Chapter 3:
"We dream to escape, we dream to let go,
To feel what it's like walking streets of gold.
Turn grey skies blue, turn hope into truth,
Yeah, some days, sometimes all you can do is;
Dream from small towns to big city lights,
Turn a heartbreak into love at first sight.
When we look at the world and we don't like what we see,
We close our eyes and we dream."
Believed to be from the Prophecy of Dreamers. Compiled by Morgan Evans; Earth, 21st Century.
Harry was engulfed in terrifying pain. His whole body was on fire, his blood boiling, his head threatening to split open. It was the single most agonising experience he'd ever had. It put everything the Dursley's ever did to him to shame. Any wound he'd ever suffered was a fantasy compared to the excruciating burning in his bones. He screamed his throat raw.
Harry had no idea how long he wreathed in agony, but as quickly as it began, it vanished.
"Harry!" Harry pulled his eyes open. Mak lay on the floor, vomiting blue mist into the air. Her hair and the tips of her dress were smouldering.
Harry shook his head and took in his surroundings. He was lying on the floor in the middle of a large circular room. Bookcases and oil paintings lined the walls, and in the centre of the room was a large mahogany desk covered in silver devices. In the corner of the room was a wooden perch with a majestic bird of red and gold feathers upon it. The roof and what he thought might be another story above him, were obscured by a silvery mist.
Harry tried to stand, but the rattle of metal pulled him back. Metal manacles had been locked around his arms and legs, connected to chains embedded within the stone floor.
Harry tried to awaken the static within… nothing happened. He tried again, but there was just nothing there. No static surge. No power. Just nothing.
"Aluminium." Harry stared up as Gandalf stepped out of the mist and into the office. He sat down on in the seat behind his desk and stared at Harry over his glasses. He had an odd twinkle in his eye Harry found quite disturbing.
"I have spent a great deal of time researching powers such as yours Mr Potter, and you will find that you and your brethren across the universe all share a similar weakness." He said nothing more, merely staring at Harry with a calculating gaze. This man was very dangerous.
"Harry…" Mak whispered from the floor, "there's more in this room. Faeries… but they've been trapped, imprisoned, unable to dream or even think for themselves. There's at least three in here. Maybe more, I'm not sure." If Harry had reason to dislike the man before, now he was about ready to punch him in the face. The door in the wall behind them opened, and the man with the peg leg and the glass eye stepped inside, a wicked smile on his face. Behind him was the black man – the leader of the Aurors that Harry had electrocuted – an elderly woman in green robes with a pointy green hat, and a man in expensive-looking black robes and a matching top hat.
"Ah. Harry, allow me to introduce to you Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt," Gandalf pointed to the black man, who had a scowl on his face as he stared at Harry, "Professor McGonagall," The old woman smiled softly at him, "Alastor Moody, whom you've already met," the grizzled man grunted, "And Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge." Fudge, the expensive man, didn't wait for Gandalf to finish speaking his name. He rushed over and took Harry's hand in his, rapidly shaking it over and over, making the chains clink. Mak hissed, flying up in the and landing protectively on Harry's head.
"So very nice to finally meet you, Mr Potter. So dreadful what happened to you, and your parents. My deepest condolences and my greatest thanks, on behalf of myself and the entire Ministry for vanquishing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." Harry checked the man's face for signs of drug overdose.
"Hm. Finally, someone shows us the respect we deserve! I like him." Mak proclaimed, standing on Harry's head, hand's on hips, chest thrust forward. "Just one quick question, who did we supposedly vanquish?" Harry hadn't vanquished anyone, he was quite sure of that. The man was definitely high on something.
"Albus. Surely the chains are unnecessary. He's just a boy, and an underfed one at that. He needs to be taken to the hospital wing…" the old woman, McGonagall, said, glaring at Gandalf.
"The only place he's going is prison. He assaulted twelve Aurors and wounded most of them. Those manacles are staying on until I see him dumped in Azkaban," Kingsley the Auror said.
"Over my dead body!" Mak creamed, summoning a sword from mist and brandishing it at the man. Harry wasn't sure whether to be glad or disappointed that none of them could see her.
"Ha! He took out an entire Auror team without breaking a sweat! You don't throw someone like that in Azkaban, you fucking recruit him!" Moody barked.
"He will certainly not be going anywhere near that horrible place!" McGonagall snapped.
"That's not your decision Minerva," Shacklebolt said, eyes narrowing dangerously.
"No, it's mine," Fudge said, standing up straight and fixing his hat, "and I say he will not be going there. He is a celebrity. He will be trained here in Hogwarts, as should have been his right on his eleventh birthday. I will see the Wizarding World's debt to this boy paid, Kingsley, and nothing you say will change that."
"I want a guard on him twenty-four-seven," Shacklebolt said.
"I assure you that won't be necessary, Kingsley. The bindings will keep his excess power contained until he has better control of it," Gandalf said.
Harry snorted, his first real contribution to the conversation. Everyone turned towards him, as if suddenly reminded that he was there.
"Perhaps one of you would care to explain just why the fuck you think you can just go about attacking and kidnaping people who just want to be left alone?" he asked flatly.
Fudge bent down beside him and tried to muss his hair like he was five. Mak stabbed him with her sword. It dissipated to mist when it touched his skin, but he did get a sharp electric shock, as evidenced by the way he jerked his hand back.
"Harry. I understand everything might be a bit confusing for you right now, but you need to understand. You're a wizard, and you've been out in the world all alone for far too long. We've been searching for you for many years, but the Muggles kept you hidden. Now you're back with us where you can uncover your talents and join our society." Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"What I understand is that I was kidnapped against my will, and am now shackled to the fucking floor. At the very least this is unlawful incarceration, at worst you guys are some sort of wacko cult group trying to take over the world. Actually, given how everything is going to shit at the moment, I don't think many would notice if you did take over the world…" he trailed off, actually thinking about that for a second.
"Oh, move over Minister. Let me handle this." McGonagall shoved Fudge out of the way and knelt in front of Harry, staring into his eyes. Harry was shocked to see actual tears in her eyes.
"You really do look like them. Just like your father, but your eyes… Lily's."
Harry couldn't help the sentence that followed from slipping out. Even Mak had gone silent.
"Her name was Lily?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly. Stupid! First rule of the street: never, ever, let anyone have something over you. The look of amazement in her eyes was replaced by fury in an instant. She turned towards the men and barked in a voice that brokered no-nonsense.
"OUT! ALL OF YOU OUT! I'm going to talk to him alone."
"Not going to happ…"
"Kingsley!" Gandalf snapped. The Auror stopped midsentence. Gandalf stood up from behind his desk and walked towards the door, ushering Fudge, Shacklebolt and Moody out the door, which he closed softly behind them. McGonagall turned back to Harry, the tears returning to her eyes. She sat down on the ground, arms folded in her lap, and stared at Harry. Harry followed suit, sitting on the hard stone. Maybe she'd give him some bloody answers.
"Who are you people? Where am I? Why won't you let me leave?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as controlled as possible. Rule #4: Emotional people are easier to scam.
"My name is Minerva McGonagall. I'm a teacher here at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. This is the Headmaster's office in Hogwarts Castle. The school, and the hundreds of students who attend, are below us participating in their lessons right now." Mak jumped off Harry's head and floated between him and McGonagall.
"She's telling the truth, Harry. There is no lie in her eyes."
Harry let out a long breath and slumped his shoulders.
"What kind of school? You aren't crazy people, are you? Like, flat earthers?" McGonagall laughed.
"No. We are not crazy. At least most of us aren't, as most humans aren't. We're witches and wizards, a secret society of people born with the ability to use magic." To emphasise her point, she drew a stick from her sleeve and created a giant fluffy lion from thin air.
"Impressive," Mak said.
"This skill is called Conjuration. You'll learn it as part of my subject, Transfiguration, while you're here." Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Transfiguration huh. Never done anything like that before." McGonagall flicked her stick and the lion transformed into a golden statue in the exact same shape.
"This is my wand. It's a tool we use to make magic easier to use. You've never used one before?" A wand. Well, he supposed it fit with the theme.
"Never."
"Incredible," McGonagall said, vanishing the statue and returning her wand to her sleeve, "from what Albus described you doing, you must be very powerful to do all that without one."
Harry said nothing, and McGonagall sighed.
"While the Minister could have handled his… introduction… with more tact, what he said is nonetheless true. We have been searching for you since you were eleven years old and your letter came back unopened."
"Letter?" McGonagall ran a hand through her hair, "I'll get to that in a bit. The first thing you must, unfortunately, learn is who you are. What… what do you know of your past?"
Harry shrugged. "I was dumped at the Dursley's after my parents died. That's it."
"Your relatives never told you anything?"
Harry laughed. A dark and haunting laugh.
"I thought my name was Freak until pre-school. No, they never told me a thing, lest it was to do some chore or shut myself into the cupboard under the stairs because they didn't want to see my face," Harry told her sourly, rolling his eyes. McGonagall slumped, fresh tears rolling down her rosy cheeks.
"I told you, Albus… I told you…" she whispered to herself.
"Gandalf… um… Albus, the old beared dude, he was the one who sent me to the Dursleys?" Harry asked softly, a razor edge sliding into his voice. His hands clenched to fists.
"It was to protect you. From those who would stop at nothing to kill you. There was a powerful shield, tied to your blood, on the house. So long as you could call it home, you would be safe there. No person or creature with a hint of magical blood could get near you. I tried to check up on you multiple times myself – I was one of the few who knew where you were – but I couldn't even step foot on Privet Drive. One of your parents' best friends, Remus Lupin, our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, couldn't even enter the suburb. He was not happy when he found out. But Albus, Professor Dumbledore, he said you were fine and under powerful protection. So, we stopped checking. There was no point. If only I hadn't…"
"How long?" she asked finally, wiping away her tears with the sleeve of her robes, "How long were you on your own?"
"On my own? Not long. I was found by some people after I ran from the Dursleys, they took care of me. Taught me to read, and to write, sort of. I don't claim to be very good at it. Paper is a luxury the homeless can rarely afford." Then McGonagall pulled him into a hug of all things. Harry resisted, with no small degree of effort, the urge to jerk away from her. It was instinctual, the flinch. A response bred into people like him. The older people in the Bunker tried to break the habit in the new blood that came through. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. It might have been a 'threat response' as Tam called it, but he was just as right in saying it was rude, useless and discouraged trust and conversation. Plus, it had a way of setting people on edge. Harry agreed and maintained strict mental discipline to prevent him from flinching whenever anyone so much as brushed his skin.
He let himself relax into it. As much as he could with chains on his legs and feet that is. Eventually, McGonagall pulled back and had to wipe away her tears again.
"I owe you a story then. A story that starts decades ago now, with a boy named James Potter, and a girl called Lily Evans…"
Ginny stood in the Gryffindor Common Room, staring at the Daily Prophet article that had been pinned to the notice board. The only two people in the entire school who'd come near her, her twin brothers Fred and George, stood beside her, equally as dumbfounded. The picture in the middle of the page? A shot of a boy Ginny's age, or a year older she supposed, floating in the middle of the air eyes blazing with green light. Another light, this one blue, zoomed around him. The upper third of his face was covered by a scar-like a tree of lightning, lines pure white. His clothes were threadbare, worn as badly as Ginny's own, his shoes were covered in tape, and his jeans looked a size too big. He looked amazing. Like a god descending to Earth. Just watching the green light flare around his eyes, the way his messy hair rustled in the wind, was enough to make her stomach flutter.
The headline read: Boy-Who-Lives Returns! First Public Appearance in London.
The article, written by none other than Rita Skeeter, went on to speculate about why the famous Harry Potter, so far elusive for most of his life, had returned now. Information about what he had been doing in London was being kept tight to the Ministry's chest, but everyone agreed the Aurors were involved. Had Harry been working with the Aurors all this time instead of coming to Hogwarts? Was he so powerful that he had already learnt everything she and the other students were being taught? She had wanted to meet him so bad that day when she came to see Ron off on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. But he hadn't been there. He hadn't even shown up at Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore said it was because he was on a secret mission. She'd thought he might be lying at the time. An eleven-year-old on a secret mission? It had sounded too much like the Boy-Who-Lived storybooks, the ones her father had explained to her weren't actually real the day before they'd gone to the train. She'd balled for most of the day before coming to the conclusion that she was going to try and be his friend regardless. After all, a person without parents needed friends, right?
Not so much, according to this. The guy could fly! And if Skeeter was to be believed, he also had enhanced speed, strength, could do wandless magic, silent casting and he could control the elements. No wonder he'd killed Voldemort as a baby. He was just that awesome.
"Well, turns out…"
"…the storybooks weren't so far off," Fred and George said. Finishing each other's sentences was a hallmark of theirs.
"Yeah," Ginny breathed.
Fred slapped her on the back.
"What's a matter Gin Gin? Got ourselves a bit of a crush?"
"Duh. You'd have to be blind not to. Look at him!" The shirt he wore was slightly small on his frame, and one of the sleeves was torn. Maybe he'd been on an undercover mission? Regardless, you could easily see the biceps he was packing through the photo, even if he did seem to be a bit scrawnier than one would expect.
"Can't fault that logic," George admitted. The twins turned away and left the common room, leaving Ginny to continue staring at the photo. Ember sat on her shoulder, squinting at the picture, uncharacteristically quiet.
Ginny stood there for a long while, rereading the article over and over. Something didn't feel right about it. Like she was missing something important. She stood still, staring, until Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice echoed through the room – curtesy of some spell most likely.
"Students. There is to be an announcement tonight at dinner. Don't dally!"
Ginny and Ember, with their customary bubble of isolation, made their way down to the Great Hall with the rest of the school. The whispers on everyone's lips were either one of two things. Would the announcement have to do with the Triwizard Tournament? Or would it be something about Harry Potter's return?
The Great Hall sat in complete silence, all the teachers in attendance except for Professor McGonagall. Ginny took her customary seat near the head of the Gryffindor table and waited patiently. No point in forcing people to leave the places they liked sitting in, nobody wanted to sit near the teachers, nobody wanted to sit near Ginny. Win, win. Eventually, once the hall was full – dinner hadn't appeared on the plates yet – Professor Dumbledore stood up.
"As most of you are no doubt already aware, Harry Potter resurfaced today for the first time since the death of Lord Voldemort." Everyone in the hall flinched. Everyone except Dumbledore, and Ginny.
"I am not at liberty to discuss what he was doing, and neither is he, so I implore you not to ask him, because he will not answer." The way he said this made it sound more like an order than a suggestion.
"However," he said, a gleeful expression appearing on his face, twinkle out in full force, "It is my great pleasure to announce the newest student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sorted into Gryffindor House by the Sorting Hat just this morning, Mr Harry Potter!"
The doors, which had closed when Ginny wasn't looking, swung open. The students all leaned back on their benches, eager to get a good look.
Standing, framed in the massive doorway, was Harry Potter, wearing wizarding robes – expensive ones – of red and gold. His black hair had been combed back in a wave, and his green eyes seemed to shine with their own light. The entire upper half of his face was covered in jagged white lines, like veins in his skin instead of beneath it, shaped like a lightning bolt falling from the sky. Sitting on his shoulder was another figure she could barely make out, diminutive in size and giving off a faint blue aura. A faerie.
"Holy crap."
