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Wrongful Imprisonment:

That's The Way The World Is Now

Chapter Three: Just Lies

Harry ushered them into his room. He closed the door behind them. Once they had entered the room, he asked them quietly, "Why are you here?" He cleared the floor a little bit, picking up some scraps of parchment, making a narrow path for Remus and Tonks to get through.

Remus arched an eyebrow. "Because you sent us an owl this morning."

Harry set on his unmade bed. "Really? I didn't expect Hedwig to get there so soon. She usually likes to take her own sweet time on deliveries," he stated.

Tonks sat on the bed next him, after stepping over some school books and a few articles of various clothing. "Wotcher, Harry! How you going, mate?" she asked Harry, clapping him on the shoulder. Her brown hair made her look like Hermione. She stood up again and went to the mirror. "Hmm…Remus, guess I can change my hair back now, huh?" she concentrated and screwed her eyes shut. In a few moments her hair was back to its 'natrual' pink, spiky state. She admired her look, twirling around for effect.

Harry stared at her, and shuffled back a little bit. "Excuse me, but do I know you?" he asked politely. "And how did you do that!"

"Harry, this is Nymphadora Tonks." Remus pointed at Tonks.

Tonks looked at Harry sternly. "I'm a Metamorphmagus, it means I can change my appearance at will." Seeing the look on Harry's face, she added, "Sorry, you're born with it, you can't learn it. And don't call me Nymphadora. My name's Tonks. All pleasantries aside, Harry; we've come to take you to see your—OW!" she finished, as Remus stepped on her foot.

"Tonks," Remus whispered close to her ear, "There's a little thing called tact."

"There's no point beating around the bush. You've read the paper this morning." Tonks proclaimed loudly. With this she was not only addressing Remus, but Harry as well.

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose hastily. "You mean it's true?" he asked, gesturing to his copy of the Daily Prophet lying innocently on the floor at the foot of Harry' bed. "I thought this was just some more lies that Rita Skeeter had come up with. The Daily Prophet isn't reputable for telling the truth…I just though it was just lies…more lies! I can't believe it…he…he spent fourteen years in Azkaban! More than Sirius! Is he going to be alright? It's just like a dream…when it gets to the best part, you wake up. Tell me it's a dream, Professor Lupin, tell me it's a dream, tell me I'm going to wake up…no…tell me it's not a dream…tell me I'm not going to wake up, tell me it's true. Professor Lupin, tell me it's true," Harry was sitting quietly on his bed, and he looked like he was going to cry.

But that wasn't right. Harry Potter never cried. He didn't cry that much when he was a baby, and he especially didn't do it now as a soon to be fifteen-year-old boy. But he was. Harry Potter, boy-who-lived-too-many-damn-times. Harry, who had to escape from Voldemort, or one of his incarnates, three out of the four years he had been at Hogwarts.

Harry Potter wasn't meant to cry. But he was doing so right now.

Hogwarts. Remus thought to himself. An institute for learning. Not a setting for many wild adventures.

What had Dumbledore been thinking, letting the school deteriorate into that state? But this wasn't another fairy tale where the hero fought against the evil dark wizard. This was real life. This was some sort of messed up world where the dead weren't dead and nothing was as it seemed.

Actually, this was starting to seem very much like a fairy tale.

"Why, Professor Lupin?" Harry asked quietly, tears trickling slowly down his face.

Remus sat down next to Harry, smoothed out his frayedrobe and put a hand around Harry. "I don't know, Harry, I don't know," he told him, trying to console the teenage boy.

He soon found that he needed consoling himself.

If Nymphadora Tonks hated anything else then people who thought they were better they were better than anyone else, Death Eaters and the name Nymphadora, it was to see men cry. And in front of her she had two crying males. She sat down in the small space between the two and patted them on the back awkwardly. She didn't like feeling out of place, and this time it wasn't because of her hair.

It was because she was between two crying men, and she couldn't feel a thing. Not a single drop of emotion. Her whole body felt numb. Yet she felt like she was the one who had to break them up.

"Remus, Harry? Are you alright?" she finally asked. What a stupid question to ask, Nymphadora! She chastised herself. Of course they're feeling alright! Their best friend and father pretty much comes back to life and you asked if their alright! Well as Remus told you before, so much for tact! Nymphadora, does the word subtlety convey any meaning to you? No? I thought not? Oh, and are you sure it's perfectly normal to refer to yourself in third person inside your head? It's not an entirely healthy habit. Who am I? I'm just that friendly neighbourhood voice that helps you indulge in this unhealthy habit. You may refer to me as your conscience. I will be here to occasionally confuse you and convince you you are going crazy. I will visit you many times during life, making sure you don't do what you want to do, because it's wouldn't be good in the overall scheme of things. I am also here to teach you the skill of tact. Does that make you feel like you're going crazy?

Tonks pushed her conscience away. Her inner mental troubles would have to wait for another day.

"I'm fine…Tonks," Harry finally stated, wiping the inside of his glasses because they had fogged up.

"Don't tell me your fine, Harry, you aren't 'fine'. You don't look 'fine',"

Remus started to open his mouth, but Tonks turned to him. "Don't tell me your fine too, Remus Lupin. You're not fine either,"

Looks like learning tact will be harder than previously thought, Nymphadora.

"I'm fine enough to get going." Remus stated, standing up. Harry stood up as well.

"How are we going to get there, fly?" Harry asked jokingly.

"Yep. We brought our brooms." Tonks answered, holding out her Cleansweep for Harry to see. "Do you have your broom here?"

Harry pulled out his Firebolt from under his bed. Tonks's eyes widened. "Wow! You have a Firebolt. And I'm still riding a Cleansweep." She exclaimed jealously.

"At least you're not riding one of these." Remus added, gesturing to the Oak 400.

"That's one of the school brooms, isn't it?" Harry asked curiously.

"And it's about a million years old too." Tonks added.

There was a sudden rapping noise at the door. Petunia stuck her long necked head in. "I want you out of the house in the next five minutes," she said snappishly; "My husband is due to come home soon!"

"We'll leave right away, Mrs. Dursley. Is it alright if we take Harry here with us?"

Petunia looked scrutinly at Tonks, taking in her pink hair, then Harry then back at Tonks.

"Didn't you have brown hair before?" Petunia asked, confused.

"Yes."

Petunia's eyes narrowed. "You mean you used your freakish abilities in my household?"

She waited about a split second, then sort of nudged Harry towards Tonks. "You can take him for now. I want you out of the house now! Before my husband comes home!

"Yes Ma'am." Tonks saluted, and grabbed Remus and Harry by the wrists, took them out the door, past a seething Petunia and down the stairs.

As Tonks dragged them down the stairs, Remus asked, "Why do they have photos of balloons on the walls?"

"You idiot!" Tonks hissed. "That's their son!"

"Oh."

They finally made it out the front door. They walked through the slightly brown garden of four Privet Drive and out onto the footpath. "Bye, Privet Drive!" Harry exclaimed.

"Hey, Roger, come back here boy!" A muggle in a jogging outfit was calling down the street. A Jack Russell was heading straight at Tonks. "Here boy!" The muggle called again. He stuffed his fingers in his mouth and whistled, but to no avail.

The Jack Russell reached Tonks and started jumping up and down friskily, panting loudly, and slobbering all over Tonks's pants.

The muggle reached them, and picked up the lively Jack Russell. "Sorry about that. Roger just gets a little excited," he told them, removing his blue patterned headband from his sweating forehead.

"It's alright." Tonks replied, accidentally wiping the slobber with the sleeve of Remus's robe.

The muggle looked at Remus's robe curiously. He had yet again not taken it off. Idiot.

Tonks decided it was time for one of another of her brilliant 'excuses.'

She leaned on a tree on the nature strip, and said, "We're going to a fancy-dress party. He," she gestured to Remus, "is going as a wizard. I am going as a punk." She gestured to her pink hair. And Harry here is going as—OW!" She stopped in mid-sentence as a plum fell on her head.

"A street kid." Remus continued, hoping that Harry's baggy jumper and jeans would be good…or bad…enough to pass.

"Cool. I like 'em fancy dress parties. Have fun now!" the muggle replied, putting Roger on his leash and jogging off into the distance.

"That was close," Tonks said while she rubbed the spot on her head the plum had landed on.

"Saved by the plum, eh?" Remus asked, stroking his chin, eyeing the plum. "We better get going, we've been held up enough as it is." Tonks cast the Disillusionment charm on herself, Remus and Harry.

"I feel like a chameleon." He whispered quietly. Harry's eyes were slightly red for crying, as was Remus's.

"Ready to get going? And as we're flying I would like you to think of an answer for this question…it's kind of similar to one I asked Remus before. What did you think of your parents when you were young? Oh, Remus, are we going straight there?"

"Yes. It's best not to waste time, and if we go back now, Padfoot will insist on coming, whether it's a good idea or not." He mounted the Oak 400. He had a little faith in it now. It had, after all, had gotten him here. Now it needed to get him to St. Mungo's or…well he'd probably end up in St. Mungo's anyway. The former the better way. Less brain damage.

Harry decided to humor Tonks, so he remembered the day he learnt about his parents.

Flashback

Harry walked in the house, carrying both his and his cousin's school bags. It had been their first day of school, and it was only a half-day really. They had finished at one o'clock. He had seen Dudley get picked up by Aunt Petunia. Dudley, in his haste, had left his brand-new school bag behind.

His Aunt told him to be grateful for what he received, but he realised that Dudley never got taught the same lessons. Dudley, Harry had realised, always was given new, better things. All he got were hand-me-down clothes five times to big for him.

He had waited until at the school's gate until three thirty, when the older kids finished. That's when he realised his parents weren't going to pick him up, because he didn't have any parents.

His parents died five…or were it four years ago. Yet he didn't understand. Why didn't his Aunt and Uncle love him like with adoptive parents on the few television shows he had been able to watch?

Why was he treated second best, often merely an after-thought? He had liked his first day of school. The teacher had given him a sticker for knowing how to add three and seven. There he was treated like an equal. There he wasn't a burden on 'good, honest, hard-working people' or a freak.

He was just like every one else. Just Harry. No one would suspect he was that different. But he was. He didn't have a mum or a dad to tuck him in bed at night. All he had were the spiders. He could never sleep at night. He hated the dark. Instead he lay down and wished that some unknown relative would take him away. Take him away…to a place…where everyone was treated equal. A place he could truly call home.

A house is but a shell; the home is what you put in. Four Privet Drive may be a home to his cousin, aunt and uncle, but it would never be a home to him.

"So you're home?" his aunt asked him, having come into the hall with a feather duster. "Finally."

Harry looked down at his worn, second-hand shoes. "They told us that our parents would pick us up," he mumbled, more to his shoes.

"And did your parents pick you up?" Petunia asked.

"No," Harry admitted quietly.

"And do you know why? Because your parents don't love you. They left you with us. If they loved you, they wouldn't have left you here." Petunia snapped nastily.

"They did love me," Harry said determinedly, raising his head so he could look into his Aunt's eyes. "They love me somewhere here." Harry pointed to his chest.

"Okay, so maybe they loved you…why did they leave you? Why did they die in a car crash, leaving you with only that freakish scar on your forehead?"

"Is that what happened…they died? And left me here…and I got this?" he asked, pointing to his scar.

"Yes. And don't ask questions."

End Flashback.

A sudden hope rose in his heart. His mother had loved him, had died for him. His father was alive. Alive! A father…what would one be like? Someone to care for him…someone who loved him…but he realised that, James…his father…might not be alright. Sirius had said that some people went crazy after only a month in…that place. His hope deflated. But then again…Sirius survived twelve years in Azkaban…was it possiblemy father has done the same?

He ruthlessly squashed the hope down again. There was no reason to get his hopes up. Whenever he wished for something, wanted something, anything, he never got it. Even if it was something simple, like to be tucked into bed at night, or a birthday cake. Even now nothing ever went his way. As long as he could remember, he had always wanted to be Harry. Just Harry. A normal child, no unloving guardians, no evil psychotic Dark Lords out for his head.

Just Harry. But his biggest wish of all, a parent, had never come true. Until now. And he was going to wake up any second. This was all some fantasy his brain had generated to cope with his boredom. But the air hitting him on the face, making him shiver, was all the proof he needed. This was real!

"Descent!" yelled Tonks. Harry pulled his Firebolt so the front faced the ground. "We're aiming for that deserted alleyway, just to make sure we don't topple onto some poor Muggle or something."

Harry flew a little to the left. They reached the ground in a matter of minutes. Tonks managed to keep her balance this time, but Remus didn't. He toppled right into a rubbish bin, making a huge crashing noise and littering the whole street with garbage.

Tonks pulled him up. Remus hastily grabbed a clump of rubbish and dumped in the nearest rubbish bin. They walked out of the alleyway and into the street, coming to a stop in front of a dusty old shop Purge & Dowes Ltd. A mannequin was on display, modeling a dress which look like it belonged in a history book. On the front door of the shop there was a "Closed for Refurbishment" sign.

Tonks leaned in towards the glass and whispered, "Wotcher, we're here to see James Potter."
The mannequin beckoned them in. Tonks went in with Harry first, because he was looking confused. Remus came in after them. St. Mungo's wasn't very busy. Two or three people sat around, reading old copies of Witch Weekly and more recent copies of either the Daily Prophet or the Evening Prophet.

She walked up to the Welcome Witch's desk. The Welcome Witch was a thin, blonde woman, with blue eyes and a bored expression. They joined a short queue, behind a man who had unfortunately sprouted a pig's tail from his bottom, not unlike the one Harry saw Hagrid give Dudley.

The pig-tailed man reached the Welcome Witch. Without even asking, she said, "Spell Damage. Fourth Floor," in a flat, monotone voice.

"We're here to see James Potter." Tonks told the Welcome Witch. She flipped through a pile of parchment and replied. "At the moment, healers are only allowing blood family members to visit Mr. Potter."

Remus sighed. Of course. If they weren't sure of the state of the patient, they only let in family. Which was annoying. But there was no point arguing about it. That would only get them kicked out.

"But—" Tonks started, but the Welcome Witch interrupted her.

"No buts. You can sit here and wait," she suddenly turned to Harry like she had only just noticed he was there. "You can go in of course. He's in the fourth floor, Spell Damage, Ana Moon Ward. The healers gave him the whole ward to himself.

Harry thanked the healer and walked away. Tonks and Remus both agreed to stay behind, Tonks looking interested in "13 Ways to Change Your Wear!" in one of last year's Witch Weekly's.

Harry walked through a set of double doors. Up some rickety old stairs until he reached the fourth floor. He nervously ran a hand through his hair. He went to open the door but found he couldn't summon up the nerve to open it.

Where's that Gryffindor courage now, Potter?

He stood in the hallway for a couple of minutes, deliberating if he wanted to go in or not. He couldn't stand it any longer. He pushed open the door. The first thing he saw upon entering the room was a man sitting on the bed. He was dressed in the robes of a St. Mungo's patient. He had messy jet-black hair, and he looked like he hadn't washed in months.

Or fourteen years.

But the worst thing was the eyes. The hazel eyes were like stones, unmoving and lifeless. This was one of the times that Harry wished that the saying 'eyes are the window to the soul' was entirely untrue. His eyes were framed by black, square glasses, which looked like they needed a good cleaning, or just needed to be thrown out.

The man…his father…stared at him for a few seconds. Then in a raspy voice, he said one simple word.

"Harry."

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So what do you think? This was meant to be up earlier…but noooooo, my ISP had to be down ALL DAY. It's finally deciding to work now. Anyway, please leave a review, or any constructive criticism, if you have any. I just had to end it there, didn't I?

'Til next time,

Thoughts And Pondering.