Poppy smiled at the small boy standing next to the headmaster, happy when he gave a small smile back.
"Harry, this is Madam Pomphrey, she's going to do a check up to make sure you're healthy for the school year, is that okay?"
Harry's smile disappeared in a flash and he looked disturbed, "Yes...I don't like needles though."
'I know that look, the frame as well, Merlin Albus'
Poppy shooed the headmaster away, knowing this would be a difficult check-up.
"Why don't you come here and sit on this bed Harry."
"Ok."
Quietly, she began non-invasive analysis spells. His circulatory system was in good condition, his kidneys and liver both showing no damage. His lungs weren't awful but had worrying signs, he had clearly spent a lot of time somewhere dusty, not rare for kids as clearly abused as she could tell he was.
Harry had scar tissue on his back, some attack wound from what was probably a dog. Dogs had a unique way of biting and clawing that other animals didn't, dogs rip and tear to kill and maim whereas other animals tended to kill as efficiently as possible, dogs not needing to eat their prey most of the time.
Harry was malnourished beyond belief.
'His magic should step in...there', her thoughts cut off as she noticed his magic was almost entirely obscured by a second source, one she had originally assumed was his core.
There was another massive magical signature in Harry Potter's body. One strong enough to nearly completely obscure the most magically powerful child she had ever heard of.
'Albus, your pride consumes you so. Well, time for the question.'
Harry clearly needed out of wherever he had been living. It wasn't the worst abuse case she had seen but it was still abuse and that couldn't stand...but she could only go to the headmaster if Harry, or any child for that matter, confirmed their abuse to her, which was the hard part. Abused children rarely admitted that someone damaged them.
"Harry...has anyone ever tried to hurt you? Specifically an adult?"
Harry stiffened.
"N-no. Why?"
'Well shit, tonight is going to be a whiskey night I guess.'
"I noticed you had some scars on your back here-"
"How."
"Uh-magic, Harry."
"Oh. Does that mean I don't have to take off my shirt like the other doctor?"
"No Harry, you don't."
"Okay, I don't like doing that. My aunt Marge's dog Ripper caught me when I was 7."
'That's not enough.'
"Did she...tell the dog to do this?"
"She said he was just playing, that he didn't attack like that."
"And what happened after that?"
"My aunt sent me to bed after a bath. The cuts healed really quick, I thought it was worse when Ripper caught me, but I guess I was just scared so it hurt more."
'He caught on, he's not going to incriminate them. Every time.'
"Harry...I'm going to have you come here every day so that I can give you some potions, we'll start today with…"
She trailed off with explaining what she would do and what treatments he would be assigned. He was lucky he was taken to her so early, in a couple of months the major signs might have been largely covered up and she wouldn't have suspected abuse, likely she would've just assumed he was a picky eater or a bit too adventurous...like James. Wasn't that a scary thought.
]
Harry didn't like hospitals. He didn't like doctors very much either, now that he thought about it.
They always asked questions about his home, didn't they understand he couldn't answer? He couldn't tell them that Marge let Ripper loose on him, he couldn't tell them that he lived under the stairs, the Dursleys would just make it worse. Albus said he would never go back but adults tended to make promises to kids only when it suited their good conscience.
He absently listened to the nurse rattle off her questions and things he was supposed to drink. He would come, he wasn't stupid, but he had no idea what she was talking about.
Eventually she looked him in the eyes and just sighed.
"Why don't I show you the kitchen, Harry. The elves love to see the children's faces when they've had a good meal, I'm sure they'd be happy to make you something."
'No no no no'
"I can cook for myself I've-" 'had to since I could hold a pan' "-my aunt and uncle are busy a lot. They taught me."
Then she did it. She did the smile, that guilty smile an adult made when they thought they knew something you didn't.
"I'm sure you do, doubting your abilities wasn't my intent. You'll understand better when you meet the elves."
Harty shut his mouth and followed her to the kitchens. He was confused when she brought him to a painting. He watched as she….tickled a pear?
"Uh..ma'am-"
"I'm aware, I find it odd as well."
Then the painting opened and revealed, low and behold, a kitchen.
"Abby."
Harry jumped as one of the freakiest creatures he'd ever seen popped into existence three paces in front of him.
"Yes, mistress Poppy?"
"Do you mind getting young Harry here a good meal?"
The unadulterated glee in Abby's entire face and body as she brightened up took Harry aback.
"A student! Yes, we'd love to, master Harry sirs. We can make pie!"
"I- okay."
The excitable elf popped away again.
]
Harry was now rather pleased that he hadn't cooked for himself. The elves had just kept bringing him food, and every time he got full, it felt like it only lasted a couple minutes before he could eat again. He couldn't name a single dish that had been served to him, but there was a lot of meat involved.
He'd been nervous at first but Abby assured him that the elves relished the opportunity to experiment with new things and bring joy. She said cooking was of so little effort to the elves that the only thing of import was the contentedness of their charges. Harry admired the elves a good bit for that.
Eventually, when he literally could not eat more without possibly dying, he left the kitchens and was greeted by the headmaster.
"How was your meal, Harry?"
"Amazing, headmaster! The elves just kept making stuff."
"They do tend to love putting a smile on a child's face. Well, I believe it's about time we handled a few things."
Harry followed the headmaster to a statue of a Griffin.
"Lemon Drop."
The statue turned, a spiral staircase twirling into place along the wall. Harry loved this castle more every minute he spent inside it. Though the staircase was nothing compared to the wonder that was the headmaster's office. Untold numbers of books, objects, memoirs, and trinkets lined dozens of shelves and cases.
"Take a seat Harry."
Harry sat in the luxurious chair across the desk from the headmaster's seat.
"Harry...we need to discuss your living situation."
'Of course. Please don't send me back...let me have this.'
"Y-yes?"
"You see...I can't let you stay in this castle."
"I can't go back to-"
"The Dursleys will never be part of your life again, should you choose it. I mean to say that I do not have the authority to keep you here."
"T-then who does? Can the headmaster not decide that?"
"Harry...I cannot keep you here because this school, despite my best wishes, is a political entity. But I know someone you can stay with, if you'd wish it."
"...Who?"
"Your godfather, Harry."
Anger rushed through Harry, embers of rage igniting into an inferno of dangerous thoughts.
"My what."
The headmaster took a very deep breath.
"10 years ago, on Halloween night, James and Lily Potter were attacked by the terrorist Tom Marvolo Riddle, going by the name of Lord Voldemort. Sirius Orion Black, suspected betrayer of the Potters, appeared at the house, found you, handed you over to one Rubeus Hagrid, and chased down Peter Pettigrew. An exchange of words happened, Sirius yelled 'I killed them, I killed them both', and a blast was created. 12 muggles died and Peter Pettigrew left behind only a finger."
"...and just why would I want to stay with this man? The Dursleys told me it was a car crash but they're not a reliable source. Who's Voldemort?"
"One at a time...Because nothing else of Peter was found. Sirius was arrested and imprisoned without a trial. But the glaring problem is, even if he was incinerated, Peter would have left some remains. And upon looking back, I think it's much more likely that Peter was the betrayer. I was recently informed that I needed to shift my perspective on certain events."
"So what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to get your godfather a trial."