Emerald Elysium: James Field's fanfic blog: Current rough progress on Through Emerald Eyes up to now...

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise or any material related. All of it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Bros. and any associated publishing companies. Nothing in this story is legally mine, except my imagination and my OC's. It's the big guys' pond, I'm just swimming in it while the rich couple's away.

Author's Note/Caution/Introduction: Welcome! This is my first ever fanfic, and I hope it's just the first of many. Before we get into the story, I want to share just a few words of caution and offer a few explanations. This will be important, so please read the following before you place your judgment on this story or its author.

First off, this appears to be a "Reading Of" story, meaning that the majority of this fiction will contain content taken directly from the Harry Potter series. This is not the first or last time something like this is being done, so please save any and all complaints about copyright infringement and lack of originality until you've finished reading the AN. This is fanfic and nearly anything goes, until removed. More importantly, this will NOT be a canon-compliant reading of fic. It will feature subtle AU, mild to strong OC, etc. This means three things will happen in this story. Things that happened within the contexts of Rowling's last two and a half books will no longer happen in this story. Reading about someone's past and future is likely to change a lot of things due to the butterfly effect. Ergo, to expect the outcome of this reading to even remotely follow the path of canon is ridiculous. I'm tired of seeing "Reading Of…" stories all over this site that simply have the characters read Harry's story, and then change little to absolutely nothing after it. It's almost as though they create the stories just to have an excuse to post the actual books online. That just doesn't cut it for me. For a good example of a "Reading Of…" story that does it right (it isn't afraid to change things during the reading of the story/actually has plot outside of the reading/etc), look no further than at shopaholic1369's "Hogwarts reads…" series. This series was likely the primary inspiration and motivation for my story, so it's only fair that I give credit where it's due. Give it a look-see when you can.

Secondly, this story not being canon-compliant is in part due to the reading itself being AU. This means that this is an alternate universe where everything that happened in the canon books happened… just a little differently. Does that mean I'm going to change things up to the point where it's no longer recognizable? No. Just little thoughts or pieces of dialogue here and there that will be tweaked in order to keep the actions of characters who are outside of the reading in line with their past/future actions within the books. For an example of this, please refer to the lovely Raven Potter Weasley's "The Black read Harry Potter" story. I will italicize the already emboldened parts of the "reading" to show the reader what I have added or changed from the original content so that no false credit will be taken or given. While I feel this may pull you out of the story a bit at first, it's too risky not to differentiate my text and that of Rowling's.

Last, but not least this will be both a Harry/Multi fic, and a fic that features a little bashing. The reason for having Harry in a polygamous relationship is simple. Like most writers, I tend to place a part of myself in the protagonist of the story; therefore having a polygamous relationship doesn't seem too bad or impossible, especially in this day and age. Another reason is that I've never seen a "Reading Of…" fic that's featured Harry in a multi-relationship. In fact, 95% of the "Reading Of" stories out there have him paired with Ginny. Boring. Harry is tragic character, and second only to Peter Parker in terms of being Fate's Bitch in pop-culture. I say he needs a little love (plus this makes my story a first in something). As for the bashing in the story, well I'm not really a fan of it. I prefer pointing out a character's negative actions as well as praising their positive actions equally, something that bashing doesn't take into account. After all, the world and the people in it aren't black and white. However, for certain characters (Umbridge, Lucius, Lockhart) there will be blood… err, bashing, and you'll just have to deal.

The point of this long explanation was simple: to defend myself. This site, unfortunately, is known for flamers who love to bash stories that they find in conflict with their views on the subject. This particular story is likely to get some criticism, so I figured I might as well state my intentions and plans for this story now. Now that I've given fair warning, anyone who needlessly bashes or flames this story due to its content and un-traditionalist style, I will report and/or ignore you. I'm just trying my level best to write a story I found interesting and hopefully others will find it interesting to. So please, understand what it is you want from a story, and if this isn't it, feel free to leave. If so (or if you're curious) read ahead, and leave any constructive or positive criticism you wish. My apologies for the long note. This won't be an often occurrence, I assure you. I sincerely hope you enjoy the reading and let me know what you think. Mahalo.

It was raining.

The storm outside was fierce – its winds beating against the magically reinforced windows of the castle. The interior of the Great Hall reflected the chaotic exterior of the castle quite well, or so Harry's thought. Spell fire drowned out the sounds of the rain rapping on the ceiling. Screams of terror and moans of pain meshed with the clashes of thunder in the skies. The only real difference Harry could find between the two settings was the lighting. While the storm clouds outside were dark and invisible against the night sky, save for the brief flashes of lightning, the Great Hall was vibrant with color. As spells and curses flew from wands - green, purple, and red in color; and the candles above the hall flickered in and out, Harry found the scene rather beautiful. He'd never been much of a photographer or even an artist for that matter, but he felt that if he had a camera at the moment, he'd likely give Colin a run for his money on his best of days.

What amazed Harry was that everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. He'd been in life threatening situations before but never had he seen time actually slow down for him. He'd describe the encounters in which he'd had to fight for his life, not unlike how he felt his life was in general, in that they tended to be fast-paced and 'cutty', often times leaving him with a severe case of whiplash. To actually witness a moment like this in surreal slow motion was a unique experience to the Boy-Who-Lived. He knew in reality that time wasn't actually moving slowly, but rather his mind and his senses were working extra fast; taking in the entire situation within a span of a few seconds. Though his breathing was elevated, his heart rate was steady, as it always was in these situations and he was able to notice everything and everything in the room once more.

Papers littered the air, seemingly suspended in mid-motion and clouding half of the hall from the candles above. They were what remained of the last few books they had left to read. Several upper year Slytherins were huddled behind tables and conjured barriers in a corner of the hall, firing at the majority of the halls occupants who in-turn were taking cover and returning spells of their own. The younger years were warned to stay down, many of them either growing hysterical or trying to hide their panic at the violent turn of events. The older students were casting the strongest defense shields and conjuring the thickest barriers they could to stop the lethal slew of Unforgiveable curses heading their way, while the third years to fifth years used their limited arsenal of offensive magic to repel the attackers. With absentmindedly noticed that the majority of the students taking out the attackers were DA members.

Over at the staff table, things weren't fairing much better. The Dumbledore brothers and the aurors were working efficiently to dispatch the remaining aurors who were actually Death Eaters, as well as several of the guests there. Among that group, unsurprisingly, were Lucius Malfoy and Dolores Umbridge. Harry gritted his teeth at the site of two of the people he hated most in this world, before a smile worked its way onto his face. It appeared his godfather and uncle figure were working in tandem against Malfoy Sr., and Harry was pleased to see that no taunts were being uttered by his usually witty godfather. He was glad to see that the reading had a positive effect on Sirius' mannerisms. Not too far from them, another smile worked its way onto his face as he saw Molly Weasley and Dolores Umbridge locked in a duel… or rather, a yelling match with random spell work thrown in. But at least someone was putting the frog-resembling women in her place. He was equally pleased and surprised to see Narcissa Malfoy, the beautiful and aristocratic woman who was unfortunately the wife of a certain blonde git, helping her older sister Andromeda in tending to the few wounded from the opening rounds of the battle. The rest of the staff were working on keeping the students safe, while the Weasley family joined the aurors and remaining order members in repelling the few remaining Death Eater combatants.

Harry unconsciously returned fire at one of the Slytherins that felt brave enough to try to get a shot in at him, and judging by the spell color it was a torture curse. Without batting an eye at the now stunned and bound seventh year, Harry turned his phoenix wand at the lone figure that didn't seem to be taking anyone's side at the moment, opting instead to stand in the corner of the hall and watch. Whoever they were (though Harry was almost sure that it was a women if the feminine curves were anything to go by), they had arrived with the Malfoy's at the beginning of the reading and had remained silent ever since. Add to the fact that the person wore a veil over their features, and it didn't give Harry much reason to trust them.

As he gripped his wand and made his way to the corner of the hall, dodging spell fire and returning it without breaking stride, he saw that the figure had spotted him and had drew their own wand. Absentmindedly, he acknowledged that the interval between spells being cast in the hall was growing longer, and that the majority of the screams and curses being uttered had dribbled down to a minimum. He correctly surmised that the little altercation between the two sides was coming to a close. By the time he'd reached the figure, the two had been staring each other down for what seemed like minutes. At least, Harry felt like he'd been staring them down, as he really had no way of knowing with the veil covering their face. Cautiously and slowly, so as not to startle them, Harry raised his wand and asked a simple question.

"Who are you?"

The figure seemed to stare stonily back at him for a few seconds, and just when Harry was about to repeat the question, they slowly pulled their hand up and grabbed the edge of the veil. As he/she seemed to hesitate, Harry had a guess as to what they were currently thinking. If this figure went through such lengths to hide their identity, they likely weren't anyone that was welcome in these halls. Hoping to allay the persons fears, Harry said, "I promise, unless you Voldemort, I won't attack you without provocation from yourself. I only want to know who you are for safety's sake."

The figure hesitated for a while longer before it gave a tight nod back, and went to unwind the magical veil hiding their features. As the material dropped away to reveal some of the most stunning eyes Harry had ever seen, he fell quiet in shock at the person standing before him. The woman stared stonily back at him, though a sense of nervousness, anger, and loneliness seemed to course through her eyes. Just as Harry opened his mouth to speak, a voice behind him yelled in utter shock and anger.

"You!"

(One "Day" Earlier)

Headmasters Office, Hogwarts - 10:06pm – Thursday, February 19th, 1996

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was in unfamiliar territory.

As both the long-standing Headmaster of Hogwarts as well as the former Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, not to mention hailed as one of the greatest wizards of all time, the man had grown quite accustomed to being in charge of situations; to knowing most if not all of what needed to be known, to giving out orders and having others follow them to the tee. He was, however, not accustomed to receiving orders and if today's experience was anything to go by, he'd likely never be a fan.

Still, here he was; sitting in his office and staring at a piece of parchment that he had written and duplicated many times. It was a note requesting the presence of some odd two dozen individuals, all of whom were related to the life of a rather unique young man. The request was for them come to Hogwarts on the morning of the upcoming Saturday for what was to be a very special occasion wherein things concerning the local political climate, the school, and most importantly – the war, would be discussed and information given. The letter also warned them to come prepared to spend the entire day. It seemed a bit ambiguous to say the least, he knew this. But what else could he say in the situation? It would be hard enough getting all of them there in the first place, let alone getting them to understand and believe the truth of the matter. To tell them the real reason why they were coming would be out of the question. And he needed them to come. So he stuck to what he did best and gave half or partial truths, without actually lying, in order to get people to do what he wanted.

The old wizard sighed to himself, knowing the upcoming weekend would be a trying one that would like. He just wanted it all to end. For the war to be finished, for peace to reign as long as it was allowed to in a world such as this. And most of all, he wished he could right the wrongs done to so many people for the "greater good", not least among them the boy who was the real reason for the upcoming event. He wondered briefly how it came to this, and whether or not he had it in him to follow through with what was planned. More importantly, he wondered if he was doing the right thing; if he'd ever done the right thing. Thinking back to how he'd first come to this decision, Albus Dumbledore looked over to his desk, where a stack of seven books lay, and recalled how they first came into his possession.

Headmasters Office, Hogwarts - 9:58pm – Thursday, February 19th, 1996

Dumbledore had been sitting at his desk, doing the two things he found himself doing quite often lately - sucking on a lemon drop and contemplating the enigma that was Harry Potter.

Contrary to popular belief, the boy was not as simple minded as he appeared. Dumbledore felt he was an extremely perceptive individual when it mattered most, and he steadily saw through the thin and thick emotional layers of the Boy-Who-Lived. He had a feeling that somewhere behind the boy's selfless and brave exterior, a slew of conflicting emotions raged for dominance in his troubled mind. Beneath those emotions lied a regressed genius, one that was slowly broken down over time by the tragic events of his life, until they were a mere memory hidden in the back of his sub-consciousness, only unleashed when needed most. What childhood the boy might have had in order to warrant such a complex mental shield, the man wasn't sure, and he didn't dare practice legillimincy on the child. Not in his current mental state, of all things, and not out of respect for the boy. Dumbledore was many things, but he was not a rapist of minds, unlike a certain potions master.

Truly, it pained the old man to see the boy whom he'd reluctantly come to see as a grandson so troubled and alone, but in his heart he knew he could do little more for him if his plans were to stay on track. This was all part of the plan he'd made many years ago whose inception was on a cold November morning, when Harry had taken his first step into his destiny; a plan that had been tweaked, added to, and perfected over the years to acclimate new developments… such as horcruxes. It was a plan that was fairly simple and fairly ideal when one looked at the big picture, and though it never felt fully right, Dumbledore never relented; viewing it as a necessity for "the greater good".

He hid the boy away from the magical world, so he would not be surrounded by the temptations that would befall such an iconic individual. As a symbol of victory, hope, and survival to the magical world, the boy would undoubtedly be exposed to the risks of fame and would end up prideful, arrogant, haughty, and even power hungry. For such a powerful wizard like Harry was bound to be (if the size of his early magical core was any indication), that would not be a good thing. Instead, Harry would need to be placed in a humble environment with a normal sized family in order to properly learn the principles of being a good man before re-entering the wizarding world. For Dumbledore, who already knew that Harry was destined for greater things, there was hardly even a choice. Harry would grow up as a muggle, in the only safe environment available for him: the Dursley's.

He knew that the muggle family would likely have a difficult time with the boy, and even more so vice versa, but he had faith that the boy would only be the better for it in the end. Or so he had hoped. Now that he thought about it, and from what information various staff and Order members had been able to give him, the boy had quite a few issues that were likely effects of his childhood, not the least of which were his instinct to blame himself for things beyond his control, his independent streak, and his lack of trust in authority figures. He'd have to work on breaking the boy of the latter two of those traits. Perhaps find him a girlfriend; someone to guide him towards authority and quench his more instinctual reactions, while still providing comfort and love to the boy who needs as much as he could get. But who? Perhaps he could convince the boy to like Molly's child, Ginevra. While rather hot-headed and emotional, he was sure that with a little talking to, she'd do nicely…

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp screech and a startling increase of temperature in the room. He looked to the side of his office where his phoenix familiar sat, only to see Fawkes burning brightly; his entire body completely aflame. The old man was both confused and awed at the display before him, all thoughts about Harry Potter gone from his mind. It was far too early for Fawkes to have a burning day, and never before had it affected the room in such a way, nor had his familiar lit up so enchantingly. To say the Headmaster was intrigued was an understatement.

Fawkes' screech still continued, growing higher in decibels until all sound in the room was hardly audible at all. A strange quiet filled the room as the glow increased, almost as though the Headmasters office had become a vacuum. Then a powerful burst of magic pulsed from the blazing avian. Instantly, the sound returned, and with it all of the frail objects in the room were shattered and Dumbledore himself was found lying on the floor. He was bleeding from the ears and disoriented from both the incredible high pitch and the surprising spike of magical energy. Groaning and trying to wipe the blood from his ears, Dumbledore unsteadily found his way to his knees before finally looking up at the destruction.

His room was in complete disarray. Papers were scattered everywhere, while the articles of parchment closest to Fawkes were burned, leaving their ink-stained scent to linger in the air. All of the glass objects in the room were either shattered or cracked. The unique contraptions and frail gizmos he'd come to collect over the years were nowhere to be found in the debris, most likely obliterated. Dumbledore himself found what remained of a cracked mirror and looked over his current state. His pair of once impressive velvet robes were now sullied by streaks of green ink that had flown from the ink containers that were on his desk. His once white and ordered hair was now dirtied and chaotic, with his prized beard singed and stained black.

Gathering himself from the shock of the event, as well as absentmindedly casting a healing and numbing spell on his ears, the wise yet misguided wizard of legend turned to the area where his familiar had once sat. The cage was no longer there, seemingly burned to a state of non-existence. Dumbledore took a moment to thank Merlin for not allowing the heat to destroy the rest of his office, as normal physics would demand. His familiar was nowhere to be seen and he had absolutely no idea what just happened. This troubled the man who prided himself on knowing all there was to know about phoenixes. He was, after all, the first wizard in several hundred years to have one as a familiar.

Sighing to himself, Dumbledore was about to cast an advanced series of charms that would clean, repair, and reorder all of the objects in the room to the state they were in before the incident. However, he stopped mid-cast when he saw a new light appear over his desk, which was quickly followed by another magical blast. Managing to stay on his feet this time, Dumbledore shielded his eyes with his arm until the light had subsided. Cautiously lowering his arm and opening his eyes, Dumbledore was met by a view that he would remember for the remainder of his already lengthy life.

Sitting on his desk was Fawkes, purer and more vibrant than he'd ever seen him, bowing to a creature the likes of which Albus had never thought he'd see. It was undoubtedly a royal phoenix. It had the same build and design as the standard phoenix. However, the strange thing about it though, was... well, everything when compared to its inferior immortal cousins. It was at least twice as big as Fawkes, with wide purple feathers covering its body, as opposed to the standard reddish-orange. The trim around its spine, eyes, and tail were black, with dark green marring its wing tips and head. It held itself in a manner that spoke volumes. It was a being of sheer majesty and power, and the magical presence rolling off of it almost choked the aged wizard, which may or may not have been its intention as the bird seemed to smirk before withdrawing its power from the airwaves.

Struggling to get his amazement and terror under control, the old man took a deep breath before speaking. "May I help you?"

As soon as the words left his lips, the aged wizard felt an invisible force ghost against his Occlumency shields. When it struck, it was neither soft and slow like his own legillimincy probes, nor sharp and sensitive like most legilimens are. Instead it was as though it merely phased through Dumbledore's formidable shields, something that momentarily scared the now helpless wizard. Once past his defenses, the phoenix started flashing images into his mind. At first they were blurry and too quick to latch onto, but eventually they sharpened until they were utterly vivid, as though he were living them himself.

'Memories', the aged wizard thought. 'But whose are they?'

Time seemed to slow down for the aged wizard as he saw the image of a little boy, broken and alone in a small dark room. He recognized the child of no more than 8 as a young Harry Potter. He was currently crying and asking for a second chance. The old man tried to tear his eyes away from the personal memory. He now knew whose memories these were, but they brought him no answers. Only more questions.

Before he could focus too much on his thoughts, a force strengthened around his mental vision and turned him once again to the scene, as though forcing him to watch his mistakes stare him in the face with those haunting emerald eyes; so bright and so hopeful despite his situation, though eventually the headmaster could see that there was a dullness there that was well hidden underneath the hope. This went on for hours; brief flashes and quick cuts of memory of one Harry Potter's life throughout the years, both before and during his time at Hogwarts.

The visions eventually turned to an older Harry, one whose eyes were considerably duller. He watched as blurry figures fell through veils, over astronomy towers, in a massive battle and he always heard the muffled scream of the last remaining Potter follow. While the old man could not understand what he was seeing, he could feel the emotion from the memories, which was unusual for memories. It showed that they were extremely emotional times in the boys life, and judging by his unfamiliarity with them, they likely hadn't happened yet. This only added to the old man's confusion, which was now accompanied by a huge amount of sadness and guilt that he had no explanation for.

He was in the middle of viewing a particularly emotional memory wherein a person that Dumbledore could only assume was someone close to Harry, was lying dead on the floor, when the old man felt a presence at his side. Turning to the left he saw the grand phoenix beside him, looking the scene with what could only be described as utter remorse for the person suffering. Dumbledore stared at the immortal avian for a second, even as his eyes watered.

"Why?"

The bird didn't seem to hear him as it continued staring at the scene. Dumbledore grew frustrated with it and raised his voice and asked again. "Why? Why have you brought me here? Why are you showing me these things?" He was obviously hurting from the bleed over of the emotions memory-Harry was feeling with each loss. It was getting to the man who felt like he had all the answers that he needed to have. After a few minutes more of silence where the scene changed once more to a graveyard, the bird finally turned and regarded the wizard before him.

"Albus Dumbledore," it spoke in a voice that was neither male nor female. It was a voice that transcended genders and races, but was laced with a soft spoken power and an undercurrent of emotion that Dumbledore couldn't place. To say that the headmaster was startled was an understatement but he wisely kept his mouth shut, knowing the phoenix wasn't done.

"You have been responsible for many things in your life; some good, some bad. However, you particularly influenced and affected the life of one individual: my master. Care to take a guess?"

The headmaster seemed to think for a moment. Though he knew the likely answer right away, it just didn't make any sense. But he answered regardless of his doubts. "Harry Potter."

The bird, however, never confirmed or denied his response. Instead it continued in answering Dumbledore's earlier question. "What you see are the memories of one Harry Potter – a boy whose fate was written before he was ever conceived. It was a happiness that was denied him by individuals who sought to control his life. Among them was yourself." Dumbledore didn't bother denying the accusation and instead opted to listen, albeit more subdued manner than before.

"You've manipulated many things and affected many outcomes in your life. As I said before, some of those events and lives worked out for the best, but this case; his case, is not one of them." The two continued to state at the memory as it showed a now twenty-something Harry Potter fighting a dozen dark wizards single handedly, without pause for breath as he fluidly incapacitated the lot of them in a manner of a few seconds. Dumbledore himself was impressed by the display, and he wondered if it was something even he could have achieved back in the day. A smile worked its way onto the old man's face, glad to see the boy he'd come to see as a grandson was coping with his losses and advancing in his abilities. However, when he saw the lack of accomplishment in memory-Harry's eyes, his smile disappeared, and it turned into a frown when he saw memory-Harry walk away emotionless.

"The future is coming faster than you can imagine, Dumbledore. The chosen one's time is coming, and if your plans were to succeed, he would not be ready when that time came. We aren't talking about Voldemort or the current wizarding war on the horizon. That is taken care of, but at the cost of so many innocent lives that need not be lost, as well as the future of the wizarding world." The grand phoenix turned to stare directly into the shocked old man's eyes. "I've been sent back. As a grand phoenix I have special abilities, one of which is to traverse between times. I am here to offer you a chance at changing the future, in saving those you care about, and in regaining the humanity you seem to have lost in your strive for the 'greater good.'"

The words of the phoenix struck a deep cord within the wise old wizard. Could he truly take the chance of changing the future for the better? What would it cost and what would the outcomes be? He knew that if things stayed as they were that he would at least see the end of Voldemort, but what of the price? Not for the first time in his life, Dumbledore felt helpless and burdened by decisions to big for any one man. However, as he saw the memory of a Harry in his forties, leading a hopeless charge against an indefinable force and losing, he made up his mind. There was more out there than just Voldemort to deal with, and if there was even the slightest of chances that he could spare the few he still authentically cared for from going through hell to achieve his greater good, then so be it. But how would he change the future?

The phoenix seemed to sense his question as they were effectively pulled out of the memory, and then the mindscape. Once back in his office, Dumbledore shuck his head to loosen the cobwebs that had formed and to clear the wave of emotions he had been riding since entering his mindscape. The grand phoenix looked at him and spoke once more in his head.

"In order to change the future, you must first change those that will bring it about. And for that to happen, you must first start with the person who has the most effect on them, knowingly or not."

Without missing a beat, Dumbledore answered the unasked question. "Harry…"

The phoenix nodded. In a flash a series of books were laid out on the oak table it stood on. There were seven books in total. The first spine read "Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone", while the second was titled "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets" and so on. Raising an eyebrow at the books, Dumbledore turned to the purple avian looking for an explanation.

"These books chronicle the life and thoughts of one Harry Potter from his entrance into the wizarding world to his graduating year. His thoughts, his actions; everything of importance has been documented in these books with nothing edited or left out. You will read these books with the rest of the student body and staff. I have left a list of people for you to contact as well, and they will also need to come to this reading. It will be hard for him, but he'll see the need for this eventually. And you must prove to them that this is the truth at any cost. Understood?"

Albus was at first stunned by this reveal, but he then picked up on the hiding meaning the phoenix was trying to convey. Nodding his head shakily, he responded. "I will do what you ask."

The avian nodded it's head at the man. "I will return when the meeting is to take place. Until then…" The phoenix turned to Fawkes who had been quiet the entire time and had remained in its bowed position. The grand phoenix nodded at the headmasters companion in thanks and respect before it disappeared in a flash of indigo fire, leaving behind a very shocked and emotionally drained headmaster and an excited familiar.

"Well, old friend," the recovered wizard spoke into the silence as he picked up the list of people he'd have to invite and whistled appreciatively, "…it looks like we've got our work cut out for us."

Gryffindor Fifth Year Boys Dormitory, Hogwarts - 12:37am – Friday, February 20th, 1996

While Dumbledore set out to do the mysterious phoenixes bidding, Harry Potter was having trouble sleeping. This wasn't an unusual occurrence this year, as he'd been avoiding his sleep as much as possible lately, fearing that he may receive another vision. While the previous vision has saved the life of Arthur Weasley, a man he respected and admired as the father of his friends and a good man, Harry couldn't help the feeling of vulnerability he had during those visions. Seeing things happen to people as though he was the cause, despite not having any control over the visions happenings… it made him feel tainted, as though he were the one responsible.

With such thoughts on his mind, it wasn't much of a wonder that the usually alert boy missed the slight flash of indigo fire in the corner of the room. The rest of the dorms occupants were already asleep, so the newcomer's arrival went unnoticed by all.

At the same moment, Harry got a feeling that he'd never learned to like. It was a feeling he got when something in his life was about to change. He'd had the same feeling before his eleventh birthday, when he discovered he was a wizard, and the same feeling the night he'd discovered Sirius was his godfather. It wasn't a feeling of danger or anything like that, but rather the unknown; of a seemingly positive development that would soon turn into a questionable one at best. Being a wizard was an escape for him, but at the same time, it introduced him to a life filled with danger, loathing, and loss. Finding out that Sirius was his godfather and had been innocent was a high point in his life, but that quickly turned to regret when Sirius has to go into hiding after having spent 12 years in Azkaban for a crime he hadn't committed. Changes tended to be a bad thing for Harry Potter, and so he silently cursed the feeling and prayed that nothing came of it. The feeling of uncertainty was enough to drive an already sane person mad, and at the moment, Harry admitted that he wasn't necessarily running all on cylinders.

Fortunately, before his thoughts could turn to more negative matters, the phoenix hidden in the room began singing a soft and hardly audible song of peace, hope, and acceptance. While Harry could hardly hear the words nor pinpoint where it was coming from, the effect was still the same as it was had he been right next to the majestic creature. Harry's eyelids drooped, he breathed out a sigh of relief, and before he knew it, he had entered Morpheus. It would be the first pleasant night's sleep he'd had in nearly a year.

If the phoenix could smile, it would have. Instead it settled for a soft chirp of happiness at its success before a parcel appeared beneath its talons. Gliding to the nightstand by the green-eyed wizard, it set the package down and chirped contently at the sleeping form before flying outside of the window and disappearing in a silent flash of indigo to places unknown.

Across magical Britain, and over the course of several hours in the late evening and early morning, some odd two dozen individuals were contacted and notified about their presence being required at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the hour of the requests and the violent verbal exchanges that tended to take place after a particular contacted individual had been awoken from their sleep, the sense of urgency given off by the caller, one Albus Dumbledore, did not go missed by most. Soon enough plans were made and instructions given out (by pompous Minister, to Head of the DMLE, to Dark Lord alike), as their curiosity piqued. What did tomorrow have in store for them, and who else would be attending?

A young female auror with ever-changing hair and a beautiful heart shaped face got out of her clothes. She had just finished a night shift at the DoM and returned home. Despite the time of night it was, she felt like she could use a shower. Unfortunately, as soon as she entered her flat she had gotten a call from her boss Kingsley Shacklebolt that they've been given a mission to escort the Head of the DMLE, Amelia Bones, to a meeting that's to take place at Hogwarts tomorrow. This came right after her other boss, Albus Dumbledore, leader of the light and the Order of the Phoenix's head, floo-called her to notify her that her presence was requested at Hogwarts tomorrow. Her interest was piqued to say the least.

Still, it wasn't everyday that she was given an escort mission, and she could use this as an opportunity to possibly see some of the brats that went to school there; chief among them a green-eyed wizard that she loved to tease. Smiling to herself, she stepped into the shower and prepared for what she felt would be an interesting day. In typical Tonks fashion however, she slipped on nothing and nearly ended up going headfirst into her shower wall. She smiled to herself at the fact that she didn't hit the wall this time. Yupp, tomorrow was going to be a good day.

A blonde haired young woman stood in silence outside of the Burrow, staring at the stars and contemplating her future. She had recently begun seeing a man that was a co-worker a few months ago. While she found the man charming, kind, and fairly resistant to her allure, and everything she felt she needed and wanted, she was still a young woman and thus was uncertain of the step she felt was soon coming up in their relationship. The entire relationship had come as a surprise to her and before she knew it she was being introduced to her redheaded boyfriend's parents, who were another matter entirely to the young veela. It was only a matter of time before things got quite serious, if they weren't already, and she wasn't sure if she was ready for that.

So deep into her thoughts was she that she failed to notice the person walking up behind her until a pair of arms wrapped around her and pulled her closely to a warm chest. Leaning her head back to look at the familiar face, she found a small smile working its way onto her face. The freckled face of Bill Weasley stared worriedly back at her. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just thinking about some stuff," she replied, with hardly a sign of an accent. She had been learning how to properly speak English and control the influence of her native tongue by Bill, his family, and their co-workers.

Bill smiled back at her and tightened his hold of her as he rested his head on her shorter shoulders. He didn't ask what it was she was thinking about, certain that if it was important enough she'd offer the information herself. While fleur admired his acceptance of her words, a part of her wished he would ask her what was on her mind and show a little more concern for her. She was a complex women, she knew, but it didn't change the fact that she wanted to feel wanted; to feel sought after.

After a few moments of silence, bill broke it an announcement. "Dumbledore just floo-called. I don't know what the old man is doing up at this time of night, but he wants the two of us along with my parents and brother to come to the school tomorrow morning. Says it's important and has something to do with the war and the current state of things."

Fleur snorted at the "old man" comment, but grew curious and a bit concerned over the rest of the news. She had been inducted into the order after meeting William at Gringotts and remembering that he was from the same family that her co-competitor in the Triwizard Tournament, Harry Potter, had hung around. In a way the wizard that was three years her younger had been the one to bring her and Bill together as she remembered seeing the long haired ginger the day of the third task. Since their first meeting at Gringotts, the two quickly became friends and eventually she was approached by Bill and Dumbledore to join the Order – a group looking to "make a difference" in the world. She joined because she was one of the few who believed what Harry said about Voldemort's return. She saw his eyes that night and the raging emotions in them. Eyes she would likely never forget.

"Should we be concerned?" she asked her boyfriend steadily. He simply shook his head. She nodded against his chest and they stayed like that for a while before Bill went up to bed.

"Don't stay up to late love. We're likely to have a long day tomorrow."

She nodded back with a smile that soon disappeared into a look of melancholy as he disappeared. She turned to stare up at the skies in thought, not knowing how her life would change in the next few days.

A couple that appeared to be in their mid-forties in the northern parts of France stared into a fire with frowns on their faces. They'd just received a call from their long-time friend and protégé, Albus Dumbledore. He had informed them that their presence was required at Hogwarts the following morning. "Required", not "requested". Seems some things never can change, they thought. They had half a mind to turn down the 'offer' and even attempted to do so multiple times, but Albus would not relent. He insisted that it was a matter of most importance that would only benefit them and those attending. When asked for information, all he would reveal was that it had to do with their legendary creation, the war, and the future of the wizarding world. When that didn't seem to work, he uttered two words that made them stop – Harry Potter.

That brought them up short. The two had long been waiting for a chance to meet the young man who risked his life to protect something they didn't even have a need for simply out of moral obligation. It was a rare soul who did such things and when Albus told them of what he'd faced in order to do so, they wanted to personally thank the boy for his efforts and see if he measured up to their expectations, but were denied by their former pupil.

Now they were being given the chance to do so in person. It was an opportunity they couldn't pass up. However, that didn't make them lower their guard. They had secrets well worth protecting and they knew others would be coming to this mysterious meeting as well. They would have to be cautious.

"Come, Nicholas. Let's get some sleep before we travel tomorrow," the woman spoke. She was a tall woman that had blonde hair that reached down to her buttocks, with grey eyes and red lips. Her figure was well maintained for a woman seemingly in her mid-forties, and in even better shape for a woman who was over six hundred years old. The man she was speaking to, her husband was a mildly tanned man of slightly above average height. He sported dark grey hair with weaves of black and white intermixed. The both of them carried vast amounts of knowledge in their eyes alone, as though they knew everything and yet knew they knew nothing. Both had an aura of age and understanding around them.

"Maybe in a minute or so, Perenelle," the man absentmindedly replied. The women smiled at her husband's possessive antics and walked calmly and quietly to their bedroom, not bothering to wait up knowing her beloveds habits of contemplating things to oblivion. And true to her thoughts, her husband stayed up the rest of the night, having little need for sleep, contemplating on the sudden sense of change on the wind that he felt.

Aberforth Dumbledore set down another tankard of mead as he looked around his establishment; the Hogs Head. It was the perfect atmosphere for him to think things through. At this time of night hardly any patrons were up and about save one or two who usually couldn't sleep. Luck was on his side tonight as the only other person up in the bar was an old lady who had long since fallen asleep and was snoring peacefully. The fire was still on and the firewood was softly crackling and snapping. Aberforth never failed to marvel at how soft the wind blew outside and how the drips of the faucets and beer taps always seemed to combine into a natural lullaby. He was thankful for the solace of his home. Tonight was one of the nights where he really needed it.

He had been floo-called by his brother a few minutes ago. What the old goat was doing up at this time of night, he didn't concern himself over. What he was concerned over was the business in which his brother had called about. Apparently, the esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts requested his presence for a special meeting in the Great Hall the following morning. Aberforth quickly declined, much to his elder brother's ire. They got into yet another row over everything and nothing before Aberforth grew a brain and cut the connection. Talking to his brother was often times like talking to a wall. A wall he wanted to punch. A wall he wanted to demand answers from. A wall that he'd long since stopped missing.

Still, the meeting had caught his attention. From what little information was given before their little verbal battle began, the meeting concerned one Harry Potter and the future of the wizarding world. Why his brother would call him, he didn't know, but he said that the matter had involved him.

Aberforth sighed. He didn't know what to think. He stayed up all night contemplating his decision.

A woman in her early forties walked along the path of Malfoy manner. She had taken to walking a lot recently. She was angry, hurt, frustrated, and confused all at once. Her life of late could be considered a culture shock for her after long years… abroad. That's a term she felt could be used for imprisonment. After all, it was like a long holiday from real life, just not a pleasant one.

As the thought of the word "pleasant", both dark and immature thoughts came to the forefront of her mind. Thankfully, they were quickly batted away in annoyance. She'd been doing that a lot recently. Ever since her release she'd been receiving more and more unbidden dark thoughts from places unknown. Every time she tried to think of an explanation for her current mental state, she closed off all thought on the matter a though refusing to acknowledge what her heart was telling her. Still, she acted on it, refusing to eat any of the food in front of her, and playing the part expected of her. Yet everyday er concerns grew and grew as the grip that held her loosened more and more.

She was angry and confused and that was not a good combination for a witch of her power and ability. Needless to say, she was surprised when a soft crow brought a sense of peace to her senses. Turning her heard she gasped at seeing what she could only assume was a phoenix, though a majestic and unusual one, perching on a tree not far from her.

"A phoenix", she questioned aloud. She'd been doing that a lot recently as well. "On these grounds?" She scoffed at the thought.

The sudden appearance of the legendary avian set her on high alert and she deftly brandished her wand at the creature. She sneered at it as a sign to leave but it just stared stonily back at her with emerald eyes demanding obedience and peace. Absentmindedly, she half-lowered her wand, never allowing herself to be fully unprepared no matter the situation.

A few seconds later a ghostly presence pushed against her barriers, and she immediately raised her defenses as she snarled at the avian in surprise and anger at its intrusion to her mind, but to no avail. The force just went through, bringing with it a sense of peace and comfort, and one of slight sorrow.

"Troubled one," an ethereal voice spoke softly in her head. "You have been called."

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AN: Thanks you all for the story alerts, favorites, and reviews. I really appreciate the support and advice you guys have given. Just three things to talk about this time:

As you’re well aware, “Reading Of…” stories are being taken down all over this site. Some users claimed that it was over, but just this Tuesday shopaholic1369’s “Hogwarts reads Goblet of Fire” fic was deleted, as were other stories. I’m continuing with this series regardless of the current climate on this site, so don’t worry. However, if it by any chance does get removed, PM me and I’ll let you know whether I’ll eventually repost the series here, on another site, or create a fb group. I’m relying on this stories relative recentness, because I doubt I’ve garnered enough attention to be considered for deletion so early. Nonetheless, when I start printing content from the books… well, you never know.

Anonymous reviews will stay functional, though I am thankful to whoever “Thanks” is for their acceptance and advice. If you choose to review this story anonymously, that’s cool. Just do so with respect and it shall be returned. That’s all I can ask for.

For anyone interested in the pairings at the moment, I must inform you that I have started a new poll for which girls will end up with Harry and vice versa. For those of you who have already voted on the old poll, I must apologize for the inconvenience of having to ask you to vote again, but I left out a few characters that I wanted to add and I felt that starting fresh after this chapter (where we get to see some more development for some of those new options) might make the voting a little more fair in the long run. In truth, it might be best to vote gradually if it weren’t for the fact that I need to know which characters I should start having comment more often than others to build their relationship better. As it is, the poll will remain open until the end of the reading of the first book. After that, romance will start to bloom slowly for the chosen characters. I may have six women being paired with Harry, but the relationships will be difficult to handle at first: awkward at times, slow moving at others, etc. I encourage you to stay for the relationships and not just for the smut (though that’ll come later… much later). Thank you, and please vote, read, review and enjoy! :)

Special thanks to my two beta’s, the lovely Raven Potter Weasley and anothony37.

Saturday morning dawned early on the castles occupants, some of whom were woken by the soft rattling of the rain and wind against the window panes. It seemed the Scottish land was still clinging to any last vestiges of winter that it could, as a cold front had blown in over the course of the night. The daytime temperature fell to a chilling negative-four degree celsius from its once acceptable three degree the day prior. Thankfully, the interior of the castle was enchanted to keep its occupants as warm and dry as possible. Even so, most of the students and staff wound up dawning thick jumpers and long pants with stockings/high socks for the day, or in the case of certain purebloods, long and thick robes with warming charms.

The student body, out of habit, woke groggily for breakfast, despite knowing there was to be no game today. Usually this would be the day on which the annual Gryffindor/Hufflepuff quidditch match would take place, but thanks to a certain toad-like High Inquisitor with a fetish for cats, the game between the Badgers and the Lions was cancelled, much to the ire of the two houses.

Yesterday, after receiving a floo call from the Minister of Magic, Dolores Umbridge had discovered that a meeting was to take place in the Great Hall the following morning regarding the so called “war” Dumbledore constantly prattled on about, as well as certain matters at the school that he should be made aware of. The Minister was surprised that the she hadn’t heard about it until just that moment, and quickly ended the call when she began using her super sickly sweet voice, knowing that it was a sign of an imminent emotional blow up from the DADA professor. The feline loving woman was so incensed by the thought of Dumbledore holding a meeting about such rubbish, that she was in a bad mood the rest of the day. The old fool hadn’t even bothered forming her about the meeting, not to mention bringing the Minister into such matters as well. Hah! In her rage, she immediately and unrepentantly took her frustrations out on the only people she could: the students.

By the end of the day, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and even Slytherin had lost a total of 125 points for anything and everything that further angered the anal-retentive woman. Of course, Gryffindor alone lost half of those points, further solidifying their place at the very bottom in the running for the House Cup. This was on top of the quidditch game for the following day being cancelled. She hadn’t even bothered coming up with an excuse for it, but had rather awarded both teams with detention when they’d angrily asked her about it.

The foolish woman didn’t even know that she was doing the Headmaster a favor, as he was going to cancel the quidditch game anyways. Still, rather that she gain the students ire for taking away their beloved pastime, than him. They’d have enough reason to resent him soon enough.

As the castle’s occupants woke up, did their morning business, and proceeded to the Hall for breakfast, they were unaware of the guests the school would hose that morning. The first arrivals at the Great Hall instantly noticed the changes in the room. The staff table had been extended to nearly double its usual length, but it was bent into a perfect crescent shape, allowing anyone sitting at the raised table a clear view of anyone else in the hall, and vice versa. The Gryffindor table also underwent some changes, as another table was added to its length. The addition of some two dozen seats to the hall in the form of new furniture did not go unnoticed by any of the staff or students. The staff, however, had been informed that a meeting was to take place that day, and the students knew that whatever the cause of the change was, it would be revealed sooner or later.

As everyone went about their morning business and the visitors started trickling in, a certain emerald-eyed boy was just waking up from a phoenix induced sleep.

Gryffindor Fifth Year Boys Dormitory, Hogwarts - 8:37am – Saturday, February 21st, 1996

Harry awoke from a second nights worth of peaceful sleep, the likes of which he hadn't had since his first year at Hogwarts. Back when he didn't have dreams of dark lords, nightmares of giant snakes, thoughts on confronting a convicted murderer, restlessness over a dangerous tournament, and visions of a mysterious hall plaguing his mind. Instead, the slumber he'd just retreated from had been pleasant; dreamless and rejuvenating. Harry felt that the bags under his eyes had lessened substantially by now. It was almost as though life had slowly crept back into his being while he’d slept, though he didn’t know the cause of this sudden turn of events. Still, he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the eye. With a small but content smile, he blinked away the remaining effects of sleep and stared into the darkness of the ceiling, letting the moment of relative quiet last.

Sighing to himself, he swung his legs over the side of his bed with his head bowed, and wiped his eyes as his unruly black hair covered his peripheral view. Eventually, he looked up and around at the surprisingly quiet dorm room. He always was an early riser, and had grown accustomed to being the first of his bed mates to wake up. The absence of snoring struck him as odd, but he was to content with his sleep to question his dorm mate’s absence. It was a nice change of pace for him to actually just enjoy the morning for once – listening to the rain rattling softly against the windows and basking in the small tendrils of light that was now seeping into the room through the cracks in the curtains.

Harry looked around and his eyes landed on the nightstand by his bed where he usually placed his glasses, only to see a blurry lump on top of the stand. Grasping the outline of his glasses and slipping them on over his eyes, he saw a dark package lying on his nightstand. His name was written neatly across the top, where a note was tied to the package. He hadn’t remembered anyone delivering anything to his room the day prior, and if it was from one of his roommates, they would have simply given it to him in person. Not that he thought the package was from any of his roommates.

Ron hardly had any money to spare these days, and he doubted his best mate would have just given him something without an occasion, knowing full well the act would be reciprocated; something the red-headed boy hated about his raven-haired friend. It definitely wasn't from Seamus. Since the start of the year and the confrontation about what was being said in the prophet, the two boys had hardly spoken a few sentences to each other, and even then it was only in class or in passing to remain civil. Harry could tell Seamus was slowly coming around, but he doubted they were “good” just yet. For similar reasons, Harry doubted it was from Dean. Despite joining the DA and actually believing Harry about Voldemort’s return, Dean wouldn’t want to risk his friendship with the Irish boy by getting Harry a gift of all things. And Neville… well, he really had no reason to get Harry a gift. Besides, he would’ve just given it to him in person.

All this speculation was providing the package was a gift in the first place. But he hadn’t loaned anyone anything and he didn’t expect anything from anyone else either. The package wasn't there the night before, which meant someone had entered the room while he was sleeping, and Harry doubted it was a house elf’s doing. Dumbledore hadn't looked him in the eye in months so he quickly discarded that idea, as the elves only answered to the Headmasters commands, with the exception of Dobby. That left one logical possibility: the package was from someone who'd snuck into their dorm room who didn’t belong there, but had access nonetheless.

Now somewhat wary of the mysterious parcel, Harry drew his wand from beneath his pillow and pointed it at the package. With a muttered "wingardium leviosa" the box was levitated over to his bed. Harry took a breath and cautiously reached for the note that was tied to the top of the package, ready to pull his hand back at the first sign of danger. After all, it wouldn’t be above the twins to try and prank Harry, and they had access to their dorm room since they were Gryffindors. He hadn’t been on the receiving end of one of their pranks in his entire time at Hogwarts, something Ron was rather envious of, and perhaps it was past due. A part of him only hoped it was a prank. He knew it could be something much worse, as his thoughts drifted to a particular diary he’d found in his second year. Protected, Hogwarts may have been. But impenetrable and completely safe? Not in the least.

Though he may have been cautious, Harry was still a Gryffindor, and at the moment he was curious. So he snatched the parchment up and hurriedly inspected it with his eyes and hands for any trickery. Hoping it was safe and not carrying anything like bubotuber puss, he opened the letter and found that it was not only lacking of any immediate reaction, but rather crisp and clean. It featured a note written in deep blue ink and elegant writing, unlike his usual hurried scrawl. If he only looked closer, he would have seen the similarities. Sighing in temporary relief, he read the message silently.

Harry,

Let me start off by saying you don't know me - at least, not yet you don't. Perhaps in time you may, but until that time comes, “who” I am is not important. Just think of me as an honestly concerned third party who knows you not by mere reputation (I’m aware of the “Prophets” lies), but by your actions, which I have closely followed for some time now. Again, the “how” isn’t important either. If I may be so bold, it’s possible to say that I may know you better than you likely know yourself at the moment, but that sounds like something a certain snake-nosed bastard would say to fresh DE’s in a recruitment ceremony, and the mere thought gives me pause and extreme nausea.

Now, in case you’re wondering, I’m not associated with that bald, deformed, bigoted, lying, half-blood ponce, nor am I associated with the medaling old man. I can’t prove any of this with a mere letter, so you’ll just have to take my word for it until I can... or not. Trust your instinct like you always do. Soon enough these secrets and much more will be explained (far sooner than you think), but until then my advice is this – go along with it. You’ve made it this far on terms not set by yourself, so it’s just a little longer until you can live your life as you see fit.

Enclosed in this package are a few gifts. Nothing fancy, just some things I felt you could use in the coming days – a few outfits that actually fit you (I’m well aware of your situation with the Dursley’s and your lack of muggle income), a wand holster (you’ll likely need it before the day’s out), and a few hard-to-find books on advanced charms and a specific one on Occlumency. In regards to the clothes, I know you are not a vain person, Harry, but you’ll be glad you had something decent to wear in the coming days. At the very least, a certain romantic interest of yours will be rather pleased by the change in your attire. Regardless of whether she is or not, you’ll need to impress some important people real soon, as first appearances are the foundation for many relationships.

As for the books? Well, you’ve been so busy with the DA lately that you’ve hardly had time to teach yourself anything new during your private time. Yes, I know about that too and don’t worry, you’re secret is safe with me. Point is, you do exceedingly well with self-study, as proven by your out-of-this-world Defense scores. However, you neglect that talent by preoccupying yourself with recreational stuff. I’m not saying this is a bad thing, but you and I both know that there is going to come a time when you’ll wish you had studied and bettered yourself instead of wasted time losing yet another game of wizarding chess to Ron. I mean, come on? Doesn’t that get old sometime?

It may not seem fair to you. Well, trust me when I say it isn’t… but it’s the life you’ve been dealt. Define yourself in spite of these things; don’t let them define you. You’re stronger than you think Harry, even if you refuse to see it most of the time.

Aside from that, I have little else to offer you at this moment. Just a bit of parting advice regarding some upcoming things: Don’t worry about it. Take it in stride. Breath. Things may seem bleak, but there is a silver lining to all situations. I wish to god I had had someone there to tell me this when I went through… similar situations. Just know that there’s always hope (as cheesy as that sounds). Forget what you know about the world: light and dark, good and evil, and just remember that we have both lightness and darkness within us. We simply have to choose which path we’ll follow more. I have the utmost faith in you that you’ll choose the right path.

Until next time Harry. Sincerely,

A Friend

Harry’s mind was blank for a moment. He didn't know what to think of the message or its sender. Whoever it was that had written him, he’d known far more about Harry than anyone else had a right to. He even spoke in a way that absentmindedly reminded Harry of himself - elusive at certain things, but to the point in general, and instinctually humorous about subjects he’d rather not talk about. The person had even nearly quoted what Sirius had said to him over the holiday break, word for word almost. Common sense screamed at him to question this persons intentions and to worry over how it was that he (Harry presumed it was a he) had found out all of the things he’d done recently. However, for some reason Harry chose to trust the letter and by extension its sender, and proceeded to cautiously open the parcel, pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind.

Inside he found exactly what the letter said he would. A few simple-but-elegant outfits that he had to admit looked rather nice were on the top of the pile of gifts. They were far better than the usual Hogwarts robes he wore, which covered practically everything for both female and male student alike. The school robes were definitely proffered over Dudley’s hand-me-downs or the worn clothes his relatives grudgingly bought him from cheap thrift stores. Still, less formal attire would have been nice to wear on the weekends, instead of making do with his cousin’s clothes.

In truth, Harry had always wanted clothes that fit him; clothes that were simple and good looking. It wasn’t for his ego, as he rarely cared about what others thought of him, something he’d instilled in himself at a young age. Instead, it was rather from a need to make his parents proud by looking like something more than an embarrassingly dressed boy with poor taste. Unfortunately, the stores in Diagon Alley didn’t sell muggle clothes and he hadn’t discovered the ability to convert galleons into dollars until just this past year and hadn’t had a chance to go shopping due to current circumstances. Now he didn’t have to worry about any of that as he had enough clothes here to keep him going on weekends for the rest of the school year without their appearance growing old.

He did his best to feel around the smooth material of the outfits to make sure no side effects were activated upon touch. He definitely didn’t want to turn into Moody, but he could never be too careful with something sent from a stranger. Since he didn’t know any detection charms other than the basics, he cast them first and then followed it up with an overpowered “finite” on the whole lot. Going with his gut instinct, he deemed the clothes safe enough for use and set them aside to deal with later.

Next up was a black leather holster, with a slit on one side for a wand to be placed in, and three straps to secure the holster around his forearm. A small note on the side of the wand-holster told him how to attach it comfortably to his arm, as well as how to summon/retract his wand. Apparently it not only served as a wand holster, but thanks to runes etched on its side, it was both summon-proof and invisible upon activation. This was on top of the fact that the holster automatically shrunk the wand into a pocket dimension of sorts, because most wands were relatively too long to fit in a simple holster located on one’s forearm, something most wizards took for granted. Harry was completely blown away by the possibilities of the runes placed on the simple contraption and once again regretted not taking Ancient Runes, despite learning what he could on the subject in his spare time.

He attached and activated the wand holster to his right forearm, and then proceeded to empty out the contents of the package. All that was left were four books: one on dueling tactics, one on Occlumency, and two on advanced charms including healing charms (something he’d wished he had studied earlier with all of the injuries he had received over the years). Satisfied that the books were what they claimed to be and nothing else, and thankful for the help from the mysterious stranger, Harry decided to hide the books away for the moment and placed his new clothes away save for an outfit he’d picked out to wear for the chilly day. With that done he decided a nice warm shower was in order, as he was in no hurry to get to breakfast, and he had a lot to think about. He wasn’t aware of the pair of eyes that followed his path to the bathroom; eyes that had seen everything that morning before disappearing in a flash of indigo fire, content that his master was pleased with his own gift.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry stepped out of his shower feeling thoroughly clean for the first time in a long time. He usually took cold showers to force his oftentimes strained mind to wake, due to the lack of sleep he always got. Today, however, he was able to take a nice hot shower while contemplating on the letter and package he’d received. He decided to take the senders advice for now, and just take it all in stride as he always had, while still remaining cautious. He ended up leaving the shower feeling better than he had in months. A part of him felt that it was all too good to last, but he opted to ignore it in light of his current mood.

With a little reluctance, Harry changed into a plain, but smooth crimson long-sleeve that clung to his upper body in all the right places. He followed this up with a black thin zip-hoody, a silver scarf, a pair of comfortable semi-skinny jeans that were a dark navy blue, and his usual black trainers. It was a new feeling for Harry: having clothes that actually fit him that weren’t school robes tailored for him by Madame Malkin, Mrs. Weasley’s comfy but thick jumpers, or his god-awful cousin’s overlarge hand me downs. The mirror in the bathroom presented him with a rather good-looking reflection, and Harry felt a sense of both pride in his appearance and gratitude towards the anonymous stranger who had sent him the helpful package. Stepping out of the bathroom, he dumped his old clothes and towel into the laundry bin, and left the room and the sounds of the rain pattering behind him.

His luck seemed to remain with him as he didn’t find anyone present in the common room, which meant he would be able to avoid the aggravating looks of suspicion or pity sent to him from members of his own house. Outside of those on the Quidditch team or in the D.A., which were really the only group of people who’d ever taken the time to get to know him, the majority of his house was on the fence about Voldemort being back and decided to remain cautious of their currently questionable golden-boy. The Daily Prophets articles didn’t do him any favors among those in his house, but he figured they were just sheep and couldn’t blame them too much for following the word of the press without taking the time to get to know him themselves. He knew that there was a strong possibility of acting like they did were the roles reversed. Harry smiled to himself, knowing that soon enough he’d at least have a mouth of his own in the media thank to Luna and Rita’s efforts.

Shaking his head at thoughts regarding his house’s fickleness, he left the common room through the portrait of the fat lady, who he gave a cheery “good-morning” to. He didn’t bother waiting up for his friends since they were likely the ones waiting for him by now. He hadn’t known that he had slept in so late, as he had cast a quick tempus to reveal that breakfast had started a good fifty minutes ago. Still, it wasn’t everyday that one slept so well and received such a surprising care package from a stranger, so he figured he was due a late morning for once. Unfortunately for him, he’d chosen the wrong day to show up late to breakfast.

Harry had arrived at the entrance hall in the span of a few minutes, already well accustomed to the layout of the school. He once again wondered why there were so many unused classrooms and wings in the school, but chalked it up to the population of the school dwindling over time. He’d heard from Hermione somewhere that the school was sued as a haven long ago, before it became an academy for magic. Still, that was a lot of unused space. So into his thoughts on this theory, as well as the events from earlier that morning that Harry failed to notice he’d arrived at the entrance hall until a chilly presence quickly drove all other thoughts from his mind. The Bloody Baron had just passed through the now freezing and awkward feeling teen, who quickly recognized the blood-soaked Slytherin ghost.

“Best hurry… they’re waiting for you,” came the raspy voice from the spectral form of the deceased wizard. Harry had no idea what he was talking about, but hurried into the hall nonetheless, not desiring to spend any more time with the usually fascinating ghost than was needed at the moment. Something about the way the ghost spoke sent shivers down the sole Potter heir’s spine. It brought back the feelings of dread and change he’d felt two nights ago. Calming himself and drawing a breath for what he expected to be a mostly empty hall by now, Harry opened the doors to the Great Hall and promptly froze in shock and confusion.

Crowded. That was the first word that came to his mind when he saw the room before him. It was filled to the brim with students of all houses, as though the entire student body had shown up that morning. This was a peculiar site as there were usually some people absent from every meal for one reason or another aside from the welcoming and closing feasts. The next thing he noticed was the layout of the room; it had changed substantially. The staff table had lengthened to nearly twice its usual size, and it now formed a perfect half-circle on its expanded elevated platform. The Gryffindor table was also an extra table long, and it was only then that he noticed the additional occupants in the room.

Sitting at the middle of the additional Gryffindor table were (from clockwise around the table): Ron, Hermione, Neville, the Weasley twins, Lee Jordon, who sat across former Gryffindor captain and graduate Oliver Wood, who was next to Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, Viktor Krum, Nymphadora Tonks (Tonks!?), Luna Lovegood, a beautiful girl that Harry had never seen before, Fleur Delacour, Hermione roommate Fay Dunbar, Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, who sat across from Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Charlie Weasley, Bill Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and ended up back at Ron. There was an empty seat between Ron and Hermione, that Harry could only assume was intended for him.

At the staff table, from the left side to the right were: Molly Weasley and Arthur Weasley, followed by a man and woman whom Harry had never met before but seemed pleasant enough, a smiling Remus Lupin, Auror-Captain Kingsley Shacklebolt, a gruff and real (this time) Alastor Moody, the monocle-toting Amelia Bones, another couple seemingly in their forties that Harry had never seen before but gave off an aura of wisdom and power, followed by charms professor Filius Flitwick, Herbology professor Pomona Sprout, medi-witch Poppy Pomfrey, flight instructor Rolanda Hooch, transfiguration professor Minerva McGonagall, the Headmaster himself who was seated in the center of the crescent table, the bitch Dolores Umbridge, her idol Cornelius Fudge, a scowling Percy Weasley, muggle studies professor Charity Burbage, the librarian Irma Pince, Ancient Runes instructor Bathsheda Babbling, Austronomy Professor Aurora Sinestra, Arithmancy master Septima Vector, the ever creepy Garrick Ollivander, a comfy Rubeus Hagrid, a portly man Harry had never met who wore a smile and a calculating look, an empty seat, followed by Lucius Malfoy of all people, his wife Narcissa, an a stranger whose appearance was covered by a magical veil. It was quite the line-up to say the least.

All of this information was taken in over the span of a few seconds, but when he was done scanning the room Harry noticed that all eyes were on him. The hundreds of differing looks directed his way reminded him of the night his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire, and it was a feeling that made Harry feel like he was eight again, locked in a dark cupboard for three days. A feeling that made him feel small.

“Damn those bloody Hogwarts robes… they hide so much.”

Though the last part was mumbled, the first half of the sentence was still audible enough for the people in the immediate vicinity to hear. Tracey Davis, Slytherin fifth year and best friend of Daphne Greengrass and Lily Moon, cursed the school’s baggy uniform as she gazed at the object of her long-time secret affections. Her two friends agreed with her as verbally as they could, which was with the slightest of the head nods.

The three best friends had become friends over the course of their first year in the house of snakes, bonding due to their similar circumstances as being social outcasts in their prior lives. Daphne was the product of pitch-perfect pureblood upbringing; an experiment for the future for her parents to play with. She was untouchable to all but the most ancient and noble of houses. It drove her absolutely mad as well. Tracey was an open-minded and loud mouthed half-blood who only got into Slytherin due to her commons sense smarts and cunning. Lily was a quiet nymphomaniac who had come from a broken pureblood home from Japan. All in all, they were complete social pariahs until they met and eventually bonded with each other. Now they were inseparable, not unlike a certain golden-trio.

The long-time object of their collective affections had just walked into the Great Hall, completely oblivious to what he was getting himself into. The first thing the three girls had noticed about him was his new appearance, and even the stony-faced Slytherins were shocked at the affect it had on his body. Harry Potter was an enigma for many a girl at Hogwarts, who always wondered why he worse such poor clothing when he was likely one of the richest and most iconic wizards in the past century. For girls who were attracted to the boy, either through his actions committed while in school or out of lust for his fame, the bulky school robes and hand-me-downs that the boy wore were constantly the cause of much frustration, as they had never been given a shot at the famous B-W-L’s physique.

Apparently, the robes and overlarge clothes had hidden more than anyone had thought possible. What no one knew was that Harry had taken up an exercise regiment since his third year, something few wizards, muggleborn or otherwise, hardly ever bothered doing. It was true when people said that magical peoples took a lot of things for granted: among that list of neglected items was their health. With magic being the ultimate clutch, muggleborns who entered the wizarding world quickly built a lazy complex that few ever fought off or broke, while purebloods or children raised in the wizarding world’s culture found exercise either beneath them or were never exposed to its benefits. Thankfully, Harry wasn’t among this group. Between his exercise routines from his third year onwards, and his usual quidditch training for five years straight, he’d developed quite the lean body that had previously hidden behind thick Weasley jumpers or overlarge clothing.

One might think that Harry would have been affected by the years of malnourishment at the hands of the Dursley’s, stunting any real growth he’d ever stand to have. Thankfully, his pre-pubescent magic had reduced the majority of the damages done by his constant starving, and with three healthy meals a day for five years at Hogwarts, not counting the food he received over the summers from his friends or at their respective houses, and he’d filled out quite nicely in spite of his less than fulfilling childhood (pardon the pun). While he’d never be anything close to being a body-builder, he’d managed to become lean and edged in physical appearance, which was a strong improvement over the majority of the men in the wizarding world.

The thin red sweater that he wore clung to his chest and exposed his rather cut torso, while the unzipped thin black hoody bulged at his biceps and triceps. The style of clothing he worse screamed muggle, which screamed style to muggleborn girls and screamed rebellious to pureblood girls, while the half-bloods were on either side of the fence. It didn’t really matter what they called it, as they all thought the same thing when they saw the oblivious green-eyed boy enter the room: hot.

The girls were shocked silly by their crushes appearance and drank it in as subtly as they could. Lily even went so far as to lick her lips, being the nymphomaniac she was, despite the purple-haired girl never having gotten further with a boy than a hug. Her friend Tracey had gotten a few snogs in, but nothing that lasted much longer than a few seconds and didn’t end with a broken nose on the males side of things. The redheaded half-blood had a sharp wit and a deadly temper. Daphne was completely untouched, being the Ice Queen and pureblood parent project that she was. And they weren’t the only ones in the room who were staring at Harry hungrily. Daphne scanned the room and found that the majority of the girls between third year and seventh, regardless of being in a relationship or not, were staring at the boy with some form of interest. Hell, even some of the younger professors were staring at him in wonder, as were a couple of the halls recent female guests. She briefly wondered if she’d ever have a chance with the last living Potter with all of that competition present, but quickly drowned those thoughts out.

She didn’t let any thoughts on the boy get too far because she knew it was a hopeless case in every way. The three friends had come to like the Boy-Who-Lived for three reasons. First off, he was mysterious: he interested them by all by being so different to what people expected him to be, and not necessarily in a bad way. He wasn’t strong, handsome (rather, he was cute), openly powerful, seemingly rich, or Merlin’s second coming. Instead he was a shy but brave boy who’d quickly grown a name for himself outside of his fame as both the youngest and most talented seeker the schools seen in a century, as well as one of the nicest and most down to earth boys in the entire student body if rumors were to be believed, if you discounted Malfoy’s bitter comments that is. Secondly, he was the final Potter heir, and that alone was worth any semi-decent scheming Slytherins attention. The Potter name was very old and very respected. While not as rich as a family like the Malfoy’s or Black’s may have been, it was still powerful in its own right, and came with a respected name rather than an infamous one. And lastly, Harry was just too far out of their reach for so many different reasons – meaning he was safe. Safe to dream about, to crush over with each other, because the odds of any of them ending up with him were nearly astronomical. Right then wasn’t the first time that Daphne wished that wasn’t the case.

She sighed at this. Even if she were to go after her secret crush’s affections, it would instantly spark other girls into action, creating a lot of competition for a boy that they really knew nothing about. It sounded extremely ridiculous; like something from those smut-ridden novels that Lily loved to read all the time. If only she knew more about him - the real him…

These thoughts were being mirrored by several of the girls around the room. Cho Chang, Su Li and Padma Patil from Ravenclaw; Leanne Thomspon, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuf; Katie Bell, Demelza Robbins and Ginny Weasley from Gryffindor. A certain blonde-haired veela was nearly drooling at the sight of her savior and long-time crush. Her older sister was staring at the raven haired teen with a calculating expression that quickly turned to amusement upon seeing his blank face at the sight of the changes and additions to the hall. This look and more was similar to that of a certain rookie auror metamorphmagus. Some of the younger female professors were instantly reminded of a reborn James Potter and blushed at the implications. Even Amelia Bones noted her niece’s calculating and aroused look and pondered on their relationship.

On the other hand, the majority of the men in the hall were simply shocked at the changes evident in “Potter”. Some thought he’d taken a potion of a sort overnight, while others merely admired or sneered at his choice in clothing. An animagus dog whimpered at the ghost of his longtime friend, before yelping in pride at his godson when he noticed the looks being sent his way by the females. A certain werewolf was pleased to Harry coming into his own before he heard Sirius’/Padfoot’s barking and quickly surmised what the dog at his feet was thinking, earning said mutt a smack on the head.

Snape, Lucius, Umbridge, and a few other people in the room sneered at the boy, though for all different reasons. The former did so out of disdain and loathing for the boy who reminded him every day of the pain he’d suffered at the hands of what he felt was a completely guilty James Potter, conveniently disregarding his part in all of their confrontations. The boy was also a walking reminder of what he lost to that man, with her eyes. The head of house Malfoy sneered out of hatred for the boy who had caused his master so much trouble in the past, and had delayed their once great plans. Not to mention he’d allowed the boy to better him at the mere age of twelve. The boy would pay, and the punishment he received in the graveyard last year would like mild in comparison. Umbridge just sneered because she hated the filthy lying half-blood, who was wearing disgusting muggle clothes. The rest merely sneered at the boy who they thought was a liar, an attention seeker, a delusional fame-ridden git, or the guy who kicked their ass at quidditch for five years running. They didn’t know which reason to be most mad at, but most eventually went with the quidditch reason.

Meanwhile the elder professors and guests were reminded of a spitting image of James Potter, a boy who had once caused so much trouble in the halls and had always walked in with a look similar to the one the boy before them would wear when he was caught doing something. It wasn’t the look of complete shock written on the boys at present, but just seeing the two dressed so similarly (Lily often dressed James in their seventh year) was too much for some. Meanwhile, the guests who had never met the boy in person before were rather intrigued by his appearance, though, judging from everyone else’s reactions, it was a relative new look on him. The Flamels were especially excited to meet the boy and to thank him for his actions in his first year. The Black sisters in the hall (current last name aside) were both surprised at the boys appearance and infatuated with his eyes; greener than any of them had imagined possible. Even Narcissa, who’d met the boy before, didn’t remember his eyes being so clear and powerful.

Dumbledore, ever the scrutinizing man that he was, saw that it was not only Harry’s clothing that had changed, but also the way he carried himself. He seemed more upbeat, and stood straighter. The bags under his eyes had lessened considerably, and he even appeared to have had another growth spurt that year, now putting him at a healthy 5’ 8” for a fifth year. The old wizard smiled at the boys change, chalking it up to a certain meddling phoenixes actions. The boy would need all the help he could get for what was to come.

Snape broke the long drag of silence that had descended upon the hall with Harry’s entrance. He appeared next to Harry, apparently on his way out when the boy walked in. Sporting an ever more pronounced sneer than usual, he spoke. “Potter! How kind of you to burden yourself with joining us this morning.”

Harry ignored the bitter man’s usual taunts while the rest of the staff and the majority of the guests narrowed their eyes at the greasy haired mans comment. Instead Harry asked a question into the still relatively quiet hall. “What’s going on here?”

“Like you don’t know? Come now, you’re clearly dressed for the occasion. Mind filling us in on why we’re here, Potter,” the voice of everyone’s least favorite potions professor sounded once more. With every word he uttered, his sneer only became more pronounced, his voice dripping with a sardonic pleasure at singling out the ‘hell-spawn’ of his nemesis.

Harry, still taking in the situation, absentmindedly responded. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

A few of the students and guests snickered at his casual dismissal of the broody mans taunting. This only further angered the already inpatient Snape, who snapped a response back. “Do you mean to tell me that you have no idea about what’s supposedly taking place today? No reason as to the meaning for this meeting?”

“No.”

Snape gritted his teeth at the simple response and lack of respect from the brat. “No, sir.”

“There’s no need to call me sir, professor,” came the reply from an amused Harry, who placed the same emphasis on the word professor as the man had on the word sir. He couldn’t resist getting an easy shot in at the man who enjoyed making his life so miserable.

Harry temporarily feared that the sallow-skinned mans eyes might pop out of his head; they had gone so wide in incensed shock. Meanwhile, the rest of the students in the hall burst into laughter at their least favorite professor’s expense. Even the Slytherins joined in, not willing to pass up the opportunity to laugh at their Head of House without being singled out. The guests were shocked by the altercation, but amused nonetheless, while Moody was damn near on the floor in laughter. It goes without saying that his one magical eye was constantly spinning, looking out for any suspicious movements despite his temporarily vulnerable state.

Before Snape could open his mouth to berate the boy, Harry had simply walked away, his eyes distracted by the appearance of a familiar large black dog sitting next to Professor Lupin’s feet. Everything else was quickly put to the back of his mind at the sight of seeing his godfather there, in Hogwarts of all things, with aurors and ministry officials in the same room. When they got a minute alone, Harry was going to kick the mutt back into his senses before getting him the hell out of here. For now though he simply remained calm, not wanting to cause a scene and draw attention to his animagus godfather. He was very interested to know why he of all people was here, however, and who better to ask than Professor Lupin. The man was quickly approaching him with a sigh on his lips but a twinkle of amusement in his eye.

“Harry, you know you shouldn’t talk to Snape like that. It’ll only make matters worse for you later,” said the werewolf with his usual placating tone, not wanting to anger the recently angst-ridden teen.

“Then he shouldn’t be such a git. Regardless, what are all of you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see any of you. I presume Dumbledore asked you all here for a reason?”

Remus was humored by Harry’s directness. It reminded him so much of Lily when she was on a mission of similar importance: information retrieving. Cutting his thoughts short, he went to answer the boy he saw as a nephew figure when said boy was tackled to the floor by a yellow blur.

“Harry!” a very feminine and decidedly French voice squealed.

“Uhm… err, hello?” Harry looked down to the bundle of blonde hair lying on his chest and came face to face with a rather beautiful girl who was staring up at him with a now shy smile. She had blue eyes and curly blonde-silver hair, leaning closer to blonde, with soft features. Harry had never met the girl before in his life, but current publicly awkward position aside, he wasn’t what he’d consider uncomfortable. Fortunately, or not, the girl was quickly pulled off of him by another silvery-blonde haired woman, one who Harry recognized instantly. “Fleur?”

“’Ello, ‘Arry,” came the soft and soothing greeting from the French veela. She frowned at her accent unknowingly slipping, something that Bill also caught and frowned at. She was making such good progress recently, too.

“Uhm, thanks,” Harry offered, as he accepted the hand given to him by his fellow Triwizard champion, as he absentmindedly marveled at how soft yet strong her hands were. “How have you been doing lately? I never really got to talk to you after…” Harry trailed off at the reminder of the third task. Fleur sensed this and quickly continued the conversation while leading Harry towards their table and away from too many prying ears. The hall returned to their talking after that, though many decided to try and listen in on their conversation. Remus had returned to his seat, knowing that someone would explain the situation to Harry sooner or later.

“I have been doing well. I’ve gotten a job at your local branch of Gringotts. I figured it was a way for me to escape the duties at home for a while longer, and maybe see the world.” Fleur now spoke in controlled English, and Harry was impressed by how far she’d come in less than a year. “I apologize for Gabrielle over here, she simply doesn’t acknowledge physical boundaries when she gets excited. Especially when it comes to her savior, no?”

Harry turned towards the other girl next to Fleur, mouth agape. “You’re Gabrielle? What happened to the sweet little girl from last year? You couldn’t have been older than eight… could you?”

His shock and the way in which he referred to Gabrielle as caused said veela to pout and her older sister to give a melodic laugh that had all of the males in the area feeling light headed. As the younger veela went into a rant about how she wasn’t little, and Fleur described the veela aging process, which Harry found rather interesting, he also took in the people sitting at his table. Directly across from him, and the person he was most wary of, was Tonks.

She was currently sporting cropped, spiky white hair that went down to just the base of her neck, giving her a rather tomboyish look that was definitely cute on her. She wore a pink “Weird Sisters” t-shirt underneath an opened black leather jacket that reached down to her calves; the kind often seen in muggle detective films. Her navy blue jeans and black boots finished off her lack rather well. Harry smiled at the thought; Tonks always did seem to have great taste in fashion for a younger person, and she was the only adult wizard in the room sporting muggle clothing… likely because she wasn’t much of an adult but rather a kid herself, Harry mused.

Seeing him staring momentarily, Tonks, always the tease decided to strike up a conversation with the boy who‘d caught her interest over the past summer. “Wotcher, Harry.”

“Wotcher, Tonks. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Yeah, fancy that. Then again, I do make it a point to come here as often as I’m allowed. When Dumbledore and my boss Amelia Bones told me I had to drop by for some secret meeting, I just couldn’t resist seeing you again in person. I’ve missed you so terribly, since it’s been so long since we’ve held each other close,” Tonks said all of this in a rather suggestive matter and a lean-in on Harry’s side of the table, which quickly got the boy flustered. Aware of her teasing, he may have been, but immune to it… not for a while it would seem.

Tonks stared at him for what felt like hours, but was in fact hardly a minute. Green eyes and purple eyes meeting without blinking. Harry felt slightly warm under the collar, but ignored it and continued to stare, even as Tonks eyes began to change. Harry’s eyes danced with both determination and amusement, while Tonks’ lips twitched every now and then. The others at the table were lost as to what was going on, but to Tonks and Harry, who’d invented this game over the summer, the rules and purpose was simple: a staring match that quickly erased any and all awkwardness from a situation. Tonks had come up with it during a particularly awkward encounter in the kitchen of number 12 Grimmauld Place, involving a bathrobe, eggs, and a cup of tea.

Eventually, they both smiled and then broke into laughter, which only increased when the others asked them what was so funny. It wasn’t funny in the sense that normal people used, but it was rather the reminder of that incident and the thought of their unique and new friendship that made them laugh aloud. When Hermione and Ron, who had been rather quiet since Harry’s entrance, asked Harry what all that was about, as well as his clothes, he simply mouthed “later” and they nodded their heads in satisfaction. When it turned out that breakfast was done being served, Harry decided to go to the kitchens after whatever it was they were doing was done.

Surprisingly, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and even Luna (whom he’d been pleasantly surprised to see was sitting with them) each pulled out a sandwich or a cup of juice or a rasher of eggs on a napkin. It was all given to Harry who was told that Ron and Hermione had decided he’d be late and would likely need his food for today. Sending a grateful smile at his friends, and thanking the fates for his two best ones, Harry dug in while politely maintain conversation with the people on the table. It was amusing seeing Oliver rant about injustice when he was informed about Harry’s and the twins recent bans from quidditch as well as the cancelation of the Hufflepuff/Slytherin game. Harry also kept seeing Katie, who was sitting next to an actually smiling Krum, sneaking glances at him every now and then. Krum and Fleur for their part simply caught up with one another, while the Weasley siblings spent their time catching up with each other as well. Apparently Fleur was dating Bill, something that surprised Harry and seemed to agitate Ginny. Ron himself was a bit miffed at the closeness shown between Viktor and Hermione, but didn’t comment on it. Overall, it was a surprisingly pleasant breakfast for Harry, even if he was confused about what the hell was going on.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t to last, as Dumbledore stood from his seat to address the once again quieted hall. They’d spent the last five minutes or so talking amongst themselves, waiting for an announcement of some sort. It seemed that Dumbledore was waiting for Harry to finish his meal, something that few failed to notice.

“Now that we are all here and prepared for the day, I would like to make an announcement. It has recently been given to me, information that could possibly affect us all. Information on events that have transpired over the course of the past few years here at this school, as well as a glimpse of what may yet come to pass in the future of the wizarding world. I was given a series of books detailing the life of one… Harry Potter, word for word, thought for thought, to be read to each and every one of you,” Dumbledore spoke clearly and calmly into the silent crowd, knowing there was no beating around the bush of a topic like this.

However, he did not get the reaction he fully expected. Silence was what came first followed by laughter. The hall, as one, turned to the source of it, only to find the subject of the matter nearly in tears as he laughed. “Oh, that’s good, Headmaster. If it’s taken you all year to plan that joke, with the silent treatment and all, it may just have been worth it. Seriously, that’s good. Probably in poor taste to some of these folk, but funny as hell to me.”

When Dumbledore failed to laugh or show any signs of amusement, Harry’s laughter ceased and a cold feeling surfaced in the pit of his gut. The Flamels faces had gone quite pale, and Umbridge’s head snapped up at the announcement. The rest of the people in the hall were still in disbelief and were quickly about to voice their disapproval of this stupid and pointless joke from the now proven senile old man, when Dumbledore drew his wand. He had prepared for this, and while he hoped it wouldn’t come to this, it was a step he was willing to take in order to get things moving. Placing his wand in the air for all to see, he spoke in a solemn voice laced with power and intent.

“I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, do solemnly swear upon my magic and my life that these seven books…” At this moment Fawkes flashed in carrying a parcel of seven books that landed on the table in front of the Headmaster. “…hold the complete and genuine truth concerning the life – past, present, and future – of one Harry James Potter, and his time spent here at Hogwarts. These books were given to me by a phoenix mage from places unknown in the future, which travelled back here to give us the gift of choice. A gift to change a future that may or may not doom us all. This, I swear with my entire being… So. Mote. It. Be.”

A resounding clang was heard and a flash of magic expelled forth from Dumbledore’s magical core, impacting with the cores of each and every person in the hall. When the light that had ignited upon Dumbledore’s oath being completed had stopped, the crowd was silent.

What had just happened was a magical oath had been completed. It’s the final measures of a witch or wizard willing to risk all in order to get it across to others that what they say is the truth. It requires the person to solemnly swear an oath with the fabric of magic itself, to be judged and ruled in complete scrutiny, with risk of death and loss of magic. If the force of magic itself actually find your words, thoughts, or deeds wholesome and honest, whether you’re aware of it or not, it will allow you to use your core to send out the complete feelings of truth to everyone in the vicinity that the oath may concern. Once the oath is taken and the feelings settled, no matter how much a person may want to oppose the truth, they cannot, because they know within themselves that it’s the truth; it’s unbreakable and irrevocable. That’s the wonder of the magical oath, though it’s not used often in practice due to both the risk involved, as there was little you could not prove through other means such as veratisurum, and the magical strength needed to breach the cores of a crowd of this magnitude was hard to find. Even with Dumbledore’s strength and the elder wands assistance in channeling hi power, he quickly took the pepper up potion he’d set aside for this very occasion.

To say the audience who had recently awoken from their stupor at the turn of events was surprised was an understatement. Murmurs started trickling around the hall, and before a quarter of a minute was out, most of the hall was out of their shock and voicing their vehement disapproval of the idea or their stern approval of finding out about “Potter’s life”. The subject of the matter himself was still stuck in a shock, something that concerned Luna who was the only one at their table not yelling insults at the others in the room who approved of the idea, or arguing with the Headmaster about how unethical it was. Had Harry not been so frozen, he would have felt an immense feeling of pride enter him as he saw how many people were sticking up for him.

Practically everyone on the staff table, sans Snape, Umbridge, Percy, Fudge, and Narcissa were yelling at the Headmaster about even considering such an unethical act. Delving into the personal life of a fifteen, then eleven year old boy wasn’t something to be taken lightly. The Flamels were intrigued by the idea, as it would allow them to see whether the boy was a worthy successor or not, but it still went against their moral code. They decided to wait and see what was to happen. Moody was expecting to read about the lad’s experiences, as well as see how good of an imposter that damned Barty Crouch Jr. was. Kingsley and Amelia were both unhappy with the decision, but knew that it would bring a lot of closure to certain topics surrounding the boy. Again, that didn’t mean the liked it, or found it legal, and protested as such.

Aberforth remained silent, knowing his brother better than most, and he was able to see how much the act pained the old wizard. His brother must have felt it was worth it, which only brought up negative emotions for the youngest of the remaining Dumbledore brothers. He mused that perhaps karma would get his brother back by having someone write a detailed life story of himself and all of his secrets. He didn’t know the half of it.

The rest of the adults were pissed: Molly was shifting from yelling at Dumbledore, to yelling at her kid for their language as they berated the wizard themselves. Arthur felt sorry for the boy whom he’d come to view as a son, knowing this likely wouldn’t go over well with Harry. The Tonks’ were shocked that Dumbledore was willing to reveal the life of one of his students to over five hundred people, on the whim of a legendary phoenix. Narcissa and the hooded figure remained silent, mulling over the positives and negatives of possibly reading about the boys past as well as their future. Lucius viewed this as a victory, knowing that he’d be able to report anything on the Potter boy to his master; his actions, his strengths, his weaknesses, his whereabouts and secrets – everything. Snape was split down the middle. He didn’t know if he could stand reading about the spoiled brats life, though he was curious about certain things as well. As a man who valued privacy, he wasn’t overly fond of this in theory, and his sentiments were shared by Slughorn and Ollivander.

The DA, surprisingly most of the Gryffindors, and some scattering of students in the other houses protested the action while a good deal of each of the remaining houses supported it for different reasons. The Hufflepuffs wanted closure on what happened during the events of the third night, not fully realizing (or in some cases caring) about their invasion of an innocent persons life. The Ravenclaws wanted answers as well, and what better way than from the source itself. And lastly, the Slytherins were able to finally get some dirt on both the Gryffindor golden boy, and the house he belonged to. Some of the students planning to be Death Eaters once they graduated saw this as an opportunity, not unlike Lucius Malfoy, to get on their Lords good side. Among this group was unsurprisingly Draco.

Meanwhile, Harry’s friends and the girls who secretly crushed on him remained adamantly against the idea. Some of the may have been curious about him, and willing to get to know the Bow-Who-Lived better, but not under these circumstances. There was a line that just wasn’t worth crossing. Even Seamus joined his house mates in protesting, knowing that Harry would do it for him in a heartbeat because that was just who he was.

Eventually the sound of a canon blat interrupted the hectic and undiscernibly noise in the hall, as Dumbledore launched a canon blast from his wand. The hall descended into silence, and Dumbledore opened his mouth to address the crowd, but was beaten to the punch by a hardly audible voice.

“This is my life…”

The voice was soft, but it rang in the silence of the Great Hall. It came from one Harry Potter, whose eyes were overcast with emotion. He continued on, far louder this time, a yell in the quiet of his surroundings. “This is my life!” The words were laced with anger, bitterness, but above all else – vulnerability. The look in his eyes when he finally looked up at the Headmaster spoke volumes about how he felt on the situation, and it nearly broke the hearts of everyone present. It was a look that never belonged on the face of a child; a look of absolute loneliness, hurt, and fear. In a word: fragile.

“I don’t have a lot of things in this life. I’ve come to accept that at a young age. But one of the things I do have, and am entitled to, as are the rest of us, is my privacy. Or at least what’s left of it. My thoughts, my deeds, my emotions - they’re all written down in that series of books there. And by reading them to these people, people I don’t even know… you’re flailing me and stripping me naked for all to see. At a level that I hardly view myself in. I… you… I don’t know about you, but I hate being naked, being cold and judged; weight and measured. And by these people, the people who’ve changed their minds about me more often than I care to count… I’m begging you not to do this.”

Harry’s emotional rant nearly broke Dumbledore’s reserve at that moment, as well as most of the people who were looking to get some form of closure or dirt from the readings. Unfortunately, or not in the long run, Dolores Umbridge was not one of these people. She’d long since forgotten the feelings of emotion, and she saw this as nothing more than a means to an end: a chance to find something on Potter, the old fool, and all of their half-breed friends.

“Hem, hem,” came the toad women’s sickly sweet voice. It sent shivers up the spines of the adults guests who had not yet met the woman, while the younger students and guests simply felt disgusted when they saw the smile playing across her face. It was a smile that spoke doom for Harry, they all knew it. “Unfortunately, that is not for you to decide Mr. Potter. Since it has been proven that these books are indeed the complete truth, and you seem rather defensive of them, as a Ministry employee, I can’t help but feel as though you may be hiding something… incriminating, perhaps, in here?”

Before Harry or anyone else could respond she turned to the Minister. “Minister, I think now is the perfect opportunity for us to get to the bottom of these preposterous lies the boy keeps sprouting. We will finally know what happened the night of the third task, as well as any other dark secrets the usurpers might have.” The word usurpers had a profound effect on the formerly shaky Minister. His eyes seemed to darken and his face became set in troubled determination.

“Yes… yes, you’re right Dolores. We’ll get to the bottom of these events once and for all,” the Minister spoke with a finality that told others that he would not budge on this. With the Minister backing the idea, they had little choice in the matter, though that didn’t stop some of them from protesting weakly. The majority of them just stared at the Minister in incredulity; was he THAT easily swayed. With a mere mention of getting anyone who might threaten his power, he was willing to cross ethical lines in front of a voting (somewhat) public? The man didn’t deserve to be Minister anymore than Harry deserved what was undoubtedly coming to him.

Back to Harry, he was struggling to his emotions under control. He knew that an outburst right now would do him no good, so instead he tried to breathe as he felt more disheartened than he had been since the night of the third task. However, a stray thought drifted to the forefront of his mind. The letter from this morning talked about coming events changing his life. Whoever sent the note knew what was going to happen. Before he could get to mad at the stranger for the lack of a heads up, he knew that he likely wouldn’t have believed anything else from the letter had he been told his life was going to be read in a series of six books in front of the entire school. Instead, Harry focused on the device given to him in the letter: breathe.

And so he did. He breathed, and thought about the so-called “silver lining” the mysterious sender had told him was located in every situation. He thought about people reading about his past few years and future, and it didn’t take him long to see the merit of it all. People would finally know that Sirius was innocent, that Voldemort was in fact back, everything. And then a glimpse of a future… he could use that to his advantage, to say the least. The only real concern was that everyone would see through his personal and possible home life in order to get to the things that mattered, but he thought about how Sirius was unjustly imprisoned for twelve years and was still hunted, and he thought about how Voldemort had murdered his parents. If he wanted to avenge their deaths and offer a new lease on life to his godfather, then he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

Tightening his jaw and opening his eyes, Harry saw a few people staring at him in worry. He didn’t bother giving a smile, knowing it’d come out more as a grimace if he tried. He didn’t feel great about this, but the thought of getting his godfather free was enough to propel him into action. He stood up and talked over the voice of the hall. “Okay.” People quieted down and turned to look at him. He took a deep breath and continued. “Okay… let’s do this. Let’s read about my life.”

“Harry,” came the concerned voice of his best friend Hermione. The worry and sympathy for him was evident in her watery eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah…” He turned to the staff table with a face of pained determination. “Yeah, I’m sure. If it means finding out the truth once and for all… it seems like a worth sacrifice; a crime of necessity, am I right Headmaster?”

“Yes, Harry… that’s right.” The Headmaster was both proud of the boy, and saddened at the turn of events. He knew he’d have a hard time getting back on the boys good side after this, but he’d sure as hell try, providing they found a way to win the war without Harry’s death being a necessity.

The large black dog sitting by Remus the entire time, who had been growling at the Headmaster, Snape, Umbridge, the Minister, Lucius, and back again, now came bounding over to Harry. Sirius was hurting inside for his godson, but he knew this was the boys’ decision. If it lead to his innocence being discovered, he’d be pleased, but he didn’t want his freedom to come at the cost of his godsons privacy and secrets. Proud of Harry’s actions and sad that he couldn’t comfort the troubled boy in his human form, Padfoot settled for nuzzling his godsons knees in affection and support. He was awarded by a calloused hand rubbing the spot behind his ears gently.

“Very well, we will be reading the first of seven books now, titled Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. I will read first, and then we will pass the book around for each chapter to whoever would like to read next. If time is with us, which I believe it is, we’ll finish the first three of these books by the end of weekend. And before we get started, I’d like to say that everything spoken in this hall is being sealed away in only our heads. We will all be unable to tell anyone outside of this reading about the happenings in this story without the approval of Mr. Potter. I apologize if that puts a dent in any of your plans for the future.”

Dumbledore smiled serenely at Harry, which Harry actually returned with shock. He’d forgotten about the possibilities of people reporting what they find to Voldemort or anyone else out to get him. He was thankful for the Headmasters thoughtfulness, and while he wasn’t pleased with the man, he knew that the old man really did care for him in his own way. Harry had to hold back a laugh at the look on Lucius Malfoy’s face, matched by his son and several other upper year Slytherins. Dumbledore also noted this, and was glad that the unnamed grand phoenix had returned the previous night and communicated with him on how to set up a barrier spell that sealed the secret of the reading into Harry.

“Very well, then, let’s get on with it,” came the impatient voice of Dolores Umbridge. She seemed to have missed the part about not being able to share what they learn with anyone else, as you could see the desire to oust Harry to the public shining in her eyes.

“Yes, okay. The first chapter of the book is called, “The Boy Who Lived.”

Harry took a deep breath and readied himself.

Everything was going to be okay…

AN: My apologies for some of the inconsistencies with the first chapter in terms of what day the reading was to take place. I meant to give the guests more time to arrive, and the students the weekend to dress casually and sleep in, but in the last chapter I made it out so that the meeting was on Friday morning instead of the intended Saturday morning. I caught this and set it up so that the reading took place on Saturday in this chapter, but I could see how it’d be confusing. Hopefully I’ll be able to edit the first chapter later, but for now, just trust this chapter’s timeline.

Also, if you’re wondering about my update rate, I found a simple solution. I have it set-up so that my profile is updated every day on my progress, reporting what I’m working on and how far into that chapter I am at that moment. If the progress listed hasn’t gone anywhere for a day or two (meaning a half-done chapter stays listed as half-done for two days or so), feel free to pelt my inbox with messages like, “Where the hell is the update!”.

However, this is only to be used if the progress isn’t moving anywhere. It may seem unconventional to some of you other authors out there, but it really does motivate me to move faster as well as let me know that people want an update enough to actually bug me about it. What can I say? I’m just weird like that.

Anyways, thank you and I hope you enjoyed the story. :)

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"The Boy Who Lived." began. The hall was silent in anticipation of the coming chapter.
'Everything is going to be alright', Harry reassured himself.
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.
'Fuck that! Everything is not alright. Why are they being mentioned? Figures they'd include parts of my childhood in these bloody stories. I only hope whoever wrote these things didn't include too much of my past', Harry thought in equal parts embarrassment and fear. He wondered what his friends would think of his less than pleasant childhood. Though his emotions were warring in his head, he remained impassive on the outside. Only a slight tensing of his shoulders and a stony look in his eyes told anyone who looked closely enough that he was uncomfortable with the situation.
Meanwhile the rest of the hall was questioning why the chapter was starting off with people called the Dursley's, though the Order members, some of the staff, and the Weasley's knew why. Harry's friends, especially Ron and Hermione, grew curious at the chapters opening. They had always wanted to hear about Harry's childhood, which their friend was always coy and silent about. While they knew he didn't get along very well with his relatives, as seen by Ron in the summer before Harry's second year, they had always wanted to see just what Harry had to put up with; to see what events had turned him into the unique but secretive person he was today. It was a morbid curiosity, to say the least.
However, upon seeing the stony and distinctly uncomfortable look on their friends face, they quickly became concerned and hoped the chapters concerning Harry's childhood weren't too unpleasant.
They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.
Harry winced internally, knowing full well how the Dursleys didn't hold with such nonsense.
"I fail to see how that's something to be proud of," a confused Colin Creevey spoke, who was excited at the prospect of learning more about his idol. He had been thrilled to find out he was a wizard, and thus different from most of the people he knew. He couldn't fathom why anyone would pride themselves in being plain and normal?
The Weasley twins scoffed at the thought of the Dursley's being "normal". When they'd rescued Harry in the summer before his second year, as well as when they'd met Harry's relatives and seen their overly-tidy house before the Quidditch World Cup, "normal" wasn't the term they would use to describe those people in either circumstance.
Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills.
"I've never heard of that business," came the voice of a curious Blaise Zabini. His fathers, or at least his biological one, had a knack for being a business man. He took great care to know everything he could about the trade business, as well as learn about the majority of the companies in the wizarding world. This trait passed on to his son, Blaise, who made sure to carry on his now deceased fathers practice. The fact that he'd never heard of a firm called Grunnings intrigued the dark-skinned Slytherin fifth year.
"I'm not surprised," was the unexpected reply from Harry. Some students and staff were surprised that he was addressing a Slytherin of all people, but those who knew him knew that Harry never held anything against the House of Snakes as a whole. The rest of the hall would learn this soon enough. For now, upon receiving Blaise's questioning look, Harry explained. "Grunnings is a muggle firm; a business that specializes in muggle devices called drills. It's not likely that a wizard would know of it."
Blaise nodded his head in thanks to his fellow fifth years polite answer, while his interest was further piqued. Unlike the majority of his house, he held little against muggles and muggleborn aside from their ignorance and at-timed blatant disregard of the wizarding world's culture and traditions. An example of this was the Granger girl's naïve quest to free house elves. His curiosity was piqued because he might be offered a little insight as to how muggles conduct business.
Unfortunately, his fellow Slytherins did not share this outlook.
"Wait - you mean to say that we're reading about muggles right now?" came the incredulous voice of Draco Malfoy, a disgusted look plastered on his face. His house mates grumbled in agreement at the prospect of reading about muggles, but a stern look from their head of house silenced them. Snape was many things, but he was not a prejudiced man, nor was he fond of having his Slytherins acting like a bunch of bigoted buffoons in front of the rest of the school and important guests. Lucius merely sneered at the books, but held his tongue, as did Umbridge and the masked figure who were currently thinking similar thoughts. 'Filthy muggles'.
Narcissa remained impassive, but inwardly frowned at her son's display. Her thoughts on the usefulness of muggles aside, it was unbecoming of a Black - which she still considered herself to be - to show their true feelings in such public outbursts. The only Black who acted in such a fashion was her cousin Sirius, though that was where the comparisons ended between the two. She briefly wondered what had gotten into Draco, as he'd never acted so irrationally in her presence before. Perhaps he was trying to impress his father? She cringed at the thought of her sons loyalty to his father's ways and methods. The two of them were perfect for each other.
The muggleborn students in the room were not amused at the prejudiced outlook displayed by their peers. The staff, three fourths of the student body, and the guests glared at the previously sneering Slytherins. Harry, meanwhile, was busy identifying the Slytherins who weren't complaining about the prospect of reading about muggles. He'd taken to watching interactions instead of speaking without thinking over the years. Lashing out at this moment would do nothing but look immature to their guests. While he was sad to see that the number of visibly neutral Slytherins were few, he was pleased to see that there were at least several of them in each year. Blaise Zabini and three rather attractive girls in his year were notable standouts, as he'd often kept an eye on the four who were the only Slytherins in their year who had never followed Draco around like lost puppies.
A few seconds later, Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued with the reading.
He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache.
Several students in the hall looked disgusted at the image, while the more bigoted purebloods used this as an excuse to sneer at the mention of a muggle. A few of the more melodramatic girls in the hall wore looks of horror, which the more practical girls rolled their eyes at. Others found the description of Mr. Dursley rather humorous, as several boys from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor sniggered at the thought of seeing such a man in person. The twins, surprisingly, stayed quiet.
Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors.
Snape sneered at the mention of Petunia, while several of the staff members shuck their heads at the thought of having to read about a nosy woman. None of the staff knew that she was Lily's relative, save for McGonagall and Snape, the latter of whom recalled how nosy the shrill sounding woman was in their childhood. Harry himself thought the descriptions for both of his relatives were rather spot on, though they may not have done Vernon's size complete justice.
The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.
The twins turned to face each other. "Small?" Fred questioned in an incredulous tone.
"No finer boy?" George questioned back with the same tone and face as his twin.
The two boys instantly started laughing, and it confused most of the halls occupants. Percy scowled at his brothers antics while the rest of the twin's friends and their family sighed in amusement and exasperation. What they didn't know, was that the twins had kept silent until now to merely think about things. They knew better than most that Harry was a good person, but a secretive one. While they clearly saw the benefits of this reading, they couldn't imagine how he might be feeling at the moment, resilient though he was. They figured if they were going to read this with everyone else, they'd try and make it as easy for Harry as possible, so long as they didn't go too far.
Harry and Ron smirked at this, knowing that Dudley would have been anything but small as a baby if his current size was any indication. When Harry was sent questioning looks by some of his peers, he merely shrugged and told them they'd see eventually.
The Dursleys had everything they wanted,
"Lucky them," came the unheard but bitter mumble from Harry, a smirk no longer present on his face.
but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters.
Once again whispers and murmurs broke out amongst the hall. How did the Potters know these people? And what did this have to do with Harry?
Umbridge smiled. Maybe now she might be able to place the brat in serious trouble. That is, if these people had a secret on the family worth hiding.
Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be.
While the passage answered who the Dursleys were, it only added more questions to some people's minds. Why would the muggles dislike the Potters? What was wrong with them? Only a few people in the hall knew why, and even fewer people correctly guessed the answer due to their own unfortunate experiences with their muggle relatives.
Harry growled internally at the thought of how his aunt treated his mother.
The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son too, but they had never even seen him. This boy was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that.
"There's nothing wrong with Harry," came the supportive voices of Hermione and Ronald. It may not have been tactful, but they didn't care. Harry was their friend and deserved to be stood up for. Harry sent the two a small but grateful smile, though they could see the acceptance in his eyes. He was too accustomed to this treatment to outwardly care anymore.
Some of the halls less pleasant occupants merely snorted under their breath at the thought of nothing being wrong with "Potter", while others could understand how the Dursleys might not want to associate with a magical family, being muggles and all.
When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, grey Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country.
Molly gasped. "So, it's that day?"
Some of the older students and the adults figured out what day she was referring to and dawned looks of recognition and sorrow, while Dumbledore just nodded somberly. Molly looked worriedly over to Harry, while everyone else remained confused.
Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his highchair.
"Brat," spat Ron while his brothers bemoaned, "Boring work-tie."
None of them noticed a large tawny owl flutter past the window.
At half-past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls.
'Little tyke,' chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house.
"They'll be a terrible influence on that child," whispered Pomona to Rolanda and Minerva, who nodded in agreement at the likely prediction. While it wasn't their place to judge so soon, and everyone had off days, the books made it clear that this spoiling was a common occurrence. Similar thoughts were upon other parents and adults minds in the hall.
He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive. It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar – a cat reading a map.
The staff's eyes turned as one to Minerva while Harry dawned a look of understanding. 'So she had known where I was placed,' he thought bitterly. 'Why didn't she check up on me, even under a false pretense?' Harry didn't know what to think about his unusual circumstances and decided to try and learn what he could with what the books may offer.
For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen – then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light.
"It is a rather weird sight – seeing a cat reading a map," reasoned Hermione. Ron opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Harry had an idea of what the red head might have said and was thankful that his best mate was learning.
Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive— no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read mapsor signs.
Lucius made a note to remember that – Privet Drive. These muggles seemed to know the Potter, apparently.
Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind.
As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day. But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks.
"…that's weird, how, exactly?" came the voice of Lisa Turpin. Most purebloods who had never taken muggle studies or bothered to learn about wizarding culture were thinking along similar lines.
"Muggles don't wear cloaks. It's extremely dated to them, and seeing it is like seeing someone dressing in a fashion that's nearly a thousand years old," came the learned reply of Muggle Studies professor Charity Burbage.
Some pureblood and half-bloods nodded in understanding, while others scoffed. Whether it was at the blood-traitor of a professor or the thought of muggles finding their style dated, it wasn't clear. Harry, for the umpteenth time in his career at Hogwarts, idly wondered why Slytherins were considered and/or placed in the house of the cunning when their true colors and feelings were often times so transparent. What cunning person wears their true colors on their face, for all to see? Did they not know or grasp the true concept of cloak and dagger; of secrecy and deceit?
Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes — the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by.
"Who is he calling weird!" Zacharias Smith snarled under his breath. Other's in the room didn't bother hiding their distaste at being referred to as 'weirdos'.
They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt —these people were obviously collecting for something… yes, that would be it.
The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.
"That's a relief. Wouldn't want you to think about anything too complex or important, now would we?" Surprisingly, this came from Charlie. Though he'd never met the Dursleys and didn't know Harry all that well, he was considered family by his siblings and parents, and that was enough for him to dislike the man whom he'd heard a bit about from the twins. The books, so far, weren't doing Vernon any favors.
Molly shot her second oldest a look that said 'Shut it!', before going back to looking worried over how Harry may feel reading about this.
Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime.
Before anyone could open their mouths to question why this was, although some of the more practical purebloods and half-bloods knew, Hermione simply spoke. "Muggles don't use owls to deliver mail. We have mailmen and a delivery system to do that for us. Seeing an owl, let alone several of them is a rare sight because they're usually known to be nocturnal around muggles."
Surprisingly, there were no glares sent at the "know-it-all" by the Slytherins, as they either knew about this and remained impassive, waiting for the reading to continue, or were trying to imagine people and not owls delivering mail. Draco looked particularly lost in thought at the demeaning and foreign concept, and the two goons Crabbe and Goyle looked baffled… then again, that's an expression often found on their face, and it might just have been them spacing out.
Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning.
He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more.
"Mmm. Productive chap, that one," said George, which got soft snickers and slight smirks from the tables occupants.
He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road
Here, Harry's head shot up rather comically. He knew his Uncle's nature all too well, and the sorry excuse of a man didn't do any type of exercise just for the heck of it. In fact, he avoided moving his body as much as possible. Surely, something was wrong with this story. The others in the hall noticed the sudden movement, which also caused Dumbledore to momentarily pause and look at the shocked Harry. Realization dawned on his face, and his eyes twinkled before continuing.
…to buy himself a bun from the bakery.
Harry nodded his head in acceptance. "Ah. That's more like it."
Unknown to him, the hall heard and found the whole scene rather humorous, now understanding the raven-haired boys shock at the previous sentence. Snickers broke out around the hall, but Harry ignored them and Dumbledore just continued.
He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.
"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard —"
"What're they talking about your family for?" asked a naïve and curious first year Gryffindor.
Harry turned to the younger girl and spoke in a soft and patient tone, though one could tell he'd rather not talk about it. "I'm sure you'll find out soon enough."
The girl smiled shyly in acceptance. Meanwhile, some were getting tired of the constant interruptions. They'd hardly gotten through a single chapter and already it'd been 15 minutes.
" — yes, their son, Harry —"
Mr. Dursley stopped dead.
Harry remained impassive on the inside, but internally a part of him wished that what the book had said was true. He mentally shook his head of those thoughts. No matter what they'd done to him, he was better than turning to such dangerous thoughts… wasn't he?
A soft voice inside of him, one that was not his own, told him that he wasn't.
Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.
He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking…
"What's a telephone?" asked an interested pureblood Ravenclaw girl, and several others voiced their confusion as well. Their muggle friends or those in the know explained it to them as best they could, aware that they were pausing rather often in this reading.
"Rather over reactive, ain't he?" spoke an amused Ron, still unaware of what the exact day they were currently reading about was. He was slightly miffed about Harry being talked about and being so famous even in the beginning of the story. Though, he'd soon learn it was nothing he should envy.
"He's actually thinking," came the faux-astonished voice of Harry. He figured that if he was going to have to read about the man, he may as well get some cracks in while he could, even if his uncle wasn't there to hear it. This was met by snorts from the table's male occupants, even Seamus, as well as a reproachful look from Hermione.
…no, he was being stupid.
'Got that right,' came the thoughts of most of the hall.
Potter wasn't such an unusual name.
"If only," Harry spoke softly. He wondered what it would be like if he had blood relations in the wizarding world. How different his life might have been.
He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey. Or Harold.
"The man doesn't even know your name? What kind of relative is he?" spoke an astonished Hermione. Her family had grown rather distant lately, due to her feet being planted firmer and firmer in the wizarding world; a world that he parents couldn't share in. Nonetheless, her family were still extremely close to one another and even her most distant relations knew her name and vice versa.
There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her — if he'd had a sister like that
Harry growled, and he wasn't the only one. Padfoot bared his teeth at the book from his place under the Gryffindor table, and Remus held back a rumble in his throat. Those who knew Lily were equally offended, but remained mute on the matter, choosing to glare at the book instead. Others in the hall were offended simply because of the way the man seemed to look down at wizarding kind.
… but all the same, those people in cloaks…
He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.
"Poor soul," spoke the twins and Lee Jordon and stereo-sympathy to winces from some of the hall.
Harry finally noticed the twins not-so-incognito but still effective attempts to cheer him up, and sent the two a small smile of thanks which they returned kindly.
"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell.
It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passers-by stare,
"Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"
"Yeah!" "Alright!" "So, it's that day?" a few of the less intelligent and tactful people in the hall sounded off.
Some people contemplated why the book hadn't yet described Harry's defeat of Voldemort and why the Durselys were being focused on. Others scolded the less tactful of their peers, fully aware that the subject matter they were entering required a bit more subtlety and deftness than had been displayed. Various DA members, staff, guests, and admirers looked at the stony face of the young man and knew that this would be a hard weekend for him, as his past was brought up in his face. They only hoped the end results made up for it all.
Harry stared stonily at the table, and those who understood what happened that day sent him sympathetic looks which he didn't even notice. It might seem unusual to some that Harry felt so badly talking and thinking about that day, when he was hardly a year old when his parents died. By all rights, he should be over it. Except that he's reminded of them each and every day. Whether it was through what older people would see him as, with his parents respective features being called to the forefront upon introductions (sans his scar), or his dreams of them when he saw the Mirror of Erised as well as his photo-journal, or just his nightmares of their final moments thanks to the dementors encounters he's suffered. He's simply never been allowed to put them to rest, and this was just another painful reminder of the life he could have had but never would.
And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.
Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.
The twins and Lee cried, "Blasphemous!" effectively shaking Harry from his thoughts.
As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw—and it didn't improve his mood — was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.
"Yupp, that's definitely you Minnie," came the amused voice of Remus. He didn't want to dwell on that day and all of the errors that had been committed, and like the twins (all pranksters think on the same general wave length), he settled for distracting himself from the pain.
Minerva/Professor McGonagall shot an innocent looking Remus a look that clearly said that nickname was off limits in public on pain of death. Of course the werewolf marauder just smiled even more innocently, much to the Gryffindor table's amusement. It goes without saying that Snape sneered at one of his former "rivals".
"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly. The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look.
'She must give everyone that look,' mused the trio and anyone else who'd had the misfortune of being the receiving end of that particular look from the strict teacher.
Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.
Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!").
'How many times have I heard that one from him,' snorted a reminiscing Harry. Dudley was about as spoiled as they came, though Malfoy seemed to narrowly outdraw his fat cousin there.
Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:
"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"
"Well, Ted," said the weatherman,
"Daddy, that was you!" came the voice of an excited Tonks. Harry smiled at seeing her beautiful smile, and briefly wondered how beautiful it would be were she in her natural form. He forced those thoughts down. If this is what Tonks wanted to look like, then it's how he'd think of her until otherwise. He doubted she'd ever stop being beautiful.
Ted Tonks blushed at his daughters excitement, as she hadn't been old enough to recall his days working as a weatherman in the muggle world. He remained quiet, which made his loving wife Andromeda coo at him. Lucius felt sick at the image of the mud-blood and the blood traitor, while Narcissa remained indifferent, pointedly ignoring the sounds coming from her sis.. her ex-sister. The cloaked figure to Narcissa's left seemed to be as still as a statue but one could sense an amount of hostility radiating from the tense figure. For what reasons, it was unknown.
Umbridge clicked her tongue at the display, as well as all the distractions so far.
"I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early — it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."
Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters…
"People seemed to have conveniently forgotten about all forms of secrecy that day", came the irritated voice of Madam Bones. She was irritated at the tactlessness being displayed that day, both because it caused the ministry problems, and people just seemed to have forgotten everyone that had died to reach that point in the war. One family wasn't the only casualty in the war… she'd lost her brother… and husband. Where was their thanks and rejoice? Their grief ridden fans?
"Aye, but can you blame them Amelia? It was a day worth celebrating… for most." Arthur Weasley spoke the last part softly, knowing that it was equally a day of rejoicing and mourning. Mourning for the families who were too invested in the war to stop and grieve for their lost loved ones, like the Bones family and remaining Prewitts, as well as a day of loss for those who knew the Potters.
Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously.
"Er — Petunia, dear — you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"
As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.
"Bastards," muttered an angry Harry. He'd never forget what they had told him when he asked what had happened to his parents.
Those who knew Lily were angry at how her sister seemed to treat the mere thought of her, and were liking the Dursleys less and less. Lily was a great woman. True, she had a fiery temper, and despite her large intelligence she at times lost rationality, but she was a brave and caring person. To speak so ill of someone so bright and lovable, and coming from her sister no doubt? They were displeased, to say the least.
"No," she said sharply. "Why?"
"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls… shooting stars… and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today…"
"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.
"Well, I just thought… maybe… it was something to do with… you know… her crowd."
"Our crowd?" asked a partially amused but mostly offended Fleur. A strange mix of emotions to display, obviously, which made her nearly perfect face scrunch up ever so slightly. Harry had to stop himself from breathing out at the sight and turned away. He wouldn't soon forget the secret crush he'd had on the talented veela during the tournament last year and it would do him no good staring at her now.
Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son — he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"
"They don't know your name or your age?" spoke an irritated Hermione and McGonagall at the same time and nearly the same tone. Harry blinked at the display before answering with a shrug.
"Guess not... They do now though," he finished upon seeing their faces, and surprisingly the faces of Molly and the other older female staff members, swell up.
"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.
"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"
"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."
Harry merely raised his eyebrow at the comment, amused, though he shouldn't have been surprised. He simply thought his name was rather common in both the muggle and wizarding world. Surely his Aunt could find something better to take her frustrations with her sister out on than his rather normal name… wait, this was his aunt. No, she couldn't.
"Better than 'Dudley' any day of the week, mate," spoke Ron. Harry smiled at his friend.
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."
Some of the boys in the hall coughed "whipped", which led Harry to snort. If only they knew how dominating Vernon could be if he felt the situation called for it. His eyes darkened momentarily, but cleared.
He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there.
"Mind telling us why you were sitting at these muggles house all day, Professor McGonagall?" came the sickly sweet voice of Umbridge. Anything on any of Dumbledore's supporters was a good thing for the feline-infatuated woman.
"I'm sure it will be explained, Dolores," was the crisp and cold reply from the Transfiguration teacher.
Further down the table, Trelawney was looking at Umbridge with a mixture of loathing and fear, having experienced the old toad's inquisition herself. McGonagall caught her gaze and held it, before giving her the smallest of supportive nods. Coming from the women who had never appreciated her sacred art and had always been rather open about it, Trelawney was shocked. However, she offered a tentative nod and thin smile in return. They might not have ever seen eye to eye on most things, but Umbridge was an enemy to both of them, and any support handed out was welcome.
It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something. Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did… if it got out that they were related to a pair of — well, he didn't think he could bear it.
More growls and murmurs were heard in the hall, and while Harry knew most of it was merely out of distaste at being looked down upon as something bad (especially by the purebloods), he couldn't help but feel as though some of it was out of support for his late parents and himself. He hated blind sympathy, but honest appreciation and protectiveness towards his parents… he could come to enjoy that.
The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind…
More growls, scowls, and sneers ensued. Seriously, what was this muggles problem with magical people?
He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on — he yawned and turned over — it couldn't affect them…
"If only," came the soft voice of Harry. Only those at his table heard, but they began to worry. Those who didn't know where he spent his childhood were curious to know what the Dursleys had to do with anything, while those in the know wondered how bad his childhood could have been. It couldn't have been THAT bad… could it?
How very wrong he was.
Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.
The twins whistled at that.
"Wow, Professor. Who knew you were so stiff and patient even in cat form."
"Yes, surely you grew a bit numb in the bum eventually, right?"
"Unless, dear brother, she's so used to sitting on a sore bum that she's immune to it."
"Ahh, that's possible. Though, what would bring about such a staunch immunity to bum-numbness?"
The hall laughed at way the twins addressed their head of house, as well as the way in which Fred emphasized the words strangely suggestively. Molly and McGonagall opened their mouths to berate the boys, but the Headmaster wisely continued, his damned twinkle in his eyes.
A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appearing so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.
"Someone's rather late," muttered a still somewhat cross McGonagall. It actually had been rather stiff sitting like that all day.
Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.
Some of the more enthused students cheered, while others sneered. Harry again remained quiet, choosing to listen intently about anything that may have lead up to his being placed with the Durselys. It was rather clear that by this time, the decision had been made. Question was – why, by who, and with what rights?
Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome.
'He knew,' thought an amused staff and an exasperated Potter, younger Dumbledore brother, and Flamel couple.
He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him.
He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."
McGonagall 'humphed' in a rather childish manner that was unlike her to most in the hall. Pomona, Poppy, and Rolanda just smirked at their friend's antics. This reading was proving to have it's benefits if it meant showing a side to Minny that most rarely, if ever, saw.
He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop.
"Cool" came the general statement of those in the hall. Even some of the more snobby students looked mildly interested at such a device.
He clicked it again — the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Deluminator, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him.
"Wow. Did you make that device, professor?" asked a curious Demelza Robbins. Despite her looks she had always been a tomboy, and a particular fan of sports and equipment. The twins and others were equally curious about the device.
"Yes, I did… it was a device formed out of necessity during the war with Grindlewald. Perhaps sometime, I may share it with some of you," came the polite reply from the Headmaster before he returned to reading, noting the stiffening of his brother's shoulders at the mention of his former lover and the first war in general. Moody himself briefly thought of how and why the deluminator, among other devices, was first invented.
If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."
Some of the students in the hall groaned, as apparently minor bets had been placed over whether or not the cat was, indeed, the same Gryffindor Head of House. Others just rolled their eyes at the old wizard's antics, as though the meeting hadn't been planned before hand.
He turned to smile at the tabby cat, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.
"How did you know it was me?" she asked.
"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so… stiffly."
Some giggles were heard in the hall, but they were silenced by the look on the Transfiguration Professor's face. Snape allowed the smallest of smirks to form at his colleague and respected rivals mild misfortune.
"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.
"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."
"Yes, why were you staying there all day?" asked Umbridge again, though this time she was simply ignored by the woman. This caused Dolores to click her tongue once more as she sniffed angrily at her self-proclaimed rival.
Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.
The students laughed or smirked at the brief similarity between the two very different women, but that quickly disappeared when their combined glares settled on the hall.
"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no — even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls… shooting stars… Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent — I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."
Amelia and the ministry officials around at the time nodded in agreement. People were being far too careless that day.
Those who knew Diggle were also nodding in agreement – it sounded like something the man would do.
"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."
"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."
She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all…"
"Well, that'd suck," was the elegant thought of Dean Thomas.
"…I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"
"No." was the monotone voice of Harry. Some sneered at what they felt was an unsteady attention seeker, though not as much as one would expect. Some shied away from the topic altogether, not wanting to dwell on such things. This being the Hufflepuffs, mostly. Others accepted what Harry said as the tentative truth, and at the very least believed that there was something out there coming. This was the majority of the DA and most of the Gryffindors. The rest knew he was telling the truth and were solemn just thinking about it.
"Funny though," voice Harry. "Here we are reading about him being gone, and a little time from now we'll hear about his return. I wonder what you lot will be thinking then. Some of you will be especially unhappy with the results." Harry said this with a pointed look at Lucius that did not go unmissed by the people in the Great Hall.
Lucius stiffened at the reminder of the fact that the entire hall would be reading about the Graveyard scene, his involvement that night, as well as the events of his sons second year. This would not be good for him, and he needed to find an out soon; one that he could put into play when he got the required information. He thrice cursed himself when he remembered that no matter how he spun the story, the truth oath by Dumbledore would ensure everyone that what was being read was the truth. On top of that, apparently there was a spell over all of them, keeping them from revealing their information to those outside of the reading. While he was sure there was no such spell that protected minds from his master legillimincy, he was still sketchy on the matter.
"Lies! All of it! You can drop the charade now, Mr. Potter, because when these books are done, we'll see you for the lair that you truly are," came the screech from everyone's least favorite Defense Professor.
"Pardon me; I seem to be confused. Are you Harry Potter, or am I? Don't you think I'd know what happens in my OWN bloody life! Do you think at all? Why in the hell would I be so comfortable saying Voldemort's back (he ignored the halls flinches) if I was lying nadk new you lot were going to find out about it."
Harry's volume remained relatively still, but his eyes and his tone were anything but. He was tired of being called a liar. Here they all were, about to read his life, and still they doubted his words? 'Well', he told himself, 'they'll know soon enough… unfortunately, in some cases.'
While many were surprised at Harry's calm but cold outburst towards the unlikeable Professor, they had to admit his statement made sense. What would he gain from continuing a charade if they were all going to find out the truth soon enough? While some still remained firmly against the notion, thinking this was a pathetic last ditch effort from the boy, others were less sure.
Before Umbitch could compose herself, the Headmaster continued the reading and Fudge quieted her down. He himself was hoping his undersecretary was right, but something about the tone in which the boy spoke, the dead certainty of it, made him feel like he'd somehow made a big mistake.
"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore.
"'Seems so'? So you didn't believe he was gone even then, Albus?" Moody questioned his long time friend.
Upon seeing the looks from the entire hall, Dumbledore sighed and responded. "No… no, I did not. But I didn't have proof of my theory, so I remained quiet on the matter, knowing it would do no good stirring up fear and trouble when there was no immediate danger."
This statement brought most up short, whether they were about to protest the man not saying anything on the matter, or if they were opposing the notion of Voldemort actually surviving. These books were 100% truth, and if one of the wisest wizards of their time felt like the most powerful Dark Lord of their time survived, then who were they to deny that possibility. And what proof would he have had to justify a possible panic like releasing his doubts to the public. Harry definitely saw the bitter and cold wisdom in Dumbledore's keeping quiet. It was for the "greater good", in this case.
"We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"
"A what?" came the confused and startled voices of some who were still dwelling on their own thoughts.
"A what?"
"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."
"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops.
"Clearly," came the dry opinion of Nicholas Flamel. The man hadn't spoken before in the hall, and his voice subtly radiated both wisdom and power. Dumbledore internally envied his former mentor and alchemy partners vocal abilities. It was hard enough to pull off his own damned eye-twinkle.
"As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone —"
"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense — for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort."
The hall's occupants shuddered, twitched, or in some cases shrieked at the name. That is, with the exception of both Dumbledore's, Harry, the Flamels, Moody, Flitwick, and surprisingly the hooded figure at the end of the table.
One by one several purebloods cursed the use of the name, though everyone took note of those who didn't flinch at the name. They were all considered powerful people or were unknown but radiated power. The fact that Harry was the only teen able to do so in the room was definitely noted this time around, and it caused a certain Ravenclaw prefect to smirk at her secret crush.
Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."
"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."
"Though not anymore, it seems," came the amused and beautiful voice of the still un-introduced Perenelle Flamell. She stared directly at Harry, making him feel as though his entire soul's worth was being searched and measured. He remained staring into her grey eyes though, ignoring the desire to just look away. Finally she smiled at him and turned back to the book, leaving a slightly mentally strained Harry. Was that a legillimincy attack… or something else?
The occupants of the hall wondered if the mysterious woman was talking about Harry, though the answer was rather clear and interesting for some. Several DE's in the room were rather cross at the thought of their Lord fearing anyone, especially a worthless half-blood teen and an old muggle loving fool. Nicholas merely smirked at his wife's antics, and the reading went on.
"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."
"Only because you're too — well — noble to use them."
Some nodded at this. Voldemort was a man known to have used dark and archaic rituals to further his potential. Dumbledore, on the other hand, was "all natural", as some would call him.
"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."
Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what they're saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"
People's gaze immediately turned to Harry – specifically, his scar. Harry was stuck between glaring at them for their blatant goggling of his scar, as though he were a nation monument (though he'd gotten used to it, it didn't stop it from being an irritant) and putting his head on the table and blocking it all out.
Tonks sensed this and began glaring for Harry. She was soon joined by his best friends, Katie, the twins, and the rest of the table's occupants. Even Seamus and some of his other year mates joined in. Just because they weren't Hufflepuff's, it didn't mean that they weren't loyal. By now Seamus had been leaning closer to believing his once friend, and this reading only seemed to affirm his suspicions that there was at least something going on. He just didn't have it in him to apologize without knowing completely.
Harry smiled at his friends and acquaintances defending him from one of his worst enemies: his fame. Gabrielle and Fleur, Viktor and the elder Weasley brothers they hardly knew him, but they chose to help him. He sent Tonks a thankful smile, and Dumbledore's eye twinkled at the subtle display of loyalty within the group.
It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true.
Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.
'Sounds like Albus,' thought Aberforth.
"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters.
Harry looked down at the table as his Hermione wrapped an arm around him and leaned into him. Tonks took his hand in hers and looked into his eyes offering support. No matter what, it doesn't always get easier talking about someone you've loved being gone.
Others - those who knew and liked the Potters - simply looked on in sympathy or, in some cases, denial, at the events that transpired that night. Of all the people expected to last through the war, the Potter's were at the top of the list. Both were incredibly smart and powerful. Naturally talented in multiple areas of magic, they were some of the Order's very best duelers and were some of its youngest. Their marriage and their then-recently born son were a symbol of hope and of the future for the Order and the light. Learning that they had fallen that night was a deep blow to all who knew the couple, the Marauders being crushed most of all.
The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are — are — that they're — dead."
Snuffles whimpered under the table, and Harry petted and soothed the emotional dog/godfather. He wasn't an idiot, and knew that the amount of hurt he might feel about reading this couldn't begin to compare to his godfathers hurt over it all. Or even Remus'. They'd both lost their families that night, and in Sirius' case, he'd lost his freedom and almost his sanity, as well as the chance fro revenge.
Around the hall, several girls were looking at their crush with a sorrowful look. While many of them may have consciously wanted to know more about their idol and hero at some point, none of them felt that this was the right way to do so. Still, he looked relatively beautiful, as they'd call him, as he seemed to be in a trance; staring at the table with those watery emerald eyes, and petting the dog at his feet, just visible between the auror girl's legs. He looked surprisingly peaceful all thing considered, though the amount of sorrow in his eyes offset that image. They only wished they could be holding his hand at that moment, and offering him comfort. But that would come late, they figured.
Remus was feeling rather emotional himself at the moment, and those at the staff table offered him looks of sympathy, knowing what James and Lily meant to him. He'd lost his entire family that night, and while he'd gained back Sirius and Harry, none of them would ever come out the same. And James and Lily… he held it in, as Arthur patted him on the back across the table.
Snape was an emotionless mask, but inside his heart was slowly crumbling again. He'd never consider it a sin to constantly wallow in his guilt at the thought that he'd played a substantial part in the love of his life's death. He'd remember what he'd seen that night when he visited Godric's Hallow. The sight of a lifeless Lily would stay with him… always.
Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.
"Lily and James… I can't believe it… I didn't want to believe it… Oh, Albus…"
The staff were internally mourning the loss of their friends and pupils, while some of the younger and more clear headed members who knew the two well (such as Sinestra, Vector, and Babbling) were more melancholy, as they thought about the cherished memories they had of the young couple.
Some students in the hall were feeling awkward at the moment. This was clearly an emotional and personal moment, and most of them didn't know the people or the circumstances that lead to their death. Some shuffled guiltily, only now understanding that someone had to have died in order for the Boy-Who-Lived to have gained his terrible moniker.
Narcissa remembered Lily, and while it wasn't well known, she used to study with the slightly younger woman. She missed one of her few real friends, and she had to admit that she had crushed a little on the Potter boy as well. But all that was gone now. Where was her friend? Her sister? Where was the laughter that rang in the halls of the school? The petty fights between her two older sisters? Where was the life that she'd always wanted, almost grasped, but never attained? Gone, just as little Lily was.
She looked briefly at her former friend's son. 'He's all that's left of her; of that world I once knew. I can see it in him. But… what does this mean for me?'
Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know… I know…" he said heavily.
The headmaster's voice seemed to have been tinged with the smallest twinge of sadness, though he tried to cover it. His meeting with the phoenix earlier that week had shown him a little of the error of his ways, and he only now realized that he'd never mourned for the young couple. It pained him to face that truth, but there it was: he'd never mourned for Lily or James Potter, or the Prewitt twins, or half of the people they'd lost during the war; so focused was he on the greater picture. It made him feel terrible at the moment, but he composed himself amicably without hardly a soul noticing the change in his tone.
Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry. But he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke — and that's why he's gone."
Again, the looks returned, but they were far more conscious of their gaze now, hence more subtle, for which Harry was thankful. They all just wanted to know how and why he'd been the one to survive an un-survivable curse. Those who'd lost loved ones thought somewhat bitterly, 'Why him.'
Dumbledore nodded glumly.
"It's — it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done… all the people he's killed… he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding… of all the things to stop him… but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"
"That's what many of us would like to know," spoke Kingsley Shacklebolt, with much of the hall nodding in agreement.
"We can only guess." said Dumbledore. "We may never know."
'He knows,' was the thought on most people's minds.
Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it.
'At least they appear to have cared about them…' thought Harry.
It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"
"What's Hagrid got to do with this?" voiced a curious Ron.
"Shh, Ron. I'm sure it will be explained," was Hermione's impatient reply. Ron wisely chose to keep his mouth shut, but felt like Hermione was shooting down his, in his opinion, valid questions and suggestions quite often lately.
"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"
The hall's occupants perked up at this. Why were they there?
Harry, of course, knew the reason why.
"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."
"What?" came the reply from most of the hall's adults, and strangely enough, female population. From what they had read of the Dursleys so far, it didn't take a genius to see that their home-environment wasn't ideal in the least for a wizard.
Immediately, people started speaking in murmurs at the thought of the great Harry Potter being raised muggle, and some of the more bigoted and close-minded purebloods actually took pity on the boy. Others were reeling, learning that the Boy-Who-Lived, whom many thought was an attention seeker earlier on, and lived in golden castles and fought dragons for entertainment, would actually be raised in a muggle home, and an unpleasant one at that. Others seemed to not care at all, simply wanting to get on with the story.
"You don't mean – you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore — you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son — I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!"
Harry was surprised but pleased to see the normally composed and stern Professor standing up for his well-being despite it not doing any good. He sent the woman a soft smile of thanks, which she responded with a slight smile and watery glance of her own. The thoughts of Lily and James dying was still fresh on her mind.
Harry then turned and spoke to Dumbledore, who was just about to continue reading.
"Out of curiosity, what right did any of you have to place me with the Dursleys? Come to think of it, wasn't there anyone my parents would have wanted to raise me that they'd have written down somewhere?" This question made the Hall pause, and several of the adults smile at the last Potter, as they were thinking along similar lines.
Everyone turned to Dumbledore, expecting his answer.
"Alas, a will was not found for either of your parents so you were technically a case of the state. As Supreme Mugwump, I was able to decide where you should be placed, and I felt that your family would be the best choice, seeing as certain other interested parties would undoubtedly want you for ulterior reasons, and those whom your parents might have wished to raise you were currently unavailable."
The response was smooth and logical, but far too casual for Harry's liking. It was rehearsed, and though Dumbledore likely placed him there for a good reason, it didn't excuse the fact that it was a poor decision nonetheless.
Remus spoke up then, "I'm afraid he's right, Harry. While I would have loved to have raised you, seeing as I have a… unique case, I would have been denied immediately. And your parents knew few others they'd trust to raise you that were available. Loathe as I am to admit it, the Headmaster made a decision that likely was the best in that situation."
Harry mulled this over in his head. He's only now thought about hwy Lupin had never visited him, but chalked that up to no one but Dumbledore, McGonagall, and apparently Hagrid knowing where he truly was. But why hadn't Lupin confronted him when he's re-entered the wizarding world? He'd save this question, and many others, for later. Unknown to him, Sirius was thinking the same thing.
"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."
Dumbledore looked up from his book to see the halls reactions, knowing they wouldn't like that line too much. He winced at the sight that met his eyes, as nearly everyone stared at him in shock. Exasperation came from the staff, incredulity from the guests and the majority of the students, and loathing from his least likely admirers, who considered this another bone headed move on the "muggle lover's" part. Unfortunately, the silence had to end sometime.
"You WHAT!" came the shouts from an indignant Molly and a horrified Andromeda and Hermione. Being parents and or motherly in character, this was a rather terrible act. Who tries to explain such things to a muggle, a rather close-minded one, with a mere letter?
The rest of the hall wasn't faring any better. Harry felt rather small, knowing that the Headmaster didn't seem to care enough to even explain the situation to his relatives in person, but his common sense kicked in and he knew that if the old wizard had faced his close-minded relatives, it would have likely been far worse for everyone involved.
More and more people started wondering what the hell was going on. This wasn't the life they'd expected for the Boy Who Lived.
Finally, Dumbledore had enough to of the protests, and silenced them with bang from his wand. "I did what I felt was best in the situation. As some of you will learn, we will be reading about many of our past errors and mistakes, and I would ask that you take after Mr. Potter's example and try to remain calm and at least understanding during this reading, and know that what has been done cannot be changed."
The hall fell silent at this, and some realized that Harry wasn't blowing up over it. Certain people mistook it as a sign of Harry having enjoyed his childhood, and threw any concerns they had for "Harry"/"Potter" to the back of their minds. Others, while finding truth in the old wizard's words, glared at him, knowing that it was still a mistake worth calling him on, no matter how he spun it.
"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous — a legend — I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day in the future — there will be books written about Harry — every child in our world will know his name!"
"Unfortunately," was the mumble from the emerald eyed teen, though the entire hall heard it and most looked at him in confusion; others in understanding. Some boys looked at Harry in envy, while those who knew him best understood that he really hated his fame. For a certain group of girls, they could hear the truth in Harry's comment, and it only made their curiosity of the currently mysterious Gryffindor rise.
"Exactly." said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"
"Well, when you put it like that… it does sound like it was ultimately the right thing to do…" trailed Hermione. Harry held back a snort. While the headmasters reasoning made sense, leave it to his best friend to just accept a bit of logic from an adult figure and agree, no matter how much she knew that he disliked his relatives.
Other could see the merit in Harry being kept ignorant as well, and nodded reluctantly.
Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes — yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.
"Eeeww," was the eloquent response from most of the halls girls. Dumbledore looked rather put out – he wasn't that dense, nor would being under his robe be a bad thing. He cleaned… often enough.
The mothers in the hall, even Narcissa, looked very un-amused at the notion of a baby being hidden under those robes… dear god. And the more practical girls agreed. The boys just laughed at the awkward image, as Harry blushed.
"Hagrid's bringing him."
"You think it — wise — to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"
Harry hated to admit it, but McGonagall had a point. Hagrid wasn't necessarily the most reliable person. But when he saw the look on the half-giant's face, he spoke up. "Hagrid is one of the most loyal and hard working people I know. True, he might have his slip-ups, but I'd trust him with my life if it came to it."
Hagrid beamed proudly at Harry, and others smiled at the boys caring, knowing the half-giant had his faults, but knowing no one wanted to see him sad. Nicholas smirked at the boys honest yet coy wording.
"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.
"Ooohhh. Harry and Dumbledore think alike" the twins said in monotone.
While some smirked at the thought, Harry found himself rather put-out by it. Dumbledore was and always would be great, but he didn't want to become synonymous with the man's goals. He was his own person, and while he'd hidden a lot of his true nature from his peers, he didn't feel like he'd been that relatable to the old man. Maybe, with these books, it was time to show more of his self.
"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to — what was that?"
"What was what?" several people questioned.
A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky —
Several people leaned forward in interest, and Snuffles perked up at what he knew had been his bike. He missed that bike so much…
and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.
"Whoa!" "That's awesome!" "A motorcycle? What's that?" was the usual reactions in the hall.
If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild — long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.
Some students snorted (or sneered) at Hagrid's description, while the adults picked up on the blankets mention.
"You flew Harry over there? A one year old child, on a magical motorcycle, with you on top of it?" was the eerily calm voice of the over protective Weasley matron.
"'E was perfectly fine, I promise!" came Hagrid's defense.
Molly huffed in response, and Harry had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. God bless the dear woman, but she took her mothering too far sometimes. And if there's one thing he didn't need, it was any more mothering. The entire order, his friends, the Weasleys and staff: they all seemed to be mothering him. And he hated it.
"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"
"Yeah, where can I get one," came the excited voice of Ron. Other males and a few girls in the hall muttered their agreement at wanting such a bike, and Hermione rolled her eyes fondly at the look of longing on the red heads face.
"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."
Some of the people in the hall started at the mention of Black. Umbridge found herself wearing a triumphant grin.
"Consorting with known criminals, are we? That's enough to get have you questioned at the Ministry and an overnight stay in Azkaban."
"Oh, shut it!" was Harry's response, before Dumbledore or anyone else could tell the woman off in their own unique way. "This was before Sirius was charged with murder, so Hagrid wasn't breaking any rules. Secondly, the man never even had a trial, so the entire thing is a farce!"
Some were surprised that the boy who was supposed to be targeted by the dark wizard Black was standing up for the man. Umbridge arrowed her eyes at the boy, but Fudge stopped her from commenting, feeling a little worried that the boy was still defending Black. Surely, the confundus would have worn off by now? He'd find out eventually.
"Mr. Potter! Please, refrain from addressing your professors in such a manner," came the expected reply of McGonagall. While she agreed with her pupil, and admittedly one of her all time favorite students, she had to keep order and appearances up.
Now, normally, Harry would have just agreed and apologized half-heartedly. But he'd been feeling rather angry this past year, and as a fresh wave of anger surged in him at the thought of the insane toad-resembling woman getting her hands on Sirius, he spoke back.
"She'll only be considered my professor when she actually bothers to teach me something. Unlike you, Professor, I respect people – not their titles."
To say the hall was flabbergasted was an understatement. The Gryffindor golden boy, talking back to his head of house? Some saw his speech as a sign of his arrogance, we need not mention who. However, most people in the hall contemplated what he'd said, and saw the merit in respecting a person, not their title. McGonagall found herself shocked at the remark from Harry, but steeled herself.
"Nonetheless, that'll be 10 points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter." Harry stiffly nodded his head back at the woman, and the reading continued.
"Way to show her, mate," came the amused and supporting voice of Ron, just as Hermione bit back a remark against Harry about respecting the professors. She could tell he wasn't in the greatest of moods, and maybe there was some truth to his statement that she could apply to her outlook… maybe.
"No problems, were there?"
"No, sir — house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."
"I've never visited that house," Harry spoke softly in realization. He's always heard about that night, but he'd never visited the sight of his parent's demise. At the questioning or shocked looks from his peers, he answered the unasked question. "I'd never been allowed. Almost all my experiences in the wizarding world have been monitored in a sense…" here, he sent a look at the Headmaster who avoided his eyes, and continued, "So I haven't really thought of just upping and going there myself… I don't think I'd want to do it alone."
"I'll take you… when you want," spoke Remus, with a sad smile. He had visited the site many times, but closure had always eluded him. Hopefully Harry would find there what he could not.
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep.
"Awww," came the reply from Tonks, Fleur, and the rest of the girls in the hall - even Luna. The same words were spoken at the Slytherin table by Draco and some of the upper year boys, but in mocking sense, which Harry dutifully ignored.
Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.
Some people refrained from looking at his scar, which Harry was thankful for. Still, that left 90% of the halls occupants staring at it… 'At least it's an improvement,' he mused.
"Is that where —?" whispered Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."
Harry absentmindedly rubbed it in both agitation and loathing.
"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"
"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground.
Silence met this rather awkward statement.
Well — give him here, Hagrid — we'd better get this over with."
Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.
"Could I — could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.
Harry looked at Hagrid in thanks. The man had been there for him from the start, apparently. Hagrid smiled tearily back, lost in his own musings at the time.
"Poor Hagrid," muttered Luna.
"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "You'll wake the Muggles!"
"Wow, Professor," came Fred.
"Nice to know you cared," continued George.
While their banter was there, their eyes did look a bit disapproving at their Head of House, something she caught and blushed at. She had been a bit hard on Hagrid then, but she was just so baffled by it all and worried over Harry that she hadn't been thoughtful of the half-giants feelings.
"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it —Lily an' James dead — an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles —"
"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door.
He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two.
"You left me on the doorstep?" came the amused voice of Harry. Others in the hall weren't so amused though, as the women of Harry Potter's life, even those whom he didn't know were IN his life, exploded on the old man's aloofness regarding a one year old infant.
"You left a baby, a known target no less, on a doorstep in late fall weather, at night, for anyone to take, harm, or kill?" came the incredulous voice of Amelia Bones.
"I made sure he was protected… the wards there, made by his late mother - they'd protect him so long as that was his home," came the sheepish response from the Headmaster.
"Wards or not, Albus, that was a rather stupid move," huffed a concerned Molly Weasley.
For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.
A soft silence was on the hall, as everyone contemplated the scene in their heads. Hagrid, a half-giant, shaking? The stern McGonagall tearing up? And the ever twinkling eyes of the Headmaster, going dim? It seemed so odd and foreign to most of the students in the hall, and the understood that they were internally mourning Harry's situation and the loss of their friends and allies.
"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."
"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back.
"Did you ever return his bike to him," voiced the croaky but amused Remus. He didn't want to dwell on those thoughts of his loved ones dying any longer than necessary, and he knew that Sirius had missed his bike dearly. Padfoot perked up at this, shaking himself from similar thoughts.
"Uhm, no," came the sheepish reply from Hagrid. I never got the chance to…"
Padfoot whimpered slightly, and Harry petted his fur in a sign of support and sympathy. This made those who knew Sirius and his true innocence even sadder. A lot of lives had been ruined that night, while the world spun on in celebration and rejoice…
G'night, Professor McGonagall — Professor Dumbledore, sir."
Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.
"I still want one," spoke Ron. Hary smiled at his friend, glad to see he wasn't treating this like a soap-opera for his sake, though he saw the sadness in the red heads eyes as well.
"Me too, man. Me too," Harry spoke, and they clasped each other on the back softly.
"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.
Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps
"Wow. Definitely want one of those," spoke Ron.
"Well, keep talking about it and I'm sure you'll get one eventually," spoke a sarcastic Ginny, which caused the twins to snicker.
"We shall see, Mr. Weasley. You may have your chance to own one, yet," was the aged headmasters amused reply.
so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.
"Good luck, Harry," he murmured.
'He'll/I'll need it,' thought Nicholas, Remus, Moody, Aberforth, and Harry.
He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.
The twins whistled in appreciation.
"That's a soft apparition if ever there was one."
"Indeed dear brother. Let it not be said that Dumbledore doesn't have style."
"Indeed."
The Gryffindors smiled at the prankster, and the staff at their Headmaster.
A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on,
"Awww," came the girls affectionate or fond sound once more.
"You really were an adorable young boy," spoke a melancholy McGonagall in a rare moment of tenderness.
Harry blushed at the attention as the girls cooed louder, and his friends smirked at his discomfort.
…not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley.
"Brat!" the hall thought as one.
He wouldn't know that he had been watched over the entire night by a pair of hungry violet eyes that glittered dangerously before they disappeared just before dawn, never to be seen on that street again.
The halls eyes widened as one at that. Who on earth was watching him 'hungrily', and why?
"Wow, mate. You had admirers even then, eh?"
Harry could hear both the playfulness and slight bitterness in his oblivious friend's voice.
"I'm afraid, Mr. Weasley," spoke Dumbledore in a clearly surprised voice, "that that was no mere admirer." His grave voice scared some of the younger years, and already Harry pondered the identity of his last night stalker. He doubted it was an agent of Voldemort, so that left very little options. Was it the same person who had sent him the letter this morning? Or even after his fourth year?
He'd never know that enclosed in the letter was a check of a thousand pounds to pay for the treatment of himself monthly, nor that the Dursleys would receive similar and increasing pay his entire life.
"What!" yelled Harry in shock. He had NOT expected this, though it made sense now.
"I know, that does seem like a lot for just an infant," spoke a surprised Hermione with other muggleborns in the hall agreeing.
"No, it's not the amount." He turned to Dumbledore. "You paid them to take care of me. Monthly?" At Dumbledore's shaky and confused nod, Harry sat back down in his chair with a thump, completely in shock.
"Harry, what is it?" questioned Tonks gently.
"They never… they never… they never bought me anything. All my life, they spoke about how much of a burden I was on them, how lucky I was to be under their roof as they took their hard earned money and spent it on me. They hardly spent a dime on him my entire life, and they were getting paid the entire time…"
The hall was shocked and some were even in disbelief. Surely, his childhood wasn't that bad… was it? Harry's friends internally cursed the Dursleys, while others began to piece his formerly shabby attire together, realizing he was telling the truth.
The female staff members and most of the guests turned to Albus with a glare, who in turn put on an "I didn't know" face. He had his suspicions, of course, which were more or less confirmed upon seeing Harry at the sorting, but that was all. He'd never concerned himself with checking up on the boy, knowing the wards would protect him from any outside danger, and sure that the boy would conquer any internal problems he'd face. He was, after all, his parent's son.
The hall settled and recovered from its shock, some awaiting the reading more than ever to hear about Harry's real childhood, with others not wanting to read any more of the boy's personal life. It shattered their illusions about him too much for their liking…
He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter — the boy who lived!"
Dumbledore marked the next page, and quietly closed the book. The hall was silent in contemplation. He cleared his throat softly. "Who would like to read next?"
No one volunteered. It'd hardly been a chapter and already most of their presumption about how the Boy Who Lived as raised had been shattered. It made quite a few of them stop and think about what they really knew about the boy. As the silence remained, Dumbledore was about to speak, but a raised hand stopped him.
"I'll read, Headmaster," came the voice of Andromeda Tonks. She hadn't known Lily well, but she had known James, and she knew that the couple were good people. If she was going to be here, she might as well contribute to uncovering the mystery of their sons past. She just hoped it got more pleasant as they read.
Levitating the book over, she opened to the marked page and took a breath before beginning…

***

"The Vanishing Glass," Andromeda read out to the hall.
This perked Harry up, and he quickly left his dark thoughts behind him. 'The Vanishing Glass… the zoo? So we jumped ahead ten years. Thank Merlin for that.'
Harry sighed in relief. He knew that the school would likely freak out over his parseltounge abilities being shown at such a young age, though he hadn't known what he was doing at the time. He didn't usually feel that being vilified or mistrusted was better than being pitied. While annoying, pity had many uses and worked wonders when you wanted or needed something from those who were currently feeling sorry for you. In truth, only those with too much pride resented pity out of some desire to act tough, which Harry thought was rather immature as people can't help who they feel bad for, only how much of that certain emotion may leak out. However, in this particular case, he'd take being seen as "dangerous" or "taboo" any day, as it was better than having to read about his actual childhood in a hall with hundreds of strangers. It seemed the books were only sticking to the portions relevant to his years at Hogwarts, for which he was very thankful… or as thankful as he could be in the situation.
The rest of the hall pondered the strange title. Apparently, magic would be present in this chapter, and they were curious about its circumstances.
Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all.
"Hmm," came the sounds of curiosity from some of the halls occupants. Ten years was a long time. Surely, the family had changed some important things in their house. Funnily enough, none of the few staunch purebloods in the room saw anything wrong with that. After all, their houses and customs had stayed practically the same through numerous generations.
The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living-room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed.
"Fateful?" Katie questioned while scrunching up her nose, something that Harry found immensely cute. "Rather overdramatic."
The table nodded as one.
Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bobble hats –
The students in the hall laughed or grimaced at the description, while the adults merely quirked their lips or remained impassive. Harry had recognized his thoughts regarding his cousin. 'So the books are at least partially coming from my thoughts? Damn!'
He snuck a peek at a still laughing Ron and Hermione and grimaced. 'I don't think they'll like my descriptions of them all that much. In fact, I doubt anyone will... well, except maybe Cho and...' His mind paused as his eyes wandered to a few other girls in the hall whom he'd found rather attractive at one point or another. 'Oh, bugger.'
- but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large, blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a roundabout at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother.
"Well, at least they're being shown affection," whispered Pomfrey, which got reluctant nods from the other adults and staff nearby. Dumbledore frowned, however, now expecting no such affections to be directed at Harry. Meanwhile…
"What's a bicycle?" asked a reluctant Pansy. She knew it was a muggle thing, and purebloods didn't need to know about such matters, but she figured it couldn't hurt to ask. It sounded rather weird.
Draco turned to his on-again/off-again girlfriend, and almost sneered at her. He was going to correct her for even wondering about such things, but Nott beat him to it. "Nothing important, Parkinson! It's a muggle device, and that's all we need to know about its usefulness."
A few seats down the table, Blaise saw the exchange and frowned. His frown grew when he saw the familiar subtle bow of the girl's head, something he found the raven haired prefect doing often. Deciding to speak up for once, he addressed the no-longer pug nosed girl with his trademark neutral face. "I believe that a bicycle is some form of transportation device for muggles. I'm sure Ms. Burbage would be happy to explain it to you, Parkinson."
Pansy turned to Blaise in mild surprise before catching the glint of resentment in Draco's eyes. The two boys had never gotten along with each other, though they were at least civil in public. However, Draco and Nott were both openly glaring at the seemingly blasé boy for challenging their "authority" on the matter, before turning their glares to her, wanting to hear her response. Pansy cursed inwardly, knowing the response they expected from her. Nonetheless, she sneered outwardly at the dark skinned boy.
"No thanks, Zabini. I was merely curious as to what sort of stupid muggle device it was so I could further testify to their obvious inferiority. No true pureblood would sully themselves with such information except out of happenstance. Clearly you have no such qualms about learning of muggle rubbish. Then again, I've always doubted your purity." She said all of this smoothly, a sneer ever in place on her otherwise heart shaped face. Inside, though, she couldn't help but feel bad for her snide display. He was only trying to help, after all.
Blaise stared at her neutrally for a few seconds, ignoring the looks of gloating on Malfoy and Nott's face, before turning back to the reading when Andromeda's voice broke through the mutterings of the hall. "Very well," he finished, impassive as ever. Tracey, however, could see bits of sadness and exasperation in her sole male friend's eyes. She glared at an oblivious Nott, Malfoy, and Parkinson, the latter of whom was lost in thought.
The room held no sign at all that another boy lived in the house, too.
The adults and upperclassmen frowned at that, while the younger years looked at Harry in curiosity.
Yet Harry Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. His Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice which made the first noise of the day."Up! Get up! Now!"
"Mmmm. Screeching – a lovely way to wake up, eh?" the twins poked fun at Harry, who responded in kind.
"Oh, absolutely. Nothing quite like a horses high-pitched neighing to start the morning off right. If only I could wake up to that every morning," he finished with a wistful sigh. Hermione playfully slapped Harry's arm in admonishment while the table's occupants laughed at the banter, enjoying it while they could.
Harry woke with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again.
"Up!" she screeched. Harry heard her walking towards the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the cooker.
"You're rather close to the kitchen. Ground floor room?" Hermione asked.
Ron spoke up. "Nah. Harry lives on the second story. Ain't that right, mate?"
Harry didn't bother responding to either of their comments. They'd know soon enough.
He rolled on to his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorbike in it. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same dream before.
"Whoa. You mean you actually remembered that?" questioned a curious Charlie.
"Uhm, yeah… I guess. I mean, at the time I'd thought it was a dream."
"But your subconscious remembered it, and that's what matters," spoke Madam Bones, entering into the conversation. She was rather interested in this new development.
"So I can remember something from when I was younger - big deal," Harry responded. There was no snap or aggression in his comment, just a sense of modesty and earnestness. It was clear he wanted to get the story over with quickly.
"It is a big deal, Mr. Potter. It's not normal to remember something from when you were only one. You might be what is known as a natural Occlumens – a person with natural barriers around their mind."
This froze Harry's train of thought about just how "normal" he was. 'A natural Occlumens? Me? If that's the case, then why does Voldemort still enter my mindscape… and why all of the training with that bastard Snape? Is it because I'm not strong enough in my natural defenses?'
Dumbledore saw the train of thought Harry was on, and told Andromeda to continue in the reading. Harry narrowed his eyes at the headmaster, suspicious of what the old man likely knew he was thinking. He'd promised himself that he was going to keep an eye on quite a few people's reactions during this reading, Dumbledore chief among them. Nicholas saw this and smiled. 'The boy has even more potential than I'd realized.'
His aunt was back outside the door. "Are you up yet?" she demanded.
"Jeez, she's irritating," spoke an annoyed Angelina.
"Seriously, hasn't she heard of patience," voiced Hermione at the same time.
A soft chuckling from Ron drew their attention. His friends and siblings turned to look at him to see what was so funny. "I thought about this earlier on, but now I'm pretty sure of it. You've gotta admit - she sounds a bit like mum." Those who'd met Molly Weasley at the table snickered at that, having heard her barks and shrieks quite often. Unfortunately, Ron hadn't said his little comment quietly enough - so focused was he on what he was thinking - because his mother at the closest end of the staff table apparently heard what he'd said.
"Ronald Weasley! I sound nothing like that woman," screeched the Weasley matriarch, which in turn set the entire Gryffindor table into a roll of laughter at the clear resemblance between the two, though they knew the two woman were far from alike from what they've seen and heard.
The rest of the hall was merely confused at all the laughter taking place, but ignored it. Dumbledore smiled at a laughing Harry, though he frowned when he saw that the boys chuckles were softly forced.
"Nearly," said Harry.
"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Dudley's birthday."
"They made you cook!? At ten years old? Was this a daily thing?" Hermione looked livid. It's not the fact that he was cooking at such a young age, as she had started helping her mother bake when she was but eight, if not younger. No, it was the fact that they made him cook food for them, like some sort of slave.
Apparently, her thoughts were mirrored by most of the female population who was familiar with the business of cooking, and especially frying, if the mutterings and scowls on their faces were any indication.
Harry could only shrug and try to downplay it in response. "Yeah, but it wasn't so bad."
"Nonsense, Harry. A child should never have to cook. That's the mother's job and privilege. Why, I'd like to have a word with your Aunt." However, those able to hear Molly Weasley's comment (which given who she was, was most in the hall) seemed to have mixed reactions to her comments. A majority of the men, and practically all of the pureblood boys unknowingly nodded at this. The girls on the other hand seemed affronted at the thought while the woman in the hall scoffed or raised delicate eyebrows at the Weasley matron. You'd never see any of them play the role of housewife!
"Actually, Mrs. Weasley, I think anyone can cook if they like. A man can cook for a woman just as easily as the other way around," Harry spoke up. While Molly merely brushed his comment aside, a few of the girls in the hall at least appreciated his thoughts on the matter, and the few boys who seemed to agree with his sentiments were taken note of.
Harry groaned.
"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.
"Nothing, nothing …"
Mutterings were heard once more concerning Harry's aunt. The hall was now certain she wasn't a pleasant person, and this only made the teachers and guests frown.
Dudley's birthday – how could he have forgotten? Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on.
Ron squelched his face up at the thought of actually touching a spider that was by his bed. The sight brought a slight quirk to Harry's lips, though he knew what might come next in the reading.
Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them,
People were wondering what that information had to do with anything, though some of the adults in the room were beginning to pale. 'Surely, that couldn't be…'
"They make you clean there, don't they?" Hermione's accusation interrupted the reading once more. Umbridge was growing impatient, and apparently, so was Harry.
"I'm sure it'll explain, 'Mione. But yes, I do have to clean under the cupboard as well." He added the last part almost as an afterthought. He knew what was coming next and his simply rested his head on the table as Andromeda finished the sentence, just before she gasped.
…and that was where he slept.
Andromeda re-read that part again, to make sure she wasn't seeing things. The hall was silent after her second iteration. Across the hall, multiple reactions were seen due to the revelation. Emotions slowly started to register in some people's minds as shock, anger, disappointment, regret, pity, loathing, and especially sorrow.
"Mr. Pott… Harry. Why didn't you say something to anyone," questioned Madam Pomfrey. She'd seen the boy in the infirmary enough times to feel she could comfortably call him by his first name. 'No wonder he'd been so small when he'd first arrived,' she mused. Though she was glad to see him healthy and tall now, she was disheartened knowing that he'd been mistreated in his living conditions and that she'd never followed up on it.
"I just didn't think it was important, Madam Pomfrey," came the quiet response from Harry, whose face was still on the table, covered by his hands as though he were napping. Truth was that he had told his teachers at school about it, because he'd come to refuse to believe the Dursley's lie that his living conditions were "normal for someone like him". Unfortunately, no one believed him due to his reputation as a liar and miscreant in the neighborhood and the Dursley's upstanding track record. That was where his mistrust of adults originated, and it had only grown since. Not that anyone in the hall needed to know that.
At the staff table, the older generation of the Hogwarts Staff was in despair. James and Lily were not only exceptional students, but friends in both the Order and as peers. Lily had been lining up to take over for Flitwick once he retired an astounding feat for someone both young and muggle raised. James had always been endeared to most of the teacher's hearts, as were all of the Marauders and the twins as well, as they brought something to Hogwarts that was worth all the trouble they unleashed with their pranks. Overall, the lovely young pair was seen as not just friends, but actually represented what the older generation looked to in the coming future after the war. Discovering that their sole son was forced to live under such circumstances crushed them. Hagrid and McGonagall were especially tearing up at the thought of having placed Harry there personally.
The younger staff wasn't fairing much better. Sinestra, Babbling, Vector – they all attended Hogwarts around the same time James and Lily did. A few years separate here and there, but they knew the pair through reputation if not as firm acquaintances. More than anything they pitied the young man who had to grow up through such seemingly harsh living conditions, yet they also admired that he never seemed to let it get him down.
The guests such as the Flamels, the Tonks, and the ministry personnel were equal parts furious over the boy's treatment and shocked. Even the Flamels hadn't expected this, though it wasn't too hard to believe seeing that Albus kept all information on the boy secret. Speaking of whom, the Headmaster was looking up at the clouds. His everlasting twinkle was missing from his crystal blue eyes, which weighed heavy on him at the moment. He had known a little of Harry's abuse and mistreatment, though he'd truly hoped for the best between the two parties. He'd never known just how poorly he had grown up, and had relied on Arabella Figg's monthly updates on the boy. After all, he felt that the less direct interference with the boy, the better. Clearly, this had all backfired on the aged wizard, and a slow and unseen tear slipped down the old man's cheek and onto his grey beard.
The students were - in a word - baffled. The Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and the heir to the Potter line was raised as a muggle and slept in a cupboard of all things!? Preposterous! If the oath hadn't worked, most of them would simply have denied the mere thought of it. Unfortunately, it did work and this was the cold, hard truth, and that scared the student body more than they thought possible.
It was extremely evident that they'd all jumped to conclusions at one point or another concerning the young man. Some found the way he dressed poorly as a sign of poor fashion taste, or even as a message about how he doesn't care about what he wears. Others felt that his shyness was in fact his way of not mingling with people he found below him, despite the lowly company he kept. Numerous reasons and rumors swirled around their peer, hardly any of them positive, and within the last few minutes of reading a good portion of those accusations and theories had already come crumbling down.
The students in his class were particularly affected. Had it been another peer of theirs, they might have actually stopped and thought about it and seen the signs. The Ravenclaws were gobsmacked that, for all their curiosity on the famed BWL, they never once looked into his lack of knowledge on the wizarding world or spells for that matter. The Hufflepuffs were ashamed that, despite being friendly and loyal to their own, none of them ever went out of their way to approach the spectacled teen. The Slytherins were simply blown away by how wrong their presumptions about the boy were, and Draco was mildly aware of the looks being sent his way from several of his House mates. Apparently, the Malfoy scion had been the primary source of information on the Potter heir in their house, and the info was now proving to be worth shit, and in the house of the supposed cunning, information was as important as gold. The Lions merely looked at their mate with sympathy and sadness. None of them, not even Dean and Seamus, had ever bothered asking him about his childhood. Sure, he would have rebuffed them, but at least they'd have shown an interest and possibly caught signs of this earlier on. He was always curious about their lives, but the politeness was never returned despite how often people enjoyed jumping to conclusions about him. It made all of them think less of themselves, that's for sure. While shock was the profound emotion felt in the hall, it would eventually give way to anger, bitterness, sympathy, pity, apathy in some peoples cases (after all, it doesn't concern them), regret, and even happiness for the few twisted individuals in the room.
All eyes eventually settled on the raven-haired wizard who had his head off the table but angled down so that his messy bangs covered his eyes. Hermione had tears threatening to spill as she coaxed her friends back and shoulder, trying to somehow convey her sympathy without hugging him. She knew that wasn't what he needed right now. Ron was still reeling from the revelation. Most of his assumptions about his best mate had been shattered well into first year and especially when he'd helped him escape during the summer before second year. Whatever suspicions he'd had on Harry's character or background were all but put away after the debacle with the Goblet, when he'd acted like a git. Still, he hadn't expected it to be this bad for his friend, and he only felt worse than ever over the way he'd treated him in the past.
The boy on everyone's mind was simply biting his tongue, trying to keep from lashing out. He was feeling angry again, the same type of fleeting rage that made him feel dirty when it passed. He didn't need to chew anyone's heads off at the moment, no matter how much he hated the fact that they were sending him looks of pity or sympathy or even smirks. The way that he saw things was that they didn't bother to care and understand him before, so why start now. It was an irrational way of seeing things, he knew, but it didn't stop the bitterness and embarrassment from creeping forth. He was about to tell Mrs. Tonks to continue reading when he felt a hand on his forearm from across the table.
Looking up, his eyes met brown water-glossed eyes of Tonks. Her hair was now brown and went to her shoulders, lying flat to her head. She looked at him with concern and sympathy, but upon seeing his look of frustration and embarrassment, Tonks readily changed tactics. Her hair turned a pale jade green and shortened to her usual crop. Her eyes, while still watery, gained her usual cheer, just as her mouth twitched into a sharp smile. She leaned over and whispered conspiratorially to a confused Harry, "Look at it this way. At least you're well accustomed to damp tight placed."
It wasn't the greatness innuendo she'd ever performed. In fact, it was downright terrible if she was honest with herself. It was, however, the only thing that came to mind at the time, and it seemed to work if the blush on a sputtering Harry's face was anything to go by. She laughed a little at his reaction, and the people on their table wondered what she'd said to him to get his mind off of the reading, but she merely winked at Charlie when he questioned her, causing him to blush in turn.
Harry regained his composure from the absolutely random bit of innuendo, and the blush slowly reseeded from his face. Looking into Tonk's cheery face once more he could help but smile. "Thanks," he said softly, but firmly. She seemed to know just what to say to make him feel better, a trait that only Hermione tended to possess every so often. She just smiled at him and turned back to the staff table, as did he.
Katie had watched the entire interaction closely. She was about to reach over and address Harry right before Tonks beat her to it, but the older woman's approach was completely different to her own. She would have asked if he was alright and tried to console him, but apparently all Harry needed was some humorous teasing from an honest friend to get him back on track. This made her question whether or not she really stood a chance with Harry, but she washed those thoughts away as Harry asked for the reading to continue.
While the student body was processing the information and Tonks was cheering Harry up, a private discussion was being held at the staff table behind several silencing wards.
"Albus, what have you done!?" snapped a furious McGonagall. After recovering from her shock, the Head of Gryffindor had not taken well to discovering that she'd played a part in forcing Harry to grow under such conditions and unfortunately for Dumbledore, the rest of the staff and guests were behind her, even the ever loyal Hagrid was looking at Dumbledore for an answer.
"He needed protection and anonymity, Minerva. The wards there would protect him and his family, while ensuring that he had a relatively normal childhood."
"N-n-normal childhood," sputtered an angry Flitwick. "Come now, Albus! I dare say he's experienced anything but a normal childhood, wouldn't you? Even I would have trouble fitting in a cupboard to sleep for Merlin's sake."
Dumbledore sighed. "You must understand it was for the greater g-", began but was cut off by an irate Perenelle Flamel. "Don't you start with that greater good spiel, Albus. You might not have known what would happen, but you surely had a suspicion. Did you never check on the boy?"
"I felt that the less he saw of anyone from our world, the better. I haven't seen him since the night on which I'd dropped him off." This left the people at the staff table even more frustrated in the man, while Nicholas and Moody were beginning to question their former pupil's/leader's competence. While the table exploded with discussion and accusations, surprisingly much of which were coming from the younger teaching staff, others simply watched the conversation unfold.
Amelia was saddened at hearing that Harry was treated in such a way, but it might not be considered enough reason to interfere and put him in someone else's custody, so she remained stoic and listened for more incriminating material. She didn't miss the glint of satisfaction in the silent Lucius Malfoy's eyes, or the way his wife's eyes darted and narrowed to their son. She knew that Fudge was thinking on how he could spin this to his benefit in the papers, Umbridge as well. The former seemed uncomfortable at the revelation while the latter almost smiled. 'The nerve of that… ugh, toad.' She saw that Remus and even the dog near Harry were especially downtrodden over the revelation, as they glanced sorrowfully at Harry the accusingly at the Headmaster, repeatedly. 'Hmm... strange behavior for a dog.'
The arguing came to a halt as they heard the subject of their discussion ask for the reading to continue. Looking up, Amelia saw that the entire hall was staring at the staff table, no doubt wondering what they were arguing so frantically about behind their silencing wards. Some of the professors and guests had the good grace to blush, while others merely regained their composure and took down the wards.
"This conversation isn't over, Albus," hissed a still irate McGonagall to the nods of most everyone at the table. The aged wizard could only sigh in defeat and regret as Andromeda Tonks cleared her throat and picked up where she left off.
When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all of Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had got the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike.
The hall was still trying to get back into the story, so no one bothered asking or explaining what any of those muggle devices were.
Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise
A few snickers came from the students, the loudest of whom were the twins'. Harry smiled, glad that they were still their jovial selves despite what they'd just read, if only for his sake.
– unless of course it involved punching somebody.
Remus tensed at the thought of someone punching his 'cub', as did Harry's friends.
Dudley's favorite punch-bag was Harry,
A growl escaped from Remus' throat. One thing he didn't tolerate was physical abuse. He'd had enough of that growing up that he didn't wish it on anyone else, least of all the son of his best friends. Snuffles tugged at Harry's pants leg.
but he couldn't often catch him. Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast.
"That's true. You are a speedy little git, aren't ya?" teased Tonks.
"You'd know, wouldn't you, Tonks?" was Harry's reply, which served to cause a blush and a scowl to simultaneously form on his verbal opponents face much to his amusement.
Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age.
Harry grumbled about it being unfair and being called small, while Ron just patted his friend on the back in mock sorrow. Harry had clearly filled out over the years, but that didn't keep the ginger from teasing his raven-haired friend about it.
He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's and Dudley was aboutsixtimes bigger than he was. Harry had a thin face,worn downknees,raven coloredhair andemerald-green eyes.
"I know you get this all the time, but you really are the spitting image of your father aside from your eyes and perhaps a fairer shade of skin. That's all your mothers," said Remus fondly - unknowingly voicing the thoughts of many of the adults in the room - staring at Harry with as much warmth as he could muster given the circumstance. While Harry had grown used to the comparisons, he'd always appreciated them from people who truly knew his parents, so he simply offered his ex-DADA professor a small smile.
He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Sellotape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose.
While some of the matrons in the hall clucked or muttered in disapproval at the behavior of the youngest Dursley, Bill turned to Harry. "He doesn't do that to you anymore does he?"
"No, he's much to afraid of me now to try anything, especially after the events of this past summer," replied Harry. Bill nodded, knowing what he was talking about as did Tonks, the twins, Hermione and Ron. The rest were merely curious but figured they'd find out eventually. "Why do you ask?"
Bill flashed him a toothy grin, reminiscent of that of a goblin in Harry's amused opinion. "Because I know a few tricks on how you could get him back without using any magic."
Harry smiled at the man while his siblings looked at him in surprise, not aware of their eldest brothers practical pranking habits. "Thanks, but I prefer settling my own problems," Harry finished with a conspirator wink that was returned by the curse-breaker before they all turned back to the reading which had been going on for a short while already. As he turned, Harry caught sight of Fleur sitting next to Bill and she kindly at him when they made eye contact, forcing his heart rate to increase. Turning to Andromeda, he tried to get back into the scheme of things, but was finding it difficult. Ginny and Hermione saw his reactions but didn't comment on it.
The only thing Harry liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead which was shaped like a bolt of lightning.
"You actually liked your scar then, mate?" Ron asked in incredulity. His friend hated it his scar!
His question was rather loud and once again caused the meeting to pause as curious occupants of the hall looked to the Boy Who Lived for a response. Umbridge gritted her teeth at yet another interruption, but resigned herself to the fact that rushing the reading would accomplish nothing when they clearly felt they had all the time in the world.
Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose in irritation, equally as irritated with Umbridge with the interruptions as he'd rather just get this all over with quickly. However, he understood that with a hall full of people, it would be impossible NOT to have mild interruptions every other sentence. "Yes, Ron, I liked my scar at the time for reasons I'm sure will be revealed. I didn't know what it meant or who was responsible for it. It was just different, and living with the Dursley's made me appreciate 'different'."
He had had it as long as he could remember and the first question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had got it.
'This ought to be good,' thought a snide Snape, well experienced with the way Petunia stretched the truth. The Weasley twins unknowingly voiced his thoughts making him groan internally.
"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."
"Car crash!? She told you your parents died in a car crash?," yelled an angry Moody. It was one thing to listen to the woman talk low of Lily when she thought she was still living, but to tread on her memory and legacy by saying she died through something as trivial as a car crash was too far for a man of pride like himself to handle. For Merlin's sake, he'd fought alongside the woman and there was no way she'd ever die by something as mundane as a car accident.
The staff and Order were equally upset, but none so much as Remus. "You said you'd told them everything in a letter, Dumbledore!"
"And so I had. It appears they preferred to keep the truth from Harry, though I can't blame them for doing so. I only wish they'd found a better explanation for his parent's absence."
Snape sneered at the book, but held back his tongue. He didn't like someone brushing off the sacrifice that the love of his life committed so easily, but he had appearances to maintain, loathe as he may be to do so. Then something struck him – after the reading is all said and done, he'd likely be revealed to the entire school and all of their guests as a Death Eater turned double agent. He paled at the thought.
Meanwhile, the students were baffled that the Boy Who Lived hadn’t even discover how he got his scar or who his parents were until after he was ten. It seemed the surprises just kept coming and they had no choice but to swallow the bitter pill that was the reminder of just how wrong they were regarding the savior of the wizarding world.
"Ouch, mate. Tough to swallow when you think that's what you were told most of your life, am I right?"
Hermione rubbed Harry's back consoling as Ron tried to talk to his friend. Honestly, both of them were doing it for their own benefit as much as for Harry's. After all, they felt uncomfortable hearing about some of the things that Harry never talked to them about being read for all to hear. Harry just nodded and remained apathetic to it all. He just wanted the reading to finish, too caught up in thought to be angry at Petunia more than he usually was. His lips quirked when he realized that Hermione was so concerned about him, she hadn't commented on the crime of not being allowed to ask questions.
Don't ask questions – that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.
"Then how did they expect you to learn? Honestly," huffed an exasperated Hermione, now registering the fact that Harry wasn't permitted to ask questions growing up. That would have been a true impossibility for her. The Ravenclaws and more studious individuals in the hall looked equally as incredulous.
Katie smiled at Harry sadly while addressing Hermione. "I think that was the point, Hermione."
Hermione eyes widened in aghast when she thought about someone purposely keeping her from asking questions. She couldn't understand why, really. Harry, however, knew that the Dursley's did actually want him to learn something – his proper place, in their opinion.
Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon.
"Honestly, cooking bacon for adults," muttered a flustered Molly Weasley and Andromeda Tonks.
Meanwhile Ron's stomach was reminding him of how long it had been since he'd last eaten bacon with a prominent growl that the whole table heard. "Hehe… oops?" Harry and Hermione rolled their eyes at Ron's hunger, one in amusement and the other in exasperation.
"Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.
"Cheery fellow," said George.
"Say, does he even have hair anymore?" questioned Fred.
"Yeah, last we see that blighter he had a nice bald spot growing."
"Put our own fathers to shame it did."
The hall laughed at the twins antics while the adult friends of Mr. Weasley laughed louder at the flustered mans expression. After all, losing their hair was a large problem for adult wizards, so it's natural they found it funnier than others. Molly glared at her sons, but they ignored it.
About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way – all over the place.
Harry tussled his hair absentmindedly. It had calmed down considerably since then, but it still was rather messy, as though he'd just woken up or finished a satisfying few laps on his broom. Unknown to him, several girls were taking notice of his hair and thought if looked rather roguish on the raven haired young man.
Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother.
"One of these days, I'm going to have to give your cooking a go, Harry," Tonks suggested… or was it commanded? It didn't matter to Harry. He might not have enjoyed cooking for his relatives but cooking for someone like Tonks was just fine with him.
"It'd be my pleasure, Tonks."
Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large, pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes and thick, blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head.
Grimaces were seen around the hall. The book had pegged the few characters they knew accurately enough that the thought of a ten year old boy looking like that was off-putting to say the least.
Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel – Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.
Laughter met this, as the Twins congratulated Harry on the imagery.
"Pig in a wig," cried Lee Jordon, wiping a fake tear from his eye. "I'll have to remember that for my neighbor when I go home."
Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell. "Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."
"The brat got thirty eight presents on his ninth birthday? Who needs thirty eight presents, let alone a nine year old," questioned a pouty Gabrielle in a slightly accented form of English. She didn't like the way this boy was treating her hero and had no qualms with calling him a brat, older than her or not. While Fleur lightheartedly chastised her sister for calling someone she didn't know a brat, the men around their area were once again reminded they were in the presence of two Veela's.
"Someone with an extreme sense of self-worth, Gabby," replied an amused Harry. He found the girl rather cute with her arms crossed and a pout on her face. He looked from her blue eyes to those of Draco's across the hall which many of his tablemates caught onto and snickered at. They could all picture the blonde Slytherin complaining about similar circumstances.
"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, its here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."
"cough-Enablers-cough," came the melodic voice of Professor Sinestra to the amusement and surprise of her students and colleagues. She wasn't one for outbursts or accusations, but apparently she didn't have a problem with calling these muggles on their faults. She was familiar with the term and felt that these so called parents were definitely enabling their son to continue his terrible behavior, not the least of which was aimed at Harry.
"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over.
"Brat", "Spoilt Brat", "Thank God I'm not like that… I'm not like that am I?" was muttered throughout the hall to the amusement of Harry's friends and their guests.
Aunt Petunia obviously sensed danger too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?"
"You've got to be kidding me," muttered a flustered Pomona Sprout. The parents spoilt their child silly and she hated favoritism.
"Scratch that, guys. She's nothing like mum," said Ron to the nods of all the Weasley's and Harry. Mrs. Weasley would never give in to such demands from her kids, nor would they ever attempt to make them.
Dudley thought for a moment.
"That must have been hard work for him," said a serious Harry. Giggles followed his statement.
It looked like hard work.
More giggles and laughter followed Andromeda leisurely reading, as she basked in the humor that was slowly filling the hall at the expense of the non-present Dursley's. It surely beat talking about Mr. Potter's poor living conditions.
Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty … thirty …"
"Dear god! This cousin of yours is an idiot, Harry," Seamus said aloud before he could stop himself. While Harry might not have been fond of his family, they were still relatives. The Irish boy remembered how fiercely he'd defended his mum in his argument with Harry earlier in the year, and was wondering if he'd get a similar treatment now.
To his surprise, Harry just shrugged. "It's not his fault, at least no completely. His parents really did pamper and spoil him, so he's never had to struggle for anything." Seamus just nodded before turning away, a bit unnerved by the glare Ron was leveling at him for speaking. He'd have to apologize sometime soon.
"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.
"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."
“Sweetums,?” questioned Angelina. Alicia started giggling alongside her as they thought of a new name to tease the twins with, not that they’d care.
Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.
By now most everyone in the hall had a good grasp on how life was for Dudley in the Dursley family and frowned in disgust at the way Vernon encouraged his son’s poor mannerisms. Narcissa was mentally drawing comparisons between the walrus and his son, and her own husband and child. While nowhere near as physically emotional or touchy, Lucius did spoil and condone most of Draco’s habits as they were practical his own to begin with. She frowned at the thought of her son having any resemblance to the fat muggle.
At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games and a video recorder. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch
“Holy crap! What ten-year-old needs gold anything?” questioned an irritated Charlie. His family had never been well off financially, this was no secret, though he didn’t care about money enough to let it bother him. His family got by and loved one another, so he could ask for nothing more. However, seeing a spoilt ten-year-old given something as expensive and unpractical as a gold watch while his brother’s best friend was clearly being mistreated grated on his nerves.
“Not to mention the rest of that stuff. I mean, sixteen computer games, a camera, a racing bike? Any one of those things must have cost a moderately paid family a fortune. But all of them? And while Harry lives in a cupboard (no offense, Harry)… that’s just not right,” spoke Dean. He always liked Harry and always supported him. While not as close to him as he was with Seamus, they were friends and even if they weren’t, the mistreatment he underwent was still enough to piss him off. The teachers and students were for the most part thinking likewise.
“I wonder if they bought that watch with Potter’s money,” questioned a less than tactful Smith.
The Hufflepuffs looked at him as though he were daft before they too wondered at the possibility, as did the rest of the hall. Harry didn’t find the thought pleasant at all if the clenching of his fasts was any indication. ‘They better not have used my parent’s money for something like that… oh, who am I kidding. Of course they did.’
“Now, now,” sounded out a passive Dumbledore, though his face was worried as well. “I’m sure the Dursley’s would not have stooped to that level.” Harry and a good portion of the hall leveled a deadpan face at him making him wince. Minerva was glaring daggers at him, and he knew they would be discussing Mr. Potter’s financials soon enough. “Very well, I will be going over this development, but until then may we continue the reading?”
Andromeda cleared her throat. She liked these people less and less, and her husband looked downright furious, undoubtedly ashamed that a man who was both a father and guardian such as he was could be so deviant.
…when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone, looking both angry and worried.
‘Oh, oh,’ thought a worried Hermione and Ron. This perked up most of the halls attention.
"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked her head in Harry's direction, a look of contempt on her face.
“‘Him’? Can’t they at least say your name?” Ginny said fiercely. No one treated her crush the way these people treated him. Sure, she might be dating Michael, but that didn’t mean she was over Harry nor did it mean that she would just sit here and listen to these people treat him this way. She wasn’t the only one thinking along these lines as growls and scowls erupted across the hall, much to Harry’s surprise.
Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Harry's heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley's birthday his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger bars or the cinema. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away.
While Dumbledore chuckled internally at that, knowing Mrs. Figg was a little mad, Minerva turned to him. “Mrs. Figg? As in the squib?”
Harry tensed at the reminder that Mrs. Figg was a squib and his watcher from the Order. This only made him more upset at the thought of the treatment he endured at the Dursley’s that Mrs. Figg either never reported or Dumbledore never acted on. He glared at the Headmaster who dutifully ignored his side of the room once more.
Filch had twitched at the mention of the word squib, not that anyone cared enough to notice save Umbridge who smiled maliciously at a possible opening the man might provide due to his insecurities.
Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.
Ron snorted while Viktor spoke for the first time since that chapter. He’d been in touch with Hermione who’d described their DADA teacher thoroughly in her letters. Turning to his former date, he said in his thick accent, “Sounds like Umbridge woman, no? Mad and is obsessed with pussy?”
The table erupted into laughter and blushed much to the chagrin and confusion of the rest of the hall. Hermione was turning beet red and sputtering incoherent protests at having heard her former crush say that particular word to her. Granted, she knew it wasn’t in the way that he meant, as he had trouble saying cat for the oddest of reasons, but it was still embarrassing. Ron was too busy laughing to take notice of the way Hermione glanced questioningly at him and then Viktor, but Harry caught it and smiled before they locked eyes and she blushed again, turning away.
Everyone caught their breaths, thankful for the burst of life Viktor’s unknowing double intender provided, and the reading went on with a confused Viktor and hall.
"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he'd planned this.
“They seem to blame you for an awful lot,” Fay said meekly with a frown.
“Of course, they do. After all, I’m Harry Potter. Anything and everything that goes wrong around me is, in fact, my fault. I mean, I am well known for my plans always working, right?” Harry spoke kindly but sarcastically which made the tables occupants smile at his good sense of humor. He grumbled good naturedly as his two best friends snickered at the latter part of his comment. He had a habit of coming up with great on-the-fly plans, only to have them fall flat on their face due to further unexpected circumstance.
Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr Paws and Tufty again.
The students snickered at the names while those who had felines with those names glared at their peers. “When you put it that way, it’s understandable that you didn’t feel too bad. You were ten, after all,” spoke a kind Andromeda Tonks, while the Flamels just looked at their future mark with humor evident in their eyes.
"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.
"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."
Harry remained impassive at the mention of his ‘Aunt’. ‘The feeling’s mutual, Marge.’
The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn't there – or rather, as though he was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.
Mutterings again picked up on how Harry was treated. Queue the glares at the book, Dumbledore, and even a smiling Umbridge. Snuffles hadn’t stopped growling the entire chapter, aside from moments when they’d make fun of the Dursley’s, and he was baring his teeth at the book as Harry rubbed his head. At the staff table Remus was growling in the back of his throat and Harry’s friends remained quiet, already expecting this treatment from the Dursley’s. They were all on their extreme-dislike list as far as they were concerned.
“Rather a right bunch of bastards, aren’t they?” whispered Bill to Charlie’s ear.
Charlie nodded with a frown marring his face.
"What about what's-her-name, your friend – Yvonne?"
"On holiday in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.
"You could just leave me here," Harry put in hopefully (he'd be able to watch what he wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley's computer).
“You should’ve just stayed quiet, Harry,” Neville spoke for the first time. When people turned to him in question, he blushed but continued on. “Whenever I suggest something to my Uncle, who isn’t particularly fond of me either, he goes and does just about the opposite on purpose.” Others around the hall nodded at the reasoning and sent Harry sad looks, but few seemed to catch the slight twinkle in his eye.
Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.
“Drama queen,” sighed Lily at the Slytherin table. She was getting tired of reading about these pathetic people already and wanted to move on to when Harry arrived at Hogwarts and perhaps see what he thought of her.
"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.
“Come to think of it, that… did… happen… once,” Harry worded his words carefully. It was after he’d received a particularly nasty punishment and had been thrown afterwards in his cupboard for a few days. It was so cold that he wished it was warmer and sure enough a small fire erupted from the fireplace.
People looked at Harry as though he were insane. He quickly said that he hadn’t done it consciously, but rather that it had just happened when he was cold. The students still looked at him funny while some of the more knowledgeable adults’ eyes widened at the display of accidental magic. ‘Starting a fire with a thought? How strong is he,’ they thought with astonishment.
"I won't blow up the house," said Harry, but they weren't listening.
“Adults tend to tune me out,” Harry said nonchalantly while said present adults who’d done so in the past winced.
"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "… and leave him in the car …"
“That’s against the law!” cried a surprised Hermione. She’d read of dogs and babies being locked in cars without air and dying due to suffocation or the heat. When a pureblooded Gryffindor asked why that was, she quickly explained what a car was and what happened to some people left inside of one for too long. Needless to say, those unaware of the dangers of a child being locked in a car glared fiercely at the book while the adults looked appalled at the thought. Dumbledore’s eyebrows even rose past his hairline, not wanting to think of how the world might have been had Harry succumbed to something as… trivial, as being locked in a car.
"That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone …"
“You’ve got to be kidding me. They care more about the car than possibly suffocating you?” Angelina criticized.
“Well, I think they would have cracked the windows for me.” Harry’s friends, nay the hall, stared at him incredulously. Cracking the windows made it okay to leave an unattended child alone in public, I n sweat box? Seeing the looks he replied, “What?”
The adults (sans Lucius, Umbridge, Filch, and mystery guest) shook their heads, understanding that the child must have been subjected to such treatment often enough that he found it normal. This of course didn’t make them feel any better. If anything, it made them feel worse. Andromeda sent Harry one more glance before continuing.
Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying, it had been years since he'd really cried, but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.
Most people didn’t even bother sounding their disgust at the youngest Dursley’s actions. They’d either come to expect this, or were in fact too similar to Dudley to see anything wrong in the picture. “What a manipulative little prick,” muttered a irritated Tonks. She hated cry babies and hated frauds even more.
"Dinky Duddydums,
This brought the reading up short. Even Andromeda had to reread that nickname, as she wasn’t sure that she had pronounced it correctly. When she found that she had, she gave a short giggle that surprised those waiting for her to continue. Then a chuckle escaped her feminine throat that made her husband raise an eyebrow. As she saw his face and let her giggles explode, she suddenly snorted. She gasped in embarrassment, paling at the thought of everyone having heard her undignified sound. Her daughter slammed her head on the table before once again staring at her mom in a mixture of pain, frustration, amusement, and especially embarrassment. Her husband Ted and even her friends didn’t know what to say. Sure, they’d found the name funny, but apparently not as funny as she had. She didn’t even want to think what her sister’s face held in store for her. She was about to hide her mortification behind the book and continue her reading when she heard a bit of laughter.
Harry Potter was staring at her, a crooked smile plastered on his face as he laughed calmly enough. As she felt embarrassment return to her, thinking that he was laughing at her, his laughter ceased and he uttered into the silent and bewildered hall. “Dinky Duddydums.” His laughter returned full force shortly after, and this time it was joined by the laughter of her daughter. Slowly but surely people around him began to laugh, and soon the hall had a smattering of chuckling and giggling from all the tables. Within a minute nearly the entire hall was roaring with laughter, for reasons unknown to any of them. Snorts were heard, but no one paid any mind and Andromeda sent a dazzling smile of thanks to Harry which he just nodded too, still laughing jovially.
After another minute or two, the laughter had receded to a couple of giggles and fits of snickers. The only sign that there was ever a mass rush of hysteria was the keeling over students and staff who were out of breath, or the prominent blushes on those who recalled snorting or making other forms of embarrassing noise during the rabble. In fact, the only ones who didn’t seem to have joined in on the festivities was a bewildered Umbrdige, Malfoy senior who was sneering at his sons and the rest of the Slytherins, a steel-jawed Snape and equally stony Narcissa (though both of them had twitches at the corners of their mouths) and the mysterious veiled guest. Hell, even Filch had chuckled! ‘You truly do have a way about you, Mr. Potter,’ Andromeda thought rather fondly, before returning to the book.
Don't cry, Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.
"I … don't … want … him … t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. "He always sp-spoils everything!" He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.
“God, I want to punch him,” Hermione spoke, surprising those who knew her well. Before Ron could take the opportunity to turn her own policies about violence against her, openings that he rarely got, Harry spoke.
“What, punching Malfoy in third year didn’t give you your proper fix of violence? Or has it worn off already? You brawler, you,” Harry teased with a grin and a wag of his finger that had Hermione blushing at his antics. Viktor looked between the two of them but did nothing more than shrug.
Just then, the doorbell rang – "Oh, Good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically – and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat.
“I hate rats,” Harry said without a trace of the humor he’d had moments before. While some were thrown off by his one-eighty degree switch, Hermione and Ron understood and looked glum as they nodded at the reminder of Pettigrew. Harry, however, had a reason for hating rats long before having met the betrayer of his parents, and that reason was none other than the boy whom the story had just introduced.
He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them.
“That list included you,” Katie questioned softly. Harry just nodded his head, hands clenched at the reminder of how vulnerable he’d been growing up. He hated feeling vulnerable, and a small voice in his mind told him that there were ways to become invulnerable. He nodded absentmindedly, before he shook the thoughts from his mind.
Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.
“Of course. Can’t be seen as weak in front of your mates, can you?” voiced a snide Dean. He hated bullies as much as the next person, and having been an art freak in grade school, he’d dealt with a few every now and then. But he’d never been physically beaten, which he was very thankful for.
Half an hour later, Harry, was smirking inwardly, sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life.
“You’d never been to the zoo before? Not even for grade school?” Hermione questioned. She came from a financially privileged lifestyle with two dentists for parents, and was thus accustomed to seeing all types of places abroad and at home. She also knew that most grade schools required trips to the nearby zoo, as did the other muggleborn or half-blood students.
“Nope. They never signed my permission forms of paid the necessary fees for field trips,” Harry shrugged in response. While he had cared at the time, it all felt like another lifetime ago now.
By suggesting that he stay at home, he had lured his aunt and uncle into taking them with him out of fear for their possessions. While he’d liked to have been left home alone with the television or what-not, he knew the likelihood of not getting locked into his cupboard was slim to none.
As one the hall turned to look at him in shock. A ten year old boy had purposely manipulated his guardians into taking him with them and it was the Gryffindor golden boy no less? Once again, presumptions and theories surrounding the savior of the wizarding world went up in flames. It appears he wasn’t as block headed as some thought.
“Very… devious, Mr. Potter,” commented a serious Snape, which shocked just about the entire hall. Did Snape just send a Gryffindor, Potter no less, a compliment? Or was that some flimsy insult? Regardless, Harry had to respond in kind.
“Thank you, professor. One has to think on their toes in order to make it in this world, am I right?”
The potions professor merely nodded stiffly before returning to staring at the hall in general with his usual stony sneer. The staff and students were thrown for a loop by the interaction, but the prominent thought in most people’s minds was just how smart was Harry Potter. His own friends were even looking at him as though he’d grown another head. They knew he was clever and adaptable, but to know that he’d manipulate his own guardians to get out of the house… it was surprising. The staff was too caught up in the comment about being locked in the cupboard to comment on his obvious manipulations on his guardians.
“What do you mean locked in a cupboard, Mr. Potter?” questioned a concerned McGonagall, narrowly beating Pomfrey, Sprout, Hooch, and the other matron figures presents.
“Uhm... nothing. I mean... yeah, just casual locks. ‘For my own good’ and all that,” answered a nervous Harry. He didn’t like talking about his conditions himself, and was thankful that the books were being read by someone else. The women narrowed their eyes at the answer but waited to hear more about it from the book.
And even sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Dudley, couldn’t get his spirits down. His aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.
“For what?” questioned a cautious Remus, who had a bad feeling about what was coming.
"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's,
“He’d better not be threatening you,” said an unusually serious Arthur Weasley. Harry didn’t give a response, which further worried the man who’d come to care for the raven haired teen, whom he owed much to, not the least of which was he and his daughters life.
"I'm warning you now, boy – any funny business, anything at all – and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas. And that’ll be the least of your worries." He emphasized this with a swift punch to Harry’s stomach, causing him to fall to his knees and gasp in pain.

***

"I'm warning you now, boy – any funny business, anything at all – and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas. And that’ll be the least of your worries."

Leading up to that sentence, the hall had grown steadily tenser at the way Harry was blatantly being threatened by the very man who was supposed to be his guardian, his protector. By now, they all knew that there was likely little love lost between the young man and his supposed family, but the way Vernon was addressing his nephew with such malice was causing several warnings bells to sound in the halls minds. While some still wanted to question whether or not Vernon actually locked Harry away for long periods of time, they thought better of it. They knew they’d find out soon enough.

He emphasized this with a swift punch to Harry’s stomach, causing him to fall to his knees and gasp in pain.

The quiet was stifling as the sentence was read. Harry had expected all that tension and anger to immediately come to a head after the last word was uttered by an already choked Andromeda, but it didn’t. Instead the silence stretched out. Seconds that felt like hours passed, as he steeled himself to keep his gaze firmly locked on the table. He couldn’t bear to look into the eyes of his friends and peers. Nearly half a minute after the revelation of Harry’s physical abuse, and things had finally clicked for the majority of the hall. It started as a dull wave of murmurs from the student body, and built up and up until it was full blown pandemonium.

The hall seemed to explode in outrage that shook the already emotional raven-haired teen from his dark thoughts, as he finally gathered the strength to come back to the present. He immediately registered additional pressure on parts of his body, which he soon recognized belonged to his best friends. On his left, Hermione was sobbing into his side, clinging to his shoulder and muttering apologies for things far beyond her control. Her delicate fingers had wrapped around and gripped his hoody covered body so tight that he almost felt a loss of circulation in his left arm. He almost smiled when he remembered that she had been the one to give him his first real hug, which had been nearly as tight but nowhere near as needy as the one she was giving him now. He gently wrapped his arm around her lithe body, whispering reassuring nothings into her ear to let her know that he was okay. Upon reflection, the best friends would laugh at how Hermione had once again wound up being comforted by Harry, instead of the intended other way around.

As he reassured one best friend, Harry looked to his other one, who was responsible for the reassuring hand on his right shoulder. Ron was looking at him with puffy eyes and tears streaming down his freckled cheeks, a sight that truly shocked Harry. Hermione was passionate and emotional in nearly everything she did, especially when it came to her friends, so her tears were expected, though appreciated. But he’d never seen Ron cry due to something other than pain before, and Harry was touched by the liquid pooling in his eyes. He’d expected the usual Weasley outburst from his friend, but after absentmindedly hearing several familiar voices cursing out the Dursley’s, it was now apparent that Bill, Charlie, and the Twins had that more than covered. Instead, his best mate remained uncharacteristically silent with a look of what appeared to be guilt in his eyes, for reasons that eluded Harry.

Harry was unaware that his ginger-haired friend was actually feeling guilty over the fact that he had always envied Harry. Despite small moments of clarity during which he was able to acknowledge just how bad his friend’s life truly was, Ron had remained more or less jealous of his best friend. He struggled to hide it - bury it away somewhere - in fear that it might ruin their relationship, but to no avail. Even now, he felt twitches of envy at all of the attention Harry was getting from the people upset over his treatment. Girls were especially sending him remorseful looks, some of which looked casual while most were honest and stricken. Of course, his raven-haired friend was oblivious to all of the attention, which only made it worse. Ron briefly wondered whether people would have been as upset if it were his life being read out to the hall and he weren’t the “Boy Who Lived”. He knew they wouldn’t. This only served to make him even bitterer, at both his friend’s fame and his own contrite thoughts. Feelings of jealous left him, however, when an image of his best friend being punched by his no-good relative came to mind, leaving him with only feelings of guilt and remorse.

Harry watched the conflicting emotions play across his friend’s face, but put it out of his mind for the time being as his hand (the one that wasn’t encircled around Hermione’s waist) was gripped. Half expecting it to be Tonks, he traced the soft hand to be surprised with none other than a glassy eyed Katie. Confusion must have been evident on his face, because she gave him the slightest of headshakes, as if to tell him to just go with it, which he did.

Gently holding her hand in his, he marveled at how soft it was despite the calluses that had formed on it from years of aggressive broom riding. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a bun, with a few bangs left out, framing her fair skinned face. Her eyes conveyed concern and sympathy, with an easily overlooked undercurrent of anger that was no doubt aimed at the Dursley’s and not him. She smiled softly at him, though he couldn’t bring himself to smile back under the circumstances. She seemed to understand and just kept looking at him. Ron’s hold on his shoulder eventually lessened before he was given a brief pat on the back. Hermione was still buried into his side, hugging him fiercely, though her hold on him had lessened, and her muffled sobs had quieted as her body stopped shuddering. Still Katie looked at him, and Harry would have been unnerved if he’d been anyone else. Instead, he knew that she couldn’t find the proper words to say to him, so she conveyed what she could through her eyes; a tactic that he’d used with her one time when the tables had been turned (1). The fact that she remembered the encounter well enough to return the favor made his heart beat a little faster. It was moments like this - more than anything - that endeared the Gryffindor chaser to him.

“I’m listening,” she said simply. With that soft but clear message, she finally loosened her grip on him. Harry almost pulled her hand back, but resisted the urge. Instead, he finally managed to send her a smile of gratitude in return.

Tonks was staring at the area where his and Katie’s hands had been interlocked with an unreadable expression on her face. Noticing that he was staring at her, she quickly met his eyes and gave him a watery smile before turning away with another unreadable expression. Harry took it to mean that she was trying to act casual despite the circumstances, which he was grateful for, but it still hurt to see her seem almost apathetic towards his plight. What he didn’t know was that Tonks was suffering from a whirlwind of feelings herself at the moment, and simply didn’t know what to do but look away from the sole cause of her many conflicting emotions.

Moving on, Harry saw the Neville was looking glum at nothing in particular, and when he caught his eye, the round faced Gryffindor blushed and turned away after muttering an apology. This caused Harry to raise an eyebrow at his friend’s reaction, but he continued on. Neville was in fact thinking about how hard he once thought his life was, secretly envying Harry over his parent’s death, thinking he at least had closure. Of course, he hid these feelings well, because he honestly liked Harry more than any of his other friends. Reading about how Harry had grown up had made Neville question whether he really had it that bad. At least he was aware of how his parents came to their fate growing up, which Harry hadn’t been, and while picked on verbally by a few of his relatives, he’d never been beaten or physically assaulted like Harry. He was beginning to reevaluate his life and see just how lucky he’d had it, all things considered.

Meanwhile, Harry noticed that reactions were still rippling across the hall. Oliver and Lee Jordan had joined the rest of the Weasley’s in cursing the Dursley’s and coming up with more and more ideas on how to pay them back. Alicia and Angelina were looking between Harry and Katie, sending the former sympathetic looks and the latter knowing looks. Katie was just looking around the hall and back at Harry, and next to her, Victor’s frown was more prominent than ever as he nodded in a show of commradery at the emerald-eyed Gryffindor. Across from him, Tonks was still looking steadily at the staff table.

Luna herself had lost her usual dazed look. Instead, she was looking at him with a frown and a somber countenance. Frankly, it scared Harry, as he was one of the few who’d come to enjoy her bizarre company – dazed look and all. It was more shocking than seeing Dumbledore without his damned twinkle, in his opinion, and it wasn’t right. Deciding to remedy that, he spoke.

“Luna, are you okay?” She brought her eyes to his, and he felt as though she was holding back tears. Touched even more, he pushed on, gazing into her blue orbs. “You seem to be infected by nargles, or something. You might want to get that checked out.”

He’d struggled with the foreign words, but the effects were immediate. Hermione popped her head up and looked at him as though he were crazy, oblivious to the tears still seeping from her eyes and her completely bedraggled look. It was almost enough to make Harry laugh, but he knew that wouldn’t go over so well, so he kept it inside. That and she looked rather adorable at the moment. Luna herself looked at him in shock, or as much shock as someone like Luna can manage, before slowly gaining a watery smile as a good portion of her usual blissful countenance returned.

Fleur had carefully watched the exchange, long since having given up half-heartedly scolding Gabrielle for joining in the verbal assault on the Dursley’s, which had become as ridiculous as it was profane. It hadn’t helped that Bill had encouraged her sister, but she couldn’t really blame them for wanting to vent their anger and sympathy somehow. In truth, the whole reading had been an awkward affair thus far, and this outburst offered a much needed opportunity for the students and guests to blow off their steam at the non-present offenders. Instead, she’d taken to watching the young man who’d shocked her so much last year. She saw that he’d grown taller and his shoulders had broadened; sure, he’d grown more attractive. In truth, she always knew he was handsome. That wasn’t what had drawn her attention to him, though. It was his countenance that had changed.

Last year, Fleur had met a boy who seemed to have all the pressure a person could take without snapping under it. She even helped contribute to that pressure, much to her shame. This year, however, the weight he seemed to carry with him had only increased, much to her shock. With it, his eyes had also dimmed. The same eyes that had been darkened in horror and anguish at the end of the Third Task were now clouded with weariness and depression. All in all, he was not the same boy whose company she’d come to enjoy during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Yet despite all this, he was still going out of his way to offer comfort to others, as she’d seen with the Granger girl and the blonde sitting next to her sister whose names was apparently Luna. How he was able to do it, she didn’t know.

Harry, whose eyes had been gauging the reactions of the table’s occupants, met her curious gaze. They didn’t smile at each other. Fleur continued to look at him with a look that Harry couldn’t place. Its ambiguity was only outclassed by its beauty in his opinion. While he’d grown resistant to her allure, which was actually the main reason Veela were considered universally attractive, he couldn’t deny that she was beautiful without it. Her hair was pulled back into her usual ponytail, but a few of her silvery-blonde hairs had escaped capture and rested carelessly on her forehead. There was concern and sympathy in her eyes that he was sure of, but there was also something else. As it was, he returned the impassive look before letting his eyes continue their roaming. In his mind, he knew that all the defensive yet humorous exclamations from his friends and the myriad of beautiful women were serving as great emotional distractions, but he’d have to face his emotions sometime.

By now the students had mostly settled down and sat back in the chairs from which several of them had exploded off of. It was clear that they were still angry and shocked at the knowledge of Harry being physically abused, though they gathered themselves admirably. The Slytherins were unsurprisingly the ones who looked the most composed, though some of the less mature ones almost looked smug at the news that “Potter” had gotten his. Harry dutifully ignored these looks and instead searched for the reactions of the few in the house who’d caught his interest. First off was Blaise Zabini. When he’d seen Harry staring, he simply gazed back before giving the slightest of nods that thankfully no one from his house seemed to catch. Harry didn’t smile either, for two reasons. He didn’t want to give anything away, and furthermore, he didn’t know what the nod meant. Was it a nod of understanding, of compassion, or was it more than just common courtesy and instead a nod of support? Regardless, he felt that Zabini was okay in his book until he found out more about him after the reading.

Next were the Slytherin girls he’d seen. Once again, they were in his year and all very attractive in his opinion, but that wasn’t what drew his attention. As far as he knew, those three girls had never taken part in Draco’s attempts of discrediting, challenging, or outright attacking him. As far as he knew, they only ever kept to themselves and a few Ravenclaws in the library. As he saw them now, he was surprised to see tears streaming down the cheek of the girl he was sure was called Lily, while her friend Tracey appeared to have wiped hers away if the wetness on her face was any indication. Greengrass, on the other hand, had no such tears present, but when Harry caught her eye, he saw wetness form in her glacier-blue eyes, threatening to spill over. He couldn’t understand how three strangers could feel so strongly about his condition, unless they could relate to it, which he hoped wasn’t the case for anyone. Looking around the hall, however, proved that they weren’t the only three girls with tears in their eyes and their hearts on display. It shocked Harry, who quickly turned towards the staff table to once again avoid the embarrassing and annoying barrage of emotions he was feeling himself.

Half of the staff table was still off of their seats, yelling incoherently, and pointing accusatory fingers all around as they expressed their anger at his treatment. However, Harry could see that the prominent emotion in most of their eyes was guilt - guilt at knowing about his poor health upon his entrance and not caring enough to follow up on him. Their loud expressions of distress were as much for their sake as they were for his. Thespians, they were, but honest ones. Harry didn’t blame them, of course. How were they to know it’d been that bad when they were constantly reassured by the god-amongst-wizards Albus Dumbledore? He barely held in a snort.

Most of the adults were actually ranting and raving at the stoic Headmaster, who stayed silent with his eyes locked impassively at the goblet in front of him. By not defending himself, it was clear for all to see that he had no useable excuses for his prior choice in placing Harry with the Dursleys. The guilt at being responsible for Harry’s treatment weighed heavily on him, and most could understand why, though none knew the true extent of his plans and how thoroughly he’d manipulated the boy’s life. He knew that abuse might be a dark possibility for Harry, but he’d blinded himself into thinking that all would turn out well in the end with the Prophesy already dictating that Harry would be the one to defeat Voldemort, and thus a Champion of the Light, right? So far, that belief had held true and it might have been the best for everyone… but not for Harry. In the end, isn’t that what mattered? His happiness and well-being? Dumbledore honestly didn’t know the answer to that anymore.

Harry noted that the two strangers at the staff table (the Flamels) were merely staring at him, one with curiosity and a little regret and the other with absolute remorse and a little curiosity. It was almost as though the two balanced each other out. The looks might have unnerved him had he not sensed a calming vibe from them. As it was, he just looked back cautiously-but-politely before looking away to a truly unnerving sight – Severus Snape gazing at him with an unreadable expression. He looked at his most hated Professor, who looked back. Then without a single exchange of dialogue, the Potions Master looked away and stared impassively at the hall in general. Harry didn’t know what that was about, but he left it be for now as the staff table finally settled down. Molly and Andromeda were still ranting alongside the other matrons in the school, though he acknowledged that the former was far more irritating than the latter.

Narcissa meanwhile was looking at “Potter” out of the corner of her eye. He was surprisingly aware and courteous for a teenager, that much he’d proven in the last few minutes, as well as resilient against exceptional embarrassment. Her gaze soon stayed fixed on Draco, however, who was under the scrutiny of many of his housemates. Clearly, he’d flaunted all types of stories about the Boy Who Lived’s childhood that were anything but true. She held in a bitter snort. Who was more foolish? The fool that sprouted the foolish lies, or the fools who readily accepted the fool’s foolishness to begin with. The house of Salazar truly has diminished, she mused. Her husband, of course, was readily agreeing with the silent Slytherin populace’s opinions, glaring at his son. There was, however, a spark of inspiration and glee present in his dark orbs – at the revelation of the B-W-L’s treatment – that set Narcissa on edge. Umbridge meanwhile was looking bored with the revelation, something Amelia Bones seemed to bristle at, while the Minister and his aid (Weasley, was it?) were sputtering in indignation at the treatment of the wizarding world’s savior. She found this exceptionally funny because it was only a semester ago that Fudge had tried to have Potter committed to Azkaban, a place far worse than whatever place this Privet Drive was.

At last, she acknowledged the veiled character at the end of the hall. She remained impassive for all to see, but there was something strangely familiar about her (and it was definitely a “her”) that she couldn’t quite place. The way she slid her fingers against each other, back and forth millimeter by millimeter, reminded her of… it couldn’t be. No, but it was familiar all the same, and she narrowed her eyes at the figure who seemed to sense her gaze and turned her veiled face towards her. Narcissa had no doubt the individual was staring right back, so she steadily turned away just as her sister began to read once more.

***

"I'm not going to do anything," wheezed Harry, "honestly…"
Hermione - who had yet to release her grip on him completely and was instead leaning on his shoulder – felt tears sting her eyes again at the thought of a young Harry wheezing on the ground with the air knocked out of him. None of his friends seemed any better off at the disturbing thought.
But Uncle Vernon didn't believe him. No one ever did.
Numerous people across the hall shifted guiltily, including McGonagall, which was noted by her peers. All of these people had at one point or another refused to believe Harry on something he’d said, despite his protests that it was the truth. When they thought about it, and ignored his so-called reputation, he didn’t strike any of them as the type to lie. In fact, he seemed almost intensely honest, albeit a little secretive towards strangers. Others in the hall simply took further pity on the Boy-Who-Lived, slowly getting a taste of just how dreary his everyday life was and possibly still is.
Seamus especially was fidgeting in his seat, counting down the hours to when he’d be able to apologize to Harry privately for his behavior. Dumbledore and the others seemed to believe him concerning You-Know-Who’s return. Whether it was actually true or not, it was illogical to think that Harry would knowingly lie about it even after these books were announced. Worst case scenario of Harry being wrong? He was just honestly mistaken. Worst case scenario of Harry being right? The Wizarding World is launched into another great war. The pros and cons gave Seamus the final push he needed. When their next break was announced, he’d talk to his once and hopefully future friend.
The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and it was just no good telling the Dursleys he didn't make them happen.
“Accidental magic, eh?” questioned a surprisingly soft but firm Ted Tonks. Harry nodded numbly in response, not sure of what else to say. “I had a problem with that as well growing up. Parents thought I was doing a bunch of nonsense pranks.” He smiled kindly at the teen, just as his daughter shot him a pointed look that said for him to shut up and allow the reading to go on, which he paid mind to.
Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barber's looking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his fringe, which she left "to hide that horrible scar".
The girls in the hall looked at Harry in horror, reassuring themselves that he still had his roguish mop of hair upon his head and doing their best not to imagine the horrible haircut described. The boys, meanwhile, were looking at him trying to do the complete opposite. Some succeeded if their snickering was anything to go by, among them were the Weasley boys (of course) and surprisingly enough, Remus.
“Oi! What are you laughing at, you shabby git?” A mock indignant Harry questioned a chuckling Remus. While everyone could tell Harry was simply playing around, most were still shocked he’d address an adult, and a former teacher at that, so casually. Even Ron and Hermione were caught off guard, as they didn’t think Harry was able to call him anything other than Professor half of the time. To the surprise of all, Remus only chuckled louder.
“Nothing… nothing,” he reassured the teen, though his continued laughter spoke otherwise. Finally, he relented to the now numerous looks of curiosity aimed at him. “It’s just that, well, you’re father underwent a similar punishment once, though I dare say he deserved his. In fact, it was in our fifth year as well. After having been caught in the girl’s bathroom-”
At this, the girls in the hall shrieked indignantly at the trespass, and almost glared at Harry as though it were his fault. Remus immediately moved to defend his best mate’s reputation, just as Harry turned pink in embarrassment at his father’s unbecoming actions.
“- for a prank, of course! He didn’t need to peak at girls like some pervert, he already had more than a few of them interested in him. No, the bathroom was supposed to be a prank placed on a particular group of girls that had teased your mother, Harry. Despite not dating at the time, your father was very protective of the girl of his dreams.”
The females in the hall settled at this. Some found it even endearing that a boy would defend his secret crush in such a way. Harry felt something in him, something akin to pride.
“You know James; there was never a frontier unconquerable and a taboo impassable for the sake of a good prank, especially in Lily’s name.” Remus shook his head at his deceased friend’s antics. “Anyways, he was caught by yours truly,” he indicated McGonagall, who seemed to be lost in a fond memory of another life, “and his mother was asked to come down here, to the school. As a punishment, his mother shaved off half of his beloved hair, and when I say half, I mean she took the hair off of half of his head until he was half bald. Needless to say, he was quite unbearable for the following two days that it took to magically re-grow his hair, between avoiding your mother, Lily (who was unaware of the reason for his prank and merely chastised him a usual for being immature), and grumbling about ignorant authoritarians messing with “the do”.”
At this, the hall laughed heartily at the image of an older and more approachable Harry Potter (which is how the hall pictured James Potter), grumbling about his “do”.
Harry himself laughed mirthfully for the first time in quite a while, more so than his outburst with Andromeda over Dudley’s ridiculous nickname earlier. This was a laugh full of amusement, pride, and melancholy. Stories about his parents, particularly about his father, weren’t told very often unless that person’s name was Severus Snape, and then it was more pathetic hurled insults than anything. He hadn’t been told hardly anything about his parents by Remus and Sirius over the summer, but he’d enjoyed every anecdote he could get from the two remaining Marauders. They usually consisted of his father’s pranks, or how much his parents loved him, and they were nice… but this was different.
Harry could care less that he’d heard this personal story alongside the rest of the hall’s occupants, most of whom he couldn’t honestly say he cared for one way or another. The fact that they enjoyed his father’s antics as much as he did was appreciated, but it just didn’t matter. This was a story about his dad, his father – the man who’d given his life for him - and how he’d been when he was his age, how he’d loved his mother, and even how he’d carried himself (or, rather, his hair). It was a story he knew he’d treasure for a while.
Remus and McGonagall shared a smile at the site of a laughing Harry, glad the memory of such a beloved friend/student could bring about such a reaction from his son. Indeed, the entire hall seemed a bit brighter whenever Harry’s laughter joined the fray. They only wished James could see his son now.
Snuffles barked in remembrance and laughter, as he nudged into Harry’s leg in both amusement and comfort.
Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry, who’d spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and Sellotaped glasses.
The hall sent him more winces and looks of sympathy. His life truly was miserable for a child. Hermione felt guilt creep into her. She’d always thought that she’d had the worst childhood amongst her two best friends, due to being a social outcast at her old schools. However, she acknowledged that it was just as much of her own volition as it was the cruelty of her peers. Harry, on the other hand, was ostracized without ever having had a decent chance to become otherwise.
“Tough luck, mate,” sighed a despondent Ron. He could relate to having hand me downs, though rather than being too big, his were usually too small.
The next morning, however, he had got up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off.
Aurora Sinestra whistled appreciatively. “That’s interesting accidental magic, Harry. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a metamorphmagus.” Her comment was warm and her dazzling smile always made Harry feel a little self conscious, but he didn’t have long to think about that, as once more the Hogwarts rumor mill started running.
“What’s a metamorphmagus?” questioned several people. While friends and classmates explained it, those who already knew what one was looked at him as though he were even more special or freakish, depending on whom you looked at. Harry groaned at the comments and sent a light mock-glare towards his Astronomy professor. He didn’t want to push his boundaries too much, after all. Thankfully, she took it in good grace and only laughed at his predicament, no doubt amused by the absurd theories that always surrounded him.
Tonks, however, wasn’t amused. Between the occasional comment about the possibilities of being a metamorph and how lucky they were, and the even rarer comments about the potential of having one as a sexual partner (something that made her eyes darken in anger), she was biting her tongue in irritation. But what really got to her was the person in front of her, her emotions coming to the fore even more so now.
Harry was staring right back at her and seemed to read her mind. Quick to cut off her particular line of thought, he scoffed before speaking. “I’m not a metamorphmagus, Tonks.” Her eyes dimmed at this and he winced at how calloused his words had been, so he quickly continued. “Not that I wouldn’t mind being one either way, but I’m just not... I’m sorry.” He finished softly before taking her hands, which were fists, in his. He knew what this really meant to her. She was one of a handful of known metamorphmagi in Britain, and it made her feel more alone than most people could care to understand. However, he understood just fine. Being alone was almost a specialty of his; another reason they immediately got along so well during their midnight rendezvous’ at Grimmauld place (2).
Tonks was despondent over what she knew to be the truth, and equally upset that she’d even allowed her hopes to get up in the first place. She heard Dumbledore quell the remaining noise with a firm denial of Harry being anything remotely similar to a metamorphmagus, and almost winced. She wanted Harry to be one so much, if only to finally have someone who would fully understand her, but she realized that he already understood her as best as he could at the moment, and their understanding and familiarity would only grow given time. She took his hands gently, and quirked her lips in an attempt to smile. He was one of the few people who she could at least relate to. He and
Andromeda understood what her daughter was thinking and continued the reading in earnest.
He had been given a week in his cupboard for this, even though he had tried to explain that he couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly. The rations he was given were also cut back to a single meal a day, if one could call them that.
What little humor remained in the hall from Remus’ anecdote earlier all but vanished as the scene became frigid once more. The same thought occurred to all of them – ‘Monsters’.
“A week?! A week, they kept you in that cupboard? Without food?!” shrieked an indignant Hermione, gripping Harry by the front of his clothes and pulling him into her personal space as she questioned him needlessly. The book had, after all, just said as much. Harry knew that this was more for her sake than his, though, so he just went with it and stuttered out an excuse about not being completely without food. Even he knew it sounded pathetic, but it was all he could say to try and alleviate her anger.
Across the table, business was going down as Tonks had finally awoken to herself. She’d let emotions cloud her when she’d discovered that Harry had been hit earlier, but not this time. Her hair turned a fiery red as she glared at Dumbledore and the book dually. Molly Weasley was shouting up a storm about not feeding a child, while Umbridge made a snide comment about the boy deserving it, getting glares from all the staff nearby and even Narcissa, not that anyone noticed her instinctual response aside from a smirking Ravenclaw prefect. Thankfully no profane shouting was done on the student’s part, though dark mutterings and curses filled the air for a few minutes.
After his initial burst of anger at the Dursley’s, Ron’s one track mind kicked in and he conveyed his deep sympathies to Harry, admitting that he couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to eat three full meals a day for a week. This seemed to lighten Harry’s mood and even Hermione took time out of her doting to absentmindedly scold Ron for his lack of tact. The ginger just rolled his eyes, having expected Hermione to say something along those lines. Harry had a suspicious feeling his friend had made that comment for that very reason, and thanked him when Hermione wasn’t looking, which got him a simple and quiet “anytime” from Ron, confirming his theory.
Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a revolting old jumper of Dudley's (brown with orange bobbles).
Noses scrunched across the hall at the thought of such a sweater being worn by anyone. Lavender and Parvati, whom Harry had forgotten were sitting at the end of their table, were especially vocal in their disgust. Lavender went so far as to squirm in her seat and shudder overdramatically at the thought of such poor clothing, which did interesting things to her covered chest. Harry looked away, but noticed with a frown that Ron and several of the boys were watching unabashedly. He frowned even further when he realized that Lavender was probably doing it on purpose, and from the glares and looks of disinterest the males were getting from the girls at the table, they’d figured out as much as well. Shaking his head at teenagers and their hormones (not that he wasn’t tempted to stare as well), Harry brought his attention back to the reading, which hadn’t stopped.
The harder she’d tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a glove puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Harry. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Harry wasn't punished.
‘A child shouldn’t be relieved when he’s not punished for something he had no control over,’ thought Narcissa with a frown, who recalled her own upbringing and how unfair her stern parents had been towards the three Black sisters.
On the other hand, he'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school’s office.
The hall groaned almost simultaneously, something that both amused and frustrated Harry. It wasn’t his fault he had bad luck in life!
“Why were you there, mate?” asked a curious Dean. The rest of the hall turned towards him, curious as well.
Harry struggled to keep from rolling his eyes, as the book would clearly explain why he was up there if only they kept reading. “I’m sure the book will explain.”
Dudley's gang had been chasing him, as usual when, as much to Harry's surprise as anyone else's, there he was sitting on a chimney clear across the school.
Amelia dropped the quill she was using to write down notes in shock, the sound of it hitting the table filling the silent Hall. Half of the hall’s eyes were on either the book being read or on the boy himself. All of them were wondering the same thing – ‘Did he just apparate?’
Even Dumbledore looked shocked for a moment, though for seemingly different reasons if the look in his eyes was any indication. Nicholas and Aberforth both picked up on it, the former of whom was getting more and more interested in the raven haired young man who was currently blushing under all the gawking looks he was on the receiving end of.
“What’s the big deal,” Harry finally bit out. His cheeks were red in embarrassment, though his voice was just as curious as it was irritated. Apparating accidentally wasn’t that big of a deal, right? Clearly he wasn’t in on the loop, nor were a good deal of the students (muggleborns especially), if their looks of confusion meant anything. Thankfully, Pomona Sprout took pity on the young man and decided to enlighten them all.
“As you know, apparition is a form of magical transportation that is optionally taught to students in their sixth year, and is the most common form of transportation in the wizarding world, though it’s by no means the most preferred.”
“Definitely not the most preferred,” grumbled a Hufflepuff prefect, obviously not a fan of that particular method of travel. His seventh-year peers nodded in agreement.
“Why is that,” questioned the ever curious Hermione, seeing the looks many of the graduating class held.
“It’s because not only is apparition difficult to master and awkward to stomach, but it’s also taxing on ones magical reserves,” chimed in Amelia, who’d regained her composure. She was staring at Harry with rapt curiosity that didn’t go unnoticed by his friends. “You see, there’s a reason apparition is illegal without a license, which is only available to wizards and witches who are of age. The reason for this is because when one becomes of age at seventeen, their magical maturity is complete. Thus their cores are stable, their reserves are at their peak, and they’re at the most resilient stage of their lives. Thus, it’s clearly the most ideal age to learn apparition not only because you need to be mentally able to properly comprehend the three D’s of apparition, something you’ll learn about later, but also because you’ll likely be able to apparate acceptable distances, several times in a short period of time, safely. This can’t be said for a person whose magical core is still partially in flux and doesn’t have the mental maturity to properly grasp the form of travel in the first place. Apparition is a heavy responsibility, not to be taken lightly.” Here she let them absorb this information as she took a breath and then narrowed her eyes at the boy. “Yet you managed to do it at the age of, what, ten?” Harry, who’d been listening in growing realization, nodded slowly. “Yes, before your first magical maturity even kicked in at the standard age of eleven. It’s an unprecedented thing, to say the least, accidental magic or not.”
To say Harry was stunned was an understatement. As abnormal as he acknowledged he was going into this reading, even he wasn’t aware of just how different his life would prove to be. He appreciated his differences on occasion, but for the most part, he hated them. Of course, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little proud of his feat, whether he knew it was something extraordinary at the time or not. Looking at the Slytherin table and seeing the envious face of Draco Malfoy made his face want to break out into a shit eating grin. He was a competitive young male after all. That being said, he knew this would only attract more attention, none of which he was sure to like. He could feel the academic envy rolling off of Hermione, who was equal parts jealous of his magical feats and curious of his ability. Ron was much the same, sans more of the former and less of the latter. Not that his friends didn’t hide it well, which he appreciated their effort, but he felt he’d always known them far better than they’d known him. He’d like to think he knew what was going on in their heads most of the time. Knowing they felt that way made any humor he’d gotten at Draco’s expense leave him, as a tired sigh escaped his lips. This seemed to be a familiar cycle with his life. Perhaps facing Voldemort was the only way to break said cycle, but maybe not...
Meanwhile, the staff and guests sat impressed with Harry’s raw abilities. It now made sense that he’d been so average-proficient in their classes, as the larger your reserves, fluxing or not, the harder it is to control and aim it to do certain tasks. They never really checked cores at the school, as it was deemed illegal and impractical. After all, a fluxing core is just that – fluxing. Still, the boy would have outstanding potential if he simply applied himself. Little did they know that with Harry Potter, there was always more than meets the eye.

The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Harry's headmistress telling them Harry had been climbing school buildings. But all he'd tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cupboard) –
Simultaneous growls emitted from Remus and Snuffles, as the hall narrowed their eyes once more at the unfair treatment of their peer/student.
-was jump behind the big bins outside the kitchen, and that he supposed that the wind must have caught him in mid-jump.
The narrowed looks turned to looks of disbelief. He hadn’t really expected them to believe that, had he?
“Merlin, Potter. Could you be more stupid!?” sneered an unusually aggressive Nott to the snickers of Draco and his goons. Some of the boys around the hall tried to hide smirks of their own, clearly agreeing with the Slytherin despite what they’d read thus far saying otherwise.
As it was, Harry remained impassive, as though knowing something they didn’t, and the Slytherins were quickly silenced with combined glares from both McGonagall and Snape. The latter looked nearly anguished at having to correct his charges (and did so only after a pointed look from the Headmaster), and did so half-heartedly while simultaneously trying to glare at Potter himself. It was almost amusing, but not enough to keep the adults from noticing and narrowing their eyes at the sulking Potions master.
Of course, Harry hadn’t expected the Headmistress or the Dursley’s to believe that. Whether he’d climbed up the roof purposefully, ignoring the fact that it was impossible due to it being clear across the campus, or was swept up in some unnatural wind, the punishment would have been the same – a mere three days in the cupboard, as school was still in session.
The staff and Harry’s friends winced at how apathetic he was towards his treatment. Three days in a bedroom is like house arrest reserved for offending criminals, but three days in a cupboard is like a short jail stay. It was abundantly clear that these things happened often to the raven haired teen, and he had merely grown accustomed to it.
At least this way he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of admitting to breaking the rules when he really hadn’t. Besides, he knew his relatives hated it when anything unnatural was mentioned, and the looks on their contorted faces during their bouts of irritation and outrage when he spoke the actual truth were almost enough to make the weekend long lock-in bearable.
The hall once again looked at Harry like he’d grown another head. Here he was, a ten year old, purposefully provoking his relatives out of some bitter and fully justifiable distaste for them, knowing the punishment would be the same anyway due to the weekend. Cunning, but more than anything, recklessly brave. Some found it admirable, fewer found it immature, while most found it simply crazy impressive for someone so young.
Hermione just stared mouth agape at her best friend, who was currently being silently congratulated by Ron, who seemed to agree with him very much on the matter. She wouldn’t bother scolding him on his treatment of his guardians, as the family deserved everything her bespectacled friend could dish out on them. What shocked her was Harry’s sense of justification and happiness at the smallest of paybacks. Unknown to her, Dumbledore was warily thinking along similar lines.
But today, nothing was going to go wrong, he promised himself. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, his cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living-room.
‘I can only hope so, Harry,’ thought a concerned Sirius, hoping the fates would give his godson just one good day.
While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects.
The hall rolled their eyes at the man’s immature antics, as the twins frowned and turned towards Harry.
“Normally, Harry, we’d congratulate you on a job well done,” said George.
“Aye, it’s clear you’ve managed to properly tick off your authoritarian figure,” commented Fred.
“A sign of a true prankster,” they muttered in unison. Harry opened his mouth to cut them off, but they pressed on.
“However, these aren’t normal circumstances,” George pointed out with a frown.
“It’s rather apparent this guy has it out for you for no fault of your own, so it doesn’t really count,” shrugged George.
“We can however, sympathize having been under similar circumstances this past year,” continued Fred.
Here, they both nodded conspiratorially towards Umbridge who narrowed her eyes at the gesture, just as the hall, who had been listening in, snickered silently or winced at the reminder of just who their High Inquisitor was.
“Having learned what life is like under the weight of a dick…,” smirked Fred, as the students snickered even more.
“…tator, we sympathize with your plight and congratulate you for having given your best go of it under a complete,” George paused
“- and utter,” continued Fred with a look at his twin.
“ASS!” they finished in unison, to the amusement of the hall and even the guests. Yet again, Harry was eternally thankful for the humorous good nature of the twins. Annoying as they might be on rare occasions, they always managed to brighten up whoever they were talking to, and during these readings especially, they’d been in top form. Almost as though they were applying their beater positions to the reading by blocking the verbal assaults aimed at him and dishing out humor to even the scales. He had a feeling they wouldn’t be half as funny without the other, however, and dreaded the thought of just one twin telling jokes… not that such a thing was likely to happen, right?
This morning, it was motorbikes.
“Which I just so happen to love,” commented a dry Harry, to the amusement of the others. It was clear that the Dursley’s and he were polar opposites in just about everything.
“Of course you would,” commented a half-hearted Hermione. “If it’s not risking your life on a broom, it’s risking it on a death machine.”
At her comment, Molly began rambling about how Harry would have no such dealings with a pointless muggle death machine. This served to both amuse and irritate Harry, and he could tell her children were embarrassed despite having grown accustomed to her… passionate, behavior.
“Roaring along like hoodlums on the road, the maniacs, where there are dozens of things to hit! It’s madness, Harry!” she screeched/bemoaned.
Harry gave no reply, not out of rudeness, but out of sympathy. He knew she was an overbearing mother, through and through. It’s how she showed her love, after all. So he wouldn’t slap it in the face by replying annoyed or dismissive. He’d take it as long as he could, just as he always has.
"…roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorbike overtook them.
Everyone almost did a double take as Molly’s words were practically repeated by Vernon. The Weasley matriarch blushed red enough to match her hair and scowled at the book in embarrassment, as her children blinked owlishly.
The pureblood boys, loathe as they were to admit it, were highly curious about the thrills involving these “motorbikes”.
"I had a dream about a motorbike," said Harry, remembering suddenly. "It was flying."
The hall groaned at Harry’s comment. Did he have a death wish?
“More badgering of your relatives,” Hermione questioned with a raised eyebrow and a pointed stare.
Harry saw this and frowned at his best friend’s barely concealed accusation. ‘Who is she to judge me? What does she know about living with them? Nothing!’ His scar warmed and he rubbed it absentmindedly, feeling angry from nowhere once again, but he fought the emotion down and answered calmly with no visual sign of a struggle.
“No, this time it honestly just came out...”
Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front.
“Oh, dear God,” muttered Remus, rubbing his brow line in worry and agitation.
He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beetroot with a mustache "MOTORBIKES DON'T FLY!"
“Disgusting image, mate,” commented a dry Charlie Weasley.
Dudley and Piers sniggered.
“Pricks,” accused Dean.
"I know they don't," said Harry, softly. "It was only a dream."
But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than his asking questions, it was his talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon – they seemed to think he might get dangerous ideas.
“Ahh, but who can blame them?” rang the silky voice of Lucius Malfoy. He hadn’t spoken since the reading had begun, and the entire hall was silenced by the reminder of his presence. “You always struck me as a dangerous person, Mr. Potter, and if you were as delusional then as you are now, then they have good cause to fear your foolishness.”
Narcissa’s eyes flickered to her husband, shocked at his audacity to speak out in the hall. Was he truly that desperate to get in a parting shot at the Potter boy? She knew as well as he did that these books would reveal some very unbecoming things about him, though she could only fathom the extent. He was a very secretive man, after all, and seemed to hate Potter far more than just being the B-W-L. Did he possibly think that teasing Potter and calling him delusional would simply make the truth oath obsolete in the eyes of the hall? Surely he couldn’t be that stupid? She had to fight down a bitter chuckle at the answer to that – yes, he was.
No, she knew as soon as Dumbledore made the oath that her husband’s fate was sealed to whatever extent it was, and that the rest of the hall’s populace would have no choice but to accept the words of the book as the undeniable truth, herself included. Glancing at the man she was only partially forced to marry, she knew she was unprepared for the truth. Seeing his look of concealed lust – pointed at some buxom Slytherin girl who was gazing at him with stars in her heart –she held in a snort. She couldn’t bring herself to care either way.
With Harry, he saw that a portion of the Slytherins smirked at the man’s words, emboldened by his presence in the hall. The majority of them remained impassive, however, which was something that befuddled him. Either they were very good actors, or some of them had actually had brains. Most of the students and guests frowned at the man’s words, but refrained from commenting, just as Harry’s friends glared at the Malfoy patriarch. For his part, Harry remained unaffected by the man’s words and met his gaze unflinchingly without hate or malice. Instead, he seemed almost apathetic to the man’s comments; a confidence was present in his silent challenge that once again had the hall wondering why they were even listening to anyone but the book.
Normally, when he was already in trouble, which was quite often, he wouldn’t mind a little teasing so much. They had yet to catch him on it, and it was the only source of amusement his days usually got besides tongue twisting Dudley. What more could they do to him anyways? Today, however, was going to be a good day, and as such, he didn’t want to risk upsetting a single hair on his uncle’s neck.
“Good idea, mate,” commented Ron with a nod. He felt deeply for his best friend, and didn’t enjoy hearing about his abuse in the least.
It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice-creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry what he wanted before they could hurry him away, they bought him a cheap lemon ice lolly.
Hermione just huffed in annoyance. Their treatment was getting increasingly pettier, though she proffered it to hearing about Harry’s outright abuse. Ron was simply wondering what a lemon-icy tasted like.
“She had a great smile,” Harry commented idly, lost in thought about the cute stranger working the ice cream van. His thought had unintentionally been verbal.
“Is that so? Bit old for you now, ain’t she Harry?” teased Bill, wiggling his eyebrows at Harry. This got laughs and smiles from his friends.
Harry replied in good nature. “Who knows? I may be into older women,” he challenged. For all his powers of perception, unfortunately, Harry was still human. He hadn’t realized his mistake until he saw the lecherous looks on his male friends and the blushes on his female ones. “Oh, bugger.” (3)
Almost every upper-class girl in the hall was blushing at the thought of the emerald eyed teen being “into” them. Professor Babbling laughed at the hidden blushes on both Professor Sinestra and Professor Vector’s faces.
Narcissa raised a dainty eye-brow at the boy’s declaration. Most pure-blood wizards proffered younger company, after all.
Tonks laughed heartily at his foul-up, always delighting in his stuttered protests and tomato-red face.
A seventh year Ravenclaw prefect smirked wickedly at the thought, no one noticing her gleaming eyes fixed on Harry Potter.
Katie blushed, being a mere one year older than Harry, while her friends flashed her each a thumbs up that made her bury her head in her arms. Across the hall, Cho looked morosely at Harry, unsure of what to feel.
Ginny and Gabrielle pouted, being each a year younger than he was. They glared at the older girls around the hall, before noticing that they were mirroring the actions of the other. Soon enough their glares switched to each other. Luna was laughing openly at the sight, though most mistook it for laughter at Harry’s expense.
The Slytherin girls remained outwardly impassive at the information, not being affected by it one way or another, though Lily was holding back a nosebleed when thoughts of her mother (who looked like her older twin) and Harry suddenly came to her mind. Despite her attempts to hide it, the three friends knew each other almost as well as they knew themselves, and so Tracey seemed to pick up on these thoughts from her not-so-mildly perverted friend. “Oh, Morgana… Lily!” Hearing her friends sharp whisper, the gorgeous half-Japanese snapped out of her daze and looked at her auburn haired friend questioningly, a hint of a blush on her cheeks. “Were you just…” Tracey trailed off as the blush that adorned her friends cheeks deepened. “Lily,” she gasped in shock and embarrassment, while her friend stuttered to defend herself from the rebuke.
“It was just a thought, it’s not like I did anything wrong, or it’d be wrong, or… or…”
“No, sweetie, just no. That’s so…” Tracey trailed off at the thoughts that now entered her head involving her own mother, “…wrong.” She cursed herself for reading some of those smut books Lily always carries around, as she shuddered at the thought. Daphne simply rolled her eyes at her two best and only friends. Why did she hang out with such perverts?!
All of this was lost on Harry as he was faced with a decidedly evil Fleur who was in the process of teasing him. She smiled sultrily at her co-champion and allowed a bit of her heady accent to come through. “Iz this true, ‘Arry? You’re really into zee oldeir women?” Her focus was purely on him, making him extremely hot under the collar. Bill had joined the other men, even Krum, in laughing up a storm at the teasing he was undergoing, though he kept his eye fixed on Harry’s reactions.
Thankfully, Harry managed to simply smile back, “It depends, Fleur. Some women just scream youth and sexiness, regardless of age.” He leaned in closer towards her ‘till he was only half a foot from her face. She seemed surprised by his boldness, but didn’t pull back. Rather she leaned in closer. By now, Bill was sweating bullets and the rest of the guys were trying their best not to drool. “Unfortunately, you, on the other hand, are a bit too… ‘leetle’… for my tastes.”
His shot-back had made the boys howl in laughter at the affronted look on the veela’s face, though she smiled a second later at having been played by the young man. Bill nearly sighed in relief, and chuckled along with the rest of the guys at how the tables had turned on the would-be seductress. Fleur hid it from all, but Harry’s joke had struck a nerve with her, whether there was truth in that statement or not. Why wouldn’t a woman like her be good for a man like him?
Gabrielle watched her sisters face contort in confusion and her eyes flash with something akin to hurt before looking at Harry – who was busy being teased by the rest of the guys – and subtly glaring at him with a hint of a challenge. The younger veela narrowed her eyes at her sister, deciding to watch her from now on.
Of course, not everything was about the emerald eyed teenager, and discussions broke out around the hall about liking older man, or boys, or just amorous thoughts in general. The adults shook their heads in humor, reminiscence, and exasperation – leave it to teenagers to take any moment they can to talk about sex and the nature of things that lead up to it, purposefully or not. Andromeda had, had her fill of the banter around the hall and continued on when the noise was once again reasonable.
It wasn't bad either, Harry thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head and looking remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blond.
Everyone had a laugh (bark?) at Dudley’s expense, amazed at young Harry’s astonishing sense of humor.
“Where do you get these things, mate? How do you come up with them,” questioned a still chuckling Lee Jordan.
“I don’t know. I just see people and immediately liken them to animals, or things I’ve seen elsewhere, or what-not. It’s all really just spur of the moment and natural, though I now wish I could filter it for the sake of the reading.”
“Oh? And what does your description say about me, Harry?” Tonks batted her eyelashes dramatically at him.
“Uhm… oh… well… you see… I mean… you’re… and I’m… so I thought… … … it-doesn’t-say-much-of-anything, really… just… yeah.”
Harry’s stuttering and then despondent “yeah” of defeat had the whole Gryffindor table laughing at his expense. Tonks was trying her best to glare at him, but her megawatt smile ruined the effect. It was clear for all to see that she loved messing with Harry.
Hermione had never seen Harry so flustered before, and she could tell that he really cared about what Tonks felt. A sudden part of her felt envious of this, but she shot it down and focused on more important matter.
“Do you mean to say that I have some funky description as well, Harry James Potter?” Her hands on her waist and her stern face inches from his, and Harry knew he was in trouble when they got to her introduction. All he could do was groan, which brought on more laughs from his friends.
Harry had the best morning he'd had in a long time.
Remus smiled at this, while Snuffles barked happily up at Harry from beneath the table.
He was careful to walk a little ways apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunch-time, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting him.
Once more, the book was on the receiving end of several glares.
“Those two need to get the hum-dungers out of their heads,” commented a very serious Luna. This unsettled not a few people, not the least of whom was Hermione, though Harry was curious about the new animal his unique friend had thought up… err, discovered.
They ate in the zoo restaurant and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knicker-bocker glory wasn't big enough, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Harry was allowed to finish the first.
“Sloppy seconds a usual for you, eh, Potter?” sneered a far too smug Nott. His last comment hadn’t gotten anything from the Gryffindor Golden Boy, which angered him, and as such, a retry was in due order. Three fourths of the student body glared at the boy, causing another fourth to glare right back in defense of their housemate, whether they agreed with Nott or not… not?
While his friends glared, Harry didn’t even spare the fifth-year Slytherin a glance. Tonks just took it upon herself to reply for him. “No, but it’s abundantly clear that you’ve received quite a few seconds yourself; second helpings, that is.” Previously looking at Harry, she finally turned to look at Nott and looked him up and down in transparent distaste. “More like thirds and fourths if your bust is anything to go by.”
While Harry gaped at her, and the staff admonished her, the students laughed heartily at what was actually true – Nott did have what would normally be called “bitch tits”. Even a majority of the Slytherins couldn’t keep their faces neutral, their lips twitching and noses crunching, and some let loose bits of snickers and muffled snorts even as they tried to remain impassive or glare at the rest of the laughing students. This only increased the laughter of the others in the Great Hall.
It took Dumbledore and the staff a couple minutes to restore order, even as Nott nearly passed out from all the blood going to his face in embarrassment and anger. Harry honestly couldn’t tell which emotion was more dominant. Instead, he just stared at Tonks like a rockstar, as he was tempted to say nearly those exact same words but had thought better of it.
Harry felt, afterwards, that he should have known it was all too good to last.
On cue, the hall quieted their snickering and Harry almost snorted at how their emotions mirrored that of the book’s tone.
After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Harry felt it was an earthy and atmospheric environment, so he rather liked it. He could’ve done without all the snakes, however. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons.
A few of the younger girls made faces while the first year boys were clearly approving of Dudley’s animal selection. It almost brought a smile to the trio’s faces as they thought about how little and young they themselves once were.
Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place.
The twins barely held themselves back from making a comment about the snake being in Harry’s pants.
“Of course he did,” muttered an exasperated Fay Dunbar. She rolled her eyes at boys always thinking about size.
“Oh, this isn’t going to end well,” muttered a nervous Molly Weasley.
It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a dustbin
The hall was shocked at the fact that such a large snake was in a zoo, and they didn’t want to think about what might happen with Harry “the-Universe-Hates-Me” Potter there.
Hermione thought of Harry having to face a basilisk alone in his second year, one that was clearly a mammoth compared to what any extra-large snake could ever hope to be, and shuddered. Harry instinctively grabbed her hand; unaware of what was wrong, and unknowingly beating Krum to the punch by mere seconds.
– but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.
“Come again?” questioned a deadpan Terry Boot. He was really looking forward to hearing about such a snake, a weird hobby of his being animals.
Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.
Some of the adults had already started remembering the name of the chapter and had begun putting pieces into place. Some of them paled at what they eventually came up with, but remained silent.
"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.
“Did the spoilt brat really expect that to work?” questioned an annoyed Dennis Creevey. Nobody commented how amusing it was to see a boy three years Harry’s minor call his cousin of equal age a “brat”.
"Do it again," Dudley ordered.
“I guess so,” Dennis muttered in incredulity.
Pomona leaned into Minerva. “Terrible child, indeed.”
Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.
“Smart snake,” nodded Lee Jordan.
“It must be part of the survival instinct most intelligent animals have. You know, avoiding jack-asses,” stage-whispered a sage-like Harry, to the snickers of the still tense hall. The teachers hadn’t even bothered correcting him, too worried about their irrational fears of what came next.
"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.
Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself – no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up – at least he got to visit the rest of the house.
His friends looked at him as though he were insane. “Seriously, mate?” questioned an amused Ron. “Comparing yourself to a snake? Isn’t that weird even for you?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t think so. Similar habitats is fair cause for a comparison, Ron.”
His friend could only nod gently at his nonchalant reasoning.
He felt pity for it. No animal, human or otherwise, should be confined from the sky – from freedom.
A few people nodded firmly at that, completely in agreement, while others looked at Harry in both sympathy and fondness. It was abundantly clear he suffered a similar enough fate with the snake to understand its pain, but the fact that he felt sorry for it despite likely having the worse of their respective situations really showcased his character and innocence. Precious innocence that he now seemed to have little of.
The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry's… It winked.
The student subconsciously leaned closer to the staff table in interest, as though the act would increase their ability to imagine the scene.
Harry stared. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. He looked back at the snake and winked, too.
“Nutter, he is,” muttered Malfoy to a still embarrassed Nott.
The snake jerked its head towards Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly: "I get that all the time."
“Is this the actual parseltounge ability, or are you just reading into things?” questioned Kingsley Shacklebolt, honestly curious.
“I don’t know. I mean, the few times I’ve spoken parseltounge has been under duress or subconscious, and it always sounds like English. I don’t even know when I’m doing it. As it is, I’ve hardly encountered any snakes to speak to and test the abilities out,” Harry half-lied to the man. In truth, he’s been practicing it lately, but there was no reason to divulge that to a room full of bigots and strangers. While he felt more comfortable talking about it now that he knew the hall would learn the truth about his second year, he didn’t like the suspicious glances superstitiously sent his way either.
Indeed, the students seemed uncomfortable talking about something supposedly taboo, though they were reassured at the fact that it was an auror talking about the subject so plainly in front of the Head of the DMLE, the Headmaster, and even the Minister.
"I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him. "It must be really annoying."
The snake nodded vigorously.
"Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked.
Katie laughed at Harry’s curious personality shining through. “Ever curious, aren’t we Harry?”
“You’re one to talk, Bell,” Harry shot back with a grin, making the older girl smile.
The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it.
Boa Constrictor, Brazil.
“This is just too weird”, muttered Justin to an enthralled Hannah. His second year encounter with the snake had scarred him for life.
Susan reached over and patted her friends back. “It’s okay Justin.” She looked at Hannah who hadn’t responded, and saw that her friend’s attention was firmly on a certain Gryffindor table. She bit her lip, knowing full well that Hannah was fond of Harry just as she was.
"Was it nice there?" he questioned, not wanting to push his boundaries with a stranger… even if it was a snake.
“I’m sure he appreciated being talked to at all, Harry,” smiled Luna.
The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see – so you've never been to Brazil?"
As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of them jump.
"DUDLEY! MR DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"
“That’s rude,” sniffed a faux-haughty Tonks. “Butting into a civilized conversation like that.” Her humor was lost on everyone else.
Dudley came waddling towards them as fast as he could.
Mild laughter came again.
"Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harry in the ribs.
The laughter ceased.
Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor.
Winces of sympathy for Harry accompanied growls of aggravation and anger directed at the book.
Minerva once more glared at Dumbledore, while Amelia continued her notes. She’d already noted physical abuse and starvation, which meant she had more than enough to host a proper investigation (for appearance sake, as these books were inadmissible to anyone outside of the reading) and hopefully sentence the Dursleys to their just punishment.
What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened – one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.
The hall leaned forward in anticipation, though several students and all of the adults had already figured out the cause for Dudley’s fright.
Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished.
“Alright, Harry!” cheered Colin as the students snickered and cheered at the unintended prank. Harry tried not to wince at the sound. The boy had backed off on his devout fandom when his younger brother had arrived, but his fanboy ravings were still rather annoying to listen to, and had thus left a poor taste in Harry’s mouth. Nonetheless, he smiled in thanks at his fellow Lion, not wishing to hurt anyone’s feelings.
The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out on to the floor – people throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.
“No one bothered helping you up?” questioned an irritated Professor Vector.
The hall hadn’t caught this, but they now saw what she meant and glared at the book. Harry just shrugged, not blaming anyone. He was closest to the snake after all, and panic sets everyone moral compass askew.
As the snake slid swiftly past him, Harry could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come … Thanksss, amigo."
“Well, at least he thanked you.” Everyone turned to look at Neville in surprise, unsure of whether he’d been rhetoric or had simply stated the obvious. The twins guffawed at this.
The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.
“I can imagine,” said a dry Remus. He was amused at Harry’s accidental magic, but not at its cause. He hated abuse ever since he was a kid, and the more that was read, the worse he felt about abandoning Harry to Dumbledore’s plans. It wasn’t thought of remotely as abandonment at the time, but he now saw it differently, and he knew Sirius likely would as well.
"But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"
“Typical,” the matron said. “He’s in shock.”
A first year girl with freckles question what she meant by shock.
“Shock is what happens when someone’s mind or body, sometimes both, experiences an intense or sudden amount of trauma. It’s a way of your brain coping with the trauma (pain or fear) and not going crazy from it. It numbs and shuts down most feelings, more uncommon sense, and sometimes even motor functions. The more aggressive the traumatic event, the worse the shock is likely to be.”
Harry thought back to the night of the third task, and he could hardly remember how out of it he’d been afterwards. His shock must have been something else. Unknown to him, Pomfrey was looking at him the entire time she was talking, something several people caught onto.
The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Harry had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death.
The hall almost rolled their eyes in unison at the cowardice and immaturity the two goons displayed.
“Oh, grow up,” muttered an irritated Hermione. The things she, Harry, and Ron had done made a snapping snake seem tame in comparison, and they never gloated or complained about them to anyone.
Harry chuckled at Hermione’s aggressive tone. Despite having an often times too clean view of the world, the beautiful bookworm was highly defensive of (and loyal to) her friends, and for that he was eternally thankful.
But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Piers calming down enough to snidely say, "Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?"
Groans filled the air as Harry’s friends and DA members silently cursed the rat-faced boy.
“What a douche-canoe,” muttered Fred.
“More like a douche-cruise”, spoke an equally unamused George. No one bothered questioning them on how they knew what a canoe or cruise even was. They sometimes seemed more knowledgeable of the muggle world than any pureblood had the right to be.
“I hate rats,” Harry bit out as he glared at the table. Snuffles barked in agreement.
Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting in on Harry.
The hall tensed even further, not wanting to think about Harry’s punishment after the incident. Hermione gripped Harry’s arms once more as Ron balled his hands into fists – no one hurt his friend!
He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go – cupboard – stay – no meals," before he collapsed into a chair
“No meals?! For how long?” demanded an even more disgusted Pomfrey.
“That’s no way to punish a child, especially when the child hasn’t done anything to deserve it,” growled an angry Minerva with Filius and the other teachers (sans Snape) voicing their agreement.
Ron breathed in, and slowly loosened his fists and turned to Harry. “Just a grounding without meals? Well… it could’ve been worse, right?”
Hermione and the others turned to look at him incredulously, and he realized how tactless his comment had been, but Harry shushed everyone with a wave of his hand. He understood what Ron meant. He didn’t like to be pampered, and being sent to his bedroom without meals was definitely something anyone could survive without fuss. He just wanted this chapter over.
- and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy. This only made Harry’s eyes widen in fear.
“Oh dear God,” whispered a teary eyed Remus. He alternated between hiding himself away with his head behind his hands, and looking pathetically at his best friend’s son, who wasn’t looking in his direction.
The adults were appalled. “Alcohol? An abusive guardian who already punishes his charge unjustly now indulges in alcohol!? Is the Aunt insane?” questioned a disturbed and extremely pissed Andromeda, trying to keep her voice from spreading past the staff table. The younger years looked frightened enough. She made Molly Weasley (who was voicing her own thoughts on the matter, loudly) seem tame, though her anger seemed justified and passionate, and her eyes did most of the talking as opposed to her mouth.
Needless to say, no one bothered asking why Harry’s eyes widened in fear.
Harry lay stiffly on his back in his dark cupboard much later, wishing he had a watch. He didn't know what time it was and he couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food. (4)
“Oh, Harry.” Hermione snuggled into his side, once again being comforted by him instead of the other way around. She just never knew how hard his life had been, and even now it was hard to believe he’d been treated like this when he’d turned out so good. Many others were thinking the same thing.

Harry groaned as he tried to roll onto his side, hissing in pain.

“What’d he do to you,” growled a red-eyed Remus along with Ted and Arthur. Padfoot had gone stiff against Harry’s leg a while ago, and a strange rumbling had started emitting from his throat.

His Uncle had opened the cupboard a few hours after they’d gotten home, smelling of alcohol, and cussing up a storm. The beating he’d gotten afterwards had landed him in his current state.

The men in the hall clenched their fists in anger, trying to hold back from exploding until they’d heard all of it. The women were just as angry, though they couldn’t keep their eyes from watering at the same time. The student body sat silent, their bodies tense in morbid anticipation and genuine horror for the scene what was ahead.

Bill and Charlie were muttering silent curses while the twins stared eerily quiet at the book. Ron himself was caught between sympathy and anger, not knowing which emotion was more appropriate for his best friend at the moment. Flitwick seemed to be silently hexing the book with his eyes. Surprisingly, Remus remained completely quiet, waiting for the final toll before he sounded off.

Several deep gashes on his back from being thrown into the sharp shelves on the wall of the tiny cupboard,

Winces from people who’d ever gotten deep gashes were heard around the hall.

Andromeda had trouble reading these next few lines, but her ever considerate husband took her hand in his and squeezed reassuringly, doing his best to keep his own cool under the circumstances. Narcissa, who was doing her best to stomach the blatant child abuse she was hearing, saw this and almost envied her sister. Mediocre looking and muggleborn he might have been, but Ted Tonks was always a genuine boy at school and appeared to have maintained his kind and considerate nature through the numbing years of adulthood. Looking at her husband next to her, she nearly scoffed at the thought of him ever reassuring her, not that she’d ever need it.

“That bastard,” gritted Ginny Weasley, whose hand was being held in comfort by an absentminded Ron. No child deserved to be beaten for wrong doings, let alone things beyond their control like her Harry was.

an aching stomach from a couple of meaty uppercuts to the solar plexus, making it difficult for him to breathe,

Tears flowed freely down Hermione’s face as she once again hyperventilated into Harry’s side. She’d cried more today than she had in the past year, and she couldn’t help but feel she was going to cry a lot more as these books were read. She was already exhausted, and she could only imagine what Harry must be going through reliving these moments with strangers and people he looked up to. This thought only made her heart clench more.

Tonks wanted to hold Harry’s other hand, but it was now being held by Ron in a show of absolute support. She wanted to hurt the Dursley’s. Really hurt them. The blank look on Harry’s face was almost as heartbreaking as hearing about his treatment, knowing that he was struggling to block out the memories and emotions from showing on his face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a pale Parvati and Lavender staring at Harry in horror, and then almost inching away from him as though abuse was some type of disease one could catch. She caught their eyes and glared so fiercely at them that they simply stood stock still. She sneered at their ignorance and cowardice, Gryffindors or not, before turning back to Harry. It pained her to see a friend, one of her few, hiding away in plain sight – so very vulnerable. A single tear fell from her now glassy, rose-tinted eyes.

Next to her, Katie Bell was crying into her friends shoulders, not standing to look at Harry’s blank face. The books had already made it clear that he’d suffered such beatings often, but hearing about it in detail pained her deeply. She could do nothing but feel weak and shake as she cried into Alicia’s side, who rubbed her bang consolingly even as she and Angelina looked stricken.

Across the hall, Daphne Greengrass’ pink lips parted just slightly, in an inaudible gasp. Her glacier-blue eyes watered but refused to spill, even as her heart went out to the boy who probably deserved a life a dozen times better than the one he’d received. Her blonde bangs were messy from the several times she’d shaken her head absentmindedly at the thought of Harry being hurt, and had stuck to her flawless forehead. She could feel Lily, the most emotional of the three, silently crying into a distraught Tracey’s shoulder who sat on her right.

-and, finally, what felt like two cracked ribs from his initial push into the cupboard door which had resulted in him being hurled mercilessly into the doorknob.

“Damn them!” exploded an enraged Remus, nearly frothing at the mouth in anger, and he wasn’t the only one.

“Two cracked ribs and no medical attention, on top of starvation!?” roared Pomfrey, looking leagues more formidable than Harry had ever seen her.

Once again, the circus act occurred - people up in arms, yelling over each other, and even at each other for no reason.

This time, Dumbledore even joined the fray when it was commented by a faux-concerned Lucius that perhaps he had always intended for the boy to be built “modest”. Needless to say, the old wizard lashed back and defended his choice/mistake by claiming ignorance and alienation, and that he’d never have sent him there under the circumstances of such abuse. It was a testament to just how powerful and forthright the upstanding wizard’s reputation was, that when he spoke so fiercely, no one dared question him.

The strange couple that Harry had seen earlier stared at Harry in equal parts pity and sorrow, though the man’s eyes seemed to have a glint of pride as well. Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that they meant no harm to him, but went to turn away nonetheless. As though sensing this, they turned away first, once more perplexing the young man who’d taken to ignoring the rest of his peers.

Next to the couple, Aberforth stared at his brother impassively, not sure of what to make of his outburst. While he knew his brother would never put another in direct danger of such treatment, he felt there might have been some truth to the elder Malfoy’s blind reaching. His brother was, after all, a manipulative old goat – greater good or not.

Snape remained impassive, not bothering to enter the fray those around him were. He felt something akin to pity for the young Potter boy, but that was as far as his calloused heart allowed him to go on the matter. He didn’t catch Narcissa sitting a little ways away from him eyeing the boy with something as close to sympathy and pity that someone like her could show, given the circumstances. No boy should have to suffer that way; especially one that she had to admit didn’t seem so bad.

Hermione still clung to Harry and just sat there, her tears already dry but not for a lack of trying. Ron felt the same way, wishing he could do more, and feeling worse than he’d felt since the Goblet of Fire fiasco. To both friends, this was far more significant than hearing of child’s abusive past. This was a reminder of just how badly they’d neglected their friend. He’d always taken care to ask how they were, question their home lives, etc. They hardly ever returned the favor, and when they did, he’d shrug it off and they wouldn’t bother digging deeper. They wondered just how long Harry lived like this, and whether or not their knowing could have stopped it sooner. Their best friend was so strong yet so secretive, and to find out about his treatment like this, barring his actual treatment to begin with, was a brutal reminder of just how little they really knew about their friend.

Harry just fazed all the noise out, as memories of his treatment at the hands of the Dursley’s surfaced. Reliving this, in front of hundreds no less, was harder than he could have ever imagined. He almost wanted to call the reading quits, but he knew it was too late for that now. He had to remind himself that this story would free Sirius and show the wizarding world the truth. If it meant reliving this pain… this intense, emotional pain and humiliation, then so be it.

If he were honest with himself, he didn’t have it too bad at Privet Drive. In his opinion, while terrible guardians, the Dursley’s didn’t abuse him all that often; an average of once a week, for one reason or another. Harry was sure that others, perhaps even in the school, have had it worse. While the beatings hurt, they never scarred other than emotionally on the worst of days. He’d always heal well enough and he’d simply get through it. Whatever the case, it made him who he was today. He was never put in immediate danger of death, or even on its doorstep, for which he was thankful. It’s as if the Dursley’s knew exactly what to get away with, without crossing the un-crossable line of murder. He had to give them credit for that.

No, he could stand the beatings well enough. What he couldn’t stand, however, were the words. At least, not at first. One would think that growing up in a hostile environment one would be used to cruelty and verbal abuse, but not Harry. Every time he was cut down, yelled at, sneered at, told he was no good, reminded of his “filthy, disgusting parents”, or outright torn into, all of which was very often, he’d feel a portion of him ache. No one would ever know what it was like, every day, to be torn down by the ones who were supposed to love you. Every hour, every day, every week, every month, every year for eleven years, a piece of his childlike fervor was extinguished. That type of abuse is the type that numbs people, turned off a switch in their head, makes them into the very monsters they’re accused of being. And Harry knew he had issues that would never be resolved because of it. All he could hope was that this story would move on to what he felt was actually important, and that eventually… someday… maybe he’d be okay.

After about ten minutes of rapid fire arguments and discussions, the hall finally quieted. The air was silent, and the atmosphere equal parts tense and awkward. The students didn’t really know how to act in the situation. They’d just heard about a peer, whether he be seen as ally or enemy, having been extremely abused all his life. What did you say to that? What words of comfort could a stranger offer someone after hearing something so dark and personal?

It was clear that many people wished to stand up and pay the Dursley’s back in kind, chief among them a pacing Remus. It would appear to Harry that the Headmaster had dissuaded them from taking any immediate action, a point which he could readily agree with. He wanted them to stay focused on the matter at hand – the truth behind his years at Hogwarts.

With a reassuring hand from her husband, Andromeda cleared her throat and continued the reading. She hoped the chapter would be over soon.

He'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as he could remember, ever since he'd been a baby and his parents had died in that car crash.
“As if,” muttered a disgruntled but surprisingly soft Moody, who took a bitter pull of his flask.
No one felt any better being reminded that Harry was being lied to on top of his abuse.
He couldn't remember being in the car when his parents had died. Sometimes, when he strained his memory during long hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead.
Professor Vector gulped into the radiant silence after that sentence. “The killing curse.”
The students unfamiliar with the curse immediately understood what Harry had seen and looked at his silent form in shock and astonishment. The staff and guests, sans the usual suspects, were horrified that a child would remember such a thing. Even Dumbledore’s eyebrows shot up into his head before they wrinkled in sorrow.
“Merlin, you remembered that?” breathed an awed and saddened Padma, to which Harry nodded slightly.
“That and so much more…” he whispered to no one in particular.
This, he supposed, was the crash, though he couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. He couldn't remember his parents at all. His aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course he was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.
“Thanks Hagrid,” Harry said, confusing the hall.
The half-giant understood him just fine, however, and nodded back in kind. He didn’t say anything, as he was still too choked up and enraged over what he’d just heard to say anything.
When he had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take him away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were his only family.
Remus, who had finally stopped pacing and has sat down, and Sirius (Padfoot) dropped their heads at this, tears in their eyes in knowing that it should have been them to rescue Harry – to raise him and care for him like James and Lily would have wanted them to. They’d let their foolishness get in the way of that, and Harry had suffered dearly for it.
Remus especially felt guilty, knowing that he had little reason not to care for Harry or at the very least visit him under false pretense and check on him. Sirius would have done it in a heartbeat, but he was suffering through living-hell at Azkaban. He, however, had no excuse, and he knew that Sirius would confront him about his lack of contact sooner or later. He knew he wouldn’t have an answer ready.
Yet sometimes he thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking Harry furiously if he knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything.
“Paranoid much,” questioned a snide Alicia, though her voice was course from crying and soft, not wanting to shatter the foreign silence in the usually animated hall. She didn’t like a single bone in the horse-like woman, and she knew she wasn’t alone in that regard.
A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at him once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken his hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harry tried to get a closer look.
“Apparating away like that? *sniff* Rude,” muttered Molly Weasley. Though what were they supposed to do, Harry thought. Stick around and explain things to him? That train of thought brought something else to mind.
“Speaking of admirers,” Harry’s voice filled the Great Hall, clear yet detached. Some were surprised he could talk at all under the circumstances, let alone coherently. “How is it that people recognized me on the street if I’m supposed to be in hiding? I haven’t been seen in years, and my scar is hardly noticeable from a distance. Not to mention that, if they had found me, wouldn’t they insist on telling their friends where the B-W-L was spotted? Wouldn’t they find me at Privet Drive eventually?”
These questions blindsided the Headmaster, who was looked to by the entire hall - sans the Flamels and his brother - for answers. He had none to offer other than, “I’m afraid I hadn’t calculated the possibilities of you running into wizards, though I assure you the wards would have protected you had anyone with ill intent discovered your location.”
Harry snorted at the terrible reply. “That would have helped me outside of the house… how?”
Again, the Headmaster had nothing to say and merely looked away. The school was reeling at how thoughtless the Headmaster had truly been in hiding Harry away. He could’ve been kidnapped, killed, or worse. What if one of those wizards had been a Death Eater? The dark possibilities were endless and they all pointed to the aged wizard’s carelessness. Harry saw this and pressed on with more aggression to his voice.
“On top of that, why was checking in on me something you neglected, supposedly due to wanting to keep my life segregated from wizarding influence, when I was already seeing other magicals randomly in the street? How is that remotely acceptable?”
“That’s enough, Mr. Potter,” cautioned Professor McGonagall.
Harry turned to face her and when their eyes met, what McGonagall saw frightened her. Anger; the boy had so much of it that she was nearly drowning in a pool of emerald rage. She knew the boy would be angry, but she hadn’t expected his anger to be so severe, so deep and infested within his being. She flinched and turned away immediately, the image already burnt into her memory. Her actions shocked the hall, both at her defense for the Headmaster when he was obviously in the wrong, and her flinch.
Something in several people snapped at that moment. Putting what they’d learned together, several of them were no longer able to look at the Headmaster in the same light again. He was no longer the infallible and ever right Albus Dumbledore. He was the man who sentenced a mere child to an abusive childhood on a whim, without much thought or justification.
At school, Harry had no one.
The entire hall seemed to stare at him in pity, even people who’d much rather dislike him. Being alone – truly alone – was something none but a handful of them had ever truly experienced in their life. And from what they’d read, Harry was more deserving of friends and company than most. It just didn’t make sense in their “what you sow is what you reap” mindset.
Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Harry Potter in his baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley's gang.

“Of course not,” spat a tear streaked and bitter Hermione. Her lip trembled at the thought of her best friend being abused and alone his entire life, yet he was still the caring, funny, resilient man he was today in spite of it. He deserved better, better than she felt she could offer him.

Settling into as comfortable a position as he was allowed, given the cramped space and his injuries, he settled for putting his thoughts and problems to rest for now.

“Good,” whispered Pomfrey to herself, though the staff heard it well enough. “Don’t worry about the past, just get some sleep.”

The matron was back in her usual motherly mode, and her face was soft as she (and everyone else) pictured the tired and beaten boy, emotionally exhausted in his cupboard. McGonagall grabbed her hand under the table in comfort and support.

Remus felt as if all the anger and murderous rage he’d had for the Dursley’s had evaporated, replaced by crushing guilt. He pictured Harry, fragile and alone since he was born, and he actually cried. Tears fell silently from his eyes, though they went unnoticed. He couldn’t look at anyone right now – not Sirius, not Tonks, and definitely not Harry.

He was too tired to dwell on the unfairness of his life. He hoped that someday, if no one else would, he’d be able to stand up to his relatives and everyone like them. That was his final thought before Morpheus took him, and he once again saw a familiar flash of green.

Dumbledore pondered this development. While he was glad that Harry’s wish was to stand up to bullies and those in the wrong, he could see how his treatment could easily have swayed him against muggles not unlike Tom Riddle. “Everyone like them” the book had said. The old wizard could only count his blessing that his lack of foresight hadn’t cost him and the rest of the wizarding world their savior.

“It may yet, Albus,” came the barely audible voice of Nicholas. Despite a century of knowing one another, Dumbledore was still amazed at just how perceptive his mentor and partner was. He frowned at the remark, knowing Nicholas had a point.

“That’s the end of the chapter,” spoke Andromeda, closing the book after marking their place. The clouds above had turned even dark, as though it were still night time. The thunder rumbled softly in the background, and the wind seemed to still. The atmosphere of the hall basked in the reflective weather outside.

Andromeda was exhausted, and the story had only just begun. Her husband took her hand in his, before he took the book from the table. Andromeda gave him a questioning look.

“I’ll read next, love,” he said in answer to her unasked question. His firm but soft tone told her that he wanted to read next. No one argued with that, so Ted opened up to where they were.

Harry, who had been ignoring everyone at the table and around the hall, felt an intense gaze on him – the type of feeling one got when they knew they were being thought of intently. His first instinct, strangely enough, was to look towards the staff table where Mrs. Malfoy sat. However, while she was looking at him, he knew she wasn’t the one responsible for this feeling. As subtly as possible, he scanned the hall for where the perpetrator was, just as he began thinking of the cause for this… feeling.

‘Legillimincy, perhaps?’ It was possible, but he knew it wasn’t from Snape and Dumbledore, the only known practitioners in the hall. They had no need to do such a careless thing with people around them. He briefly entertained the notion of it being an unexpected enemy like a Slytherin or one of the guests, but the feeling, or rather the intruding force, didn’t feel hostile. Finally, his eyes came to rest on a section of the Ravenclaw table and that’s when he saw her…

***

Amethyst; her eyes pooled with the entrancing purple shade of pink. Even through his glasses, he could still make out what seemed like a golden hue near the edges of her irises, causing her eyes to glimmer unnaturally at him. In essence, they were otherworldly. Harry had never before seen such eyes, and it took him several seconds to notice that those eyes were currently staring right back at him, a look of amusement offsetting their disturbing intensity. Pulling back to take in her full appearance, Harry was captivated by what he’d failed to notice through five years of Hogwarts attendance.

She was pale. That was the first thing he noticed; she was very pale - like bleached porcelain - but remarkably not to the point that it was off-putting. Rather, it only made her stand out amongst her peers; a soft and beautiful snowflake, unblemished. Her jet black hair, which he noted was just as dark as his own, was in a pulled back bun and contrasted well with her flawless skin and her amaranth lips.

If he had to describe her physique in a few words, he’s say she was tall and fit, not that he felt a few words were justifiable. Her figure was neither slim nor large, nor was she overly muscled. Her bust, something he didn’t notice often on girls his age, was larger than one would expect for someone of her frame. Yet again, it conveniently wasn’t a distraction from the rest of her body, as her royal blue turtleneck sweater hugged her comfortably and made her seem modest enough to overlook in a crowd. He wasn’t sure due to the fact that she was sitting, but he felt as though she was wearing black skinny jeans to complete her outfit. Despite her muggle attire, something inside Harry told him she was neither a muggleborn nor a half-blood. While it wasn’t unheard of for purebloods to dress in mundane clothes, it was definitely uncommon and this only further made Harry’s curiosity rise.

Taking in her entire appearance, he finally realized three things. The first was that she was obviously older than he was. There was no way he’d ever miss a girl like that in his year, seeing as he knew all of his peers by name and most of them were in the D.A. He very much doubted she was the same age as Cho, so that meant she had to be a seventh year. The second thing he realized was that she was still staring right back at him, her own curiosity apparent with the slight arching of a well cropped eyebrow. He almost flushed in embarrassment at having been caught staring at such a beautiful girl, for a reason he couldn’t quite remember, when he came to his third realization… she had tried to use legillimincy on him!

Immediately his countenance changed from one of embarrassment to concealed anger as he subtly glared at the girl. If she was surprised or abashed at his one-eighty degree turn, she didn’t show it. In fact, the only thing she showed through her ever neutral façade was the calm lowering of her eyebrow. For a moment, he felt he saw a hint of disappointment in her eyes, but it vanished before he was even sure it was there.

That brought Harry up short, and he averted his gaze to the table. Why would she be disappointed in him? She’d just tried to read his mind after all, and in a public place, right after reading that he might be a natural Occlumens no less. What kind of Ravenclaw, a house prided on their intelligence, would do that? His answer came to him quickly – they wouldn’t. Even a person with Malfoy’s brains wouldn’t dare risk such a bold move. So why did she?

‘She wanted my attention,’ he mused. His eyes widened as realization dawned on him, but not quick enough. When he went to search the girl’s eyes once more, he found them averted to the staff table along with the rest of the hall. Apparently the reading was beginning once more. Harry was disappointed as he tuned in to the reading; disappointed in himself for jumping to conclusions, disappointed that he had seemingly disappointed her, and disap-

‘Wait, ‘disappointing her’? I don’t even know her, so why do I care?’ Harry furrowed his brows in confusion, even as Ted Tonk’s voice sounded out to the hall.

***

THE LETTERS FROM NO ONE

Whispers rose up concerning the title of the chapter, but nothing decisive came of any of the conversations.

Ted Tonks shifted in his seat as he prepared himself for the upcoming chapter. If the first sentence was any indicator, it would be another unpleasant look into the life of young Harry Potter. His wife gave his hand a squeeze of support and he gave her a smile that ended up coming out as more of a grimace. She nodded in understanding, so he cleared his throat and began.

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry his longest-ever punishment.

Sounds of disapproval sounded throughout the hall, but Harry pushed them out. He was focused on other things at the moment.

“I can’t believe those people,” spoke an irritated Hermione, her voice high and pitchy from her previous crying. Her friends sounded their agreement.

Cornelius Fudge worried his wrinkled hands as he looked at the boy whose name he’d run through the mud this past year. So far, these books were making him realize just how bad the “spoilt rotten” boy’s childhood was; how hard he’d had had it growing up. “Punishment for something beyond his control, and caused by the abuse of his relatives no less. Terrible… dreadful…”

No one at the staff table bothered to point out how he had been doing the exact same thing throughout the past year; running Harry off with the media because he experienced something beyond his control. No one, that is, except Perenelle Flamel.

“I can only imagine; a boy, so young and lost in the world, being punished for something out of his ability to control by those who, in all reality, are just seeking to control him. I wonder, Minister, what should the punishment be for those types of people?”

This got Harry’s attention, and apparently his friends as well, as they all quieted to hear the Minister’s response.

Cornelius drew himself up, now realizing that the entire hall had grown quiet when the mysterious woman’s soft but melodic voice spoke. He had the chance to not only speak his mind, but also look good and compassionate towards Potter in front of his present and future voters. For a man like him, it would be a cake walk.

“Why, the highest possible, of course. Those who abuse their power and position in such a way – I mean, truly, displayers of such pettiness – they should all be charged and found guilty of-of… of negligence in whatever position they hold, charged with abuse and harassment, and - and… Oh, and all monies and other finances should be removed from their possession, or they shall face the aurors or even, perhaps, the guards of Azkaban,” he ended with a chuckle.

Cornelius was positively beaming at the end, very pleased with himself. His fist was raised up in righteous indignation, and despite his stuttering, he felt that he’d breezed over them well enough that no one noticed. Dolores stood and clapped politely for him, though he could tell she wasn’t a huge fan of offering any sense of compassion towards someone in Potter’s position.

At first, he thought he’d been successful in his speech, as silence descended on the hall. They were clearly soaking in just how passionate their minister was. While half a dozen or so students clapped politely - most of them from his old house, Hufflepuff, and all of them related to ministry workers - no one else did a thing. When the silence lingered a while longer, he grew nervous at the dumbfounding looks he was getting. He began to sweat until he heard laughter.

Harry saw the mysterious woman laugh as the man who appeared to be her husband let loose a soft chuckle of his own. She had a clairvoyant laugh. One that woke up a room and cleared everyone’s head, making them feel enlightened somehow. He couldn’t help but crack a smile as her heard her laughter – a smile that only increased when he saw the incensed face of the minister and his toad.

“Oh, Minister. You’re something special, indeed.” The man didn’t know whether to angrily question the cause for her laughter or thank her for what he felt was a compliment. Perenelle struggled to not roll her eyes. “Do remember your words when this reading is over and you return to your home. That is, if you’re a man of your word.” Perenelle leveled a strikingly serious glare at the man who fumbled his hands even more and nodded absentmindedly, clearly not wanting to show others that he was anything less than decisive and honest.

Harry had caught on to what the woman had done, though he was one of the few in the hall, and he smiled at her. He knew she could see him out of the corner of her eyes, and indeed her lips quirked a bit.

Ted Tonks cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention before returning to the reading. ‘Jeez. Hardly a sentence into the chapter and already there are interruptions,’ he thought.

By the time he was allowed out of his cupboard again, the summer holidays had started

“How long was that?” Katie questioned, genuinely concerned for her friend, not knowing that a person could stay in a cupboard that long and live.

“About two weeks,” Harry shrugged. He didn’t see how lying would help matters.

Gasps were let out by those who had heard his answer, but they thankfully remained silent on the matter. Ron was concerned for his friend now and quickly asked, “They gave you food through, right? I mean, two weeks… without a decent meal!?”

“It was fine, Ron. They fed me once a day, and I’m here now aren’t I?” Harry couldn’t blame Ron for being concerned. Unlike the case with others, he actually appreciated his best friend showing worry over him, despite him sitting right next to him, healthy as a peach.

- and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

“Brat!” sounded the hall. Truly, the parents taught that boy no manners whatsoever.

“Yupp, definitely a douche canoe,” muttered the twins in their typical stereo unison.

Dumbledore furrowed his brows as he thought of the poor Mrs. Figg. While she still seemed to worship the air he walked on, she had grown rather cross with his refusal to let her leave Privet Drive all these years. Come to think of it, she always seemed to be limping or uncomfortable from one thing or another. At the time, he’d always summed it up to old muggle age, but now… Perhaps Mrs. Figg was indeed in need of a holiday if she had to put up with this treatment often.

Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day.

“Don’t they have anything better to do?” huffed an irritated Fleur, her proficient English coming to the fore once more.

“Of course not,” muttered Tonks. “They’re bullies. The only way they get through life with their sad existence is through intimidation and picking on others. It’s what gets their jollies off.”

Fleur looked at the slightly older woman in surprise before giving her an appraising look. She would have said something similar had she been more comfortable with the present company. She smirked when the metamorphmagus caught her look, the older woman furrowing her brows in confusion.

Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid,

“Big, stupid, and poorly named is more like it,” offered an amused Ron. Those in the hall who were unfortunate enough to be named Dennis, Malcolm, or Gordon voiced their disagreement (no one was called Piers, thankfully).

“You’re not one to talk, Ronald,” Hermione countered, stressing her ginger friend’s given name.

“What, and you are?!” he countered.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “That’s not the point. The point is you shouldn’t tease other people’s names unless you’d like the same to happen to you. And for your information, my name is unique and elegant!”

“Right, just like your hair,” drowsed Ron, well aware of the way Hermione’s eyes narrowed.

“Guys…” Harry stopped the two before they could continue. If they got started now, it would be a rather long chapter for everyone.

Hermione turned away without another word. She was clearly displeased with Ron’s comment about her hair. Ron simply huffed at his female friends touchiness. “Honestly, it was just a joke.” He saw Dennis Creevey further down the table, sticking his tongue out at him “That’s mature,” he muttered, before returning the favor in kind.

Harry just rolled his eyes at his best friend’s antics. Let it not be said that they weren’t fifteen years old.

but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader.

“That makes perfect sense,” deadpanned Remus.

The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Harry Hunting.

From his position under the table, Snuffles bared his teeth at the book once more. ‘No one hurts my god son, Dursley.’

Out of all the muttered grumblings and silent glaring, one word stood out.

“Assholes,” spoke a feminine voice that Harry recognized but couldn’t place. He cocked his head to see that it was Ginny who had bit out the last remark. He was surprised by her use of an arguably vulgar word, though he shouldn’t have been. She grew up with her brothers, after all, who had to have gotten it from one of the elder Weasleys, most likely Arthur. He absentmindedly noticed the way her eyes drifted to his, and how she quickly turned away, blushing, before turning back to him and giving him a look he couldn’t place.

Hermione saw the look and nearly groaned. It was Ginny’s ‘smoldering’ look, and while it usually worked to great affect with other boys, she usually wasn’t blushing madly. That and Harry just wasn’t ‘other boys’. The longer her friend seemed to stare at the raven haired wizard, with no effect, the more awkward the emotions rolling off of her felt. Harry must have sensed this as he just gave her an unsteady smile that both relieved and aggravated Ginny, who turned away in defeat, releasing the breath she’d been holding. This time Hermione did groan.

This was why Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where he could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came he would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in his life, he wouldn't be with Dudley.

Pomfrey turned to her peers. “That’s fortunate for both their sakes. Who knows how Harry’s fluxing magic might have reacted to continued abused by that terrible boy.” The staff and guests, the only ones able to hear her, nodded in agreement though Remus looked like he wouldn’t have minded some accidental magic befalling Dudley.

“I’m surprised you were able to put up with the brat that long,” Bill said.

Harry shrugged. “What choice, did I have?”

“Run away?” he offered tentatively.

“I tried, believe me… it never worked. One way or another, I always ended up back in Privet Drive.”

Bill and the others furrowed their eyes at Harry’s cryptic response, but dropped it for the time being.

Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings.

“I take it the boy’s father pulled strings in order for him to get in?” questioned/accused Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“No, actually, my Uncle doesn’t have much pull in that school if memory serves me right. At least, no more than any other alumni. Dudley got in based on his GPA alone… that and Uncle Vernon’s pocketbook – it’s a private school after all,” shrugged Harry.

Ron gaped. “You mean to tell me that your lard of a cousin who can’t even count to forty properly got into some fancy-schmancy school with his grades? Come off it, Harry.”

“You never know, Ron. I had to work very hard to get accepted into the private school I wanted to get into; or rather the one my parents wanted me to attend. That is, before we found out about magic and Hogwarts.” Several purebloods sneered at the muggleborn witch, as well as the discussion of muggle schooling. None of them could really tell why they felt the need to, they just did so instinctually.

“The point is,” continued Hermione, pointedly ignoring the sneers and bored looks from some of the students, “that sometimes people get into places, be it positions of power or prestigious schools, based off of connections and money alone and without actually any merit.” She leveled a look at Malfoy, something no one listening missed.

The blonde fifth year merely sneered back at her, something that caused his mother internal grief. ‘Merlin’s sake, grow up! Stop reacting to every little thing,’ she thought.

“Something tells me, however,” continued Hermione after the hall had gotten the message, “that Dudley didn’t really earn his grades. Did he, Harry.” It wasn’t a question and the poker face the raven haired wizard wore was enough proof for the hall that the Dursley’s had indeed used Harry for more than just their cooking.

“Cheating. How quaint,” simpered Umbridge.

“How is it cheating if he’s the one doing the work for an abusive cousin?” snarled Tonks. When several deadpan looks were sent her way, her roots turned red in frustration and embarrassment. “I mean, other than the ‘doing work for an abusive cousin’ part.” The disbelieving looks remained.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the metamorphmagus as the twins spoke.

“Way to go, Tonks,” they stereo-spoke.

“Have you ever considered-”

“-a profession in politics?” The twins snickered.

“Hardy-har, guys. You know what I mean. If anything, it’s those damned Dursley’s that should be ashamed of themselves,” she mumbled. “For many things…” Her hair turned mousy brown at the thought of all the things that Harry had endured over the course of his childhood at their hands.

For the sake of getting his daughters mind off of her friend’s misfortunes, Ted Tonks continued reading.

Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny.

No one, not even the Slytherins commented on how this might have been funny. While some may have normally taken the opportunity to rub something in ‘Potter’s’ face about not being good enough to get into a proper school, it was clear the boy would have had no choice in the matter.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he told Harry. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

Some of the students wrinkled their nose at the thought of having their heads jammed down a toilet. The twins capitalizing on the moment to ask the question of whether or not the toilet had been flushed prior to said activity served to only make the grimaces increase exponentially.

“Ahh, a swirlie is what some call it. I always tried to avoid those,” Dean told no one in particular. Being an artsy boy in a public school often had him pegged as a “fairy”, and he was on the receiving end of many such threats from jocks in his grade school. Fortunately, he had thus far avoided any contact with any toilet that didn’t involve relieving himself.

"No, thanks," said Harry. "The poor toilets never had anything as horrible as your head down it -- it might be sick." He calmly walked away, knowing it would take Dudley a while to work out what he'd said.

Laughter sounded in the hall as the twins congratulated Harry on his increasingly obvious wit. Even the staff and guests lips were quirking, as the younger teachers giggled at their wards dry sense of humor.

“Seriously, Harry! Where has this side of you been hiding?” questioned a gasping Lee. He found that his bespectacled friend’s humor came fast and dry, something he truly appreciated in a comedian.

Harry shrugged, not knowing how best to explain that he wasn’t aware his humor had been missing in the first place. Before he could formulate a response, Hermione was on him.

“Harry,” she drawled. “While I’m glad you’re able to get one over on your cousin, don’t you think it’s a tad dangerous to do something like that? Won’t he, you know, beat you up?”

He saw that her question was purely out of concern and not a rebuke, and he admired her eternal sense of caring she had for him. Yet again, before he could respond, someone answered for him.

“Well, that’s out Harry. A Gryffindor through and through, he is,” Ginny smiled, to the roars of agreement from their table. No one caught just how fake his particularly small smile was.

Inside, Harry was stone faced. ‘You’ll all know soon enough.’

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before.

“Why that’s ridiculous; blaming the cat for something that was likely her own fault. She doesn’t deserve those precious felines,” voiced an out of character Umbridge.

While the hall stared awkwardly at the toad like woman, Cornelius could only blink owlishly at the table. He was fully aware of his undersecretaries - dare he say, fanatical - enthusiasm for the feline race. McGonagall almost shivered in disgust at the thought of Umbridge petting her cats – she was one herself, after all.

She let Harry watch television and gave him a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years.

“Mmm, cake,” Ron moaned, just as Hermione’s nose wrinkled, “Eeew, cake, and spoiled cake at that.”

It was the second cake he’d had in his life, the first being a birthday one of his classmates had at school. Not that he’d managed to finish his slice at the time – Dudley had managed to swipe his away when the teacher wasn’t looking. He had enjoyed it all the same.

McGonagall made a note to get the boy some cake sometimes, not knowing Sirius and a few others were thinking along similar lines.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters.

While Dumbledore and a few other adults chuckled, the students simply looked amused at the description of Dudley’s uniform. Some managed to laugh, but none as merrily as the young vela sitting a few seats away from Harry.

Gabrielle Delacour had always possessed a vivid imagination. Her father had once said it was a family trait, but she disagreed. Her mother showed little imagination in anything that didn’t involve architecture or cuisine. She figured these were the side-effects of a long lasting marriage with a politician.

Her sister Fleur had often read romance novels and had admitted to often daydreaming of scenes of the sublime when she was her age, but she had eventually outgrown such things – too soon, in her opinion - in lieu of living life as “a proper adult”. No fairy tales, no happily ever after, just reality. While growing up was indeed a natural part of life, and Gabrielle was never under the illusion that life was just and likely to end happy for everyone, she believed that growing up lied more so in a person’s actions towards others than it did any form of self-conscious, ‘mature’ mentality. Losing your childlike nature was only a byproduct of handling those responsibilities, not the cause.

Thus, in the hopes of not becoming like her mother or sister, Gabrielle swore to maintain her adolescent wonder no matter what. She never wanted to not find something incredible and new in the world, otherwise what was the purpose of living it? Unlike the common girl that indulged in romance and gossip, she had always preferred stories of the fantastical – be it tragedy, adventure, or even horror. Through years of reading and daydreaming, chasing worlds that allowed he to both escape and appreciate the one she was in, Gabrielle had honed her skills of mental picturing expertly.

So it was understandable that she had so far not enjoyed the reading. Sure, learning about the life of the boy who saved your life was one thing, but to find out he was treated in such a terrible manner for at least ten years was appalling to the girl. She knew life wasn’t pretty, but sometime knowing something and knowing something were two different things. Harry was the latter – he knew life wasn’t pretty.

Throughout the reading she had pictured every insult coming at the boy, ghostly imagined the pain he felt in his beatings, at least tried to grasp the numbness he seemed to have towards his treatment in general. Combined with her naturally sensitive heart, the young veela was quite emotionally invested into this particular story.

So it was that every scene so far had drawn a hardly noticeable reaction from her – flinches for the bad, smirks for the good. In this case, with the ridiculousness of Dudley’s attire, which was far too specific to NOT picture, she could help it…

She laughed. She giggled softly but thoroughly, to the point that everyone at the table, ever her sister, was sending her weird looks. Everyone that is, but him.

“I’m glad someone finds it funny,” he smiled kindly at her. Gabrielle stopped giggling but a smile remained on her face as she casually locked eyes with him. “Lord knows I nearly burst my gut trying to hold in laughter at the site. You couldn’t imagine how ridiculous it looked.”

“Non, I can imagine.” She paused and released a final giggle at the thought. “Perhaps a little too well,” she added.

He nodded his head in understanding, a loose smirk on his lips before turning away. Out of the corner of her eye, Gabrielle saw his gaze return to her briefly before turning back to the conversation his read haired friend from the lake had engaged him with. She noticed her older sister smirking at her, though her eyes were pensive. The Weasley girl was also giving her a strange look that she wasn’t sure she liked or even understood, but she ignored it. She’d gotten him to smile at her, and that was something for now.

They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” muttered Madame Hooch. How ridiculous could these people get?

“I can’t imagine how,” voiced a seemingly once-track Oliver Wood. “I mean, unless you’re trying out for the beater position at a wizarding school.” His friends simply rolled their eyes at him, though they knew he was just making light on the story.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life.

The twins snorted before looking at each other. “Rather boring life that is.”

Arthur Weasley hummed in thought, as though lost in a memory.

“I don’t know, sons. Loathe as I am to agree with the man on anything, I can see how having your child off to your alma mater might be considered a proud moment. Merlin knows I may have shed a tear or two when you went off to school for the first time, Bill. One for you as well, Ginerva,” the balding man looked kindly at his children.

While Ron and Ginny looked embarrassed, the others were actually mature enough to understand that it was natural for a father to be proud of his kids in public and smiled kindly at their father, unknowingly joined by Harry. Arthur Weasley was one of the few men he respected, and that there was one of the reasons why.

Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up.

Snorts sounded across the hall as the horrible nickname made an appearance once more. The fact that she called him such an infantile name in the same sentence as calling him grown made even the likes of Crabbe and Goyle scratch their heads. That, or they were actually scratching their heads randomly… yupp, definitely scratching their heads randomly.

“What’d you think of all this, Harry?” asked an amused Neville.

“Oh, you know.” Harry shrugged his shoulders casually, a smile on his face. The others - the twins in particular - could only imagine what he thought of the scene.

Harry didn't trust himself to speak.

“Wise idea, that,” voiced George at the same time that Alicia said “Probably for the best.” The two looked at one another and after George wiggled his eyebrows at her, Alicia blushed and turned away. Charlie rolled his eyes, hoping he wasn’t that bad when he was a teenager.

He thought two of his ribs might already have re-cracked from trying not to laugh.

The humor was offset with the reminder that he had indeed cracked two ribs not too long ago. Madame Pomfrey seemed to register something before turning swiftly to Harry, her lips thinned in worry and her eyebrows furrowed.

“Mr. Potter, when were you eventually treated for your broken ribs and the other injuries you sustained?” she hurriedly asked him, embarrassed at not having caught the oversight earlier. Indeed, this brought everyone in the hall up short. While they knew that Harry hadn’t been treated immediately for his beating, they had forgotten about it shortly afterwards with the progression of the story.

“Uhm, I wasn’t.” At the looks he received from the students, he continued. “I mean, at the time I didn’t know how it was possible, but I felt as though my body always mended on its own. Cuts and bruises always healed relatively fast in comparison to my cousin, and my bones would simply fix themselves over a few nights at most. I guess the Dursleys knew about my magic as well, or they might not have been so physical.”

While Harry felt he’d been clinical and honest in his response, the confused looks he was getting from his peers made him unsure of himself, and the disbelieving looks from the staff made him feel… well, stupid. Come to think of it, he was stupid! He had never bothered to research how it was that magic always healed him. He’d just chocked it up to good ol’ magic, thinking it was something everyone could do. Harry prided himself on avoiding such oversights.

“Mr. Potter… are you saying you’ve never received medical treatment for anything in your life?” questioned Pomfrey, followed by Sprout adding, “Ever?” when Harry shook his head in the negative.

“What does this mean?” He had a feeling he was about to find out something else that made him ‘unique’.

Pomfrey looked to Dumbledore, something that made him grimace inside. ‘This is going to be good,’ he thought.

“It would appear, Mr. Potter, that you have indeed a unique way about you. In all my years as a wizard, magic naturally healing bones and scars has occurred here and there in powerful witches and wizards, but not on the scale that you allude to, and certainly not in the same time period.” Dumbledore’s voice was placating, but carried a hint of warning… but for whom? Harry had a feeling it was directed towards the strange couple that had spoken up for him during the reading. ‘Peculiar.’ Absentmindedly, he noted everyone listened intently to Dumbledores words, even Lucius Malfoy. ‘Now that’s clinical.’

Amelia Bones curiosity in the Potter boy was growing the more they read about the enigmatic young man. “Are you saying, Dumbledore, that we’re to assume a boys untrained magic instinctually cured and mended his body on several occasions? With no guidance, with no channel?”

“Yes, I think it is safe to assume that at the moment. We’ll have to wait until after the reading has finished to get to the bottom of this interesting matter.”

Hermione watched Harry with rapt attention, as though something to dissect. She had to struggle to keep from raising her hand in order to ask a dozen different questions. Thankfully, Ron didn’t seem envious of the fact that Harry was supposedly a powerful wizard. The red head had reassured himself that this had been established earlier on in the reading, and he’d more or less know his friend was unique since the first time they’d gone down the trapdoor. He was just relieved to know his best mate was okay.

Harry ignored the looks he was getting, focusing on the Ravenclaw table for some reason. He saw the same girl that had tried to get his attention earlier. While she was looking at the staff table, which made her stand out from everyone else looking at him, he saw the left corner of her lip upturned ever so slightly. She was smirking, as though pleased with the information. This, more than anything, put him on edge.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.

"What's this?" he asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question.

Hermione had a pained look on her face at the thought of living with the woman. The bookworms and inquisitive types around the hall had similar looks, with the Ravenclaw table looking as though someone had spiked all their goblets with something extremely sour. It amused Harry to say the least.

"Your new school uniform," she said.

“Pleasant,” sniffed Astoria Greengrass. No one in the hall was surprised much by the pettiness of the Dursleys, but that didn’t mean no one was disgusted with just how pathetic and cheap they were willing to be.

Harry looked in the bowl again. "Oh," he said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."

Snorts sounded across the hall in response to Harry’s sarcastic nature. It was a side that surprised those who knew him only as the sulking Boy Who Lived from afar, and even to most of his friends and teammates. Molly and a few others admonished Harry on his penchant for asking for trouble, even as he was equally as enthusiastically complimented on his wit and humor by his peers, particularly the twins.

"Don’t be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia.

“Yeah, Potter. Don’t be stupid,” sneered a still embarrassed Nott. He wasn’t fond of the attention the raven-haired teen was getting. “Wait, I forgot – you can’t help it.”

Before anyone could respond to the fifth year Slytherin – though, most looked to be ignoring him completely – Harry turned amused eyes towards his would be verbal-assailant. “You mean to say that you, a “proper pureblood”, agree with my Aunt, a magical-hating muggle?”

He clearly saw nothing wrong with something as simple as agreeing with a muggle. Harry’s stance on muggles (being a half-blood himself) may as well have been solidified well before even his enrollment into Hogwarts. The hall knew this, and thus didn’t take offense with his question, knowing it was simply a jab at Nott’s own beliefs. Were the prejudiced boy smart enough, he would have seen that there was nothing offensive in agreeing with someone else that someone was stupid, regardless of that persons background – it’s simply a shared belief. As it was, Nott wasn’t smart enough and could only comprehend the fact that he’d just agreed word for word with a muggle in front of his peers, now quite grasping the concept that they couldn’t give a damn either way.

Needless to say, Nott shut up and let the reading proceed, wary of Draco’s blank look leveled at him.

‘It’s my position to mock Potter, not yours not,’ the Malfoy scion scolded his peer internally.

"I'm dying some of Dudley's old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished… and you’ll be thankful."

“Aren’t I always,” drawled Harry in a nuanced Snape impersonation.

Said professor thankfully didn’t hear him, but his friends certainly did, much to their amusement.

Harry seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. He sat down at the table and tried not to think about how he was going to look on his first day at Stonewall High -- like he was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

“You have one crazed imagination, mate,” Lee said as he shook his head, his dreadlocks waving to and fro, just as Sprout said.

“You’ve quite the imagination, Mr. Potter.” The twins snickered at Lee’s near-mimicking of the dumpy looking woman.

Dean Thomas seemed to be looking far off as his tried to picture what such a scene would look like, before a light bulb went off in his head. The smile that came across the tall man’s face told anyone who knew him that he now had his next drawing concept, one that Harry had no doubt he’d knock out of the park.

Luna, to no surprise to Harry, just maintained a serene smile. He knew she’d likely pictured such a thing in the past.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

“Ewww,” came the voice of a first year girl. “He carries the stick everywhere?”

It took people a while to catch on to what the innocent girl was trying to imply, but when they did, the students immediately turned to Harry looking for an answer. He didn’t disappoint.

‘Everywhere,’ he exaggeratedly mouthed to the hall, causing the first year girl to repeat her “ewww”, this time with the rest of the hall joining in.

“That’s just gross,” muttered Ron. “Why would you do that? Taint the dining table, the true hall of the gods, with something you take… everywhere.” He mock shuddered, even as his friends laughed at his obsession with food.

Hermione blinked. She looked at her ginger-haired friend through narrowed, half-humored eyes. “If memory serves me right, Ron, you tried to do the same thing when Harry first got his firebolt.”

Ron blushed under the looks he was getting from the hall. The fact that he now sounded like a hypocrite in front of everyone aside, the way Hermione so easily countered a joke of his with that… snooty attitude of hers really rubbed him the wrong way. “It was for protection! Who knows what could have happened to that baby. ‘Sides, you can’t compare a silly stick of wood to a broom!” The muggleborns stared at Ron as though he’d grown another head. “Oh, you know what I mean! A magical, racing broom! They’re totally different in terms of value, sentimentality…”

‘Wow, Ron’s making a logical point here,’ thought Ginny.

“…and, and… and stuff,” he finished.

‘Well, it was good while it lasted,’ she bemoaned internally. Her brother did reflect on her, after all.

Hermione batted Ron’s defense aside. “Nevertheless you should take care to not judge others if you yourself would do the same thing in their shoes. It’s rather hypocritical, no matter how funny it may be.”

“That’s something we should all keep in mind during this reading,” Harry said to the Hall, after looking at Hermione seriously for a moment. While he wanted to remind everyone that what they read were actions taken by actual people with emotions and circumstances many couldn’t hope to grasp at their age, he was also directing it at Hermione. Her rebuff of Ron’s amusing comment wasn’t necessary, and he had a good feeling her lecture was stemming from guilt and nervousness… over what, he wasn’t sure exactly.

Hermione caught his warning look and decided to stop there, even as she saw Ron looking towards the staff table, looking how one would when they were thoroughly chastised but tried to play it off in front of others. It wasn’t normal for the freckled teen not to say something back, but it would seem Harry had already motioned for Ron to just let their sometimes bossy friend be.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

Once again a few purebloods had to be reminded of the muggle postal service and its mechanics.

“Still weird,” muttered Marietta to a slowly nodding Cho, who was still looking at the Gryffindor trio.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it."

Tonks was getting tired of this nonsense. “Get it yourself, you overblown lard.”

“Lazy muggle,” muttered McLaggen. Unfortunately for him, not softly enough as the muggleborn around him heard and gasped.

“I suppose you would have gotten it if you were in his position?” questioned Hermione.

“I would have simply summoned the mail if need be, but then again we have owls don’t we?” was the sixth years response. He was confused. Why was Potter’s friend calling him out? He’s on the dudes side, making fun of his lazy muggle cousin and all. “What’s the problem, Granger?”

Hermione rolled his eyes. “You know what the problem is. You could have simply accused my cousin of being lazy, I’m sure no one would have taken offense, but the muggle comment was unnecessary and you were aware of that if your muttering was any indication. It gives off the sense that you believe in blood purity and whatnot.”

“I don’t! I was just saying… Merlin, forget it.” The blonde haired boy turned away with a very unmanly huff, Hermione narrowing her eyes at him throughout.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” muttered Ron, his face half buried in his arms as he rested on the table, his elbow muffling his voice. Hermione heard but ignored him. Harry just continued to look at her, making the self proclaimed bookworm uncomfortable. Luckily, Ron continued on in a lighter tone. “I thought it was Harry’s job to get on peoples bad sides. Not ours.”

The two shared a smile at their inside joke – Harry did have a way of getting to people that was his own. For his part, the bespectacled teen merely raised an eyebrow before turning back to the reading.

"Get the mail, Harry."

“Make your son get it,” scoffed Katie.

"Make Dudley get it."

Katie and Harry shared a smile.

Harry had been feeling testy lately, and he wasn’t in the mood to get the mail for the fat lard in front of him, as though he were some surf. Usually he’d simply do as he was told. It was a simple task after all. He didn’t feel like getting the mail today, however, knowing they were teasing him on the fact that he never got any.

“Harry,” moaned the girls at the table, even as the guys groaned, “Potter.” No one at the table wanted to see their friend and peer get hurt due to something as easy as getting the mail. He really did have a penchant for upsetting his relatives and this time the staff couldn’t say anything in his defense other than they themselves may have stopped caring about the consequences in a similar situation. Being verbally abused and emotionally neglected daily were hard things to handle without exceeding your limits to care – it would hurt too much eventually.

Fortunately for him, Vernon was in a humorous mood. "Lash him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

“That’s petty,” Tracy snarked.

“That’s immature,” drawled Daphne.

“That’s gross,” muttered Lily… all at the same time.

Hooch was quietly hollering off (oxy-moron intended) to Minerva. “That man is terrible; encouraging his son to beat on Mr. Potter. No wonder the boy goes around acting like a being a bully in the first place.”

“Aye,” McGonagall acknowledged with a gold glare of her own at the book. “I’m just glad Harry avoided that type of imprinting and turned out to be the better man for it.”

Harry dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and -- a letter for Harry.

“Your first letter,” Hermione smiled as he stared at the book wistfully.

Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives

Once more, Harry received pitying looks from the hall. Letters were a form of acknowledgement, after all, and to have never received a single one meant that there really was no one out there for the young, neglected boy. Remus felt ashamed, having never written to Harry. He doubted the letters would have gotten through, but at least he would have been able to say he tried. Now, he couldn’t face Harry or Sirius knowing that he could have been there for the son of his best friends, but chose not to.

-- he didn't belong to the library, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey

“Your Hogwarts letter?” questioned Alicia, to which Harry nodded. Most of the hall had figured it out by now. After all, how many letters got as specific enough that they were to pinpoint your exact sleeping location? Speaking of which…

“Do you mean to tell me that the envelope itself said Mr. Potter was sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs, and you lot did nothing about it?” questioned Madame Bones. McGonagall opened her mouth with what the monocle wearing witch could only assume was a prepared response, but she cut her off. “I’m well aware of the classified founders spell that covers the magical isles and allows one to grasp where an immature, fluctuating core is, and invite them to our school properly. Such magic is truly spectacular and beyond comprehension. What I’m also aware of is that you and the other heads of house are supposed to check said letters before they go out.”

While the students were almost gaping at the extraordinary spell the founders had cast across Wizarding Britain, Minerva and the other heads of house were looking ashamed that they had been caught slacking on their jobs. All except for Severus Snape, that is, who merely sneered at the Head of the DMLE before she leveled her a glare at him that made his sneer vanish immediately. It was most amusing to Harry.

“Whether this could have been prevented or not is irrelevant,” voiced Dumbledore. “The letters were sent out that summer, so I doubt there is much of anything we could have done for Mr. Potter by that time. In hind sight, I’m sure I am to blame as well for not keeping a closer eye on my staff, and I ensure you I will do so in the future.” He sent his staff a look that said, ‘Just go with it.’ Amelia Bones caught the look and flared her nostrils but held her tongue… for now. The Flamels looked at Dumbledore as though he was still a child – amused but with a bit of resignation. “Now, on with the story.”

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

The students and even a majority of the people at the staff table smiled in remembrance of their Hogwarts ‘acceptance’ letter. Even the stoic purebloods who acted superior to the school they were enrolled in couldn’t help but feel a little glad when they thought about their formal enrollment into the institution.

The moment Harry had picked it up, he knew there was something special about the letter.

“Something special, indeed,” muttered Moody. He was looking at Harry very closely, as though he were an enigma.

Kevin Entwhistle, a friendly looking Ravenclaw in Harry’s year, spoke up. “It was the same way for me. The moment I got my letter, I just knew that it was going to change my life. A gut instinct, if you will.” His friends and other muggleborns nodded in agreement.

It was as though all other sounds were turned down. His eye sight sharpened before tunnel vision has him focusing on the thick letter in his hand. All was inaudible, save for his calm breathing and the heightened sound of his fingers going over the crinkles and creases of the parcel.

“Okay, maybe not exactly the same way for me,” said Kevin, looking at Harry curiously along with everyone else. The boy was just weird when it came to magic.

Draco simply rolled his eyes. ‘Overdramatic, much?’

He was brought back to reality by a shout. "Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

“I don’t get it,” said the twins in monotone.

“That’s because it’s not funny,” replied Hermione. Letter bombs weren’t a joke!

Harry was blocking them out, focusing on how stupid he was for not opening the letter in the hall. Though, when he heard the twins ask what letter bombs were, he motioned Hermione not to say anything. The last thing they needed was for the twins or anyone else getting any ideas… then again, it was rather self explanatory, wasn’t it?

Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at his letter.

Alicia winced. “Harry, you’re going to get in trouble somehow, aren’t you?”

Harry could only smile at the pretty girl apologetically, making his friends groan.

Had he been in his right mind, Harry would have sneakily hidden the letter in the umbrella stand on the way to the kitchen and came back for it. There was no telling what his relatives would do, after all.

People shook their heads knowing Harry should have done exactly that. They didn’t get why he wasn’t able to think clearly – it was just a letter. Then again, none of them had ever gone without receiving correspondence from anyone their entire lives (on top of having no friends or family) and then suddenly being written to in such detail.

Harry himself was wondering just why he was so distracted as well.

As it was, he was too focused on his letter to think clearly, and he handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope in front of them.

“This should be good,” mumbled Michael Corner, a little peeved by the way his girlfriend was currently sending Potter worried looks.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard. "Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk. --."

“Hmm… maybe they won’t notice it. They ignore Mr. Potter often enough,” voiced Professor Sinestra.

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry's got something!"

“Then again, perhaps they will,” frowned the astronomy teacher. The hall groaned as Dudley once again spilled the beans on Harry.

“Of course he would,” growled Ron. The boy seemed to love getting his best friend in trouble, and that was not okay.

Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon.

“Ohh. Ickle Harrikines won’t like that,” stereo’d the twins.

“Seriously? Hasn’t that man ever heard of personal space?” sneered Bill.

“I doubt it,” joked Harry. “His gut usually invades mine without the least bit of consideration.” He had nothing against size, rather he was very understanding of wanting to eat your fill, but he called things as they were and held no punches when it came to his relatives.

“Not to mention federal laws stating you can’t open another person’s mail,” Hermione huffed.

Harry corrected his friend before she could start. “Actually, Hermione, federal law states that they’re my legal guardians – thus, I really didn’t have a leg to stand on other than the letter was rightfully mine and was thus withheld from me. I don’t know what good telling them that’d do me.”

People blinked as Harry corrected Hermione – who was wrong about something – of all people. Said witch had a pensive look on her face, as thought searching internally to see if Harry was right or not.

“Still,” thought Viktor. “’It’s wrong, yes?”

Hermione stopped looking at Harry and turned to her Yule Ball beau. “Yes, Viktor, it is wrong. Especially when one considers their relationship with Harry in the first place.” The hall turned to give the book more dirty looks.

"That's mine!" said Harry, trying to snatch it back.

“Told you,” sing-sang the twins.

“You tell ‘em Harry!” Tonks nodded with a first nod. With her background, she of all people especially appreciated a teen’s personal space. It amused Harry that she was talking to his younger self when he was sitting right across from her.

Molly swelled up. “No, you don’t tell them! You don’t say anything at all. Those horrible people shouldn’t be anywhere near you, but by Merlin don’t you be doing anything to antagonize them. Let them read what they like, you just stay out of the way young man.”

Harry just stared at her with a baffled look on his face. Not only did he have little desire to be told how to treat his relatives by anyone else, but he also thought the Weasley matriarch knew him better than that. Let people get away with things? Not hardly. One way or another, now or much later, he’d set things right. Not for revenge only, but because it was necessary for him to do. That’s just who he was.

He wasn’t the only one giving the curvy witch a bewildered or even exasperated look in Tonks’ case. The Weasley kids looked utterly embarrassed by their mom practically commanding Harry Potter to do something as pathetic as essentially rolling over and taking it, while Fleur, Viktor, and a few others at the table looked at the woman as though she were insane.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it.

Charlie was getting tired of hearing about the pathetic man. “Merlin, I want to slug this guy.”

They guys and girls at the table nodded subconsciously except Harry.

“Oh, yes. Ron’s very well acquainted with slugs,” came the ethereal voice of Luna Lovegood. The entire table stopped mid-nod and turned slowly to eye the blonde girl carefully. She looked as though the strange looks pointed at her didn’t bother her in the least as the reading continued. In fact, Harry could’ve sworn her lips twitched when she saw Ron’s embarrassed face.

His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.

Kingsley Shacklebolt whistled appreciatively. “I must say, Mr. Potter. You give quite the vivid descriptions. You’d make a fine auror if you could tone back the fantastical a touch.” Amelia and Moody nodded in agreement.

This got Harry’s attention, even as the hall struggled to picture a man capable of flowing through facial colors so rapidly.

Unknown to Harry, Susan noticeable perked up at the thought of Harry being an auror like her father and aunt. Her friend Hannah noticed and narrowed her eyes at her fellow Hufflepuff.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

“Drama queen,” sneered Ginny.

“Wouldn’t that make him a drama king?” questioned Katie. Ginny shrugged.

“Non’, definitely a drama queen,” giggled Gabrielle, joining the conversation and bringing smirks to the tables occupants.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach.

“Why would your cousin want your letter,” asked Lisa Turpin. “It has nothing to do with him.”

Harry snorted. A Ravenclaw should’ve been able to recognize that his cousin loved getting him in trouble by now. It had been supported thrice in the last chapter. “Because the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I guess”

Lisa nodded at that and turned away. Her table looked at her strangely. It was obvious Dudley was a jerk, after all. When a blush spread across her face and she stole a glance at Harry, it became clear to a few girls such as Cho and Padma that she had asked the question just to talk to Harry. ‘Clever girl,’ thought a certain amethyst eyed seventh year.

Andromeda and the adults, meanwhile, were getting tired of the interruptions every sentence.

Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness -- Vernon!"

“Definitely a drama queen,” muttered a skeptical looking Fay.

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room. Unlike Harry, Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp swat on the head with his Smelting stick.

The Weasley’s, nay, most of the school was wide-eyed. If any of them thought about hitting their parents with a stick because they couldn’t see something that wasn’t theirs to begin with… well, it wouldn’t be pleasant for them. To think that this spoiled child could get away with it simply because he was ignored for a few seconds was too much.

“Mom would kill us if we hit did,” whispered Ron to the pained nods from his siblings.

Angelina winced. “What’s wrong, Angie?” Alicia questioned her friend in concern.

“Nothing, I just pictured what my parents would do if I were to do that to them. And it wouldn’t be as pleasant as a simple grounding either.”

The entire hall heard her and winced as one, even the adults, as they had been children at a point in their lives. They could all imagine their parents going to town in one way or another on them. Well, most of them at least.

“You know… I don’t think my parents would mind much, really?” Hermione chewed her lip as she looked at the ceiling. She knew she was spoiled to an extent, but only because her parents were practically her best friends before Hogwarts and she was their little angel. She didn’t have anyone else, really. “A talking to, perhaps, but they wouldn’t freak out.”

“Lucky,” mumbled Ron. “I bet if Harry did that he’d get his ass handed to him.” Ron realized what he’d said too late as almost the entire student body heard him (the adults were complaining amongst themselves) and sent him looks that ranged from dumbfounding to outright glares. Ron could care less as he looked to his best friend to see how he’d taken it. Expecting a lashing of some sort, especially this year considering how unstable Harry had been, Ron was surprised to see his friend smirking at him.

“I bet you’re right, Ron.” The strangely ominous response didn’t leave a good feeling in the pit of Ron’s stomach.

"I want to read that letter," he said loudly.

Cries of “brat”, “incorrigible child”, “pig”, “that’s insulting to pigs”, “I don’t sound like that… do I,” sounded around the hall.

“Harry should read it, seeing as it’s his” said Susan at the Hufflepuff table.

“I want to read it," said Harry furiously, "as it's mine."

Susan blushed when Harry looked at her for a moment, a shy smile on her lips – a smile that instantly disappeared when she saw her best friend glaring at her like only a girlfriend could, replaced by an innocent look that fooled no one.

“Uh-oh,” said Ron. “Harry is getting mad.”

“So?” said Neville. He had known Harry for four, almost five years. He knew everyone could get angry, and he’d seen his peer angry a few time, but never anything that lead him to believe that Harry was… mad-angry. He couldn’t picture the raven haired teen as anything other than controlled.

“So, when Harry gets angry, you’d best leave,” said Hermione with a serious face. Now Neveille was a bit concerned. If Hermione thought Harry had anger issues, then perhaps there was truth to it after all.

Hermione turned from the round faced boy and stuck her tongue out at Harry. Usually he’d be pouting playfully at her, but truth was his friends had hardly ever seen him at his angriest, the one time being in the Shrieking Shack when he thought Sirius Black had still murdered his parents. He had scared them at the time, and that was while controlling it… He was a little concerned with what they’d think of him after this reading and his confrontations with both Voldemort and Tom Riddle, as well as his Aunt Marge.

"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

“At least he didn’t punish you for yelling, or should I say, breathing,” mused Parvati.

Lavender nodded. “Now all you have to do is walk away and-“

Harry didn't move.

“- or not.” Lavender looked to her fellow lion with exasperated eyes that he easily ignored.

Whether due to some foreign magic on the book, which Harry suspected was the case, or just well chosen readers, the reading thus far had been accurate in its delivery. Yells, whispers, etc. He considered the fact that the book had a spell of sorts on it that compelled those reading to read exactly what was on the page, word for word, emotions and all so as to avoid being dull and inaccurate. Translation: it was spelled to not be read like Binn’s teachings on skewed Goblin history.

Thus it was that Ted Tonks boomed the next lines, catching everyone off guard.

“I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouted.

“And that, ladies and gentleman, is the famous Potter temper,” quipped the twins, taking in all the shocked faces on their fellow students. If Ted Tonks’ interpretation was anything like how Harry sounded at the time, the boy had real passion behind his words.

“Actually,” corrected a soft voice, “that’s an Evans trait. Your mother had quite the set of lungs on her, Harry. Though unlike her sister, she didn’t shriek, just roared.” Remus had a far off look on his face, clearly reminiscing. Tonks thought he looked beautiful with his wavy hair and broken smile, and Harry didn’t miss the look of fondness she sent the werewolf.

"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

“Shuut uuup,” drawled the Weasley males, much to the amusement of their friends. Percy looked at them laughing and talking in sync with a mild bit of jealousy. He missed his family, though it was clear in his mind that they didn’t miss him.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them.

Instead of commenting on whether or not the boys got hurt (like his wife no doubt wanted to do), Arthur – always a sucker for details - turned to Harry. “I’m surprised he was strong enough to pick his son up with his shirt alone.”

“Ah, don’t underestimate the power of daddy walrus,” Fred corrected.

“Able to carry several icky-walruses without breaking his back,” joked George.

While Arthur rolled his eyes at his sons, Harry just smiled. “Honestly, I think Gravity did most of the work once he had him up and pointed to the door.”

Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley eventually won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.

“Well, at least you tried. He is bigger than you after all,” reasoned a slightly disappointed Bill. He had hoped Harry would at least pack a punch himself, but he reasoned it only made sense that the larger person would win.

Harry shook his head, not letting on that he was no longer inferior to Dudley physically and thus could care less about what happened then.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address -- how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"

The hall rolled their eyes as one at how paranoid and delusional the woman was.

“Like any wizard would waste their time watching you,” sneered Smith. The way he said it rubbed Harry the wrong way.

‘I see nothing has changed. You’re still just as self-important as ever, Petunia,’ thought Snape.

"Watching -- spying -- might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

“Oh, Morgana,” groaned Professor Vector. These people were nutjobs.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want --"

“Ha! As if the Wizarding World would accept Harry Potter not coming back,” barked Hagrid, to the nods of the majority of everyone there.

This actually alarmed Harry. Did they honestly think he was just some symbol, some icon or celebrity that was needed? Not a person with actual options and decisions? He didn’t like the thought of his life being dictated by others, let alone the people who have already shown how fickle they can be.

“Not to mention the Dursleys wouldn’t even be able to write to Hogwarts. Would they?”

Dumbledore ominously said, “There are ways.” Colin’s question otherwise went unanswered as the reading continued.

Harry could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer... Yes, that's best... we won't do anything....”

“He seriously thought that was going to work?” scoffed Dean. “Just ignore it and they won’t bother again?”

“Ha! How’d that turn out for them,” grinned Charlie.

“Not well,” Harry grinned back before turning curious. “Though, I always wondered how it was that I was accepted to a school I hadn’t even applied to in a first place. Madame Bones already answered that question. Truly, the founders were powerful magicals to create such a spell. I’m also aware that Hogwarts is a Ministry funded school, and is thus free of tuition sans the expenses for materials. Still, I’m sure I wasn’t the only one confused upon receiving the acceptance letter.”

And he was right. Muggleborns and halfbloods alike admitted to being confused.

“Perhaps that’s something you can look into, on top of monitoring your letters and accompanying muggleborns into Diagon Alley and their standard staffing duties,” mused Amelia Bones, to the disgruntlement of the teachers. So much work! They would have anime tears streaming down their cheeks if possible.

“What I don’t understand,” spoke Professor Babbling, “is why they wanted to keep you from coming here. Surely they would have appreciated not seeing you for some time?” She said this with no offense or bite in her words, merely making an observation.

Harry shrugged. “True, but then they’d have to give up their house slave and risk me learning magic – something they wouldn’t allow to happen if they had any say in it.” This answer didn’t please anyone in the hall, except maybe Lucius and Umbridge.

"But --"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

The atmosphere dimmed once more, as though the ancient Great Hall itself was responding to the words from Vernon. Not a single face in the hall was smiling, nor a single soul in the masses not offended on some level or another. Their numerous faces ranged from cold and uncaring to dark and hateful. ‘Dangerous nonsense?’ they thought as one. He spoke of them as though they were insignificant, freakish, unnatural and something to detest. The mammoth-sized muggle man didn’t know the meaning of dangerous but he was at the risk of finding out via several dozen wands.

More importantly, the majority of the people there overlooked the prejudiced stance of one Vernon Dursley in lieu of focusing on the latter part of his sentence. It was Aberforth Dumbledore that broke the silence in the hall. “Stamp the dangerous nonsense out of you, eh?”

Harry nodded ever so slightly, well aware of the cold hostility permeating the Great Hall at the moment and not wanting to add to it or share just how hard they tried to stamp it out of them.

Aberforth cleared his throat and looked carefully at the bespectacled teen, even as everyone held their tongues. Many wanted to insult the Dursley’s, question Harry/Mr. Potter on just what they meant by stamping it out of them in spite of knowing exactly what it meant. Even Moody looked to have a comment or two on the tip of his gnarled tongue, but no one spoke. No one broke the silence as Aberforth gathered his thoughts. Such prejudice reminded him of his father, word for word.

“And did they?”

The question wasn’t loud or boisterous, but the impact they had on Harry in the silence surrounding him was substantial. He couldn’t answer right away, not that the younger Dumbledore would have appreciated that. Instead he honestly thought about it. It was clear that he still had his magic about him, but more importantly, did he lose a portion of himself in the process of maintaining it? Flashes of all the abused he’d taken over the years played across his mind, the majority of which was just sheer apathy and disdain towards him. He could honestly say he may have lost a bit of it, but then he remembered the person he was today. The things he had accomplished to get here and the friends he had made in the process… All of this added up to the only response he could give.

“Some days are better than others… but not. Never.”

It was honest. It wasn’t grandiose, nor deceptive. He struggled with it to this day, but they never succeeded in their goals so there was no use blowing it up and crying over it. At the same time he couldn’t say it was easy. It was far from it.

Apparently he’d said the right thing if Aberforth’s nod of understanding was anything to go by. “Tuesdays,” he said.

After waiting for the man to continue alongside the rest of the hall, including a curious Nicholas Flamel, only not to receive further elaboration, Harry finally asked. “Tuesdays?”

“Aye… I find Tuesdays are usually easier for me.” He turned his gaze from his brother who had been staring at him in sorrow, back to the young man that this all rested on.

Harry thought it over before nodding ever so slightly, a small smile teasing his lips. They understood one another on some level.

The rest of the hall sort of grasped this, and thus all of their questions, concerns, and remarks concerning Vernon Dursley and his treatment of his nephew washed away from their minds. They were still angry, but they couldn’t break the silence that had once again descended on the frigid hall. After a spell or two spent pondering on what he’d just seen, Ted Tonks decided to continue.

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry in his cupboard.

***

7 comments:

UnknownOctober 15, 2016 at 8:01 AM
If u have the whole story can u sent it to me my email is megumi18@yahoo.com
AnonymousNovember 12, 2017 at 6:52 PM
Hey I was wondering if you finished Through Emerald Eyes or if you lost interest? (Not trying to be antagonistic merely curious)
crazyJanuary 19, 2020 at 10:22 AM
Do you have more written? If so please send you a link for my email. Great story!
MalleablePlaguFebruary 15, 2020 at 5:53 PM
Great story, I hope you are continuing it.

If you have more written would you please be able to send it to my email: samboddeke1@gmail.com?
UnknownMarch 14, 2020 at 3:49 PM
Greetings. I have found this story pretty much by accident but I'm absolutely loving it do far. If there is more written, could you please send it to me on zhukshpola250119@gmail.com or at least tell me where I could read the rest of it?
prozoJuly 8, 2021 at 6:11 AM
hey if you finished the fanfic could you kindly send it to pranavnimmagada@gmail.com

Emerald Elysium: James Field's fanfic blog

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Current rough progress on Through Emerald Eyes up to now...

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