Chapter 3

"Excuse me," a small voice interrupted Madam Pomfrey's monotonous task, and she glanced to the side to see Harry Potter himself standing framed in the doorway. He said, "This is the hospital wing." She wondered if he enjoyed stating the obvious or if he was asking a question.

She wasn't entirely sure what she expected the Boy-Who-Lived to be like, but the boy that stood before her was absolutely not it. He was small for his age, and his robes seemed to hang from his skeletal frame like curtains. His face closely resembled a skull, for its pale complexion and somewhat protruding bones. From the sunken sockets of his skull, two brightly glinting emerald lights peered at her, surrounded by insistent shadows.

She had the same sort of unease that one felt when attending an open casket funeral, looking down at the dead man where he laid.

"Yes," she replied, just in case it really had been a question. "Is there something I can do for you?"

He nodded and stepped inside. His large, bright eyes darted to the side, and she followed them, but saw nothing. His hands were bunched up in front of him, and it looked like he was physically pained by something. Finally, he closed his eyes, and Madam Pomfrey saw a complete transformation take place. When he spoke again, it was with measured consideration. "I am in poor health, and I was hoping that you might be able to help me."

"Of course!" she said. Gesturing to the hospital bed, "I haven't finished unpacking, but take a seat there and we'll see what I can do."

Once he was seated, she drew her wand. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Well," he hesitated. "I don't really know."

Madam Pomfrey could see at least three things that might have been wrong with the boy, and that was without the use of magic. Pursing her lips, she began.

She performed a basic diagnostic charm and noticed his eyes narrow slightly as various colors sprang into existence between them, dancing in the air like snow caught in a brisk winter gale. Her breath hitched as she started to interpret the storm of light, and she cut off her spell jerkily.

"Mr. Potter," she began, halting suddenly and taking a deep breath. "Have you informed anyone of your situation?"

"What do you mean?" He appeared confused, though she was certain that he knew what she was referring to.

She frowned and shook her head. "To start, it appears as if you have been chronically underfed and near starvation several times in your past. How did this happen?"

Harry nodded carefully. Once again, his eyes darted off to something behind her, and Madam Pomfrey stifled the urge to find out what he was looking at. "My uncle disliked me, ma'am."

"He purposefully neglected you?" she asked, appalled.

Harry winced. "He thought that I was a freak because of accidental magic," he explained. "My aunt was jealous of magic and allowed him to indulge his hatred."

Stricken by these words spoken by a young child, Madam Pomfrey lowered her wand and gazed seriously into his eyes. "Have you ever asked for help?"

"No, ma'am," he said, seeming somewhat regretful. "At the time, I had no reason to suspect that other adults would care."

Madam Pomfrey had nothing to say to that. "You should know that I am bound by my oaths to report this to Child Services."

Harry nodded. "It doesn't matter. Vernon is dead."

Stunned, she could only begin to think of a question before the boy continued, speaking in a rush.

"My letter came and he tried to grab me, but he…" at this, he choked and winced. "He had a heart attack. I think he died on the way to the hospital."

Setting aside the fact that Harry Potter might have killed a man with accidental magic, Madam Pomfrey raised her wand. "Oh," was all she could think to say. "I still have to make a report. In the meantime, I can set you up with a series of potions and a diet. I'm afraid to say that prolonged malnutrition can negatively affect your magical core."

She caught herself before she could continue, fearing that she had startled her patient. Harry was only nodding solemnly at her revelation however, and his eyes were focused on a point in space above her shoulder. She lamented the sorts of trials that he must have endured for him to become jaded at the age of eleven.

"I want to be strong," Harry said suddenly. His eyes focused on her suddenly, and she felt as if they were piercing straight through her. "Can you give me advice about that as well?"

Beginning the motions for a more complex diagnostic spell, she merely nodded. The boy relaxed visibly, and a smile graced his pale features.

"Mr. Potter," a low, aristocratic voice interrupted Harry's reading. He glanced up from his book to see the inscrutable features of his head of house.

The Hogwarts library had proven to be filled with an endless supply of knowledge, and Harry had begun scouring as many texts as he could find in the few days that remained before the start of classes. It was mostly deserted, since there were no assignments to be done, and it allowed Harry to escape from the eyes of his peers in Slytherin.

"Yes, professor?"

Snape pursed his lips. "The headmaster wishes to meet with you in his office. As your head of house, I shall accompany you."

Closing his book, Harry stowed it in the pocket of his robes and stood. He followed Professor Snape out of the library, and was expecting to walk in silence. The man had not made any attempts to hide his disdain for Harry, if his continual glares were any indication of his opinions.

"I have received an order for a variety of potions from Madam Pomfrey," Snape said suddenly. Harry glanced at the man and shrugged.

"What kind of potions, sir?"

Snape stopped and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. It felt heavy and Harry stepped back immediately, forcing his professor to relinquish his hold. "Do not think me a fool," he warned lowly. "I know that they are for you."

"They are," Harry affirmed, raising his chin. He saw Death looming over Snape's shoulder and knew that nothing could harm him.

Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I wanted to tell you that they will be ready by the time classes start."

With that, he continued on his way. Harry frowned but followed after the man, entirely confused.

The Headmaster's office was guarded by a gargoyle, but the magical construct moved aside at the mention of a ginger snap, which must have been a passphrase of some kind. The interior resembled a library as much as the office of a school administrator, so full it was with books and shelves. There were baubles of various kinds, spinning metal rods and twirling filaments. Sitting in a high-backed chair with a star-spangled hat, the headmaster scribbled away with a quill upon a curling bit of parchment.

"Ah, Harry," the man exclaimed, setting aside his quill. "Please, sit down. Thank you, Severus."

"As his head of house, I believe that I should stay," Professor Snape interjected. Dumbledore slid his half-moon glasses down his nose, glancing over their rim to peer at his employee.

"This is not a formal occasion," the headmaster argued. "I would hate to keep you from your preparations."

Snape scowled and departed from the room. The headmaster appeared somewhat confused, and Harry was glad that he was not the only one who did not understand that professor.

"Madam Pomfrey informed me of a rather distressing situation," he began, only to pause and slide a jar with little yellow candies inside across the desk. "Lemon drop?"

"No, thank you."

"Well, as I was saying, she informed me of the situation with your relatives," the headmaster continued, and Harry frowned. "I am most distressed to discover that you were not well treated."

"Sir, forgive me, but why were you informed prior to child services?" Harry asked. "Healer's oaths do include confidentiality."

"My, you are well informed," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "That is true, my boy, but in the cases of self-harm or abuse a healer is obliged to inform the patient's guardian and the relevant authority. I am your magical guardian."

Harry blinked. "Why have I never met you before?"

At this, Dumbledore's eyes lost their twinkle and he sighed heavily. "I had thought to allow you the unique pleasure of a mundane childhood, far from the concerns of magic and your celebrity status. I had no reason to believe that your relatives were anything less than suitable guardians."

"I see," Harry said, slowly. "Will the report to child services begin an investigation?"

"Most likely," Dumbledore replied. "I understand that your uncle passed away recently. Can you tell me what happened?"

Harry gave a slight wince and tried to think of the best way to describe what had happened. "The letter from Hogwarts distressed him. He had a heart attack," he explained in general terms.

"Madam Pomfrey seemed to think that it might have been accidental magic," Dumbledore said carefully, looking extremely concerned.

Harry shook his head. "I did not kill my uncle," he stated forcefully.

"But someone did?" Dumbledore asked immediately, alarmed at Harry's intentional choice of words.

Harry remembered Death's words on that day. "Vernon's own decisions led to his death," he explained carefully. "You could say that he killed himself."

"Did you witness the event?"

"I did."

Dumbledore looked extremely old in that moment, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he seemed to fold into the chair behind him. "I am sorry, my boy. How have you been since coming to Hogwarts?"

"I was not disturbed by his passing," Harry answered the question that the headmaster truly meant to ask. At the man's disturbed expression, Harry elaborated. "He was a pitiful, cruel man who was consumed by thoughtless hate. Perhaps in death he can find the peace that so eluded him in life."

"You are very profound for a boy your age," Dumbledore said. He did not appear entirely at ease with the direction that the conversation had taken. In fact, he appeared distinctly unsettled.

That was fine. Harry found that he had that kind of effect on people.

"If an investigation does take place, will I live with you instead of my relatives?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore sighed wearily once again. "I am afraid that between my responsibilities as Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Headmaster of Hogwarts I would have little time to care for you over the summer."

"Why are you my magical guardian? Are we related?" Harry tired another tack.

"No, nothing like that. Students who do not have magical guardians are represented legally by the headmaster of their school," Dumbledore explained. "When your parents died, you were placed in the care of your aunt on your mother's side, but when you enrolled in Hogwarts I became your magical guardian."

If Dumbledore had not been his magical guardian before he enrolled, then how could he claim to have "allowed" Harry a mundane childhood?

"Are there no relatives on my father's side?" Harry asked. "No one has told me about my parents."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm sorry, my boy. You are the last of the Potter line. Don't worry too much. I will work with child services to find a place for you."

"I appreciate it, sir," Harry replied. "Is that all?"

"I want to personally apologize to you, Harry. As Chief Warlock, some of the blame for your placement at the Dursley's falls to me," Dumbledore told him, gazing sincerely into his eyes. Harry nodded graciously.

"You couldn't have known."

As he left the headmaster's office, Harry noticed an odd feeling, like a knot being unwound in the muscles of his forehead.