To the most wonderful, enthusiastic, loyal, and supportive readers a fan fic author could ever hope for: Thanks, though that word is woefully inadequate, for your participation in the February DSTAs. You're too good to me, but I like it, so please don't stop.
My eternal thanks to cwarbeck for her 'CONSTANT VIGILENCE!' assuring the reading public that none of my obtuse descriptions or wonky sentence structures shall ever see the light of day. Now you know what she has to put up with!
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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: 340877; Chapter Total: 15523 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: |
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A bolt of sickly red light flew from the headmaster’s wand and collided with Harry Potter’s chest. The boy’s face went blank, and he slumped forward in his chair. Responding to the noise created by the explosion, Minerva McGonagall raced into the office, searching frantically, her expression appalled at the devastation to the office. Her disbelieving eyes landed next on the small boy, who was still slumped over in his chair, unconscious. Then, they moved to the headmaster, who was slowly lifting himself off the floor. Immediately ascertaining the boy was not in physical danger, McGonagall turned to the headmaster before she woke her student. “Albus,” demanded the witch, trying hard to control her fury, “what happened here?” The elderly wizard closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the witch. “I’m not sure, Minerva. I told Harry about his parents, their death, Voldemort, the war, why I placed him with his relatives, the protections I put in place, and the reasons behind some of my decisions on his behalf, when he literally exploded.” Minerva gasped. An incredulous look came over McGonagall’s face, her eyes hard and furious. “I can’t believe you told the child all of that. You let him go ten years knowing absolutely nothing, and then you proceed to tell him everything in one meeting. Albus, how could you?” The wizard’s eyes turned down to the scorched papers remaining on his desk. “I thought I was helping him.” McGonagall blinked several times, finally asking, “Did Harry pass out from magical exhaustion?” Dumbledore’s eyes rose briefly to meet hers, then turned downward again. “I Stunned him.” “You did what?” The Transfiguration professor’s voice rose with each word. “You Stunned a student, who just had his entire world turned upside down?” “Minerva,” the headmaster said, “his magic was out of control. I considered other spells, but I was concerned they could cause a magical implosion with Harry. I truly thought Stunning him was the most benign spell I could use.” McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. “Did you not consider a simple Calming or Cooling charm?” Albus looked at her blankly. McGonagall’s voice cracked like a whip, a mixture of outrage, concern, and disbelief. “Do you realize what you have done? You have driven him further into his shell, destroyed any chance for him to trust you, made it infinitely more difficult for any adult or authority figure to reach him, and you probably ensured he will be the focus of taunting and derision by his schoolmates.” Her voice rose an octave. “What were you thinking?” The Headmaster spoke slowly, “I thought it would be helpful for the boy to know what his history was, so when the other students started pointing, staring, and asking him questions, he would be prepared.” McGonagall interrupted, her eyes still heated. “Did you not consider that this information would contradict everything he had been told, and how he has seen himself over the past ten years?” Dumbledore shook his head slowly. “I thought we agreed he needed to know this information, Minerva.” The witch took a deep breath. “We did, but not in a single lecture. Albus, he’s a confused, barely eleven-year old boy, who just learned he’s a wizard and is recovering from a decade of mistreatment from his relatives.” Her voice took on a strident quality. “It was too much for him, and now I’m sure he identifies you with everything that has gone wrong in his life.” She stared at her colleague for a long moment. “There’s another potential problem. We knew he had huge trust issues before with men due to his uncle’s actions. They undoubtedly will be much worse now. I’m afraid you’ve just confirmed Harry’s worst fears about men.” Dumbledore breathed heavily, suddenly looking very weary. “What do you suggest?” She thought for several moments. “I will take Harry back to The Burrow. But first, I will Floo Molly and let her know of this latest problem. Oh, don’t give me that look, Albus. I won’t make you look bad.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid we may be back to square one with the boy.” McGonagall turned abruptly and walked over to the fireplace and made her Floo call to Molly Weasley. When the call was completed, the professor looked at the headmaster, her eyes still sparking. “I think it would be better if I talked with Harry in my quarters. The Burrow would most likely be too hectic and confusing. He would be better served if he can recover and get this . . . experience . . . out of his system prior to returning to the Weasleys.” “You are undoubtedly right, Minerva,” the headmaster replied in a tired voice. “I thank you for being such a great help to the boy and to me.” McGonagall nodded stiffly. “It is probably best that Harry not see you right now.” Dumbledore dipped his head in understanding. He walked over to the still unconscious boy and gently picked him up. McGonagall collected the Honeydukes candy bag and the sheets of questions. She thought for several seconds, then made a copy of the questions, and put them into a pocket in her robes, thinking they may be helpful in understanding what had happened. The two educators left the headmaster’s office and moved quickly and quietly down the hallway to McGonagall’s quarters. “He’s so small,” Albus whispered, remorse evident on his face. “I didn’t know how much to tell him, Minerva. Obviously, I erred on the side of not enough.” McGonagall offered, “Perhaps Harry would be better served knowing everything.” “A suggestion imminently worth considering,” her colleague replied. “But I have no idea how to tell an eleven-year old boy he has been targeted by the darkest wizard in the past fifty years.” “Albus,” Minerva said softly, “Harry will figure it out sooner or later on his own. It would be much better for him to hear it from you, and it would help to re-establish your credibility in his eyes. I’m afraid not to do so would destroy any chance you have to build a relationship with him.” McGonagall waved her wand to unlock the door, and Dumbledore carefully set the boy down on the couch in the small, red and gold decorated sitting room. Albus looked at McGonagall. “You are more than likely correct in your assessment.” He paused for a moment. “I will leave you, then. Would you let me know what happens once you return from The Burrow?” “Yes, of course, Albus,” the witch replied, looking from the headmaster to the small boy on her couch. The headmaster left without another word. McGonagall moved over to the boy. “Rennervate.” As soon as Harry’s eyes opened, he wildly looked around the room, eyes darting and narrowed until they became fiery slits. The temperature in the room began to climb. McGonagall kneeled next to the boy. “Harry,” she said softly, “please listen to me. Nothing will happen to you. May I help you to calm and cool down?” The boy looked warily at the witch for several long moments. Finally, he nodded. While she cast the spells, the professor explained, “Harry, we are in my quarters at Hogwarts. You are fine now, with no mental or physical damage. Once you are rested we will go to The Burrow. Is that alright with you?” McGonagall wasn’t sure whether Harry had heard her, because his face remained blank, as if he were lost in another world. Finally, his eyes turned towards her, and he nodded his head briefly, before returning to his previous vacant expression. McGonagall puzzled over the apparent lack of effect the Calming spell she had just cast had on the boy. “How do you feel, Harry?” He glanced up, almost as if he hadn’t realized she had spoken. His voice was so quiet she barely heard his question. “Wh . . . what h . . . happened?” The professor sighed, as she collected her thoughts. “Apparently, during your conversation with Professor Dumbledore his answers upset you,” she explained softly. “There was an incident of accidental magic, and the headmaster stopped it by Stunning you. He felt he had no other alternative.” Harry’s eyes flared, but they quickly returned to a dull grey green colour. “He knocked m . . . me out with a spell?” McGonagall couldn’t tell whether Harry was confused by what had happened or upset that the headmaster had Stunned him. “Yes, to stop the flow of magic and the damage it was doing to his office, Professor Dumbledore felt it necessary to Stun you — or as you stated, to ‘knock you out.’ I’ve checked you for injuries and thankfully found none.” The professor felt her breath catch, when the small boy began to rock back and forth, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest and shoulders. He looked isolated and devoid of emotion, though she knew the exact opposite was probably closer to the truth. Minerva intentionally cleared her throat, so her presence wouldn’t startle the boy. He looked up at her with the same dull eyes and expression she’d seen the first time at the Dursleys. She sat down on the couch next to him, disappointed that her proximity seemed to have no effect at all, telling her the boy had been numbed by this experience. Steeling herself so she wouldn’t feel any of the emotions that were boiling just below the surface, the professor asked, “Harry, may I put my arm around you?” His head had dropped down again, nearly resting on his chest. He lifted it part way up, but not enough to look into her face. She felt her breath grab her chest, not letting go until it became painful. His face looked so defeated, almost as if he couldn’t stand one more negative thing to happen to him. He finally shook his head and seemed to withdraw even further into himself. Her heart began to break when he slumped against the back of the couch, his eyes closed, his body pulled up in a tight ball. She knew the best course was to say nothing, hoping her student would talk when he was ready. While they sat silently, Harry thought of the confrontation with the headmaster. His mistakes killed my parents, either he killed them or that Voldemort guy did. I just can’t figure out why he would do that. All those dreams of the tall, skinny guy and the green light and screams were about my parents being killed. I wish I could see them better. Everything’s blurry, so I can’t tell what they looked like. If my parents hadn’t trusted Dumbledore, they wouldn’t have died, and I could be with them. Now, I’ll never know them, what they looked like or sounded like, never know anything about them . . . Dumbledore put me with the Dursleys and forgot about me. His explanations don’t make sense. I could have stayed with the Weasleys instead. That would have been so much better. Not as good as with my parents, but I’d know about magic and the wizarding world, not be as lost as I am now with all these new things. He doesn’t care about me at all. Why did he Stun me? When I was with McGonagall, she used a Calming charm, but Dumbledore knocked me out. What is he hiding? Why do these things keep happening to me? Did he kill my parents? Nothing else makes sense, otherwise he wouldn’t have hidden so much from me. I can’t trust him about anything. McGonagall doesn’t seem as bad as Dumbledore, but she’s with him, so I can’t trust her, either. I’m going to be expelled before I even start school. That’s why McGonagall is waiting, instead of sending me back to the Weasleys. I might as well get it over with. It’ll just be worse if I make her wait any longer. It always was with Uncle Vernon. Harry took several deep breaths, then opened his eyes and saw Professor McGonagall looking at him. She looks sad . . . and something else. But I can’t tell what it is. He whispered, almost as if he were talking to himself. “I am a freak. I almost k . . . killed Pro . . . fessor Dumbledore and d . . . destroyed his office.” Despite his words, his face remained devoid of any emotion, as if the explosion in the headmaster’s office had wrenched every last gram of feelings out of him. The professor replied in her softest voice, “Harry, you most certainly are not a freak. You’ve had to bear far more than any eleven-year old should. You just couldn’t take it anymore.” An idea took shape. “There is a good part to all this, you know.” He raised his head, his eyes having trouble focusing. “W . . . what?” “You’ve proven again that you will become a very powerful wizard. That was a remarkable bit of magic, Mr Potter.” A very small smile graced her lips. “We just need to teach you how to direct it a little bit better.” His eyes widened momentarily, and then resumed their dull sheen. “I’m not g . . .going to be ex . . . pelled?” “No! You will not.” Harry’s head jerked up at the strength of the professor’s response but just as quickly dropped again. “As I said, you were forced to deal with too much, too quickly. I know Professor Dumbledore feels responsible for what happened. I told him I would talk with you. That is why he is not here now.” The very odd couple sat on the couch for a while longer, not talking, their thoughts taking them in different directions. Professor McGonagall wondered if they had made a mistake having Harry come up to Hogwarts and talk with the headmaster so soon after being rescued from the Dursleys. I’m sure most, if not all, of the progress he made has been lost. I question if he will even be ready to attend Hogwarts at this point. I never considered that Albus would mishandle the meeting so badly. Not only has he lost Harry’s trust, we didn’t get a chance to show him most of the castle, where his classrooms are located, or introduce him to his professors. She sighed to herself. Maybe if he improves dramatically before September first, I can bring him up and show him around. While Harry’s expression remained blank, his mind continued to race. I wonder if I should go to Hogwarts. What else will Dumbledore do to me? I’ll have to watch him all the time. He’s even worse than Uncle Vernon. At least with uncle, I knew what he was going to do. Dumbledore is trickier. If I do come here, I’ll need to learn on my own, because I know he’ll tell me all the stuff he doesn’t want me to do. Why is he trying to run my life? I just can’t figure it out. Did he kill my parents and blame it on this Voldemort guy? But why would he want to kill them? Ice flowed into Harry’s chest. Oh God! He wants my money. Griphook said my Family vault is a lot bigger than my school vault, and the school vault has tons of money. McGonagall said they can get into my account. That could be it. I’ll be totally on my own if I go here. I’ve got to study harder at the Weasleys and learn everything I can. With that final, stabbing thought, Harry’s chest and stomach felt like they would explode. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, and he could feel his shirt sticking to his back. With alarm in her voice, the professor asked, “Harry, are you feeling alright?” He jumped at the sound, having forgotten the professor was sitting close by. He took several shuddering breaths before his nerves settled down. He finally looked at the witch and nodded briefly, not trusting his voice. McGonagall still looked at him with concern. “Are you ready to go back to the Weasleys’, then?” Harry looked like his mind was a million miles away, but he nodded, without emotion and stood up. “We can use my fireplace.” She scooped some powder from a red and gold plaid coloured bowl on the mantel. “Just say ‘The Burrow,’ Mr Potter.” She threw some of the powder into the fire and watched the small boy depart. Perhaps the Weasleys can help him overcome the damage done by Albus. Several seconds later, the professor followed her student. As soon as Harry staggered through the fireplace at The Burrow, he saw Ginny sitting on the couch. Her bright smile immediately turned to concern when she saw the expression on Harry’s face. “Okay, Harry?” she asked cautiously and quietly. Before he could answer, the fireplace flamed green, and Professor McGonagall entered the sitting room. “Harry, here are your questions and your bag from Honeydukes.” At first, the witch’s words didn’t seem to register with the boy, but after a few moments, he moved stiffly over to her and took the packages. He turned to go up the stairs but stopped and looked at Ginny. The two children stared briefly into each other’s eyes. Then, Ginny mouthed, ‘It’s okay,” and nodded her head. Harry walked up the stairs without another word. As soon as he entered the bedroom — he still couldn’t think of it as ‘his’ — he locked the door. Walking over to the desk, he laid the parchment and bag on top, went over to the bed, and lay down, curling in a ball and facing away from the door. Thoughts flashed through his mind like a lightning storm. Don’t think. Don’t feel. Don’t let him get to you. I need to figure out if I’m going to Hogwarts. McGonagall said I wouldn’t be expelled, but Dumbledore is the headmaster, so he’s the one who decides. I guess he’s not hurt. McGonagall would have said something if I’d hurt him. I wish I knew what I did. Ahhh! Stop thinking. Just calm down. The small boy focused on taking deep breaths and soon he had fallen asleep. Gin ny watched the professor, barely restrained curiosity reflected on her face and in her cinnamon eyes. When she saw the small girl’s expression, Minerva McGonagall softly expelled her breath. “Miss Weasley, let’s find your mother, and we can discuss what happened.” Ginny’s eyes brightened, despite her cloudy expression. “She’s in the kitchen,” and started walking in that direction. McGonagall followed her. “Molly?” Mrs Weasley’s head snapped up at the tired tone of the professor’s voice. “Is Arthur here yet? We probably should have him join us, if possible.” A worried look immediately covered Mrs Weasley’s face. “I’ll Floo him at the office.” Rushing over to the kitchen fireplace, she grabbed a pinch of powder, knelt down, and said, “Arthur’s Office” into the green flames. Seconds later Molly asked, “There’s nothing wrong, but is it possible for you to come home now? Minerva is here, and she wants to talk about Harry’s visit with Albus at Hogwarts.” There was a pause of several seconds. “Oh good! I’ll see you in a few minutes.” She turned, smiling, to the professor. “He’ll be right here. Would you like some tea?” The three witches had just started drinking their tea, when the kitchen fireplace flamed and Arthur Weasley stepped out. “Hello, everyone!” He greeted his wife with a kiss on the cheek and one on the top of his daughter’s head. After pouring a cup of tea, Arthur sat down and looked at Minerva. “I take it the visit wasn’t successful if you wanted me here.” Minerva smiled faintly. “I’m afraid you are right, Arthur.” She stopped and looked directly at Ginny. “Miss Weasley, as long as your parents agree, I think it would be helpful for you to hear what happened, since you appear to have the closest relationship with Harry.” Ginny blushed, as the professor looked at Arthur and Molly. They looked at each other for just a few moments, then turned back to the professor. Arthur spoke. “Minerva, we agree. Ginny should be included.” He looked at his daughter. “We know she will handle this information appropriately. Right, Gingersnap?” Ginny’s earnest expression was apparent to each of the adults at the table. “I’ll do anything I can to help Harry.” She looked at the three adults. “You should have seen his face when he arrived.” She shook her head. “It was like he was . . . lost, like when he first came here.” She looked at the professor. “What happened?” The professor gathered herself, seeming to sit even straighter in the chair. “As you know, we first went to Hogsmeade.” Surprisingly, the witch briefly smiled, as she looked at the two adults. “Rosie flirted with him, and I thought Harry was going to run out of the pub without opening the door.” Both adults smiled at the thought of Rosmerta embarrassing yet another first year Hogwarts wizard. Ginny’s eyes narrowed briefly, then her face resumed a more neutral expression. McGonagall continued. “We walked through the town, stopping at Honeydukes and Dervish and Banges. Harry was quite fascinated by the silver instruments like those Albus has in his office. I noticed that Harry is extremely perceptive as we went through the town and especially as we saw the lake and castle.” The professor stopped and looked at Ginny. “Miss Weasley, I am speaking much more openly than I normally would in front of someone your age.” Ginny nodded her understanding, and the professor continued. “I learned he is particularly fond of King Arthur, Merlin, and Camelot. We met Hagrid at the gate, which was an interesting experience for Harry. He very subtly kept me between Hagrid and himself at all times. “The castle was both a good and bad experience for him. The design and how it recalls the times of Arthur and Merlin were exciting, but the sheer size of the grounds and castle and the talk among the portraits were daunting for him. “I left him with Professor Dumbledore . . .” Three sets of eyebrows raced up their respective foreheads. Minerva sighed. “Yes, I know. In hindsight, I should have remained with Mr Potter and the headmaster, knowing that Harry had felt uncomfortable with him the last time they had a discussion. So, I am at least partly responsible for what happened.” “Minerva,” Mr Weasley asked softly, “what did happen?” The professor closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. “Harry lost control of his magic, sent the headmaster flying into the bookcase, and partially destroyed the office.” The professor looked at the three Weasleys and saw the same gobsmacked expression on each of their faces. Molly was the first to speak. “That small boy did something like that? How in Merlin’s name did he do magic that strong, and what did Albus do to cause the child to explode like that?” Ginny quietly spoke up. “He didn’t answer Harry’s questions, did he?” All three adults turned sharply towards Ginny, then the two Weasley adults looked at the professor. “Miss Weasley, unfortunately, you are correct. The headmaster was concerned about how Mr Potter would respond to some of the answers to his questions. As you know, some are very tragic. So, the answers he provided were . . . hmmm . . . not complete.” “And Harry knew it,” Mr Weasley added. “It appears that way,” the professor said. During the exchange, Molly had been wringing a dish towel in her hand, so it currently resembled a tightly wound pretzel. “So, Harry doesn’t trust Albus now. He’ll have to work hard to regain the boy’s trust.” “That’s exactly what I told him, Molly.” “Did he get a chance to walk around the castle and meet his teachers before all this happened?” Arthur asked, but his face indicated he already knew the answer. “I’m afraid not, Arthur. We went directly to the headmaster’s office. I’m thinking of bringing him back closer to the start of school, if . . .” “. . . if we all decide it’s best for Harry.” Molly finished the thought. “Exactly,” Minerva said quietly. All of them became lost in their thoughts. Molly got up and rewashed the already clean dishes that were air drying on the counter. She looked out of the window in front of the sink, not seeing anything, as she continuously rubbed a sponge around the plate in a circular motion. Ginny got up and started pacing, an intense look of concentration on her face. Her pace varied from slow, when her expression was especially focused, to quick when she looked angry. Arthur studied a drawing of a car he had made on a piece of parchment, repeatedly tracing over a line that formed the top of the rear bumper, and not noticing how much darker it had become compared to any other line on the drawing. Minerva McGonagall sat ramrod straight, occasionally sipping her tea and less frequently gesturing with her right hand, then shaking her head. Three comments were made with such precise timing they couldn’t have been more closely spoken than if each person had a stop watch in their hand. “He’s not ready to attend Hogwarts,” Molly said. “He needs to learn what family is and more about the wizarding world.” Molly’s statements were obscured by Minerva saying, “His relationship with the headmaster needs to be rebuilt.” Arthur’s comment went over those of the two adult witches. “We would be happy to work with him on anything he needs to know.” The three adults stopped and looked at each other, and Ginny said, “We need to talk with Harry about what he wants to do.” Voices from downstairs woke Harry shortly after he had fallen asleep. After listening for a short time, he quietly snuck down the stairs. He stopped at the foot of the stairs where he could easily hear the conversation. If his emotions could have taken on individual colours, he would have embarrassed a rainbow for being dull and monotonous. They’re talking about me again. Why didn’t they come and get me instead of talking behind my back? I thought I could trust Ginny and Mr Weasley. Why do I let people do this to me? Should I go to Hogwarts? Do I have to learn about magic? But if I decide I don’t want to learn, they’ll probably send me back to the Dursleys. I couldn’t do that now. Would the Weasleys just tell me to go away? Why did it get quiet? Did they hear me? Oh. The boy smiled to himself and started walking. “Ginny’s r . . . right.” Four heads snapped up and stared at the boy. “You should t . . . talk to m . . . me, not be . . . hind my b . . . back.” “Harry, dear.” Molly rushed towards the boy, but she stopped abruptly as if she had run into an invisible wall. “I’m sorry, Harry. I know better. Please join us at the table, and we can talk.” Ginny scooted over, leaving plenty of room for a Harry-sized person, and looked up at him. He immediately settled next to her. ‘Thanks,’ he mouthed. She smiled back. “Mr Potter, we wonder if it is appropriate at this time for you to attend Hogwarts.” When Professor McGonagall noticed Harry’s face quickly darkening, she added, “In no way would we dictate what you should do. Instead, we,” she gestured at all the others seated at the table, “are concerned that you have so many adjustments to make that you may be better served by waiting a year, learning about your magic, the wizarding world and your place in it while here at the Weasleys, and then enter Hogwarts next year.” Arthur spoke in his calm, even voice. “Harry, none of this is to say we don’t think you are capable, don’t have the necessary skills, intelligence, or anything else negative. It’s purely that you have a lot of challenges in front of you.” Harry stared at each of the four people seated around him. They need to know. They’re concerned. That’s all. I need to talk to them, not do what Dumbledore did and hold back. He took several deep, shuddering breaths. “I’m used to ch . . . challenges,” he said softly. “I n . . . never had any fr . . . friends. D . . . Dud . . . Dudley would hurt anyone who t . . . talked to m . . . me.” Both Molly and Minerva gasped. “I st . . . stopped t . . . talking so they wo . . . wouldn’t get hurt.” He turned and looked directly into Professor McGonagall’s eyes. “The tea . . . chers didn’t do any . . . thing.” Harry slammed his hand on the table, and the four people who had been focused on each of his syllables jumped in shock. Four sets of eyes flew to him to learn what was wrong. He squeezed his eyes closed, moisture evident on his forehead, his cheeks a blotchy red. “C . . . can’t t . . . t . . . talk,” he whispered in a rough voice. “It’s okay, Harry,” Ginny whispered but without moving closer to him. “We understand. Just take your time. We want to hear what you have to say. Talk to me if it’s easier.” After several deep breaths, Harry began speaking again, while looking at Ginny. “M . . . my relatives t . . . told the neighbours I was a ju . . . juv . . . juvenile delinquent.” He looked at each of the adults. “I’m used to this.” He returned his gaze to Ginny. “Hogwarts won’t be any harder.” Harry collapsed back in his chair, the energy drained from his body. “Please leave m . . . me alone.” He got up slowly and returned to his room upstairs. A lbus Dumbledore sat in his comfortable leather chair and absentmindedly fiddled with the papers on his mahogany desk, alone with his thoughts in his seventh-floor office in one of Hogwarts’ towers. I created this situation with Harry Potter through my ill-considered decisions. I am responsible for how the poor boy has turned out. No wonder he was so angry with me. The Dursleys’ mistreatment of the child was appalling, and I let it continue through my complete inattention. Even their son ridiculed Harry. I’ve got to do a better job, both for Harry and for James and Lily. I wish I could ask them how much they want me to tell their son. I desperately want to save what’s left of his childhood and his innate innocence, but I don’t know how I can do that and tell him everything. Minerva will provide good advice, I’m sure, as well as Molly, if I ask her. Perhaps, I should . . . The elderly headmaster sighed deeply and rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes briefly. The parallels between Harry and Tom Riddle are a concern. Both grew up essentially alone and in Muggle environments. Both knew they were somehow different and used their magic without knowing what it was. Both are extremely powerful wizards and very intelligent. I can’t see Harry embracing the Dark Arts, especially once he learns more about the circumstances surrounding his parents’ deaths. Still, I need to ensure he doesn’t go down that road. It could be tempting to him, with all he has gone through and with all he has yet to learn. Will I ever stop being haunted by what happened to my family? I’m sure Aberforth would say I’m repeating my earlier mistakes — if he would ever talk to me again. But how can I blame him? We still have so many issues to address. His fame in the wizarding world, the reception he can expect, especially from Slytherin House, becoming familiar with the castle and grounds, meeting his professors, the reasons behind what happened today, helping him get comfortable with his new world and using magic. Most crucial of all remains how much do I tell him about Voldemort and the Prophecy? Maybe I should talk with Minerva. As soon as Harry started to leave the kitchen, Molly moved quickly to intercept him. Her intention to smother the boy in a mothering hug was obvious to the remaining three. Arthur quietly said, “Let him go. He needs to be alone.” Molly stopped reluctantly, nodded her understanding, and waited until she heard the bedroom door close. “Minerva, what did Albus do to that child?” McGonagall pursed her lips, trying to determine how she could present what had happened in an objective manner. Unfortunately, she found it next to impossible, as her ire rose again just at the thought of the headmaster’s mishandling of the situation. “Harry, apparently, came to the meeting with the intention of asking a number of questions.” She paused and looked at Ginny, a curious expression spreading over her face. “Miss Weasley, did you help Mr Potter put these questions together?” The young witch explained, “We filled two pages.” She paused and looked at her parents. “Most of them were about Professor Dumbledore’s decisions about Harry.” The Transfiguration professor nodded. “That was a good idea, Miss Weasley. Or at least it would have been had the headmaster allowed Mr Potter to ask all of his questions.” She turned to Mr and Mrs Weasley. “From what Albus told me, he spoke at length about a number of topics, including . . .” She listed all the subjects Dumbledore had mentioned, noticing that with each addition to the list the Weasleys’ expressions grew more incredulous. “No wonder Harry exploded!” Molly said forcefully. “As your daughter knows, the majority of questions sought to give Harry an idea of where he fits into the wizarding world and the reasoning behind the decisions that have affected him. When he didn’t get a chance to ask these questions, or with the few he did, Harry felt he was not being told the complete story. His frustration with the headmaster ended up with the accidental magic incident.” Arthur suggested, “Then we need to help him learn about the wizarding world, its customs, and his place in it. We should not fight him in his desire to go to Hogwarts. He would feel the entire world was against him, and it could destroy the boy.” He looked at the three other people seated at the table. “I won’t do that to Harry.” McGonagall said softly, “I agree with you, Arthur.” She looked around and both Molly and Ginny nodded their heads. “Good. I will take him to school towards the end of August, so he can find out where his classrooms are located and meet his other professors. I also will suggest to him that he read the opening few chapters in each text book. Maybe I can schedule a few practice sessions for him and Ron, so they can learn to cast some of the easier spells.” Ginny smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Harry has finished Charms already and is halfway through Transfiguration.” The three adults stared at her. Finally Molly said, “We need to make sure he is around people, not alone in his bedroom all day. Ginny, can you make sure he gets together with Ron and the twins?” Ginny smiled enthusiastically. “Getting them to fly and play Quidditch is probably the easiest way. Harry is a fantastic flyer. He amazed us the first time he got on a broom.” The professor’s face lit up with excitement before quickly returning to her usual stern expression. Still, her eyes remained bright. “He could make a good Seeker, perhaps. We lost ours to graduation.” Arthur and Molly both laughed, and Molly said, “We’ll encourage that. You better hope he lands in Gryffindor, Minerva.” The professor’s reaction was priceless and told the three Weasleys she had already assumed Harry would be sorted into her house. She tried to look more neutral but failed and finally laughed softly. “I never considered that he would not be in my house.” She looked at Ginny, then Arthur and Molly. “I’m sure you understand.” Both adults nodded. Arthur filled in the smiling silence. “I have already promised Harry that I would tell him a story each night about his parents.” Arthur shook his head. “He knows nothing about them. I thought it was the least I could do.” Ginny shook with barely suppressed energy. As soon as her dad had finished speaking, the words tumbled from her mouth. “Could we find pictures of his parents, maybe even some of Harry when he was a baby?” Molly smiled. “That’s an excellent idea. We may even have some in the attic, and I would imagine we could send word out to others who knew Lily and James.” McGonagall began to list possibilities. “Elphias Doge, Alastor Moody perhaps, Aberforth Dumbledore. Kingsley knew James and Lily, and Amelia may have something from Edgar. Oh, and Augusta Longbottom.” Both Molly and Arthur nodded sadly. “Even Hagrid may have something.” Molly had been writing the names down, as Minerva remembered them. “I’ll follow-up. We can put an album together.” Arthur smiled. “Remus Lupin could be a treasure chest of pictures and memories . . .” He paused, an excited expression overtaking his face. “Pensieve memories. Remus could have hundreds of them. I’m sure the others would, too.” He looked hopefully at his wife. “I’ll ask about those, too, and add Remus to the list. Let me know if you think of anyone else.” “Harry doesn’t have any other relatives?” Ginny asked. The professor answered her. “No. His father’s parents were killed by Death Eaters about mid-way through the first war. James and Lily arrived too late to save them, but they were able to capture the three Death Eaters who committed the crime. Lily’s parents died not long after Harry was born. I’m not sure how that happened, since they were Muggles. James was an only child, and of course, you know about Harry’s Aunt Petunia.” “Well, this is excellent,” Arthur said. “What else can we do for Harry?” “If we are successful with all of these efforts, they should be very helpful to Harry.” McGonagall paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. “That would leave only his relationship with the headmaster.” Arthur and Molly both realized that due to Ginny’s presence the professor had stopped short of mentioning the time and effort it would take to repair the damage done to the relationship between the two wizards. “Well, I should be going. I do have another conversation that awaits me.” The witch’s eyes turned hard, but quickly softened when she addressed the three Weasleys. “Thank you for your help. Please keep me advised, and I will do the same.” She reached into her robe pocket. “Here is the Hogwarts invitation. Mr Potter may wish to keep it with his mementos.” She handed the envelope to Mr Weasley. As the professor started walking towards the fireplace, Molly said, “Don’t forget about Ginny’s birthday on the eleventh.” McGonagall smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it. I will see you then.” She tossed the powder into the fireplace, called out “McGonagall’s Quarters, Hogwarts,” and disappeared in a flash of green flames. Har ry saw Mrs Weasley moving towards him as he walked out of the kitchen after the discussion about Hogwarts. He didn’t want to be obvious about staying away from her, but even more, he did not want to be enwrapped in one of her smothering hugs. It would just be too much, and he could feel his skin crawling at the thought of being stifled like that. Harry exhaled the breath he had been holding when he saw her stop, eliminating his need to speed up or position himself so something blocked her from him. He didn’t dislike Mrs Weasley. He just didn’t feel comfortable being that close to anyone. For some reason he wasn’t aware of, being hugged by her just didn’t feel right at this time. He went up the stairs, entered the bedroom, and locked the door. Harry sagged onto the bed, oblivious to everything around him, except his aching stomach and dull headache. He curled in a tight ball to try to calm his stomach pains. Every other part of his body was numb, until his inevitable thoughts began. I can’t believe what I did in Professor Dumbledore’s office. I don’t even remember doing it. I just got mad, and then everything was exploding and Dumbledore hit the bookcase. The next thing I knew I was in Professor McGonagall’s office. I can’t believe they aren’t expelling me for doing that. I’ve got to be really careful with this magic, so I don’t hurt anyone. Do other wizards have this problem? Harry’s head began to spin, and for a moment he felt like he was going to throw up. Sweat dripped slowly down his forehead, and he could feel the bedspread getting damp by his head. I’ve got to calm down. I can’t have another one of those attacks. He tried to breathe more slowly, concentrating on taking each breath deeply into his lungs. Finally, the prickly heat that had enveloped his body began to dissipate, and he felt a bit calmer. I’ve got to learn all about magic since I’m so far behind everyone else. I can’t believe Dumbledore kept me away from the wizarding world until now. He’s really tricky. He didn’t lie, but he didn’t answer my questions. I’ve got to find out why he’s done all these things to me. The small boy snorted. If I got by the Dursleys for ten years, I can do this, too. Harry got off the bed and walked to the desk, pulled the Transfiguration book off the top, sat down on the bed with his back against the headboard, and began to read the text and wandlessly practice the transformations being discussed. A light knock on his door interrupted Harry as he studied. “Harry? Time for dinner . . . Are you awake?” Instead of answering, Harry got up, went to the door, and unlocked it. He found Ginny staring at the door knob, then she looked up at him, both eyebrows arched in an unasked question. “I’m okay,” he answered in a whisper. The two children silently descended the stairs, both skipping over the squeaky third step. When they reached the foot of the stairs, Ginny continued towards the table, but Harry immediately stopped, feeling six pairs of eyes turning to look at him. Harry’s eyes swept from left to right and saw a mixture of curiosity and concern on each face. A small spike of adrenaline shot into Harry’s system, and his first impulse was to run from the kitchen and the people staring at him. Ginny stopped as soon as she sensed Harry was no longer next to her. She turned back and gestured for him to sit in the open space next to her. The casual conversation among the Weasleys had stopped when Harry entered the kitchen and an uncomfortable feeling spread throughout the normally cheerful room. Mrs Weasley looked like she wanted to rush over and hug the small boy but was fighting her natural tendency. Mr Weasley broke the tension with a soft, “Join us, lad. You must be hungry.” A paternal smile accompanied his invitation. His words eased the tension, and the other Weasleys returned to their conversations. Mrs Weasley brought the platters containing the food for the meal. Ginny remained standing and extended her hand towards Harry. He followed it, pulled as if by a magnet, and the two children sat down next to each other. Mrs Weasley put a plate in front of Harry that held more food than a week’s rations at the Dursleys. He looked up at her, and she wordlessly smiled back at him, nodding her head. This isn’t the Dursleys. Stop acting like it. “Th . . . thanks, Mrs Weasley.” “You’re welcome, dear,” Mrs Weasley said, as the other member of the family started attacking their food with their usual gusto. Whether intentional or not, no one asked Harry any questions, until dinner was over. As Harry placed his dishes in the sink, George asked, “We’re going to fly in the paddock area. Want to come?” Harry looked at Ginny. She shook her head and mouthed ‘Go on.’ He looked at her questioningly, but she nodded, indicating it was okay. “S . . . sure,” he replied. The four boys stopped first at the shed and pulled out the four best brooms, then headed toward the paddock area. “Remember how to fly, Harry?” Fred smirked at him. “We could give you another lesson,” George continued. “Or you could give us one,” Fred finished. Ron snorted, and Harry shook his head, wondering if he’d ever get used to the twins. When they reached the grassy field, the boys kicked off, and Harry felt the tension drain from his body. He thought a silent, ‘Woo Hoo!’ and took off at a 45 degree angle until he was even with the tallest tree tops, then he levelled off and looked around. To the east he could see the tops of some of the taller buildings in the nearest town, Ottery St Catchpole. The church spire was the most prominent and easily the tallest structure in the village. Sweeping his eyes north, he could see parts of a stream that meandered by the property and then rolling hills extending beyond that. Curving the Cleansweep so he was facing west, Harry quickly shut his eyes as the lowering sun came into his field of view, and continuing his circle route revealed more trees with some higher hills beyond them. Harry wondered if the Weasleys had any idea how great it was here, especially when compared to the regimented conformity of Privet Drive. With a smile to himself, Harry pointed the broom downward and leaned flat against it, so he could accelerate rapidly. He loved the feeling of the broom responding to his every wish. But there was something beyond that, something inside him that knew what to do and when. As the ground rushed toward him, Harry counted down the time before he had to pull out of the dive, ‘five, four, three, two, one . . . pull up.’ He straightened up quickly from his prone position over the broom, pulling it up until he was sitting perpendicular to it. Briefly glancing at the ground, Harry could see his feet were within several centimetres from the grass, and a warm feeling flooded his body. Sound returned with a roar, as he heard the three Weasleys yelling enthusiastically. Harry looked over and saw them hovering about seven metres off the ground. Each had a wide grin and their eyes shone brightly. “Woo Hoo!” Ron yelled. “Potter perfectly pulls a Wronski Feint,” George announced. “Ploughing the other Seeker into terra firma,” Fred added. Harry brought the broom over to the three brothers. Ron moved his arm to pat Harry on the shoulder, but held up as Harry stiffened and started leaning away. Ron’s arm quickly dropped to his side. George jumped in to eliminate the awkward silence. “Don’t know how you do it, Harry.” “It’s like the broom’s a part of you,” Fred added. “Let’s play two-a-side Quidditch,” Ron proposed, eliminating the need for Harry to respond to the twins’ comments. Two hours later, the four boys landed, tired and sweaty, but smiling. As they walked back to the shed to return the brooms, the twins kept up their usual constant chatter. At first, all the noise and activity annoyed Harry, but then he noticed Ron’s calm appearance and watched him more closely. Ron didn’t ignore the twins, but he also didn’t pay much attention unless a question was directed at him. That’s probably the best way to treat the twins, otherwise they’d drive you nuts. If I can learn to ignore them like Ron does, so they don’t get to me, it’ll make it easier to be around them. “Gentlemen,” Fred used a pompous voice, “my brilliant twin and I have a previously scheduled appointment.” “So, as much as it grieves us to leave your convivial company, duty calls.” As soon as the words were out of George’s mouth, the twins disappeared up the stairs. “Mental, those two,” Ron muttered. “Wanna play chess?” Harry nodded his head and followed Ron into the sitting room. Three games and three crushing losses later, including a chorus of complaints from his players, Harry waved off a fourth game. “S . . . study.” Ron’s eyes immediately widened, but he bit his tongue and didn’t say what he was thinking, instead opting just to thank Harry for the games, even though he wasn’t much competition. The mid-summer sun had set and shadows grew both outside the house and within Harry’s bedroom. He had studied four more chapters when he heard a light knock on his door that he associated with Ginny. He opened the door and confirmed the presence of the petite red head, already in her pyjamas, with the same light blue-coloured robe Harry had seen before, and a hopeful smile on her face. “May I come in?” she asked. Harry opened the door wider in response. Ginny walked straight to the bed and perched in her usual spot at the end. Harry sat at the top with his back against the headboard and looked expectantly at the young witch. Ginny ducked her head, then raised it and looked directly at Harry. “Mum and Dad said to leave you alone, to let you come to us if you wanted to talk.” She tried but couldn’t stop a sharp laugh. “I figured you’d never do that,” Harry’s eyes widened considerably, “so I decided to come and see you.” Ginny’s expression changed from smiling to serious. “I know something happened. Whenever you want to talk to someone, I’ll be here. Don’t feel you have to talk to me or anyone else now. Just don’t think you’re all alone anymore. We’re not perfect. We make mistakes.” She snorted in a very unladylike manner. “Everyone does. But we won’t hurt you. Harry, everything will be easier if you can let us in. You’re not alone anymore. Please think about that. Okay?” Harry nodded his head slowly. How does she know this? I don’t want to talk now. I’m not even sure how I feel about all of this, maybe when I do. Then another thought hit him. “Why di . . . didn’t you w . . . want to fly?” Ginny sighed. “I’ve been asking and my wonderful, protective brothers keep saying no. I didn’t want you to get in the middle of that. It’s been going on for a couple of years, since Ron started learning.” A sneaky looked crossed her face. “There are other ways, you know.” When Harry looked confused, she added, “Maybe I’ll tell you later,” and she smiled mischievously at him. Ginny continued to talk for about half an hour more, content with Harry nodding or making one-word comments when appropriate. Finally, she said, “Well, time for me to go to bed.” She bounced off the bed, but instead of walking towards the door, she moved closer to Harry. “You’re not alone, Harry,” she whispered. He nodded. “I’ll be in my room if you want to talk.” As Ginny reached the door, his soft words reached her. “Thanks, Ginny . . . for everything.” She smiled at Harry as she left the room. Her smile got even bigger when she didn’t hear the lock click. Harry read two more chapters from the Transfiguration book and practiced the spells, all the while smiling to himself about Ginny’s visit. After brushing his teeth and washing his face, Harry returned to the bedroom. Just as he was getting into bed, another knock on the door stopped him. Harry put his robe back on and opened the door to find Mr and Mrs Weasley standing there. He opened the door wider, so they could come in. “Harry, I wanted to see if you’d like to hear a story about your parents, as I had promised,” Mr Weasley said. “It’s your decision, lad. I’ll understand if you’re not up to it tonight.” Harry paused and focused on the floor midway between the man and himself. He already knew that he did not want to hear any stories about his parents. He just wanted to go to bed, to be left alone, but he didn’t want to be rude to Mr Weasley. He finally looked up and shook his head. Mr Weasley smiled. “I understand, Harry. Tomorrow night, then. Goodnight, lad.” “Oh, I almost forgot. Professor McGonagall left your Hogwarts acceptance letter with us. She thought you might want it as a memento. I’ll just put it on your desk.” He walked the few steps to the desk and put the envelope on top of the Transfiguration book. Before he turned to leave, Mr Weasley slowly stretched his hand out towards Harry, a warm, almost paternal, expression on his face. Harry froze, staring at the arm moving directly at him. He looked at the man and gasped as he saw the face of Vernon Dursley with his eyes narrowed and his face beet red with anger. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat when his uncle’s face was replaced by the grandfatherly Albus Dumbledore. His eyes, instead of twinkling, were cold, hard cobalt. He carried a wand in his hand, and crimson sparks danced off the end. Harry tore his gaze from the sparks only to find their colour was now shown in the eyes of the man he now knew was Voldemort. His arm was pointed directly at Harry, and the tip of his wand glowed with that sickly green light. Instead of hearing the fateful words, though, the arm started moving back. A second later, the wand disappeared, and Harry Potter looked into the confused and worried eyes of Arthur Weasley. Harry felt like his body was going to collapse. He had been a split second away from running as fast as he could, and the adrenaline was still surging through his blood stream. Now, he felt his pyjama top clinging to his sweat-soaked body, and moisture trailing down his forehead and onto his cheeks. His head pounded so hard his eyes hurt and made his stomach feel queasy. Mr Weasley cleared his throat. “Did I scare you, Harry?” The boy shook his head. “Are you alright? You look like you saw a ghost.” “F . . . f . . . fine,” Harry finally gasped out, his throat feeling rough and sore. “Did you want me to stay with you a while? We don’t need to talk.” Harry again shook his head. “Okay, then, lad.” Mr Weasley slowly kneeled, making sure not to move closer to Harry, and whispered. “If you need to talk or just be with someone, you can come up to our bedroom any time tonight. Wake me up if you have to. Okay, Harry?” The boy nodded his head rapidly, his heart still beating wildly. “Alright, then. Goodnight.” “’Night,” the boy whispered. “Sweet dreams, Harry dear,” Mrs Weasley added. He nodded, then waited until they left, locked the door, and curled up on the bed in a tight ball, trying to forget the images of the three men he had seen in Mr Weasley’s place. The size of the bed seemed to grow, and the boy looked around the room to find it now appeared to be huge to him, making him feel small and insignificant. The moonlight poured through the open window. But instead of the usual warmth and brightness the boy enjoyed, it looked cold and created ever-changing shadows that moved towards the boy, and then retreated. The honeysuckle blossoms were open, and the light breeze sent the sickeningly sweet fragrance into the room. The boy’s stomach lurched as the smell hit his nostrils. He couldn’t stay in that bed, in that huge room that wasn’t his. Harry grabbed his pillow and a blanket off the bed and searched the room. His eyes sought and found the one place he knew he would be comfortable. He walked over, cleared a space, and lay down, closing the wardrobe doors behind him. Curled in a small ball, the boy eventually fell asleep. |
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