Thanks to cwarbeck for again keeping this story focused and not letting me stray too far off the path, while allowing me to play a bit with canon.
Speaking of which, events in this chapter prompt me to repeat a comment from the story summary: 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.
For the first time in the story, we have very little interaction between Harry and the Dursleys, though I'm sure they will still irritate most people.
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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: 340858; Chapter Total: 19570 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: |
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“You!” From his cupboard, Harry could hear the shock and anger in his aunt’s exclamation, as she confronted the person who had rung the doorbell and was now standing on her front porch. “Yes, it is I, Petunia. May I come in?” The qualities inherent in the man’s voice startled Harry, as he focused on the conversation. The tone conveyed power but also kindness, intelligence, and a feeling of calmness. Harry was intrigued, because he had not sensed these qualities from any man he had met before, but there also was a feeling of disquietude he didn’t understand. “No! Go away!” An edge of panic was evident in his aunt’s few words. Harry imagined her looking over the man’s shoulders to ensure the neighbours weren’t listening to this exchange. “Petunia,” the man calmly replied, “you knew I’d be returning at this time. Besides, you don’t want someone like me standing on your front porch for too long, do you?” Harry couldn’t help but smile at the man’s implied threat, but quickly wondered how the man would know that much of the Dursleys’ behaviour was governed by the opinions of their neighbours. “Okay,” his aunt said in frustration. “But you can’t stay long. We don’t want your type here. He doesn’t know about you and your kind.” Two questions quickly formed in Harry’s mind. What did his aunt mean by ‘your type’ and who was she referring to when she said ‘He doesn’t know . . .?’ “Where is Harry?” “He’s, ah, well.” His aunt’s voice took on a strident quality. “He’s in there.” Harry knew she was pointing at the cupboard. “Petunia, why is Harry locked in a small cupboard?” The power, this time tinged with anger, sent a chill down Harry’s spine. Who is this man? Flustered, his aunt replied, “He likes it in there. He’s not very social, you know.” “Let me see him, please.” The familiar sound of the deadbolt being unlocked, then the wash of light assaulted Harry’s senses, and his eyes squinted in reaction. A shadowed figure reached a long arm covered by a shiny purple sleeve and ending with long fingers on an elegant hand into the cupboard. Harry recoiled into the furthest corner. A remarkable, but aged, face peeked in, searching for and finding the boy. “Please, dear boy, come out. I wish you no harm. I have matters to discuss with you.” The elderly man’s intelligent blue eyes twinkled, as Harry fought an internal battle. Who is this old guy? Why is he dressed that way? He just wants to get me into the hall, so he can hurt me. But if he wanted to, he could have come into the cupboard and I wouldn’t have had any chance to escape. Aunt Petunia is afraid of him. That can’t be bad. His voice has a lot of good qualities, and I can’t feel anything threatening coming from him. I’ll listen to what he has to say, but I need to watch him. These thoughts raced through Harry’s mind in a matter of seconds, as the man watched him with keen interest. Harry finally nodded his head, and the man moved back to give him enough room to exit through the small closet door. Harry was not prepared for his first full view of the man. He had to look up, as the man was quite tall. He was extremely old, but Harry felt a youthful exuberance emanating from him. A long, silver grey beard competed for attention with his equally long silver grey hair. Most strangely of all, the man was wearing purple robes that looked almost like a dress, and it was covered by silver stars, planets, and moons that moved randomly about the fabric. Harry stood stock still and stared at the man, his eyes wide and his mouth open. The man smiled. “I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Inside, Harry started laughing, but quickly stopped when he realized he knew no one who would pull such a delicious joke on him as this. The man looked, acted, talked, and was dressed like Merlin in the Camelot stories he had devoured. Harry’s face betrayed no emotion, as his mind raced, trying to figure who this man was and why he wanted to talk with him, Harry Potter, a nobody. What’s this guy up to? “Come, Harry, let us move into the sitting room, so we can talk and get to know each other.” The man’s soft words contrasted with the hard, searching look he gave Aunt Petunia. The man reached out a hand toward Harry’s shoulder, as if to guide him toward the sitting room. A grunt escaped Harry’s lips, as he quickly moved out of the man’s reach. He noticed a curious expression on the man’s face. Harry sat on the usually forbidden couch, while the tall, slender man folded into Uncle Vernon’s favourite chair. He looked at Harry for several seconds before speaking. “I would imagine you are shocked by my presence and appearance and wonder why I want to talk with you. Am I right, Mr Potter?” Mr Potter? No one’s ever addressed me like that. He’s had chances to hurt me and hasn’t. He’s really old. If he starts at me, I’ll be able to outrun him. The boy nodded his head, all the while staring at the grandfatherly looking man, whose eyes had been casually examining the boy from head to foot. He smiled. “Excellent! Where to start?” he said almost to himself, then he brightened. “Perhaps, it would be most productive if I asked you some questions, then I can ascertain what types of information to provide you. Does that meet with your approval, Mr Potter?” The boy’s nod was so quick, so slight, a less observant person would have missed it. “Good,” the man replied with a smile, his eyes twinkling again. “Do you know much about your parents or your life before you arrived here?” Harry’s heart constricted and his stomach immediately became upset. He took a deep breath, not understanding why he had reacted like that. He looked warily at the man and shook his head briefly. The man’s expression softened, having seen the boy virtually curl into himself, a painful expression on his face. “I’m sorry, Harry, did that question startle you?” The boy just shrugged. “Let me ask another question, then. Has your aunt or uncle spoken about your mother or father, told you about your time with them, or how you came to be here?” Harry’s eyes widened with each question. He could feel himself becoming numb, like he was trapped within himself. Something began boiling inside him, but he had no clue what it was. He noticed an alarmed expression on the man’s face. I really don’t like this Headmaster. Before he exploded, Harry blurted out, “Th . . . they dumped me here.” The boy’s voice sounded rusty, as if it hadn’t been used often. Dumbledore’s eyes glinted menacingly, but quickly returned to normal. “You were told your parents abandoned you?” The boy nodded slightly, curious about the old man’s reaction. The headmaster’s face hardened for a second before it melted back into its usual soft expression. Then, he did the oddest thing. “Petunia, please come in here. I know you’re standing behind the hallway wall, listening to our conversation.” His Aunt Petunia slowly entered the room, with a blazing, yet embarrassed look on her face. “He knows nothing?” Dumbledore asked. His aunt vehemently shook her head. “We won’t have that freakishness in our house.” Then, she turned abruptly and went up the stairs. Harry could hear her enter her bedroom and slam the door closed. The man suddenly looked much older, as he heaved a sigh. “Oh my.” He sat, thinking for what seemed like several minutes, finally reached a decision and began to speak again. “Harry? Oh, may I call you by your given name?” The boy shrugged his shoulders. “Thank you. If you like, you may call me Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster, Sir, or you barmy old codger.” The man laughed at the last moniker. “As you might have figured out already, I run a school for young people, special students like you, Harry.” A look of terror spread over the boy’s face. It’s true. I’m being sent to The St Brutus School for Criminally Insane Boys. I knew I couldn’t trust him. The feeling of fear, mixed with anger, returned. The boy became vaguely aware that objects had started to shake around him — books, pictures, lamps, bric-a-brac — even the couch was vibrating. Instantly, the Professor was next to him. “What’s wrong, dear boy?” His voice was soft but laced with concern. He reached out to reassure the boy, but Harry recoiled so fast he had moved to the other side of the couch before the man realized it. The man’s shoulders, in fact his entire body, sagged at the sight. “I won’t touch you, Harry. I will never hurt you, my boy. I realize you don’t believe me at this point, but that is my promise to you, and I never break my promises.” Dumbledore stood up. “Will you allow me to go up and speak with your aunt? There are a few things I need to understand. May I do that, Harry?” Despite having an overwhelming feeling of foreboding about this man and what he wanted to talk about, the boy nodded briefly and curled up on the couch, as the stranger walked slowly up the stairs. “Petunia, we need to talk.” “No!” a muffled voice responded. “Go away. You’re not welcome here.” The Professor shook his head, tried and found the door locked, and whispered, “Alohomora.” Walking into the bedroom, he ignored the woman’s shocked look. “You’ve mistreated the poor boy. Why, Petunia?” Terror quickly turned to anger, as she spat out her response. “We never wanted him. We didn’t ask for this, especially a boy like him, from . . . them. Lily never asked us. You didn’t ask. We’ve never wanted him here. We do not want people like him and you around us. It was bad enough with Lily and James.” “Who are Lily and James?” Standing in the bedroom doorway, the boy looked puzzled, wondering how they were like him. Sadness rolled off Dumbledore as he studied the boy, then he stared at Petunia. “He doesn’t even know his parents’ names?” Petunia’s guilt threatened to overwhelm her, but then her anger flared. She tried several times to say something but failed. She ended up only shaking her head. Dumbledore turned to Harry. “Let’s go back downstairs, my boy. We have many things to discuss.” But before leaving the bedroom, the Professor said, “Petunia, I am going to leave after I’ve talked with Harry for a while longer. But I will be back tonight, with an associate, after Vernon has returned from work. We will get to the bottom of this.” The wizard turned so quickly, his robes whipped around his torso. “Come, Harry, let us talk,” and he gestured for Harry to proceed him down the stairs, including the squeaky step, fifth from the top. Once they were seated, Harry back on the couch and Dumbledore in Uncle Vernon’s chair, the Headmaster began. “As you may have surmised from my question to your aunt, Lily and James were your parents. You didn’t know their names?” Harry shook his head. A second thought startled the Headmaster. “Have you ever seen a picture of them?” Another negative response. The Headmaster said softly, “You look just like your father, but your eyes are exactly like your mother’s. I imagine you’ll hear those comparisons quite often, once you are around people who knew them.” A wave of longing crashed over the boy. Stop it! he thought. How could I miss people I never knew? I’m being a baby. “Harry, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. The reason you’ve lived with your relatives all these years is because your parents died when you were a baby.” Harry’s world exploded around him, everything began to turn a bright silvery colour that obscured the man, the furniture, the room itself. The boy felt like he was free falling down an endless chasm. They died? How? Why? Why didn’t anyone tell me before? His thoughts slammed to a stop. Did my relatives know and not tell me? Dumbledore knows. Why didn’t he tell me? Who decided to leave me with the Dursleys? The last thought nearly paralyzed him. I’ll never get to see them now. A wave of exhaustion swept over him. The boy’s breathing became fast and swallow, until he forced it back to a normal rhythm. The Headmaster had observed his reaction, knowing at some point he would need to bring up everything that was special about the boy, his family, and the world he would soon re-enter. After the boy had settled down, the wizard asked, “Harry, would you do me a favour?” The boy nodded slowly, wondering what he could possibly do for this man. “Please look at the flowers on the lamp table next to you.” The boy did. They were wilted, yet he knew they had been fine when they walked into the room. He looked at the Headmaster, confusion evident on his face. “Please understand what I’m about to tell is not a criticism. I’m not upset with you.” Harry gazed steadily at the wizard, then nodded his understanding. “Your emotions, the sadness you were feeling about your parents, caused the flowers to wilt. But there’s no need to worry yourself about it.” The Headmaster’s last words were ignored, as Harry’s mind went directly to the consequences of him wilting the flowers. Uncle Vernon would punish him, and then lock him in the cupboard without dinner. He began to tremble. Dumbledore stood up, wanting to sit on the couch so he could be closer to the boy. But before the man was fully standing, Harry had jumped up and darted behind the couch, so he could use it as a barrier between him and the man. “Oh, Harry, I’m not going to hurt you. Are you more comfortable with the couch between us?” “Ye . . . yes.” His breathing became laboured. “That’s fine, then. If I want to move again, I’ll I ask you first. Will that be better?” The boy nodded his head, warily eyeing the old man. “Splendid. I apologize for not doing that this time. Please forgive me for startling you.” The Headmaster took Harry’s continued staring at him as acceptance of his apology. “What I’m about to tell you will seem to be impossible, like I’m making it up. But I can assure you it is the truth, and I think on some level you already know it.” With a deep breath, Dumbledore continued, “Have you wondered how you’ve done things like make those flowers wilt or the couch and other objects vibrate?” The boy’s eyes narrowed. He had wondered about the strange things that happened around him. He just hadn’t thought that he had caused them to happen, like the Headmaster just said. “You have wondered, haven’t you?” The boy nodded his head, slightly more actively this time; he opened his mouth to respond, but no words came forth. “Harry, we’ve now come to the part that you won’t believe. You are — and your dear parents were — magical. All those things you couldn’t explain were caused by your magic.” The boy’s eyes narrowed and his forehead furrowed. The Headmaster could see him working his way through this news, the ramifications, and . . . “Tha . . . that’s why they hate me,” the boy stated flatly. “I’m afraid so, dear boy.” The boy fell silent again. Those things I’ve done. The dreams that didn’t make sense. The flying, stuff moving . . . they’re all magic. The good feelings from learning something that explained so much were quickly swept away. Anger, the need to strike out, to punish someone for what had been done to him, coursed through the boy’s body. He could feel something like electricity growing inside him. “Harry!” The man’s voice startled him. “Please calm down. You’re about to lose control of your magic.” His blazing emerald eyes bore into the blue ones of the Headmaster. Realization struck both simultaneously. Dumbledore cast a shield over Harry to contain the explosion that followed seconds later. The house shook, windows rattled, and currents swirled through the sitting room where the two wizards stood. Dumbledore increased the power going into the shield to make sure Harry’s anger wouldn’t destroy anything, while ensuring the shield wasn’t too strong and bounce the forces back at the boy. Finally, the surge from the boy ceased, and he collapsed to the floor, shaking and sweating. Dumbledore cast Calming and Cooling spells over the boy, while remaining safely away from him. He worried that the boy would react again if he moved too close, and he had to admit to himself the boy’s power was staggering when it was focused. Albus knew he would have to deal at a later time with the fact that he had been the focus of the boy’s anger. Soon, the boy recovered, sitting up and taking great gulps of air. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, moving his fringe and revealing his hated scar. Seconds later, Harry’s eyes were again fixed on the Headmaster. “Yu . . . You put me here, didn’t you?” The boy’s voice was hard but surprisingly unemotional. “Yes, I did, Harry. It was the best decision at the time.” When the boy started, he quickly added, “It’s a long story, and I think this is probably not the best time to discuss it with you. Suffice it to say, you are magical, what we call a wizard, and it will soon be time for you to rejoin the wizarding world. We’ll discuss all of that when I return with a friend once your uncle is home. So . . .” “You ca . . . caused all of this.” Images of his treatment at the hands of the Dursleys over the past decade ripped through his mind. “Harry!” The boy turned quickly to the interrupting sound. “I need to cast a Calming Charm on you in order to stop a repeat of your earlier reaction. It won’t hurt.” Then, the wizard raised his hand and suddenly the boy felt his anger leave him, replaced by a vague feeling of calm. The Headmaster assessed the boy’s reaction to the second charm, amazed it had so little effect on the boy and that the first one had dissipated so quickly. “I’ll return later today. Please try to remain calm and don’t let anyone upset you.” He stared deeply into the boy’s eyes, until he felt assured that Harry had understood him and would try to comply. “I’ll do everything I can to ensure things will improve for you. Oh, Happy Birthday, Harry.” With a quick nod, the Headmaster waved his hand at the wilted flowers, restoring them, and then he departed out the front door, the invitation to attend Hogwarts still in his pocket. By the time Harry moved over to the front window, the man had disappeared, leaving the boy to his swirling thoughts. It’s my birthday? I’d completely forgotten. I had magical parents, James and Lily. I’m magical. Why didn’t I know these things? Why was I forced to stay with the Dursleys? There’s a magical world? Why haven’t I lived with a magical family? Didn’t Dumbledore know how I would be treated here? Did he even care? Why didn’t he ever check on me? Where is he going to take me? He mentioned some school. Does he really work for St Brutus? Everything that’s been done was his decision. He’s the one who made me live like this. Stop it! That feeling’s coming back. I’ve got to calm down. Indistinct noises emanated from the house, as the boy started taking slow, deep breaths until the anger had subsided. Dumbledore is responsible for all of this. I can’t trust him. Wh ile Harry sat in his cupboard, stewing about all of the changes confronting him, Albus Dumbledore called on one of his favourite families, having verified earlier through a Floo call that they’d be home and available for a visit. “Hello, Albus,” greeted the red-haired Molly Weasley, as she let him in the front door of their ramshackle home, oddly named The Burrow. “Can I get you some tea?” “That would be lovely, Molly. Thank you. Where is Arthur? I need to discuss this with both of you.” “Oh, he’s out back in the shed, playing with those infernal plugs of his,” she groused, pouring some tea, as the professor sat down at the large kitchen table. She looked out the window. “Here he comes now.” The tall, senior member of the Weasley family entered the house. “Albus, always good to see you. I see Molly has already got you some tea. Have some biscuits to go with it.” He set the tin next to their guest. “What brings you out here on this fine summer day?” Arthur and Molly pulled up chairs and looked expectantly at the Headmaster, both having the feeling this was not a casual visit. “Shall I come straight to the point?” They both nodded. “You are two of the few people who know that ten years ago I left Harry Potter somewhere I deemed he would be the most protected.” They nodded, both leaning forward slightly. “I can tell you now he has been with his only living relatives, specifically Lily’s sister, Petunia, her husband, Vernon, and their son, Dudley, who is Harry’s and Ron’s age.” Molly’s cheeks darkened. “I still wish you would have left him with us. We knew James and Lily. Harry had played with Ron and Ginny, and he would have grown up in a wizarding family.” Dumbledore shook his head. “If only we knew how wise your arguments were back then.” Arthur’s forehead furrowed in thought. “Alas, I thought protecting Harry from Voldemort was the most important part of the decision.” He looked at the Weasley parents. “I was wrong.” “What is it, Albus? Just tell us, please,” Mr Weasley requested. With every one of his one-hundred and fifty-two years showing on his face, Dumbledore said, “They mistreated him.” Molly gasped. “We are now certain it has been going on for years.” Arthur swore under his breath, while Molly whispered, “Oh, Merlin. What kind of people would do that to a child?” Arthur took his wife’s hand in his. “He will live with us. That’s what you’re asking, isn’t it?” “Yes, but it’s not as simple as that . . .” Molly cut him off. “Yes, Albus, it is as simple as that. If you want us to know additional information, we’ll listen to you. But he will live with us. He should have been here from the time his parents, well . . . you know.” The elderly wizard searched the eyes of his two friends. “You’re right, Molly. Thank you both. You do need to know how Harry has been affected by all this.” Two hours later, tears streamed down Molly’s cheeks and Arthur alternated between anger and disbelief, his chalk white cheeks in vivid contrast to his freckles and thinning reddish hair. Dumbledore had spent the last half hour calming the couple, both of them wanting to curse the Dursleys into oblivion. “Harry is not the cheerful, loving and beloved infant you knew prior to that Halloween night. Knowing what you do now about his physical and emotional problems, I need to ask one last time . . .” “No, Albus,” Molly interrupted again, “you do not need to ask. We want Harry to become part of our family.” “The only question is, when will he arrive?” Arthur asked. “Tonight, if that is not too inconvenient.” Arthur nodded and turned to his wife. “He can stay in Bill’s old room.” “Good! I’ll get it ready.” Molly smiled. “He’ll be here for Ginny’s birthday.” Dumbledore cautioned, “Remember, he may not be ready for something like that. I am sure he hasn’t had much social interaction. A party, especially a Weasley party, may be overwhelming for him.” Molly nodded. “We understand. We’ll watch carefully. And we understand his problems with men and males in general. I still can’t believe those . . . people . . . let their son treat his own cousin that way.” “I certainly never considered that possibility. Now, if you’ll permit me, I do have several other stops today. Thank you for your hospitality, and more so, for your generous offer to provide a real home for Harry. I know that he will eventually appreciate your kindness.” “We’ll see you later tonight, then,” Arthur said. “Thank you for letting us do this, Albus,” Molly added. With a toss of Floo powder and a roar of green flames, Albus Dumbledore disappeared, with the destination — ‘Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts’ — still reverberating in the kitchen. Unseen by anyone, Ginny Weasley tip-toed back up the stairs, skipping the squeaky third step from the top, and entered her bedroom, her heart overflowing with sorrow but also hope for the young wizard who would soon be joining her family. “I’ ve failed him, Minerva.” The wizard’s face reflected the turmoil this new revelation had caused him. “What do you mean, Albus?” The Deputy Headmistress watched her long-time colleague with concern, as he unnecessarily rearranged the papers on his large mahogany desk. He shook his head, most likely recalling the decisions he had made a decade ago, amongst the physical and emotional ruins at the Potters’ house in Godric’s Hollow. “I focused entirely on protecting Harry from Voldemort. I never considered that the greater danger could be from his own relatives. I thought the blood protections would keep him safe . . .” “His relatives?” “They’ve horribly mistreated him, Minerva. Even worse, I’m certain I’ve just scratched the surface regarding the ramifications of what they’ve done.” He looked out the window in his circular office, not seeing the Quidditch pitch, the expanse of grass leading to it, or the blue-grey mountains rising in the background. “He’s practically skin and bones. He was wearing hand-me-down clothes, undoubtedly worn by his cousin, that were torn and hadn’t been cleaned in ages. They’re so big on him another boy could easily fit inside them.” McGonagall remained silent, knowing Dumbledore had more to say, that he needed to rid the poison from his system. A haunted look shadowed the Headmaster’s face. “I don’t think he said more than twenty words during my time there.” Minerva’s eyes widened and her lips turned white from being pressed together so tightly. “He communicated primarily through nods of his head and shrugs of his shoulders. Yet, he has a huge reservoir of anger inside him.” The wizard’s eyes brightened momentarily, before resuming their dull appearance. “He already possesses extraordinary power.” “How do you know this, Albus?” “He started to lose control one time. Even with a shield I had placed around him, the house shook. Calming and Cooling Charms barely affected him. I’m quite certain he has an explosive temper, if what I saw earlier is any indication. And it seems he sees me as the cause of all his troubles.” A curious expression crossed the witch’s face. “He came to that conclusion during your short visit?” Dumbledore nodded, a look of remorse on his face. “Despite the emotional problems he has, Harry appears to be exceptionally bright and extremely sensitive to his environment. So, yes, he took my explanations and concluded my decisions caused the problems he has suffered.” He stared at the witch for a few seconds. “I can’t blame him for thinking that, I’m afraid. And you, my dear Minerva, can say ‘I told you so.’” The witch grimaced. “I would never do that, Albus. I’d much prefer that I was entirely wrong this time. What shall we do?” “I would like you to come with me, when I return to the Dursleys’ this evening. I spoke with Arthur and Molly after leaving Harry, and they immediately offered to take the boy in. I would appreciate you telling young Mr Potter of this change.” Minerva arched an eyebrow. “You are not comfortable having that conversation with him?” “I am quite sure Harry would not respond to me, other than negatively. Harry’s Uncle Vernon has made the boy distrustful of males. You stand a much better chance of developing some type of relationship with Harry at this point.” “I’ll try. But do you think he’ll open up to anyone?” The wizard shook his head. “Not to any normal extent. I’m hopeful your presence and efforts to help him won’t spark another episode of accidental magic, as mine undoubtedly would. I think it would be best if I talk with the Dursleys about these changes, while you talk with Harry. Be prepared for a hostile reception when we arrive. The house was overflowing with negative emotions.” “How did this develop to such a serious level?” “More mistakes on my part.” The wizard massaged his temples, before he continued speaking. “In retrospect, I should have called on Harry several times each year and assured the Dursleys that I would do so unannounced. Instead, I asked Arabella Figg, who lives nearby, to watch him. I spoke with her after leaving Harry today, and she apparently did not see anything worth reporting.” He sighed deeply. “Minerva, his bedroom is a cramped cupboard under the stairs, and they’ve installed locks on the outside of the door.” Shock registered on her face. “Oh, dear Merlin.” She took a deep breath. “You couldn’t have known they would act this way. If your only mistake was to trust them, then you shouldn’t be too harsh on yourself.” “Thank you, dear friend. But please reserve judgment until you see the poor boy tonight. You may want to hex me after that.” That evening, the two professors Apparated just outside the wards protecting number four Privet Drive. The dusky mid-summer light still illuminated the neighbourhood, as they quickly made their way to the front porch and rang the doorbell. Petunia wrenched the door open. “Get in here, quickly,” she hissed, while searching the street to see if anyone had seen these weirdly dressed strangers. Assuring herself that no one noticed their mysterious visitors, Petunia slammed the door shut. “I hope you will make this short and never return again.” Minerva glanced at Dumbledore and arched an eyebrow. “Mrs Dursley, may I present Professor Minerva McGonagall? Professor, this is Harry’s aunt, Petunia Dursley.” Petunia looked in horror as the witch extended her hand. “Mrs Dursley and I met when I came to introduce her sister, Lily, to our world.” The witch briefly inclined her head toward their hostess. A shouted command pierced the already tense atmosphere in the entryway. “Petunia, get rid of the people at the door, so we can start dinner.” The conflict Petunia Dursley felt was immediately reflected on her face, as she tried to decide which was the lesser of two evils. Should she bring these two magical people into her kitchen or ignore her husband’s request? Finally, she decided his need for food outweighed any other consideration and led them into the dining room off the kitchen, where her husband and son were seated. Harry stood at the stove, finishing the final preparations for the meal. His movements were fluid and economical, as he placed the entrée and side dishes on three plates from pots and pans that were sitting on the stove top. Minerva gasped when she first saw the short, slightly built boy. His dull eyes, sunken cheeks, and lifeless hair registered like blows to her body. He did not notice the witch’s reaction, because his eyes quickly found the Headmaster and immediately started blazing with an emotion that couldn’t have been anything other than hate. Chaos erupted. Vernon bellowed, “How dare you invade my house without a proper invitation!” He stood up and tried to appear menacing. “You will leave my house immediately!” Dudley gawked at the visitors, his eyes moving from one to the other, trying to comprehend the appearance of these strangely dressed people. Then, he stared at Harry, a sneer on his face. “They’re here because of you. Aren’t they, freak?” Albus Dumbledore addressed the already overwhelmed Petunia. “Mrs Dursley, I must protest. Do you allow your son to refer to Harry in such terms?” Petunia looked to Vernon for help. He shouted, “Get out of my house, you weirdoes. I won’t tolerate this a second longer.” Dumbledore spoke to Vernon in deceptively mild tones. “We have many issues to discuss with you and your wife, so we won’t be leaving any time soon. I also would suggest that you behave more reasonably, as your nephew is close to exploding.” He turned to Professor McGonagall. “Minerva, would you please help Mr Potter?” All eyes turned to Harry, as he stood with the last pork chop suspended on a fork over the third plate, his eyes narrowed, an intense heat flowing from his body. McGonagall walked over to him. “This will help, Mr Potter. You won’t feel anything, other than a cooling feeling.” She cast the spell. “Is that better? Oh, I’m Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr Potter.” Her words barely registered, as the boy’s eyes flicked repeatedly from the Headmaster to his uncle, aunt, and cousin, before finally turning to look at the witch. He stared briefly, then placed the pork chop on the plate and took the three servings to the table, placing them in front of his three relatives. McGonagall looked quizzically at the Headmaster and then turned to Harry. “Aren’t you going to join them?” The boy looked down, embarrassed. His aunt looked at her husband, who blustered, “He’s already eaten. It’s none of your business.” McGonagall noticed two slices of bread sitting on the counter. “Is that your dinner, Mr Potter?” she asked in a soft voice that contradicted the appalled expression on her face. All the energy left the boy, as his body sagged against the kitchen counter. He nodded once, his eyes focused on the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, McGonagall saw Harry’s uncle leap up from his chair. In the next split second, Dumbledore had stepped in front of him. “I would strongly suggest you sit down, Mr Dursley. You will not do anything to that boy.” Dursley began sputtering. “You can’t tell me what to do in my own house. Besides, I was just getting the bread on the counter.” A smug look came over his face. “Mr Dursley, our time here will move more quickly and much more easily if you understand you cannot possibly lie to me. Please do not insult my intelligence or that of my colleague. We would much prefer to work through this situation in a respectful manner. Are you willing to do that?” Dursley sat down. “Let me finish my dinner. Then, we’ll talk.” He turned away from the wizard. “Professor, this might be an opportune time to speak with our young Mr Potter.” The witch looked at the boy. “Would you join me in the sitting room, Mr Potter?” The boy hesitated initially, and then slowly followed the witch as she walked out of the dining area. As soon as they entered the sitting room, McGonagall conjured a place setting for Harry and a meal of pork chops, scalloped potatoes, and applesauce, accompanied by a large glass of chilled pumpkin juice. The boy’s eyes widened briefly, and then returned to their wary gaze. “The food is perfectly edible, Mr Potter. It will not harm you.” Harry stared at the witch for several seconds. Without a word, he sat down and began eating. McGonagall sat opposite him and conjured some Scottish shortbread cookies and began to nibble them. The only response from the boy was when he lifted the glass of pumpkin juice, a puzzled look on his face. “It’s pumpkin juice, Mr Potter. I think you’ll like it, most of our students do.” He nodded and took several sips, putting the glass down, a neutral expression on his face. “Do you not get much food here, Mr Potter?” The boy’s head jerked up. His eyes clouded and he bowed his head, shaking it briefly to indicate ‘no,’ then he resumed eating. He had only finished about half of what was on his plate when he stopped, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and set his silverware down. Professor McGonagall looked at him curiously. “You’re finished, Mr Potter?” His affirmative nod was almost imperceptible. “While Professor Dumbledore speaks with your relatives, I would like to talk with you. Is that acceptable, Mr Potter?” He again nodded. “Did Professor Dumbledore tell you about Hogwarts?” The boy shook his head. “Let me explain then. Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago . . .” and Professor McGonagall proceeded to discuss the four wizards and witches who started the school, the houses, the seven years of education, the courses offered, OWLs, NEWTs, and the castle and its grounds. The boy listened attentively, without one word, question or comment. Finally, McGonagall stopped her discussion and smiled at the boy, though it was a rather tight-lipped smile. “Have I overwhelmed you with details, Mr Potter, or bored you with facts you don’t understand?” The boy just shook his head and looked at the professor expectantly. She continued discussing Hogwarts for another fifteen minutes. Finally, Dumbledore entered the sitting room. “How are you doing with our young student here, Professor?” Harry, who had been leaning forward, focused on McGonagall’s description of the school, sat back and folded his arms across his chest, his eyes shifting between the two professors. Dumbledore flicked his eyes briefly at McGonagall, then began speaking to Harry. “I’ve just explained to your relatives that we will be moving you. I’m sure you will enjoy staying with a magical family, the Weasleys, for the remainder of the summer . . .” Dumbledore’s voice droned on, but the boy had stopped listening. He’s done it again. He didn’t even ask me. God, why doesn’t he leave me alone? I hate him! “Albus!” Minerva interrupted, sensing Harry’s growing frustration. Harry’s normally soft green eyes had turned cold and were narrowed until they were nothing more than horizontal slits behind his round glasses, his fists were doubled up, the knuckles white from the pressure he was exerting, the room temperature had increased several degrees. “Harry?” A woman’s soft voice caught his attention. “Please listen to me. You need to calm down. I’ll help you. Take deep breaths.” McGonagall cast a strong Calming Charm, followed by a Cooling Charm. Harry took several deep breaths and looked at her, as if noticing she was sitting across from him for the first time. Then his eyes flicked back to the Headmaster. He’s to blame for everything. Living with the Dursleys. The cupboard. No friends. These awful clothes. Everything! Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged glances. The wizard left the room, but two blazing green eyes followed him each step of the way. McGonagall asked, “Mr Potter? Shall I tell you about the Weasley family?” The boy’s eyes narrowed. “You and he,” he gestured sharply toward the dining room, “don’t care about me. You want to pawn me off on people I don’t know, just like when my parents died.” The fire in the boy’s continued unabated. Minerva McGonagall studied the boy closely, while absently dabbing her forehead with a lace hankie she had pulled from a pocket. He’s able to speak on a much more sophisticated level than he did previously with either Albus or me. But he presents an almost mute personality most of the time. The boy seems to operate on two separate levels. She spoke softly and slowly, trying to calm the boy. “I understand your feelings, Mr Potter. But I can assure you of several facts. We do care for you. We are not trying to ‘pawn you off’ as you say. You can trust the Weasleys. They are a wonderful family, very good people, who will treat you well and ease your entry into the wizarding world.” The boy folded his arms across his chest as he stared at the witch, his eyes locked on hers. “Why should I believe you?” Minerva McGonagall sighed. “There really is no reason why you should. We made mistakes, and I can only imagine how hard it has been for you to live here. Now that we are aware of your situation, we want to fix the errors we made. I hope you will accept our apology, Mr Potter, and let us move you to the Weasleys. It will be better for you there. I have no doubt.” The boy continued to stare hard into her eyes. I can’t stand this. Will those people treat me like my relatives have? Maybe I’m just bad, and everyone wants to punish me. Will the next family be even worse than the Dursleys? Dumbledore picked the Weasleys, but he’s the one who put me with the Dursleys. I probably won’t be able to trust them either. The boy shrunk deep inside himself, his breathing laboured and shallow. What did I do to be treated this way? “Mr Potter?” the professor’s soft inquiry broke into Harry’s thoughts. Adrenaline shot through the boy’s body. I can’t lose focus like that. They might do something to me if I’m not watching them. “I don’t have any choice, do I?” Minerva briefly closed her eyes at the coldness of his reply. “We always have choices, Mr Potter. I do think staying with the Weasleys will be an improvement for you.” The boy stared at the witch with cold, hard eyes. “I guess it couldn’t be any worse than here.” The professor squashed her initial impulse to address the boy’s sarcasm, instead taking a deep breath. “Would you like me to tell you about the members of their family?” Harry unfolded his arms and nodded. After Professor McGonagall finished her description of the family, she asked, “Do you have any questions, Mr Potter?” Harry swiped his hand across his damp forehead. “Why didn’t I stay with them from the start?” They probably didn’t want me, and now Dumbledore is forcing them to take me. The professor arched an eyebrow. “That is a good question, Mr Potter. The Headmaster thought you were in danger, so his decision was based on where you would be the most protected. That is here, where your aunt lives, since she is your closest living relative.” A sour look swept over the boy’s face, so McGonagall added, “The Weasleys did want you to stay with them and were disappointed you were not able to do so.” Harry felt a surge of heat erupting from inside him. Dumbledore again! I could have lived with a wizarding family from the start. What danger was I in? I was just a baby! “Mr Potter?” the witch’s voice broke into his thoughts, and he felt the heat begin to dissipate. “Do you have any other questions?” Harry shook his head, the sweat dripping down his back making him feel sticky and uncomfortable. Professor McGonagall stood up and vanished the dinner dishes. “I am going to pack your clothes and belongings. Are they in the hallway cupboard?” He nodded. After the professor left the sitting room, Harry thought about what he had learned from the witch, while trying to ignore a dull ache that pounded on the back of his head. He would be living with the Weasley family, one he was supposed to have known in his other life, as he had begun thinking of his short time with his parents. He even had played with two of their kids, Ron and Ginny, though he didn’t remember anything about them. Ron was his age and would be going to Hogwarts. Ginny was a year younger. And the family was well known for having red hair. He began to feel a bit light-headed, so he took several deep breaths. A surprising thought came to Harry, but he quickly dismissed it. They couldn’t be the two kids in my dreams. His hand instinctively moved to his stomach, and he began rubbing it to relieve the dull ache that had just developed. He shook his head and other thoughts claimed his attention. I don’t know if I can do this. I’ve never lived with that many people before. But McGonagall says I’ll learn about the wizarding world and magic. Will they treat me like the Dursleys did? Will they think I’m a freak for living in the cupboard all my life and wearing these clothes? Why would they want me to live with them? They don’t know me at all. I don’t know what they want from me. I can’t stand feeling like this. At least here I know what to do. I won’t feel that way in the new place. Professor McGonagall’s appearance in the sitting room brought a halt to Harry’s battering thoughts. He brushed away the moisture that had formed on his forehead, as he looked at the witch. A weird feeling developed, like electricity shooting through his body, especially his arms and his legs. “Your belongings have been packed and sent to the Weasleys’ house.” When a confused expression came over Harry’s face, the witch added, “There is a spell that instantly moves objects from one place to another. That is one of the many subjects you will be learning at Hogwarts.” A thin smile appeared, then just as quickly disappeared from the professor’s face. Harry’s expression remained neutral. Why does she look blurry? A distant ringing could be heard in his head. “Shall we join Professor Dumbledore?” McGonagall asked, when Harry didn’t respond. Harry felt like he was frozen in place, since both his brain and his body refused to work. In the next second, the reality of what was going to happen overwhelmed him, and chills surged through his body. I’m leaving the Dursleys? These strange people are taking me somewhere to stay with people I don’t know? I’m an idiot! Why should I trust them? They could be working with the Dursleys to take me to that St Brutus school. The boy began to shake, while sweat poured from every part of his body. Minerva McGonagall had been watching the boy’s reaction with both sympathy and concern. “Mr Potter!” She cast Cooling and Calming charms. As soon as the spells hit, Harry’s eyes widened in shock and his face turned chalk white. He staggered to his cupboard, closing the door behind him. McGonagall stood in the sitting room, unsure what had come over the boy and what, if anything, she should do in response to his leaving. After several minutes, she decided it was best to see how the boy was doing. She walked down the hallway and paused for several moments. Finally opening the cupboard door, her heart shattered. Harry was curled in a foetal position on the far side of the cupboard, his small back facing the door. With a gasp, Minerva entered the cupboard and examined the apparently sleeping boy. Oh Merlin, she thought, what have we done to this poor child? “Albus! Come quickly.” |
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