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So far... On his seventh birthday, Harry Potter was inspired to never stop asking for help. Thanks to Mrs Figg, he learned about magic, and found good support from Mercy Fuller who ran an advice bureau off Diagon Alley. With his funding, she set up a small junior academy primarily to provide Muggle-raised children with a good preparatory education. Soon they have several students all eager to learn. Now read on...
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Chapter 3
Inspiring Progress
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A Careless Remark
Using her Croneometer, Mercy had proven to Neville that he was definitely not a Squib. "It wouldn't point so briskly towards you unless you were radiating significant magic," she explained.
"But–"
"–It doesn't matter that you can't spin it yet because that's entirely down to confidence, intent, and will, which I will help you to develop."
Within an hour of her encouraging guidance, he'd cast coloured sparks and a faint light with his junior wand – to his astonishment and pleasure.
"Also use your safety wand as well at every opportunity to become accustomed to casting spells because its bewitchment cannot fail, even for a Muggle. Doing that will increase your expectations and your authority with your junior wand. Carrying out tasks with magic should become a routine habit for a wizard such as yourself, Neville. And when you receive your adult wand you'll discover how powerful you truly are."
The weeks passed swiftly. Neville was still at the Academy in February. By then he'd become more hopeful that his grandmother might allow him to remain permanently, especially when he gleefully informed her by owl that he was performing magic at least as well as the other students, except perhaps for Hermione.
"You need to point your wand properly, Neville!" she cried. "Didn't you even listen to the instructions?"
"But..." Disheartened, Neville turned away and headed out the door.
"Now look what you've done, Hermione!" cut in Harry with barely-restrained anger. "Neville succeeded – that's what matters. He needs to polish it up a bit, but I thought he did it reasonably well."
Harry stomped off to find Neville, leaving Hermione biting her lip and gazing after him.
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A Trip to the Ministry
Halfway through the month Mercy Fuller had to sign some documents at the Ministry, so decided to take all the students with her on a field trip. They were met in the Atrium by a tour guide from the Public Information Services Department. The Muggle-raised children learned a great deal of how magical society was organised and governed, and even Neville and Luna discovered things they'd never experienced before.
"I didn't know you could also go down in a lift!" said Luna, jabbing a button for the fifth time. "I think they should call it a 'perpendicugo'"
"And paper can flap about!" cried Neville as a leaflet flew into the lift just in time to escape being crushed by the doors.
"That's just a flier," explained Polly Peckles, their guide, "but we also have memos flitting about."
"Are they written on flypaper?" asked Luna seriously, and wondered why everyone laughed.
Near the completion of the tour, they were herded towards the public canteen for drinks and snacks.
Mercy took Harry aside, seeming unusually nervous for her. "We need to talk."
"Mum? What is it?"
"Uuh... documents, Harry, we need to– Children, stay here with Miss Peckles until we get back."
She took his hand and led him to the wall not far from a lift where she crouched down to whisper, "Look, I know we agreed you could call me 'Mum', Harry, but–"
–He nodded anxiously. "You're not going to–"
"–How would you like to make it official?"
"You mean...? You'll be my... real mother?"
Mercy nodded apprehensively. Would Harry be willing to go that far? – for someone he'd only known a few months to take that honoured place in his heart?
Harry's answer was to fling himself into her arms, shaking and sobbing with happiness. She rubbed his back and shed a few tears herself.
"I applied first to the Ministry to make sure I would be qualified so you wouldn't be disappointed if they rejected me. Now all they need is to ask you a few questions and get your agreement before they decide."
Mercy held his hand all the while the lift ascended, Harry trembling with excitement. He looked up at her now and again to remind himself she was real. His very own mother, just like normal kids! The door slid open and somewhere a cool, clear woman's voice was saying, "Applications, Registrations, Separations and–"
–Harry didn't hear the rest as Mercy led him round the first corner and knocked on a door with a brass sign that said Meeting Room 12 in a stern voice.
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The Compatibilitectors
The office they entered was small but two witches and a wizard were crammed behind the large desk at one end and staring with a great deal of curiosity at Harry.
"Fuller and Potter – adoption." Mercy's tone was businesslike and to the point.
"Ah yes," said the central witch. "Right on time. Take a seat, please."
When they looked comfortable she poured out a steaming hot cup of tea, leaned forward and placed it on the desk halfway between the two visitors. Harry and Mercy exchanged looks, unsure what to do. Mercy opened her mouth to speak – then closed it again. The surface of the tea was rippling; little waves began to break. Pretty soon the steam darkened and rained down into the cup. Harry saw tiny lightning flashes and even thought he heard thunder. The cup rattled more and more ominously as it began to swell... He gripped the edge of the desk and looked fearfully towards Mercy who was frowning.
"Oh, no, no, no, this won't do at all," announced the central witch. "Completely incompatible!"
"T–Try th–this one instead," said the wizard, replacing the cup with a saucer of milk. His hand shook dreadfully as he put it down.
They all stared at it.
"Not a ripple," said the second witch after a full minute.
"Calm as a millpond," said the first.
"How strange," said the wizard. "It likes b–both of you! S–sorry about the teacup. These compatibilitectors can get a bit temperamental when I'm n–nervous. We had a sugar bowl explode only last week, and my funny bone–"
–The middle witch rustled a sheet of parchment in front of her and readied a quill. "So, Harry, just a few simple questions. Firstly, can you confirm you have been living full time with your guardian, Mercy Fuller, for at least three months?"
"Uumm... yes, uh..."
"Madam," prompted Mercy.
"Yes, Madam."
"And you've been happy with that arrangement and wish it to continue permanently by adopting her as your mother?"
"Definitely. Yes, Madam."
"Now, do you wish for your surname to be changed to Fuller or retain the name of Potter; the choice is yours."
Harry looked at Mercy, his lips squirming with uncertainty.
Mercy said, "I'd be very happy if you wanted to honour your natural parents' name and their family line, Harry. Remember, 'Fuller' is not my natural name anyway."
Harry smiled and turned back to the witch in charge. "I'd like to still be Harry Potter, please, Madam."
"Very well. One last question: do you fully understand that adoption is for life? It cannot easily be undone? Mercy Fuller would become your lawful mother with the same rights as any natural parent?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, that's what I want more than anything in the world."
"So be it."
The three nodded together, stood and held their wands out over the document, chanting as they did so. The parchment glowed briefly with a golden light, before returning to normal.
"Your adoption is now registered," said the central witch, handing the document to Mercy. "Merlin's blessings on you both."
"Thank you," said Mercy, trying not to cry.
"Thank you," whimpered Harry, not trying at all.
As they left the room, and even back in the lift, Mercy remained silent, apart from hoarsely clearing her throat many times, and she did not release her tight grip on Harry' hand until she had to jab at the number nine button.
"Aren't we...? Isn't the canteen on the same floor as the Atrium?" whispered Harry, thinking she'd made a mistake.
"Harry, do you remember asking me to investigate why Voldemort tried to kill you specifically?"
He started to shake his head, but a faint memory finally began to tickle the back of his mind. "and not some other kid? Yes, I remember. Have you found out?"
"No, but my research uncovered the registration of a prophecy that bears both your name and that of the Dark Lord."
"A prophecy! About me? What did it say?"
"I was not allowed access, but it must be important, and might have predicted his attack and why you were his target."
Harry stared at Mercy, his mind racing with the need to know more, but unable to form any sensible question. The abruptness of the lift stopping jolted him out of his whirling thoughts.
"Department of Mysteries," said the lift's cool female voice.
The lift doors rattled open, and they stepped out into a corridor that was quite different from those above. The walls were bare; there were no windows and no doors apart from a plain black one set at the very end of the passage. A feeling of dread began to permeate the boy's mind. The walk towards that one door seemed to take forever...
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The Prophecy
The Hall of Prophecy was high as a church and full of towering shelves covered in small, dusty, glass orbs. They glimmered dully in the blue light issuing from candle-brackets set at intervals along the shelves. The huge chamber was very cold. Harry and Mercy shivered a little, but the Keeper of the Hall seemed oblivious to the chill as he led them in. "This way..."
They passed a great many rows before he steered them into one and finally came to a halt, his wand light shimmering upon the surface of the orb before them. Harry Potter and his mother stared uncertainly. Harry was scarcely tall enough to reach. He stretched upwards–
"–I must caution you," began the Keeper – Harry's arm snapped back to his side – "there is uncertainty to all of these prophecies, and viewing one may be instrumental in bringing it about."
Mercy said, "Surely it is already fulfilled? If it foretold Voldemort's downfall when–"
"–Alas! This orb is merely the record of the prophecy but is magically bound to it and will vanish once its full purpose is completed."
"But that means..."
"...that the Dark Lord still lives in some way," said the Keeper. "Whatever is predicted can obviously only relate to a person if they are alive."
"Then I don't want to know," said Harry solemnly. "I only wanted to learn why he tried to kill me. I don't want to see the future. Can we stop it?"
"Stop the prophecy?" said the Keeper. "The orb is linked to it by magic, Mr Potter. if you never know its contents then the prediction loses its potency and can only be fulfilled by mere chance. That rarely happens."
Mercy said, "How could you possibly be sure without knowing the prophecies?"
The Keeper smiled and gestured broadly around the huge chamber. "Almost all of these orbs are ancient yet they have never vanished because so few visit."
"Eliminate this one then!" cried Mercy. "I don't want the uncertainty ruining our lives. Destroy it!"
"Only someone potentially affected by the prophecy – like Harry himself – is allowed to do that," said the Keeper.
"So I'm allowed to stop it happening?" said Harry.
"Well, yes, after all, it's your prophecy. But the thing is you're only... what? six?"
Glaring at the man, and with his mother's support, Harry stepped up onto the bottom shelf, reached high, and seized the orb. He surveyed it for a few moments – then, with a shout of, "I'M SEVEN!" he hurled it at the floor.
"NO!" cried the Keeper. "You can only stop a prophecy by vanishing its orb! I thought you understood the–"
–But he was too late. A pearly-white figure with hugely magnified eyes rose into the air. Harry could see its lips moving. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches–"
Mercy's wand arm shot up–
"–NO! Only Harry could have done it!" cried the wizard, wringing his hands in alarm. "That's why I–"
"–born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will–"
–Harry fumbled out his Squib wand and pointed it shakily at the shattered glass on the floor.
"mark him as his equal, but–"
The broken shards of glass vanished together with the ghostly apparition.
The Keeper blinked. "How...? How by Merlin's staff can you–"
"–Cleaning up charm on my Squib wand," said Harry. "Was that alright? Did that make the prophecy not work?"
The wizard nodded dazedly. "Yes, the Dark Lord was previously vanquished even if only temporarily, so we heard nothing of the future, except–" He frowned as he peered at Harry's forehead through the gloom. "–but he hasn't marked you yet! I thought he already had?"
Mercy said, "Look closer. The mark is there, but so faint it is almost invisible."
The Keeper brought his wandlight nearer. "Ah, there it is! So that part is in the past! I am confident now that you've destroyed the remainder of the prophecy's power over your future."
"Well done... my son," smiled Mercy, ruffling Harry's hair.
Harry's face softened under his mother's praise. "But what now?"
"Nothing. If Voldemort is still alive then he's someone else's responsibility. We walk away from it all."
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Being Accepted
Over the next few years, the Academy thrived in its own modest little way. More Muggle-raised children enrolled as well as a few sensible Pure-bloods; strong bonds formed between all of them – all, that is, except Hermione Granger.
"So is everyone now confident they can do up a shoelace in the dark or knot a tie with or without magic? – Don't roll your eyes, Hermione. Not every parent shows–"
"–But I'm not a baby, Professor! I'm eleven this week!" cried Hermione. "I learnt to tie a shoelace when I was four and read about knotting a tie when I was six! I showed Daddy he was doing it all wrong!"
"Even so, some parents do everything for their kids except teach them to be self-sufficient, magically or non-magically. For instance, do you fully understand the possible consequences of intoxication, know how to change the sheets on your bed, make an omelette, bleed a radiator, unclog a sink, give a speech, sew a hem, order a cab, ride a bicycle, read a map, understand table etiquette, be a good friend, give first aid, invest your money, obtain a mortgage, calculate a tip, or write a cheque, c.v., or job application letter?"
"Erm..." Hermione's ego deflated a great deal.
"No shame in not knowing any of the hundreds of life skills we need, but there may be difficulties in never learning them later in life. So, everyone happy with their shoelaces and ties?"
"Yes, Madam Fuller!" chorused the children.
"Very well, next week we'll be practising how to ask someone to dance, and how to refuse – or accept refusal – gracefully. This will be part of our relationship series. Class dismissed."
A clatter of chairs almost drowned out Hermione's, "Why aren't you making notes, Megan? You really ought to prepare for this with research – that's what I'm going to do."
"You can't get everything out of books! That's what these classes are for."
"What if you're rejected and everyone laughs? You'll get a T for sure! I've never scored a T in my life so I have to get this right – and so do you!"
The teacher was passing by. "You won't get a T, Hermione. You're supposed to practise being rebuffed and laughed at in the class. It's how you deal with it that I will teach you. If you want to research, then read Etiquette while Embracing Embarrassment and you'll be fine."
Hermione carefully wrote it down.
Laughing, Megan ran off after Hannah.
With a hunch of her shoulders, Hermione huffed and puffed resignedly as she packed pens and papers into her satchel.
"Hermione, a quiet word if you don't mind," said Mercy.
"Of course, Professor." Hermione stopped what she was doing and gnawed anxiously at her lower lip. Was she in trouble?
"I greatly admire your work ethic, Hermione, so I'm awarding you an extra merit mark which you can pin up on the board. Well done!"
Hermione's eyes shone with delight as she took the gold star. "Thank you Professor Fuller!"
"Anything else you need help with?"
"Well, the top end of the eleven times table is–"
"–Practise it with me over the next few days or as long as needed, Hermione, and it will become second nature. There is no time limit set. We can be patient together until the values spring naturally into your mind as easily as five times five. But, that apart, I was thinking more of social skills we've covered in earlier classes. What about friendship? How are you progressing?"
The little girl hung her head and mumbled something.
"Sorry? What was that, Hermione?"
"They don't really like me much."
"Have you explored why?"
"Some think I'm a bossy know-it-all – but I'm not! If they don't learn things properly they'll fail tests! I tell them but they won't listen! And they get into trouble with silly escapades. Harry..."
"What about him, Hermione?"
"Nothing."
"If you're referring to his clambering onto the next rooftop then–"
"–You know about that?"
"Of course. I apologised to him for my not giving prior advice about illegal entry and the risks. The building is empty and may or may not be unsafe. Margin Alley harbours many poor, and a destitute witch or wizard can be dangerous if startled in their squat. I made him extensively practice the shield spell from all sides and above, before I was satisfied I'd worried him enough not to repeat the folly."
"You didn't punish him?"
"He knows I'll be disappointed if he goes there again without good cause."
"Good cause! He has NO right to–"
"–If the school is on fire, or a student is magically compelled to attack him, or a dozen other reasons, then he has every right to make his escape as best he can."
The young girl pondered that for a while.
"Hermione, if you are willing, I'd like you and me to commence a new project together. You can carry out the active part of the assignment with myself as adviser and consultant. If this appeals to you then we'll spend some time each day planning strategies for you to try."
Hermione nodded her interest. "With what objective?"
"Friendship."
The child's face fell back into despondency. "None of them will ever want to be friends with me."
"That will not be the purpose of the project, Hermione."
"What then?"
"The aim of the project will be for you to be a friend to them – or rather just one of them to begin with."
"Won't work." Hermione's bushy head shook from side to side. "Doesn't mean they'd be friends back. And they'd take advantage."
"Friendship is not trade, Hermione. Being a friend is an end in itself requiring no payment in return. Be sensitive to their needs more than wishes – then you won't indulge and spoil them."
Still the unfortunate child hung her head.
Mercy said, "Oh, come on, there must be some of them you want to befriend."
"Well... I liked Hannah until she laughed at the very first draft sketch of a system's logic tree that I was drawing – and just because it was a tiny bit wonky! I carefully explained it was irrelevant that–"
"–There is one student who would be kindhearted and sympathetic enough to overlook your... slightly, shall we say, pedantic methods, if they felt you reaching out – and who well knows the torments of loneliness."
"Who?"
"Harry Potter."
"WHAT! Harry hates me!"
"I'm sure that's not true."
"Anyone but HIM!" Hermione stamped her foot and sat back down at her desk, one hand on her bag as if anxious to be dismissed.
Mercy said, "Let's see now... I think Justin would be a severe challenge, and Luna would be no challenge at all."
"She's best friends with Neville," sniffed Hermione, staring down at her desktop. "Dean doesn't take me seriously and... NOBODY wants to be friends with me!"
"I do," Mercy said softly.
Hermione's eyes were glistening when she looked up.
"I'm not just your teacher, you know. I care about you very much, Hermione. You remind me a lot of myself when I was young and never formed a strong relationship until I was thirteen. At least you don't have to wait till then, because I'd love to be your friend right now."
Hermione's lower lip trembled and her breathing was convulsing in short bursts. She struggled up from her desk straight into Mercy's welcoming embrace where she shuddered and shook with emotion. "I w–wish I could b–be a g–good f–friend with–"
–The rest of her wish was lost in tears against Mercy's shoulder.
The kindly teacher patted her back. "An owl just flew past the window – for us witches, that's a good omen not bad. Perhaps there's a message from someone wanting to get acquainted – who knows? Or maybe it's from your mum; I'm sure she's your friend, right?"
Hermione smile was all crooked with embarrassment as she drew back and rubbed her eyes. "May I bring in the mail and see?"
"Off course – here's the key... my friend!"
Downstairs in reception, a large delivery cage was mounted next to the side door. A small owl was just struggling back out through the flap into Margin Alley as Hermione arrived, but there was no mistaking the pale blue envelope that topped the pile. She dug them all out and began to ascend back up the stairs to the Headmistress's office, fiddling all the way with the top letter, and not paying attention. The general rule was that all mail went into Professor Fuller's in-tray before distribution, she knew that, but a letter from home was always exciting.
"Drat!"
Half the envelopes and packets had slipped from her grasp. As she picked them up, one in particular grabbed her attention: it had her name on it!
Miss Hermione Granger,
Halfway-up-the-stairs,
The Mercy Fuller Junior Academy,
1 Margin Alley,
London.
She squealed! Quiet loudly. Everyone in the Academy must have heard – and they'd all been taught what a Hogwarts letter looked like! But as she lifted it, the official heading on yet another envelope below it caught her eye:
The Harry Potter Trust Fund,
Gringotts Wizarding–
"–Hermione? Are you alright?" cried Mercy from above. "I heard–"
"–Sorry! Just dropped the mail all over the steps!"
Hermione shovelled the lot together with her hands and ran full tilt, stumbling on every other leap in her haste, and dumped the lot into Mercy's tray. "I saw my Hogwarts letter! PLEASE may I open it? PLEASE?"
Seeing her begging with her eyes and bouncing on her heels, Mercy could not resist the eager girl's gullibility. "Too early – must be another prank letter by Dean. Hmm... yes, I thought I saw him pushing one in the cage this morning." She took out her wand. "I'll vanish it. No point in–"
"–NO! What if..." she tailed off as she saw a teasing grin creeping across Mercy's face, and the teacher's wand hovered the letter into Hermione's hands.
"Friends kid each other, right?" smiled Mercy.
Hermione beamed as she tore open the envelope... "I'M ACCEPTED!"
Mercy laughed uproariously. "You don't say!"
"I have to show the others!" cried Hermione, heading out the door. "I'm the oldest so none of them will have got theirs yet!"
"Aren't you forgetting something, Hermione?"
The girl stopped in mid stride. "Oh, right... bragging would not be very friendly, would it?"
"That wasn't what I meant..."
Hermione turned. Mercy was holding out a pale blue envelope.
"Mum and Dad! How could I have–?"
She dashed back, seized the additional letter, thanked Mercy as she sprinted away once more, then shouted back over her shoulder, "I won't mention my Hogwarts letter!"
Mercy smiled at the cries from further up the stairs. "Hear that?" – "Someone's got their Hogwarts letter!" – "Did someone say they'd–?" – "Who's got–?"
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—oOo—
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Author's Notes
I'm moving events forward in time quite rapidly because, unlike Hogwarts, the Academy is run so smoothly and so safely that it would be dull storytelling indeed. Things should get more interesting when the kids get to Hogwarts!
Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)
– Hippothestrowl
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