Despite the unusual situations with the March DSTAs, I still would like to thank everyone who has nominated and/or voted for Saving Harry. You really make this trip worthwhile!
Despite my sneaky attempts to make the story somewhat incomprehensible and vaguely ungrammatical, the brilliant beta, cwarbeck, always catches these cleverly hidden errors. Thanks, cel!
Melindaleo/Arnel Tissue Alert: Hmmm . . . there may be a couple of scenes that stimulate production from your tear ducts.
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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: 340831; Chapter Total: 15419 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: |
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As Harry looked from Ginny to Mr Weasley and finally to Mrs Weasley, a warm feeling, one of belonging, coursed through his body and eliminated the adrenaline-producing shock of his dream. “Thank you,” he repeated. The three Weasleys moved back slightly, loosening their hold on him, but each still remaining in contact with Harry, something for which he was profoundly happy. Mr Weasley spoke first. “What was your dream about, lad?” Harry closed his eyes, and Mr Weasley quickly added, “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.” Harry opened his eyes and looked at the man. “It was when Vol . . . Voldemort killed my parents and tried to kill me.” Gasps from more than the three Weasleys holding him reached Harry’s ears. He looked up to see Ron, the twins, and even Percy standing in the bedroom. All had eyes wide open in shock. Harry repeated the dream in an emotionless, mechanical tone, his eyes and expression virtually blank “I was in our living room . . . when he shot the Killing Curse at me, I thought my head was going to explode.” He instinctively touched the scar on his forehead. “But before I passed out, I saw the green light bounce off my head and hit him in the chest. We were both screaming. He kind of . . . exploded . . . and turned to mist. That’s the last thing I remember. That part seemed to move in slow motion, but it probably was just a few seconds.” Harry shrugged. The Weasleys had remained quiet throughout Harry’s description of the dream. Before the inevitable avalanche of questions broke loose, Mr Weasley quickly looked around the room. “That was incredibly brave of you to tell us that, Harry.” Noting the boy’s flushed complexion, Mr Weasley continued. “I’m sure it was very hard for you to describe the dream, especially in such detail. We will not ask you any questions. If you want to talk about it more, we would be happy to listen to you. Alright, lad?” Harry slowly nodded his head, while becoming aware of a small hand that had been rubbing his back, moving in small, reassuring circles. “Th . . . thank you . . . for all of this.” He looked at each of the family members. “It . . . helps a lot.” Harry’s comment was met by all of the Weasleys nodding their heads, and Harry felt another wave of good feelings wash through his body. Mrs Weasley’s concerned expression captured his attention. “Will you be able to sleep on your own or would you rather sleep in another bedroom?” she asked. Harry thought for a few moments. He felt calm, even buoyed by the Weasleys’ reaction. “I’ll be okay. Th . . . thanks, Mrs Weasley.” Her eyes remained locked on his, until she felt sure Harry was telling the truth and not just putting up a brave front. “If you need to, it’s more than alright to come to our bedroom should you want to,” she said and gently squeezed his shoulder. The gesture, along with Mr Weasley’s and Ginny’s hands still holding him, briefly brought back a vague memory. It was almost entirely emotion, but in it, his parents were holding him, and he could feel love flowing through their embrace. It was the first time he could remember such a detailed action, and it filled him with a feeling of being whole and . . . worthwhile, not the “unnatural freak” the Dursleys labelled him. Harry nodded his understanding of Mrs Weasley’s offer. Mr and Mrs Weasley stood up, and they and Ginny withdrew their hands. Harry was surprised and very pleased that the warm feeling remained. With a chorus of ‘good nights,’ all the Weasleys left Harry’s bedroom, except for Ginny. She moved in front of him and stared into his eyes. Harry returned her gaze, and after a few moments, she started smiling. “You’re okay,” she stated, rather than asked, softly. “Because of you and your family,” he replied. “It’s a new feeling for you, isn’t it?” He grinned. “Nah, your family’s just like my relatives.” She made a face. “Prat.” “Yup.” Ginny turned when she reached the door. “Goodnight, Harry.” Harry smiled. “G’night, Ginny. Happy Birthday.” He pointed to the small clock on his desk, which showed 12:07 on its dial. “Thanks, Harry.” She grinned. “I’m ten now.” As soon as she shut the door, Ginny did a little dance in the hallway. The dream may have been horrible, she thought, but it sure lead to something good. Both children quickly fell asleep, with no more interruptions. August eleventh arrived as a warm, cloudless day at The Burrow. When Harry got up, he could hear activity already. Memories of the previous night flooded his mind, and he felt his skin heat up with embarrassment. That dream really got to me. I don’t like people seeing me like that. I sure hope that Ron and the twins don’t take the mickey out of me for crying and letting their parents and Ginny hug me. After putting on his robe, he made his way downstairs, still feeling self-conscious and not knowing how the others would react to him. Mrs Weasley bustled around the kitchen. A spatula magically stirred batter in a large bowl, while eggs and sausages fried in pans on the stovetop, and a knife sliced red, ripe strawberries. A round of ‘good mornings’ greeted Harry when he entered the kitchen. He blinked several times, then muttered, “Mornin’,” before he walked directly to Ginny. “Happy Bir . . . birthday,” he said quietly, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks when she smiled at him, her round brown eyes bright with happiness. “Thank you, Harry.” He noticed all of the Weasley children were seated at the large table. Mr Weasley hadn’t come down yet. “Can I h . . . help, Mrs Weasley?” he asked. Molly looked up, obviously startled by his question. “Thank you, dear, but I have everything under control.” With several waves of her wand and an uttered incantation, the batter rose from the bowl and made four perfectly round pancakes in a third frying pan. Ginny watched Harry, then said, “We each get to pick what we want for our birthday breakfast. I get pancakes and strawberries each year.” Ron jumped in. “I just order double portions of what Mum usually makes — eggs, sausages, bacon, fried potatoes, and toast. That’s the one time I never leave the table hungry.” The twins had been eyeing Harry speculatively. One of the twins asked, “Ickle Harrikins,” the boy looked up in response to the strange name, “what did you do for your last birthday?” Harry immediately felt all eyes on him, with the exception of Mrs Weasley’s. His breathing became laboured and shallow. With his eyes glued to the wooden floor, he finally choked out a response. “Nuh . . . nothing.” Without thinking, Ron and the twins exclaimed about the unfairness of birthdays not being celebrated. Percy looked at Harry with his head tilted slightly to the side. Only Ginny understood what Harry was feeling. “Excuse me,” she said loudly. “It’s my birthday. As your favourite sister . . .” “Our only sister,” George reminded her. “No interruptions, please. As the birthday girl today, I demand total attention. I do not want to share it, even with someone as interesting as Harry.” Her brothers looked shocked, staring open-mouthed at their youngest and only sister. But it worked. The questions directed at Harry stopped, and the three boys started talking about Quidditch. Harry sat down across from Ginny and mouthed, ‘Thanks.’ She nodded, a slight smile lighting her freckled face. The day passed quickly, with Harry spending his time reading Fred’s second year Charms book, practicing the spells discussed, and mostly observing the Weasley children being Weasleys. By mid-afternoon, they were all helping Mr and Mrs Weasley get ready for Ginny’s party. A long picnic table, with equally long benches, was set up in the garden area behind the house, streamers and balloons were magically created — all in Gryffindor red and gold — and fairy lights were strewn throughout the yard though it was bright outside and promised to remain so for many more hours. Mrs Weasley had baked the largest cake Harry had ever seen — chocolate with whipped cream frosting and crushed strawberries decorating the top and between each of the three layers. Mr Weasley was preparing an old Muggle barbeque, similar to one Harry had seen at the Dursleys. But instead of using lighter fluid and a match, he was trying to start the coals by magic, without much luck. Ron whispered, “This happens every time Dad tries to cook on the, uh, barbricky. He never can get the fire started, then Mum starts to yell at him, and they end up cooking the meat on the stove in the kitchen.” Whoosh!!! All eyes turned towards Mr Weasley and the now blazing barbeque. He had backed away several feet, because the flames reached above his rather tall head. After everyone first checked to make sure Mr Weasley hadn’t incinerated himself, the assembled family members started laughing uproariously. Mr Weasley looked around sheepishly and said, “I guess I put a little too much power into that last Incendio spell.” After another roar of laughter, Mr Weasley added, “I think I should wait a few minutes until this fire has calmed down a bit.” Mr Weasley turned toward the house, and greeted Professor McGonagall, who had just emerged from the back door. “Hello, Minerva. I’m glad you could attend Ginny’s birthday.” The witch issued a small smile. “Thank you for inviting me, Arthur.” She continued walking and placed her gift on a small table that already contained other presents. Percy got up from the picnic table. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Professor. I trust your summer has been a good one so far.” Percy held a book in his hand, Tremendous Transfigurations and the Talented Teachers That Taught Them, with the title facing the witch. The twins tried to hold back their laughter but were woefully unsuccessful. Fred said in a stage whisper, which everyone could hear, “Corking to see you again, Oh Head of our House.” George picked up the comment without missing a beat. “I do hope you have noticed that I have a book in my hands on the subject you teach?” “Boys,” Mr Weasley cautioned but with a small smile on his face. Percy turned red, glared at the twins and sat back down. McGonagall lifted her eyebrows at the two troublemakers, but the corners of her lips twitched slightly before returning to their usual straight line. She walked over to the picnic bench and sat down next to Harry, pleased that he hadn’t flinched at her physical proximity. “Hello, Miss Weasley. Happy Birthday.” Ginny smiled. “Thanks, Professor.” “Mr Potter, it is nice to see you again. I hope all continues to go well with you.” “It is, Pro . . . fessor.” He paused, as a look of determination came over his face. “Th . . . thank you for ex . . . plaining about the address on the envelope. It helped.” The professor smiled at the small boy. “I’m very pleased that you and Miss Weasley decided to trust her mother and me. I hope you will continue to do so, Mr Potter.” Harry tentatively moved his hand so it was suspended about halfway between him and the professor. McGonagall gazed at it, momentarily confused by the boy’s gesture. Within several seconds, her eyes lit up when it became clear what Harry meant by the gesture. She slowly eliminated the remaining distance and gently grasped his hand. McGonagall blinked rapidly and sniffled. Finally letting go of his hand, the professor softly said, “Harry, I’ll always be available to you at Hogwarts, but I hope you realise that I need to maintain a professional distance in front of the other students.” Harry nodded his head. “I understand. Th . . . thanks, Professor.” Feeling like they were being watched, Harry looked around the table and noticed a number of Weasleys quickly turning away or staring at the plates in front of them. The party progressed without any explosions, which was surprising given the twins’ presence, just good food and joking conversation. Finally, it was time for presents, and Ginny picked one from the stack her mum had set next to her. The card identified the sloppily wrapped present as coming from Ron. Ginny smiled and held the box next to her forehead. “Let me guess. Yes, I’m getting an image. It’s . . .” “Chocolate Frogs,” the twins shouted. Quickly tearing open the wrapping paper, Ginny held up four Chocolate Frogs. Putting them back down, she selected a large, garishly wrapped box that Harry guessed was from the twins. It was and turned out to be a selection of joke products and dungbombs from Zonko’s. Mrs Weasley immediately confiscated the dungbombs, despite the vociferous complaints coming from the twins and Ginny. Ron leaned over and explained. “Zonko’s is the wizarding joke shop. It has loads of pranking stuff — dungbombs, Fanged Frisbees, and other products.” Harry remembered that he and Professor McGonagall had passed the store when they visited Hogsmeade. He could now understand why the witch had walked past it without even glancing at the store. He blocked his memories of the rest of that trip, especially the visit with Dumbledore, by thinking of Ginny and the fun she was having. By this time, Ginny had torn apart a meticulously wrapped present and thanked Percy for a huge book that she quickly put down. Harry glanced at the title — Hogwarts: A History. Professor McGonagall’s gift was opened next, a very nice leather-bound journal, with Ginny’s initials, GMW in gold script, on the cover. “It’s for writing down your thoughts, and the journal can be charmed so no one else can read them. I’ll show you how to do that later.” “Thank you, Professor,” the birthday girl said. Two presents remained, and Harry was surprised to see Ginny pick the one from her parents. The large box contained various pieces of clothing — three shirts, a denim skirt, a flowery sundress, and other items that Ginny didn’t pull from the box. Harry felt several pairs of eyes flick towards him, then to Ginny, as she reached for her last present. He looked up at her just in time to be gifted with a sparkling smile. “Whatever, it is, Harry, I’m sure I’ll like it,” she said. Harry could feel the heat rising up his neck and reaching his cheeks, as Ginny slowly, carefully removed the wrapping paper. Once it was off, she folded it and placed the paper with her other presents. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed puzzled looks on the face of each of her brothers and small smiles from her parents. She pulled the top off the box and stared at the contents. Everyone at the table leaned forward, as Ginny exclaimed. “Harry, these are wonderful. Thank you so much.” One by one, she pulled out a ream of cream-coloured parchment, an array of eight different coloured inks, and a beautiful eagle feather quill. Several seconds of silence elapsed, as Harry felt like he wanted to slide under the table to escape the inquisitive looks he was receiving. Then, a cacophony of comments came from the Weasley family members, rendering them nothing but noise. Finally, Mrs Weasley’s voice broke through. “Harry, how did you buy those gifts?” Professor McGonagall looked at Harry, her eyebrows arched slightly. He stiffened, then nodded once. “Molly, Harry told me what he wanted to get for Ginny, and we picked them up in Diagon Alley when I bought the journal.” Mrs Weasley turned slowly towards Harry. “That’s so nice of you, Harry. But you didn’t have to do so much.” Ginny quickly protested. “Mum.” Harry could feel the moisture on his forehead flattening his fringe and beginning to drip down the sides of his face. He looked at the table. “I . . . I wanted to.” He took a deep breath and straightened his back. “She can write letters to her brothers, since she won’t have anyone here.” Ginny counted the bottles of ink and quickly did the math: six for her brothers, including Bill and Charlie, one for her journal entries, and . . . her heart caught . . . Harry was shyly looking at her . . . one for him. An absolutely indescribably warm feeling flowed over her. “Oh, Harry, I understand the eighth one. Thank you!” Her smile filled the garden, and she started to reach across the table to squeeze Harry’s hand. His eyes got bigger, but Ginny stopped half way across. “May I?” Harry looked directly into her glistening cinnamon eyes and nodded. Ginny quickly eliminated the distance and squeezed his hand. Both children started at the warmth coming from the other’s hand. One smile reflected the other, and Ginny mouthed ‘Thanks, Harry.’ Molly Weasley broke into the two-person world Ginny and Harry had created. “Time for cake.” The presents were quickly moved to the small table next to the house, and Mrs Weasley brought out the enormous strawberry-decorated chocolate cake. The ten candles were lit, and everyone sang “Happy Birthday,” though the twins oddly sang it at a funereal tempo. When they finally finished — with Mrs Weasley glaring at them — Ginny took a big breath and blew on the candles arrayed in a circle on the top of the cake. They flickered, then blazed even more brightly. Ginny’s forehead furrowed, and she inhaled even more deeply. Napkins across the table were moved by the force of the air exhaled by the small girl. The candles smiled back at her, burning even more brightly than before. Ginny scowled, then a sunny smile split her face, and she looked up. Harry followed her line of sight directly to the twins, who were busily looking in the other direction. “Fred, George,” the birthday girl said, “good one. Never-extinguish candles, right?” “Us?” George put his hand to his heart. “You wound us, sister dear,” Fred said, sadly shaking his head. “We would never prank our favourite . . .” “. . . and only sister,” Ginny interrupted. “I think it’s great. Thanks for brightening my birthday.” The rant on Molly’s lips that was seconds from being released, slipped into silence at Ginny’s smiling acceptance of the twins’ prank. “Ginny, why don’t you slice the cake, and we’ll hand it out?” “Okay, Mum.” She smiled at her family but especially at the twins, then leaned towards Harry, cupping her hands on either side of her mouth, so no one could hear what she was whispering. Harry nodded his head and smiled somewhat mischievously, matching the look on the birthday girl’s face. By this time, the candles were emitting an even brighter light and sending out sparks like ten small fireworks displays, making them nearly impossible to pull out of the cake. Ginny nodded her head, and Harry pointed his right hand at a candle, levitated it a few centimetres, and set it next to the edge of the cake. The assembled Weasleys gasped, then leaned forward, trying to figure out what the two youngest members of the family were doing. Harry looked around briefly, trying to keep from laughing out loud, pressing his lips tightly together when he saw his professor’s eyes sparkling with mirth. Ginny just smirked as Harry continued to levitate and move each candle so they filled a small area of the cake. When the tenth candle was placed down, Ginny quickly made cuts into the cake on each side of the candles. Harry levitated the sparkling piece of cake onto a waiting plate and floated it down the table, placing it between the twins. “Eat up, boys,” Ginny encouraged, as the twins started the laughter that circled the table. When the laughter finally subsided, the twins stood up and bowed deeply towards Ginny, repeating, “We’re not worthy; we’re not worthy . . .” “And don’t you forget it.” Ginny grinned at her brothers, and nodded her head graciously. “We’ve taught her well, brother dear,” George said to Fred. “A little too well,” replied his bookend. “Uh, Ginny could you cut some more pieces and hand them out?” Ron pleaded. “I’m starving.” Amid the renewed laughter and comments about Ron’s bottomless pit, Ginny cut more pieces of the cake and Harry floated them to the remaining family members and their guest. After mouthing “Happy Birthday” and eating part of a piece of cake, Harry’s stomach began to crash and roil like waves in an angry ocean. He quickly excused himself and raced as discreetly as he could into the house, up the stairs, and into the loo, moments before a week’s worth of more food than he would usually have in a month plummeted like an avalanche tearing down a mountainside. Fifteen minutes later, Ron knocked on the door. “You okay in there, Harry?” “Stomach,” Harry groaned. “Gotcha,” Ron replied and left. Another fifteen minutes later, Mrs Weasley inquired, “Harry dear, are you alright?” In reaction to Mrs Weasley’s innocent question, Harry’s complexion quickly moved from the pasty white his stomach problem had caused to beet red. “Stomach’s upset.” There was a moment of silence, then Mrs Weasley said, “Oh, I understand. Once you’re finished, see me. I have a potion that will fix you right up.” Then she left and Harry began breathing again. Once his stomach stopped causing problems, he washed his hands thoroughly, went back downstairs and found Mrs Weasley in the kitchen. “Here you go, Harry.” She handed him a goblet of some pink-coloured liquid. “Just drink it straight down.” He did and tried not to make a face at the flat, chalky taste. But his stomach immediately quieted. Mrs Weasley said, “If you start to have stomach problems again, just let me know, and I’ll make this up for you.” She paused. “You’re not used to eating this much, are you?” The boy just shook his head. “Harry, don’t worry about that. That’s in the past. We’ll take care of you.” Mrs Weasley smiled at Harry and forgot to stop her mothering instincts. But as she reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair, he stepped back an equal distance, remaining out of her arm’s reach. Realizing what she was doing, Mrs Weasley pulled back her hand and tried to keep her sad feelings from showing. Harry immediately closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She’s only doing what she does to everyone. She’s not going to hurt me. He looked at the woman, his stomach lurching when he saw her distressed expression. “Sorry, Mrs Weasley. He took a step towards her. “It’s okay.” She looked closely at the boy, not wanting to do anything that would make him uncomfortable. “Are you sure, Harry?” He nodded. Her hand moved slowly towards his shoulder and gently squeezed it. He forced his hand towards hers and laid it on top. Mrs Weasley rewarded him with a warm smile. “We’ll never hurt you, Harry.” Molly Weasley wanted to say so much more, especially how upset she was that he had been mistreated. But somehow she knew her actions would be far more meaningful to the newest boy in her family. “Shall we go back outside?” She squeezed his shoulder. “Yes,” he replied and squeezed her hand. This is what touching should be. As Harry walked back to the garden picnic table, all eyes turned towards him. He could feel his face exploding like the twins’ sparkling candles, with red blotches bursting on his cheeks. But in a split second, they returned to their conversations. They just wanted to see who it was. No smart remarks like Uncle Vernon or Dudley would have made. Harry returned to his place by Ginny, and she asked, “Everything okay, Harry?” He nodded. “Stomach. Still getting used to all this food.” Ginny smiled. “Just don’t try to keep up with Ron. We think he must have two hollow legs.” Both kids grinned at each other, until Mr Weasley’s voice pulled their attention to him. “Ron, twins, why don’t you three go flying?” Mr Weasley suggested. The twins immediately understood they were being dismissed, but Ron turned to Harry. “C’mon, let’s go.” Molly said, “Ron, Harry will join you boys later.” Ron blinked, then his eyes brightened. “Oh, okay. See you later.” He left the table and walked towards the shed with the twins. Mr Weasley looked at Harry. “Lad, we thought it would be a good idea for us to discuss the dream you had last night. Are you up to doing that again?” Harry closed his eyes. They want to help. This isn’t punishment. The professor needs to know. “O . . . kay.” “Good, lad. Thank you. Just take your time,” Mr Weasley said. Harry took a deep breath and seemed to sink into himself, as he repeated the dream in the same emotionless voice he had used the first time. He was aware that the professor had gasped several times during the retelling, but he continued the story without stopping. When he reached the end of the dream, he whispered two more thoughts. “I th . . . thought Pro . . . fessor Dumbledore had lied to m . . . me.” He saw the witch stiffen slightly, though her face remained in its neutral mask. “I thought he had made up this Vol . . . Voldemort guy . . . th . . . that he didn’t exist . . . and that . . . Dumbledore had . . . . . . ki . . . killed my parents.” McGonagall and the others gasped. Her hand went to her mouth, as did that of Mrs Weasley. Mr Weasley rubbed his forehead. After taking in the adults’ reactions, Harry became aware of something moving on his hand. He looked down and found his left arm stretched across the table. He stared in surprise as he saw his hand enwrapped in both of Ginny’s small hands, her right thumb tracing circles on the back of his hand. He had no idea when this had started. He looked at her eyes and was surprised by the warmth radiating from them. She’s not disgusted by what I said or afraid of me. Their eyes locked, and Harry felt a calm, reassuring feeling flowing through their connection, filling him up and eliminating his doubts and negative feelings. “Harry?” He pulled his gaze from Ginny and followed the direction of the voice to Professor McGonagall. He immediately noticed her moist eyes and a lone tear slowly sliding from her left eye and down her cheek. “Why did you think Professor Dumbledore was the one . . . in the dream?” He took a deep breath and disappeared inside himself again. “Every time before, all I could see was a tall, thin man in the dream . . .” The professor interrupted. “You’ve had this dream before?” Her voice had a sharp edge to it. Harry nodded his head. “Lots of times, as far back as I can remember. This one had the most detail. Before, I couldn’t see his face . . . he looked like Dumbledore, err, Professor Dumbledore, and no one had seen Voldemort, so . . .” He took another deep breath and felt Ginny squeeze his hand. He looked over and smiled faintly through watery eyes. “This time I saw his face.” He closed his eyes. “His face — the skin — was tight. He had no hair. He didn’t have a nose, just two holes there. And he had red slits for eyes.” Gasps from at least three people reached his ears, and Harry opened his eyes. McGonagall looked shaken. “That was how he looked the last time we saw him.” They sat in silence for a few moments, until Mr Weasley spoke. “Harry, please tell the professor about the ending of the dream, if it’s not too much for you.” The boy’s blank expression and toneless voice returned. “After he killed my mother, he sent a green light towards me.” He looked at the professor. “I was in my crib. It hit my head here,” he touched his scar, “but it bounced off and hit him in the chest.” Harry placed his right hand in the middle of his own chest. “Before I passed out, I saw him explode and turn to mist. That’s it.” “Thank you for sharing that with me, Harry. I can only imagine how difficult that was. I’m very, very proud of you,” McGonagall said, again blinking rapidly. “So, he turned to mist. That’s very odd,” she said almost to herself. Becoming aware of the others again, she said, “This lends credence to Albus’ contention that . . . that . . .” the professor looked at Harry “Vol . . . Voldemort is still alive. A normal Killing Curse would not have turned him to mist.” Mr and Mrs Weasley nodded their heads, and the group sat in silence again. Finally, a questioning voice broke the stillness. “Professor, why did Voldemort try to kill me?” Four heads snapped up simultaneously. Ginny’s grip tightened dramatically, crushing his fingers together, then it relaxed just as quickly. Harry looked at her and was puzzled by an expression he had never seen before. He turned to Mrs Weasley and was shocked to see the same expression on her face. It’s . . . so strong . . . she had the same look when Dumbledore and McGonagall brought me here. It’s almost like she’d fight someone for me. The realization came out of nowhere and almost knocked the small boy off the bench. They . . . they want to protect me. Harry felt his insides swelling to the point where he was going to burst. They want to help me. They are the people my parents told me about in the dreams. Harry’s revelations were interrupted by the professor’s reply. “I don’t know why he tried to kill you, Harry. But I will talk to Professor Dumbledore about it, and one or both of us will contact you. Is that acceptable?” Harry was still reeling from the thoughts he had been having, but he had heard enough to respond. “Yes, th . . . thank you.” Arthur cleared his throat. “Minerva, I’m probably asking a lot, but Harry and Ginny put together a lot of questions for the headmaster. Would it be asking too much if you or he could address them, too?” “I don’t think that’s asking too much, Arthur. I’ll bring them up when I talk with Albus hopefully later today.” “Thank you, Minerva.” The professor looked at Ginny. “As much as I would like to stay here, I should return to school. Shall we put the charm on the journal before I leave?” “Oh, yes, that would be great!” Ginny got up from the bench and retrieved the journal. A few minutes later, it had been warded so only she could open or read it. “Happy Birthday, Miss Weasley. Enjoy the rest of your day.” She squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “I will talk to you soon about your questions.” “Thank you, Professor.” Mr and Mrs Weasley accompanied the witch inside, so she could Floo back to the school. As soon as the adults had gone in, Ginny started talking. “Wow! This has been some birthday. Didn’t I tell you that my brothers would get me exactly what they wanted? Ron loves food, so he gets me Chocolate Frogs. I get joke and pranking stuff from Fred and George — no surprise there. Percy, the bookworm, gets me a huge book. At least I got good stuff from my parents, Professor McGonagall, and especially you. All that parchment and all those different colours of ink and that beautiful quill. I’ve never had great stuff like that before, Harry, and I really like it. I didn’t expect you to get me something that nice. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I was so proud of you when you talked about that horrible dream again. I know it must be really hard to see that happen, especially now that you saw their faces. V . . . Vol . . . Voldemort sounds horrible, almost like a snake. That’s disgusting. I wonder what he did to himself to get that way. And he may still be alive. That’s scary. But despite that, this may have been my best birthday ever . . . mostly because of you.” Ginny finally took a breath and ducked her head, but she couldn’t hide the pretty blush that bloomed on her cheeks. Harry’s smile had grown increasingly wider the longer she had spoken with great excitement. Harry remembered Ginny doing this a couple of times before, but he was pretty sure she had broken her own record this time. He also noticed she was still tightly holding his hand. “So, you’ll write me at Hogwarts?” he asked. Ginny raised her head and grinned. “If you’re lucky, Mr Potter.” He grinned back. “Happy Tenth Birthday, Ginny.” “Thanks, Harry.” As soon as Minerva McGonagall arrived by Floo at her quarters at Hogwarts, she went to the Headmaster’s office. The door opened as she approached it, and a warm “Come in, Minerva,” greeted her. “How was Miss Weasley’s birthday party?” The witch sat down after transfiguring one of the overstuffed chintz chairs in front of the headmaster’s desk into a straight-backed wooden chair with no cushion. Albus Dumbledore held out an ornate candy dish. “Lemon drop?” McGonagall resisted rolling her eyes, saying only, “No thank you.” When Dumbledore returned the dish to its place on his desk, she continued, “While I was at the Weasleys to help celebrate Ginny’s birthday, the real reason I wanted to talk with you is to discuss Harry Potter.” The normally stern professor took a deep breath. “Albus, according to the boy — and I have absolutely no reason to doubt him — he has been dreaming about that Halloween Night for as long as he can remember.” “Oh, my.” The headmaster closed his eyes. Opening them again, the pain was obvious. “What did he say, Minerva?” The professor bit back the emotions that were rolling through her. “Last night, Harry saw exactly what happened that horrible evening.” Albus winced and shook his head. “He saw his parents’ faces for the first time. Previously, they had been obscured, and he wasn’t sure who he was seeing. Now that he has been told about that part of his history, he knew the two adults being killed were his parents. From Harry’s description, V . . . Voldemort . . .” and the witch continued with the description of what the Boy Who Lived had told her just hours earlier. “Albus, in this last dream, Harry saw V . . . Voldemort and described him perfectly. After using the Killing Curse on Lily, the monster tried to kill Harry. He actually remembers being hit by the curse.” She instinctively touched her forehead. “But he also remembers seeing it rebound and striking Voldemort in the chest. Harry said the body exploded and turned into mist.” The headmaster looked puzzled by the last statement. “Even a rebounded Killing Curse should have killed Tom, not turn him to mist. What could have happened to cause that outcome? Alas, I’m sure there is no simple explanation for that. Another topic to be considered. I’m afraid it doesn’t augur well for our world or for Harry Potter.” McGonagall sighed. “I thought you would come to that conclusion. I am afraid there is more, and it concerns you.” Albus’ eyebrows arched. “Up until this last dream when Harry saw Voldemort, he thought that person was you.” Dumbledore’s eyes widened in shock. “How could he think I killed his parents?” Minerva’s voice softened. “Albus, remember that Harry does not know many wizards. All he knew was that someone tall, slender and powerful was in that dream. You fit that general description.” She paused. “We both know he blames you for what happened at the Dursleys. It is not difficult to understand why a naive eleven-year old would jump to the conclusion that you were involved in other parts of his life. Regardless, it emphasizes the distance you have to make up with the boy.” She caught the headmaster’s eyes with a penetrating stare. “Albus, I strongly suggest we immediately address the myriad issues surrounding Harry Potter, or else we will have a mess on our hands when he arrives at Hogwarts.” The two educators discussed how best to answer the many questions Harry Potter either had asked or had written down, trying to strike a balance between complete disclosure and the amount of information the young boy could handle without returning to his mute shell or losing control of his temper and exploding again. By the time their discussion neared completion, the only light in the headmaster’s office was that provided by candles, as the sun had set hours earlier. “Albus, I beseech you to be as forthcoming as possible with the boy concerning his destiny. He already has grave concerns about you, especially the decisions that resulted in his parents dying and him being left with the Dursleys. Let me remind you that he now knows his parents sacrificed themselves for him and that V . . . Voldemort told Lily she needn’t die for him. That, in itself, demands honesty. Further, he asked me directly why Voldemort tried to kill him. He deserves a direct answer to that question. Harry knows there are too many missing pieces and has turned to us for an explanation to help him understand. He is a very perceptive young man, and I am certain he will not accept anything less than the full truth.” The headmaster closed his eyes and rubbed his temples to quiet the raging headache the discussion had brought on. When he finally spoke, his voice contained none of its usual confidence or power. “Minerva, I truly do not know what the best approach is. On the one hand, Harry is barely eleven-years old and the little social interaction he has had has been horribly negative. Yet he appears to both of us to have superior intelligence, a highly inquisitive mind, and startling magical power. I am afraid that I see our situation only as trying to determine which of these poor choices will be the least harmful to the child.” McGonagall sighed. “The four youngest Weasley children have already told Harry about the war, why he is famous, and the level of attention he should expect to receive at Hogwarts. Do we want to leave it to those five to try to figure out why V . . . Voldemort tried to kill Harry?” The professor paused and her voice took on a hard edge. “I have hesitated saying this, but I fear that you are close to completely losing the boy’s trust. Harry knows he is being treated differently than any other student. He needs to be told why. If you do not tell him, you may lose him completely.” “Despite your excellent points, Minerva, I am still opposed to telling Harry about the Prophecy at this point in his life. It would strip him of any remaining childhood, possibly have severe psychological and emotional ramifications, cause him to question the value of getting a broad-based magical education, and convince him to shun any social interaction. Can you imagine the impact of such a discussion? ‘Harry, you carry the hopes of the wizarding world you have just learned about against the darkest wizard in last half century.’ Then, I explain his fate — where only one of them can survive — is based on the one and only prophecy made by a witch most people think can’t see past the end of her nose. I’m sorry, but I cannot do that to the boy.” “Then what am I to do, Albus? Certainly, you do not want me to lie to the boy, for most surely I will not do that.” The witch’s voice turned bitter. “I had hoped you would have wanted to talk with Harry, to try to re-establish a relationship with him. Apparently I was overly optimistic.” Dumbledore briefly closed his eyes. “I will not consign Harry to a life whose only purpose is to become Tom’s killer. I will think more about this issue, as I do not want you to bear this burden alone.” McGonagall left without another word. “Hull o, lad.” Mr Weasley stood by the open door to Harry’s bedroom. “Would you like to hear another story about your parents?” A smile lit the boy’s face. “Yes!” He reached over from where he was sitting at the top of his bed and placed the second year Potions book on the desk. Mr Weasley took his usual place at the foot of the bed. “This isn’t a happy memory, Harry, but it does relate to the dream you had last night. Would you still like to hear it?” Harry hesitated and then settled back against the headboard with determination. “Yes, please.” “As you know, the times were dark. You Know Who had built up his forces . . .” “The Death Eaters?” “That’s right, Harry. They were becoming much more active in their, uh, actions, trying to destabilize the Ministry. The Ministry was not prepared for such a brutal war, so Professor Dumbledore assembled a group, which he called the Order of the Phoenix.” Harry furrowed his brow but continued to listen attentively. “Your parents, Mrs Weasley, I and a number of other people were members of the Order. Your parents were particularly irksome to You Know Who and his Death Eaters. Word got back to us that your Mum and Dad,” Mr Weasley looked sadly at the young boy, “well, they decided it was best to go into hiding. Professor Dumbledore cast a very complex charm that would hide them and you, but one of their friends told You Know Who where they were, which broke the charm.” “Who was that fr . . . friend, Mr Weasley?” The elder Weasley looked at his newest family member, startled by the blazing look in the boy’s eyes, which contradicted his quiet words. “Harry, we were all shocked to learn that it was someone everybody considered your father’s best friend, a man named Sirius Black. Lad, he is in Azkaban now.” When Harry looked confused, Mr Weasley clarified, “That is our wizarding prison. No one has ever broken out of it.” “And I know what happened after that,” the boy said almost to himself. Looking up, he said, “Serious is a strange name.” “Oh, it’s not ‘serious’ like the emotion. It is based on a star in a constellation — the Dog Constellation — and it’s spelt S-i-r-i-u-s but pronounced the same way.” “Oh.” Harry looked like he had mentally filed the name away. “Thank you.” “I don’t want to leave you with those thoughts, son. Let me tell you about the time the twins . . .” By the time Mr Weasley had finished several stories about the twins, Harry was smiling and had even laughed occasionally at their more outrageous antics. Mr Weasley smiled to himself about the change in the boy’s demeanour from the first story. “Goodnight, son.” “G’night, Mr Weasley.” The man started to say something, but then reconsidered. With a paternal smile, he slowly moved his hand towards the newest member of his family, stopping halfway between them. Harry closed the distance without hesitation and grasped the man’s hand, receiving a gentle squeeze in return. Mr Weasley smiled at the small boy. “Harry, don’t hesitate to come to our room tonight, if you need to. You’re not alone here. Okay?” Harry nodded. “Thanks, Mr Weasley.” Ginny sneaked downstairs when she saw her dad enter Harry’s bedroom. “Mum,” she said, entering the kitchen. “Dad and Harry are upstairs. Any luck on finding Harry’s pictures, stories, and memories?” A bright smile broke over Molly’s face. “Much better than I anticipated. Remus Lupin has been a gold mine of information. Several dozen people are now searching through their albums and boxes, looking for pictures and any other mementoes they may have. I’ve received several owls already, with photos, a few very old Daily Prophet articles, and two letters where the person wrote about James and Lily. Remus is collecting the pensieve memories. Professor Dumbledore has been kind enough to promise the use of his pensieve, so we can show the memories to Harry.” “When will we do that, Mum?” Ginny’s eyes sparkled. “Before Harry and the boys go off to Hogwarts. I want to show him here.” Ginny nodded. “It could be pretty hard on him. I know Harry would feel embarrassed if he cried in front of people. I still can’t believe he’s never seen a picture of his parents or himself.” Tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes. “To have the only memory of your parents be when they were killed is awful. Mum, it makes me so sad but furious at the same time, you know?” “Yes, I know, sweetie. You’re sad for Harry, the poor boy who never knew his parents and had to live with those awful relatives of his. And you are furious at the people who caused this. But you know something, Ginny?” The young girl looked at her mum with curiosity. “You are being a wonderful friend to Harry, and I know he appreciates everything you are doing.” Ginny beamed at her mum. As she closed the small distance between them, Ginny whispered, “He’s worth it,” and wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist. Her mum smiled and gently held her youngest child. “Yes, he is, Ginny.” A few moments later, they broke the warm hug. “I’m going to bed,” Ginny said, stifling a yawn. “G’night, Mum.” “Goodnight, sweetheart.” As Ginny reached the landing by her bedroom, she heard voices coming from Harry’s room. Dad and Harry are still talking, she thought. She considered knocking on the door and asking if she could join them, but quickly reconsidered, thinking she could be interrupting something important. Ginny crossed the hallway and entered her bedroom, whispering “Goodnight, Harry,” before she closed the door behind her. The Weasleys’ kitchen fireplace flared, revealing the floating head of Minerva McGonagall. “Molly?” Molly Weasley looked up from the table that sat across from the fireplace. “Good evening, Minerva,” she said, a puzzled and slightly apprehensive expression on her face. “Is anything wrong?” Even ten years later, late night fire calls immediately took her back to the last war and the troubling news these calls usually contained. “Oh, no. Sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to tell you about my conversation with Albus. Is Ginny around?” “No, she went up to bed a bit ago.” Molly’s eyebrows arched. “Your conversation with the headmaster just ended?” McGonagall sighed. “I’m afraid so. Albus is tremendously conflicted. He’s trying to do the very best he can for Harry, but he sees negatives to every approach we discussed. Albus is particularly concerned about the emotional impact telling everything would have on Harry. I think he truly wants to answer Harry’s questions, but he also does not want to send the boy back to his mute personality or chance another explosion of accidental magic.” “Where do we stand then? Harry has legitimate questions.” Molly’s voice betrayed a little tightness. “Indeed, he does, Molly. Albus is just trying to determine how much to tell Harry. He still has the boy’s best interests in mind, but he also has concerns about Harry’s ability to handle all of the information he has requested.” Molly frowned. “Albus promised me he would think carefully about this issue, and he or I will get together with you, Arthur, Ginny, and Harry once he has decided the best way to proceed.” Molly sighed. “Harry is making such wonderful progress. I just hope Albus realizes he does not have the boy’s trust at this point, and he could seriously jeopardize their relationship if he does not answer Harry’s questions truthfully.” McGonagall’s features softened briefly, accompanied by a faint smile. “I told Albus the same thing, Molly. We can only hope he realizes the seriousness of the situation.” McGonagall’s voice lightened. “Did you have any other questions?” “No. Thank you for keeping us updated, Minerva. I know you will let us know when you want to meet.” “That we will, Molly. Goodnight.” The professor’s head disappeared from the fire, leaving Molly sitting at the kitchen table with a very uneasy feeling. Mo ments after Mr Weasley left his room, Harry headed for the loo to brush his teeth and to get ready for bed, while Mr Weasley went upstairs. After completing his bedtime routine, Harry left the bathroom, but instead of heading towards his bedroom, the sound of intense voices, however, drew him down the stairs. Reaching the landing at the foot of the stairs, Harry easily identified the voices of Professor McGonagall and Mrs Weasley coming from the kitchen, though he had never heard the professor’s Scottish burr so strongly before. “. . . he also does not want to send the boy back to his mute personality or chance another explosion of accidental magic.” “Where do we stand then? Harry has legitimate questions.” “Indeed, he does, Molly. Albus is just trying to determine how much to tell Harry. He still has the boy’s best interests in mind, but he also has concerns about Harry’s ability to handle all of the information he has requested. Albus promised me he would think carefully about this issue, and he or I will get together with you, Arthur, Ginny, and Harry once he had decided the best way to proceed.” Harry could feel the heat raging inside of him. He turned angrily and sped up the stairs. He looked at Ginny’s door and shook his head. She’s probably asleep. I don’t want to wake her with my problems. Harry entered his bedroom, the heat rolling off his body and sending rivulets of sweat down his back. He swiped irritably at the moisture on his forehead. He’s still treating me like a mushroom. I can’t trust Dumbledore at all. He thinks I’ll either go mute or explode again. Is what he has to tell me that bad? Or does he just want to keep me in the dark? He never tells me anything. He just makes the decisions and expects me to go along without saying anything. That’s not going to happen this time. He frantically looked around the room. He knew his anger was close to overflowing, and he needed to do something that wouldn’t cause any damage to the Weasleys’ house. His eyes fell on the Potions book, and he Summoned it to him with a small gesture of his hand. Harry moved over to the bed, so he was standing next to the foot of it. He levitated the book up, almost to the ceiling, then jerked his arm down. Whomp! The book smashed against the mattress and bounced slightly. Harry raised his hand again, then brought the book down abruptly. Whomp! He thinks I can’t handle anything. He doesn’t trust me. Every decision Dumbledore has made has been horrible. Whomp! Sweat dripped down his forehead, matting his fringe. His shoulders, back, and chest were so moist his pyjama top stuck to him, making him feel claustrophobic. Whomp! The books on the desk tumbled to the floor, and the lamp moved to the edge of the desk, ready to join the books. A buzzing noise filled the room. Whomp! He’s doing it again. I won’t stand for it! Whomp! Whomp! Whomp! He turned at the sound of the door opening. “Harry?” |
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