Part 3
While Harry was spared a second confrontation with Malfoy in the weeks that followed the Slytherin ambush in the corridors, everything with the press and the Dursleys got so much messier. By the second week of October, The Daily Prophet had managed to secure a picture of Petunia and Vernon, the two dressed in their finest and apparently at some work function of Grunnings. How they had managed to take or acquire the (moving) photograph was a mystery, but Harry supposed it would be all too easy for one of the paper's photographers to disguise themselves amongst the guests of the tedious-looking party to snap the image.
Harry sat at breakfast, looking down at the picture with the feeling that he had somehow vacated his body. It was surreal to see his aunt pursing her lips in a tight kind of smile and Vernon haughtily fixing his tie on the front of a wizard's paper. The collision of his two worlds was complete, and this was the result. Appetite gone, he looked around, the feeling of déjà vu washing over him as he saw numerous heads – though far less than last time – lost in the front page, wondering, whispering, fascinated at finding out what Harry Potter's controversial family actually looked like. Minus Dudley, of course.
Ron was scanning the piece for anything of interest, as Harry hadn't the will to read it at this point. Hermione was studying it over his shoulder, her brown eyes clearly showing her determination not to miss anything of relevance. All he felt now was a dull tiredness, willing the entire situation to die down. But if his last meeting with Dumbledore was any inclination, he would have no such luck. The Dursleys had been rather forthright about their dislike of their sixteen-year-old nephew and the magical world in general, but that didn't directly give evidence of abuse or otherwise.
One of the few genuinely surprising and touching moments to have come out of the entire thing had occurred three weeks back, when Mrs and Mr Weasley had arrived at Dumbledore's office, determination ablaze in Ron's mother's eyes, and announced their intention to take Harry in when this was all over. Harry was equal parts embarrassed and truly grateful by the time he had been called to and left that particular meeting, and although no decisions could be made, or would have to be made, until the summer, he felt a little lighter that evening. Initially wary of Ron's reaction to his family's overt generosity, he felt stupid after the redhead had grinned at him, elbowing him in the side for his worry.
Speaking of Ron, the boy folding his paper pulled Harry back to reality and he glanced over at his friends.
"So?"
The other boy shrugged. "Nothing much in there, really. Relying on the photograph for shock value, I'd say. Bit weird seeing them on the front page though…"
Harry silently agreed. He had a sudden need to get up and leave, but he felt that would draw even more attention to himself, so he slumped in his seat and focused on the tea in front of him.
As if sensing his will to flee, Hermione reached across and placed her hand on his arm.
"There really isn't anything of importance in there, Harry. They clearly don't have anything else to print on all of this."
Ron was nodding beside her and Harry willed them to understand that the photograph was enough, but he appreciated their approach.
When it looked like he wasn't going to say anything further, Hermione pulled back and gave him a sad smile. "Are you sure you don't want to come to Hogsmeade, Harry? It might do you good to get away from all of this for a couple of hours.
Harry shook his head. "It seems like there're going to be more students out of the castle at this point. I'd rather give it a miss, if that's alright?"
Hermione hadn't the heart to argue or push the issue, though he could tell she really wanted to. But she said nothing more, simply nodding her assent. Twenty minutes later, she and Ron vacated the hall, along with numerous other students, all intent upon enjoying the day outside in the wizarding village.
Harry averted his eyes when Hermione looked back one last time, guilt written into her features. Sighing, he drained his now cold cup of tea and was about to leave for the library when an owl landed down, rather roughly, right in front of him, making him jump back slightly.
Judging by the large bird's intent stare, the small letter attached to her leg was for him. Harry collected it carefully, turning the envelope over to reveal Dumbledore's neat script, the softly looping hand causing an odd sense of dread in Harry's stomach.
X
X
Harry felt completely sick. Standing outside of the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office, he cursed his very existence. Clutched in his hand was the letter from the headmaster, rather gently announcing the imminent arrival of his relatives. To Hogwarts. The Dursleys at Hogwarts. The very idea boggled the mind. And there he was thinking the photograph had been bizarre.
It would seem that several witches and wizards had targeted both Petunia and Vernon in the short few hours since their photograph had been revealed to the magical world. As soon as they had ventured into town, away from the safety of their home, and had been recognised by a discerning wizard or two, a series of nasty curses had been aimed at their travelling car, almost causing them to crash. For their safety, and the difficulty of the ongoing case, Dumbledore had asked Dedalus Diggle to bring the couple and their son to see him in order to provide safer arrangements until the media outrage died down.
The letter had merely been to inform Harry of their presence, stating that he need not see them if he didn't wish to. However, something had carried him to the office, despite the building nausea in his stomach. Whether it was an internal curiosity at seeing his family so out of place in his world, or because he wanted to broach the subject of the media, Harry couldn't say. But here he was, despite his inner desire to turn heel and run.
Taking a deep breath, he moved forward and muttered the password half-heartedly, unknowingly walking into quite the dramatic scene.
X
X
Harry stopped short the second he entered the headmaster's office. Vernon's face was already purple, and he was waving his arms rather comically, mid-rant, in front of a rather unimpressed Albus Dumbledore.
The door snapping shut behind him drew everyone's attention and Harry froze upon seeing Snape's dark eyes on him from a far corner of the room.
However, he didn't have time to ponder the man's presence, as his uncle decided to redirect his tirade of anger onto the new addition to the room. Never one for subtlety, his beady eyes narrowed as soon as he caught sight of Harry.
"Boy!" he snapped, drawing everyone's attention. "What have you been telling these frea- these people about us? Nasty little lies. We've been hounded. Hounded! By your lot."
Vernon Dursley would never understand the effect his tone, words and mere presence would have on all involved in that little scene. Dumbledore's face grew stony, studying the interaction with a cold intensity. Petunia, who was seated in front of the headmaster's desk, grew oddly fidgety, as if sensing the impression her husband was making – a flighty manner she usually saved for worrying over the neighbours. Dudley pressed himself into the far wall, as if attempting to make his large body disappear through it.
Harry, on the other hand, well used to his uncle's mannerisms, stood his ground.
"I didn't say anything. Ask your son."
Vernon turned that ugly shade of puce that really flagged his temper and Harry instantly remembered where he was and who was there to witness it all. Glancing to Snape, his body jolted at the intense expression on the man's face, his pale visage firmly focused on his most hated student.
"Don't bring our Dudley into this! This has you written all over it. You and your lot probably tricked him with your, you know what!" Vernon was gesturing wildly, which Harry roughly translated into an attempt to convey the word 'magic.'
"Magic?" he asked, sarcastically, his flat delivery unconsciously attempting to rile the man up even more. But Vernon didn't have a chance to answer. Petunia seemed to recover from her nerves and was now looking at Harry with her usual brand of distaste.
"Don't speak to Vernon that way. Lord knows what you did to my little boy!"
"Little?"
A new voice, dripping with antagonism, sounded from Snape, joining the conversation. Petunia rounded on him with a nasty expression she usually reserved for Harry.
"Stay out of this, Snape!"
Snape's lips had curled into a cruel smile, but for once it wasn't directed at his student, but the rather thin and bony woman in front of him.
His silence only incensed Petunia and she turned a cold shoulder to him, approaching her son and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Don't think you're in a position of power here. We may be stuck in this castle, in your little world," she spat. "But I know you. You'll always just be that scrawny boy from Spinner's End."
Harry's mouth fell open at her words, his eyes darting between them, unable to understand this exchange. It sounded as if his aunt knew Snape.
The Slytherin professor lost his smile at her words, his expression giving way to cold fury. However, Harry's shock must have caught his eye, as he immediately straightened up and said no more, content to stare at Petunia with absolute loathing, but unwilling to say more in front of their small audience.
"I think that's enough," Dumbledore said, standing. "Harry, I didn't expect to see you."
Harry shrugged awkwardly, unable to explain why he felt he needed to come here. But the headmaster seemed to understand, for he didn't pry further, turning to address the Dursleys. Harry's eyes wandered to Dudley, who seemed to be trying to escape the grip his mother had on him.
"As I was saying," the headmaster continued. "We can arrange for additional security to accompany you when you vacate Privet Drive for work and other errands, or we can place you in a safe house. Your home is still very well hidden, but I understand that may feel unsafe there. It is your choice."
Despite the generous offer, there was no warmth in Dumbledore's tone and Harry suddenly appreciated that the elder man was truly on his side in all of this.
Petunia and Vernon remained silent, clearly unhappy with anything and everything that was, and could ever be, offered to them. It was Dudley who finally spoke up, his voice a little shaky.
"Um, I'd like to go somewhere else. A safe house."
Both of his parents immediately turned to him with gaping expressions, as if he had suddenly announced his intention to become a trapeze artist.
Sensing his cousin's gaze, Dudley turned to Harry, his expression growing sheepish and pained in equal measure.
Silence reigned.
Harry surprised himself by speaking first, the words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. "Why did you talk to the press, Dudley? Were you really coerced? Or tricked or something? Is that why you told them everything about me?"
A weird hush descended on the room. Dudley's face coloured, but he nodded. "Yeah. I didn't mean to get mum and dad in trouble."
Harry bitterly considered this answer. "Right."
"Er, they say you won't be living with us anymore. You probably prefer that right? I know things weren't always…" He trailed off, wary of the eyes watching him, but Harry was left looking at him in shock.
Vernon suddenly cleared his throat loudly. "We'll take the safe house thingy. But only until this all dies down. That's what you want, right Dudley?
The boy nodded, but he didn't take his eyes off Harry. His uncle was clearly growing nervous as his son's odd behaviour, speaking very loudly once again, demanding a twenty-four-hour guard and his choice of location. Judging by Dumbledore's expression, it was highly unlikely that all of his demands would be met.
With the beefy man distracting the headmaster and his aunt, Harry moved a little closer to Dudley, speaking in low tones.
"Er, are you alright, Dudley?"
The larger boy shrugged, looking at his parents warily.
"Things have been a bit weird since that Dementhingy attacked last summer. You saved my life."
Blinking in surprise, Harry then shook his head.
Dudley, as if sensing his attempted nonchalance, stepped forward, surprisingly keeping his usually booming voice to a low murmur.
"I didn't mean to mess anything up for you, you know. Didn't even know what I'd said until he," he pointed toward the headmaster, "showed up."
Harry sighed, almost annoyed that he couldn't blame his cousin for this particular misfortune. His aunt and uncle were the cause of his childhood misery and while Dudley had definitely contributed, he was a kid following his father and mother's example. Now he couldn't even blame him for letting his secrets out. It was maddening. Harry wanted someone to direct his frustration at.
"What happens now?" Dudley asked.
Harry shook his head.
Dudley frowned at the evasive behaviour.
"What about Voldemberg, or whatever his name is?"
Harry snorted, unable to help himself.
"Voldemort," he corrected, his momentary mirth seeming to lift Dudley's expression slightly. "He's still out there."
An awkward silence then permeated the air, broken by the occasional outburst from Vernon. However, as soon as Harry turned away from his larger cousin, he caught Snape staring at him with an unwelcome curiosity, his keen eyes alert in a way that Harry really didn't like.
Harry didn't wait to see the Dursleys off. Once a plan had been agreed, the headmaster asked if his aunt and uncle had anything to say to Harry; a very direct and rather intimidating way of requesting that they at least apologise for some of their behaviour. Predictably, this had gone nowhere, ending with Dumbledore's cool promise to visit the small family at their arranged lodgings very soon – the hint of a cold threat hidden in the undercurrent of his soft tone. Harry took that as permission to leave, glancing at Dudley and between his aunt and Snape one more time before slipping out the door with a nod to the headmaster.
His mind whirled as he started down the corridor. Burning curiosity at his aunt's exchange with Snape filled him, and he replayed their words to one another over and over as he walked. How had she known where Snape was from? It was utterly bizarre, and he knew he wouldn't easily find an answer. He couldn't very well ask Petunia or Snape. Either of them would kill him just for asking.
Whilst bemoaning the fact that his life has taken an even more oddly complicated turn, Harry's mind welcomed the distraction from thoughts of newspapers and Malfoy's plotting, his mind pouring over the possibility of how the greasy bat of the dungeons would know horse-faced Petunia Dursley, of all people.
X
X
Harry's curiosity carried over to his Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson that following Monday. So focused on the professor in front of him, Harry didn't immediately notice that Malfoy sat one seat over from him. It was only when a crumpled piece of paper landed in front of him that he was startled out of his stupor. Glancing down at it, he first looked to Ron and Hermione questioningly. However, Hermione was furiously scribbling on parchment and Ron was half dozing in his chair, his quill hanging from his fingers precariously.
Finally turning to the other side of him, Harry's mouth tightened at the sight of blonde hair. Snatching up the note, he unfolded it with impatience.
'Nice portrait of your little family in the paper over the weekend. You let those people run your life, Potter? Really?'
Harry could sense the snide tone in the words and let out a furious breath, refusing to look at the other boy. Instead, he chose to tear the note into shreds, letting the remains litter his desk
"That's rich," Harry muttered, wary eyes on Snape who was prowling several rows in front, lecturing on the more gruesome effects of a blood boiling curse. "Coming from someone in deep with the Death Eaters."
Silence greeted these words, but still Harry didn't look at the other boy.
"Have you forgotten our little chat a few weeks back, Potter?" Malfoy's voice was very quiet.
"You mean the one where you needed Goyle to back you up? Yeah, I remember."
More silence.
"You think you'd be more careful about antagonising me. Considering who you assume I'm associated with…"
The thinly veiled threat drew a short laugh from Harry and he finally turned to face cold grey eyes.
"Voldemort wants me dead, Malfoy, and I'm pretty sure he'll want to do it personally. You're the least of my problems."
Apart from a slight cringe at the Dark Lord's name, Malfoy didn't immediately react to the Gryffindor's words. The blonde eventually opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted when Snape called out Harry's name, sharply and derisively.
"Potter. Get up here."
Glancing back at the blonde, Harry stood, suddenly aware of the fact that he hadn't been listening.
Standing a safe distance away from his professor, Harry looked at him expectantly, trying to disguise both the curiosity over their last encounter and his anxiety at what he was about to be asked to do. Legilimency really was a tedious trait in someone you wanted to hide secrets from.
"I want you to attempt any blocking spell that will be of use against a blood boiling curse. As you're no doubt aware, considering the lecture I just gave to the class, a generic Protego will have zero effect. Unfortunately, I cannot cast the blood boiling incantation in a classroom setting, so you'll just have to use your imagination, Potter."
Snape's silky voice was snide to the point of infuriation.
Wracking his brains, Harry tried to think of anything that could work. Defence was his best class and he'd be damned if he'd let the man in front of him treat him like he had in Potions for all those years. This was a subject Harry actually liked and excelled at. But something this specific?
Then Snape's words echoed back to him. A generic Protego.
Pulling his wand from his robes and gripping it tightly, Harry pointed it upward. "Protego totalum!"
A large burst of magic erupted then, more powerful than its lesser form, creating a sturdy shield of light that extended all the way up to the high ceiling.
When the spell finally died away, Harry could tell by Snape's unpleasant expression that he'd done the right thing and a jerky nod of the professor's head dismissed him back to his seat, where Ron was grinning at him, finally awake and revelling in Harry's small victory.
Matching Ron's expression, Harry sat, only noticing another note on the desk as he stowed his wand away. Sighing hard, he resisted looking back over at Malfoy, unfolding this second piece of paper.
A small frown creased his face as he was met with the picture of Petunia and Vernon from the paper, but alarmingly, in a clear threat that seemed far less innocent than Malfoy's previous note, there were two ominous, heavily-lined scratches across both of the Dursleys' eyes in red ink.
Foreboding filled Harry's chest and he glanced sideways at the blonde Slytherin, who raised his eyebrows back at him in a questioning way. Unwilling to address the disturbing image, he stuffed it in his pocket and fixed his eyes on Snape for the remainder of the lesson.
X
X
Harry would come to see Wednesdays as a day of dread. And despite the profound effect the initial Wednesday that had put all of these events in motion had been, the Wednesday following Malfoy's note turned out to be much worse. So much worse.
Getting through the day unscathed, he had retired to the common room with Ron and Hermione to finish off some homework when Professor McGonagall had entered Gryffindor Tower, asking him to accompany her to the headmaster's office. Harry knew something was off, judging by her pale face and not-so-easily disguised sense of urgency. However, when he arrived, he was informed by a very grave Professor Dumbledore that there had been a double attack, one at Vernon Dursley's workplace and the other at the post office local to where the Dursleys had been hidden. In short, his aunt and uncle were both missing, with rather gruesome scenes left behind at each disappearance, including the murder of three other muggles. Dumbledore did not disguise the fact that Voldemort was clearly at the root of it all, not that this fact was ever really up for debate.
Vernon had insisted on journeying to his job every day, with a wizard – who was being treated for the after-effects of prolonged Cruciatus exposure at St Mungo's – providing protection. And Petunia had been at the post office mailing a rather nasty letter of complaint to the local council back in Surrey regarding the policy of dog walking in the Privet Drive area. Her appointed guardian was dead.
Both scenes had muggle witnesses who described men in dark cloaks and white masks carrying out the bloodshed and kidnapping, though none could say where these people had disappeared to.
Harry listened to all of this with a numbness that spread from his chest all the way down to his toes. He couldn't think of a single thing to say, not even when he was told that Dudley was beside himself, screaming for his Aunt Marge – a woman Harry knew he had never had any time for.
"He also asked for you, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, noting Harry's frozen body with unbridled concern.
"Oh, right," Harry finally said, the words sounding dumb to his own ears, slowly coming back to reality. Voldemort had his aunt and uncle? How was he supposed to feel about this? God, he truly couldn't feel anything. Were they even alive? Why would he take them and not just kill them? Why would he care?
This wasn't like Sirius and the Department of Mysteries fiasco. This worry or grief was different, if you could even call it grief. His relatives hated him and the feeling was almost mutual. But they were in deep trouble. Maybe they were actually dead? Could you hate dead people? Was that allowed?
Sitting in the straight-backed chair, Harry's spine was stiff and sore, but he neglected to move, not even to touch the tea Dumbledore had fetched for him.
He sat in that same position as the headmaster assured him of all kinds of things, how anything he might be feeling was normal, particularly because of the tenuous relationship between him and his aunt and uncle. And that they were doing everything they could to locate them. Eventually, Harry stopped listening, his brain coming to focus on only one thing, the image burning in front of his eyelids, the red standing out vividly in his mind's eye.
Malfoy's disturbing little manipulation of his aunt and uncle's portrait. The blonde had all but declared them dead in Defence class and Harry had simply put it out of his mind, paying him no heed.
A rush of anger hit him, causing his fists to clench out of sight. And he knew, without a doubt, that the first thing he was going to do was seek out the Slytherin.
Looking up at Dumbledore, Harry mumbled his agreement to see Dudley the next day, then begged to be let go, as he needed time alone. Dumbledore insisted on walking him back to the tower and Harry allowed it, trailing beside the man in silence until they parted at the portrait, Dumbledore offering kind words and gentle tidings that Harry couldn't wait to get away from.
Storming up to his dormitory, passing Ron and Hermione's questioning faces without a single glance, he grabbed the Marauder's Map and threw his invisibility cloak around him, stealing out of the tower and down into the evening corridors, his mind bent on one person.
Scanning the map in a dark alcove, he finally caught sight of the subject of his thoughts. Malfoy was standing in the girls' bathroom on the second floor; Moaning Myrtle's bathroom of all places. But Harry's wired mind didn't even pause to think of this as odd, simply stowing the map away and picking up his pace, pulling out his wand as he went, blind fury alight in his eyes.