Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter
Heart's Desire
Chapter 3
In the early hours of the morning, the Gryffindor locker room was empty with the exception of Harry, who stirred on the bench before groaning with regret that he'd slept there. Getting to his feet, he knew that it was safer for him to sleep here instead of risking getting caught in the Shrieking Shack. A moment later the lone wizard worked the kinks out of his back before spotting the piece of parchment with the ridiculous name he'd come up with last night.
"Incendio!"
Feeling a bit of satisfaction that the idea was literally turning to ash he watched it burn, but to leave a trace might not be wise so Harry quickly resolved that and muttered "Evanesco."
With his arms crossed loosely, he paced in the locker room thinking back about the last two days.
Financially he was a beggar; he had no one but Dobby and Jennifer; Was in doubt about trusting Dumbledore at the moment; Voldemort and his ilk were out there; There was a high probability of a prophecy concerning him, which would have to wait until tonight; People were different to what he knew; He knew little of the magical society; Dudley knew about magic but not him.
That last fact was interesting and made him pause, stirring his curiosity as to why that would be. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have uttered a word about magic to Dudley or Uncle Vernon unless she absolutely had to, so it came to reason that magic was somehow involved in her life. Dudley wasn't terrified of him when they met in the park, but his cousin was weary of him just the same; so the Death Eaters must not have attacked them or similar.
Turning around he summoned his things before leaving the Gryffindor locker room and approaching the Whomping Willow which he stunned with an Immobulus. The walk to the Shrieking Shack would take him twenty minutes, giving Harry some time to think further on what he was going to do about his relatives.
They'd hate him, no doubt. And the odds of getting Dudley's second bedroom were pretty slim. Odds of being let in the house were low on its own. His interest in the matter was where magic had fitted itself in their lives if Dudley, and presumably his aunt and uncle, didn't remember him.
He'd try with Dudley first since they'd already met once, as unpleasant as it had been. He'd need a bargaining chip if he didn't want to get potentially beaten to a pulp, despite the fact he could outrun the whale if he needed to.
Upon reaching the Shack, Harry entered and was glad to see it hadn't been upended last night after his dash from the Unspeakables in The Three Broomsticks. Setting his things on the desk, Harry practised animagi magic and made a little progress as he awaited Hedwig's return. After roughly an hour Hedwig appeared with a small letter tied to her leg. A small smile graced his face in relief that Jennifer still wished to be in contact with him after everything she now knew and had seen.
Stroking her feathers for a moment, he looked at the owl gratefully. "Thanks, Hedwig." Unfolding the paper he proceeded to read what had been clearly written with a muggle pen.
~Chivalrous~
I have to make this short; Mum's home right now, but has work in around midday.
Whoa…you seem to be having a hell of a time lately and I don't mean that in a good way. And sorry, but I haven't seen your test results here. Perhaps you lost them?
I'm glad our friend has been able to help you find a new home. And no, I don't blame you for avoiding someone you don't trust, I mean who wouldn't? Since everything is being so crazy for you, maybe you should hide somewhere that no one would expect? Pretend to be a runaway or something in a place the others wouldn't consider. But you're kind of doing that already, aren't you?
I'm sorry about the job thing but there isn't a lot of work for teenagers in Surrey at the moment. Maybe London, or your community? Why not make what you need so you don't need a job?
You have an idea where the special words would be? That's great! I hope you get an answer soon, Chivalrous. And I hope fate will show you some mercy.
About your friend; I'm sorry you had a fight with her and didn't get to apologise, she sounds like a great person, but at least you know what you will do if things turn around for you.
Why not come over so we can talk?
~Regards,J.H~
Putting the letter down on the bed, Harry returned to Hedwig and petted her as he waited for Dobby to appear with breakfast. He was a little worried for that elf, and if he was injured Harry would take him inside the Hogwarts wards to heal him so his magic wouldn't be detected.
It was tempting to continue practising his animagus form now that he could manage the legs without a struggle, but he needed to procure some answers from the Dursleys. However, he wouldn't be able to talk to them without some form of magical travel.
"Floo Network, Harry," he scolded himself and grabbing his cloak. "Hogsmeade to Diagon, then try and get a job with muggles."
He was about to leave for The Three Broomsticks to use their floo when a familiar pop made him stop. "Dobby brings breakfast, Harry Potter," the loyal elf announced, levitating it onto the desk.
Smiling with gratitude, he went over and seated himself again, but didn't begin eating before giving Dobby a look-over and seeing what he'd expected. "Thank you, Dobby, but let's get inside Hogwarts wards first," he suggested, wincing at the sight of the burns and bruises. "Those injuries don't look too complicated for me to heal."
The comment seemed to bring a timid smile to poor Dobby's face as he tottered behind Harry within the tunnel. Harry's heart went out to the little guy, trying to please vile and insatiable masters but still had a spirit about him. After ten minutes Harry felt they'd gone close enough for his magic to be undetected. "We ought to be inside the wards now, Dobby. Lumos," he spoke over his shoulder and hearing the elf stop walking before Harry turned around and sat on his heels. "Could you hold out your hands for me?"
Dobby hesitated for a moment within the spell-lit tunnel. "What if rich masters see Dobby's hands?"
"Could you use a glamour to hide the healing?" he suggested and witnessed a hint of Dobby's mischievous side. A moment later the house elf held his hands out for Harry to hold, which he took gently. Recalling the incantation for burns, he was slightly nervous but put faith in his magic before waving his wand as required, and the result was mild compared to the book's text. However, after a few more repetitions Harry witnessed the red around a scab fade before the scab itself fell off entirely. "Better?"
The elf's eyes lit up when he smiled gratefully. "Dobby thanks Harry Potter."
Harry chuckled for a second; he had a bit more work to do yet. "Let me fix your bruises," he said gesturing for the elf to show his back. Without delay, the elf turned around and Harry got to work, flicking his wand like an inverted V towards Dobby's bruises as he clearly pronounced the incantation. "I'm sorry you were hurt last night, Dobby. If I hadn't been so kind last night you wouldn't have been caught."
The elf turned around and fixed him with a stare that surprised Harry. "Dobby's burns and bruises were orders, Harry Potter sir. They knows nothing about Harry Potter and his goodness."
"Oh, well, I guess that's a good thing, but if you're hurt again come to me," he instructed before a thought of curiosity occurred to him. "Aren't house elves able to heal their wounds?"
Dobby blinked at the question before resolutely shaking his head. "Dobby is forbidden. If Dobby heals himself, his rich masters order Dobby to punish himself worse," he replied clearly, making Harry's heart constrict as he learnt more details about the Malfoys' cruelty. The elf's eyes widen for a moment and Harry had to grab him to stop the elf from beating his head against the earthy walls.
The poor elf constantly tried to punish himself for speaking badly of the Malfoys, but Harry was having none of it if he could help it. "Dobby stop!" he shouted and the elf immediately went limp within his arms. "Are you alright?"
Dobby nodded slowly, his glistening tennis ball eyes turned towards Harry. "Thank you, Harry Potter. Too good, you are," the elf said, and Harry released his hold on his little friend who turned to face him. "Dobby was ordered to punish himself if he said bad things about his masters, but Dobby could stop thanks to Harry Potter."
That explanation intrigued him and Harry wasn't sure what to make of it at the moment, but his stomach didn't have plans to let him speculate when it grumbled soundly within the tunnel. "I better eat that breakfast, hey Dobby?" he remarked to the elf who looked a little humoured when Harry could feel the heat in his cheeks.
His friend led the way back to the Shack, but abruptly stopped when they were two minutes of walking from Harry's hiding place. "Here," he spoke clearly.
"What's here, Dobby?"
Dobby looked at Harry as though it was obvious. "Where poor Harry Potter can use magic before he can't."
"Oh, I better mark it then," he commented before realising he wouldn't have a means to see a mark. "Dobby, could you charm a line of light on the ground?" Harry requested and witnessed the elf happily oblige him. The reminder of being poor wasn't appreciated but Harry kept his mouth shut, not wanting the elf to start beating himself against something.
The loyal friend didn't begin walking after because he'd turned to face Harry. "Will kind Harry Potter bes going to Hogwarts?" Dobby inquired with hopeful eyes.
Sitting on the ground so he was level with the kind creature, Harry rested his hands on his knees and looked at Dobby thoughtfully. "I…," he hesitated for a moment before making up his mind. "I wasn't going to. I've been considering going to a school on the continent so I wouldn't be in danger again. Something always happens at Hogwarts," he reasoned, before releasing a long sigh. "But I think I'll have to attend Hogwarts."
"Why have to, poor Harry Potter?" the elf asked curiously and began leading the way to the Shack.
The consistent use of adjectives before his name struck Harry as odd, but he brushed it off for the moment. Adjectives weren't a new concept since Dobby had called him 'Great Harry Potter' in the past. "Everything I know is here. And I have no money to buy international portkeys, or know any safe places to hide," he admitted, not like the sudden feeling of being trapped. Dumbledore wasn't a bad man, but some things wouldn't sit right with Harry until he got some answers. "Besides, people would want to know why a teenager is going overseas alone. The Daily Prophet doesn't like me at the moment, but it doesn't mean the Ministry wouldn't be curious." That reminded him of the newspaper but he didn't want to get Dobby in trouble; he'd check in The Three Broomsticks later.
Dobby didn't say anything in response to that answer making it a quiet two minutes until they were back in the Shack where Harry's breakfast was waiting to be eaten. It was a simple meal for which he was glad because it'd mean the Malfoys wouldn't be wondering where the extra food was going if they were the sort of bothering looking in the pantry, but he somewhat doubted they did.
"Dobby," he spoke, once he'd eaten. "Breakfast was great but I do have one request."
"Yes, Poor Harry Potter?"
Harry winced at the reminder and vowed to resolve that problem soon. "Make sure to keep the food you bring me on the cheap side. I appreciate a good meal, but I don't want the Malfoys to realise what you're doing for me. They'd order extra punishments if they did. I'm happy to heal you but I don't want you to suffer on my account," he requested and giving the little guy a reason for it. His curiosity about Dobby calling him poor got the better of him. "And why do you keep calling me poor, Dobby? I mean, I know I am poor, but do you have to keep pointing it out?" Harry asked, feeling a little bothered by the distinction every time the elf addressed him like that.
"Hard to explain it is, Harry Potter sir," Dobby said with an undertone of regret as Harry sat down on the floor with his back against the bedpost.
Harry nodded to the elf and let out a breath. "Fair enough, Dobby. I just don't like being reminded is all."
"Sorry, Dobby is, Kind Harry Potter," the elf apologised before suddenly jumping up and grabbing the plate before he popped away.
Summoned, I guess.
A few minutes later he was changed into some clean clothes and tossed the dirty ones in a corner. Leaving the Shrieking Shack through the door, Harry was once again hidden by his cloak as he made his way over to the pub and picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet. Going over to the dark corner booth, Harry leafed through the pages intently and noticed that the ad for quidditch trials had more details; and they were on today. For a moment he considered it and couldn't help but think of Ron when he saw what team it was for; The Chudley Cannons. He had to muffle a laugh at the idea but faltered when he realised that only a desperate team would have their trials open to the public.
They were desperate.
And I am desperate.
He needed to clarify something first. "Dobby," he incanted with a whisper.
The elf popped into view but quickly jumped onto the booth. "Kind Harry Potter?"
Why am I considering this? Because you're poor Harry, now get on with it. Taking a breath he spoke quietly. "Have the Chudley Cannons ever won a league in the last century?"
"No, Kind Harry Potter," Dobby replied in kind, seeming to understand a need for discretion. "Dobby's rich masters make fun of Cannons. Useless, they say."
Nodding in thanks, Harry raked his brain for how he was going to go about this. It was tempting to ask Dobby if he could get away with borrowing Draco Malfoy's Nimbus 2001, but that was pushing his exploitation of the Malfoys. Harry suspected Dobby had almost gotten caught last night and didn't want to risk Dobby again. "Thank you, Dobby. They are having trials today. Could you take me there?"
Dobby was confused for a moment. "But Kind Harry Potter has no broom with him."
"Good point," Harry admitted dejectedly, racking his brain for ideas.
The elf, on the other hand, had popped away and reappeared with a Nimbus 2000 after a few minutes. "Dobby has Potter boy's broom."
Strange…Mine was destroyed in third year. Where did he get it from?
"Don't look a gift-horse in the mouth, Harry," Harry told himself, rising from the seat and leaving the pub, concealing the broom the best he could until he was outside and off the main path. Taking off the cloak he looked to the house elf standing by his side. "Thanks, Dobby."
The little elf held out a hand which he took and within seconds the sight of Hogsmeade disappeared and soon replaced with a quidditch pitch surrounded by bleachers decked out with orange banners. In the bleachers, there were a handful of die-hard fans wearing the orange memorabilia in their clear support for the team with a mile long losing streak.
Harry looked around and took note of where different people were going. Those bearing brooms were heading towards one end of the pitch, presumably a registration table, which brought a problem to his attention; he needed a name. Mum's maiden name seemed like a good start, so he quickly adopted it considering he was going to pose as a muggleborn anyway.
Harry Evans. It wasn't too bad, he guessed, at least it wasn't stupid.
However, despite the fact 'Harry' was a common name, it didn't seem to fit right. Mulling over it for a moment he decided to keep it basically the same but slightly different.
Hadrian Evans. It sounds okay but I'll just tell people to call me 'Harry' in person.
With the problem now resolved, he followed the other flyers and indeed came across a registration desk, which was manned by a well-dressed man who had an air of authority about him; Probably the manager.
Signing his new name on the parchment for the seeker position, and after a moment of hesitation, and the beater position after remembering Wood saying he wouldn't make a bad beater. If he was going to go ahead with this he may as well try and be successful. In the end, he probably wouldn't make Beater but why shoot himself in the foot by dismissing the idea without trying first?
Following others who'd finished signing the registration, Harry sat himself down and watched his surroundings for any cues and potential dangers.
"A bit young, aren't ya?" a twenty-something wizard inquired with a look of doubt.
Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as the person next to him spoke. He'd been so occupied being observant that he'd completely forgot that quidditch fans were a talkative bunch. "So I've been told," he said in memory of first year. "But it's about the skill, not the age, isn't it?" he replied rhetorically with a shrug. "What are you trying out for?"
"Chaser. Played all through Hogwarts. And you?"
"Seeker," he replied instinctively but remembered his decision to try for a second position. "And Beater. My team captain said I wouldn't make a bad one."
The blonde gave him a scrutinising once-over and shrugged. "You've got the build for a seeker, how long have you played?"
"Three years. Caught the snitch in every game bar one."
"Nice," the older man replied before holding out his hand. "Donohue. Brian Donohue."
Taking it Harry replied in kind. "Harr-Hadrian Evans," he said fixing the slip. He was quick to cover his mistake. "Call me Harry, though."
For half an hour Harry continued the small talk with Brian, periodically looking to the pitch and checking his watch, despite the fact that people were still registering and nothing had changed.
"Nervous, Harry?" Brian asked looking mildly edgy himself.
"A little. A lot rides on me getting the reserve position so I've got my fingers crossed."
Brian was about to replied when a man's voice sounded all around the pitch calling for chasers to enter the pitch
"Good luck, Donohue," he called out as the blonde left, who nodded in thanks and made his way down.
The trials seemed pretty standard. The wizard in charge had the candidates do laps around the pitch and progressively called out the numbers on the backs of slower flyer, who left looking a little downtrodden but seated themselves in the bleachers. Those with less sportsmanship immediately left. Donohue remained on the field since he'd been at the front of the pack with the rest of the faster flyers.
Shooting into the goals were next, followed by passing, and later the ability to coordinate with fellow players. Each time the judge picked off the weaker players and had eventually dwindled down to a handful, and amongst them was Donohue. The judge seemed to have been at a crossroads since he sent the five remaining flyers through all of the drills again at least twice. Eventually, he'd chosen a redheaded woman, a brunette male, and Donohue, the three of them together seemed to be the best chasers trying for the reserve positions.
"Next up, SEEKERS!"
Feeling a knot in his stomach, Harry gingerly made his way down to the pitch and encountered around twenty-five other competitors for the position. The majority of them looked at him funny, probably because he was the youngest there, but things moved along too quickly before comments could be thrown his way.
"Alright, let's see your flying seekers," the man instructed, prompting the competitors to mount their brooms. "The fastest make it to the next round. Fall behind and I'll call you out. Evans, your 29; Simmons, your 28," the judge called out and continuing on. Harry paid little interest in who was what number because his was the only one he needed to pay attention for.
"GO!"
An instant later Harry was in the air and feeling the sense of freedom that flight always gave him. The majority of his competition had newer brooms than the Nimbus 2000, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Flattening himself on his broom he was slowly leaving his competition behind, despite their superior brooms, and keeping up with the leader of the pack thanks to his smaller figure. The twenties something witch was riding a Firebolt, which Harry envied since he didn't have his, but before he could work any harder on catching up a whistle resounded throughout the pitch and he landed at their starting point.
There was only half a dozen left including him, but before he could comment or think the judge walked over. "Didn't think you'd still be here, kid," he murmured walking past. "Dodging against our resident beaters. Joey Jenkins and Ian Lloyds. Each of you will have ten minutes each to avoid the bludgers. If I call you out, go to the bleachers or leave if you wish."
Harry was the first to go and although he didn't know whether the judge was trying to get rid of him or have him go first for some other reason, Harry didn't particularly care. Alone in the air with two beaters aiming solely for him sounded like a challenge and he was all for it. Although he wasn't expecting it to happen, Harry wasn't concerned about the possibility of rogue bludgers, he evaded one before and Dobby wasn't obsessed with keeping him safe like he'd been in second year.
In the first two minutes, it was a mild bore for Harry if anything he was feeling a little insulted that the beaters weren't being harder on him. Deciding to get them to up the ante he drew nearer. "Oi! Jenkins! Lloyds!" he bellowed, getting their attention. "Is that all you got? This is nothing to the Slytherin team!" he shouted as he dodged another one. Lloyds clobbered the nearest bludger in response to his little insult. "Now that's more like it!"
That seemed to have gotten under their skin and with their pride on the line, the beaters' aggression climbed each time he dodged the bludgers and gave a cheeky grin in return. Some of the stunts he pulled to dodge earned a gasp from the crowd and he could have sworn there was a fair bit of foul language going on down there.
Harry was honestly enjoying himself, watching the beaters getting increasingly riled as they couldn't land a hit on a kid with a mere Nimbus 2000. This continued on for some time and Harry was suspecting it'd been more than ten minutes by the time he'd dodge a bludger for the thirtieth time. Shortly after one particular stunt, the whistle blew and he could finally take a break from the intense flight. His adrenaline was still going strong when he sat down and watched the others.
"You're insane, Evans," someone said next to him.
Harry just snorted. "You gotta be to play Quidditch."
Fortunately for Harry, one of the opponents for the seeker position suffered from the ire Harry had instigated within the beaters, soon falling off their broom and being carted off to St Mungo's. He felt a little guilty about that.
"What'd you do to piss them off, Harry?" Brian asked as he sat down next to him. "They were practically trying to kill you for twenty minutes."
Harry grinned at Brian. "Told them they were nothing to Slytherin's team." His grin widening when Brian broke out into a deep belly laugh and doubled over.
"You've got a death wish, Evans. You. Have. Got. A. Death. Wish."
He couldn't help but crack a smirk. "Thanks, Donohue. Congrats on getting the Chaser reserve position."
Brian clapped him on the shoulder, shaking his head and looking at Harry with mirth. "You may be bloody mad, but you better get on the team, Harry. I hope the manager isn't against having a young player."
"Me too, Brian. I need it."
The pair talked during the rest of the bludger drills and no more opponents were severely injured. He'd observed the rest of them and thought he had a decent chance
"We're going to have four seek-offs," the manager announced, looking to each of them with a critical eye. "Sonorus. GUDGEON GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE! Quietus. Listen for your number. 3 vs 15. 11 vs 20. Find your partner. You're competing for the reserve position." Harry was a little disheartened to not hear his number, but hope rose within him when he realised what was implied. A few minutes later, Harry saw a player in the orange uniform walking up to the manager who gestured to Harry.
Am I playing for the top spot?
"The rules are simple. Ten rounds for each pair, catch the snitch before your opponent by a significant number and before the twenty-minute mark and you're in for the final seek-off for the reserve position," the manager informed the other four before turning to Harry and their current seeker. "As for you, Evans, you bloody nut-job, you will be fighting Gudgeon here for his spot. You beat him by a wide margin and you've got it. Same goes for you, Gudgeon. Evans, I imagine you want a respite?" the manager offered, but Harry declined with a shake of his head.
"I'm good to go now, if you wish?" he replied, looking to his opposition who shrugged and mounted his broom.
"You've got this, Evans!" Harry heard Brian shout as he took off after Gudgeon.
Several hours later Harry was walking out of Gringotts with a key. He had no money in a Gringotts vault but it was a key to one nonetheless. Normally he wouldn't be so damn pleased about it but with the knowledge that his financial woes would slowly disappear he couldn't feel happier. He'd need to play a game before the vault would get any money, but his future wasn't looking so bleak now. It wasn't quite conventional but it was a skill he had and now will soon be getting paid to use it.
With his fellow teammate by his side, Harry talked animatedly with Brian as they discussed the advantage of glasses, contacts and potions. However, his cheeriness went down the toilet when the mention of money came up.
"Brian, I'm practically broke. My broom today was a borrowed one. I can't afford muggle contacts, let alone wizarding ones and potions," he debated, following the older man into Florish and Blotts.
Brian looked over his shoulder with no sympathy. "All part of the contract, Harry. You read it and signed it, now you've gotta get those eyes fixed." Harry just sighed, shoving the key into his pocket, knowing Brian only told the truth. "The potions are a bitch for a few days, but you just handed Gudgeon's arse to him on the pitch. To not offer you the job would have been dumb of Dorkins. It's pretty fair of Dorkins to say you had to fix your eyesight."
Inside the bookstore, as Brian searched the shelves for a particular book, Harry glanced at the window and saw his reflection. He still had the carbon copy resemblance of his father, primarily the rebellious hair and round glasses. "You're right. I just don't look forward to the pain." Harry concede, but for a different reason. Fixing his eyes would help him conceal his identity; thanks to a little help from Dobby his hair was chocolate in colour instead of black.
Once Brian had his book, Harry reluctantly followed the chaser into the seedy area of Knockturn Alley until they entered a wizarding optometrist, which deeply contrasted the appearance of Knockturn Alley once they were inside.
"Not every store in Knockturn Alley is as bad as the alley itself, Harry," Brian commented as he fished out his bottomless pouch and withdraw the galleons necessary to pay for Harry's eyes. "You can pay me back once the league has started," the chaser asserted when Harry was more than ready to object to the generosity.
Harry nodded to Brian absently while trying to pinpoint what was making the hairs on his next stick up, and almost cursed Brian when he grabbed Harry to lead over to a mounted bed. "Jumpy, Evans. Relax. She's not going to kill you. Just pour some horrible potions on your eyes to fix them."
He couldn't help but snort. "Pleasant, I'm sure," he shot back, but cooperating nonetheless as he knew he had no choice in the matter. And just as he'd expected his eyes were in agony as the potion was hopefully doing its job.
"I'll be back in a few hours, Evans. Don't go anywhere."
"As if I can."
Once the worst of the potion induced pain was beginning to fade, he would have been tempted to close his eyes hadn't the witch kept them charmed open. The lack of blinking was making him tear up a bit, but he ignored it in favour of planning for his little adventure tonight. It felt like days before he could see again, but his sight was not entirely yet fixed; only partially.
The witch, Felicia, as he learned, passed him a different pair of glasses to his old one. "Due to the potion, your old prescription will do you no favours," she explained as he took them and blinked a few times once they were on; his sight now sharp. Looking to her, he noticed she was easy on the eyes and had a motherly air about her. "These glasses will adapt as the potion continues to heal your eyes. When you wake for the next few days try to refrain from rubbing them, otherwise, the potion won't be able to completely do its job."
Feeling a little awkward, Harry cleared his throat and nodded. "Um, thanks. But I was wondering if I would be able to wear a pair of non-prescription glasses in the future?" he enquired, earning a look prompting him to go further. "I wish to be an Auror and if my opponent thinks I'm blind without them it would be an advantage in a fight."
Felicia nodded in understanding. "Of course, but not until at least next week, Mr Evans. Mr Donohue has already paid so you may leave when you wish." Grateful for the straight answer, Harry got off the healer's bed and stretched his legs a little but didn't immediately leave. Instead, he went over to the colour chart of the available contacts and browsed at a few opinions and nearly jumped out of his skin when Felicia spoke. "Your eyes are lovely. Why hide them?"
Suspecting that it would be best to keep things close to his chest, he fed her a white lie. "Thanks, but I have a brother and his girlfriend can never tell us apart, hence changing the colour."
Half an hour turned into an hour and Brian still wasn't back. "Excuse me, Felicia, but did you see which way Donohue went? He should be back by now," he enquired, his fingers twitching in case he needed to summon his wand from its holster.
"Aww…I never knew you cared."
Brian was standing in the doorway looking quite humoured, but Harry after hours of having potions burning his eyes wasn't in the mood for it. "Very funny."
"I thought so," Brian replied with a grin before gesturing for Harry to follow.
Once they were outside, he noticed it was getting dark and stuck close to Brian. "Thanks, Brian."
"About what?" asked with a knowing tone as he led the way out of Knockturn Alley.
Humouring the wizard, Harry went along with it. "Paying for my eyes; you'll have the money once I get it."
After a few minutes, they were out on the main strip of Diagon Alley. "Technically, I didn't pay for them. The bill was charged to the Chudley Cannons vault but the money will be deducted from your vault once you start to practise and playing," Brian corrected, handing Harry the bill that showed what he'd said. "I hope you play as good as you were at trials. Anyway, I better be off before my girlfriend gets worried. You got a way home?"
"Uh, yeah, thanks, Brian. Take care," he answered and half turning to go to The Leaky Cauldron.
"You too, Evans." A moment later Brian disappeared at the apparation point, which prompted Harry to get a move on for the ministry.
It was a quick matter of using the Floo Network, checking in at the security desk, and pressing nine in the elevator before Harry was on the floor of the Department of Mysteries. Today had been a whirlwind of fun, but he had not lost sight of what he needed to do here. Despite the late hour and that everyone was supposed to have left he donned the cloak and approached the door, slipping inside with unexpected ease.
He could have sworn he heard a voice when it felt as though the floor had rotated and a door opened on its own. Edgy from the lack of a challenge in an unfamiliar place, Harry careful entered a room that looked to be as high as Hogwarts' Great Hall ceiling if not higher. The place was dark, but lit by strange blue orbs surround by grey ones.
Taking out his wand he placed it on his palm. "Point Me Voldemort prophecy." It immediately turned towards the right, but only a little meaning he had a way to go yet. If he had to guess this room was probably the length of the Great Hall as well. Being careful not to touch anything, he strode directly down the middle of the aisle until his wand was point direct at a single orb.
Edging closer, he noticed there was a tag attached to the stand the orb was mounted on.
T.M.R (L.V) & H.J.P / N.F.L ?
S.P.T A.P.W.B.D
1980
Seeing Voldemort's and his initials on the tag made Harry's jaw drop. This meant there truly was something going on that he was unaware of. Taking the plunge he picked the orb up and held it palm up. He immediately recognised Trelawney's raspy voice.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ...
Harry wanted to smash the damn thing. He knew when his birthday was, he had a bloody scar from Voldemort, his parents died fighting the Dark Wanker, the rest of it was babble right now. "You sentenced me to a life of hell, Trelawney," he growled, getting louder. "What more is going to be thrown at me? The damn kitchen sink?!"
"Impossible."
Harry spun around and instantly he trained his wand towards the source and saw the last person he'd expected.
Himself.
"Expelliarmus!"
"Protego!"
"Stupify! Petrificus Totalus!"
"Protego!" Thunk.
The double hadn't anticipated the second spell and keeled over like a slab of stone. Harry had been on the sanity rollercoaster for too long to care about pleasantries. "You botched the Polyjuice. No scar," he shot, watching as the double looked at Harry's wand. "And poor impersonation, Death Eater," Harry added taking the wand before reducing the binding spell to the shoulders down.
The 'boy' before him looked as though he'd been slapped. "I'm not a-"
"Death Eater?" Harry sharply finished for him; his tolerance for the impossible was wearing thin. "Prove it."
The healthier looking version of himself seemed to glance over Harry's shoulder. "Pull up the sleeve," the double needlessly said. "No mark."
Harry looked over his shoulder but saw nothing. Not dismissing the act, he stood side on so nothing could sneak up on him. Vanishing the sleeve, he saw the double was right. No mark. "Polyjuice would hide it. And glamours," Harry pointed out, keeping his wand trained on the doppelganger. "Why did you follow me?"
"I wasn't following you," the double replied, apparently that was all he was going to say.
"An answer or I'm stunning you and leaving."
The demand shook the double out of it who became frustrated. "Look, I've been here before. Many times."
"Why?"
The double straightened slightly up and shot a glare at Harry. "I've been grilled about some anti-dementor charm, a Gringotts test, eavesdropping on M-Unspeakables, and stealing from my cousin to name a few things," it answered irritably, eyes wandering for a moment.
Interesting…"That was me. Dudley regularly steals from the kids in Surrey. Call it his karma," he admitted with a one-shoulder shrug, but not loosening the grip on his wand. "Get to the point. Why are you here?"
The double huffed in frustration. "You've got my wand and me petrified from the shoulders down. At least have the decency to point yours somewhere else." The double scowled at him, but Harry wasn't willing to buy the act yet, and the clone saw this. "Hushed conversations about prophecies and me. I wanted to know what secrets they were keeping."
Well, I can certainly relate to adults and secrets. Not saying anything, Harry kept a critical eye on the double's behaviour, and it was pretty lax for the situation right now, especially being body bound. "You're not alone," he stated, watching for a reaction.
The double smirked a familiar look of victory, putting Harry on edge. "They're a shout away," it gloated slightly, a little too slightly.
He's bluffing. "And they don't know you're here," Harry guessed before smiling at the look of surprise which urged him to pushed on. "You're not supposed to be here."
The double rolled his eyes at Harry. "Neither are you by the way you're acting," it retorted hotly, before balling up his fists and glaring at Harry's wand. "If you're not going to use your wand just put it away, let me go and talk like an average person, you git."
Harry barked a single humourless laugh. "And make myself vulnerable? No thanks," he replied incredulously. "I don't trust too easy these days."
"Obviously," The double scoffed and shook his head at Harry. "What could I do to you?" it asked like it was dead obvious.
"Nothing," Harry replied quickly but returning to the point. "You seem to want something."
"Not anymore."
"And what was it?"
"You cursed me, you dolt. Why would I tell you?"
"Because I'm the only one here and you're half petrified," he justified clearly. Seeing this was getting nowhere and chances of him getting caught increasing, Harry thought fast and summoned Dobby.
The elf appeared immediately by Harry's side. "Kind Harry Potter, what yous need?" Harry didn't reply but handed Dobby the crystal ball and gestured for him to take it home. "Yes, Kind Harry Potter sir."
"You!" the double shouted at Dobby who looked a little fearful before popping away.
Harry sighed and looked to the wizard his wand was still trained on. "What about him?" he asked feeling annoyed that he was being held up. He didn't have all night and needed to get back to the shack before he got caught.
"That elf stole my broom!" it vented hotly.
Not wanting an unnecessary fight because he needed help leaving this place, Harry decided to return the conversation to something a little more diplomatic. "If you swear on your magic not to harm me unless provoked, I'll swear the same, and I'll undo the spell. Deal?" Harry offered, seeing the double blink before looking at Harry analytically and coming to some internal decision that Harry wasn't privy to.
"Deal." Gingerly slipping the wand into the petrified hand, Harry kept a sharp eye on his clone before it made the oath. "I, Harry James Potter, swear on my magic that I will not harm the wizard in front of me unless he pulls a fast one." The wand glowed blue for the double. Glancing at the wand when he took it back from the double, Harry saw it was different to his and filed that knowledge away for later. A door creaked open, and Harry pulled his double into a side aisle with him. "Swear, and I'll get you out," the double offered, having seen Harry's panicked expression.
The sound of clicking heels reinforced his need to escape. "I, Harry James Potter, swear on my magic that I will not harm the wizard in front of me unless he pulls a fast one," he incanted, watching as his wand glowed blue. "Finite Incantatem. As for your broom, it was put to good use and returned in the same condition," Harry answered, seeing the double calm at the new information with a hint of curiosity.
They both glowed blue. Identical oaths.
"Bollocks," Harry swore under his breath, cutting off the double from saying something.
"What?" the double whispered with evident frustration.
All things considered, the concept wasn't something Harry would discard quickly at the moment and replied. "Our oaths were identical, and the wands glowed blue. What does that tell you?"
"Oh," his presumed counterpart whispered, looking astonished at his clue. "How'd you get here?"
Getting to his feet, Harry watched the other rising as well. "Yeah, and I don't know," he confirmed softly but turning his thoughts to the matter at hand. "Now get me outta here."
"Bossy."
"Well you're not the one in a wild predicament, are you?"
"Touché."
"Sorry, but I've had a trying forty-eight hours." Harry really meant it, following the other Harry out of the Hall of Prophecy and through another door into a room he'd never seen before. Shelf after shelf of parchments and books, making him wonder what this place was. In the centre of the chamber and mounted on a pedestal was a thick tome, giving off the impression of importance. Breathing easier, now that they didn't have company, he nearly jumped when the double spoke.
"What'd you use the broom for?" it asked randomly with genuine interest.
Seeing no harm in replying considering it was already obvious, Harry answered. "I need money and borrowed the Nimbus 2000 for the Chudley Cannons tryouts." There was a look of curiosity so he threw in the result. "I got a first-string position."
The clone had an expression of envy and stepped closer. "Which position? You'll need your own broom; every player does," it remarked, frowning as a problem was clearly on his mind.
Harry, on the other hand, was flabbergasted, and something within him was slowly coming to terms with the situation. "What the hell do you mean which position? Anybody would know what I play," he remarked vaguely wondering if he could get some answers about the double before him.
"Well, I obviously don't. What position?" Apparently, he wasn't going to make it easy for Harry.
"Seeker," he answered as it rolled off his tongue and lowering his wand arm slightly. "I got Gudgeon's spot."
The healthier version of himself started cracking up laughing before widening his eyes and quickly muffling the noise. "I hope you're decent; he's bloody hopeless."
It was strange how the conversation between them had changed from an anticipated confrontation to small talk about Quidditch in a setting such as the Hall of Prophecy. "We had ten seek-offs. Too easy in my opinion," he supplied, discreetly looking around for hints of any company in the unlit hall.
"Wait, you need money?" the double replied before shaking his head at the obvious fact. "That'd explain the inheritance test. Where are you staying?" it asked with sincere interest, but not of the malicious kind.
This conversation was beginning to drag, and Harry had a quick glance around before looking back. "Why aren't you edgy? We're talking about Quidditch in the Department of Mysteries. Doesn't that seem suspicious to you?" Harry suggested, shifting on his feet as he expected something to happen, leading the other to do the same. "If what I'm seeing is genuine, why aren't you freaking at the sight of me?"
The other just shrugged nonchalantly. "Not really. It's kinda expected to see unusual things in this place," it commented dismissively. "You'd have cursed me with a dark spell long before now if you meant it and I got more answers than I was looking for anyway."
This time Harry was the curious one. "How so?"
"You look like you're about to go nuts-"
"Thanks," Harry interjected.
"-and earn a bed in a St Mungo's long-term ward," the other finished.
He instantly grimaced. "I'm not far from it," Harry muttered under his breath.
"What?"
It was tempting to do an eye roll, but so far things were peaceful, so Harry refrained and answered. "How would you be if you were suddenly homeless, friendless, seeing people who you knew had died years ago, and now you're broke?"
It was almost a look of pity from the double, which got under his skin before realising things weren't the same here. "Oh…so Dobby's your only friend then?"
He nodded. "And one muggle girl in Surrey," he added with the thought of Jennifer.
"No bloody wonder you're so on edge," it remarked with little tact. Are you coming to this conclusion now? However, it didn't appear that the thought had just occurred to the other, rather he reaffirming Harry's situation. Entertaining the thought that things were highly contrasted, Harry launched into a quick summary for the double.
"I've had Voldemort after me my whole life. Nearly every Hogwarts year he's tried to kill me. First year: Possessing a teacher and tried to kill me. Second year: A basilisk petrifying people and ordered it to kill me. Third year: not Voldemort, but Dementors wouldn't leave me be. Fourth year: Polyjuiced Death Eater gets me forced into competing in the Triwizard Tournament, Wormtail killed Diggory before slashing my arm and using my blood to resurrect the Dark Wanker, and I had to fight him to escape. Now I know a prophecy explaining why he tried to kill me as a baby."
"Shit," it murmured in shock.
Harry shook his head. "Tell me about it," he grumbled before snapping up his head. "Wait, why am I telling you this?"
"Needed to rant?" the double suggested, shifting on his feet for a moment with a solemn look.
"Probably," he assumed with a shrug. "Look, I'm not sticking around much longer. Get me outta here, and I'll give the wand back," Harry offered, figuring the double would be all for it.
His counterpart didn't seem bothered by the retort. "Forget it. It makes sense. What name are you using now anyway? You said you got a spot with the Cannons."
"Hadrian Evans," he replied with difficulty not saying 'Harry Potter'. That's going to take some time getting used to.
"Not bad. Middle name?"
Harry just shrugged and looked to the other as he followed the lead to the book. "Haven't needed one yet."
"Should probably decide, though," his double suggested, looking thoughtful and running a hand through his hair.
"True. I was going to leave it as James though," he replied, feeling a bit reluctant at the thought of changing it.
"Too similar," his double shot down quietly. "Use Charlus."
Harry couldn't resist the urge to raise an eyebrow in confusion. "Charlus? Why?"
"Charlus Potter, our grandfather," was the calm response, but Harry's shock must have shown. "What? Why do you look so surprised?"
"I never knew about my family besides Mum and Dad," Harry murmured a little sadly that he'd never met a Potter aside from the one in front of him, who in essence was himself. That's disorienting. I could have grown up to be this guy instead once. Thanks, Wormtail. He scowled at the thought of the traitor.
His doppelganger raised his eyebrows and murmured "So few?" There was definitely pity this time, but he didn't mind it too much.
Shaking his head, Harry looked to his other self. "The Dursleys raised me. Never spoke about my magical family without insulting Mum and Dad."
He'd flinched as though struck by Harry's answer. "Ouch. That bad?"
"Yeah. Utter anything remotely sounding like it was magic meant I had no food for a day if not more." This guy has no idea of the hand he almost got dealt.
"That's abuse!"
Harry just shrugged. "They're not that bad. Dudley would beat me up before I started Hogwarts but that's about it." Why am I defending them?
"Sorry to burst your bubble, Hadrian, but withholding food is abuse."
He snapped up from his downward grimace and looked to the double. "Hadrian?"
"Well I can't go calling you 'Harry' now, can I?" the double replied. "It's my name, and if I call you Harry I'm going to think you're around when I hear someone else say it."
True. Hadrian mentally concede before he sniggered for a moment.
"What?"
With a knowing grin, Hadrian shared the amusing thought. "Imagine the havoc the Weasley twins would wreck in this scenario?"
His counterpart doubled over and did his best to muffle his laughter at the idea. Clearly, the twins were the same here. "Nice one! Drive Mrs Weasley mad probably. Fred and George would be so envious." he commented sounding almost tempted.
"What's this place? You never said what it is. Why aren't we in the hallway I came from?" Hadrian enquired, looking for any other doors.
The other boy got to the point and dipped an unusual quill into an open inkpot. "Hall of Records. Might as well get you added to the register of British wizards and witches."
"So how...?" Hadrian murmured, accepting the strange quill from the other Harry.
"Draw a line on your date of birth; space will appear then you need to write your fake one." That answer made Hadrian stop short with a sense of guilt. "What's the matter?"
Turning to the scar-free Harry, Hadrian gave a murmured answer with a tone of longing. "I've always been proud of my parents; even if I never met them…I don't want to give up the surname. I don't have a lot to remember them by. I remember their deaths when I was fifteen months old. That's it."
The other looked a little disturbed at the new information and glanced around the room as though trying to find a solution. "Oh…um. Sorry, I-"
Hadrian shook his head, bringing his counterpart to a stop who looked more than ready to continue arguing. "It's okay. I have to."
"Wait," the lucky one stopped him by gripping Hadrian's wrist. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
No, but. "I can't go around pretending to be you, can I?" Hadrian justified, knowing he was already turning the other's life upside down by simply being here.
"There's gotta be something we can do."
Hadrian shook his head and quickly added 'Hadrian Charlus Evans' to the register underneath the existing 'Harry James Potter'. It felt like the final nail in a coffin when he did it. Shaking off the feeling and gestured for them to go. "Come on. We'll get caught soon enough."
His luckier self was looking bothered by the sentimental sacrifice Hadrian had just made. "You shouldn't have given it up if it meant that much to you."
"I'm not messing things up for you," Hadrian argued, not wanting to be a burden. "I'll stay out of the way," he promised.
"I know how stubborn I am," the double grumbled before navigating the Department of Mysteries with ease and didn't notice when Hadrian swiped a time-turner while leading Hadrian out to the rotating room with its many doors and exiting the department altogether. "Alright, we're out."
Hadrian faltered, feeling a little awkward. "Thanks, uh…"
"Harry."
"This is going to be weird," Hadrian murmured under his breath.
"Tell me about it. Where are you staying anyway?" the other asked "Voldemort isn't obsessed with me as yours was, but he's called You-Know-Who for a reason. You fought off his dementors yesterday."
Hadrian couldn't stop himself from repeating Dumbledore's phrase. "Fear of a name-"
"increases fear of the thing itself," his counterpart finished for him without a hitch. "Mum says it to Iris a lot."
"Iris?" Hadrian parroted in confusion before turning solemn. Oh, right. The idea and desire of a sister had often plagued his thought during his visits to the Burrow, watching the interaction between his friends with their parents and each other.
"Our sister," the other confirmed with an expression of remorse and gripping Hadrian's shoulder. "I should have guessed. Sorry, Hadrian."
Hadrian shrugged the hand off. "It's…don't worry about it. It's nothing."
"Bullshit!" the double retorted hotly before looking guilty again. "But where are you staying?"
"Shrieking Shack," Hadrian replied, keeping an eye out for anyone in the hallway to the elevator.
The double looked surprised at the answer he been given. "Seriously? It's close to Hogwarts; I'll give you that, but you need a safe place."
"What?" Hadrian said defensively. "I have no money and nowhere else to go."
"I get that, but it'll be a full moon next week," the double explained to Hadrian, looking thoughtful and eyes lighting up when it thought of something. "You'll need a new place regardless. Moony will pick up the scent and recognise it which will blow your cover."
"Oh, no," Hadrian opposed, backing away from his counterpart. "I see where this is going. Are you mad? I'm not hiding in your house. I'll be drugged to the eyeballs with Veritaserum the second I slip up and get seen by them."
The double smiled mischievously. "I never had hiding from our parents in mind. I know you're me."
"But they don't," Hadrian pointed out, but became disappointed when the healthier Harry didn't change his determined expression. "You're serious?"
"No, that's Padfoot."
Not particularly in the mood for jokes like that, Hadrian cut through the humour like a hot knife through butter. "Haha. Now, really, what do you have in mind?"
His counterpart shook his head ruefully. "Potter Manor. Seriously."
"Don't you think they'd be the least bit freaked out? Don't get me wrong. I want to meet them, I've always wanted to but it'd rattle them, and they have you."
"Shock them?" the double said rhetorically. "Probably, but you know how mums are."
"Uh, I don't, sorry," Hadrian murmured, seeing his healthy clone look crestfallen.
"Oh…I meant she'd probably accept you."
Blinking a few times, Hadrian quickly changed the subject. "Look, I'm going to the shack and will think on it, alright?"
"Be careful, Hadrian. I'll see you tomorrow at the shack." The lucky one wished him, clasping his shoulder.
Hadrian felt awkward but returned in kind. "Uh yeah, you too…Harry," he said, half turning towards the elevator. "I better go."
Bloody hell, I really am in a different world. And my parents. They're alive, but they belong to Harry Potter. Not Hadrian Evans.
A little saddened by having to accept he may have to watch the parents of another Harry from afar, Hadrian entered the elevator and closed his eyes.
"Tomorrow!" the other boy shouted to him from the corridor. "Oh, hi Mum."
"HARRY JAMES POTTER!" he heard Lily Potter shout as the elevator door closed.
A tear slipped through Hadrian's defences.
It was late into the night at Hogwarts and Albus Dumbledore was pacing within his study, no longer looking at the scrying bowl residing on his desk. He'd sent Sirius and Remus to the Department of Mysteries when he'd witnessed Harry enter the Hall of Prophecy. For Harry to learn of his fate this way hadn't been what Dumbledore had planned and the ashen and betrayed look on Harry's face when he located the prophecy made shame run through Albus' veins.
He would have gone to the Department of Mysteries to speak to Harry, however, on the day Harry should have returned to the Dursleys all of his trinkets connected to Harry had gone haywire, died or exploded. Naturally, his response to the matter was paying the Dursleys a visit to see what had happened. However, he'd been shocked to learn that the blood ward was no longer present; as though the magic had never been there.
Fearing for Harry's life, Dumbledore sent patroni to all of the available members of the Order of the Phoenix, tasking them with searching and keeping an eye out for the boy. Sirius immediately took to the streets in dog form, frantically searching for his godson in Surrey before expanding the area to the other suburbs. Remus had attempted to send a short missive with a portkey to Harry with a post owl which just refused to take off. The werewolf had gone to the Weasleys where Harry's owl Hedwig had taken up residence, but even the faithful snowy owl didn't take flight.
The implications were unthinkable, but he hadn't given up hope. He'd resorted to a less reliable form of finding a person by gathering a trace of Harry's DNA and using it to activate the scrying bowl.
While all other possible methods of locating the boy were used, even going as far as having Severus listen for any word within Voldemort's ranks, Albus watched Harry and often sent Sirius or Remus to the locations shown within the bowl. They had gone as far as asking the muggle girl he'd seen in the bowl if she'd ever met Harry Potter, but to their dismay, she denied it and possessed not traces of being obliviated.
Sirius' patronus appeared before Dumbledore. "He's not here, Albus."
Getting an idea he sent a reply, remembering how Harry had taken the prophecy from the department.
A moment later Remus' patronus appeared. "The prophecy is still on the shelf, Headmaster, but it's not blue. It's grey. It's void."
"I want to find my godson, not a bloody prophecy, Dumbledore!"
A quick thank you was sent to both men, the old headmaster sat down and looked to Fawkes in desperation.
He'd sent Fawkes on the search as well, but just like the Order, the fiery bird hadn't been able to find the boy to the dismay of both of them.
With the prophecy now void, it implied that Harry was by all accounts dead. As all predictions faded to grey when the persons concerned were no longer able to fulfil it, or it was completed. And to his knowledge, Tom Riddle was alive and well. Otherwise, Severus would have returned with the news of the Dark Lord's death. If Harry had been killed at Voldemort's hand, the world would know and be graced by the horrors Tom Riddle and his followers had become.
Interweaving his fingers and he genuinely hoped Harry Potter was still alive and well so they may be able to find him.
May Tom never learn the prophecy was void, or Albus would have to make a hard choice. Search for Harry and leave the innocents vulnerable, or protect the innocents against Tom and leave Harry at risk.
He silently prayed he would never have to.