Chapter 3: The Vanishing Doubt that the Dursley's are Horrible People
I don't own anything Harry Potter related.
Also, I apologise for how bad this chapter titles will become, but it's only going to get worse.
'Chapter Two: The Vanishing Glass.'
Before she started, McGonagall attempted to convince herself that she was wrong, that the Dursley's would treat Harry kindly as soon as they saw him, they would recognise him as their blood and treat him well, they would understand the problem and take care of the boy who just lost his parents.
It wasn't working.
'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. 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. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-coloured bonnets - but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that another boy lived in the house, too.'
Harry closed his eyes. He could feel others looking at him, but he didn't want to see their expressions. He had really hoped that this book would skip over these parts, just jump straight to Hogwarts. Maybe as far back as learning he was a wizard, but surely no earlier than that. Why were his days at the Dursley's of any importance? Wasn't his Hogwarts life all that Umbridge cared about? But Harry understood. This horrible woman wanted Harry's life to be as miserable as possible, and Harry didn't know anything more miserable than Number 4. It was bad enough that he had to go back to that wretched place every summer, now he was forced to relive it at Hogwarts, as if his school life wasn't bad enough right now.
'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 that made the first noise of the day.
'"Up! Get up! Now!"
'Harry woke with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again.
'"Up!" she screeched.'
People were disgusted. What a horrible woman.
'Harry heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove.'
"Good ears, your room was upstairs, wasn't it?" Ron praised. "Most days after just waking up, I could only barely hear my mum talking to me outside my door."
Harry didn't speak, knowing his cupboard would be mentioned at any moment and already hating the responses he would get for it.
'He rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same dream before.
'His aunt was back outside the door.
'"Are you up yet?" she demanded.
'"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 Duddy's birthday."'
Hermione blinked. "She made you, and eleven-year-old, look after the food on a hot stove cooking in hot grease?"
Harry merely shrugged and his friends looked at each other worried. They know Harry didn't want his life read out, but his reactions this early into the story didn't bode well at all.
'Harry groaned.
'"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.
'"Nothing, nothing..."
'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. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that-'
McGonagall stopped reading abruptly. Harry buried his head in his arms on the table; he could guess what the end of that sentence said.
"Mr Potter?" McGonagall asked, shocked.
She looked up to see Harry trying to melt into the table.
"Mr Potter," she tried again, her voice wavering, "please do not tell me this is true."
Harry continued to hide in his arms, but now multiple students looked over at him. Confused glances were thrown around the room. Harry's life with these Dursley's, while the horrible people they were, couldn't be so bad that McGonagall was this stunned.
Could it?
McGonagall seemed to realise she would not be getting an answer out of Harry, so she took a deep breath and started again, her voice low and sad.
'-Because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept.'
For a second, it was silent. One second of absolutely no sound. The echo of the last sentence hung in the air and no one dared even breathe to disturb the silence.
Then, all at once, noise started up again.
Lily, down at the end of the Gryffindor table, whispered a harsh, "What?" as she clenched her fists. She knew her sister wasn't fond of her or anything magical, but keeping her own nephew in a cupboard under the stairs? How could anyone possibly be that cruel?
James breathed heavily with anger as both Sirius and Remus growled lowly beside him. How dare anyone do that to a child. Let alone their own flesh and blood! Something would have to be done about this. He and Lily won't die this time around! Or there will be specific instructions upon their death to never let these people even see his son, and certainly not raise him, under any circumstances! Something! This will not be allowed.
McGonagall was fighting tears as she whispered harshly to Dumbledore, "I told you they were no good, I told you." Dumbledore didn't respond, but sat there with his eyes closed, as if he didn't truly think the Dursley's would possibly treat Harry so poorly.
James Sirius sat stunned, shaking his head as his sister asked if he had known any of that. He started thinking about every complaint he's made to his father, every time he yelled that a punishment was unfair, or whining about chores, or any other insignificant thing he made the worst out of. And his father never said anything, never told him how much worse James Sirius could have it, how much worse his father had it growing up. He wished his dad was here, his actual dad who was older than him and actually knew who James Sirius was. He wanted to give him a hug and tell him how sorry he was, about everything James Sirius had ever done as well as everything his dad had gone through.
Hermione was stuttering, unable to form a full sentence in her anger, but Ron easily found his voice.
"But we broke you out of a room!" Ron exclaimed. "An actual bedroom! With a bed! And a desk, and shelves, and… bars. On the window. We…" He trailed off, realising the implications of what he said. "We… broke you out. We broke you out! There were bars on your window! Fred and George had to pick the lock on the door! There was a flap on your door! All your stuff was locked away! You-!" Ron recalled all the things he noticed in Harry's room that night but hadn't put together. He deflated as the situation Harry was in just truly hit him. "You were basically a prisoner. In your own house. Your own family did that. What kind of family does that? Why did they do that to you?" His voice was quiet, but all chatter had stopped at his outburst, so it was heard throughout the Hall. Harry sighed and raised his head, resting his chin on his forearms, though he didn't look anyone in the eye.
"They only locked me in once they realised I wasn't allowed to do magic outside of school. Until that point they worried I'd turn them into something if they did anything to me."
"Harry," Hermione started gently, but with a tinge of anger at the Dursley's, their conversation still being heard by the entire Hall. "People only fear repercussions if they know they've done something wrong. What have they done to you?"
Harry only raised his eyes to meet Hermione's and her heart broke as she saw the pain in them. But there was also defiance. Harry clenched his jaw and kept his face blank. He had years of practice showing no reaction.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"But Harry-"
"'Mione, don't."
It was Ginny who cut her off with a hand on her arm. She didn't quite understand what someone would have to go through to cause the kind of look Harry had, but she knew when someone wasn't going to keep talking and would rather you stop asking.
Ginny turned to McGonagall who looked equal parts sad and furious. "Can you please continue, Professor?"
Harry shot a grateful look towards Ginny and kept his chin on his arms, his eyes returning down to stare blankly at the middle of the table.
McGonagall quickly composed herself and nodded. "Yes. Yes, of course." But she first turned to the seats occupied by the Minister and his Undersecretary. "I hope you're happy with yourselves." She spat at them.
Fudge, for his part, did look shameful. Umbridge did not show any sign she had even heard McGonagall. She was conflicted however. She was unreasonably happy at Potter's apparent misfortune growing up, but she hated that it seemed to grant the boy some sympathy among the student, even the ones who had shown a great dislike of him for years. She sat stonily as she listened to Minerva read once more.
'When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise - unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley's favourite punching bag was Harry, but he couldn't often catch him.'
Nothing they were hearing were making anyone hate these Dursley's any less.
'Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast.
'Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. 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 about four times bigger than he was. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes.'
James and Lily looked at each other, cataloguing what parts Harry inherited from each other. Lily was a bit upset when she realised the only thing her son would inherit from her would be her eyes, but James was excited for that exact reason. He loved Lily's eyes and was overjoyed to think that his son would have those as well.
'He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. The only thing Harry liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning.'
"You liked it?" Ginny asked. For as long as she'd known Harry, he as always held this sort of resentment towards his scar, making sure his bangs were covering it and scowling at anyone who seemed to be staring at his forehead.
Harry shrugged as best he could. "I didn't know what it meant. It made me unique."
'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 gotten it.
'"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."'
Professors and students alike were horrified. They couldn't tell if they were more horrified of the blatant lie Harry had been raised on, or the fact that he wasn't event allowed to be curious about anything. How was a person supposed to learn without asking questions? Of course, they thought bitterly, it seemed these Dursleys didn't want Harry to be properly aware of anything. Including his own parents' death.
'Don't ask questions - that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.
'Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon.
'"Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.
'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.'
People turned to look at him, as if these descriptions were the first time they've heard of Harry. But with his head still resting on the table, most people weren't able to see more than his friends sharing worried looks.
James ran his fingers through his own messy black hair. Fleamont Potter had always been rather upset that his son would hardly ever use the hair potion he made his fortune on, but James simply preferred the permanent wind-swept style. It would seem Harry would get stuck with the same look as well.
'Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. 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. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel - Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.
'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."
'"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."
'"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.
'Aunt Petunia obviously scented 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?"
'Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty ... thirty..."
'"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.
'"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."
'Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.
'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 video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.
'"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked her head in Harry's direction.
'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 restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. 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.'
Sirius shuttered slightly. He had never been much of a cat person to begin with, but cats seem to despise him since the few months he had fully transformed into his Animagus. He wouldn't wish anyone to have to interact with so many of those things so often. And with Harry's horrible life with the Dursley's, adding cats was just too much.
'"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he'd planned this. 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.
'"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.
'"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."
'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.
'"What about what's-her-name, your friend - Yvonne?"
'"On vacation 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).
'Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.
'"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.
'"I won't blow up the house," said Harry, but they weren't listening.
'"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "... and leave him in the car..."
'"That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone..."'
"He could die in an overheated car!" Someone near the middle of the room shouted. "And they're concerned about it being new?"
'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.
'"Dinky Duddydums, 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.'
"Merlin's beard…"
'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. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.
'Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn't believe his luck, was 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. 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.
'"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's, "I'm warning you now, boy - any funny business, anything at all - and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."'
No one wanted to know when Dudley's birthday was. They didn't want to know exactly how long Vernon's punishment threat was.
'"I'm not going to do anything," said Harry, "honestly…"
'But Uncle Vernon didn't believe him. No one ever did.
'The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and it was just no good telling the Dursleys he didn't make them happen.
'Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers 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 bangs, which she left 'to hide that horrible scar.' Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, he had gotten up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. 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.
'Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a revolting old sweater of Dudley's (brown with orange puff balls) – The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand 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.
'On the other hand, he'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. 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 the chimney. 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) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught him in mid- jump.'
Small, amused smiles crossed many faces through the Hall at the tales of Harry's accidental magic, but they were ultimately ruined with the accounts of the punishments that followed them. Accidental magic was a wonderful, natural thing and many kids loved to hear tales about their bursts when they were little. They were like treasured memories, proof that they had magic. Adults liked to compare their own experiences with each other and their kids, placing bets on what branch of magic their children will be better at, what they will enjoy and career paths they may take based on what magic they tended to do accidentally.
But these Dursley's, they ruined that for Harry. He'll never have any good memories of the magic he performed when it was just developing. He'll never know what his first burst of magic was, never have anyone claim they just knew what Harry was going to do when he grew up, never have any of those things most witches and wizards have. And these Dursley's are the main reason why. Even plenty of Muggleborn or Muggle raised kids had many fond memories of their early magic. But the Dursley's will continue to ruin Harry's life even after he grows up and leaves that place for good.
'But today, nothing was going to go wrong. 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.
'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 favourite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.
'"...roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.
'I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harry, remembering suddenly. "It was flying."
'Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beet with a moustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"
'Dudley and Piers sniggered.
'"I know they don't," said Harry. "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.'
Pranksters smirked. Maybe they should watch some of these cartoons and show the Dursley's how dangerous ideas can get.
'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 pop. It wasn't bad, either, Harry thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blond.
'Harry had the best morning he'd had in a long time. He was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favourite hobby of hitting him. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Harry was allowed to finish the first.'
People bristled at the wording. Allowed. No one should have to be allowed to do anything.
'Harry felt, afterward, that he should have known it was all too good to last.
'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. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can - but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.
'Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.
'"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.
'"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.
'"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.'
Harry didn't look, but he could feel eyes on him. At the time when he thought it, he didn't think it sounded so bad, but now that he could really hear it, he knew how pathetic it sounded. He compared his situation, pretty accurately, to a zoo snake, and his only advantage was that he could walk around the house. And even then, truth was, only occasionally.
'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.'
Lily turned to Remus next to her. "I know magic is real and all," she whispered confused, "but snakes still can't wink, can they?"
Remus shook his head, glad to know he wasn't the only one who was confused.
'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.
'The snake jerked its head toward 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."
'"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.
'The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it.
'Boa Constrictor, Brazil.
'"Was it nice there?"
'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!"
'Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.
'"Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harry in the ribs.'
Brief shouts of protest were heard following the sudden, and very largely unnecessary, act of violence.
'Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor. 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.
'Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished.'
Many professors smiled. That was some impressive bit of magic, and accidental too. Although, it was a bit worrying that he was still performing accidental magic. Most magical children stopped displaying this around their eighth birthday. Harry was nearly eleven by this time. It was a bit worrisome.
'The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.
'As the snake slid swiftly past him, Harry could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come... Thanksss, amigo."
'The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.
'"But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"
'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. But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, "Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?"'
McGonagall closed her eyes briefly. Piers probably didn't even realise how much worse he made Harry's life.
'Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go - cupboard - stay - no meals," before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.
'Harry lay 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.
'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. 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.'
The colour ran out of faces all across the Hall. They didn't realise Harry could remember anything from that night, let alone that much.
The past kids were horrified. They knew that Voldemort had failed to kill Harry and left only that scar, but they didn't realise that Harry had somehow managed to survive the killing curse. No wonder everyone was in awe of this poor boy. That shouldn't have been possible, and yet somehow…
'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.
'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. 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. 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.'
Dumbledore sighed, wizards were being too obvious. Any Death Eater could have seen their interaction and put together who Harry was. Not to mention that it completely defeated the purpose of growing up outside of the limelight if wizards stopped and bowed to him in stores of all places.
'At school, Harry had no one. 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.'"
Harry hadn't lifted his eyes from their view on the table the entire chapter, but he could feel the pitying gazes on him. The room was tense and silent, no one knowing just what to say in light of these revelations.
After a bit, Harry could hear soft footsteps heading his direction and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't know who was walking toward him or why, but he was largely not in the mood to deal with anything right now. The only thing he wanted was to just get these stupid books over with, so they can be done with all of this. Well, no. What he really wanted was for Umbridge to take her books and shove off and leave him alone. Or for Voldemort to not want to kill him. Or not to have gone to live with the Dursleys. Or his parents to have lived. Or-
Anything else.
Everything else.
Harry so dearly wished for anything- everything -to have gone differently in his life. Wished that he could just be normal. He didn't even have to be a wizard if that's what it took to just, be normal.
But the footsteps have gotten louder, and they paused right behind him. Harry sighed and straightened up turning around to meet the person there. He figured it would just be best to just confront whatever was coming, hoping that they would just say what they wanted to and then they would move on with this.
Harry turned halfway in his seat before arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him close. It took him a while to recognise the action as a hug.
He could see a curtain of vivid red hair in front of his eyes from the person leaning over him. His first thought was Ginny, but Harry could see her sitting near him through the red haze. He ran through a list of red-heads he knew in his head and, except for the Weasley's, came up empty. He didn't know anyone with red hair.
"I'm so sorry." The person, a girl apparently, whispered to him. Harry stiffened. The voice wasn't overly familiar, in fact he heard is for the first time today, but he recognised it.
No, Harry didn't know anyone else with red hair. That was part of the problem.
He squeezed his eyes shut as they prickled with oncoming tears. A soft sob managed to escape Harry and Lily squeezed him tighter. His mother was hugging him, something he had wanted for so long, and it was all wrong.
Harry was the same age as Lily, maybe even slightly older depending on the month she came from, and she had no memory of being his mother. Granted, Harry didn't have any memory of her being his mother either, but at least he knew it happened. He had longed for a true mother's hug for years and he hated that it came out of pity. She pitied the life he lived, and probably would have stayed in her seat down the table if his life wasn't complete shit. And he had been, relatively, content with just living out his shitty life and not letting anyone know about it; let everyone dwell in the delusion that Harry was treated famously wherever he went and never had a bad day fall upon him. Let them think what Umbridge was throwing at him was the worst he ever has, or will ever face.
But Umbridge wasn't content with that. She had to go and find some new clever way to ruin his life after he made it seem the Blood Quill no longer had any affect, after he was banned from Quidditch for life, after everyone hated him, thought he killed Cedric, thought he was planning to overthrow the ministry, thought he was going dark, thought he was a liar, thought he sought attention, as if he needed any more.
No, that wasn't good enough for her. She wanted to crush him. To dig up every morally grey thing, every action or thought that wasn't absolutely, without a doubt, one hundred percent good and twist it to prove what she said. Whether Umbridge actually believed everything she was telling that world or not didn't matter. She knew exactly what to say and who to say it to in order to cause the most damage to those she believed less than her. She was pure evil and she was frightfully good at hiding it from the people who mattered.
Harry was full on sobbing by now and Lily had moved to sit next to him on the bench, rubbing circles on his back as he cried. He gripped at her shirt loosely, but he had mainly just sagged into her, his head shoved into her shoulder.
"Perhaps, now would be a good time to stop and allow Harry to breathe slightly easier for a while." Dumbledore muttered quietly to the faculty table, watching this exchange. The twinkle in his eye and long gone out and all the light had seemed to fade as well, leaving the bright blue a dull grey.
As expected, Umbridge leaned forward to disagree, but McGonagall was the one who spoke up first.
"As much as I hate it, Albus," McGonagall said, her voice flat, "I don't think it's a good idea to leave this as the last thing we hear. We need something that is at least somewhat better than a cupboard under the stairs. One more, and then we'll try to force Fudge to have a break. Maybe he'll even agree to stop this whole ridiculous thing altogether."
She highly doubted he would do that, but he had to hope. It was close to the only thing that allowed her to keep her emotions in check.
She knew that Harry wouldn't want to hear her apologise and would appreciate a sad look his way even less, so she closed her eyes briefly and hoped he understood.
She took a shaky breath before reading out: 'Chapter Three: The Letters from No One.'
