Beyond the Horizon
By Spork and Foon
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Disclaimer: Peter Pan was written by J. M. Barrie.
Author's Note: Out of all the posted chapters, chapter two was the one I was most unhappy with, and so, to make it the calibre I strive for, it took time, and the fact with the amount of homework and tests I had and have hasn't helped either. Alas, if only fanfiction was a subject one could be marked on.
Thank you to pingpong5 and Skyshifter for beta-ing this chapter.
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Chapter Two: Of Magical Castles
The first thing that needed to be done after Harry's affirmative answer was to collect his abysmal amount of possessions. The arachnids were flicked, the socks cringed at and the collection of figurine knights and horses lovingly placed in a spare pocket. The second thing to do, which was completed during the collection, was to decide on a name for Harry to call Albus Dumbledore.
"Mr. Dumbledore?" suggested Harry, frowning at the formality.
Dumbledore looked like he was contemplating this suggestion, and then shook his head in the negative. "Much too formal. If I am to be your guardian, I want to be a figure you can like and trust, not one who keeps you at a distance through primness."
Harry smiled wistfully, and asked shyly, "Are you going to be my new grandpa?"
The reply was instance. "Would you like me to be your new grandpa?"
"Yes! Yes!" cried Harry fervently. "I've never had a grandpa before," he confessed, giving the wizened mage a small smile.
Dumbledore pondered this for a drawn-out moment, and then his face cracked into a toothy smile. "Well, that's that then. I'll be your new grandpa. But we still haven't found an answer to our original question. What are going to call me?"
"Pa," announced Harry with an air of wisdom. "That is what grandpas are called."
"I like it." Albus smiled at the young boy.
Harry returned the 'newly christened' Pa's smile, and with an exaggerated sigh, glanced around his cupboard under the stairs once more. It was stuffy, mouldy and dismal, but it had been home for the past seven years. Even he, who hated the Dursleys, and anything even remotely connected with them, more than anything he knew of, felt a pang of regret at leaving his cupboard. But it had to be done. The Dursley house was no longer safe, except he didn't know what from. He was finally to be free from the stifling, depressing environment of the Dursley household.
"Do you want to say goodbye?" asked Albus, giving the cupboard his own inspection. The idea of a young boy growing up in such small, gloomy dimensions horrified Albus, and he was wholly glad that Harry was going to come to Hogwarts, where he would be loved, and praised, and reprimanded accordingly. The rest of his childhood might be slightly dysfunctional compared to other wizarding children's, but it would be utterly better than staying with the Dursleys. He had not been actually been abused at the Dursleys but the neglectful behaviour he had received was blatant. Dumbledore was ashamed that he had not noticed earlier.
"No," replied Harry quickly, hoping that he wouldn't be forced to.
Albus frowned, but complied with Harry's wishes.
"How are we meant to travel to this – Hogwash – or was it Pigwarts?"
"Hogwarts, Harry, Hogwarts, and we shall travel by floo powder, as you are too young to apparate, and double-apparation is illegal. Though that doesn't mean the more daring of our society do not make it a common practise."
"Floo powder – apparate – double-apparation?" questioned Harry, feeling quite ignorant, and slightly light-headed.
Albus smiled. "It is hard sometimes Harry, to believe someone who belongs so obviously to the wizarding world, knows so little of it."
"Wizarding world?" said Harry faintly.
"Ah – Harry, I do beg for your forgiveness. I am talking ahead of you. Harry, you are a wizard." This was said without any hint of cautiousness, and the shock Harry felt immediately after this revelation was undeniably understandable.
"Wizard! But magic doesn't exist!" argued Harry, though his tone did not carry conviction.
"Yes, it does," said Albus gently, "and you have seen it with your own eyes. For it was magic that made the man who was advancing on you to turn stiff, it was magic that made the men in cloaks appear around you, and it was magic caused the death of Arabella Figg. There are both good and bad aspects to magic, as there is to everything else. You, Harry, will be an excellent wizard, once you learn how to channel your magic. That is why we will take you to Hogwarts. It is a school, of witchcraft and wizardry, and even though you will not actually learn magic until the age of eleven, you will learn what many young magical children take for granted. Like what the terms floo powder, and apparate mean. You will be safe at Hogwarts, Harry, and hopefully, happy."
Harry paused, contemplating these arguments, and then said "That all sounds fine and dandy, Pa, but you have the wrong boy. There is no way I could be a wizard. I'm just me, perfectly normal and boring Harry Potter. Nothing special – never have been, never will be."
"I just don't quite believe that Harry. Have you ever made something unusual happen? Something spontaneous and horribly difficult to explain by ordinary means?"
Harry reflected on all the weird happenings in his life, and a smile reached his face. There was the time when he had been chased by Dudley's gang, and had found himself on the roof of one of the buildings at school, and time when he had been dreading to go to school because of a highly unflattering haircut thanks to Aunt Petunia and he'd managed to grow it back. Now that he thought about it, there was no possibility that he wasn't a wizard.
"I knew you'd think of something," said Pa with a grin. "Harry Potter – not a wizard – what a preposterous thought – with lineage like yours – you'll be a wonderful wizard with a bit of training."
"Well – I hope so," spluttered Harry, somewhat embarrassed.
Albus sensed Harry's mortification with such a statement, and smiled. "I do believe we have an appointment to keep at Hogwarts."
"Yes, we do, but what about Mrs. Figg, and that person in black?" Harry shivered when he mentioned the figure in a black cloak, remembering what it had said to him after murdering Mrs. Figg.
Albus frowned. "That will all be sorted out by the men in cloaks you saw apparate around you. They are Aurors, and one of the many jobs that branch off from that post, is for them rectify such happenings as the one that happened into. You, Harry, are free to go."
Harry sighed with contentment, and then said brightly, "Well, let's go then. The sooner we travel to Hogwarts, the better."
Albus obliged, and pulled a small container out of his robes, and walked down to the fire place. Harry followed closely. The wizened wizard lit the fireplace with absolutely no trouble, and threw a small handful of the powder into the flames. They turned a intoxicating green.
"We'll go together Harry. It's safer, as it is your first time."
"What do I do, Pa?"
"Step into the fire, and I will do the rest."
Harry eyed the fire gingerly, not knowing how he was to defy seven years of teaching that fire was hot, and to never touch it, but somehow he did, and found himself shocked by the tickling sensation. Albus closely pursued him, and holding Harry tight by the shoulders, said clearly, "Headmaster's office, Hogwarts."
The feeling of travelling by floo powder was definitely original. If Harry could think of any feeling, imagined or experienced, that would feel the most like that of travelling by floo powder, it was the feeling of being sucked down a giant plug hole. The roaring in his ears was deafening, and the swirls of green flames nauseating. After what seemed to an eternity, Harry tumbled out of a hearth, and found himself in the most peculiar office he had ever seen. He was entranced by a number of intriguing silver instruments. It was in front of them, studying them by eyes only, that Dumbledore found the young boy.
"Be careful what you touch Harry. I do encourage curiosity, but only with a strong dose of common sense."
A smile reached Harry's features, and he continued to observe the contents of the office. His eyes slid over the bookshelves, and the portraits of past headmasters and mistresses. They landed on a frayed hat.
"What's that?" asked Harry.
"The Sorting Hat," answered Dumbledore, "and that is all I am going to tell you, for the moment. You'll learn more about it in right time."
Harry pouted, annoyed that he wasn't allowed to know more. He was about to start an argument, but the arrival of a red blur disturbed him.
"Ah, Fawkes," said Dumbledore, as the red blur landed on his shoulder and became a red and gold bird, shaking its plumage proudly. Seeing Harry's confusion, Dumbledore added, "Fawkes is a phoenix Harry. An animal of many excellent attributes. Highly faithful and intelligent, and its tears have healing powers."
"It looks a bit like a chicken to me, Pa."
Fawkes trilled loudly, insulted. Contrary to his pet's behaviour, Albus smiled. "Do be careful what you say around Fawkes, Harry. Phoenixes are immensely proud creatures."
As Harry studied the phoenix, Albus rang a small bell, and almost instantly a small figure with bat-like ears too large in comparison to the rest of its body and wide green eyes like tennis balls. It was wearing a clean, white tea towel, with a crest sitting on the side. Harry jumped, startled once more by an unusual interruption, and scurried behind Albus.
"What is it?" he whispered.
"It is a house-elf," Pa whispered back. To the house-elf he said "Ah – its Knobby, isn't it? Would you be so kind as to ask Professor McGonagall to see me, please?"
"Knobby will do that sir." It scampered away as fast as it appeared.
"Why does it talk about itself like that?" asked Harry.
Albus looked thoughtful, and then shrugged. "I don't know the answer to your question. It could be a sign of their state of servility, under the rule of wizards and witches, as humans refer to themselves in the first person."
Harry shrugged, showing that he asked the question for the sake of asking a question. He sauntered over to the chair behind Albus' desk, and slowly sunk into the plush cushion. They waited, quietly, for the appearance of Professor McGonagall. She didn't disappoint, and in a few minutes she hurried into the office.
"Ah – Minerva, how pleasant it is to see you. Thank you for coming so quickly," said Albus, with a flourish.
"What is it that you want me for, Albus? It is the middle of the night and – sweet Merlin, who is that in your chair?"
Harry observed the woman quietly, amused. Her black hair was in a tight, severe bun, her eyes were sharp and quick, even though it was the middle of the night, and she had ample excuses to not be one her toes, and she was wearing a plain tartan dressing-gown, with not a crease to be seen. She appeared to be the stereotypical strict teacher.
"I'm Harry Potter, ma'am," he said, all politeness.
"Harry Potter?" McGonagall said faintly.
"That's correct, ma'am."
"Albus, why is Harry Potter, of all people, sitting in your chair, in your office?" she continued in the same soft voice.
"There was an attack on Harry's place of residence. The wards did not hold. The Dursleys household is no longer safe, and just between us, the care was inadequate. Harry is going to stay with us, and I am his new guardian."
"An attack! By who?"
"I really don't think that this subject is appropriate for Harry's ears," Albus said, glancing at Harry, who was watching them with wide eyes.
Minerva muttered incoherently, and then her eyes scanned the small figure that was Harry Potter. Messy black hair, bright green eyes, and a scar shaped as a lightening bolt. It was Harry Potter; a few years older than when she had last saw him, outside those horrid muggles' house, but still the same person, in characteristics, and in aura.
"Well, Harry," she said at last, having recovered from the shock, "welcome to Madness itself." She turned to Albus, and with a small smirk said, "Severus is not going to be pleased."
"I'm sure he gets to know Harry, and Harry gets to know him, they'll like each other well enough."
"Is denial a symptom of becoming senile?" muttered Minerva. Louder, she declared "Well, I best be going. I have sleep to catch up on. Nice to meet you Harry, and I will see you at – breakfast, it seems."
"Nice meeting you too, ma'am."
Professor McGonagall smiled faintly, and walked out of the office with her usual grace.
As soon as she had left, Harry spoke, "What did you say her name was again?"
"Professor McGonagall" replied Pa, with more of a smile than a frown. "Well, I suppose I should find you somewhere to sleep. You will have a big day tomorrow."
"Oh, please," gushed Harry, "there is positively no way I could fall asleep now, after all the excitement. Can't we just stay up?" Harry, unconsciously, gave Albus puppy dog eyes. "Please – Pa!"
Dumbledore relented. "I guess we can. What would you like to do?"
Harry paused, looking quite bashful. "Could you – well, I was wondering – no, it's stupid!"
"What's stupid, Harry? I can promise you, no matter what you say, I will not laugh."
Harry looked dubious, and then continued. "I was wondering – well, could you – if it isn't too much – read me a story?"
At this moment, Harry appeared so vulnerable, and Albus' heart went out to him. Harry had never known what most children took for granted. He had never known the kind of love that makes life worth living. Harry was just a small, lost boy, needing guidance, and an infinite amount of love. And Albus Dumbledore wanted to give him just that. Harry deserved a home, and a family, and Albus was sure that the Hogwarts community would supply this. Harry would, hopefully, finally able to be happy.
"Of course I'll read you a story" said Pa tenderly. "But I must admit; I am not all that knowledgeable on stories."
"I am," cried Harry zealously. "Could you read me Peter Pan?"
"Peter Pan – yes, I do believe I have heard of that story." Albus pulled out his wand, and transformed a thick, dusty volume into the book Peter Pan. Harry scuttled out of the chair, and Dumbledore sat down with a light thump. Harry snuggled himself onto his Pa's lap, and Dumbledore opened the thin book.
"Peter Pan, by J. M. Barrie." He cleared his throat, and then continued, "Everyone knows that children have to grow up. Wendy had known this for ages. But she didn't think much about it until she met Peter Pan! Wendy lived with her mother and father... "
Dumbledore read the book into the early morning, with Harry on his lap. When he was almost halfway through, his heard a faint snore, and looked down to find Harry fast asleep. He smiled, and slowly placed the book down, picked the wisp of a boy up, and took him up the stairs to his bedroom, feeling both a developing feeling of affection for him, and pity for having lived such a horrible life.
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As Albus Dumbledore was contemplating the small boy who had already captured his heart, another, with less honourable intentions, was pondering The Boy Who Lived as well. It was the one who had attacked number four Privet Drive, and had almost succeeded in capturing Harry Potter. But now, it was incarcerated in a Ministry cell, awaiting a trial. No one had any doubts that the attacker would be either sentenced to life in Azkaban, or to the Dementor's Kiss; which punishment it was really depended on just how much the judge hero-worshipped The Boy Who Lived.
The figure sneered sadistically. The Ministry were fools. This holding cell in the Ministry would not be imprisoning it for much longer. It would prevail. It would capture Harry Potter, it would sacrifice the boy, and Lord Voldemort, its beloved master, would be resurrected. A new era would begin with the Dark Lord at the head. All those tainted with muggle blood would perish, as would those who had opposed Voldemort in his first reign.
With a hint of a smile, it glanced towards the corridor, and hence, the guards outside its cell, and the smile became more pronounced. They were preoccupied with their dreams. Chuckling over just how easy its escape was, it removed a small object from the pocket from its robe, muttered something incoherent, and was gone.
The Ministry of Magic building might have been warded against apparated and portkeys, but one was able to obtain specially designated portkeys for to and from the Ministry. A few weeks earlier, the figure had acquired such a portkey, in case of the very predicament it had been in, from a bumbling official, no questions asked.
Idiot.
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Last Updated – 14th of March, 2004