12) Is it all in the intent?
(so, this is the alternate version of a previous chapter. You can probably skip the first bit as it is pretty much verbatim up to the goblet spewing its guts.)
(also, I took, as I always do, liberties with canon. Fanfic. Just repeat to yourself… it's only fanfic!)
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"Harry Potter!" The headmaster of his school called Harry's name when a slip burst forth from the ancient, powerful Goblet of Fire.
With that, Harry was conscripted as a fourth contestant in the so-called "tri" wizard tournament. Harry wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but even he knew tri meant three.
"No." Harry loudly and emphatically stated as Dumbledore glared at him, the ancient wizard's blue eyes lacking their traditional twinkle.
The murmurs and accusations were starting to swell at the student tables. He could hear the "cheat" accusation already. Harry didn't let his exasperation with his fellow students show on his face. He just kept his eyes trained on Dumbledore.
"Harry, you have to go," his best friend, Hermione, pled as she pulled on his robe sleeve. His other friend, Ron, was torn between a glare of jealous anger and a stunned disbelief: Harry wouldn't back out of a magical contract.
Still, Harry made no move.
"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore stated with a heavy voice, "the Goblet constructs a binding magical contract. You must go to the ante-room and prepare to compete in the tournament."
Harry inhaled deeply through his nose, briefly closed his eyes, then opened them and spoke.
"Sir, we have been taught here that magic is about intent. I did not enter my name, I have no desire to compete in this tournament. I will not compete in this tournament." His voice held both strength and finality. The Potter (Evans, really) stubbornness had kicked in, big time.
Some of the murmurs around him began to be questions. Would Potter really break a magical contract? Why would someone else put his name in the drawing? Of course, most of the folks were still tarring him with the "attention-grabbing cheater" brush, a la Snape, but the tide had a bit of turn to it.
The headmaster, however, seemed to sag a bit as worry filled his countenance. "Mr. Potter, Harry, I have no doubt you did not enter your own name. No one with your education or access would have been able to force this instrument to believe there were four schools in the competition. That level of… potentially a variant on a confundus charm?..." he paused, thinking aloud, "would take both time and training that you simply did not have available to you. But the fact remains: you are bound. If you do not compete, you will lose your magic."
The tide of accusations around him came to a screeching halt with Dumbledore's explanations. The crowd waited with bated breath to see what Potter's answer would be.
His answer was a shrug.
"So, I lose my magic," he stated with a bit of a sigh. "I know next to nothing about your magical world. I've no idea how to do even the most basic things – like find a job, a flat, buy food, cook it… all things I can do with ease on the muggle side. The only reason I came here was because I'd get fed three full meals a day and have an actual bed to sleep in – never had any of that before I came here." Dumbledore sagged even more at those damning statements. "So, yeah, I'd be sad to have to leave, especially if I have to go back to the Dursleys. But it wouldn't be the end of the world.
"So, Headmaster Dumbledore, for the third time, I say NO. NO, I WILL NOT compete in the tri-wizard tournament."
The Goblet shimmered as Harry's thrice stated refusal to honor it terminated the contract. The ancient, powerful object reacted almost cataclysmically. Its purpose: to strip magic from Harry Potter. The contract was sealed; the contract had been broken.
The goblet flames shot a beam of energy toward Harry, and he looked it down for the moment that it was coming. The moment of truth.
The beam hit him square in the chest. He could feel that intrinsic part of him immolating under the pressure. The goblet's tentacles spread throughout his system, stripping the magic almost seemingly from every cell in his body. When it reached his head, it took what delight a semi-sentient, ancient cup could as it got an extra little snack from the curse in Harry's scar.
When it was done, Harry collapsed. He didn't hear the weeping around him or feel Hermione's tears as aurors pulled her from him. He didn't see Ron's shame-filled horror nor Draco's triumphant grin.
In the kitchens, Dobby felt his master being assaulted and, knowing that Mister Harry Potter Sir would be denied his magical belongings now, Dobby gathered all of Harry's things in the castle and popped them to Gringotts. Before he informed the goblins of what happened he wisely withdrew as much muggle money as he could. The goblins then closed down the Potter vault until the next magical descendant could claim it.
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When Harry next woke, he was in a regular, normal hospital bed. He smiled as he saw the IV and realized that he was… free. Well, he would be. Without magic, there would be no way for the magicals to find him if he hid himself right. As an abandoned child, he could… prevaricate and dissemble about his past. So long as no one tried to send him back to Privet Drive (and those wards that senile old man kept raving about must have magical blood to run them, yeah? So no more Dursleys!) he'd be able to find his way. He'd found his way before. At least this time, no Tom Riddle to boondoggle him.
As he stirred, he heard a soft pop. There stood an elf, not at all hesitant or scared but self-assured. He'd never seen an elf look quite so… resolute.
"Dobby?"
"Yes, Master Harry Potter Sir, I is Dobby. You be squibby now, but Dobby still serve. Yous need elvesies more now than before. Dobby will take care. Headmaster Whiskers gave Dobby directions, Winky too. Said Master Harry Potter Sir needs lots of help since bad cup stole his magics. Winky come tomorrow."
Harry started to get nervous.
"It's great seeing you, and I hope that Winky is feeling better. Can you make sure no one can see you?"
Dobby… sighed. It seemed that Dobby now thought he was in charge. His next words proved that assumption.
"Dobby know how to serve and not bes looked at. Winky, too. Dobby put Master Harry Potter Sir's things in gobliny vault and withdrew muggle moneys for Master Harry Potter Sir. Dobby told goblinies what happened and they have locked up Master Harry Potter Sir's vault. Gold will be safe for Master Harry Potter Sir's offspring. Goblinies will get snakey parts from big bad snake and put profits in Master Harry Potter Sir's vault."
"What about Hedwig, Dobby?"
"Owlie not bes able to find Master Harry Potter Sir. Dobby hid Master Harry Potter Sir because Headmaster Whiskers told Dobby to. Headmaster Whiskers stopped bad aurors from taking Master Harry's memories. Said bad men will still look for Master Harry Potter Sir. No owlies will find you – like before Master Harry Potter Sir came to Hoggywarty. Her Owlieness Hedwiggy is with bushy haired friend now. Master Harry Potter Sir not worry. Dobby take care."
Just then the door started to open and Dobby popped out.
"Well, our guest is awake! My name is Stacey, I'm your nurse today. How are you feeling?"
Harry rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "A bit like I was run down by a lorry, to be honest. Where am I?"
The child before her had several scars of varying age. He hadn't had an easy life, up to that point. His blood had come back clean of any meds, narcotics, or other illicit drugs. But they had no idea who he was and no missing-persons reports matched his description.
Stacey smiled and cocked her head. "Well now, you don't have any broken bones or severe bruising, so I think it's a safe bet to say you weren't run down by a lorry. As for where you are: you are now a guest in the poshest of suites at the James Cook University Hospital in Middlesbrough. And we need your information so that we can get your NHS started. Let's start with an easy question: what's your name?"
"My name? Harry. Harry James Dobbins. If I may ask, how did I end up here?" She dutifully filled in the appropriate line on her chart while she answered his question.
"You appeared in our emergency take-in. No one recalls how you got there. It's very strange and mysterious. You've given a number of us a good story to tell in the pub! Now, you seem to be in relatively good shape. Could use some sun, but couldn't we all, and a bit more food in your system. You teenagers and your picky eating habits. Do you know your NIN? No? Ok, we'll do it the hard way. How old are you, then?"
"I'm fourteen. My birthday is 1 September. That's 1 September, 1980," Harry sighed. Trying to tell a mix of truth and lies that he would remember was a bit hard. But he needed to make sure that they couldn't find him. "I guess you'll be asking about my parents. They died. When I was a kid. Accident." Harry pointed to the now-faded scar on his forehead. "This is my souvenir of a drunk driver killing my parents. I lived with an aunt and her family… but they… didn't really ever want me."
The scars, she thought, the scars and malnutrition.
"A few years ago, they sent me to this really bad boarding school. It's up in the wilds of Scotland. They taught us almost nothing but kept me away from my Aunt and Uncle. What day is it?"
"It's Guy Fawkes day, Harry. You won't be able to attend a bonfire but you should hear some of the fireworks, even from in here. You've been mostly unconscious since you got here yesterday. Glad to see those gorgeous brown eyes of yours are open now."
Brown eyes? He hoped his Dursley-trained poker-face held. Dobby had truly outdone himself here.
He answered a few more questions, was subjected to a few more tests. But in the end, they took him into the system – the system that Vernon had threatened him with all Harry's life. That system happened to be a vast improvement over life at number 4 (it even improved over life at Hogwarts – no magic, but no stares and whispers, either).
He fell into a routine at school – study hard but just pass the tests (that was mostly familiar). Learn as much as he could about the various trades – and he had a knack for fixing things that he'd never have found out about if he'd had a wand to use.
Learn to live.
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The fallout in Hogwarts was both intense and immense.
Amelia Bones, head of the department of magical law enforcement, had been called by her niece, Susan Bones, when the goblet had spit out a fourth name. Susan's parents had been a bit concerned (read: horrified) by the stories that Susan had brought home from Hogwarts. Possessed professors, basilisks, dementors… They wanted to protect her, and having an in with magical law gave them that opportunity. She was given an alert beacon that would draw her Aunt as soon as that lady was physically able.
Amelia listened to just a bit of the argument between the old headmaster and the young hero. And one of her former aurors stood looking on with something akin to glee in his eye. It was quite out of character.
Something was definitely rotten in Denmark.
Then, out of nowhere, Dumbledore whipped out his wand and cursed that self-same former auror who glowed blue before passing out. Amelia trained her wand on the aged headmaster.
"I apologize Madame Bones. Mister Potter's vehement denial made me realize there were few candidates that could have perpetrated this heinous deed. The only one of any note who had access to the goblet was Master Auror Moody. I could not think of why Alastor would have committed such a heinous act. However, when I combined this conundrum with Severus's complaints that boomslang skin among other… shall we say catalytic?... ingredients have been disappearing from the school's stores? Well, I believe this may not be Alastor Moody. Shall we sniff his flask?"
Amelia narrowed her eyes on the uncharacteristically open and helpful Chief Warlock. She nodded at one of her aurors who checked Moody's flask. After a brief nod, Shackelbolt stated: "Polyjuice, sir."
By this time, the other champions and their heads as well as the Triwizard judges had come back into the main room from the antechamber. The judges both looked inordinately guilty and Amelia noted this before ordering them both detained. Crouch had just begun to half-heartedly bluster when Moody began to change back into his base form: Crouch's own son.
The night continued to issue challenges to the DMLE head who, surprisingly, found herself completely aligned with Albus Dumbledore, of all people. Not that she'd ever found the man to be her enemy, but he often obfuscated the truth under so many layers of misdirection, she had trouble following what it was he honestly said. Not this evening, though. The loss of his protégé seemed to have dispelled his perplexing nature.
This was a warlock who was going to get things done.
By the end of the evening, the aurors had captured a strange homunculus that purported to house the spirit of Voldemort and had arrested Peter Pettigrew for faking his own death. Several pillars of the society found themselves in situations close to that of Harry Potter – squibbed – when the unspeakables took charge of the same homunculus and presumably did some sort of magic removal on it. Pettigrew, unable to channel his animagus transformation any longer, was forced to tell the truth of the events of 1981.
The ripples of change would continue to disturb the magical society of Britain for years, all because a stubborn boy refused to fall into a trap designed for him.
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Seventeen years later.
Hermione Granger was taking a well-deserved break after her last marathon resident shift. Brews and Bytes (the y was crossed out and interchanged with an "i", signifying that the place was an internet café and served food). She'd heard the coffee and chocolate here were superior, and it was only two blocks from her new flat.
She opened the door, stepped in, and closed her eyes, taking in the smell of the wonderful brew. Queueing in the surprisingly-long line, she eyed the pastries and sandwiches in the display case. The soup of the day smelled heavenly. And that little chocolates display – her dentist parents notwithstanding, artisan chocolates were a serious weakness for Hermione.
This place was going to put a dent in her meager budget.
As she decided on what she would order, today, she noted the door to the kitchen pop open slightly. "Why didn't you folks tell me we were slammed? What drinks are up next?"
It couldn't be.
The eyes were brown.
The hair was a birds nest, true, but the inky-black had a smattering of premature-grey in it. As though its fair-skinned, scarred (lightning bolt, faded, but check), wiry owner had gone through some rough times. He was slightly taller than Harry had been, slightly more filled out. He looked as though he had undergone some plastic surgery, maybe.
But he was Harry.
How could she do this? Could she do this? Her best friend – always and forever – and he wouldn't know her. Could she do this?
Hermione continued to stare at the barrista. He smiled up, not noting her, and asked, "Can I get a drink started for you… Hermione?"
"Harry?" She whispered, then shook herself, looking around to see if anyone noticed. "Regular cappuccino, please."
Harry nodded, his hands working the machine. His smile returned, but it was blank now, as though he were processing something. Making a decision, he finished up the drinks he was making and talked to the person at the register. Then he disappeared into the kitchen.
Hermione ordered a half cress sandwich and cup of soup with her drink. When she opened her wallet, the cashier smiled. "No charge, miss." Hermione muttered her thanks and left a generous tip.
Moving to the quietest corner, she took a seat and opened her laptop. She faked at working as she picked at her lunch. Of course, being as she was, her fake work soon became real work as she became engrossed with an article that she had begun to peruse. By the time she had finished her soup and half sandwich and a little plate with two chocolates that had appeared halfway through her repast, the café's late lunch crowd had dispersed. Though some customers were still milling, and drinking and typing, Hermione found herself alone in her corner of the café.
It was then that Harry joined her.
"Harry… Harry… how?"
Harry smiled at his erstwhile friend. "So, do you like my place?" He handed her a business card.
Brews and Bytes
Harry Dobbins - owner and proprietor
07911 123456
brewsandbytes
"OK, so you own a very successful café. How? More, how do you remember me?"
"Well, when the goblet did its whammy, Dumbledore came through in a big way. Bound Dobby and Winky to me, confounded the obliviators to make them think they'd wiped my memory, changed my appearance, and gave me time and space to survive and flourish. I think he felt guilty. Anyway, I went through the system, had enough money from the Potter vaults to start this place up about two years ago. So far, so good. Helps that I'm good with my hands, so I don't have to pay people to fix stuff. What the elves can't handle, I can. My story's easy. You? What are you doing in the muggle world?"
"Why are you talking about this? The statute!" Hermione looked around suspiciously, but the customers were ignoring her and Harry.
"Elves put a notice-me-not and silencing spell on this corner. We're safe as houses. Now talk!"
"Well, I finished Hogwarts, even though I didn't want to. After they wiped you – supposedly – we mudbloods were on our best behavior. A bunch of the purebloods were squibbed the same day you were, as the unspeakables drained some version of Voldemort of his magic. You'd think that would solve problems, right? Wrong. They found out he was a half-blood and blamed us all again. I couldn't get an apprenticeship or a job here in Britain when I graduated – had to go abroad. I found a healer in the States that apprenticed me. But it's even weirder in the States than it is here. The statute is absolute. I couldn't even contact my parents if I stayed there. So I came back here, even though I can't practice at Mungo's or anything. I decided to get my muggle credentials. So remedial school to uni to med school… It's been a long track, but I'm in my last year of training. I'm actually a resident – general medicine – at James Cook here in Middlesbrough, so I'll be able to use both sides, if I'm careful."
"Anybody special in your life?" Harry asked.
"I dated Justin Finch-Fletchley the last few months. You remember him?" At Harry's tight nod – not that he blamed the kid for the whole Heir of Slytherin thing, but Harry still had a a bad taste at the thought of the little blueblood. "Yeah, we were a bit of an item. But he is so busy – his family's bank and Gringotts have some sort of partnership going now – and, well, med school is no picnic. So we drifted apart. You?"
"Had a girl for a while. Couldn't tell her about Dobby and Winky. She thought I was seeing someone else," he shrugged.
"I get it. I can't date anyone in the non-magical world because I'd risk the statute. But I don't want to risk dating anyone in the magical world. They really frown on us mudbloods being successful. I'd be sure to have an… accident if I kept any relationships in that world."
Hermione sounded bitter, and that hurt Harry.
He reached for her hand.
"If I'd have known, all those years ago, I wouldn't have…"
"Stop. It was Voldemort, Harry. They tried to force you to fight Voldemort. Again. And you know? That Crouch guy? It was his son – his own murdering, death-eater son that he illicitly freed from Azkaban – that put your name in the contest. Crouch was a high-placed government official. The same official that put Sirius in Azkaban without a trial. You would have died, Harry. As it was, Fleur's sister was taken hostage and killed. Krum lost his left arm and quidditch career. And Cedric died. Harry, that tournament was a disaster. And look at you…"
Tears filled Hermione's eyes. Harry handed her a napkin as she waved away his frightened concern. "No, no. I'm fine! More than! So many years, I've wondered what happened to you. Thought they'd maybe found you and killed you in revenge. To see you happy, healthy… not just surviving, but thriving! I'm so glad! I'm so glad I stopped in here today!"
Harry smiled. "Me, too, Hermione. Me, too."
(*) (*)
Fin
~~that was the end~~~
So what about Sirius and the Weasleys and Dumbledore? Is this Harmony? I can't answer those questions. My instinct is that Sirius doesn't want anything to do with muggle Harry. The Weasleys are the same – muggles are not part of their world. And I just can't write that. I had a hard enough time writing a repentant Dumbledore! I do, however, see Harry and Hermione banding together in this one, and eventually having kids that are required to attend Hogwarts. What would happen then? Well, I don't know. That's why the story is ending here. :)