The Biggest Hoax
Summary: Harry Potter pulled the biggest hoax ever seen by the Wizarding World. Who is Harry Potter really? Is he the trusting soldier molded by Dumbledore? Or is he the Dark Lord's long kept secret?
Chapter Two; Conversations
"Dumbledore," he said. "And?" I pressed further, anxious to hear his answer. "And," he paused. "And you,"
"And me?" I repeated, with a gobsmacked expression on my face.
Mr. Atherton turned around, with his drink in hand, and slowly nodded.
"Yes, you have the potential to be great," he informed me.
I leaned further into the chair and frowned, drinking in his words. The more he talked, the more I began to doubt his story. I was a reasonable person, and I could accept his story to a certain degree, but I still needed a clear demonstration of his abilities. Was magic actually real?
"I know you can read minds, but I still haven't seen any real magic," I said haughtily.
He raised an eyebrow and observed me with piercing brown eyes. It was the summertime, but he still wore a thin, breezy dark-blue, long-sleeved t-shirt. And now I knew why. He snapped his wrist forward and a long, maybe about 13 inches, wooden rod came flying out into the palm of his hand. He gripped it, and suddenly vanished. And then quite literally re-appeared three feet away. My jaw dropped, because that was simply amazing.
"Again," I demanded, not quite believing my own eyes. He complied, and disappeared into thin air. I looked wildly in front of me, trying to see where he had gone, but I couldn't find him.
"Now do you believe me?" a smooth voice inquired from beside my left ear. I jumped, pivoted, and gave him a wide-eyed look.
"Yes, I think you do believe me," he said quietly to himself.
"Wicked!" I exclaimed, unable to stop myself from showing a little bit of excitement. "That was better than a magic show!"
And suddenly, his eyes darkened.
"Do not compare me to Muggles," he spat violently, bright red sparks flying out from the tip of his wand. They sizzled and sparked towards me, singing the hair on my arms. I jumped back and threw my hands up in front of me.
"Okay, okay. Touchy aren't you,"
"I despise Muggles," he said in a low, menacing voice, while tightly clutching his wand. "And filthy Mudbloods alike,"
"I don't understand...?" I asked, with a frown. Why did he hate regular people so much? And what the hell were Mudbloods? This new wizard vernacular was really confusing me.
"You and I, we are not Pure-Bloods, Potter. Your mother, Lily, was muggle-born, but your father, James, was from a prominent wizarding family. My father - " he seethed, " - was a Muggle, with no magic in his blood, but my mother was a witch."
"How is that significant?"
"Muggles are despicable. Surely you've noticed that their kind belongs under our feet. Look at your relatives for example. They know that you are of magical descent, and they fear it, so they treat you as they do now. I see what goes on, Potter, I know that they are abusive."
I trembled with this new bit of information.
"T-they knew? They knew I was a wizard?" I cried out, barely keeping control over my emotions.
He gave me an impassive look.
"Your Aunt Petunia was your mother's sister. Of course she knew. You can see now, Potter, that they are inferior. Fearing your magic, casting you out, calling you a freak because of your strong magical heritage."
I knew that logically, it made no sense, that surely not all Muggles were alike, but it was too late. He already planted the treacherous seed into my young, pliable mind.
"And your neighbors? They take your family's word that you are a delinquent, and look at you with distaste. Your teachers? They don't care."
And it was all horribly true. It all made sense now. Why they punished me for strange events, blaming me for causing grief to the family, trying to beat the magic out of me. The neighbors hated me because I didn't fit into their idea of "perfect and normal". My teachers didn't bat an eye, even when the signs of abuse were clear and obvious. Could it be true? Did Muggles deserve a more worse fate? I felt my stomach convulse, and for a moment, I was afraid that I would vomit all over the dark red carpeting of the living room floor.
"We are alike, in that we are not Pure-Bloods, but we can redeem ourselves by ridding the Wizarding Community of tainted blood. You must remember - they ostracized us first, forcing us into hiding, terrified of our powers, making our Community a secret. Do you understand this, Potter?"
I nodded weakly and collapsed on top of the chair, making clouds of dust appear in the air. My head spun with this new, and slightly unsettling information.
"I think," I murmured quietly.
Mr. Atherton resumed his seat and looked at me very seriously.
"The Wizarding Community has a long history, which can not all be explained in a single day. I will acquire books for you and allow you to read them, if you are still interested in the topic."
I gave him a pleased smile.
"I would love to, thank you," but then the smile quickly faded. "But I can't read them at the Dursleys," I said morosely. "I'm always either doing chores, running from Dudley, or in the cupboard. And the cupboard doesn't have any lighting,"
He looked thoughtful, tapping his wand against his thigh as he tried to search for a solution.
"I'll have something figured out. Don't worry," he assured me.
I sighed, suddenly exhausted, and tilted my head over the back of the chair, gazing up at the ceiling. I stared, mesmerized by the spinning ceiling fan, and thought, my life has unexpectedly changed, in a very significant way.
"Teach me magic," I demanded, still looking up at the ceiling. I watched the wooden ceiling fan spin around and around, creaking ominously. The realization that the Dursleys hated me, abused me, because of my magic made me sick, and made me want to take revenge on them as soon as humanly possible.
"I can't," he said simply.
"Why not?" I asked angrily.
"You have The Trace on you. It is a Ministry charm that detects any illegal magical activity around underaged wizards. In the wizarding world, you come of age ate seventeen. The charm will break on your seventeenth birthday, but until then, they can monitor your magic." he tried to explain. "It will not be wise for you to be found consciously practicing controlled magic. It's perfectly fine if you perform 'accidental magic', because mostly all young children do not have control of their magic yet."
"It seems a bit pointless, don't you think," I asked, my eyebrows dipped in displeasure.
"The Ministry wants to make sure that no one is practicing magic outside of their schooling, unless they are given permission to be home-schooled. Everyone in the Great Britain area gets a letter when they turn the age of eleven. It is an invitation to attend the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the school I attended and the school your parents attended. Albus Dumbledore is Headmaster of the school."
"And I'll get this invitation when I turn eleven?" I asked with ill-concealed glee. "You're sure?"
"Yes, I'm quite sure you will." he said, amused. But my happiness quickly faded.
"Surely, you know a way to break The Trace?" I asked, because I wanted to learn something that would make me powerful, and less vulnerable, now. "Surely, a wizard as powerful as you claim to be, should be able to break it?"
He met my defiance with a raised eyebrow.
"It is not a question of if I can break it, but a question of what the Ministry will do once they realize The Trace is broken. They will become suspicious. They will want to investigate the person who broke your Trace, and the reason for it. None that will bode well for me."
"But surely - " I began again, exasperated, " - you introduced yourself to me and told me about magic because you wanted something from me? Want me to learn magic? Help you in the game perhaps?" I asked shrewdly.
"You are far too intelligent for a seven-year-old," he muttered under his breath. I gave him a sickening sweet smile. "Actually, I turn eight in three weeks." I said proudly.
"Hm," is all he responded with. "But," he said slowly, "There might be something I can do. I can't break The Trace, but I can create protection charms around an area that will conceal magical activity, thus, not alerting The Trace to the Ministry. This is actually quite frequent among Pure-Bloods who live in ancestral manors."
I began to hum with excitement, already thinking of all the glorious things I could do, once I knew how to control my magic.
"But we start slow. Very slow. Remember - a game is being played here, and like all games, we are following a well formulated strategy. One that will be explained to you in due time."
I accepted, and only because I still had three years until my time at Hogwarts. Which reminded me to ask...
"Tell me more about Dumbledore. Is he another 'player'?"
Something flickered in his eyes when I mentioned his name, but it faded quickly.
"Yes," he said bitterly. "He is our opponent. Albus Dumbledore is considered to be the most powerful wizard of his time. He defeated a powerful Dark Lord, and has been the champion for all Muggle-Borns and Muggles. You can see already, Potter, why he must be defeated. He is also the one that sent you to your relatives, knowing Petunia's particularly strong dislike of magic."
At once, I felt a rage for him build inside of me, even when I knew nothing of him. Just the fact alone that he sent me to the Dursleys was enough to convince me that he indeed was my opponent.
"Maybe he didn't know about, you know, how they treat me," I asked hopelessly.
"No, he most definitely knows. He even has that wretched Arabella Figgs to keep an eye on you. Filthy squib." he sneered.
"Mrs. Figgs?!" I exclaimed. "That cat-loving hag? She's my neighbor!"
"Precisely,"
"S-she must know about me... and the Dursleys... which means Dumbledore should know..." I trailed off, unable to complete the thought.
"And why am I important, Mr. Atherton," I whispered, the reality of the situation crashing down on me. "You have to tell me,"
"Not yet. You aren't ready yet." he said.
"When will I be ready? What role do I play in this. Tell me!" I screamed, jumping to my feet.
"Sit down!" he hissed angrily, and for one agonizing second, a white hot pain pulsed through my head. I winced, and sat down, stunned, wondering why on Earth is my scar hurting.
He mistook my sitting down for compliance, and sat observing me with his fingers in a steeple.
"Your birthday," he promised. "I will tell you everything you need to know on your birthday. Under one condition,"
I nodded fiercely.
"Anything," I said.
"You must learn what I offer you in these next three weeks. Without question. Without hesitation."
I felt a cold feeling creep into the pit of my stomach, but I nodded anyway, because this is what I wanted most.
"I understand," I said in a hardened voice.
We met eyes, he saw that I meant it, that I would willingly submit to his tutelage, and stood up.
"We start tomorrow,"
I know it's nothing terrible exciting yet, mostly all talk, but it's necessary for my readers to know this info. QUESTION: (It's about the 7th Book - Deathly Hallows): I'm trying to understand this, but I can't, so any answers or explanation would be awesome. Draco took Dumbledore's Elder Wand by force, and it was buried with Dumbledore. If Harry took Draco's hawthorne wand, and not the Elder Wand itself, how did he become the Master of the Elder Wand?