Chapter nine.

"It was on the 31st of October, 1981," Dumbledore began when the three of them were settled in the lounge and Ms. McGonagall had left to file the paperwork.

"Oh!" exclaimed Nell involuntarily. Both Dumbledore and Harry jumped and turned to her. She pinkened a bit. "It's just – that's the day before my own father died. Sorry, I'll be quiet." She sat back and folded her hands on her lap.

"No," said Dumbledore. "If you don't mind my asking, how did your father die?" He looked politely sympathetic, but there was an odd glint in his eyes.

"There was a gas explosion on the street," Nell said succinctly, not caring to elaborate. Dumbledore's eyes widened a bit, but he simply nodded and continued with his tale.

"I suppose, to be fair, I should start earlier than that. A wizard calling himself Lord Voldemort had been causing trouble, gathering followers, for several years before that time. They were dark days, Harry, dark days indeed; friend turned against friend, you didn't know who to trust.

"Because they fought against him – and they fought bravely, Harry – your parents became targets. They were forced to go into hiding, but they were betrayed, and on Halloween of 1981, Voldemort attacked. Your parents were killed, but when he turned his wand on you, the spell backfired and he was destroyed. That is when you received your scar – it's a curse mark, and one nearly anyone in our world would recognize."

Harry's eyes widened. He had been oddly quiet during the stark recitation, Nell thought, although he had shuddered against her side several times. "Do lots of people know what happened?" he asked incredulously.

Dumbledore twinkled at him. "You are known as the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry. Every wizard and witch knows your name, and your scar. That is why I wished you to be raised in the Muggle world – so that you would be able to escape your fame for a few years."

Harry said, "Oh." After a moment, he said, "What's a Muck—a Mug—"

"A Muggle, Harry, is simply someone without magic," Dumbledore informed him.

"Like me," interjected Nell.

"Precisely, my dear," said Dumbledore.

Harry sat quietly for a moment. Then Nell noticed his eyes tearing up, and he hid his face in her shoulder. Indistinctly, he said, "I can't be a wizard. I can't do that kind of thing. I'm not – I mean, I'm Harry. Just Harry. Not a wizard."

Dumbledore smiled. "Oh? You've never made anything happen when you were worried or upset?"

Nell poked Harry in the side. "What about the school roof, then? And your funny haircuts? What d'you call that?" She tickled him, and when he giggled reluctantly and batted her hand away, she looked up at Dumbledore. "Do wizards have flying motorbikes? Only, Harry draws pictures of them a lot." Harry looked up as well, interested.

Dumbledore looked stricken out of measure to the question. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, looking quite sad. "Yes," he said. "I have known someone with a flying motorbike and Harry would have been – quite well acquainted with it when he was small."

Harry looked eager. This had been the perfect distraction for him. "Who is it? Can I ride it? Do you have it?"

Dumbledore raised his hands, smiling once more, his sadness masked. "I'm afraid not, dear boy. You will have to let your memory suffice this time." Harry pouted but nodded.

Nell noticed that he had evaded the question of who the bike had belonged to, but let it pass. It didn't seem particularly important, although honestly, she too would rather like a ride on a flying motorbike.

"Oh, and Harry, remember the snake that told you about Brazil? Surely that's a magical thing," said Nell, winking at Dumbledore, sure that it had been Harry's imagination.

To her everlasting shock, he went quite pale and sat up in his seat. "Talking to snakes? Are you sure?" He seemed to realise that he had alarmed them and relaxed back. "My, my, Harry. You are full of surprises."

"Is that unusual, then?" asked Nell, a bit shocked that this, too, seemed magical. She had thought that the removal of the glass had been the only actual magic performed.

"Oh, quite unusual," said Dumbledore. "I think it would be best if you tried to keep that information to yourself. There is nothing wrong with Parseltongue – snake language – in itself. However, many people are a bit wary of snakes, which have become something of a Dark symbol in recent years. This superstition was encouraged by Voldemort, of course."

Harry was looking alarmed. "Am I going to be evil, then? What's wrong with snakes?" Nell reached over to hug him, but he twisted away. "You did it too, Nell," he said, his eyes darkening with suspicion. "You didn't tell Emma that I talked to the snake at the zoo. Are you afraid of me now?"

Nell wanted to laugh and cry and hug him, all at once, but he needed to be calmed down before she could do any of those things. "Harry, first of all, you are not evil."

"No, indeed," contributed Dumbledore.

Nell ignored his rather unhelpful interjection and continued. "Second of all, I didn't tell Emma about the snake because what would I say? Oh, Harry just made the glass disappear so the boa constrictor could have a holiday in Brazil? What? Oh, because the snake asked him to. How do you think Emma would react to that – you know she's got no imagination!"

Harry seemed to be considering this, and he allowed himself to be tugged into a hug the second time.

Dumbledore interrupted their moment of understanding. "You made the glass disappear? Harry," he said, leaning forward intently, "do you understand that that is the sort of thing you must try very hard not to do? That could hurt someone. I know you didn't mean to, I know you would never want to, but you have to be careful."

Harry nodded soberly, and Nell hugged him even closer, glaring at Dumbledore. Harry had begun to shake. She tugged him up. "I think that's enough for today," she said coolly to Dumbledore.

He nodded agreement. "If you wish to talk to me further, either of you, simply call Mary Wilkens. She will know how to get in touch with me." A smile touched his lips for a moment. "Do be sure to say your name clearly, though."

And he vanished with a loud POP.

Nell looked at Harry. Harry looked at Nell.

"Park?" said Nell. She wanted to catch the last few rays of sunshine, and Harry needed some fresh air.

"Park," nodded Harry.

Once they got there, Harry ran around the small park like a little dervish, blowing off the nervous energy that had built up during the afternoon. He stopped briefly to pet a small dog and smile up at the walker, but then he was off again.

Nell watched him and thought. He seemed so normal like this, not at all like a supernatural world-saving hero. His shoes were untied, Nell noted, and his nose currently needed wiping. His glasses were broken (she made a mental note to take him to an optican) and his hair was always untidy. Nothing heroic or saviour-like about that, really.

The man with the dog came by and sat next to her on the bench.

"Your brother?" he asked, gesturing at Harry.

"Son," she replied shortly.

His eyebrows arched in disbelief. "Surely – well, you look a bit young?"

Nell wasn't up to conversation. "Thanks," she replied, hoping he would take the hint and leave.

He didn't. "I couldn't help but notice your boy's scar when I was passing him. If it's not too nosy, how did he get it?"

Nell just looked at him, disbelieving, and as the silence stretched, he blushed. "S-sorry. I-I didn't mean –"

Taking a bit of pity on his embarrassment, Nell said, "Car crash. When he was a baby."

The man's eyebrows went up again, but he didn't say anything. After a moment, he got up and left. Nell shuddered with relief. She couldn't take questions about Harry; not tonight.

As night began to fall, she called Harry and they left the park together, not noticing the dogwalker trailing them at a distance.

When they returned to Nell's apartment, exhausted and windblown, there was a package waiting for them.

In an elegant script, it read:

For Harry, in remembrance of his parents.