The Latin terms for a few of the cooking and cleaning charms mentioned early in this chapter were obtained through an online translator. They’re as close as I could come, so don’t throw me to the lions, please.
My wonderful beta, cwarbeck, continues to fight the good battle against my occasionally dodgy wording and my persistent lack of "u's" in the appropriate Brit words. She must have a huge supply of that letter somewhere! Thanks for all your help, cel!
As you can see from the word count, this is the biggest chapter so far. Hope you enjoy it!
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Saving Harry | ||||||
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Category: Pre-OotP, Alternate Universe, Buried Gems Characters:All Genres: Angst, Drama, Romance Warnings: Violence Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 1040 Summary: What if JKR had never intended the Harry Potter series to be for children? How would Harry’s time at the Dursleys been written? This story focuses on the years Harry lived in the cupboard under the stairs at number four Privet Drive, as well as his first appearance at Hogwarts. The treatment he receives during his decade there is not described in fairy tale terms. The boy who initially develops is not the Harry Potter we know. The story is liberally AU, with different personality traits, events, and relationships used to reflect the changes in this very different Harry and the environment in which he grew up. In the end, through the assistance of a certain redheaded young lady, Harry ultimately finds the life he should have had and rediscovers the qualities he always had inside of him. While I am not a psychologist or child development expert, the symptoms, actions, and behaviors portrayed reflect the realities of child abuse. Appropriate disclosures will be contained in the Author’s Notes above the chapter when warranted. Hitcount: Story Total: 340810; Chapter Total: 17406 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: |
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Harry lay in bed, woken by the stream of sunlight that had made its way across the floor and onto his bed, specifically the feather-soft pillow where his head rested. He luxuriated in the feeling of the comfortable mattress and a real bed, thinking it was a huge improvement on his thin, broken-spring mattress that lay upon the concrete floor of the cupboard under the stairs at his relatives’ house. Shaking off the thoughts of his former residence, Harry got out of bed, took a quick shower, dressed, and went downstairs. “M . . . morning,” he greeted Mrs Weasley, who was seated at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea and reading a newspaper. “Oh, Harry, you startled me.” Mrs Weasley smiled. “You’re up early this morning. I just got up myself.” “Can I h . . . help you with break . . . fast?” “No, dear . . .” Then she looked at the newest member of her family. “On second thought, why don’t I show you some cooking and cleaning charms?” She smiled again at the young boy. “Just watch what I’m doing, and I’ll explain the charm that makes it easier. How’s that, Harry?” “Th . . . that would be great. Th . . . thanks, Mrs . . . Weasley.” Harry became Mrs Weasley’s shadow, silently following her as she made that morning’s breakfast. Mrs Weasley’s voice assumed a teaching mode. “You already know how to levitate an object — Wingardium Leviosa — but there are two other charms that are similar. The first is for Summoning something, and the word used is Accio, plus the object’s name.” She looked around and pointed her wand towards the end of the counter. “Accio rag.” The rag that had been neatly folded on the far end of counter flew towards Mrs Weasley. Harry instinctively caught it, then handed the rag to her. “The opposite — to send something away — is called Banishing, and the word used is Depulso. Do you understand?” Harry nodded and scanned the kitchen for something to move. A book — probably Percy’s, Harry thought — sat on the end of the table. He focused on the book, pointed at it, and thought Accio book. In the next second, he caught it, thanking his luck it wasn’t a heavier book. Using the Depulso charm, he returned it to the table. “Very good, Harry.” Mrs Weasley beamed at him. “These charms are not necessarily for cooking, but they come in handy when you are assembling your ingredients, dishes, utensils, and other things. “I don’t like to Summon eggs,” she laughed, “for obvious reasons. Would you get a dozen out of the cold pantry for me?” As soon as Harry brought the eggs over, Mrs Weasley continued the lesson. “To turn on the burners on the stove, say the word Flamma, which means flame. Aestus turns the oven on, just count for the temperature you need, one second for each 100 degrees. Would you like to turn on three of the burners, dear? You can guide the height of the flame by raising or lowering your wand, er, your hand. Set them for medium, please.” Harry looked at the three burners in turn, thinking the word, Flamma, and raising his hand slightly to bring each to a medium heat. “Excellent, Harry!” The cooking charms lesson continued with Mrs Weasley explaining how to use Crusta to peel potatoes, Concutio to scramble eggs or mix batter, plus cleaning spells such as Scourgify to scour and Tergeo Lanx to wash dishes. By the time the lesson was over, the breakfast was ready, and within a few minutes the rest of the Weasleys had made their way downstairs, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, and mumbling “Good morning.” Harry noticed a few surprised looks cast in his direction, but he wasn’t sure whether they were due to his being up and dressed already, for helping out with breakfast, or maybe even both actions. Conversation was sporadic, and the few comments made were short and subdued. Not a morning group, Harry thought. Then he looked at Ginny and had to hold back a snort. She looked like she’d fallen asleep again, with her head hanging down and her crimson hair forming a curtain around her face. Harry smiled to himself, thinking if her head drooped any further, she would be wearing her breakfast. Harry’s stomach rumbled again, a disturbance that had occurred at almost every meal since he had arrived at The Burrow. I’m still not used to eating this much and these types of food. Breakfast at the other place was usually cold cereal with a little bit of milk. He quietly excused himself, placed his dishes in the sink, and made his usual, hopefully discrete trip to the loo. When he returned to the kitchen, the others were finished and Mrs Weasley was talking. “Ginny, you have household chores this morning. Ron, George, and Fred, the garden needs degnoming and don’t just drop them over the wall because they return too quickly.” One of the twins quickly protested. “What about Percy?” Mrs Weasley said, “If you’d prefer to do your summer homework, that can be arranged.” “Uh, no, Mum,” the twin stammered. “We’re on our way.” As Ron and the twins started to go upstairs to get dressed, Harry quietly asked, “Mrs Weasley, what about m . . . me?” Ginny looked up in the hope Harry would be assigned to help her. Her smile disappeared when Ron said, “Harry, come with us. Degnoming can be fun . . .” A twin snorted. “Once you get into the swing of things.” In a few minutes, the three Weasley boys descended the stairs like a runaway pack of hyenas, motioned for Harry to join them, and headed outside to the garden. When Mrs Weasley had mentioned degnoming the garden, Harry immediately wondered two things. What is degnoming? And the second, I don’t remember seeing anything in the garden that shouldn’t have been there. Walking out to the garden with the three youngest Weasley brothers, Harry scanned the area, until Ron leaned close, causing Harry to subtly take a step away from the boy. Ron asked quietly, not noticing Harry’s shift in position, “You don’t know what gnomes are, do you?” His voice and demeanour showed no sarcasm or negative intentions. Harry shook his head. Ron explained, “I’m not surprised, since they live only at magical properties. Anyhow, they’re really ugly little people, who live underground and dig up plant roots. Once they’ve found a home, it’s hard to get rid of them, so we’re constantly tossing them over the wall during the summer. Trouble is, they keep coming back.” Harry looked sceptically at the lanky boy. “Y . . . you throw th . . . them?” Ron nodded enthusiastically. “Kind of fun, actually. First, we have to catch them. They’re not too smart. As soon as one gets caught, he starts yelling, and that brings out all the others because they want to see what all the commotion’s about, yeah? Try to grab them by an arm or leg. They like to bite, so be careful. When you’ve caught one, hold on to an arm or foot, twirl them around a few times and throw the blighter over the wall. That way they’ll be dizzy and may stagger off to someone else’s place.” Harry felt appalled by Ron’s description of “degnoming.” They’re little people, and you throw them over the fence? That’s got to hurt them. Harry looked suspiciously at Ron. I wonder if he’s taking the mickey out of me. “Doesn’t that hurt them?” Harry asked. Ron shrugged, as if to indicate ‘who cares.’ “Nah, they don’t have feelings like us.” Harry turned away, so Ron couldn’t see the angry look on his face. That’s just how the Dursleys treated me, as if I had no feelings like they did. Ron interrupted Harry’s thoughts. “There’s one,” and he pointed to something that looked to Harry like a bag of potatoes with legs and clothes on it. The gnome had seen George on one side of his hole, so he turned and ran the opposite direction . . . right into Fred, who scooped him up with a whoop. Fred held the lumpy little man by the wrist and swung him in a circle twice, then sent the gnome flying over the fence. All the while this was happening, the gnome yelled a string of epithets that caused Harry’s ear to turn bright red. All the yelling brought out many more gnomes — just like Ron had said — so George, Fred, Ron, and finally Harry, each latched onto one. Harry tried to be gentle with the gnome, thinking it looked like an uglier version of Grumpy from Snow White. “Ow!” Ron and the twins quickly looked at Harry who was wringing his left index finger. All three started laughing and Ron said, “I told you that you have to watch them. They’ll take advantage if you’re too nice.” Harry’s face had turned red, and he looked at the gnome through narrowed eyes. Grabbing the gnome’s ankle, Harry swung him in a circle three times before launching him, finishing the throw by extending his arms fully when he let go. “Whoa!” “How’d you do that?” “That must be ten metres past Fred’s first throw.” Three sets of eyes stared at Harry, who dropped his head and mumbled, “He b . . . bit m . . . me.” The twins started snickering, and George said, “Remind us not to get you angry at us.” Fred had an inquisitive expression on his face. “Harry, do you think you may have done a Banishing charm on him?” The question startled Harry. He shook his head but started wondering. I didn’t think of anything. I was just mad. I really wish they’d stop looking at me. He wiped the heel of his hand across his forehead to blot up the moisture that had formed, leaving a streak of dirt instead. George was now standing a few feet from Harry and eyeing him closely. “Harry, if I scare one out of this hole, could you levitate and Banish him?” Harry stared at George for several seconds, then dropped his head, fighting several different feelings. I want to help, but I don’t like them singling me out. Why can’t we just do what they’ve always done? It makes me feel like a freak, like they just want to laugh at me. He took several steps away from George and the other two boys, who had just joined them. Finally deciding it was better to go along with the request, Harry shrugged his shoulders. “O . . . kay.” The three brothers smiled evilly. They moved to another gnome-hole and started making a racket. When the gnome appeared, Harry quickly pointed his hand and thought Wingardium Leviosa. The three red heads exploded with cheers as the little man started rising into the air. The unexpected noise startled Harry and almost made him lose control of the gnome. Frowning, he levitated the gnome to the height of the wall, which was about six or seven metres away. Then, Harry quickly extended his arm out, while thinking Depulso. The little man shot from the yard, as if from a cannon, and landed at least twenty-five metres beyond the wall. Harry winced when he heard the gnome land with a thud and a resounding, “Oof.” A second later, the whoops and cheers from the three Weasleys overwhelmed any other sounds that may have come from the gnome. The twins pressed close to him, arms raised to pat him on the back or shoulder. Before either of them could move, Harry had disappeared and turned up beyond their reach so quickly they hadn’t even seen him move. The twins stared at Harry, startled by his sudden movement and the expression on the boy’s face, which seemed to combine anger with fear and wariness. Ron immediately saw that Harry was ready to run off. “Sorry, Harry. They just forgot . . .” Ron said quietly. Understanding dawned simultaneously for the twins, and their apologies overlapped each other. “Sorry, Harry . . .” “We didn’t mean anything . . .” “It’s just what you did . . .” “. . . was fantastic.” Both twins looked sincere, as Harry stared at them. God, they make me uncomfortable. They’re loud and just too much when they’re together. But it seems they just want to have fun. They don’t mean any harm. If they could do it without all the fireworks, it would be a lot easier to handle. He shrugged. “S’okay.” George raised his eyebrows. “Do it again?” Harry closed his eyes briefly, then nodded. All three Weasleys grinned back at him. After two more gnome launchings, though neither went as far as the first one, Harry said. “No m . . . more.” When the others looked at him quizzically, he added, “Your m . . . mum.” Each of them nodded knowingly, and Fred said, “She would not be pleased to find out, so mum’s the word.” George made a gagging motion in response to the horrible pun, while Harry and Ron just grimaced. As the morning progressed, the air was filled with gnomes being flung by the four young wizards. It was hard, dirty work but oddly satisfying. To Harry, it was an almost perfect release from the pressures, adjustments, and changes that had dominated his life over the past week. The nearly mindless exercise seemed to dissipate the physical edginess these changes had created, plus it helped to relieve the emotional stress that accompanied them. The operable word, though, was ‘almost.’ What kept the task from being a perfect stress reliever was the presence of the teasing, exuberant, boisterous, and undeniable physical presence of the twins. Throughout the morning, Harry had edged further and further away from the loud duo, because their carefree quips and continual banter rattled in his brain like a non-stop table tennis match with the sound amplified to a painful level. Unfortunately, the twins seemed to be velcroed to him, because no matter how many times he had moved, within minutes they were again too close, too loud, and making him feel claustrophobic even while they worked in the open area of the garden. The only redeeming aspect of all this, Harry thought, was that the twins were clueless about their impact on him. I’m sure they’re not trying to do anything to me. It’s just the way they are. I really don’t know how much more of this I can take, though. Harry paused to rub the bridge of his nose, then massaged his temples, in a desperate attempt to hold off what promised to be a whopper of a headache. Harry became aware that the noise level had decreased substantially. Looking around, he saw the three brothers standing a short distance from him, hands in pockets and scuffing their heels in the dirt. He walked over to them. Ron said, “Looks like we got them all.” Fred added, “Bet it will take them longer to return this time.” George continued. “I don’t think they’ve ever been launched so far before.” The twins combined to finish. “Thanks for your help, Harry.” Harry looked down, wishing he felt more comfortable with the twins. “S . . . sure.” Fred spoke up, “Well, we have places to go and things to do.” “It’s been spiffing, mates.” George signed off with a salute, and the duo left for parts unknown. Ron filled the resulting silence. “Must be close to lunch. Want to check?” Harry nodded, and they ambled over to the area behind the house where Ginny was sitting at the picnic table. Ron looked at her hopefully, while he sat next to his sister. Harry sat across from them. “Has Mum started lunch yet?” Ron asked. Ginny ghosted a smile and shook her head. “It was just eleven a few minutes ago when I came out here.” She looked at Harry. “Are you done degnoming the garden?” Ron answered before Harry opened his mouth, but both missed the flare of irritation that briefly crossed Ginny’s face. “Thanks to Harry we don’t think this lot will be back for a while. He sent three of them farther than I ever saw before.” Ginny looked confused. “He threw them farther than you and the twins?” Ron shook his head and said enthusiastically, “No. He used magic.” Ginny’s eyebrows shot up and she quickly looked at Harry, only to see the boy’s head drop to his chest. “We’d scare them out of their holes, then Harry would levitate and Banish them way over the fence. It was awesome.” Ginny’s eyes had narrowed at that point. “It’s a good thing Mum didn’t catch you doing that.” Ron’s head jerked up, as did Harry’s. “She wouldn’t have liked you taking advantage of Harry’s magical abilities, when she wanted you to do the work yourselves.” She turned to Harry. “I hope they apologized for doing that.” Ron answered instead. “That’s why we stopped doing it that way.” Ginny glanced briefly at Harry. She could see the sweat starting to form on his brow, so she changed the subject. “Let’s talk some more about the wizarding world. Would you like to do that, Harry?” He looked at the red haired girl, with thanks in his eyes, and nodded. Ginny began the new topic by telling Harry about their oldest brother. “Bill was Head Boy at Hogwarts, then he joined Gringotts . . . Oh, do you know that’s the wizarding bank?” “W . . . went there with the professor. Talked with the g . . . goblins.” Ron exclaimed, “They talked to you?” Harry nodded. “They’re mean little buggers.” Harry shrugged. “They were n . . . nice to m . . .me.” Ron looked at him wide-eyed. “They even scare Bill a bit.” Ginny interrupted, “So, you understand galleons, sickles, and knuts?” Harry couldn’t hold back a snort. “Confusing.” The two youngest Weasleys looked surprised. Finally, Ginny asked, “Why?” “Tw . . . twenty-nine and seventeen, not ten.” Both looked confused, until Ginny’s eyes brightened. “Muggle money is based on ten of something equalling something else?” “Yeah.” Harry narrowed his eyes in concentration. Then he quietly asked Ron and Ginny, “Is anyone c . . . coming up behind m . . . me?” Ron’s eyebrows flew up his forehead. “It’s the twins. How did you know?” “I could feel them.” Ron’s and Ginny’s eyes widened while their jaws dropped. Harry added, “My cou . . . sin used to ch . . . chase me.” The siblings’ expressions turned sad. A few seconds later, the twins plopped down on the bench on either side of Harry. He watched them carefully, moving his head from side to side, trying to discern if they had anything in mind other than visiting. He shifted around in an attempt to create more room between himself and the twins but with no luck. Sitting that close to them, Harry became aware for the first time how solid the twins were. While not nearly as tall as Ron, despite the two year age difference, George and Fred were much stockier than either Ron or Percy, a fact that somehow got obscured by their constant twinspeak dialogues and their outlandish sense of humour. Harry could feel tiny rivulets of moisture moving down his back and dampening his shirt. Somehow, the air seemed heavier, and even though they were outside, it pressed in on him, creating a claustrophobic feeling. “Are GinGin and Ronnikins telling you about the wizarding world?” asked one of the twins, but Harry couldn’t tell which one. The same voice but coming from his other side continued the verbal game. “Of course, since they’re such ickle babies, most of what they say is wrong . . .” “So, you’ll have to trust us if you want the straight scoop.” Harry felt like his head was being pulled from side to side, while he was trapped between the bigger, older twins. The space between them seemed to compress, increasing the pressure around him. He felt his cheeks heat up and sweat form on his forehead. The moisture dripping down his back increased, and his head began to pound, as their words reverberated in his brain. He looked up to see Ron laughing at the twins’ joking, but Ginny looked upset about something. Harry bolted from the garden table, sprinting towards the far end of the property. As he ran away, he could hear Ginny yelling at the twins. “What did Mum tell us? He’s not used to people. And you two gits . . .” Her voice faded as the distance between them increased. Harry knew he was getting close to the pond when he reached the scrubby field with its gnarled trees and wild oat-coloured grass. Finally, he sprinted up the rise that led to the pond and stopped at the crest, breathing heavily. The boy bent over, with his hands on his knees. Once he caught his breath, he gazed at the pond, a faint smile on his face, and walked down to the shore. Sitting down, Harry let the smells, sounds, and the tranquil feeling of the place sweep over him. He became aware of the moisture in the air, along with the smell of leafy trees and earth, the gentle lapping of the water on the sand, and the birds talking to each other. Harry took deep, calming breaths and closed his eyes until his heart and head stopped pounding. Finally opening his eyes again, he moved his head in a gentle sweep from his far left to the far right, committing the scene to memory. The irregularly shaped depression in which the pond sat was the centrepiece, with the green horseshoe formed by the trees and undergrowth providing the background. The expanses of blue sky occasionally interrupted by slow moving white clouds, and the sparkling cobalt colour of the pond itself gave the scene perspective and contrast. His emerging smile was frozen by the feeling that someone was approaching him. Harry grimaced and turned around. A few seconds later, the hesitant form of Ginny Weasley appeared at the crest and stopped suddenly when she found Harry frowning at her. She gazed at him with a questioning look that seemed to ask, ‘May I join you?’ Harry nodded, and she walked slowly towards him, finally sitting several feet away. “They didn’t understand,” she said. “They do now.” He nodded. The twins hadn’t felt threatening, just . . . overwhelming. Harry thought back to the claustrophobic feeling the twins engendered in him and shuddered. “They’re not bad blokes, just enthusiastic.” She laughed. “They actually thought they were being low-key.” Ginny snorted in a somewhat lady-like fashion. “I guess for them it was. They asked me to tell you they were sorry, but I’m sure they will say something to you themselves.” “S’okay.” He glanced at the red head. “N . . . not used to that.” Ginny nodded. “That’s what I told them.” He smiled to himself. “I heard.” Ginny’s head turned quickly towards him, her cheeks rapidly colouring. “Oh,” she said meekly. “Thanks,” he said softly. Ginny’s shock quickly turned into a smile, and the two magical children settled into a comfortable silence. The sun had moved directly overhead when the hypnotic effects of the pond were broken by the sounds of someone approaching. Seconds later Ron announced, “Lunch is ready.” Both kids roused themselves, but before they started back, Harry whispered, “It’s nice here.” Ginny beamed at him. “It’s my favourite place.” Harry noticed for the first time how much her eyes sparkled when she smiled. As soon as they stepped into the kitchen, Mrs Weasley smiled a welcome, then looked at them more closely. ‘Both of you got too much sun. You look like you’re from a Valentine’s card. Come over here and I’ll take care of it.” Ginny walked over to her mum without a second thought until she noticed Harry hadn’t moved. She caught his eyes and mouthed, ‘It’s okay.’ He watched closely as Mrs Weasley performed the spell on Ginny. Once completed, Ginny twirled around and said, “No more scarlet woman.” Her mum exclaimed, “Ginny! That’s no way for a young witch to talk.” Then in a much softer voice, she said, “Come here, please, Harry.” Noticing that Ginny’s face had returned to its usual porcelain complexion, Harry walked slowly over to Mrs Weasley, feeling his muscles tightening with each step. When he reached Mrs Weasley, she said, “I am not going to touch you, dear. You’ll just feel cooler, and the sting from the burn will be gone. Is that alright?” Harry closed his eyes and nodded. A second later a cooling feeling moved down his body, from his head to his toes. He opened his eyes and saw Mrs Weasley’s expression change from sadness to questioning. “Everything okay, Harry?” she asked. He nodded. “Thanks.” Her smile replaced her concerned frown. “Good! Why don’t you and Ginny eat in here? You’ve had enough sun for a while.” Harry sat at the table across from Ginny, and Mrs Weasley placed a platter of sandwiches in front of them, plus a bowl of crisps, and a jug of juice. “Tuck in, kids.” Harry stared at the platter for a few seconds, then scowled, quickly grabbing a sandwich from the top of the stack and a handful of crisps, after Ginny had helped herself. He poured juice into Ginny’s glass without thinking about his action, then filled his glass. I’ve got to get use to how much food they have here. This isn’t strange. It’s the Dursleys that were different. They fed me barely enough to keep them from getting in trouble. A flash of anger surged through the boy. Why is everything so difficult? Harry’s peripheral vision caught something flying towards his glass of juice. Instead of letting it swan dive into the drink, Harry snatched it out of the air, the crisp crumbling in his hand. He looked up quickly and saw Ginny’s smirk changing to an unbelieving stare. Just before the incident, Ron and the twins had returned from outside. They now stood part way into the kitchen, each with his mouth open. Seconds later the comments began. “Did you see that, George?” “With my own eyes, Fred,” replied his bookend. “A remarkable feat of hand-eye coordination . . .” “. . . certainly quicker than any Seeker we’ve seen,” finished the other twin. Ron interrupted. “Oi! Give it a rest.” All three boys looked at their sister, whose face had taken on the same sunburned hue it had prior to Mrs Weasley’s ministrations. Ron approached the table, with the twins trailing behind him. “Harry, have you heard of Quidditch?” Ron sat down on Harry’s side of the table but gave him plenty of room. The twins slid in next to Ginny. All three grabbed a sandwich, some crisps, and began to eat. Harry’s eyes darted from Ron to the twins and finally to Ginny. I knew I couldn’t trust these guys. Ginny’s comment broke into his thoughts. “Quidditch is our wizarding sport. It will sound unbelievable when we describe it, but it does exist. George and Fred play on their house team at Hogwarts, but Ron is the family expert.” She turned and looked fiercely at her brothers. “Everything they say will be true. Right, boys?” All three quickly and emphatically nodded their heads in agreement. Ron started, “The first thing to understand is that the game is played in the air. All the players fly on broomsticks.” Two thoughts collided in Harry’s head. His eyes immediately narrowed and a feeling that combined anger and disappointment swept over him. Even after Ginny’s warning, Ron’s yanking my chain. The second thought was far more subtle. Flying on a broomstick feels familiar. Maybe it’s from those old dreams I used to have. His surging feelings calmed down. When he noticed the four Weasleys looking at him, Harry mumbled, “G . . . go on.” Ron smiled and started his explanation, an earnest and excited expression on his face. “You see, there are seven players on each team.” He went on to explain each position, finishing with, “The Seeker position is considered the most important, usually he is the best flyer on the team. His responsibility . . .” “Or hers,” Ginny interrupted, an irritated expression on her face. The twins turned away from their sister, trying to hide their smiles. Ron’s face instantly turned red. “Uh, yeah. Anyhow, the Seeker’s main job is to catch the Golden Snitch. It’s a small ball with wings, about this size.” He made a circle the size of a small plum with his fingers. “It’s wicked fast and darts all over the place. Sometimes you can’t even see it. The Seeker that catches the Snitch ends the game and gains one-hundred and fifty points for his . . .” he looked nervously at Ginny, “or her team, which usually means that team wins. Got all that?” Harry nodded. It sounds fun. Flying around would be great. Harry had immediately learned when he first arrived at the Weasleys’ that Ron’s face told exactly what he was thinking or feeling. Right now, he was thinking hard. Then, he looked at Harry. “You don’t know much about the wizarding world, do you?” It wasn’t a sarcastic question, since Ron’s voice showed only curiosity. Harry shook his head. “D . . . didn’t know I was a wi . . . wizard.” Ron’s face rapidly scrolled through several emotions — confusion, shock, and finally understanding. “We can tell you everything you need to know. Would that help?” Harry stared at the red headed, freckled-faced, lanky boy. He’s not making fun of me or taking the mickey. His eyes don’t show that. Harry nodded his head. “Good!” Ginny said. “You can tell us about yourself, too.” She hesitated. “If you want to, that is.” Ron, Ginny, and the twins talked for a long time about the wizarding world and their family, jumping from one topic to another in kind of a free-form discussion. They started off describing each member in their family, returning to Gringotts when they talked again about Bill, then moved on to goblins, the money used with its confusing names and what the coins were worth. The Ministry of Magic and its different departments were discussed, especially Mr Weasley’s work with the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. The twins provided most of the information about wands and spells, and Ron went on for a long time about Quidditch, especially some team called the Chudley Cannons. When the conversation veered to blood relations, Ginny said, “Pureblood is when both parents are witches and wizards who have come from magical families. We’re purebloods, for instance.” Harry was going to ask what he was, when Ron interrupted, a scowl on his face. “Most purebloods think they’re better than everyone else. Families like the Malfoys,” Ron’s mouth turned down, “think everyone else should be eliminated.” Harry immediately felt anger towards the Malfoys, thinking their attitude was similar to the Dursleys’ hatred of magic and magical people. Ginny said quietly, “Harry, this is probably pretty confusing for you, with all this new stuff. But don’t worry, it’ll start making sense.” The corners of his mouth turned up instinctively. He looked at the petite red head and nodded. Ginny could have sworn that Harry was going to say something, but instead, he remained quiet, looking self-conscious. She filled in the sudden gap by asking, “Do you want to hear more about the wizarding world?” Harry nodded. Between bites of their third corned beef sandwich, the twins gave him their impression of Hogwarts, and the classes they had taken. “Defence Against the Dark Arts should be a cool class, but each year we’ve had a new teacher,” George said. “And the two we’ve had were horrible,” Fred added. “Snape is the Potions Professor . . .” “That’s Professor Snape,” his mum interrupted, without looking up. Both twins responded, “Yes, Mum.” Then George whispered, “He’s a greasy git, who hates Gryffindors.” That comment led to a discussion of the four houses. Harry remembered the information Professor McGonagall had given him during her visit at number four, but let the twins continue, because their descriptions were decidedly different than the professor’s. “Ravenclaws are brainiacs, no fun at all,” Fred said. “Hufflepuffs are boring. No one wants to be in that house.” George picked up the discussion without missing a beat. “We’re in Gryffindor . . .” Ginny interrupted, “So were Mum and Dad.” George glared at her. “Gryffindors are the bravest, have the most courage . . .” “. . . and are the best looking,” Fred completed with a smirk. The twins looked at each other, and both said, “Slytherin.” Fred started. “They get the worst students . . .” “The darkest ones, whose families supported You Know Who,” George continued. Who is ‘You Know Who?’ Harry wondered. What kind of name is that? Fred completed the summary. “You do not want to be in Slytherin.” Harry looked at the four Weasley siblings. Each wore the same expression of disgust at the thought of Slytherin House. Ron quickly moved the conversation back to Quidditch, talking about the house rivalries, since all his older brothers, except Percy, played the sport. The conversation continued until everyone had finished lunch. Harry got up and deposited his lunch plate and utensils in the sink, earning sceptical looks from the four Weasley siblings, who reluctantly followed his example. George then announced, “It’s time for you to learn how to fly a broomstick, Harrikins.” “An excellent idea, my brilliant twin,” Fred added. “No, it’s not,” their mum interjected, rather strenuously. “I don’t want him learning from the likes of you. There’s no telling what you’ll tell the poor boy. He’s likely to fall off the broom and hurt himself.” Mrs Weasley didn’t see Harry flare up with irritation at her comments. The twins traded silent glances, and George started their counter arguments. “Mum, you know how seriously we take flying. We would teach Harry properly . . .” “…just as we did with Ronnikins,” Fred continued. “And Ron’s a fine flyer due to our teaching, especially considering his innate clumsiness,” George added. “Besides, it would be so much better if Harry knew how to fly before he got to school and would be forced to learn only in a large group without much individual attention,” Fred concluded. Harry moved his eyes from twin to twin, impressed for the first time. Their argument was very convincing. Harry laughed to himself. It almost sounded like they had rehearsed it, the way they finish each other’s sentences and thoughts. They’re much smarter than they like to let on. The twins caught Harry looking at them and both winked, almost as if they had read his thoughts. “Well, alright,” Mrs Weasley said. “You did make some good points, and Ron has been flying for years.” She drew herself up. “But if anything happens to this boy . . .” “We know, Mum . . .” “Our lives won’t be worth a plug knut.” Mrs Weasley sighed. “Okay, off with you then. Oh, wait. Sun Screen charms first.” The four Weasleys got in line, as their mother tapped the top of each head and mumbled some words Harry couldn’t quite hear. “Come here, Harry. You especially need it after getting burned earlier.” Harry moved slowly towards Mrs Weasley, irritated by the tense feeling sweeping through his body. Standing in front of her, Harry closed his eyes, when he felt her wand tap the top of his head. The next thing he felt was . . . sticky, from head to toe, almost like he had been coated by something. Yet, when he touched the skin on his arm, it felt the same as always. Thinking back to the times he had got sunburned while doing yard work or washing his uncle’s company car, Harry decided magic could be right useful at times. He caught up with the group, just in time to hear Ginny say, “Sounds like fun. Can I join you?” “Nah, you’re too young,” George immediately answered. “You could get hurt, little Ginnikins,” Fred added. “You can watch us,” Ron said. Ginny looked furious but didn’t say anything. Harry looked from one boy to the next, expecting them to start laughing and invite her to join them. Instead, Ron looked at Harry. “Do you want to play?” Harry flinched, uncomfortable with being asked a direct question. He stared at Ron. When he didn’t sense any malicious feelings, he nodded his head. The boys, with Ginny trailing about ten metres behind, went to the shed and pulled out four brooms. As if struck simultaneously by the same thought, each of the boys stared wide-eyed at Harry, who was looking at the broom in confusion. “You’ve never flown before, have you?” asked Ron quietly. Harry shook his head. “Don’t worry,” George said. “We’ve been flying for years . . .” “So we’ll teach you,” Fred finished. “It’s fun.” Ginny, who was still scowling, demanded, “Why can’t I fly, too?” “You’re too young.” “You could get hurt.” “We’ve got to protect you. Mum would be furious if we let you.” “Why?” Four sets of eyes turned quickly to Harry. “She’s a girl.” Ginny snorted. “She’s our little sister.” Harry looked back at Ginny but couldn’t figure out what she was feeling from her expression. ‘Thanks,’ she mouthed at him. He just shrugged. After Harry turned away, Ginny continued staring at the boy, thinking that was a very nice thing he had tried to do for her. A warm feeling came over her, but it was quickly replaced by her irritation with her git brothers. Then, she smiled as an idea began to unfold. After a short hike, they arrived at the grassy paddock. Ron and the twins proved to be very good teachers, showing Harry exactly what to do each step of the way, from calling the broom to him, getting on it, and how to kick off, while retaining control of the broom. After half an hour of instruction, the boys let Harry fly on his own. As soon as he was airborne, a feeling of freedom washed over the boy. It felt so comfortable, but he had no idea why he felt that way. Fred hovered next to Harry, about two metres off the ground. “Lean forward a bit, and the broom will move in that direction. The faster and lower you move, the faster the broom will go. Understand?” Harry nodded and slowly leaned forward, surprised and elated when the broom responded to his movement, though his face remained expressionless. Fred continued to be his shadow. Letting the feeling of familiarity wash over him, Harry quickly leaned further over the broom and was rewarded with a jump in acceleration and a feeling of elation. Instinctively, Harry leaned to his left as he started to approach a copse of trees and the ancient Cleansweep responded by curving gently in that direction. As soon as he was heading away from the trees, Harry pulled up on the broom and leaned down almost on top of it. The broom shot up at an increasing speed, leaving George behind and all three brothers and their sister open-mouthed in shock. Harry rocketed past the tree line and levelled out, examining the surrounding countryside from his vantage point and feeling better than he could remember. With a silent ‘whoop,’ he pointed the broom downward and leaned forward. The grass covered ground roared toward him, and Harry pulled the broom back to horizontal, carved a figure eight, and landed lightly on the ground. Seconds later, he was attacked by four incredulous Weasleys. “How did you do that?” “When did you learn?” “We thought you’d never been on a broom before.” “Harry, that was amazing.” The boy looked over to the person who had made the last comment. Ginny’s smile shamed the sun. He smiled back with his eyes, his lips curling slightly upwards. Ron laughed. “Maybe you can teach us, instead.” Then, a curious expression crossed his face. “What I don’t understand is how you did that. You never flew at your Muggle relatives’ house, did you?” Harry felt like exploding with laughter. His first thought was that the Dursleys would have locked him in the cupboard and thrown away the key. Just having a broomstick would have set them off. Harry’s features, though, remained blank, and he quickly realized he needed to respond to the question. He shook his head. George spoke up, “Well, however you learned, that was wicked. Want to play tag?” The other boys nodded and kicked off into the air. Harry looked back at Ginny and noticed the disappointment on her face. She stomped over to the nearest tree, plonked down on the ground next to it, and started ripping apart the innocent leaves that lay around her. The Weasley boys and Harry spent several hours playing tag and a simplified game of Quidditch. About half way through, Ginny returned to The Burrow. The grass beneath her feet seemed to crumple from the anger rolling off her. From his elevated position while flying above the paddock, Harry caught a glimpse of Mr Weasley walking towards the makeshift Quidditch pitch. Harry caught Ron’s eyes and nodded in the direction of the man. “Hey, guys,” Ron shouted, “Dad’s coming. We should stop.” The four boys landed near the edge of the field, close to where Mr Weasley was approaching and watched him expectantly. As soon as he got close enough, the tall wizard gestured for them to join him. “Time to come back to the house, boys. Your mum has some more chores for you.” He smiled good-naturedly at the inevitable chorus of complaints, and the five of them headed back to The Burrow. Mr Weasley turned to Harry with a smile. “How did you like flying, lad?” Before Harry had a chance to respond, the compliments were flying from the three brothers. “He’s a natural, Dad.” “He flies better than any of us.” “We think he’s part bird.” Four sets of eyes immediately stared at George, who had uttered that last statement. He grinned. “Well, you know what I mean.” Harry enjoyed listening to the easy banter and teasing that flowed among the four Weasley males, especially Mr Weasley’s openness in both teasing his sons and getting it back from them. He’s the complete opposite of Uncle Vernon in almost every way possible. I can’t imagine my uncle acting like that with me or even with Dudley. When the group reached the area behind the house, Mr Weasley paused. “Boys, you go in and find out what your mum wants. Harry, come with me, if you would, lad.” Ron and Harry exchanged curious looks. Ron shrugged his shoulders, as if to indicate he had no idea what his dad wanted, and headed into the house with his brothers. Harry walked over to Mr Weasley. “Harry, my boy, I need your expertise with some new ekelectric gadgets that recently came into my possession. Would you come with me to the shed?” Harry nodded, smiling to himself. He has more Muggle electronics, I bet, and probably doesn’t have a clue what they are. Mr Weasley turned on the lights inside the shed with a wave of his wand. “Harry, I, uh, I’m not sure what some of these items are, and I was hoping you would tell me what they do.” The man almost looked sheepish while making his request, but it was offset by his obvious enthusiasm and curiosity. “S . . . sure, Mr Weasley.” “Good lad. I had hoped you would. I obtained several of these objects during our last raid. You see my department gets tips about Muggle articles that have been charmed to do things that could hurt, embarrass, or occasionally even kill Muggles. Biting teacups would be an example of what we usually deal with. When a Muggle would try to sip the tea, the cup would latch onto the poor person’s lips and not let go. Quite painful, as you can imagine. Anyhow, I’ve eliminated the charms on these articles, so they are not a hazard anymore, but I’m stumped by what some of them are used for.” “Want to show m . . . me?” Mr Weasley’s eyes lit up. “That would be great.” He grabbed a box-like device from his workbench. “What does this do?” Mr Weasley handed the box to Harry, who already knew what it was. The Dursleys had one for less than a week. Dudley had smashed it on the floor when he couldn’t figure out how to operate the machine. “Th . . . this is an answering ma . . . machine.” Mr Weasley stared blankly at Harry. “It works with a te . . . telephone.” “Oh, yes, a fellytone. For talking with people, right?” Harry nodded. “Wh . . . when you’re n . . . not home, it answers the phone.” He flipped the top open. “See?” Harry pointed at the recording tape inside. “You record a mes . . . message.” Mr Weasley’s eyes brightened. “And it plays when someone calls but no one answers the fellytone.” Harry’s lips turned up slightly, and he nodded his head. “The caller leaves a mes . . . sage.” “So you can listen to it when you get home,” Mr Weasley said, completing the thought. “How ingenious!” Then Mr Weasley frowned. “The wizards we caught had charmed this talking part to put people to sleep. It really confused the Muggles when they woke up standing in front of this machine and having no idea why they had fallen asleep.” Harry smiled at the wizard and his open enthusiasm for Muggle electronics. It’s nice talking with him. I really wish I could get over the feeling that he’s going to do something to me. Mr Weasley’s expression became more serious. “I wanted to discuss your flying.” Harry looked at the man, curious and a little shaken by the abrupt change in subject. He’s not going to forbid me to fly, is he? Maybe he’s upset because Fred said I was a better flyer than they were, and he’s going to tell me to hold back, just like the Dursleys did. The man continued in his usual gentle voice. “You remember that Mrs Weasley and I knew you and your parents?” The question startled Harry. I thought we were going to discuss his electrical stuff. Nevertheless, he nodded his head. I’d forgotten they knew my parents. He reached down and rubbed his suddenly roiling stomach. Mr Weasley remained the same distance from the boy but knelt down, so they were at the same height. “Would you like me to tell you a story about you flying?” He’s seen me fly when I was little? He nodded his head. “Yes, please.” Harry closed his eyes to calm the thoughts that were swirling through his head. Most of him wanted to hear stories about flying, when he was young and his parents were still alive. It’s my parents. I don’t know anything about them. He looked up and noticed Mr Weasley looking at him, as if he were trying to read his mind. “Any time you want me to stop telling a story, just let me know. Harry, these are wonderful memories, so I hope they make you happy. Okay?” He just wants me to know about my parents and my life with them. He doesn’t want to hurt me or make me feel bad. “Okay.” He tried to smile at the man but was pretty sure his mouth didn’t cooperate. Arthur smiled. “Your dad taught you to fly when you were very young — two, three months old, as I recall. Of course, he cast a Sticking charm so you’d stay on the broom, and he walked next to you, supporting you with his hands. He only let you go about a foot or two off the ground, which had Cushioning charms on it. When your mum found out you could fly, she nearly hexed him, she was so mad. It became a running joke between them. Whenever your dad did anything that upset her, your mum would bring up the fact that he had taught you behind her back. “On your first birthday, we were all out in the backyard, Mrs Weasley, Ron, Ginny, the Longbottoms. . . ” Mr Weasley’s face filled with sorrow, but he pushed it away. “Their son, Neville, will start at Hogwarts this year, and there were several other guests, also. Well, your dad loved to show you off, so he had you flying loops around the guests, figure eights, slow dives almost to the ground. Your mum tried to get mad at him, but she was laughing so much she couldn’t keep a straight face.” Mr Weasley smiled at Harry. “I know it’s tough for you, lad. You don’t remember much about them, do you?” Harry’s eyes looked down at the ground. He slowly shook his head. “N . . . nothing.” “If you’d like, I’ll tell you stories periodically, if you’d like. They were good people, Harry, and they loved you dearly. You can get a lot of strength from that, my boy.” Harry closed his eyes. When he finally opened them, the light was gone, leaving just a dull green colour. “My relatives n . . . never talked about th . . . them.” Arthur scowled, then quickly brightened. “I have an idea. Each day after dinner let’s get together, and I’ll tell you a story about them. That way you’ll get a feeling what they were like, and maybe fill in that gap. Would you like that?” The boy was stunned. He would do that for me? “Yeah, I would.” Mr Weasley smiled. “So, Harry, when Ron said you were a natural flyer, you truly are.” He winked. “And so was your father.” The man stood up. “Should we go back to the house?” Harry looked up at him, the light back in his eyes. “Th . . . thank you, Mr Weasley.” Then he slowly reached out his hand, just short of halfway between them, the palm facing upward. The wizard smiled back at the young man and slowly extended his hand towards the boy’s. Harry watched carefully but with a barely submerged hope as Mr Weasley’s hand moved towards his, finally hovering over it, palm down. Suddenly, a realization bloomed. For the first time, he wasn’t afraid when a man’s hand was directed at him. He felt something changing inside of him, almost like a seed was blossoming in a weed-infested, desolate landscape. He looked up at the man and smiled. The squeezing motion of the boy’s hand was quickly mirrored by the man’s. Several seconds later, both hands were retracted, but the boy felt a warmth he was unable to explain. All he knew was that it felt very, very good, as if he were surrounded by a weightless, comforting blanket. “Let’s go in, son.” As Mr Weasley and Harry walked back to the house, a comfortable silence accompanied them. Mr Weasley is so different from my uncle. He’s the first man who doesn’t scare me, but I still feel like I have to watch him. With a jolt that shocked the boy and briefly took his breath away, Harry realized there was an important connection. He’s like Miss Rae — kind and smart and he cares about people. The small boy sighed. I really hope he doesn’t do what she did. I want to like him, but I don’t want to feel like that again. The boy shook his head. This is so hard. I want to feel safe with him, but I don’t yet. This is all happening too fast. Mrs Weasley broke into his thoughts when Mr Weasley and he entered the kitchen. “Harry, dinner will be ready in an hour. Why don’t you rest up until then? I’ll call you when it’s ready.” He nodded and had turned to go up the stairs, when Mr Weasley’s words reached him. “Thanks for explaining the fellytone reorder, Harry.” The boy looked back to see the sincere, smiling face of Authur Weasley. He tried to smile but knew he didn’t quite make it. “You’re wel . . . come.” Heading up the stairs, he thought, I’ve got to try. I’ve got to do this. O nce Harry reached his room, he put the completed Charms book to one side and pulled out his Transfiguration book. I bet Professor McGonagall is a strict teacher, so I better know what we’ll be studying. He sat down and started reading the book, again trying to follow the instructions without using his wand or speaking the words aloud. Harry had completed several chapters by the time Mrs Weasley called him down for dinner. He marked the page in the Transfiguration book and placed it on the desk. After washing up, he went downstairs to find the Weasleys already seated at the table. He stopped short and instinctively sucked in his breath. It’s okay. They aren’t going to do anything. I don’t have to make the meals for them, and I can eat as much as I want. This is not the Dursleys or the school cafeteria. He squeezed his eyes briefly to stop the thoughts of the daily torture lunch had been at his school. He looked up to see the family members were already helping themselves to the various dishes. Mrs Weasley had two plates in front of her and was busy loading them with food. Harry noticed the plate was missing from the last open space at the table. Harry laughed to himself. Mrs Weasley will make certain I get enough food. She’s as different from Aunt Petunia as Mr Weasley is from Uncle Vernon. Ginny caught Harry’s eye, and she nodded towards the open place, almost saying it’s okay, nothing bad will happen. He nodded, feeling his lips curving slightly upwards, and took his place at the table. “Here you go, Harry dear,” Mrs Weasley said, handing him a now heavy plate, containing several pieces of chicken, mixed vegetables, and potatoes made in a way he had never seen before. “Thanks, Mrs Weasley.” Catching Ginny’s eye, he looked down at the potatoes, which were sliced and had a creamy cheese melted on them. Ginny smiled. “Potatoes au gratin is one of my favourites. I really like the cheese.” Harry’s eyes smiled back at her, knowing full well that Ginny had phrased the answer to his unspoken question in a way that didn’t reveal he had no idea what the potato dish was called. His stomach was protesting, as usual, by the time Mrs Weasley felt he had eaten enough. I think she would feed me twenty-four hours a day if I’d let her. He smiled to himself. I eat as much here in a day as I did in a week at the Dursleys’, and Mrs Weasley’s cooking is great. I wish she’d let me help in some way. It feels weird not to cook, clean up, or do something, almost like I’m cheating. He pushed his chair back, as Ron eyed the food remaining on his plate. “Thanks, Mrs Weasley. Th . . . that was great. C . . . can I help with anything?” He noticed Mrs Weasley’s eyes looked sad for just a moment, before she pulled them into a warm smile. “No, dear, you go relax.” Harry deposited his plate and other items in the sink, then made his usual retreat up the stairs. Once he was done and had washed his hands, he joined the family in the sitting room. Mr Weasley was reading the wizarding newspaper, the oddly named Daily Prophet. Those moving pictures still take some getting used to. I can’t figure out how they do that. Mrs Weasley was knitting something that looked like a large shirt, and the four youngest Weasleys were playing Gobstones. Harry joined them, sitting on the floor behind Ron and Ginny, who apparently were teamed against the twins. Within minutes, it became obvious to Harry that the twins were cheating. One of the twins would start telling a rousing story, complete with wild gestures and pointing at objects away from the game. When Ron and Ginny would look in the direction the first twin was pointing, the other would make a few subtle changes in their favour. After he saw this happen twice, Harry came up with a plan. “George, Fred, what’s that on the m . . . mantel above the fireplace?” Harry asked innocently. Both turned completely around, and Harry made a few adjustments to the stones, using his hand to wordlessly move them. Ginny saw what he did and mouthed ‘Were they cheating?’ Harry nodded, and she smiled, while raising her eyebrows. ‘Thanks,’ she whispered. The twins turned back, and George explained, “That’s our family clock. Instead of telling us the time, it shows where each of us is. See all those hands pointed at home? Those are ours,” and he gestured around the room. “Bill’s and Charlie’s hands are pointed at sleep. See them?” “Yeah. Th . . . that’s great. Thanks.” While George described how the clock worked, Fred had studied the board, with an increasingly suspicious expression on his face. Finally, he looked directly at Harry and grinned, looking like a red haired Cheshire cat. ‘Good one,’ he mouthed. Harry put on his Dursley mask and shrugged, trying to look confused by the twin’s comment. Once the game was over, with Ron and Ginny winning for the first time, the twins had a whispered conversation. “We have other things to do, kiddies,” Fred advised, “especially since the odds now seem to be three to two.” The twins grinned mischievously at Harry and left the room. Ron looked in confusion at both Harry and Ginny. “What did they mean by three to two odds?” Both Ginny and Harry shrugged their shoulders. Finally, Ginny started to snicker. “Harry caught them cheating.” The light went on in Ron’s head. “So, that’s why you asked about the clock.” He smiled. “You moved the stones?” Harry nodded. “Brilliant! Thanks, mate.” Ron’s arm started to move, and Harry immediately shifted away from him, while Ginny looked sharply at her brother. Instantly, the three magical children deflated. Ron’s arm dropped to his side. Ginny sighed in relief. And Harry whispered, “S . . . sorry.” Brother and sister looked at the boy. Ron shook his head. “I know better . . .” “S’okay,” Harry said quickly. “You move without thinking, don’t you?” Ginny asked quietly. Harry felt the heat rising towards his face, but he was determined not to be thrown by the direct question or flee the room, even though every fibre in his body was screaming to do just that. “Yeah.” He looked closely at Ginny, then Ron. “It was b . . . better to stay away from th . . . them.” They nodded silently. After a few moments, Ron’s eyes lit up. “Want to play some chess?” “Sure,” Harry said. Ron started to grab the box with the chessboard and pieces. “If Ginny can play on my side.” Ron stopped in mid-movement. Ginny gasped, then smiled brightly. Harry tried to hold back a grin. Ron shook his head. “Nah. You don’t want her on your side.” Harry glanced at Ginny, who was rapidly turning red with anger. “I n . . . need all the help I c . . . can get.” Ron looked up from setting the pieces on the board. “Yeah, you do.” He grinned. “Okay.” Ginny beamed at Harry. “Th . . . thanks,” Harry said, as Ginny and he grabbed the white pieces and began setting them up. About mid-way into the first game, Mrs Weasley’s voice from the kitchen broke their concentration. “Harry, Professor McGonagall is making a Floo call. Come quickly into the kitchen, please.” Harry heeded Mrs Weasley’s request and went into the kitchen. “Ahhhhh!” The boy stopped so quickly he almost lost his footing and fell over. He stared at the disembodied head of Professor McGonagall, sitting in the middle of the green-hued embers in the kitchen fireplace. She was trying desperately to keep from laughing. Molly Weasley came to the rescue. “Oh, Harry, I should have explained what a Floo call was. What a shock that must have been.” Harry finally pulled his eyes from the professor. “S’okay,” he said absently, then walked as close to the fireplace as he was comfortable. “Sorry to alarm you, Mr Potter, but I wanted to respond immediately to the note your owl brought me.” She looked up. “Molly, please excuse me, but could I speak privately with Mr Potter? It will be for just a few minutes.” “Of course, Minerva. Harry, I’ll be in the sitting room.” Once Mrs Weasley had departed, Professor McGonagall said, “Before we start, I wanted to compliment you on selecting such a beautiful owl. Have you named her yet?” “H . . . Hedwig.” “After the saint?” He nodded. “Excellent name for her. It fits quite well. Now, on to your letter. It was very thoughtful to let me know you appreciated my accompanying you. I quite enjoyed our shopping excursion yesterday, Mr Potter. You conducted yourself admirably. You should be proud of yourself. ” Her voice dropped. “I realize all of this is new to you, and it’s all coming at the same time. Just remember there are people, including myself, who are available to answer your questions or just to talk with you.” He nodded to indicate his understanding of her offer. I wish I could trust her. But she’s working with Dumbledore, and I don’t trust him. It’s hard to figure out who I can talk with. “As for your second question, may I ask you one first?” Harry nodded quickly. “Good. Did Professor Dumbledore tell you anything about your bank account or family finances?” “No.” The professor looked pensive, then her expression turned sad. “I imagine the goblin gave you a little information. But, in general, all your educational expenses — tuition, books, supplies, everything — have been taken care of for the seven years you’ll be at Hogwarts. Your account at Gringotts also has more than enough funds for spending money, clothes, gifts, and other personal expenses. You won’t have any financial worries. To answer the question you’re probably thinking, both Professor Dumbledore and I, as the heads of Hogwarts, can access your account for educational related expenses. Does that answer your questions, Harry?” “Yes. Th . . .thank you.” She didn’t mention anything about my Family vault. I wonder if she knows about it and isn’t telling me. She could see the boy was overwhelmed and probably confused by another in what had turned into a continuing series of revelations about himself, his parents, and his life. “Harry, are you thinking that these shocks — you being a wizard, being able to do magic, having a large bank account, going to a school you’d never heard of — will never end?” Harry stared at the hearth in front of the fireplace and slowly nodded. He looked at the face in the fire. “It’s confusing. Everything’s ch . . . changing.” The professor sighed. “I would imagine it is. All I can tell you is that it will begin to make sense in time. The more you are around magic, wizards and witches, and other parts of our world, the more familiar you’ll become with everything and everyone. You are being overloaded right now, so it will take time. All I can say is that whenever you feel it is becoming too much, see me. Do not hesitate. I understand you are going through huge changes, but it will get easier. Now, may I ask a favour of you?” The boy looked confused but nodded his head anyway. “Would you lift up that apple from the fruit bowl on the table behind you?” Harry turned and picked it up. Minerva smiled. “I should have been more specific. Would you levitate the apple — raise it up — and return it to the bowl using magic, no wand, no spoken words?” The boy froze. Mrs Weasley must have told her what I did. The boy let out a deep breath. I can’t trust anyone. Are they going to report everything I do? Angrily, he turned toward the table and reached out his hand. When he raised his arm, the apple shot out of the bowl and followed the path his arm made, first up several metres, then back to its place in the bowl. “Thank you, Harry. That’s very good. Would you do another favour for me?” “Uh huh.” He momentarily turned away from the witch, trying to hide the flash of irritation he felt. “Please levitate the chair next to you, say twenty centimetres off the floor, then set it back down again.” The boy repeated the same process. The chair slowly lifted off the floor, then returned when Harry lowered his arm. “How did that feel?” “Harder to lift,” he replied quickly. “Harry, I understand why my asking you to do these things may upset you. Do you understand why I’m asking?” The boy sighed. “To see what I can do, what it feels like.” She’s making me feel like a performing monkey. I hate this! The witch smiled at her student. “You are a very bright young man, Mr Potter. Would you stand about three metres from the table and levitate the apple again and tell me what it feels like?” He moved away from the table and repeated the exercise. “A little harder.” “I thought so. What have we learned here, Mr Potter?” “Heavier things or being further away makes it harder to do.” “Right you are. Even with a simple charm like this, weight and distance require slightly more magic. You will find the more you do these charms, the easier they become.” The boy was lost in thought. Finally, he asked, “You get stronger?” “Exactly. Well done.” “Should I pra . . . practice?” “Let’s wait until the next time we see each other to discuss this further. We might decide to wait until you are actually at school.” The professor’s smile faded, replaced by an earnest expression. “Harry, I want you to promise me one thing. This ability does not make you a freak. I do not want you feeling like that. It is a gift, and you should feel very proud to be able to do these things. Can you do that for me?” “This is good?” The boy had a hopeful yet doubting look on his face. “Yes, it is, Harry.” He shut his eyes. “Okay.” Then why doesn’t she want me to practice? “The last item I need to discuss is your visit with the Headmaster. I will arrive here at nine o’clock tomorrow morning to escort you to Hogwarts. We will Floo to a restaurant in Hogsmeade, which is located by the school,” McGonagall explained. “After visiting a few shops there, we will proceed to the school. Once there, you will meet with Professor Dumbledore, and he will show you around the grounds and the castle.” Her voice softened. “Do you have any questions?” “N . . . no.” “Then, I will see you tomorrow morning at nine. Good night, Harry.” “’Night.” The professor’s face disappeared from the fire, and the embers returned to their usual colour. Harry went into the sitting room, feeling furious about having to perform for the professor and about her not wanting him to practice. They want to control me just like the Dursleys did. I’m going to go over the books until I know everything in them. As he approached Mrs Weasley, he calmed his expression back to the neutral mask he learned at the Dursleys. “We’re d . . . done.” “Thank you, dear.” Mrs Weasley returned to the kitchen. Harry sat by Ron and Ginny who were still playing chess, but Harry’s thoughts were elsewhere. Why would Dumbledore and McGonagall be able to get money from my vault? Have they been taking money from me since I was a baby and my parents . . . Maybe that’s why they dumped me with the Dursleys and never checked up. Whi le Harry was watching and playing chess, Minerva McGonagall met with Albus Dumbledore. “I spent a lot of time with Harry Potter yesterday and just finished speaking with him on a Floo call.” “How is the boy doing, Minerva? I am still upset by what has happened between him and me.” “There are so many things.” The witch stopped and thought. “We already knew Harry was powerful magically. He appears to be even more advanced than we thought. Molly Floo’d me earlier. Harry did wandless, wordless magic last night, using a charm he just had seen Molly do. He levitated dishes from the table to the sink.” Dumbledore nodded his head. “I thought that was a possibility when he created such a powerful force with his accidental magic at his relatives’ house.” “When I talked with Harry just now,” McGonagall continued, “I asked him to levitate first an apple, then a chair, then again from a greater distance. He did all of the charms with little apparent thought or effort, as if it were natural for him.” “I’m sure it is natural, Minerva,” the Headmaster replied. “I have a strong suspicion that as Harry became older, he used magic to defend himself against the Dursleys, because anger powered the magic he displayed during my visit.” “But, Albus, how could he do that?” “If my theory is correct, he never learned what he could not do. All magical children are able to perform magic without thought, accidentally, as we say. As they get slightly older, we start limiting them through the use of wands, underage restrictions, and requiring specific words and movements. Harry has not been exposed to these restrictions, so he has continued to use his magic naturally. Your tests seem to support that theory. Plus, Lily and James were two of the most powerful, creative, and magically sophisticated students we have had at Hogwarts.” “Where do we go from here with the boy?” “I’m going to have to think about that. But my first thought is to have him keep those talents hidden from the general student population. It would not serve to have Voldemort learn Harry’s talents this early, no matter what condition Tom is currently in. I also wonder if you and I should offer additional training to our young student.” Albus paused, obviously lost in thought. “These abilities also may serve to make him even more visible at school,” Minerva said, “beyond what his reputation will cause. I am afraid his reaction to this attention could serve to isolate him even further and drive him into that shell he has created. He truly feels he is a freak, as he puts it.” McGonagall’s eyes grew hard. “I could hex those Dursleys for what they did to that poor boy. The more I see Harry, the more I am convinced he operates on two different levels — the mute, unresponsive personality he shows the world, and a perceptive, sensitive, intelligent side he keeps hidden inside.” Albus nodded his head. “I’ve seen flashes of that buried personality, too. I wonder if his magical power developed because he had to keep his true emotions hidden, especially his anger, due to the consequences he would suffer at the hands of his relatives. Alas, that is something else to ponder about our enigmatic Mr Potter. Do you have any other concerns or information?” “Just that I told him about his Gringotts account, that his educational expenses were taken care of, and that he would not have any financial concerns. I am quite sure he thought he was knutless, since he has never had any money. He didn’t know anything about the value of money or banking, so we’ll have to watch him. He could easily be taken advantage of.” The Headmaster added, “With everything new he has learned about himself recently, we need to ensure we don’t overload the poor boy.” Dumbledore did not notice Minerva’s surprised reaction, and she replied tersely, “On the other hand, we do not want to withhold information from him.” “Another issue to be considered, certainly. Well, I should return to my paperwork. Do you have any other topics to discuss?” Dumbledore steepled his fingers in front of him and looked directly at his colleague. Minerva realized she was being told the discussion was over. “Just this last item. In addition to taking Harry through Hogsmeade tomorrow, I will see him on the eleventh. I have been invited to attend Ginny Weasley’s tenth birthday party. It will be a chance to see how he reacts in a large gathering. I’ll let you know what I observe.” “Thank you, Minerva, for sharing this information about our Mr Potter.” After the professor left, Dumbledore’s thoughts remained on his new student. It wouldn’t be fair to burden Harry with too much information. I certainly saw the downside of doing so during our earlier meeting. He’s struggling as it is. After all, he just turned eleven. His magic could be a problem, as well as a benefit. I will need to keep a close watch on that. At least he seems to be accepting Minerva. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, given the treatment he received from his uncle. This promises to be a very interesting year with Harry Potter arriving at Hogwarts. I am very much looking forward to talking with him tomorrow. While Ron was contemplating his next chess move, Ginny glanced at Harry. He caught her eyes and mouthed, ‘When you’re done, come to my room,’ and raised his eyebrows. She nodded, and he excused himself and went upstairs. After his trip to Diagon Alley with Professor McGonagall, Harry had thought about the many questions that excursion had created, especially the visit to Gringotts. He pulled out several sheets of parchment and his self-inking quill. He wrote on the top of the first page, Questions for Professor Dumbledore. I know Ginny was upset about not going with us to Diagon Alley and then flying with her brothers and me. Maybe this will help her a little bit. I wonder if Sammi is like Ginny now. She and Ginny are both easy to be with. There’s just something about them. I know they’re not the same person or anything, but I just get a good feeling from both of them. I wonder how Sammi’s doing. I hope she and her family are okay. A soft knock stopped Harry from wondering. He walked over to the door and let Ginny in. She looked curious, as Harry shut the door and walked to the desk. He sat down, then blushed when he realized Ginny was still standing. “You can sit on the bed, if you want,” he said. “Thanks.” She smiled. “What’s up?” Harry took a deep breath and slowly started talking. “Ginny, I n . . . need your help.” Her eyes widened. “So much has changed over the p . . . past week, and I have a lot of qu . . . questions.” He took another deep breath and looked directly at her. “You know this w . . . world. I d . . . don’t, so I hoped you’d help m . . . me with questions for D . . . Du . . . Dumbledore.” Harry looked at her hopefully. Ginny smiled. “Of course, I’ll help. You need to tell me what kinds of questions. Okay?” He nodded and pulled open the middle desk drawer. Taking out a folded piece of parchment, he smoothed the sheet and read from it. “The m . . . main area is everything related to my parents.” He looked up when he heard a small gasp. I knew I shouldn’t have asked her. What was I thinking of? But then Ginny asked, “What did you want to learn about your parents?” Harry stared into her eyes and saw only sincere interest. His answer was barely above a whisper. “Your dad told m . . . me a little bit about my p . . . parents. It was the first time, I’d heard anything about th . . . them. Oh, except when Dumbledore told me they were m . . . magical and d . . . d . . . dead,” he said with anger in his voice. Ginny’s breath caught in her chest, but Harry didn’t notice since his eyes were focused on the floor. He added in a subdued voice, “I’d like to know more about them. I don’t even know what they looked like.” His voice trailed off. Ginny’s eyes widened at the thought of not even knowing what your parents looked like, or the sound of their voices, their personalities . . . her stomach recoiled at the thought of how little Harry knew about his parents, other than they were dead. I’ve got to find pictures and anything else that would help Harry to learn about his parents. Harry had fallen silent, so Ginny said, “It’s understandable that you want to find out more. I’m so sorry. We can write questions that you can ask Professor Dumbledore. That should help.” Harry nodded his head, obviously still lost in his thoughts. “What other areas should we ask about?” Harry’s head snapped up. “The Dursleys,” he said, with a scowl on his face. “My Gringotts accounts.” Since his eyes had returned to the piece of paper he had taken out of the drawer, Harry did not notice the look of surprise on Ginny’s face. “I w . . . want to know about the w . . . wizarding world.” Ginny nodded her head. “Why was I,” he stopped, looking puzzled, “I don’t know, hidden from it? That doesn’t make sense to me.” Ginny thought about what Harry had said. “So, you wonder why you were put with the Muggles, instead of a wizarding family?” “Yeah. And ignored,” he said angrily, his face flushing slightly. “After all this time, I find out I’m a wizard. It’s confusing. The other part is why am I going to Hogwarts tomorrow? McGonagall said no other student is going early, so it’s not like it’s for all the new students, just me.” Ginny stared at Harry. He can talk! A lot! And without stuttering. He sounded smart. She started processing this information, until she noticed Harry was staring at her. His head dropped. “Did I say something wrong?” Ginny felt like she’d had the wind knocked out of her. Her eyes widened, and she had to take several deep breaths to regain control of her surging emotions. “I’m sorry, Harry,” she said in a small voice. “You didn’t say anything wrong. I was just thinking about what you said.” She stopped and thought hard about what she wanted to say next. Finally, she sucked up her courage. “You’ve been hiding inside yourself, haven’t you?” Harry’s reaction mirrored Ginny’s previous response. He thought he wiped his hand across his damp forehead, but he wasn’t sure. His hand, along with the rest of his body, had lost all feeling. His mind seemed stuck on the one thought. I’m not going to tell her everything. I can’t do that. How would she feel about me? I don’t even know her that well. A persistent voice kept reminding him. You made friends with Sammi the first day you met her, same with Miss Rae. Ginny is the same type of person. “I’m sorry.” A sad, soft voice interrupted his thoughts. “I shouldn’t have asked that. It was rude of me.” Harry looked at the small girl and knew instantly that he had hurt her feelings. He shook his head, stood up and held up his hand to indicate ‘just a second, please.’ He went over to his trunk and pulled out the folder — the folder that no one other than himself had ever seen. He handed it to her. Ginny opened the thick file and flipped through the paper clipped papers inside, her eyes getting bigger and bigger with each section she reviewed. Occasionally, the perceptive girl would briefly contemplate the boy sitting in front of her. “You had to do that?” Ginny made sure her tone was sympathetic, interested, not accusatory or judgemental. He nodded, feeling vulnerable, like the recurring dream he had of standing naked in the school playground. But he felt something else. A new strength? A feeling that it would be easier if he shared the burden? He wasn’t sure, except for one thing. He was feeling something different, something he’d never felt before. “Why?” she asked softly. Then her eyes widened in shock, and she gasped, as she answered her own question, her understanding of the reasons behind his actions searing through her. He had to hide how smart he was just so those git relatives of his wouldn’t get mad at him! I bet they would really be angry if they knew. No wonder he’s so good at hiding his feelings! Harry watched as the girl’s emotions swung wildly from tears and overwhelming grief to an anger that was frightening in its intensity. She stared intently into his eyes, with a fierce expression. “We will never do that to you.” Harry returned her blazing gaze. She whispered, “Anytime you want to talk about it, just let me know. Okay?” “Thanks,” he whispered. He stifled a shudder. His biggest worry — that Ginny would walk out of the room and never talk to him again after reading his real papers — temporarily dissolved. He took a deep breath. “Help me with the questions now?” Ginny nodded her head. “Yeah.” Ginny sat down on the bed, and Harry pulled out the chair. An hour later, two pages of parchment were filled with questions about Harry, his parents, his life, relatives, bank accounts, the unusual treatment he was receiving, and a wide variety of other concerns. They sat in silence for a few moments before Ginny finally summoned her courage. “How do you do your magic?” Harry felt the anger flare again, then felt embarrassed. He knew Ginny was only curious, since she’d never seen magic done that way. “Dunno. Hard to describe.” “What does it feel like?” She tilted her head slightly to the side, as if that would give her a clearer view through Harry’s murky answer. “I can feel it inside me. I just think what I want to do, and it happens.” The last words almost sounded like a question, with the upturn in Harry’s voice. Ginny laughed. “I wish I could do it that way.” Harry’s smile quickly became a frown. “Professor McGonagall said she and Dumbledore don’t want me to do that at school.” “Why not?” “I don’t know. She didn’t explain why. Maybe Dumbledore will tomorrow.” He shrugged his shoulders, confusion and anger reflected on his face. Ginny thought hard about what Harry had said. He doesn’t know he’s the Boy Who Lived or anything that happened when he was a baby. If Professor Dumbledore doesn’t tell him tomorrow, I will. He has to know. “That may be one of the reasons he invited you to Hogwarts.” Ginny paused for a moment, then ploughed on. “Harry, will you do me a huge favour?” She looked hopefully at the boy. He shrugged his shoulders but looked curious. “What is it?” “Will you teach me how to do magic the way you do?” There! She’d said it, and a look of resolve spread over her face. A startled expression swept over Harry’s face, but he paused to consider her request. His face moved from sceptical to neutral and finally accepting. “I’ll try. I’m not really sure how I do it, so it will be hard to teach you.” He looked into her eyes, seeing how strongly she wanted him to do this. “But I’ll give it my best shot. Is tomorrow okay, after I get back from Hogwarts?” “Thanks, Harry!” A smile lit her face, and she happily stepped forward to hug him. He froze, his eyes wide at the sight of the young red head approaching him. Ginny immediately stopped, and her head dropped to her chest. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I forgot.” She looked up through teary eyes. “It’s okay. I knew you weren’t going to . . . do anything bad.” He smiled, a small, shy smile. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” Ginny looked closely at the boy she had thought about more than she would ever admit. Once she was assured he was sincere, her smile returned, and she could see him brighten in response, his eyes alight in a way she hadn’t seen before. She sucked in her breath, mesmerised by their emerald depths and a feeling that went straight to her heart. The two magical children quickly realized they were staring at the other. Both shifted uncomfortably, the heat rising quickly to their faces. Harry moved his eyes to the floor, while Ginny focused on a book on the desk. A few moments later, Harry could feel Ginny’s gaze return to his face. He looked up. “I hope your visit with Professor Dumbledore goes well tomorrow,” she said quietly. “It will,” he gestured towards the two pieces of parchment, “because of you.” His lips turned up in a closed-mouth smile. An amazingly warm feeling flowed through her body. “Thanks, Harry.” A dazzling smile lit her face. She started to turn away to go to her bedroom. “Ginny?” She looked at him with curiosity. His hand reached out slowly towards her, then stopped, suspended in mid-air. It’s okay, Harry, you can touch me. His expression grew determined. He closed his eyes briefly. I can do this. I want to do this. His hand slowly, hesitantly moved towards her shoulder, finally reaching it, with a feather light touch and a slight squeeze. “Thanks, Gin.” Their eyes locked. Her hand moved instinctively to grasp his. “May I?” she whispered. He nodded, not quite aware of the question. Her hand lightly grazed his, then softly squeezed it. Cinnamon brown and emerald green eyes instantly widened, and the two children gasped at the feelings surging between them. The moment passed, and the children sheepishly looked at each other, colour flushing their cheeks. They both smiled, without thought. “Goodnight, Harry,” the red haired sprite whispered. “G’night, Gin,” the boy replied. “Sweet dreams.” She beamed back at him and squeezed his hand one last time. “You, too,” she said softly and left his room. Both children knew something important had changed, though neither could put that feeling into words. What they did know, beyond any doubt, was that this change felt very, very good. |
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