Title: Blood tells
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or NCIS.
Rating: T - for brief mentions of physical abuse of a child.
Summary: After a car accident leaves Harry alone in the world once again, he is shipped off to live with his last remaining blood relative. Eventual Jibbs. This is my first story touching upon child abuse, so I would appreciate any insights into what Harry's behaviour would be like.
A.N.: I have a poll on my profile page, I would appreciate your vote on which stories you would like to see finished first as I have quite a few ongoing ones and limited time for writing. ;)
Vernon Dursley sighed angrily; he'd had enough. He and his wife, Petunia, had had a perfectly normal life. They had been happily married, they'd had a modestly large house with a pure white fence and perfectly manicured lawn and their bouncing baby boy had been the light of their lives. His only concern had been getting to work every day and providing for his family. Seven years ago to the day, Petunia's nephew had arrived on their doorstep and their normal life had been irrevocably destroyed.
As if sensing the turn of his uncle's thoughts, the gangly, scruffy boy hastily tried to pat down his messy black hair and blend in with the car's upholstery. Vernon's lip curled in distaste. The boy had been a menace from the moment he had arrived, squawking in the early hours of the morning, waking up the entire street! He hadn't even been given to them in the proper manner. Left on a doorstep! What sort of person would do such a thing?
Vernon was proud to say he was a respectable person, so he had allowed the child into his home and had allowed Petunia to change and feed him, but that was all a respectable person ought to have been asked to do. To then find that the child that had been abandoned on his property was the son of Petunia's sister and that they had to -had to!- take him in had enraged him. The nerve of that Dumbledore person!
Vernon gripped the steering wheel tighter, in an attempt to reign in his temper. No one had asked him if he had wanted to take in the boy, no one had asked him if he could afford to feed and clothe another child. There had been no option to refuse either, as Petunia had fearfully pointed out. They had m-, well... more -influence- than he did, which they wouldn't hesitate to use in order to get their way.
Their perfectly normal life had fallen down around them; their marriage was hanging by a thread, their house was too crowded and every day Vernon watched his son Dudley closely for any sign that the freak had contaminated him. It was his greatest fear, and to that end he had attempted to ensure it would never happen. The boy was kept as far from Dudley as possible and locked in his cupboard during the night. He was taught the value of hard manual work so he wouldn't ever think of waving a hand and- no. Just no.
Despite his best efforts however, the boy still managed to slip up, to do something freakish. Today was the last straw. Parents evening had come to an end after a gruelling hour of listening to the boy's misdeeds, his freakishness manifesting itself even around other innocent children. It had to stop. He clenched his jaw and looked into the rear-view mirror, catching sight of the boy sneaking fearful glances at him. He knew very well what was coming once he got him home.
It didn't happen often, but when it did he made sure it made a lasting impression. At first he had simply used his hand, a dozen swats to the backside or the legs. When it had become apparent that that wasn't working he had started to use a slipper instead. Somehow, and he wasn't quite sure how, it had escalated to a full beating. It had gotten more frequent too. He didn't want to do it, but he had to.
He knew that if anyone found out he could be in a lot of trouble, but they didn't know what he knew. They couldn't grasp that the boy would grow up to become a monster, just like all of the other freaks. They wouldn't see that he was protecting his family, and by extension everyone, from the boy's evil. They couldn't and wouldn't see that he was taking this evil upon himself so that no one else would have to suffer by the boy's hand. He glanced into the mirror again and resolutely told himself to make this time count. He had to be taught that his actions had consequences; nasty ones.
Vernon hadn't bought the story Dumbledore had spun about an evil w- man starting a war and killing hundreds, coincidentally including the boy's parents but not the boy himself. Preposterous. Where was the evidence of that? If there had been a war on, everyone would have known about it. No, Vernon had a pretty shrewd idea of what had really happened that night. The boy, at one year old, had killed his own parents with his freakishness. Well, he had no intention of letting the boy do the same to his family.
So caught up was he in his ruminations, that Vernon never saw the truck that hit his car, killing him and Dudley instantly.
Harry Potter slowly blinked, trying his hardest to stay awake so he could watch America appear beneath the plane. It had been a long flight, and Harry was exhausted from the whirlwind of activity following his Aunt Petunia's death in hospital. Two weeks after the crash they had still been waiting for her to awaken from her coma. She hadn't and had slipped away during the night. Harry had been staying in an adjoining room, recovering from his own injuries, when his aunt's heart monitor announcing her death had awoken him.
The authorities had had no idea what to do with him. For some odd reason they had thought that he hadn't been living with his aunt and uncle. He had assured them that he had, and when the School had backed him up they had relented. Harry had thought it odd, but then his relatives had preferred it when he pretended very hard not to be there. He hoped that, wherever they were now, they were pleased with how successful he had been.
He sighed and sat back in his seat. He had had a stressful few weeks. Harry had regained consciousness the day after the crash and one of the first things his doctor had asked him about, were his bruises. He hadn't answered him truthfully though, he knew better. Uncle Vernon had made it very clear what would happen if he told anyone, and even with his uncle apparently no longer around he adhered to the rules. He'd told his doctor that he'd got them in the crash and had refused to listen when the doctor insisted they were older than that. The doctor had told him that he'd had several fractured bones that had set without medical care, too. Harry already knew that though, so why were they telling him?
After the doctors had ascertained that aunt Petunia would be in a coma for a long while, the Child services woman, Mrs Tyler, had asked him if he knew of any other living relatives that he could stay with until she woke up. He had answered no. Aunt Marge wasn't a blood relative and she hated him so she didn't count. They had told him they were going to have to check thoroughly and eventually they had found him another aunt that he would have to live with. He hadn't minded when they had told him, it would only have been for a little while after all. Then aunt Petunia had died.
Harry turned so that he was completely facing the window and rested his head against it, staring out at the vast blue ocean. He missed them. They were his family, they had taken him in when he'd had no one, fed him, clothed him, put a roof over his head and tried to turn him into a good person. He felt a tear roll down his cheek and he swiped it away before the Mrs Tyler noticed it. He didn't want to have to listen to her questions about his 'feelings' or 'experiences' relating to his uncle. Sure they had been harsh with him, but he understood that his uncle hadn't wanted to hurt him. He understood that he had brought it on himself and that seeing the consequences through would make him a better person. He knew he deserved it.
He had also known what to expect with the Dursleys', but this new aunt Jenny, he didn't know her at all. No one had mentioned her, as far as he knew he only had two aunts, Petunia and Marge. She didn't even live in England, which was why he was on a plane. She lived in the US, so he was forced to give up everything familiar to him so he could go live with her. Harry was scared to think of what would happen to him in America. What if she didn't like him? Was that why she had never visited or sent post cards or Christmas cards? What would she think of his freakishness? Would she let him stay in her cupboard under the stairs or would she send him to an orphanage?
"Nearly there now, Harry, how are you doing? Feeling sick?" Mrs Tyler asked him kindly. He shook his head no, and continued to stare out the window. Mrs Tyler was accompanying him to America where he and his paper work would then be handed over to their Child services and then taken to meet his aunt Jenny. He was very nervous, but he knew better than to let anyone see it.
Land approached on the horizon and Harry concentrated on trying to see buildings before they appeared so that he wouldn't have to think about the inevitable meeting.
Craig Hewitt casually glanced over the file in his hands once more while he waited for the plane to unload its passengers. Harry James Potter was stamped on the front of the folder and he carefully kept it facing his body, so no one could accidently read it, just to be safe.
What he had seen of this case was appalling and he knew he only held the basics of it in his hands; the full case file would be delivered to him by the boy's Child Services officer when she arrived. Harry Potter, the saviour of the Wizarding World, had once again been the only survivor of a tragic event. Tragic, but according to the notes he held, perhaps for the best.
The family he had been staying with, his maternal Aunt Petunia Dursley nee Evans and her husband and son, had abused him. The file was careful not to say how, or perhaps they simply didn't know the extent of it, but it was as clear as day from the pictures that the police had taken of the cupboard under the stairs. The cupboard where The Boy Who Lived had spent his childhood. The cupboard with a bolt on the outside.
He heard the disillusioned officers behind him shuffle their feet in boredom and he sighed audibly to cover it up. The four wizards were part of the Office of Magical Immigration, or OMI. There had been a lot of Harry Potters trying to gain access to the country over the years, men and women polyjuiced into small black haired boys with thick framed glasses. Usually these witches and wizards were trying to flee from the British Ministry of Magic justice system, or were attempting to take advantage of the young boy's fame. None had made it past the OMI.
Passengers began spilling out of the arrivals terminal and Craig straightened up and pushed off from the wall. There he was. Young Harry Potter, if that was indeed who he really was, stared at his feet as he trailed along beside a middle aged woman, dragging his suitcase forlornly behind him. Craig strode toward the duo, striding fluidly and slowly so it was easy for the OMI officers to step in time with him.
"Hello, Mr Hewitt, is it?" the woman asked, holding out her hand. He took it with a smile, feeling a slight disturbance in the air by him as the OMI officers did their thing, attempting to find any signs of subterfuge coming from the boy. Craig dragged the moment out a little by asking after her health, family and finally Mr Potter. The OMI officers tapped him surreptitiously on the shoulder twice; all clear. Now they became guards until they were dismissed, which would be when Harry was handed over to his aunt.
"Here is Mr Potter's file. I'll be happy to discuss with you any concerns you have." The lady, Mrs Tyler, said formally.
"Thank you. Now, if you'll follow me we can chat in the car on the way to his aunt's workplace." Craig replied, taking the file and sweeping his arm towards the exit.
"She isn't meeting us here?" Mrs Tyler asked, frowning while her eyes scanned the crowd. Craig shrugged. They hadn't informed her of Harry's impending visit in case it was a hoax, but one of the OMI officers would have sent a message by now, so one of the muggle officials would be getting hold of her and explaining the situation while they drove over.
"As head of a Federal Agency she has a very important job and is usually in meetings for most of the day." He explained, and Mrs Tyler inclined her head in understanding. Craig smiled at Harry, who glanced at him only briefly and then returned to staring at the ground.
Now that Craig was really looking at him he realised that Potter was quite small for an eight year old, skinny too. They made their way outside and Craig helped Harry place his luggage in the boot of the car and then they got in, buckled up and set off. The OMI officers would fly on their brooms just overhead of the car. It wasn't a long car journey from Dulles to the Navy Yard, but he intended to study the file he had been given before the handover.
Almost from the first page he was shaken. They believed he had been beaten by his uncle, that they starved him, kept him in away from family life by locking him away in his cupboard -his cupboard!- and suppressed his learning. Teachers had apparently recalled his enthusiasm on the first few days at school before a dramatic fall in class participation and work quality. If the Wizarding World knew about how he had been treated, even over here in America there would be an uproar. War with England hadn't exactly been on the minds of any Magical citizen, so when Harry had, deliberately or not, stopped the mad dark wizard's rise, America had breathed a collective sigh of relief. They owed the boy a debt of gratitude. England owed him more... and this was how they allowed him to be treated?
Mrs Tyler added her own observations when he silently showed her one of the photos taken by Harry's doctor of the bruising on his back. He was quiet, reserved and jumpy. He didn't like large open spaces with lots of people in, possible beginnings of mild paranoia. His every move was controlled as if he feared doing something wrong. Craig sat back attempting to hide how shocked he was. Surely there had been someone from the magical community checking up on him? A muggle Social worker perhaps? The file told him that there hadn't, that Harry had been left alone with people who were supposed to help him, love him, but had hurt him. The rest of the journey was spent in silence.
A.N.2: I worked out that Jenny is 3 years younger than Lily Potter (Lauren Holly's (Jenny's) birthday is in 1963, Lily's is in 1960 according to the wiki) so it is plausible. ;) How they are related will be revealed next chapter.