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Honeydukes


“Come in.”

Professor McGonagall pushed open the great wood door to the Headmaster’s office and stepped inside. Torches flickered all about the room, and Dumbledore sat behind his ornate desk, a roll of parchment in his hand, his feet up on a hassek that stood alongside, his stockinged feet warming by the fireplace. His large toe stuck out of the pair of socks, which were old and unevenly knit. He sat up a bit straighter, adjusting his glasses and dropping his feet to the floor as McGonagall entered the room. “Welcome, welcome,” he murmured, putting down the parchment.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” she said, walking across the room and setting herself into the chair before his desk. The crushed velvet was purple with silver swirls. Everything in Dumbledore’s office was purple or silver or magenta or fire-ball orange, it seemed, including the large bird perched by the window. A phoenix named Fawkes, Dumbledore’s prized pet, who tilted his head at McGonagall in recognition. “Fawkes looks lovely today.”

“He does. His colors get remarkably more splendid so soon after a burning…” Dumbledore smiled fondly at the bird, “He burned just last Wednesday, you know.”

McGonagall nodded, staring at the bird with a benign smile.

Dumbledore looked at her, “I’m sure you did not come up all those flights of stairs, bewitched or no, just to talk with me about my bird, did you, Minerva?”

“No, sir,” McGonagall replied, “I didn’t. I came to speak to you about James Potter.”

“What of Mr. Potter?” Dumbledore asked, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on the desk and he placed his chin on the fists of his hands, listening intently. He seemed so young and childish when he sat this way, thought McGonagall, and it was odd for her, to see the Professor to whom she had looked up to all her life, look so young in spirit but old in body as he did then.

Minerva McGonagall took a deep breath. “Well, Professor -- er, Headmaster,” it was still too easy to call him Professor, it seemed, “James came to me yesterday, after class, and asked me about becoming an animagus and what exactly the process of such was.” She hesitated, “I’m worried that he may be thinking of practicing without supervision.”

Dumbledore sat back and smoothed his beard against his lap. “I see. And you fear he may accidentally give himself a beaver tail or an ostrich neck or something of the sort, I presume?”

“Precisely,” McGonagall replied.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers in thought. “I would keep an eye on the boy,” he said, “But I would not worry myself too much on the matter just yet. Perhaps he was simply inquiring on the subject…”

“But, Headmaster --”

“Minerva, do not worry your head,” Dumbledore cut her off, holding up a hand to politely silence her. “There are a great many purposes that one might ask about information such as James has done, and while a large portion of those purposes are of seedy nature, there are some which have a meaning of greater good and if my hunches are correct, then James’s inquiries are of the latter. Until we have reason to feel concern, we shall not worry ourselves.” He smiled, a twinkle of mystery in his eyes.

“What greater good could James Potter possibly be reaching for by asking me about becoming an Animagus?” McGonagall asked, confused.

“What greater good indeed,” murmured Dumbledore. He took a deep breath. “Suffice to say, my dear Minerva, that the price of friendship is a cost few are willing to pay so grand a price as the boys of Gryffindor House. Keep an eye on James Potter, but perhaps not too close of one; and most importantly, do not fret on the topic. Please, let me show should there be further inquiries, but do not worry yourself about it. I am sure that any purposes James Potter has for asking you about animagi, it will be for a greater good.”

“Yes Professor,” McGonagall said, though she would certainly fret - whatever Dumbledore’s suggestion may be.




Peter Pettigrew was leading the way through the tunnel that led from Gunhilda of Gorsemoor to the mysterious candy-filled storeroom, the other three following close behind him. “Blimey, that’s a load of stairs,” complained James when they’d come to the bottom of the long staircase.

“Just wait until you’re going back up them,” Peter warned.

James groaned.

Remus followed along, looking about, clutching the parchment that held the drawings of their map, taking notes and counting their footsteps to see just how far they were going to reach the storeroom. James had brought along the invisibility cloak and wore his watch so that they could keep track of the time and wear the cloak back to Gryffindor Tower if it was past the time they were allowed to be out and about the castle. The last thing they needed was another run-in with Argus Filch.

“I can’t believe you did this yourself!” Sirius exclaimed, slapping Peter on the back proudly, “Good one, Peter.”

“Yeah, mate, good one!” James echoed.

It was precisely the praise Peter had hoped to hear and he puffed up at the sound of the words ringing in his ears.

They reached the little stairs that led to the trapdoor in the floor that led into the storeroom Peter had found and Remus finally rolled up the parchment and tucked it into the pocket of his robes. They clustered about on the stairs, their ears as close to the door as they could get them, and stood, waiting - listening. There was not a sound to be heard in the room above them, so Sirius, the bravest and most reckless of them, shoved it opened heartily.

The storeroom was dark, as was the little window that Peter had been able to see through the last time he’d been there. No sign of passersby filled the glass this time, and no light filtered through the snow that framed the window. Sirius waved his still-lighted wand about as he climbed out of the trap door and had a look about. He was quickly followed by James, then Peter and finally Remus, who entered a bit more reluctantly than the other three.

“All these boxes are filled to the rim with candy,” Peter said, going to one and opening it up. Inside were scorpion pops and another box beside it held sugar mice.

James peered inside a box and found pumpkin pasties. He licked his lips eagerly and reached in for handfuls of his favorite sweet.

Remus, who had bent low to examine one of the boxes more closely, stood upright. “Wait,” he said urgently, turning to face the other three just as Sirius was about to bite into a jelly slug, “Don’t eat anything. It’s stealing - we’re in the cellar of ---”

But before he could say where, the big purple door at the top of the stairwell burst open.

Nox!” shouted James, thinking quickly.

Stupefy!” a deep voice called from the stairs.

Nox,” hissed Sirius, throwing himself to the floor behind some of the crates. Remus and Peter did the same, plunging the storeroom into darkness, save for flying red sparks that flew overhead, bursting against boxes that broke open, spilling chocolate frogs and pepper imps raining over them.

Stupefy!” the deep voice shouted once again.

There was a scurry of limbs and the slamming of the trap door. “Colloportus!” Remus shouted quickly, aiming his sparks at the trap door. “C’mon, run,” he commanded the others and before waiting for an answer, they ran pell-mell away from the door through the dark, stumbling over one another, painting, clutching their sides.

When they reached the bottom of the long staircase, they came to a stop and Remus panted, “That was Honeydukes.”

Honeydukes?” Peter squeaked.

“Yes,” Remus choked, clutching hands to knees.

“Guys?” James’s voice was thick from lack of oxygen, “Where’s Sirius?”




Albus Dumbledore knocked upon the little shop door. The stars and moon hung low in the sky behind him as Ambrosius Flume peered out and then opened the door with a wave of his wand. “Headmaster,” Ambrosius said respectfully, ducking his head as though to bow Dumbledore in welcome, “Welcome to my little shop. I’m sorry that it’s under such circumstances that you’ve afforded yourself the time to visit. Perhaps another day - or night - you come by in high spirits and enjoy some sweets?”

Dumbledore, who had taken his entrance of Honeydukes upon the bow of Ambrosius’s head, answered, “I really must. I am quite the sucker for sweets,” he smiled, looking about the shop. “It’s quite nice, Ambrosius, you should be proud.”

“Yes sir,” the shop owner said with a grin. “I’m quite proud. This has always been my dream - to sweeten the tooth of the residents of the school.” And then his eyes darkened, “Which is why it broke my heart so very deeply to find Hogwarts students in my basement, stealing from me.”

“I imagine it would,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. “Show me the boy you’ve captured?”

“Right in here,” Ambrosius replied, waving Dumbledore into a back office of the shop, so that Dumbledore was directed in passing through the shop’s expansive shelves of sweets. “I managed to stupefy the one - I’ve not any idea where the others went, but I’m certain there were at least three in total - possibly four.” Ambrosius pushed open the office way door and there, slumped in a chair, and still stupefied was Sirius Black.

“Ah,” Dumbledore breathed a sigh upon seeing Sirius’s form. Ambrosius stood sentinel in the doorway as Dumbledore crossed the room and gently placed a hand on Sirius’s shoulder. “Rennerverate,” he whispered and Sirius stirred, pale and frightened, his eyes darting nervously about before they focused on Dumbledore’s features and he froze still as could be, staring up into the face of the headmaster. “Hello, Sirius,” he said.

Ambrosius Flume bristled in the doorway. “Sirius?” he muttered, “Sirius Black?” He shifted his weight, “I didn’t realize -- or I wouldn’t have stupefied him --” he stammered, fear and unease in his voice, “I don’t want no trouble with them Blacks - Orion and Walburga - don’t want no trouble with them.” He shook his head, “Take him back to the school, Dumbledore.”

Sirius looked at Dumbledore, afraid of what might be about to happen to him, but Dumbledore turned, standing up right, and faced Ambrosius Flume. “I wish to pay for anything my students have stolen,” he said with a heavy voice.

Sirius felt sick. He looked about the office and saw boxes for candy stacked in the corner, labelled with the Honeydukes name. So the tunnel led all the way to Hogsmeade center, to the Honeydukes sweet shop, then. How foolish they’d been to think all that candy was laying about in Hogwarts somewhere. Even more foolish not to realize it wasn’t free but that no matter where they’d come out, taking even a lick off that candy was stealing. He felt quite ashamed as he heard Ambrosius Flume inform Dumbledore that the amount of candy missing cost over seven galleons. He closed his eyes as he heard the headmaster’s coin purse jingle.

“Do you have any lemon drops, while we are at it, Ambrosius?” Dumbledore asked hopefully, “I do love those.”

They left out the front door a few minutes later, with Ambrosius insisting to Sirius that he hadn’t realized who he was or else he wouldn’t have stupefied him. Dumbledore carried a bag of lemon drops in his fist as they went, having still not said a word to Sirius himself. The night was cold and Sirius tugged his robes tighter around himself as Dumbledore led the way into the high street of Hogsmeade, popping a lemon drop into his mouth and biting down with a loud crunch. Sirius stared down at the ground as they walked, the cobblestoned street bumpy and uneven. He was afraid of what Dumbledore would say once the headmaster finally spoke - and worse, what he, Sirius, might say in return.

He didn’t want to get his friends in trouble.

“My, my,” Dumbledore murmured, “It is quite chilly out this evening.”

Sirius nodded miserably.

Dumbledore said, “Let us speed things up just a bit, shall we?” and he grabbed hold of Sirius’s forearm. “Have you used side-along apparition before?”

“With my father,” Sirius replied.

Dumbledore nodded and there was the great twisting, squeezing strangeness of disapparating and when the world came back into focus, Sirius found they were only a few feet outside of the great iron gates of Hogwarts, the statues of the boars on either side staring down at them. Dumbledore smiled, “There we are. A pity we cannot apparate to my office - there’s a fine fire in the floo. But alas. This is quite a lot smaller of a walk in this cold air, though.” He moved to the gates and unlocked them with a silent spell, one Sirius was sure was more complicated than the alohamora.

They were halfway across the grounds, walking along a path cut through the snowy banks by the tip of Dumbledore’s wand. Once inside the front door of the castle, Dumbledore aimed his wand at his feet, “Tergeo.” All of the mud and water on his feet disappeared, seeming to be siphoned off into the tip of his wand. He turned to Sirius, “It’s best not to offend Mr. Filch,” he explained and quickly used the spell to wipe Sirius’s feet clean as well as the couple footprints they’d already made.

They walked together through the castle, Sirius feeling more and more miserable. They were on their way to Dumbledore’s office to expel him from the school - he was sure of it. He wondered where he would go if Dumbledore sent him away from Hogwarts. Sirius Black was not welcomed back home and, even if he was, he didn’t want to go to Number 12 Grimmauld Place ever again, should he be able to help it. He could go to the Potters, maybe, if they’d have him once they found out what he’d done - especially since, if there was anyway about it, Sirius did not plan to let anyone know that the other Gryffindor boys had been there as well. He would take the punishment wholly upon himself. He would have to live the life of a vagabond, he decided, the life of an outcast. Perhaps he would go to Costa Rica and eat oranges. If he could get there, that is. He wasn’t sure where Costa Rica was, but he was fairly certain he couldn’t walk there from Hogwarts.

On the fifth floor, Dumbledore paused in the corridor by the staircase and looked Sirius over. He looked about as miserable as a boy could look. Dumbledore cleared his throat and Sirius looked up at him with wide, scared eyes. “I trust, Mr. Black, that this will not happen again?” he asked.

Sirius shook his head.

“Then it’s to bed with you,” Dumbledore replied.

Sirius’s brain was slow to understand. He looked up at Dumbledore in shock, “You mean - you mean I can go?”

Dumbledore nodded.

“I’m not being expelled?” Sirius asked.

“Not tonight,” Dumbledore replied.

“But tomorrow?” Sirius sounded wary.

Dumbledore looked down at him over his halfmoon glasses. “Why? Do you intend to get into further mischief tomorrow?”

Sirius shook his head, “I don’t intend to,” he answered. “But sometimes it just happens.”

A smile cracked Dumbledore’s rather somber face. “Yes, I’m afraid we all manage to fall into mischief sometimes without meaning to. But so long as you do not intend to go marauding again tomorrow, I should think you will not be expelled tomorrow, either, Mr. Black.”

“Alright,” Sirius said.

“Now off to bed with you, and quickly, too. You don’t want Mr. Filch finding you.” Dumbledore waved Sirius off and turned, heading toward his office.

Sirius said, “Headmaster - I’ll… I’ll see to it that you’re paid back the galleons.”

Dumbledore replied, “Thank you, Mr. Black.”

“Goodnight, sir,” Sirius said.

“Goodnight, Sirius,” Dumbledore answered, and he disappeared ‘round the end of the dark corridor.

Relief flooding him - he wouldn’t have to try to find a way to Costa Rica just yet after all - Sirius rushed up the stairs of Hogwarts to Gryffindor Tower.