Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.
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Yesterday had been pretty tumultuous. First there was the disaster with Ron at breakfast, which was of course mostly Harry's own fault. His first class of the day, Ancient Runes, actually started out very promising. He really enjoyed the lesson, and even managed to forget about Ron and his other troubles for a while. Sure, Professor Babbling was a bit odd, but that wasn't exactly uncommon in a witch. She certainly was enthusiastic about her subject, just like Bill, and he was glad he'd taken it instead of Divination. The one strange thing about it was that Hermione was in the class, too. And he remembered Ron saying something about her also being in Divination. At the same time. But with everything going on, he probably misremembered it. Or something. It was hardly that important.
Transfiguration afterwards went all right,too, and Professor McGonagall was obviously pleased with Harry's increased participation in class. And while she looked a bit strange every time she called him Mr. Evans, neither her expression, nor her tone of voice was disapproving, unlike the night before at the feast. She kept him behind after class, to ask if he had any lingering after-effects from the encounter with the Dementor. And to tell him, once again, that he could come to her if he had any problems.
Right. As if he would. Well, maybe. Depending on what it was. She'd seemed a bit apologetic. And concerned. So … maybe. He'd have to test the waters. Provided she would actually listen, she certainly had the potential to be helpful. So … he might give her another chance. He'd really have to see.
Unfortunately, things went downhill from there. Because later they had their first Care of Magical Creatures class with Hagrid. And while Hagrid was a dear, he not only lacked discretion, but apparently also any common sense. Which was why their first lesson featured Hippogriffs. It had started well enough, with Harry being properly polite and getting a ride on the animal out of it.
The experience had been glorious … and bloody scary. Because you had no control whatsoever. Flying on a broom was one thing. You could steer the broom, decide where you were going, whether to dive or pull up, go slow or go fast. Flying on a living, breathing being with a mind of its own was something else entirely. It decided where to go. It took you where it wanted to. You had no real control. You were at the mercy of a wild, untamed creature.
It required trust. And taught it, at the same time.
The flight left him shaken, for a multitude of reasons. Exhilaration. Fright. Utter freedom. Fear and panic. The closeness of clinging to feathers and fur. How far the ground had suddenly seemed from up there. It had been amazing, nevertheless.
But then Malfoy had to go and spoil it. Malfoy, who sneered and insulted the Hippogriff in his mistaken sense of superiority, and who got himself attacked for it. And of course the Slytherin then had to make a big dramatic production out of his injury, and run squealing to tell Daddy, like the little rodent that he was. Which meant Hagrid was bound to be in trouble for letting something happen to the precious Malfoy heir, no matter that it was Draco's own fault. The Slytherin talked loudly about it all during dinner, how his father would have Hagrid fired, and Buckbeak put down for daring to injure him.
Also people still talked about Harry behind his back, often falling suspiciously silent when he came closer. During meals, half the Great Hall stared at him. Ron remained distant for the rest of the day, though he would talk at times when he forgot that he was mad at Harry. Only to fall silent again, giving Harry uncomfortable looks. And Ginny also kept staring at him oddly, but she disappeared every time Harry tried to approach her. He was starting to get quite annoyed at her strange behaviour, but as long as she was avoiding him, there was nothing he could really do about it.
All in all, he was in a foul mood by the time he went to bed, and struggling to keep his temper contained. He didn't want to blow up at his dorm-mates. He badly wanted to scream at someone, but he was all Evans now. And it would not do to let his anger out on the undeserving.
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The next morning, however, brought him a fitting target for his by now well-stewed frustration and anger. He'd run a bit late for breakfast, and was hurriedly filling his plate, when the owls descended with the morning mail. Hermione picked up her copy of the Prophet, shock it out, took one look at the headlines and blanched. As his friend read on, her pallor was increasingly replaced with the flush of rage, and Harry was dismayed to hear her swear under her breath. Anything that made Hermione start cursing had to be bad indeed. Finally she looked up at Harry, who was by then on tenterhooks, and simply shoved the paper at him with clenched teeth and a look that could kill in her eyes.
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The Boy-Who-Lived: A Potter no more?
Startling news reached us yesterday from so far unconfirmed sources. They informed us that the Boy-who-lived, Harry Potter, now refuses to answer to his name. Apparently he was introduced to the assembly of students and teachers at Hogwarts as 'Harold Evans' at the start-of-term feast. The headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore, then informed everyone that the saviour of the Wizarding World had his name changed during the summer. This startling announcement caused great uproar amongst the student population of Britain's foremost school for young wizards and witches.
Which leads us, dear reader, to the question of why such a strange thing happened in the first place. Why should Harry Potter no longer wish to be a Potter? What influenced him to abandon his famous name? Was it indeed by his own desire, or rather, as wiser tongues suggested, was he forced by dire circumstances to discard the proud name of his former parentage? Could there even be the possibility he was stripped of his family name?
Far be it from us to cast aspersions on an old and hallowed family name, but surely there must be some good reason for Harry Potter to reject said name and family. An old family curse maybe? A long forgotten vendetta? A vengeful ghost perhaps? Perchance an unfortunate ancient marriage contract which would have ensnared the last heir of the Potter line? What deep and dark secrets might lie hidden behind the bright façade which the Potter family has presented for many years?
Or could this all be a plot hatched by the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, in an attempt to confound those elements of society which may wish harm upon the Boy-who-lived? If so, could he really seriously consider that such a laughable attempt to hide the identity of You-know-who's bitterest enemy would possible work? But then it cannot be denied Albus Dumbledore is increasingly advanced in years, and it would hardly be surprising if he were to start cracking under the many burdens and offices he holds. We can only hope such is not the case, because we shudder at the very thought of what would happen, if the man responsible for leading the light side of the Wizarding World should slip into senility or worse, insanity. (Read more on p.9 about the many machinations of Albus Dumbledore over the last decades)
Of course, this could also be an attempt to further Dumbledore's hold over the former Harry Potter, who is now to all purposes even more of an orphan, with no one to turn to. No longer connected to the many stalwart old families the Potter line used to intermarry with, our saviour is now surely much more vulnerable to outside control. What are the plans Dumbledore has for the Boy-who-lived? Who will ultimately benefit from Harry Potter being removed from his family?
And lastly, one more theory which was suggested to us is, that perhaps he never was a Potter to begin with. Of course, all this is purest conjecture, but the possibility exists that the Boy-who-lived was conceived out of wedlock, and in consequence was stripped of his name and paternal family rights. The marriage of the pure-blooded James Potter and Muggle-born Lily Evans was always lauded as a love-match made in heaven, but what if that was nothing but an illusion?
Was there maybe no love lost between the couple, and Lily Evans, caught in a cold, lonely marriage bed, looked elsewhere for solace? There can be little doubt that former Harry Potter is, indeed, the son of Lily Evans, but who is really his father? Is it actually James Potter, or could it be some other, unknown man? Or worse, one of James Potter's old clique? They were rumoured to be extremely close during their school-days, sharing everything. Was Lily Evans yet another aspect of their friendship they shared amongst them? (see p.14 for an excerpt on the school-day exploits of James Potter, the escaped convict Sirius Black, his victim Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin, the unremarkable fourth of the so-called 'Unholy Quartet')
What other dirty secrets may be hidden behind the impenetrable walls of Hogwarts castle?
Once again, we here at the Prophet wish to assure you, dear reader, that we are fully dedicated to discovering the truth for you. We will continue to try to learn just what caused young Mr. Evans to no longer bear his formerly vaunted family name. Look out for further breaking news in future editions!
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As he continued to read the utter slander the Prophet had printed, Harry couldn't help but follow Hermione's example and start swearing. The blood was pounding in his ears, and he very badly wanted to hurt someone. Preferably whoever had written this piece of sordid drivel, this utter monstrosity aimed at destroying the Potter name. Never mind he himself had caused it to become obsolete in the first place. He'd wanted to get rid of his name, yes, but not to see it dirtied and trampled in the mud by those … vultures who wrote for the Prophet.
Yesterday's frustration and anger was nothing compared to the way he felt as he ran his eyes again over the worst offences. He felt iridescent with fury. He wanted to storm the office of the Prophet and blow them up and eviscerate everyone who had dared to do this to him and his parent's name and reputation. He wasn't aware that the glasses on the table had started to shake badly. Or that the silverware was starting to do a dance. He just knew he had to make someone pay for this … this …
What brought him out of his murderous rage was the sound of glass shattering all over the Great Hall, as every single glass blew up simultaneously. This was followed by the shrieks and screams of students covered in glass shards and drenched in pumpkin juice or tea. Those sounds slowly quieted down to a terrified silence, broken only by a few faint sobs of frightened students. As Harry lifted his blood-shot eyes from the damnable newspaper, it was to meet, once again, everyone's eyes staring back at him. Only this time most of them were fearful.
The part of him which was capable of rational thought groaned at the realisation that this would be like the Heir of Slytherin business all over again. The other part, which was still raging, almost delighted in the stunned and fearful reactions he was receiving. At least they knew what he thought about this … this … he could find no adequate words for it. You certainly couldn't call it an article. Or news. Or anything that wasn't the foulest of slurs, insidious, underhanded social murder of his family, and the most abominable defamation of the dead. He simply couldn't find any words offensive enough to describe what he thought about it.
As he numbly stared back at everyone, he became aware that both the headmaster and Professor McGonagall had appeared behind him. He turned to look up at them. The witch appeared deeply disapproving, but when her eyes fell on the Prophet in front of him, he saw a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. Dumbledore just looked sad.
"Mr. Evans, if you would come with us?"
It wasn't a request, of course. But he could appreciate the illusion of courtesy. In any case, he was all in favour of getting away from everyone staring at him in fear and shock or calculation, the last mostly on Slytherin faces. He simply had to hope he wouldn't get punished too badly for blowing up the glass and injuring other students. He was starting to feel really bad about that, which cooled his anger rapidly. It had been accidental magic, yes. But it was still fuelled by his temper, which he had allowed to get out of control.
The combination of rage and guilt made his stomach hurt.
Consequences. Always.
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Albus Dumbledore sighed as he looked at Harry, who was slumped in a chair in front of the imposing headmaster's desk. The boy was clasping his hands tightly together and looked somewhere between murderous and remorseful.
"Harry, Harry. I know this is bad. Once again I needs must apologise for failing you. I should have foreseen something like this happening, and taken steps to prevent it. Or at least warned you of the possibility," he said, coming around to Harry's side of the desk and sitting down next to him. He gently took Harry's hands in his, and gave the boy a sorrowful gaze.
"Sadly I was not aware how very desperate for any selling story the Prophet appears to have become. As for the utter vitriol and hate behind this monstrosity … I suspect outside hands at work. And it was not only aimed at you, but through you at me and my influence," Albus shook his head and gave another sigh.
Harry just kept staring blankly at their clasped hands, his shoulders drawn up and his whole body tense.
"I have become somewhat inured against this kind of thing, and in truth they would hesitate to attack me directly. But a mere orphan, even if he is the boy-who-lived … apparently whoever is behind this considers you fair game."
"What can I do then?" the boy asked in a hollow voice.
"I will attempt to make them retract the article, but I fear the damage is done. Unfortunately the wording was most insidious … they never stated anything outright. Wizarding law is in many ways behind the Muggle one. There is little to defend an individual's right to privacy, or against indirect slander. So unless they directly say something … as long as they merely keep hinting, and 'voicing concerns' or asking pernicious 'questions' ... there is little that can be done, though I will put a lawyer on it straight away."
Albus sighed again and gave Harry's hands a gentle squeeze.
"I will, of course, attempt to discover who really is behind this. There are many who wish only the best for you here at Hogwarts, and together we will make sure the culprits get their just deserts. But for now, Harry, I fear the best you can do is ride out the storm and stay afloat. I do promise you this: Whoever is behind this will not get away with it."
Harry kept staring at their hands.
"All right, sir," he said. "I hope so."
"But you do not believe it. I understand, dear boy. Trust and belief do not come easy for you. And in truth, this is a difficult matter," Albus admitted. "Now, do you happen to know how to get into the kitchens here?"
"No, sir," Harry replied softly.
"Then I shall tell you how to reach it. You know the corridor leading to the Hufflepuff dorms?"
The boy gave a dazed nod.
"Along that corridor you will find a painting of a bowl of fruit, one of them is a pear. When tickled, the pear will transform into a door-knob, which opens the door leading to the kitchens. I will instruct the elves working there to provide you with a meal whenever you want to. Because at the moment, for the sake of everyone, most of all yourself, it might be wise if you avoided taking your meals in the Great Hall until the worst has blown over."
He held out a conciliatory hand as Harry's head shot up in indignation.
"Do not consider this cowardice, Harry, but rather prudence. To allow the currently very turbulent public waters to settle down before you venture into them again. Of course, if you do feel up to face … everyone, you are certainly welcome to do so. But unless you are more jaded than you should by rights be at your age, I cannot but think you should feel quite overwhelmed by all this," Albus carefully explained his reasoning, and his expression was sad as he peered down at the dejected, serious young face.
"Could Ron and Hermione come with me, sir?"
"Hmm. Maybe not for every meal. They are your best way of staying in contact with the rest of your house. Do try to make peace with your house-mates, Harry. Your house is meant to be your family while at school. Unfortunately, just as with a real family, house-relationships tend to be riddled with disagreements and spats at times," he admitted ruefully. "Still, they should learn to stand together with you, but you will have to learn to let them do so."
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Harry found himself nodding earnestly, though inside he was rather doubtful. His own experiences with family were certainly … anything but promising. But he had to admit that alienating himself from Gryffindor would be a bad idea. He was contemplating the monumental task of getting through to his house-mates, who could be quite stubborn and difficult, when the fireplace suddenly flared green. Harry was startled to see Professor McGonagall's head appear in the green flames.
"Albus?"
"Yes, Minerva?
"Do you still have Mr. Potter with you?
"Indeed, my dear."
"We just finished cleaning up the mess in the Great Hall, and fortunately I can report that none of the students were harmed. Well, aside from getting more or less drenched with sticky liquids. But the glass shattered in a very strange way, there were no sharp edges to the fragments at all. Apparently Mr. Potter's magic did not wish to injure anyone ..."
"That is good to know," Dumbledore told her, sounding relieved, and Harry noticed the twinkle seemed to be back in his eyes. "In that case I shall tell Harry his … punishment now, and then send him onwards to his classes. Do try to calm down the rest of the students, Minerva, we cannot have the term start with heavy bouts of hysterics all over the place."
"Of course, Albus. Though I should warn you that many of them were clearly frightened or upset by Mr. Potter's … display. It will likely take some time for them to forget about it."
The old wizard sighed and his smile turned wry. "No doubt. Well, we can only do our best, I suppose. I will see you later, Minerva."
The witch nodded sharply and then her face was gone from the fireplace, the flames dying down and resuming their normal colour. Dumbledore straightened up and turned to look pensively at Harry, who found himself fidgeting uncomfortably under the headmaster's regard.
"Now … I am afraid that in order to appease the other teachers and students … I will have to assign you some form of … punishment," Dumbledore finally said gravely, after contemplating Harry silently for long moments. Harry merely nodded and hung his head dispiritedly. He did feel guilty, after all, even if thankfully no-one had gotten hurt.
"I fully realise you did not do this on purpose, and punishing you for accidental magic ..." the old wizard gave Harry a sorrowful look full of hidden meanings. "Does not sit well with me, in light of what your relatives used to do. However, if only for the sake of appearances, the illusion that you were punished must be in place."
The headmaster peered at Harry searchingly before continuing: "I shall take twenty points from Gryffindor for causing a commotion in the Great Hall … which in truth, you did," he admonished, though his tone was gentle. "And I shall also assign you weakly detentions with Minerva for the rest of the year."
Harry's head shot up again, an indignant protest half-formed on his tongue. He'd just been told he would not be seriously punished, after all, and detentions for the rest of the year seemed a fairly hefty price to pay for doing accidental magic.
"Let me finish," Dumbledore said more sternly. Harry subsided, feeling bad all over again for his rashness.
"You do deserve some measure of punishment, after all, and so yours shall be that you will learn to keep your temper in better check. The detentions will actually be a cover for you to take lessons in meditation and anger-management with a healer friend of mine who works in St. Mungo's. And I do expect you to have made significant progress by the end of the year!"
Harry blinked in surprise and nodded earnestly after a moment.
"Yes, sir. I will do my best. And I do try, it's just … well, you saw what they wrote," he pointed out, struggling to keep the rage he'd felt earlier from rising up again.
The headmaster sighed. "Yes, and I do understand. But you must realise your … explosive reaction earlier likely made your situation worse. No doubt the Prophet will learn of it soon, and they can and will make even more of a spectacle out of it. Or accuse you personally of unfounded things. This last 'article' was mostly aimed at your family name and myself … I fear the next may well target you directly instead," he concluded soberly.
Harry blanched, because unfortunately Professor Dumbledore was right. It had been bad enough with the Parseltongue last year. And at that point, the Prophet hadn't even been out to get him, they'd simply been eager for any story. He shuddered at the thought of what a hostile newspaper could make out of him blowing up like that. He'd be the new Dark Lord by tomorrow, and murdering students in their beds by next week. He met the headmaster's grave eyes. There was no twinkle there now, and the old man appeared sad.
"What will be, will be. Do try to control your temper better, Harry. But for now … all we can do is ride out this storm, and see if we cannot send it back to its originator."
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Sirius Black stared blankly at the headlines screaming at him from a discarded Daily Prophet that he'd dragged to the Shrieking Shack. He was badly tempted to scream back at it, and refresh the rumours of haunting which made the Shack such a good hide-out. Because none of this made any sense.
First the boy who was his godson changed his looks so that he hardly appeared like James' son anymore. And then the kid fled from him when he met Sirius. And now this dreadful paper told him that Harry had also changed his surname. Which was all kinds of wrong in itself. He couldn't comprehend why James' son didn't want to acknowledge James as his father anymore. It … made no sense. No sense whatsoever.
Even he, who'd hated his family, never tried not to be a Black. Because even if you couldn't stand them … your family was important. And what reasons could the boy have to not want his father anymore, when James had been such a great guy? James. James had been a great father. So how could his son reject him? He couldn't understand it. It just made no sense.
If only he hadn't asked them to switch … James would still be alive. And be there for his son, whose behaviour was utterly confusing Sirius. It was all the fault of that damn traitor. But he would make the rat pay. Oh, yes, the rat would pay. He snarled his hate, and felt the paper tear in his fingers.
Maybe someone had forced his godson to do this? That must be it. The dreadful paper suggested Dumbledore's involvement, but surely that couldn't be right? Though … hadn't the old man left him to rot in Azkaban? Shouldn't he have known of Sirius' innocence? The old man always seemed to know everything, after all. So maybe it was Dumbledore? But the headmaster had always been on their side. Or seemed to anyway. It was hard to tell what was truth anymore, after so many years with only Dementors for company. Especially when nothing seemed to make sense.
Of course the Prophet also hinted darkly at any number of other reasons, some of which were clearly laughable, but … no smoke without a fire, right? He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, willing the headache to subside. He longed for the simplicity that was dog, that worried only about the next meal and a comfortable place to sleep. And the hunt. The hunt for an evil, traitorous rat.
Yes. Padfoot needed to catch Wormtail, and make him pay.
He would concentrate on that for now. And maybe everything else would make more sense tomorrow, or next week.
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AN: This update gave me serious trouble, mostly the Prophet bit. And sorry about that, the article didn't start out too bad, but just grew progressively worse. Please do not stone me. And yes, there shall be a war against the Prophet in this story. The chapter also changed and evolved while I was writing it, as this whole story tends to do. That mostly started out with the basic idea of: 'Hey, Harry changes his name, which causes any number of things to work out differently, and various relationships develop in sometimes unexpected ways. And there shall be many unforeseen consequences.' Which I keep discovering as I continue to write this story. Some of it is pre-planned, but a lot of it I do not know beforehand, either. As I said before, partly I'm writing this story to find out myself what is going to happen. I invite you to come along for the ride, and I hope you have fun. :)
