!DISCONTINUED! Guardian of Death [A Harry Potter Fanfiction]

17:The truth, the full truth, and nothing but the truth?

Henry's mouth curled into a grin when the paper arrived that morning. As a former "media darling" himself he knew how to present the truth in a way that would be perfectly twisted so that it could not be refuted. His title as a lord helped speed things up a lot, and his position as legal guardian of "The Girl Who Lived" ensured he could call upon the spotlight he rightfully deserved at any moment with just a snap of his fingers. 

Rita had been practically thrumming with excitement, although she had been awakened at three in the morning, and got to work on the article right away. The resulting masterpiece was the honest truth, backed up by muggle police reports, muggle, and magical medical scans, and a confession from Vernon Dursely himself (taken under duress of course, but that was a minor detail).

Hannah looked at her father's smile and mirrored it, although the effect was spoiled by the milk mustache she had just acquired. He turned towards her, his gaze softening as he cooed over the embarrassed little girl. Reaching over the table he gently pinched her rosy cheek, uncaring as to her wild attempts at simultaneously melting into the chair and swatting his hand away. With a soft swish of his fingers, he summoned one of the napkins before lifting her chin up with one hand while the other diligently cleaned up all traces of milk from her face.

The sudden crackling of the fireplace broke the tender moment of the pair and they both shifted to look at the now green flames. An irate Sirus practically tumbled out of the Floo, closely followed by a stumbling Remus, who seemed to alternate between anger and worry. Without a word, they both rushed over to Hannah and began to frantically examine the baffled little girl while muttering diagnostic spells (Remus) and vicious curses (Sirus) under their breaths.

Henry leaned back in his chair, masking his smugness behind a cup of tea. Their reaction both pleased him and confirmed once more how much they cared for his little faun, thus he didn't even bother to be displeased by them barging in and running their happy little moment. The lord allowed them a moment and finally spoke once the couple began showing signs of slowing down.

"I'm guessing you saw the article," he tapped a slender finger on the copy of The Daily Prophet currently resting on the table.

Sirius collapsed unceremoniously on the chair next to Hannah, dragging a hand over his face in a poor attempt to conceal the look of utter horror and devastation painted on his face. Remus glided towards him, his hand still lingering on the little witch's shoulder, as if he was afraid to let go of her. He bore a haunted look as if all the life had been sucked out of him for a moment.

"Jesus," the black-haired wizard took a deep breath to steady himself, "I knew...I mean, you told us that it was bad, but I didn't...Oh gods, I'm so sorry Pup...I'm so sorry."

"I'm going to kill Dumbledore. I'm going to tear his heart out and watch as the life drains out of his eyes." Surprisingly, it was Remus who spoke up next, practically spitting the man's name out with such venom it stunned Henry, a dark glint in his eyes that promised painful retribution.

"No, not yet," he shook his head, "we don't want him to become a martyr or a victim. I want him to fall and crash and burn alongside that darned (no swearing in front of children) pedestal he's placed himself on, but for that we need more time, to air out every single dirty little secret of his and have him orchestrate his own funeral."

His gaze was cold and his tone was final. Too much time had been spent on his plan for it to go awry now. It was too soon. They just had to be patient. Not yet. Sonn all of the pieces would fall into place and the fucker would burn.

The two men shared a knowing look and nodded, somewhat reluctantly. He understood their anger, but this matter required a certain level of delicacy that could only come from a clear mind.

Apparently tired of all the adult conversation about planning and scheming and revenge Hannah returned to her food, which mind you, was a much higher priority than anything in her mind. Prompted by the energetic house elves, who were delighted to serve more guests, the three wizards ate in comfortable silence, occasionally throwing fond glances at the little glutton who was munching down on her second slice of bread with jam.

Fred and George arrived via Floo a few moments after the Black-Lupin pair had left, after another tearful moment that involved lots of hugging and potential murder plans that would probably never leave the realm of fantasy. Hannah had visibly brightened up at the sight of the redheads with matching mischievous smirks. 

Henry watched the trio go with a wistful look on his face. A part of him wished he hadn't had to do this. Another bigger one argued that he deserved to tell the truth and they deserved to hear it even if they didn't like it. At least this once it would be his truth, not whatever people wanted to hear from him.

The false records he had planted within the muggle hospital and police system with the help of some of his contacts really showed nothing but the truth of Hannah's (and his) abuse at the hands of the Dursleys. The magical scan had been done by a legitimate private healer whose family had worked for House Potter and who had already signed a non-disclosure agreement beforehand. Sure, the wizarding world still believed "their savior" to be dead, but now they would at least know what she had suffered at the hands of the people Dumbledore had placed her with. It was no secret that he had hidden her away after the war, but the revelation of where and what she had endured as a result of this choice would come as a shock to the public. Hopefully, enough people would be outraged to swamp the old bugger in letters (yes, he was petty like that). At the very least this would buy him more time and help with Hannah's image later on, it may help her gather pity points and support early on (and Snape might actually treat her as a human being this time around).

Henry hummed to himself as he supervised the children.

In another part of England, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was doing his best to survive the avalanche of angry letters invading his office, while not going deaf from the over a dozen howlers screeching simultaneously and following him around.