Chapter 3
"Dementors?" Ron asked, his voice filled with fear. "In Little Winging? What were they doing there?"
"You tell me, Ron," Harry muttered.
He did not want to be having this conversation, any of it. He stared down at the half-eaten chocolate bar in his hand. It did help, but he still couldn't force himself to eat it despite Hermione's pleading looks. Nothing would make him feel better. He would never really feel better.
Harry was sitting in an armchair in a dusty sitting room on an upstairs level of what had turned out to be Sirius's house. Hermione and Ron were sitting next to each other on a sofa across from him. There was a coffee table between them, but the distance seemed far greater. The room was full of curio cabinets of trinkets and bookshelves of books. Darkness reeked from them.
"Dumbledore will fix this, Harry," Hermione insisted again. "He will meet with the Minister and the Wizengamot. Dumbledore won't let them expel you."
Harry gave her a sharp look. He was wondering how anyone could be so dense. "He can't fix everything, Hermione. And what makes you think he'd want to?"
She seemed put back by his tone. He could tell by the hurt look on her face. She pushed anyway.
"Harry, you know Dumbledore would do anything for you. He will make this right," she insisted.
"It doesn't matter, Hermione. I don't care if I'm expelled. I don't want to even go back," Harry said.
"You don't mean that," Hermione said, exchanging looks with Ron.
"I do," Harry replied. I don't care anymore about Dumbledore, Hogwarts, or this stupid war. I'm finished. What's it matter to you anyway? You just pretend to be my friend. You just pretend to care about me?"
"Harry," he could see tears starting to form at the edge of Hermione's eyes. "How can you say that? I'll always care about you. I'll always be your friend."
"Bollucks," Harry spat. "I've been in that hell-hole for three weeks. Have I got one single letter from you?" He turned to Ron. "From either of you? Some best friend you are."
Ron paled at the last comment since it was directed at him. Hermione was well past the tears stage now. She was actually crying. Harry wanted to feel bad about that on some level, but he didn't. All he could think about was how his friends had ignored him for weeks. It wasn't Dobby keeping letters from him this time.
"We would have, Harry," Hermione said through her tears. "You know we would have. Dumbledore wouldn't let us. He said it wasn't safe."
Harry just glared at her. "You were here. All of you were here, together, while I was stuck there. Why is that?"
"Harry …"
"No, I don't want to hear your excuses, or his," Harry told her angrily. "I'm done. I'm done with all of you. Real friends would have looked out for me. They would have written to me and asked how I was doing after I, I don't know, fought Voldemort and saw Cedric DIE right in front of me."
He stood up, tossing the rest of the candy bar down on the table next to the armchair he had been sitting in. Almost involuntarily, he made fists with his hands. He knew he was getting angrier the longer he talked. There seemed little point in continuing this conversation. He turned to go.
"Harry, it's not like that," Ron pleaded. "We wanted to write to you. It's not like we are really in on everything here anyway. We're not even allowed to go to meetings or anything."
That was the end of Harry's patience.
"SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS' FOR A MONTH! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT — WHO SAVED THE SORCERER'S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?"*
Harry glared at them. His back was to the door now, and he was no longer leaving. If they wanted to have it out, he was more than willing.
"We didn't," Ron protested. "We wanted to …"
"I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER —"
"No, honest —"
"Harry, we're really sorry!" said Hermione desperately, her eyes now sparkling with tears. "You're absolutely right, Harry — I'd be furious if it was me!"*
"What are you doing here, anyway?" Harry demanded.
"This is the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix," Hermione said hesitantly, probably worried he was going to start shouting at them again.
He glared at them expectantly. No one had bothered to tell him what the Order of the Phoenix was. He assumed it had something to do with Dumbledore based on the name. There were quite a few wizards here, including most of the Weasley family. He had no idea what they were all doing in Sirius's house in the middle of the summer, but it had to have something to do with Voldemort.
"They're fighting Voldemort," he said. "Well? Who is in this Order?
Ron had flinched when Harry mentioned Voldemort. Harry ignored him and looked expectantly at Hermione. She seemed relieved that Harry had calmed down, and she could now focus on the one thing she was best at—spewing facts.
"Lost of people," she said quickly. "Well, you saw a few already. "Dumbledore, obviously. There's Remus Lupin, Professor Moody, well, he's not really a professor, it's the real Moody, Professor Snape, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ron's older brothers, Sirius … it's his house." She stopped and looked awkwardly at Ron.
"What?" Harry demanded.
"Well, you know we would have told you more if we could have, Harry," Hermione said. "We don't know much, actually. The Order's just starting up again. And Sirius … he's … well …"
"He'd much rather have you here than us, I'm sure, Bloke," Ron put in.
Harry grunted and glared at them both. Sirius had hardly said two words to him since he had gotten here. Harry was filled with a new annoyance that his two supposed best friends had been here with his godfather, without him.
"Whatever," he muttered.
He turned and stormed out of the room, only to find himself face to face with the Weasley twins in a hallway that had been empty seconds earlier. The two were smiling ear to ear and soon on top of him, patting him on the back and leading him down the hallway. Harry struggled to get away, but they overpowered him.
"Hey, what's the idea?" Harry grumbled.
"Oh, we've been listening," one of them, he thought maybe Fred, said airily. "It's hard to miss."
"Good to get it all out, Mate," the other twin added. "Although, you should know that this old house is not entirely soundproofed."
"Right," the first twin agreed with a quick nod. "Especially the hallways. As the little soiree was letting out earlier, a few of your choicer bits of conversation were heard through the stairwells."
"We want to point out, we agree."
"Completely."
"Just, saying though, in case any of it was private."
Harry had given up trying to tell who might be saying what. They pushed him through a doorway into a room that had two single beds. One of them was clearly being used by Ron—his belongings were scattered all around the room. As one twin shut the door, Harry sat down on the bed Ron wasn't using and crossed his arms defiantly.
"What do you want?" he huffed.
"We were going to tell you," the twin said with a grin, "that if you want to know things …"
"There are ways of finding out, right Gred?"
"Absolutely, Forge."
"Like what?" Harry asked, interested for the first time. He uncrossed his arms.
The twin Harry now knew was Fred reached into a trouser pocket and pulled out what looked like a stringy piece of human skin. He reached out and put it into Harry's hand. Harry inspected it. It looked both fascinating and disgusting. He had enough experience with the twins' inventions to be both cautious and curious.
"It's an Extendable Ear," George said proudly. "From the floor above, you can use that to listen in on Order meetings. In your case, though, you can use it to listen in on what the adults are saying about you."
"Wow," Harry said, genuinely impressed and grateful. "Thanks, guys."
"No problem, Harry," Fred said. "You are our benefactor, after all. And we know you're sick of other people deciding your future without telling you anything."
Harry nodded. He looked down at it and swallowed. Maybe things were finally looking up.
"Here are the instructions," George said, handing him a piece of parchment. "Don't let anyone know you have it, obviously."
"Right," Harry said. "Thanks, guys. A lot."
Fred tipped an invisible hat, and the twins popped out of the room. Harry was still looking down at his new treasure when the door opened. He quickly stuffed it into his pocket before anyone could see, but he looked up to see Ron slink into the room.
"Hi," Ron said, almost timidly.
For a moment, Harry said nothing, then he sighed. "What do you want, Ron?"
"I really am sorry, Harry," Ron said dejectedly. "What do you expect me to have done?"
"I don't know, Ron," Harry said. "In second year, you came with a stolen flying car to get me."
"Yeah," Ron sat down on his bed, looking down at the floor. He looked up at Harry. "They told me to tell you it's dinner."
"No thanks, Ron. I can do without. I'm used to it, you know?"
Ron nodded. He stayed where he was for a few minutes and then got up and left. Harry laid down onto his back. He hadn't packed anything before coming here. The Dursleys had been in a right state, even for them. He wondered idly how he was going to get his trunk and his wand. As he stared at the ceiling, he realized he was exhausted.
He was starting to doze off when the door banged open.
"What are you still doing in here, Potter?"
Harry opened an eye blearily without sitting up. He didn't have the energy or patience to deal with this now.
"What's it to you?" he grunted.
Quicker than he would have thought possible, Snape was standing over him, nose to nose.
"Let's you and I get one thing straight, Mr. Potter," the Potions professor breathed inches from his face. "Regardless of if we are at Hogwarts, you will treat me with respect. Do you hear me?"
"Yes," Harry said with a grimace. He gritted his teeth and tried to squirm out of the way.
"And you will address me properly!" Snape snapped.
"Yes, Sir!"
"Very well," Snape straightened up, and his voice warmed a tenth of a degree. "Now get up and go downstairs for dinner."
"I'm not hungry," Harry said, pausing before adding. "Sir."
"I believe you are lying," Snape replied. "But even if you are not, you are still going to get up and go downstairs and still with the rest of the inmates of this house."
Harry made a face at Snape's choice of language. 'Inmates' seemed particularly appropriate for the people he knew to be here. Harry wasn't sure why Snape was still here. He had collected Harry from the Dursleys, and apparently, now he was staying to order him around.
"Pardon me, Sir," Harry said, still putting a disrespectful emphasis on the honorific, "but we're not in school. What gives you the right to order me around? Just because you're an adult and bigger than me?"
Snape eyed him for a minute as if he were an interesting potion. Harry was careful not to squirm under his gaze. It was somehow more difficult to react with bravado when Snape wasn't insulting and shouting at him. Harry still believed that Snape had no right to order him around. He was through doing what people told him.
"I concede your point," Snape said. "In this case, there are two reasons you would go downstairs. One, you are hungry. If on this point you are not, there is the second reason—respect for your host. Granting my authority to you is limited to the school year, do you respect your host? Will you grant him the respect to come to the table?"
Harry looked down at his hands. He felt a flash of anger that Snape had managed to make him feel ashamed with a perfectly sensible argument. He did not want to go down there where all of those people were. He didn't want to see any of them.
"I do respect him," Harry said, his voice a low almost-whisper. "There's just too many people there."
Snape nodded. "People," he said. Then he sneered, "I thought you were a Gryffindor?"
Harry's head shot up. He knew he was being manipulated. He glared at Snape.
"I'm not afraid!" he said, "I just don't want to be around them."
"It's the same thing."
"It's not!"
"As you will," Snape said. "I will let them know."
Snape turned in a billow of black robes. Harry watched him go and then stood up quickly. He wasn't going to let Snape or anyone else think he was a coward. He would go down to the table and let them all know how angry and frustrated he was.
When Harry went down into the kitchen, he tried to make it look like he wasn't on the heels of Snape. He didn't want to seem like he was following the feared professor's orders. More so, he didn't want Snape to think that his arguments had worked. Of course, there was no getting around the fact that they had. That annoyed Harry. He plunked himself down in the farthest chair in irritation.
Sirius gave him a big grin, and Ginny shyly passed him a basket of roles. Harry hadn't noticed that she was the closest person to where he was sitting. Across from him was a woman he hadn't seen before who was talking animatedly to Remus. Her hair was bright pink. She looked young but was not a kid. They were discussing new werewolf laws.
Harry did his best to ignore everyone. He saw that various people sent looks his way, but he rarely returned them. He did answer the new woman when she said hello.
"I'm Tonks," she said brightly. "Nymphadora, but if you ever call me that, I will hex your hair blue for a week."
Despite his foul mood, her smile was infectious. He also learned that she was a metamorphagus, and she entertained the table by changing her face and hair at will. This annoyed Snape, which made it all the more fun for Harry.
Eating very little, Harry tried to ignore most of the conversation around him. He was desperate for news of Voldemort, the ministry, and the war in general. The kids' conversation was about quidditch, and the adults didn't seem to be talking about anything important either. He had gotten to the table, but he was not sure how to leave. He was sure they would pounce on him at the first opportunity. Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen, but that didn't make Harry feel any easier about his fate.
"Kids," Molly Weasley said in a voice that seemed a little too airy, "let's go into the drawing-room. I have a few games I've found in the attic."
Ginny looked at Harry sadly and stood up. The other Weasleys were mainly on the other end of the room, and they followed their mother without much fuss. Harry decided it must have been decided beforehand despite the announcement. Hermione hesitated but followed. Harry stayed where he was. Without being told, he knew the announcement did not include him.
Within minutes, Tonks and the older Weasley brothers had also excused themselves. Harry wondered idly if they were going to go join the games. He also found himself thinking that games sounded fun, and family was a nice thing to have. It was all academic. He'd never had a family, and he never would.
Left at the table were Sirius, Remus, Moody, and Snape. Harry felt extremely awkward and found himself unable to look up. Two of the only people he had come to depend on and care about were in this room. He didn't know Moody at all. In reality, they had never met. The person he had known as Moody was an imposter and a Death Eater in disguise. Snape was one of his least favorite people.
No one said anything, and it was clear that they were waiting. Harry knew who they were waiting for. The person who had been deciding his fate for his entire life. He gritted his teeth to stop from exploding in anger.
"Mr. Potter," Snape said in a low voice.
Harry looked up and made eye contact with the professor. Snape was across the room from him, at a diagonal. He could see in Snape's dark eyes not anger or derision but something that looked like concern. Harry gave one short nod. He would control himself. He was too old for accidental magic.
A moment later, there were footsteps on the stairs. Dumbledore appeared with Minerva McGonagall, whom Harry had not been expecting, and Hagrid, the one person so far that Harry was actually happy to see. He wasn't sure why. For some reason, the presence of the large, friendly half-giant made him relax a few degrees. He had no idea why the man was here, but he might be the only one in the room without an agenda. He was just a friend.
When Hagrid when by, he put a massive paw of a hand on Harry's shoulder and clenched down, shaking Harry with the one-handed hug. Harry was grateful for the touch, which grounded him even more. Dumbledore went around the other way and sat on the side of the table all of the children had emptied. He ended up looking like a king holding court, sitting on one side primarily to himself.
After Hagrid had settled himself in an armchair by the fire, fortunately near Harry, Dumbledore looked around the room. Apparently, he was making sure they were all there and ready. McGonagall sat down on the other side of Remus. She gave Harry a gentle smile that he returned wanly. He imagined that her presence here had to do with his expulsion.
"How are you, Harry?" Dumbledore asked kindly.
"Okay," Harry lied.
Dumbledore nodded in understanding and acceptance of the lie. He looked around the room at those assembled to decide Harry's fate. His face took on a grave expression.
"As you all know, Mr. Potter's position is most precarious at the moment," Dumbledore began. "I have been reviewing the situation, and I have an update for you."
He paused and looked around again. Then he looked straight at Harry, only for a millisecond. He seemed to be avoiding eye contact.
"The wards at Privet Drive have fallen."
There were reactions around the room, in people's facial expressions and some vocal. Harry heard Hagrid sob. He didn't react. He knew. Somehow, deep down, he'd known. He had known without knowing. He nodded.
"Naturally, his returning there is out of the question," Dumbledore continued. "He would be unprotected. The Dursleys have also put themselves in a difficult position, as I have tried to explain to them."
"What?" Harry interrupted. "He's going after them?"
"We cannot know that, Harry," Dumbledore told him gently but gravely. "Rest assured, a guard remains posted."
Harry felt sick. As much as he disliked the Dursleys, which was as much as he disliked anyone other than Voldemort and his followers, he didn't want to see them dead. He just nodded listlessly.
"The current problem remains who is to take custody of Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said in a serious tone. "Harry, you have been invited to this meeting because although we have had a discussion about this without you present, we are offering you the options. We want you to understand the entire situation." He looked around the room. "When we reviewed the options before, the wards were not a certainty. I have confirmed with Severus that they have fallen without a doubt.
"You are almost fifteen years old, Harry. You are still a child, but you are old enough to have opinions and have those opinions validated. I recognize that mistakes were made. I made mistakes last time. You will have to forgive me. Perhaps you will not forgive me. We were at war, and there were few options then. I am sure you recognizer the similarities, then, to now."
Harry gulped. He did not like where this was going. He did not now, nor would he ever, forgive Dumbledore for dumping him on the Dursleys' doorstep when his parents died. He had been a defenseless baby. He had been unwanted, and they had never forgotten it. They had never let him forget it.
"I get it," Harry said through gritted teeth, standing up. "No one wanted me then; no one wants me now. Get on with it. Who are you dumping me with?"
"That is not what I said," Dumbledore said sadly. "Many people would likely have taken you in. I am sure many people would now. In fact, many people have already expressed that desire. The problem—"
"Oh, I know," Harry snapped. "Want me to do it for you? I can't go with the Weasleys because they have too many kids and they're too big a target, and I guess they can't afford me? Which is a dumb argument because I have my own money, and the Dursleys never spent any money on me. They have like four members of the Order of the Phoenix in their family, but okay.
"Next, I can't live with Remus because he's a werewolf. I don't get why that matters. I thought you had all this political power? You had enough power to get him appointed as a teacher until Snape got him chucked out. That's okay though, you," Harry turned to Remus, "apparently don't want me anyway, and don't care about me, since you never checked up on me the whole time I was with the Dursleys and never asked me about my life the whole year you were tutoring me. Ever wonder why I couldn't find a SINGLE happy memory? So don't worry, I don't expect anything from you now."
Harry gave a harsh laugh.
"Oh, let's see. So many people care about me, right? There's you," he pointed an accusing finger at Sirius. "Instead of going to find out if I was okay, you went looking for REVENGE and got yourself thrown in prison, where, okay, I get that you couldn't do much from there. And again, YOU," he turned back to shout at Dumbledore, "DID NOTHING. Did he even get a TRIAL? What the BLOODY HELL is up with that?"
"Mr. Potter," Snape stood up at the same time Sirius said, "Harry," with an ashen face."
"Oh, don't worry," Harry spat at Snape. I'm saving you for last."
"I'm not done with you," he glared at Sirius. "You had a year to try to clear your name or try to get to know me better. Money, right. You have a ton of it. Look what Lucius Malfoy did in the last war. He was Voldemort's RIGHT-HAND MAN and he's walking around with people kissing HIS robes while you're on the run. What is WRONG with you?"
Harry paused. Dumbledore looked sad. That was the only word Harry had for it. The blood was drained entirely from Sirius's face. Hagrid was crying silently into a large red flannel handkerchief. McGonagall's lips were pursed, but she said nothing.
"You're right," Sirius croaked. "By Merlin, you're right, Pup. Please, if I could do anything differently."
"Enough," Snape said, taking a step toward Harry. "Black, you're not helping matters. Mr. Potter—"
"What have I said that's wrong?" Harry demanded.
"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said tiredly, "it's not a matter of whether you or right or wrong. There are complicated matters behind all of this. You can't possibly understand—"
"Understand what?" Harry interrupted. "Please tell me what I don't understand. Everyone else can make decisions about my life, and I am supposed to just go along blindly because I am safe. Well, I have news for you. I HAVE NOT BEEN SAFE."
"You," he said coldly to Dumbledore, "are rubbish at hiring teachers."
"Harry," Dumbledore began.
"Did you know that Quirrell had VOLDEMORT in the back of his head?" Harry demanded.
"Mr. Potter—" Snape snarled.
"Harry, what you have to understand—" Dumbledore continued.
"Nope," Harry said. "I don't understand. Let's set aside the fact that you hired Voldemort as my first-year DEFENSE teacher. In my second year, you hired a total fraud."
"Well, no one else would take the job," Dumbledore said.
"Right," Harry grunted. "It allowed the two of us to have another nice chat after I got to fight a giant snake. I love being safe."
Dumbledore sighed, apparently deciding to let Harry continue with his sarcasm.
"How did you not know that there was a Death Eater at Hogwarts for an entire school year?" Harry demanded. "How did you not know?" He turned to Snape.
Snape pursed his lips. Harry could tell from the look on his face that he had hit a sore spot. Snape and Moody exchanged unfriendly glances.
"Well, Mr. Potter, I see it's my turn," Snape said with a sigh. It was the most resigned Harry had ever heard him sound. He sounded almost human.
"Why do you hate me?" Harry asked.
It wasn't a question. It was the first thing he'd said that wasn't insolent or accusatory. Harry knew he sounded almost wistful, and he hated himself for it. He was asking a question as his first-year self, almost in tears at the end of Potions class, wondering what had gone wrong.
"I don't hate you, Mr. Potter," Snape told him wearily.
"Really?" Harry said wryly. "You could have fooled me. You have done nothing but insult me, mock me, and punish me since the first day. I wasn't even doing anything. I was taking notes, and you asked me all these questions I had no hope of answering and then made fun of me for not knowing the answers. You called me a celebrity.
"You said 'Fame isn't everything.' You know what, you're right. Fame is horrible. People always expect things of you that you can't deliver. They are always waiting for you to mess up. Everyone thinks they know you when they don't. NO ONE knows me. No one."
He looked at Dumbledore, then at Sirius, Remus, and McGonagall.
"The worst part," he said in a near-whisper, "is what I'm famous for. You always act like I want to be famous. Who would be happy for this?" He jabbed at the scar, covered at always by his messy hair. "Who would want to be known as the 'Boy Who Lived' when his parents died?
All I have ever wished, especially after what happened in the Third Task, is that it was me instead of them."
Harry sat down. He refused to look at anyone in the room. He had successfully stunned them into silence.
Rowling, J.K.. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (p. 31-2). Pottermore Publishing. Kindle Edition.
