Undo, Retry
Chapter 4

by Olafr - Harry Potter and associated milieu, characters, and situations are owned by J.K. Rowling and her licensees. This is a work of fan fiction, produced solely for enjoyment. No infringement of rights is intended.

Rating: PG (so far)

Last updated: 26 March 2005.

Author's Notes: Harry gets sprung bad. (Caught red-handed.)

oOoOoOo

All but forgotten in the aftermath of the scene at Ollivander's, Harry and Hermione followed the two adults back to the Leaky Cauldron, their hands still joined.

oOoOoOo

Harry Potter was exhausted by the time he returned home from Diagon Alley. Having braved the train system on his own for the first time that morning, the return journey held few fears for Harry, even the change of stations needed at Waterloo. Still, it was stressful, as the trains were even busier than they had been that morning, and he had to stand for most of the way home.

Mostly, however, he was exhausted because of nervous anticipation. At the Leaky Cauldron, he and Hermione had discovered that they lived quite close to the Wimbledon train station, so they had promptly made plans for the two of them to visit each other over the remainder of the summer. At that point, however, Mrs Granger had stepped in and told them that she and Harry's Aunt Petunia should meet first. Unable to think of a way of dissuading her, Harry had given her the Dursley's telephone number

Now, arriving at Number 4, Privet Drive after walking home the mile and a half from the train station, Harry let himself in. Having closed the door quietly, he almost jumped in surprise to discover Aunt Petunia standing at the entrance to the kitchen like an evil gorgon, arms crossed and frowning deeply at him.

"I had a call from a Mrs Granger earlier," she said sternly. "It seems you made a friend when you were at the orientation."

Uncertain at the conflicting signals Aunt Petunia was sending, Harry just looked up at her. "That's right," he replied. "Hermione. Her parents are dentists, I think."

Petunia looked at Harry oddly. For a moment, he had sounded almost adult, even more so than usual. "The Grangers live not far from the train line you took today. If I allow you to visit them, do you think you can keep yourself out of trouble?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

"Good. Then you may visit whenever you wish, provided you always let me know where you are. However, you may not invite the Grangers here without first discussing it with myself and Vernon. Am I quite clear?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia. Thank you."

"Mrs Granger said that you may visit tomorrow if you wish, and she can meet you at the train station as long as you get there by half past eight. Apparently Hermione is eager to begin reviewing the school textbooks."

A smile broke out on Harry's face, and Petunia felt herself lifted a little by its brightness and simplicity despite the boy's unnatural powers. "Yes, please!" he said.

"Good. You will need to catch the seven-forty-six train tomorrow morning." Petunia turned to call Helen Granger back. She was happy that the boy, her foster son, had made a friend – he would be leaving all his friends from school behind. And besides, it would keep him out of the house most of the time so there would be less chance he could infect Dudley with his powers or knowledge or his occasional weird otherness.

The boy, for all that he was like a son to her, was even stranger than her sister had been. She was only glad that Dudley had not shown any sign of that thrice-damned, eternally-cursed magic.

oOoOoOo

Harry Potter stretched out in the couch which sat in front of the fireplace in his somewhat expanded and redecorated cupboard beneath the stairs. It had been this way ever since he had finally managed to get coherent and decently-powerful magic out of his old wand. But now...

But now, what? He held up his new wand before his eyes, looking it over. It was his old wand, his original wand from before his return, that was certain. And yet, it was not. When he held this wand, he felt a warmth, a connection that he had never felt before, either in this life or in his memory of the last. He could feel magic, as though he stood before an enormous wall of water barely restrained, trembling to be released. He remembered the feeling at Olliavander's, the feeling of a flood torrent just barely contained. Now that he thought of it, he also remembered Ollivander himself squinting and blinking, as though a bright light had been shone into his eyes.

Clearly, Ollivander could see magic, or at least auras. Just as clearly, McGonagall could not. He wondered if it was a skill that could be learned.

With a sigh, Harry went to slip the wand into his wrist holster, making a mental note as he did so to purchase a proper dragonhide holster at the earliest opportunity. He thought forward to the remaining four weeks of the holiday before he would go once more to Hogwarts.

The next four weeks... would be spent mostly with Hermione. A much more youthful and childish Hermione than he remembered, but he had been young once too so that should be no problem. He had found that he himself reacted childishly in some ways, too; he supposed that his reactions were partly his experience and partly caused by his body.

Whatever the cause, he found himself very much looking forward to his friendship with her. It had been delightful to be with her today, and he felt an attraction to Helen Granger, too. Something about her called to him. He was looking forward to getting to know her, too, over the next four weeks.

Four weeks! If four weeks, he would be at Hogwarts. If four weeks, he would share a place with the possessed Quirrell. How would he play that particular game? He knew that Voldemort was weak, very weak, in his sprirt form, yet that same form gave him some resilience. A simple curse would not kill Voldemort in his current state.

He would have to try and find a way of imprisoning or banishing his spirit, or would have to wait until his spirit was once more bound with flesh. That hideous ceremony at the end of his fourth year, assuming the timelines remained the same.

No! No, he would not allow the imprisonment of Sirius to go on any longer than it had to! And that meant revealing Pettigrew early, which in turn, threw out the whole timetable for the return of Voldemort. For without Pettigrew, who would perform the Dark Arts rituals that would create the homonculus that was the starting point for that ceremony at the end of the Triwizard Tournament?

With another sigh, Harry sat up. If he got Pettigrew before much longer, perhaps he wouldn't be given the Dementor's Kiss, and if not, he would be able to break him out of prison – that's if Pettigrew's cunning didn't get the rat out first. It was still a terrible risk.

But the cost of not acting was enormous. He he had forced himself to not think about his godfather rotting in Azkaban for the past years, since he had not been able to do anything about it, but now that the time to meet Pettigrew was close he could hardly bear to wait.

Perhaps he should put his hope in finding a suitable spirit exorcism or capture spell? But if some such existed, why did the Headmaster not use it himself?

For now, though, he would practise. He had to become used to his new wand and bring it fully under his control lets he scare his classmates. He was filled with nervous energy, he had to do something, so why not do something useful?

With that, Harry stood and turned to face his worktable. First, some levitation.

oOoOoOo

The next morning, Harry was awake bright and early in anticipation of seeing Hermione. By way of burning off nervous energy and to help bring his new wand under control, he took advantage of the fact that he was alone in the kitchen – even Petunia wasn't up at six in the morning – to cook breakfast using magic. Standing in the centre of the kitchen, Harry started by casting a Dudley-keep-away jinx before orchestrating the bacon and scrambled eggs, the toast, and the bowls and plates and cutlery like the conductor of a culinary orchestra, or the coreographer of a foodish ballet. He snickered as he made the knives and forks march up and down the table while the plates spun in place, then bowed in a wave as the lead fork and knife passed.

Then the food was ready. The food marched itself to the table and dished itself up, orange juice poured from the fridge in an arching stream to fill the glasses without spilling a drop, and with a quick flick of his wand, warming and keep-fresh charms were placed on the food.

Applause came from the kitchen doorway and Harry jumped, his heart racing.

It was Dumbledore.

The blood racing through his veins froze at the sight. Harry had seven years experience with the headmaster of Hogwarts, and although kindly and powerful and grandfatherly, and very thoroughly good, the old man could also be ruthless and with almost a century of being the oldest and wisest and most powerful wizard he knew, Dumbledore was also well-used to getting his own way and keeping his own counsel. He was good and on the side of light, but he was also stunningly dangerous.

All this flashed though Harry's mind and it took him a moment to get himself under control. Curse his young body! He couldn't maintain his calm the way he wanted to no matter how much he tried. He took another moment to realise that he wasn't supposed to recognise Dumbledore yet, and in that moment he knew he would have to tell Dumbledore everything and hope for the best. It galled him, but even now after two lifetimes, Dumbledore still had a grasp of magic so superior to his he could hardly comprehend the difference. He would have to hope for the best.

That decided, he grasped his magic and brought his wand up to point it at Dumbledore. He said nothing, though, waiting for he old man to speak.

oOoOoOo

Albus Dumbledore looked up as the door monitor – one of the anonymous silver devices that Harry would later destroy, in a different life – showed him a brief image of Minerva McGonagall as she gave the password to his office. Interestingly, she seemed to be in a hurry. He wondered what could have happened. Gesturing, he caused his office door to open and waited for his deputy to arrive.

"Please come in, Minerva. What can I do for you?"

Minerva drew a letter from the sleeve of her robes. "It's Harry, I'm afraid. I've received a floo call from the Improper Use of Magic Office."

"Underage magic, or something more serious?"

"Underage magic, thankfully."

Albus frowned, puzzled. "But they don't usually bother with children waiting to start here for their first year. It's quite common for them to try out their new wands, especially the muggle-raised like Harry. Why would they send us a letter concerning him?"

Minerva sniffed. "Harry," she said, her tone of voice implying unlike a normal child, "has spent most of the night working his way through the bulk of the Charms syllabus of Hogwarts, and is currently performing numerous high-level transfiguration and animation charms."

For the first time in just about as long as he could remember, Albus Dumbledore was dumbfounded. A pre-first-year? Even those who were intensively home-schooled as happened in some Pureblood families could not do that. There was a reason why Hogwarts did not admit children before the age of eleven – before then, most children could not actually use a wand; their magic was insufficiently developed.

"I know I usually deal with any over-enthusiastic first-years, but..."

"Yes, yes, I quite understand, Minerva. I'll go and have a word with young Harry now." He snatched up his ruler and tapped it with his wand, visualising the destination as the loungerooom of Harry Potter's home. "Portus! Would you like to come, Minerva? After all, he knows you."

"I will come if you think it best, Albus..." He looked up at Minerva, surprised. Her tone was clearly reluctant.

"Is there something I should know about Harry Potter, Minerva?" he asked in a surprised tone.

"Yes, but you'll find out when you visit him. I could tell you about it if you wished, but wouldn't you rather get there and catch him red-handed, so to speak?"

Albus could not help but feel that there was something very odd going on here. Still, Minerva had a point. A child, like a puppy, reacted better if caught in the act of wrong-doing. So he nodded and tapped the freshly-made portkey with his wand.

The Dursleys' loungeroom had not changed noticeably in the five years since he had last been here. Had it truly been five years? It seemed it was only yesterday when he had been forced to come here and perform a number of regrettable actions to ensure Harry's safety in his only viable refuge from the forces of Darkness.

The feel of active magic came from the kitchen, and he stepped lightly into the hallway and stood at its end, looking into the kitchen. There, a young boy who was undoubtedly Harry Potter was orchestrating the final stages of the production of breakfast with great flair and control, visibly enjoying marching forks and knives around the table. It was a display of control he would have applauded in an adult, but in an eleven-year-old child? It was unheard-of.

With a flourish, Harry finished the display, and Albus applauded. The boy spun to face him, visibly shocked. For a long moment Harry stood there, apparently stunned, emotions flickering across his face. Interestingly, he could sense nothing of Harry's actual feelings during this time, but after a couple of seconds Harry's wand came up to point at his chest. He appeared to be deciding what to do, and realising that Harry could not possibly recognise him, he decided to introduce himself before Harry got into actual trouble with the Ministry by casting a hex or jinx.

"Harry, I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he said. He was relieved to see Harry lower his wand, although he didn't put it away.

"It's nice to meet you, Headmaster," said Harry politely. "What can I do for you?"

"I came to tell you about the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, Harry. In short, children are not permitted to perform magic outside school until they turn seventeen."

Harry looked up at him, frowning. "Really?"

Feeling the need to explain a little more, Albus added, "Normally we don't need to tell students about it until they go home for the first time after attending school, but in your case that option doesn't exist. For you have been performing magic of a scale completely unexpected for a child yet to come to Hogwarts."

Albus was a little surprised to see Harry sigh, almost in defeat. The boy looked around, nodded to himself, and stepped towards the doorway.

"My relatives are getting up and Dudley doesn't know about magic. Let's talk in my room."

Standing back from the doorway to allow Harry to pass, Albus watched as Harry stepped past him and stopped in front of the broom cupboard beneath the stairs. Opening the door, Harry bent down and stepped inside. Curious and at the same time revolted at the thought that his visit to correct the boy's appalling conditions five years ago had failed, he forced himself to step to the doorway and look inside.

He saw an empty cupboard. What...? Could Harry possibly have established an illusion across the doorway? Tentatively he put his hand forward, and stretched across the doorway he felt a film of magic. It didn't have the feel of a normal illusion charm, but...? Kneeling, he put his head into the doorway, and was shocked to see that on the other side was a copy of...

"Welcome to Gryffindor-in-Surrey, Professor," said Harry, who was sprawled comfortably on a lounge with a self-assurance far beyond his years. "Please come in."

oOoOoOo

"So the question becomes, young Harry, how are you going to handle this?"

"I just don't know, Professor. It would be easy enough to release Voldemort from his possession of Quirrell once more, and simple enough to expose Pettigrew, but it's all pointless if we don't actually force Voldemort to pass on. We don't want him hanging around like a bad smell stirring up trouble. Do you know how we can do that, Professor?"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "No, I'm afraid I don't, my boy. But your reasoning is sound. I do not know of a way to bind a spirit to an object, so we must allow Tom Riddle to bind himself to a person's flesh permanently before we can dispose of him."

"How, Professor? I mean, killing the body he occupies will simply release his spirit once again, won't it?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "There are several ways, my boy, but quite a bit of research will be needed before I can determine the most likely to be successful. The only thing I can tell you for sure is that it will almost certainly be you who does the actual deed. 'By his hand.'"

Harry nodded. "As long as it doesn't involve casting Avada Kedavra. After the things I've seen that bastard do, I think I could even consider running him through with the Sword of Gryffindor."

Eyes twinkling, Dumbledore bestowed a satisfied smile on Harry. "I would think you will need a little training before doing anything like that," he said. Harry nodded.

"Yes. So, Professor, I should leave Quirrell alone?"

"For the time being. I have much research to do, Harry. In the mean time, I hope you will not find it too difficult to blend in with your other first-years students?"

Harry snorted. "Blend in? That never happened even in my first life. But I think I can play a believable Boy-Who-Lived, Superhero of the Wizarding World."

"I tried my best to give you a normal childhood, Harry."

"That was certainly your intention. But you left me completely unprepared to face a wizarding world who hailed me as a hero, or as an attention-seeking brat, or as insane depending on their agenda at the time."

Dumbledore looked saddened for a moment, then resigned. "I suppose you are at least well equipped to deal with it this time," he said philospohically.

"I suppose so." Harry frowned as a thought occurred to him. "Professor, are there laws about slander and libel in the Wizarding World?"

Frowning, Dumbledore said, "Not specifically, but there is a thing called the common law. If you have specific questions, I suggest you consult a solicitor."

Again Harry snorted. "I'm eleven years old! And like the Dursleys are going to let me do that – and anyway, I most definitely don't want them finding out about my money or they'll find a way of taking it for themselves. They are, after all, my guardians, and have a legal right." He crossed his arms and frowned. "I need someone who acts in my interests all the time, like Sirius." He paused, thinking. "I wonder if Voldemort knows that Pettigrew is a rat animagus?"

"Alas, we have no way of knowing. I gather you're considering exposing Peter Pettigrew."

"Sensing that he's an animagus as soon as I see him, or using an Animagus Revealo on him by way of 'just testing', both seem fairly plausible to me."

"Animagus Revealo is NEWT-level magic, Harry, although it's not usually taught even at that level."

"Why don't you just have Sirius' case reviewed? Give him a trial, for God's sake! Regardless of whether he's innocent or not, I'm not too sure I want to live in a place where people can be thrown into Hell on Earth for ten years without the courtesy of a trial!"

"I can't do that, Harry."

Harry was about to yell at the Professor, but managed to hold his tongue. It would do no good to argue with Dumbledore now, and they were after all on the same side.

"If you say so, Professor," he said at last. "Well, I'll be a good boy and not do anything the Ministry will be sending me owls for, and I'll keep my head down for the time being."

"Thank you, Harry. I look forward to seeing you on the first."

oOoOoOo

On the train to Hermione's house a little later, Harry tried not to worry about having exposed himself to Dumbledore. He knew he had little choice – how stupid of him not to take the time to remove the monitoring spells on his wand before starting to reacquaint himself with his wand – but still, the man was a loose cannon. He might decide to do something he wasn't planning for, just for his own good, of course.

Oh well, the die was cast now. He couldn't obliviate the Headmaster; there was too much risk of the spell not working for any number of reasons. For now, he had to be an eleven-year-old. An abnormal eleven-year-old, but an eleven-year-old nonetheless.

Which basically meant, no sex. Eleven year old children were not sexually aware, unlike seventeen year olds. He well remembered the feelings he had with Susan, and looking at other young women of his class, even (or especially?) Hermione. But he had had no problem being with Hermione yesterday. Perhaps it was something to do with the body, as it developed? He would have to see if he could find out for sure.

OooOoOo

Helen Granger stood waiting for Harry's train. She was so happy that Hermione had met someone nice straight off. She hoped the two would develop a friendship; from what Minerva had told her yesterday, Harry needed a friend as much as Hermione.

Ah, here came the train now. A surprising number of people pushed their way off before the waiting city-bound commuters surged onto the packed train. She stood back, out of the way of the hurrying people, and waited for Harry to make himself known.

And there he was, she saw, as the last of the adult commuters passed her as they made their way to the exit. She stepped towards him, curving to meet him as they both made for the exit.

"Good morning, Mrs Granger," said Harry with a happy smile. She returned the smile, looking down at him.

"Good morning, Harry. I must say, Hermione is very eager to begin reading about... her school material." She silently berated herself; she had almost said magic.

"It wouldn't surprise me if she spent all last night reading."

Helen suppressed a giggle. He's more right than he could possibly know.