Harry sat in the train compartment savoring the final moments of freedom before having to go back to the Dursley's. The end of term feast had ended with Dumbledore awarding an unfair number of points to the Gryffindors and Malfoy fumed all the way to the train, clearly miffed. The part of the feast that bothered Harry, however was Dumbledore's announcement that Quirrell was the culprit behind the destruction of the stone. He never made even the slightest mention of Voldemort's return. Why cover it up? If Voldemort was really back, wouldn't it be best if the students knew and had time to prepare? Harry brooded over Dumbledore's motives all the way to the train. Between the two of them, the mood in the train car was decidedly heavy with tension. The girls interpreted their attitudes as a sign that they were already dreading their parting. Blaise sat in between Harry and Draco looking uncomfortable, tucking his elbows tightly into his sides to avoid touching the brooding duo. It took Ron snorting a jelly bean through his nose to break the tension.
Hermione's parents were nice people, perfectly plain as dentists came. Ron's mother came up to him and embraced him warmly, though they'd only met once.
"Oh goodness, Harry," she said, planting a kiss on his cheek, "I'm so sorry I didn't notice who you were when I last saw you."
"It's alright, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you for the jumper at Christmas."
"You'll get more where that one came from, dearie. It's a pity you couldn't come stay with us this summer. Ron and the twins would love to have you." Harry had considered it. In fact, Ron's family had been his first choice. The only issue was that Ron confirmed for him that Dumbledore was a frequent visitor at their home and that his family was a strong supporter of Dumbledore's agenda.
"I would have loved to," Harry said, genuinely regretful, "but I'm staying with family this summer." Again, it wasn't exactly a lie. Mrs. Weasley sent him off with a few more kisses and a pocketful of sweets, which he decided to ration.
When he saw Draco hauling his luggage from the train, Harry took out a matchbox sized suitcase and handed it to Draco. At his questioning look, he said, "I can't bring these to my relatives' house. I've shrunk everything I brought with me and sent Hedwig ahead of me to your home. Could you keep this for me until my visit?"
"Of course," Malfoy said, taking the box, "but won't you need your things? Even your wand?" Harry shook his head.
"I left there with nothing." He shrugged, saying, "No worries, Dudley's cast offs will be waiting for me when I get there."
"If you're sure," Draco said, looking worried. A pale man with white-blond hair strode over to them and placed a hand fondly around Draco's shoulder.
"Father!" Draco said excitedly, taking the man's hand.
"It is good to see you, son," he replied, smiling stoically down at Draco, "Who might this be?"
"I'm Harry Potter," Harry said, offering a hand. Lucius Malfoy shook it with the first two knuckles of his fingers in a refined and well-practiced movement.
"Well met, Mr, Potter. My son has told me much in his letters. We look forward to your visit in a few weeks. My wife, unfortunately, is occupied by a previous engagement. She is, however, excited to meet you."
"Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Malfoy," Harry responded, taken aback.
"Nonsense, family is a rare and precious commodity these days, after all." Lucius even showed signs of a smile.
"Boy!" Vernon's voice bellowed as they exited the platform, "You'll regret making me wait for you, freak." Harry took in his uncle's rage calmly, ignoring the spittle that landed on his cheek. The Malfoys visibly stiffened.
"You are Mr. Dursley, I presume," Lucius said, offering his hand, "I expect Harry's told you he's been invited to my home in two weeks." Vernon stared disdainfully at Lucius as if he carried a highly contagious disease.
"Yes, and we're glad to be rid of this freak. It's a pity you couldn't take him sooner. I suppose he'd be glad to be with other freaks like him." Vernon shuddered.
"Excuse me?" Lucius's eyes narrowed and his voice came out strained. His hand clenched and receded, gathering Draco closer to him and away from the muggle man. Vernon reached out and grabbed Harry roughly by the forearm, jolting him almost off his feet. Lucius's eyes snapped to Vernon's hand.
"You will contact us if there are any...problems, Mr. Potter?" Lucius said slowly. Harry nodded meekly, body quivering with a mixture of anger, fear, and shame. He allowed himself to be dragged away by his uncle, feet barely moving fast enough to catch up with him. Harry was anxious the entire car ride back. His uncle remained silent for the whole ride. They pulled up in front of the house of Privet Drive and Harry was hauled out of the car by his shirt collar.
"Go change out of those ridiculous clothes before the neighbors see you, boy," Vernon said, shoving him in through the front door. Harry lost his balance and landed on his hands and knees. He scrambled to get up and did as he was told. Immediately, Harry found himself being forced into a whirlwind of chores. Petunia was at his cupboard door with a list when he emerged and handed it to him woodenly. He settled himself into a rhythm and did as he was told, trimming the lawn, readying dinner, doing the laundry, and cleaning the rooms. Dudley, who was still recovering from the trauma of Harry's departure, watched Harry warily from behind a comic book and then kicked him in the shin for good measure. Harry took it and only hissed out in pain once before continuing with his chores. He was determined to make it through two weeks. Everything seemed business as usual until supper when he was thrown violently into the cupboard, head snapping back, hitting the wall with a crack.
"No food for you, freak," his uncle said, body blocking the light from the doorway, "That is your punishment for what you did to Duddikins." Breathing hard, Harry fought the nausea building up in his chest. Vernon slammed the door and the darkness overtook him. Thankful for the isolation, Harry lay down on his little cot, only slightly disturbed to find that his ankles stuck over the sides where once he'd fit comfortably on it, and fell into his private world with the floaters pulling him from his body. He relaxed and bided his time, ignoring the hunger gnawing at his stomach and the headache blooming where he'd struck the wall. The next morning, Petunia unlocked his door and handed him an apple, a package of digestive biscuits, some water, and another list before walking away. Harry took the food and bolted to the downstairs bathroom. He ate as he took care of his toiletry needs and prepared to do the day's work. This routine went largely unchanged and Harry supposed he was grateful. While he could feel his body suffering, he thought it more important that his uncle had decided not to beat him.
While doing his chores, Harry had some time to look closer at the wards and found it easily, knowing now what to look for. The energy signature that he now knew to be his mother's was subtle and thin, connecting Harry's life force to Petunia. The bond looked tenuous at the most, bolstered only by another energy signature familiar to him, but escaping his memory. The old one. The floaters sounded angry in his head. So it had been Dumbledore who'd forcibly tied his mother's protection to the Dursleys. The more he looked, the more it seemed that the original blood ritual his mother had completed was tied only to Harry's life force until someone anchored it to Petunia and her accursed house. There was no stupid ward. The only thing being recharged by his presence at Privet Drive was a charm that Dumbledore cast to keep him prisoner. Try as he might, however, the charm would not be undone no matter how many times he attempted to unravel it. It is old magic, forbidden magic, the floaters grumbled, It may only broken under specific circumstances. Until this place is no longer your home, you may not undo it. Harry couldn't break it or Dumbledore would know his charm had broken and then more trouble would come. Damn.
Everything changed when the house elf, Dobby, showed up unexpectedly as he was preparing for a dinner party. He'd never seen anything that looked quite like the disheveled pink thing that showed up in Petunia's kitchen, but didn't stop to think before knocking the elf out with a wandless stunner, disillusioning him in the same breath. When no ministry letters came, Harry let out a tense breath. He'd surmised earlier that the Trace that alerted the ministry to underage spell use was attached to his wand, rather than his person. Since his wand was safely tucked away with the Malfoy's, his wandless magic could go undetected. The dinner party went off as planned without a hitch and Harry was rewarded with a plate of leftovers. Retreating to his cupboard with his prize and a sleeping elf, he ate and waited for Vernon to lock the cupboard. As he heard the characteristic click, Harry revived the elf.
"Mr. Potter performed magic around muggles!" The elf squealed, causing Harry to jump and throw up a silencing charm.
"Shhh be quiet or I'll be in serious trouble," Harry said urgently, "It's okay. My wand isn't here. The ministry can't track anything without my wand."
"Harry Potter is in grave danger," the elf said, not listening, "Master Malfoy sent Dobby here to invite you to his house for the summer, but Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts. Master said that bad people are going to do something and Harry Potter is in grave danger."
"Wait, Malfoy? Did Mr. Malfoy say that this so that you could warn me?"
"No, I heard it when Master was talking to a bad man. Lady Malfoy is nice to Dobby and you are her family. The Master is dealing with bad people and they are making him do things he does not want to. Bad things. Bad things! You must not return to Hogwarts!"
"Dobby, I have to go back to school. I trust Mr. Malfoy," not exactly the truth, but he needed to calm Dobby down, "and I don't think he would do anything to hurt me." Caught between his loyalty to his master and his worry for Harry, Dobby began sobbing. Harry cursed. He was so close to leaving. The Malfoys were to send for him the next day.
"Dobby-Dobby please calm down. I'll get into trouble!" The elf looked horrified.
"Dobby has caused Harry Potter trouble. Dobby must punish himself!" Dobby at once began banging his head against the cupboard wall. Harry tried in vain to calm him and was too helpless when Vernon yanked the door open. He got one look at Dobby before the elf disappeared with a pop.
"BOY," he bellowed, "How dare you bring your freakishness into this house." He picked up Harry by his hair and dragged him out. As Petunia and Dudley slept, he took Harry to the garage and beat him bloody with a wrench and a gardening spade, just barely avoiding the spots that would kill him. Harry's glasses were shattered and he could feel ribs cracking with each blow. To muffle his screams, Vernon sealed his mouth shut with duct tape and cruelly snapped both of his arms at the elbows. When he finally finished, it was more damage than he'd ever endured and too much for his magical core to heal all at once. Harry couldn't even muster the strength to pull himself into his mind to escape the pain, mercifully passing out the second he was thrown back into his cupboard. The last thing he heard was Vernon hissing, "You'll never make it back to that freakish school, boy."
When he woke again, he could tell it was morning by the sound of Dudley pounding down the stairs. His eyes were swollen shut and he could only open his right eye a few millimeters. He lay in a pool of his own sweat and crusted blood. His magical core had healed his arms overnight, but the rest of him was bloody and bruised. He could feel the hairline fractures peppering his ribs and the bruises mottling every inch of skin. Not bothering to sit up, Harry looked around and found that his cupboard was open a slit, not even locked, taunting him. He felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness wash over him. After a few minutes, an idea came to him. He steeled himself and ripped the duct tape from his lips.
"Dobby," he called hoarsely. With a pop, the house elf was before him and was for once too shocked to speak.
"H-harry Potter. You are hurt very bad."
"Get Mr. Malfoy," Harry managed to say, "Please." Harry was desperate, hoping that Dobby wouldn't have a fit. Dobby, however, looked stone calm and raised his fingers slowly to snap and pop out. Before he left, however, he looked guiltily at Harry, saying.
"Dobby is sorry. Dobby knows now. Harry Potter is not safe here. Dobby will get you out. Do not die, Harry Potter." Dobby popped away and Harry held onto hope that he would get out of this somehow. A few hours passed and Harry was in and out of consciousness, fighting hunger and pain assaulting him in every part of his body. Thinking about the wards, he wondered how Dumbledore's charm worked at all. He'd never thought of this house as his home, though with spells that old, he wasn't surprised the criteria was a bit loose. A prison, then. That's what this house meant to him. He shut his eyes, wondering if he would die this time. The one upside he could see to that was that he would be free of his prison. He lay there wondering what it was like to die and through the pain, felt for the first time that he was free from the prison he called home. He snapped fully awake, however, when he heard the door being thrown open.
"What the bloody hell are you doing in my home?" Harry could hear Vernon's yells and Petunia's shrieks. Dudley could be heard stomping frantically back up the stairs. Harry tried to sit up and found himself struggling to prop himself up.
"Where is Harry Potter? What did you do to him? Tell me, you great oaf." A woman's icy voice sounded from the doorway, followed by a man's.
"Mr. Dursley, you would do well not to try me. I know he's here and I know he's hurt. I have a ministry hit wizard and an auror here with me to take you into custody. Where is Mr. Potter?" It was Lucius. They'd come for him. Harry was so relieved, he thought he might cry.
"You can't prove anything! He's not here. Bloody freak ran away!" Vernon sounded frightened out of his wits. It must have been the word "custody" that got him.
"I'm in here," Harry rasped, clawing his way off the cot. He managed to shove just his bloody hand out past the heavy, reinforced door.
"You lie, muggle-" Lucius stopped mid-sentence as he caught sight of the tiny hand, sticking out blood red against the stark whiteness of the rest of the house. It wasn't moving. Lucius thought for a horrifying moment that he might be too late. He swept into the house, Narcissa hot on his heels, ignoring Vernon's complaints. The hit wizard and the auror he'd brought along closed the door and swiftly shot ropes from their wands, restraining Vernon and Petunia. Crouching down by the staircase, Lucius and Narcissa hauled the heavy door open and found Harry sprawled on the floor, body half off of a cot that took up all the room in the tiny compartment.
"Harry. Harry, can you hear me? Narcissa, help me roll him over." Lucius's voice was calm and even gentle. Narcissa gently moved Harry's upper body while Lucius repositioned his legs.
"Mr. Malfoy," he rasped, "you're here."
"Yes, Harry," Narcissa breathed, smiling down at him, "Try not to speak. We're here. You're safe. They can't hurt you anymore."
"Is anything broken?" Lucius was cautiously trying to run diagnostic spells on Harry's body, but the list that appeared before him was too long for him to filter through right there.
"My arms...m'ribs. Arms healed last night, but...hurts." Harry was fighting for breath, ribs protesting with every breath. Nodding in understanding, Lucius muttered something and Harry could feel invisible bandages wrapping his chest. He was relieved to find that he could breathe when the work was done. "Thank you," he breathed.
"We have to move you now, Harry," Narcissa said, "If it hurts, you just tell me and I'll put you right down again." Harry nodded. Narcissa conjured a blanket around Harry and wrapped him picked him up gently. Moving hurt, but nothing that he couldn't bear. He concentrated on Narcissa's perfume and the ringlets of hair that brushed his face. The hit wizard had just disappeared with a crack, Vernon in tow, as Petunia watched from her seat at the table, stunned into silence at Harry's appearance. The auror, a dark skinned man in purple robes, briefly took in Harry's injuries and turned to Lucius.
"The wife confirmed the husband's history of abuse and we carted him off, but we're not sure if she should be taken in. Doesn't seem like she knew the boy was hurt this time," he said evenly.
"She never hit me," Harry said shakily from Narcissa's arms, "It was only my uncle. I think he hit her too." The auror nodded. "I will include that in my report."
"Thank you, Shacklebolt," Lucius said, nodding. "I trust this matter will be kept secret?"
"Of course," Shacklebolt replied, "According to investigation procedures, details will be kept from the public until the case has been resolved." Shacklebolt took another look at Harry. "Is it safe to apparate to St. Mungo's with his injuries?" He looked troubled.
"I've done the best I can to wrap his ribs," Lucius replied, looking just as perturbed, "As for the rest, I don't want to do anything until the healers can get a record of what was done to him and it's too dangerous to sedate him. It'll have to do. There are no floo networks this far into muggle territory." Shacklebolt seemed unsatisfied, but nodded his agreement. He took Harry's hand.
"You have been very brave, Mr. Potter. Bear with the pain for now. You'll be well again soon," he said, levelling Harry with his hawk-like gaze. Harry nodded, a determined look in his eye. Shacklebolt took out his wand, taking Narcissa's elbow in his free hand, and apparated them to St. Mungo's hospital. Harry felt as if he were being shoved through a straw and pain erupted all over his body, every injury being pressed and prodded as his body was disassembled and reassembled somewhere else. When it was over, he breathed hard, fighting tears. He felt himself being laid onto a padded examination table and opened his good eye to find himself in a sterile white room awash with harsh white light.
Healers were upon him in seconds, casting charms and pumping potions into him. He was stripped of Dudley's oversized clothes and the blood was gently spelled away to reveal the full extent of his injuries. His clothes were replaced with a hospital gown not unlike one found in a muggle hospital. One healer, looking decidedly grim, snapped a few pictures of every injury. Deep gashes on his back he hadn't seen or hadn't been conscious for were wrapped and immediately began to close. The bruises would take time to heal, but the pain was greatly diminished by the potions they'd given him. When everything was done, Harry was given a bowl of plain broth, which he took gratefully, sitting up in the bed he'd been moved to in a private wing of the hospital.
Shacklebolt entered with Narcissa and Lucius following closely behind. A healer sat by Harry's bed with Harry's medical records which the ministry procured from the local clinic in Little Whinging. The healer frowned at the Malfoys.
"Sorry, only family allowed," the man quipped, curly brown hair bouncing as he stood to show the out.
"Healer Smethwyck, you needn't trouble yourself. We are family," Lucius replied casually, clasping arms with the healer. Hippocrates Smethwyck looked open mouthed at him.
"Really? I don't see you listed as next of kin."
"Hippocrates, my wife is Harry's second cousin once removed. Since his guardians are unfit to care for him, we do count as his next of kin." Narcissa handed the astonished healer a piece of parchment with a magical family tree on it listing the relationship between the Potters and the Malfoys. "I had that fetched from Gringotts just now, Hippocrates."
The healer snorted, saying, "You never mentioned this at your dinner parties, Narcissa."
"Oh I never knew until my son, clever thing that he is," Narcissa said, clearly preening, "thought to look through the family genealogy records."
"Why is he under your care anyway, Smethwyck?" Lucius asked, "Not that I'm complaining, but aren't you better at treating spider bites?"
"Well my specialty is officially creature induced injuries, but since this doesn't happen too often, 'muggle' got classified as a creature and here I am."
"How do you know each other?" Harry pointed from the healer to the Malfoys.
"Smethwyck was a few years behind us in school, Harry. He's been treating our family since he was a trainee. Now that you're family, it seems you may enjoy the same privilege," Narcissa said, gently patting his knee.
"Alright then, we can list you as his primary guardians for now and defer to you for his medical decisions." Smethwyck scribbled his alterations in Harry's documents. Shacklebolt straightened his robes and cleared his throat.
"Healer Smethwyck," he prodded, "might we start the interview? I'm sure Harry needs his rest. The faster this is done, the sooner he can sleep."
"Yes, quite right," the healer said soberly before turning to look at Harry. "Harry, has this type of abuse happened before? Did your relatives beat you and regularly deprive you of food?" Healer Smethwyck knew the answers from the scans, of course, but needed to probe a bit to uncover any lasting emotional trauma and provide an official record for Shacklebolt's report. Harry answered as honestly as he could and spoke calmly even as descriptions of terrible abuse passed from his lips. The Malfoys listened, holding each other's hands, expressions cold and deadly calm. The healer retained his professional manner and thanked Harry when he finished.
"You've done a very good job, Harry. Would you like to sleep now?"
"Yes, please," Harry replied, exhaustion causing his voice to quaver. the healer moved to help Harry lie down and fluffed his pillows before tucking him in and pulling the privacy curtains around him. The adults stood and ducked out from the curtain, but stayed to talk just outside.
"He has a surprisingly good attitude about all of this," Healer Smethwyck hummed, "but I'm going to recommend that he see a mind healer." He paused to rub a hand over his face. "Merlin, what a high pain tolerance he has. We barely had to give him anything for the pain and he's got injuries most adults would cry over they hurt so bad. It's not right."
"No kidding." Harry could see the shadow of Shacklebolt's head shaking back and forth. "I apparated him with all those injuries and he didn't even cry out once."
"Nor when we bound his ribs and moved him," Narcissa added. "The obese muggle who did this deserves to be flayed and then kissed by a dementor." Her voice took on a steely tone, then. It was still the high aristocratic accent, but with an edge that could slice someone's head off in paper thin layers.
"Aye," Shacklebolt's ground out, "With this much evidence against him, he'll get at least Azkaban."
"I'll be ready for when you need me to testify," Smethwyck said with conviction.
"My son said you'd be happy to see these," Lucius said, handing Harry a pouch and his wand. The Malfoy's were taking turns sitting with Harry in St. Mungo's while he recovered. Healer Smethwyck said he'd be released in a week, but he couldn't help but feel a bit stir crazy. Harry's eyes lit up and took his things from Lucius, thanking him exuberantly. Lucius eyed him curiously, but left well enough alone.
"Yes, well, eat up. Healer Smethwyck wants you to finish your food before your next round of potions," Lucius said as he pointed his wand at the plate of food sitting on the floating tray across Harry's bed. It floated across Harry's thighs and the spoon floated up to his mouth filled with soup.
"Wicked," Harry said, taking the spoon.
"Yes, quite," Lucius said, arching an eyebrow.
"Where's Draco?" Harry spoke with Lucius between bites.
"With Severus," Lucius said, nose in a copy of the Prophet, "I've arranged for him to stay there until all this is over." Harry ducked his head and stared at his soup. Lucius looked up from his paper and sighed. "I'm sure he'd like to visit you." Harry beamed. Both their heads snapped up as Narcissa's heels could be heard clacking on the linoleum floors.
"Lucius, have you seen the paper?" Narcissa looked angry, but her voice was quiet and calm.
"Not today's, this was yesterday's. Why?" Lucius's tone turned serious. Narcissa said nothing, handing him a paper from her purse.
"Bugger," Lucius said at once, "Call a solicitor." Narcissa nodded and turned to leave, but hesitated.
"He needs to know," she whispered, "but do it gently." Lucius took up her hand and kissed it. After Narcissa was gone, Lucius sat back down by Harry's bedside.
"Harry, I have some bad news," Lucius said, cautiously.
"What's in the paper?" Harry steeled himself as Lucius set the paper down in front of him. There, on the front page, was a picture of himself in a hospital gown, laid out across the front page of the Prophet, under the headline "Outrage Over Abuse of The Boy Who Lived. Savior of the Wizarding World Abused by Muggle Relatives?". Harry blinked twice, hands shaking minutely as he grasped the newspaper and lifted it closer to his face to read the article.
"Don't bother reading that rubbish. Rita Skeeter is a dirty liar and everybody knows that." Lucius sneered, gently prying the paper out of Harry's still trembling fingers.
"How did she know about-"
"That woman is will not live to see tomorrow, Lucius." Healer Smethwyck stormed into the room looking decidedly unhinged. He stopped in front of Harry's bed, looking from Harry to the paper in Lucius's hand.
"Please tell me you didn't show my patient that blasted article," he said, exasperated, not really expecting an answer.
"He needed to know," Lucius replied dryly, "and he's taking it rather well."
"How is this making you feel, Harry?" Smethwyck looked concerned. "I know it's a lot to take in."
"I..." Harry grasped at straws, looking for the right words. "I'm pissed off." His hands were still shaking and some of the lights in the room started to flicker. Lucius's eyes widened in alarm.
"Thought so," said Smethwyck, pulling out a potion, "Here. Calming draught." Harry downed the potion and felt better, but still felt slightly like bashing someone's face in.
"That picture was missing from your file this morning and our solicitors are working on pressing charges against Skeeter." Smethwyck performed a few diagnostic spells on Harry. "Any discomfort in your ribs? Breathing better? Good. Your eyes certainly look much better. Any blurriness?"
"Nothing more than the usual nearsightedness," he lied smoothly. His vision had been corrected ages ago, but it wouldn't do to admit that when his records still read that he was legally blind. "I'll feel better once I have a restraining order against that reporter...and maybe a chance to land a fist in her face."
Smethwyck snorted. "I'll see about getting your vision corrected." Inwardly, Harry cheered at the thought of doing away with his glasses. Smethwyck put his wand away and sat on Harry's bed. "Harry, if you need to talk about this, we can get a mind healer here."
"No," Harry replied, "I'll be alright. I'm not-" He paused, looking down at his hands, "I won't pretend that I'm okay after everything that's happened, but I'm free from that prison and that's all that matters. Nothing that newspaper says about me can compare to what the Dursleys did to me."
Smethwyck nodded silently, not meeting Harry's eyes. "Then the least I can do besides advise that you talk to a mind healer anyway is have our solicitor and yours get together to present your case."
"I'll get you the details," Lucius confirmed. "Busy days to come at the ministry, then. However, you, Mr. Potter, need only worry about getting well again. Leave the legal work to us."