Chapter 9: Getting Answers

Harry followed Remus up the stairs from the kitchen and into the hallway, where they turned into the music room. Remus Silenced the room once more as Harry sat down in the same chair he'd used that morning. He could only think of one question Remus might want to ask about his relatives, and he really didn't want to answer it.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he wants to know something else.

Remus sat down across from him. "Harry, how do your relatives treat you? Have they ever... hurt you?"

"Do they abuse me, you mean."

Remus nodded.

Damn, I hate being right. Harry let his shoulders slump and affected an interest in the wall.

"I know you probably don't want to talk about this, Harry, but things are sometimes easier to deal with when they're out in the open. I will try to listen to you with an open mind and not jump to any conclusions."

"Thanks," Harry said. "Tell you what, I'll make you a deal. I'll answer your question, with as much detail as you want, if you'll answer one of mine."

"If I can, Harry, I will. Marauder's oath on it."

Harry grinned lopsidedly. "That, I trust." He closed his eyes, thinking back. "I guess..." I might as well get it over with. I can't hide it forever. "I guess it all depends on what you call abuse."

"You tell me," Remus said, leaning back in his chair with an attempt at nonchalance.

Seems I'm not the only one on edge here. Oddly, the observation calmed Harry a bit. Remus wasn't enjoying this any more than he was, and that made it easier to start. "A lot of what the Dursleys do – did – would probably fall under neglect more than abuse. Like not getting me proper clothes or not feeding me much. Or making me sleep in a cupboard – my first Hogwarts letter was addressed to 'Mr. H. Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs.'" He gave a small laugh. From a distance of five years, it seemed strangely funny.

Remus was watching him quietly, expression unreadable.

"After I got my letter, they moved me upstairs to a bedroom. Well, I didn't actually get my letter. My uncle took it and burned it. Another one came the next day, addressed to me in 'The Smallest Bedroom.' They just kept coming, until finally, on my birthday, Hagrid found me and gave one to me personally."

It was a hopelessly condensed version of that chaotic week, but it would do.

"They never stopped Dudley knocking me around, though. And they used to shut me up in the cupboard without meals for about a day at a time. Two days was the longest they ever didn't feed me for. Other times, they would lock me up in there and only let me out for school or meals or when they needed me to do something around the house. Like the time I made the glass disappear at the zoo."

"Made the glass disappear?"

"It was magic, of course, but I didn't know that then. It was Dudley's birthday, I got to go to the zoo because Mrs. Figg couldn't take care of me, and I was talking to this snake – in Parseltongue, probably, but like I said, I didn't know – and Dudley shoved me out of the way, and next thing I knew, the glass on the front of the exhibit was gone, and the snake was loose. It said thank you to me before it left." Harry smiled, remembering something he had thought at the time. "I've always wished Dudley had been leaning on the glass when it disappeared. It would have been funny if he'd fallen in."

"It sounds like a zoo is the best place for him. Can you tell me more about him?"

"Dudley? Great, swollen, bullying git. Scared stiff of magic, with good reason – Hagrid, er, got rather mad at him when he delivered my Hogwarts letter, Fred and George Weasley tested out one of their products on him two years back, and then last summer we got attacked by Dementors." Harry hoped Remus wouldn't notice his slip – he had never told anyone yet that Hagrid had given Dudley a pig's tail, since Hagrid couldn't legally do magic.

"You said he knocked you around?" Remus prompted.

Harry let out a silent sigh of relief. "Yeah. Him and a few of his friends. It was their favorite game, Harry Hunting. That's how I got so fast. They couldn't hit me if they couldn't catch me. It never went beyond bruises and such, but it got close once. He had me down and was twisting my arm – he might have broken it if he'd gone much farther – but I must have done accidental magic, because he started yelling about his feet and jumped off me."

"His feet?"

Harry grimaced. "The soles of his shoes were all melted. I got four days in the cupboard for that one. A week for the time I grew my hair back in one night, because my aunt was so sick of seeing it all messy that she practically had my head shaved. I forget how long for the time I got stuck on the school roof."

"What were you doing on the roof?"

"Nothing. Running away from Dudley and his gang. I just wanted to be safe – I tried to jump up on some stuff – and bang, I was sitting on the roof. I had a lot of stuff like that happen to me. And it always got me punished. Even though I couldn't help it..." Harry stopped. His throat was starting to close up, and he didn't want to cry in front of Remus again if he could help it.

Well, at least not twice in the same day.

"I believe that's a quite adequate answer, Harry," Remus said. His voice had just a touch of a quiver in it, and Harry noticed that his eyes were very bright. He blinked a few times before he went on. "Now, your question for me. If I don't know the answer, I will attempt to find out."

"All right. Thanks." Harry thought over the myriad questions he had for the adults in his life and discovered that one had come to the fore in the last few minutes. "Why did I have to stay with the Dursleys? Why do I still have to go back there every summer? I know there's some kind of protection there I don't get other places, but why did it have to be there, with people who hate me?"

"You would have to pick something I don't know, Harry. I know only as much as you do about this subject. But I know who can tell you more, if he's willing."

"Who?"

"Professor Dumbledore."

Harry shrugged. "I don't want to bother him if he's busy."

"I'm sure he'd be happy to speak with you, Harry," Remus said. "Wait here, I'll send a message along." He left the room, and Harry was alone with his thoughts. Thoughts which were, at the moment, filled with Albus Dumbledore.

In truth, he wasn't sure how he felt about seeing the Headmaster again. The last time they had met was the morning after Sirius had died, the morning when Dumbledore had shown Harry the prophecy. Harry had been furious, disbelieving and grief-stricken, and had taken it out on some of Dumbledore's gadgets.

I hope he's not angry about that.

But he wasn't only worried about how the Headmaster might react to him. He wondered how he really felt about Dumbledore.

Voldemort tried to control me directly by possessing me. But isn't Dumbledore just trying to control me indirectly by nudging me the way he wants me to go?

His mind seemed split right down the middle. Half of him insisted Dumbledore was too moral even to consider controlling someone, the other half was cynically sure Dumbledore was controlling everything.

I do believe he wanted – he wants – what's best for me. It's just that he assumes he knows what that is, and then he goes ahead and does it without asking me. Even if he's right, I would still like it if he would at least get my opinion before he chose my life for me.

He knew, intellectually, that Dumbledore hadn't had much choice in where to send him as an infant. He had been a famous baby, famous and in terrible danger, and there was some kind of protective magic that had been invoked by his mother's sacrifice, so that he was safe in the place where his mother's blood relatives lived. His Aunt Petunia and Dudley both qualified, he guessed, though Dumbledore had only talked about his aunt.

But why didn't he ever take me away from there, after the danger was past?

Hang on. He said something about that in June. I wasn't paying much attention at the time. Something like "When you arrived at Hogwarts, you were not as happy or as well-nourished as I would have liked, but you were alive and healthy. You were not a pampered prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped..."

Is that what this was all about? Keeping me from getting spoiled? He could have sent me to live with Snape if he wanted to do that...

Harry burst out laughing. He couldn't help himself. The idea of him living with the greasy-haired Potions professor was utterly ludicrous.

"May we share the joke?" asked a familiar voice from behind him.

Harry stood up to greet his Headmaster. "Professor Dumbledore."

Dumbledore was wearing his usual robes and pointed hat, and his phoenix, Fawkes, sat on his shoulder. Lupin – no, Remus, I have to get used to that – followed him into the room and closed the door.

"I'm afraid I don't remember it, sir. I'd share it with you if I could, though."

"Quite all right, Harry. Remus tells me you have a question for me."

"Yes, sir." Harry looked at Dumbledore and felt a wave of irrational pride that the Headmaster met his eyes, something he hadn't done all last year. "I wanted to know, sir, why I had to live with the Dursleys all those years. Why no one ever checked on me to see if I was all right."

"Were you all right, Harry?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

Harry glanced over at Remus, who nodded slightly. He looked back at Dumbledore and gathered his courage. "No, sir. I wasn't. I hated it there."

"Would you mind telling me why?"

Some things, Harry discovered, were easier to tell the second time around. It helped that Dumbledore didn't look accusing or bored or condescending at any time. He listened intently as Harry catalogued the events of ten miserable years and five unhappy summers. Fawkes fluttered from Dumbledore's shoulder to the arm of Harry's chair around Harry's fifth birthday.

Harry wrapped up with a summary of his thoughts before Dumbledore came in, trying to keep it as polite as possible, but also trying to get across his frustration. "Sir, sometimes I feel like I'm a child. But I'm really not. I can't be, any more, can I? And people keep treating me as one. Or as some delicate piece of equipment – take it out when you need it, lock it up when you don't. I – it's – it's hard to explain. I'm sorry." He realized he was standing up and quickly sat down. He hoped he hadn't been shouting.

"You have some justice on your side, Harry," Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers in the familiar gesture Harry was so used to. "I have been treating you in many ways as a child. Legally, of course, you are still a child for another year, but in no real sense of the word can you still be considered a child. Please forgive me."

Harry nodded, stroking Fawkes' head. He was beginning to wonder if maybe he hadn't gotten more than he bargained for, asking a question only Dumbledore could answer.

Dumbledore continued. "As to your relatives, I can only say that I am sorry, and perhaps offer some explanation. You know that your aunt and uncle are not always glad to see you."

Harry just stopped himself from snorting. Not always? Try never.

"And yet they took you in and kept you in their home. You must have wondered why. And now you ask why. Why did no one ever come to check on you, why did no one tell you the truth about your parents. Harry, the night I left you at number 4 Privet Drive, I entered into a magical contract with your aunt and uncle. This contract stated that, in return for taking care of you and keeping you alive and well, they would be left alone."

"Left alone?"

"Minerva had observed them for me. She told me what they were like – resistant to the very idea of magic, frightened by it. You needed the protection that only they could offer you. I promised your aunt and uncle that, if they would take you in and care for you, no magical person or persons would communicate with them until you were of age to attend school. By magical law, that promise was binding, as long as both sides were kept. Your aunt and uncle kept their side of the bargain – perhaps tenuously at times, but they kept it. And I kept mine."

Harry stared at Dumbledore. Memories crashed through his head. Sitting alone in his cupboard with only the spiders for company. Running from Dudley, all the hairsbreadth escapes, and the times he hadn't escaped. Doing hours of housework with only a meager meal for a reward. Being treated like an unwelcome dog.

All for the sake of a promise.

But Fawkes trilled lightly, and something in his mind, something which seemed to have a voice he half-knew, took the memories and turned them inside out. You learned to be self-reliant, not to be afraid of the dark, or of spiders, or of almost anything. Your reflexes and your speed were trained for Quidditch, or for dodging curses. You know how to work hard and not complain. And you'll never take the friendship and love of others for granted, because for so long you didn't have it.

"I... think I understand, sir," he said slowly.

"I am glad to hear it, Harry," said Dumbledore soberly. "It may interest you to know that in the first two months after you came to live at number 4 Privet Drive, there were three attacks on the house by former Death Eaters. The wards on the house repelled them all – your relatives never even knew that anything was wrong. Had you been living anywhere else, this would not have been the case. There would have been deaths; perhaps even you would have died. I am sorry with all my heart that you were so unhappy with your aunt and uncle, but it was necessary to keep you safe."

"And to keep me from turning into a 'pampered little prince', sir?" Harry smiled thinly, trying to make it into a joke.

"Indeed. I wanted least of all for you to become such a young man as, say, Draco Malfoy. If you had been fostered with a wizarding family, you would have been a celebrity child, the young half-blood prince who defeated the pure-blood Dark Lord, the hero of half-bloods and Muggle-borns everywhere."

Harry frowned. "Sir – Voldemort's not a pure-blood. His father was a Muggle. Wasn't he?"

"He was, but Voldemort will never admit that to his followers. He has buried Tom Marvolo Riddle, the half-blood orphan raised in a Muggle institution, so deeply that he may believe himself that he is pure-blood."

"I told them," Harry said, recalling. "I told Malfoy and the others, at the Ministry, that he was a half-blood. Before we started fighting."

"Unfortunately, they are unlikely to believe you, Harry. If they knew the truth, it is likely many of them would drift away, and our work would be half done for us. As it is..." Dumbledore sighed. "I will not lie to you, Harry. Seven people have been killed since you left Hogwarts. Four were Muggles, three Muggle-born witches or wizards. The Order has been able to halt several planned attacks, but we cannot be everywhere."

"Headmaster," Remus said from the corner. Harry jumped. He had almost forgotten the man was there. "Harry saw Dolores Umbridge this morning."

"Yes, Umbridge." Dumbledore sighed. "Fudge refuses to believe she did anything wrong. You saw her, Harry? Where?"

Harry explained about waiting in the window seat, seeing Umbridge on the street, his mad desire to chase after her, and how he had stopped himself. He put the best face he could on not telling Dumbledore about Umbridge's detentions while they were happening, but he knew his excuses were just that, excuses. Dumbledore, though, overlooked this, examining Harry's scarred hand and nodding somberly.

"I fear you are correct, Harry. Dolores Umbridge may have access to your mind in a limited way through your blood and these scars. And I cannot remove them, at least, not now, not without knowing how she established such a link. My best advice to you is, if you feel your mind is being probed, think of something diverting. Something entertaining and with little apparent relevance to real life. You may be able to trick Umbridge into thinking you never have serious thoughts."

Harry smiled. "I have the perfect thing, sir. A book series I've been reading."

"Erica Gorelli?" Dumbledore smiled at the surprise on Harry's face. "I'm glad you've encountered them. They're precisely the kind of thing I mean. Many adult wizards and witches consider such books a waste of time. Myself – I think it can be handy to see things in a different way, from another perspective as it were. And now, I must be getting back to school."

Fawkes gave Harry a farewell trill, then spread his wings and flew to Dumbledore's shoulder. In a flash of fire, the two were gone.

"Remus?" said Harry into the silence. "Thanks."

"Anytime, Harry," Remus said softly, pressing Harry's shoulder. "Come on, I think Ron and Hermione are getting anxious."

After two sessions of such intense emotion in one day, Harry was perfectly content to sit at the kitchen table with a mug of butterbeer and listen to Ron and Ginny's stories about growing up in a household full of wizards and Hermione's about growing up like a normal Muggle. Mrs. Weasley returned around four o'clock, laden with grocery bags, and Mr. Weasley arrived shortly afterward, and the twins Apparated into the kitchen in the middle of dinner preparations, causing Mrs. Weasley to shriek and set her robes on fire.

Harry only managed half a chapter of Insane Dorm Hall that night before he started feeling his eyelids dragging shut. Well, I did have a short night last night... was it just last night? It seemed like far longer.

He scooted down in the bed and took off his glasses, placing them carefully on the nightstand. Then, for some reason he didn't quite understand, he reached over the edge of the bed and arranged his shoes where he could get at them quickly.

As his eyes closed, Harry wondered if he'd have uninterrupted sleep tonight...

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A terrible, high-pitched squeal awakened him.

"Aah!" He clamped his hands over his ears, but that didn't help. Especially not when the air-horn-like blasts of noise began.

"Come on," Ron shouted over the noise. "We have to go out. We'll get in trouble if we don't."

The hallway outside the door of their room was partially painted a vivid green. Hermione and Ginny, looking grouchy, were emerging from the room next door to theirs. Other people, male and female, were coming out of the other doors along the hall and heading for the swinging doors at the end, which led out. The horrible sounds echoed twice as loud in the tiled vestibule, but at last they got outside, where the noise was far less audible.

"This is ridiculous," Hermione snapped. "Two fire alarms in as many nights, and both of them at hours when decent people are asleep?"

"Welcome to Carrington," someone said resignedly behind them. It was a young woman with shoulder-length hair and glasses, wearing flip-flops and a red bathrobe. "You must be the British students. Fran said you wanted to meet me about choir auditions. I'm Erica Gorelli."

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(A/N: You people had better appreciate this. It's 3:00 AM and I couldn't stop writing!

MackenzieW: Thanks! I had fun crafting that scene to catch people with dirty minds!

Caprice-Ann HedicanKocur: Glad you like the photo. Erica gets a little sick of seeing it – it went on the cover of Carrington's flyer announcing this year's plays. The one they send to all the alumni and every current student.

harryp123: Thanks dude! Here ya go!

Joshua: I aim to please. Catch up soon and review all you like!

Hope to hear from everyone soon!)