For some reason, it didn't occur to Harry at all that Mother and Father might have ulterior motives until they walked into the small café off Diagon Alley where they were meeting Dumbledore and he saw Dumbledore turn pale. Harry glanced over his shoulder, trying to see what Dumbledore was seeing, and realized that the Headmaster's eyes were locked on the missing part of Father's left arm.
Oh. They wanted to rub it in that Father will never turn me over to Voldemort, and Dumbledore thought he would.
For some reason, Harry found himself having to conceal a smile as he sat down at one of the small dark blue tables across from Dumbledore. Mother sat beside him, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Father waved his wand and made a Privacy Charm spring up around them, then sat down on Harry's other side.
He laid his amputated arm upright on the table and smirked as he stared directly into Dumbledore's eyes.
"Who will now hand over his son to the Dark Lord?" he asked softly.
Dumbledore took a quick breath and looked Father in the eye. "You haven't had your arm restored yet. The Mark might return."
Father laughed. It wasn't a particularly nice sound, and Harry shifted closer to Mother. She let him lean gently against her. "I have never seen you arguing from pure desperation before, Albus. Allow me to savor the moment."
Dumbledore shook his head. He looked profoundly disturbed, pale, with wrinkles on his face that made Harry think of him as old for the first time. He turned to Harry and seemed to try to look straight past both his parents. "Harry, my boy—"
"Please call me Henry." Harry didn't want everyone calling him that, but it was still useful.
Dumbledore paused for a moment, then just went on without acknowledging that he'd heard Harry. "You will be pleased to know that Sirius Black is having a trial arranged for him. Once we can receive some reassurance that he won't simply be greeted by Dementors when he arrives at the Ministry, then he will be tried in front of the Wizengamot on the charges of betraying the Potters and killing Peter Pettigrew and the Muggles, as should have been done."
"I am pleased to hear it," Mother said. "And a formal trial for the kidnapping?"
"You would subject a man who unfairly spent twelve years in Azkaban to that?" Dumbledore was still looking at Harry.
"Do you not want him to stand a trial that you know he would be found guilty at?" Mother asked in her sweetest of sweet voices, the one she usually used on Diagon Alley shopkeepers.
"I was speaking to your son."
"Yes, you do have an unfortunate habit of treating him like an adult. Speak to us instead," Father said, and once again rolled his left arm over. Dumbledore's eyes darted to the cut-off portion, then away.
The Headmaster took a deep breath and looked at the restaurant's shimmering silver ceiling as if praying for patience. Then he turned so he was speaking to Mother. "That crime is fourteen years old."
Mother arched her eyebrows and said not a word. She was pretty good at showing contempt that way, Harry had found. And scolding people, too. Sometimes all she had to do was look at him and Draco and they would stop fighting.
"You cannot want Sirius further punished for that. Your own cousin?"
"Who took my own son? Who made us suffer for twelve years, fearing Henry was dead or being mistreated? Who was responsible for him being left with abusive Muggles, since he could not even fulfill the duties of a godfather my son's false parents assigned him? Of course I want him punished. I agree that he should not be Kissed on sight. But he should stand trial, Headmaster. For all his crimes."
Mother's voice was perfectly level and cold. Harry shivered at that, and wondered what would happen if Sirius walked into the restaurant right now, if Mother would draw her wand. He thought she probably would.
Oh. And she was sitting so her wand arm was free. Somehow, he hadn't noticed that before.
....
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