blush that crept up her neck. “I have other things to worry about at the moment,” she added, hoping it would deviate the conversation. “Like stopping this ridiculous war.”
It worked. “We’re getting somewhat of a start,” Hermione said, returning to her tasks. “We might just be able to find out who really killed your mom and Harry’s brother. Locomotor Tables!” A few tables scurried along and Hermione fitted them neatly back in place before adding, “Why worry about it so much if we already have a plan?”
“Because,” Ginny started, “it doesn’t seem like enough. Now that Bill’s dead, dad’s probably going to retaliate and we sure as hell won’t find out anything in time to stop it.”
“So, what do you suggest?” Hermione asked, sitting in one of the chairs.
“I think we could do with trying to get some of my brothers on our side,” Ginny explained, looking around to see what else needed to be done. “If we can get them to see reason, then maybe they’ll be able to help dad realize it, too.”
“Makes sense,” Hermione agreed. “Because then, if he sees it then he might put a stop to the war.”
Ginny nodded. “Exactly!”
Just then, the sound of a bell filled the room and the two started, looking up at the ceiling in confusion. They both recognized the noise as the automated chime which indicated when someone had entered the studio. They looked at each other and wearily turned towards the door, trying to listen for any sounds.
“Wasn’t the door locked?” Ginny asked, dropping her voice to a whisper as she walked closer to Hermione.
Hermione stood from her chair and walked over to the door, shaking her head in response to Ginny’s question. “Now that you mention it, I don’t think it was,” she replied, reaching for the door. “It could just be a patron.”
“But what if it isn’t?” Ginny asked, her eyes wide as saucers and her grip on her wand tightening.
“If it’s who you think it is,” Hermione replied, “I doubt they would have used a door.”
The red-head nodded. “Good point. Let’s see who it is.”
The two slowly pushed the door open and peered down the hallway. The place was dim, the switch for the overhead lights situated at the off status. They stepped out into the hallway and began walking towards the double doors. From the little of the lobby they could see, the place looked dark and deserted, the only source of light shining from the street lamps outside. Once they had arrived at the doors, they pushed them open and stepped over the threshold. For a few seconds, everything was stationary and silent until…
“Hello,” a male voice sounded suddenly, causing Hermione to squeal and jump back, elbowing Ginny in the process.
“Merlin, ‘Mione!” Ginny rubbed at her side, pocketing her wand. She reached for the light switch and flicked it up, causing the entire room to become illuminated suddenly.
“My apologies, m’lady. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The two friends looked up to see a tall, well-built man standing before them. Hermione, pocketing her wand quickly, gave him a once over and found that she liked what she was. He stood at least six inches above her and had a pale complexion. His hair was ice-blonde and slicked down neatly, reaching the spot where his neck met his shoulders. He had a strong, well defined bone structure and facial features were chiseled to perfection. His eyes, a cool, serene grey, were piercing as he stared down at Hermione. Overall, he was what Hermione would deem a good catch.
“It’s ok. Perfectly understandable,” she managed to say after a few quiet seconds. She smiled coyly when he did, causing his eyes to light up. “Can we help you?”
“Oh, yes.” He cleared his throat and pushed his hands into his pockets. “I was just wondering if it was alright for me to view a few of the pieces. I’ve only been in town for the day and I really wanted a chance to see some authentic artwork.”
“Well, we’re normally open until ten,” Ginny replied, noticing that it was ten minutes until. She moved to stand next to Hermione. “But we’re trying to clean up a mess.”
“So I noticed.” The man looked around, his eyes landing on the blasted desk. “What happened in here?”
“Just a little overzealous artists, I guess.” Hermione continued to smile, her hands now twiddling with the edge of her shirt.
Ginny, noticing her actions, quirked her eyebrow. Is she flirting?
The man, seemingly falling for the attention, said, “That sounds like quite an interesting story.”
“It is,” Hermione replied eagerly.
“I’d love to hear it.” He removed one of his hands from his pocket and patted at his jacket. “How about we schedule a meeting for tomorrow tonight and you could fill me in.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Or we could skip that and you tell me all about you.”
Hermione gave a very uncharacteristic giggle, causing Ginny to bite on her tongue to stop from snickering.
“I have no objections,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Draco,” he replied, extending an arm. “Draco Malfoy.”
Hermione shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Hermione Granger.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Granger.” He retracted his hand. “So, I’ll meet you at say, 8 o’clock tomorrow?”
Hermione nodded. “Sure.” She grabbed a piece of paper, quickly scribbled down an address and handed it to him. “See you tomorrow.”
Draco slipped the piece of paper into his breast pocket before taking Hermione’s hand and kissing it. He gave a courteous nod to Ginny and then turned, making his way towards the exit. Hermione spun on her heels and looked at Ginny with a wide, girlish smile on her face. The red-head simply chuckled and turned, walking back towards the art room. Hermione followed, mumbling under her breath. Ginny managed to catch a few words such as “cute” and “excited” and knew that her friend was rambling on about the man and her date.
Once they were back in the room, Ginny did one final visual swoop to ensure that all was fixed. “I think it’s safe to say that we’re done here.”
Hermione nodded, the goofy grin still plastered on her face. “Good. Let’s go home.”
“Are you staying by me tonight?” Ginny asked, turning off the lights.
“Might as well,” Hermione said with a shrug. “I’d rather have some company after today’s events. “
After locking up the studio, the two friends made their way down the street, chatting about nothing in particular. Once they were far enough from prying eyes, they Apparated directly in front of Hermione’s apartment. Once they entered, Hermione took a few minutes to gather up some clothes, toiletries and other person items and throwing them into a medium-sized duffle bag. Once she was packed, she locked up her place and then the two disapparated, landing outside of Ginny’s condominium building. They disappeared inside and, half-an-hour later, they were bathed and changed, ready for bed.
“I guess we’re going to contact Harry tomorrow?” Hermione asked, crawling into the spare twin bed.
Ginny rolled her eyes, both at Hermione’s persistence and the suggestive grin on her friend’s face. “Nothing is happening between Harry and me.”
Hermione shrugged and widened her eyes. “I didn’t say anything of the sort.”
“But you thunk it. I know you did.”
“Thunk it?” Hermione arched her eyebrows. “What in Merlin’s name is ‘thunk’, Gin?”
The red-head shrugged. “New verb.”
“More like frigged up language,” her friend quipped under her breath. Then she said out loud, “I still say that something’s going to happen. I have a sixth sense about these things.”
Instead of responding, Ginny rolled her eyes and clicked off the lights. “Goodnight, Hermione.”
Her friend’s laughter filled the room as she crawled in to bed. As tired as she was, it still took Ginny quite a while to get to sleep. Her mind was too occupied with different thoughts – from Harry and her dad to the war and what they were planning on doing about it. She knew that things were had not truly begun yet; she just prayed that it would end in a good way.
The following morning dawned early. The sun was in the sky by the time as seven a.m. rolled around but anyone hardly saw it because of the amount of clouds in the sky. Unlike the previous day, the weather had returned to normal. Scattered showers appeared all over London and the abundance of raincoats, jackets and full-length trousers returned. As usual, the streets were filled with people going on about their day.
Harry walked through the crowd, his hands jammed into his black jacket pocket and his head bowed slightly. His mind was focused on where he was going and what he was about to do. After his and Neville’s discovery last night, he was determined to find out as much he could about the day his brother died…or kidnapped, depending on how accurate their David Potter-is-still-alive theory was. Once he was a safe enough distance, he concentrated on his destination and disappeared with a soft ‘pop’ before reappearing on his parent’s front lawn. Not even bothering to take in the scenery, he trekked up the walkway and, after unlocking the door, pushed his way inside the house.
The Potter home wasn’t as big and as lavish as the Weasley’s but it was still pretty impressive. It stood at a whopping three stories tall, attic exclusive. The entire property was surrounded by a garden that rivaled any other. There were three different gazebos strategically placed and a huge fountain was situated directly between the house and the front gate, standing at a height of about twenty-five feet. Inside greatly contrasted with the outside. The walls were covered with moving pictures of the past. The furniture was a throwback to the Medieval era with thrones instead of regular chairs at the dining room table and statues of armor lining the passageways. Harry found himself feeling as though he had stepped into the home of King Arthur rather than the Potters.
“Mr. Potter. It is good to see you.”
Harry, only a few feet from the front door, spun to see a tiny house-elf emerge from the general direction of the kitchen and walk towards him, a huge smile plastered on his face. Crouching so that he was level with the creature, Harry returned the smile.
“Hello, Dobby,” he replied. “How’s life treating you?”
“Great, Mr. Potter,” Dobby answered. “Your mother and father are wonderful. They treat Dobby so wonderful that Dobby doesn’t mind working.”
Harry nodded. “That’s great, Dobby. Speaking of my mother and father, do you know where I might find them?”
“Well, sir, your father is still to work but dear Mrs. Potter is in the sun-room.”
The house-elf nodded Harry straightened up before disappearing down the corridor until he reached the end of the hall where he turned to the last door and pushed it open. Once over the threshold, he closed the door behind him and took a quick gander at the room. The ballroom-sized space was one of the biggest sun-rooms he had ever seen. The floor was crystal clear tiles and had virtually no furniture, save for a few small benches placed at varying intervals. The walls were not actual walls, but rather stained-glass windows. There was a massive chandelier hanging in the middle of the ceiling that reflected the light shining in the room brilliantly. When Harry saw it, his mind immediately went to Ginny’s tale of her mother’s death and he shuddered, keeping a close eye on it as he walked past.
In the middle of the room, his mother was seated in her wheelchair. She was dressed in a simply blue dress with a white sweater over it. Her once vibrantly red hair was graying in some areas and was currently pulled back into a messy bun. Her eyes which matched Harry’s emerald orbs were fixated on one of the murals that had been added only a few years ago. It contained an image of David, replicated from one of his last photographs. He had been making a book float in mid-air and it was one of the happiest moments because it was the first time he had shown signs of magic. It was the only window Lily Potter paid specific attention to, spending hours upon hours staring at it and even more hours talking about it.
Harry walked towards his mother and lightly touched her shoulder. “Mom.”
She started and tilted her head up. “Oh, Harry, dear” she said, looking up at him and touching her chest. “You startled me.”
“I’m sorry, mom,” he said, sitting on the floor next to her. “I thought you heard when I came in.”
“Guess I was a little too focused,” she said, turning her head back to the window. She smiled.
“I remember when the picture was taken,” Harry said, turning his own eyes on it. “It was right after Christmas dinner.”
Lily nodded and chuckled. “He had wanted the book so badly that it just flew up into the air and glided towards him. He was so happy that he could finally do magic like his big brother.” She paused and looked at Harry, running a hand through his messy hair. “Then, he got so excited and ended up dropping the book right on your father’s foot.” She let out another slight chuckle as a few tears brimmed her eyes.
Harry looked up at her and sighed. His mother, even after twenty-years, was still greatly affected by what had happened. It had even gotten so bad at one point that he feared she would pass away from a broken heart. Luckily, his father had managed to help her through her grieving process.
As he studied his mom, Harry began to wonder if he was making the right choice to talk to her about his brother. She always got so emotional and it tore him up to watch her when she did. But he knew that he needed the information. He wanted closure about this whole thing and gathering as much as he could was the only way to do that. Making up his mind, Harry let out another sigh and then cleared his throat.
“Mom.” Harry took hold of her hand. “I have a question to ask you.”
“Sure dear,” she replied, looking down at him and squeezing his hand gently. “Go ahead.”
He paused, searching for the right words. “Th…er…the day that David died…what really happened?”
Lily stared at her son, confused on why he was asking her such a thing. He knew very well that David had been taken, killed and dumped like garbage in the woods, his body tattered beyond recognition. It had been one of the worst days in her life, settling somewhere between facing heartbreak when she had been a young girl and losing the use of her legs two years ago. After a few quiet moments, she bowed her head.
“Your brother was taken from us and murdered,” she voiced. “That’s all that happened.”
“But,” Harry started, unsure of how to proceed. “Mom, I found…I. Did they ever find his body?”
“Of course they did,” Lily quickly replied, looking shocked. “We buried him. You remember that day; you always told me how badly you wanted to cry but you kept strong for me.”
Harry nodded, remembering the funeral vividly as well. “I know, mom, but…I’m beginning to think that it wasn’t David. See, Neville and I found this folder that -”
“Stop it,” she whispered, too soft for Harry to hear.
“ – some information about deaths that happened that year and David’s name -”
“I said stop it!” she repeated a little louder. “Your brother is dead and gone. He was murdered and his body buried. There’s no question about it.” Tears returned to her eyes and her hands began to shake, causing Harry’s arm to do the same as their hands were still locked together.
“Mom,” Harry persisted, “David’s name did not follow Molly Weasl-”
She drew her hand out of Harry’s grasp, causing him to stop talking and look up at her with confused eyes. “Don’t say that name in my house. That family killed your brother because they thought that we killed that woman.”
“But, mom, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t think they killed David. I don’t even think David’s dead.”
“THEY KILLED HIM!” Lily shouted, tears falling heavily now. She reversed in her wheelchair a little and then turned to face Harry properly. “They took your brother from us; took him from this world.”
“No, Harry,” she interject, her voice thick with the onslaught of tears. “Don’t do this.” She shook her head as she continued to whisper, “It’s taken me years to accept the truth. The Weasleys…they killed David and they are the ones who put me in this wheelchair.” She looked at her son with cloudy eyes and a tear stained face. “Don’t you dare try and tell me differently. I know the truth. I know what they did and what you’re telling me is a lie. David’s dead and they are responsible.”
Unable to say anything for fear that he would upset his mother even more, Harry watched with a heavy heart as his mother wheeled her way towards the exit. She reached for the knob and opened the door, disappearing without as much as a second glance at her son. A few seconds later, Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather, appeared in the doorway. He watched as Lily continued down the hall and then turned to look questioningly at Harry. His godson, however, just turned to stare at the window, not even bothering to stand up from his seat on the floor.
Sirius sighed and walked into the room, stopping next to his godson before joining him on the floor. “Is something wrong?”
Harry shook his head. “Just a little discourse.”
But Sirius wasn’t convinced. “She looked upset,” he mused. But instead of replying, Harry looked down, causing Sirius to sigh and say, “Out with it.”
Harry looked at his godfather. The man still looked the same as he did when he was younger, only a few wrinkles by his eyes indicating his age. He had shaggy black hair that he kept long - preferring it to be shoulder length - that had yet to start graying. His eyes were a misty grey and he was tall, something that could be seen even though he was currently seated. He stared back at Harry, patiently awaiting a response. And Harry was just about ready to lie, to tell him everything was fine.
But then it struck him: his godfather was an accomplished wizard, especially in Legilimency and was, therefore, someone very difficult to lie to. So, instead, he decided to tell the truth and ended up divulging the entire conversation he had just had with his mother. He even ended up explaining his theory about David and his entire belief about the Weasley’s being innocent. It was a lot of information and by the time as he was finished, Sirius had a mixture of emotions on his face – confusion and skepticism being among them.
“So, you think that there’s more to your brother’s disappearance than everyone else believes?” Sirius asked, trying to make sense of what Harry had told him.
Harry nodded. “It just doesn’t add up, Sirius.” When his godfather quirked an eyebrow, Harry explained, “Neville found this file that has a record of all the deaths that happened the same year that David is believed to have died, but his name isn’t on the list. And the cause of death for Mrs. Weasley is missing as well.”
Sirius pondered Harry’s words for a moment. He had never told anyone before but he, too, had had reservations about David’s murder. Things were far too vague and unaccounted for that it left more questions unanswered.
“It’s quite possible you’re right, Harry,” he voiced after a while.
Sirius nodded and then lowered his voice. “Harry, you probably won’t remember the finer details because you were younger so I’ll fill you in. The body they say was your brother’s was found far too close to where Molly Weasley’s body had been discovered. Now, my question is if the Weasleys had done it, why would they have dumped David's body in the same spot as hers?”
“I was wondering about that, too,” Harry added.
“And,” Sirius continued, “the identification of David’s body was poorly done.”
“What do you mean 'poorly done’?” Harry asked with furrowed eyebrows.
“The body was so viciously scarred that it was impossible to tell who it was. Authorities just assumed it was David because he had been reported missing. For the longest time I questioned if it was true because it all just seemed too suspicious.”
“But if it wasn’t David’s body, whose own was it?”
“I don’t know, Harry,” Sirius replied, looking at the window. “But I bet if you do enough research you could find out.”
“Sirius,” Harry started after the two fell silent for a few moments, “do you think it was wrong for me to ask mom about it?”
Sirius looked at his godson and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I won’t lie to you, Harry. It was a bit inconsiderate.”
The emerald-eyed man hung his head and sighed. “I figured.”
“You have to understand. It’s been twenty years but your mother is still suffering greatly from David’s death and it’s turned her bitter towards the Weasleys and everything that goes along with that. But, I’m sure once you discover the truth, she’ll be grateful you told her.”
“So, you believe I may be on to something?”
His godfather nodded. “I do.”
Harry let out a relieved sigh. He had been worried that he was embarking on a treacherous journey, one that could lead to nowhere. But, having Sirius - someone who he looked up to and trusted just as much as he did his parents - support his theories made him feel slightly better. He was still a little confused about it all and wasn’t sure where to go from here but at least now he knew he no longer felt as if he was running blind. Sirius agreed with him; something was indeed suspicious about the whole thing and he was intent on finding out what.
“I’m going to go see if your mother’s alright.”
Harry watched as Sirius stood up and exited before getting back on his feet. Now that he knew that there was a possibility of David still being alive, he had to figure out how to confirm it. And, then, how to find him. It wouldn’t be an easy task, far from it, and it could be very dangerous if he tread on the wrong toes in the process. The only consolation he had about the whole thing was the fact that he had some help.
The sudden thought of Ginny brought an involuntary smile to Harry’s face. He pictured her red hair, and her radiant smile. He envisioned her glittering brown eyes and those perfectly cut cheek bones. He wasn’t sure why the idea of her made him feel so comfortable and so at ease but he didn’t reject the sentiment either. In fact, he was suddenly wondering how much more time would pass until he could look into that beautiful face again.
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