Author's Note: I do not own Harry Potter
Hedwig was his constant companion now. The Circle would use their own owls to direct the conversation flow, as they collectively decided that Harry needed that unbroken connection of some kind of friendly face in his time at Privet Drive.
Harry understood why he had to remain at the house; the Weasley's had all but demanded he return to the Burrow when it was considered safe for him to do so. While the Bell's had expressed an interest in having him visit at some point, while wearing concerned smiles and features of admiration. It seemed as though his escapades to the Chamber had become an open secret in of itself.
It felt warming to know that so many people cared about his wellbeing, yet that part of him that was becoming quieter and quieter in the deep recesses of his mind, was calling out for someone to rescue him.
His legs were pulled up to his chest, his photo album laying on his legs as it rested on his navel. Hedwig was perched upon his right shoulder, her head nuzzling his cheek affectionately. His baggy, hand-me-down shirt could not cover his arm, so out of the side of his vision, his new scar would constantly catch his eye. It was strange, for what had occurred not even a month before seemed more like a bad dream than a horrific, living nightmare.
Hedwig's soft barks would rumble in his ears in a calming manner. He would always have the window – now bar free – open to let her explore the skies, but she would always be nearby.
"That is an incredibly special bird there, Harry," Professor Flitwick had once said to him. It was just after his attack from the bewitched Bludger when Hedwig had somehow found herself entering a locked Hospital Wing. "She acts more like a doting mother than a simple pet." The look he had when he said those words were strange, but Harry had bigger worries at the time, so he let it go.
But he could see it now. The fondness they shared for each other would set his heart aflame with delight; he could always count on the peace he felt when in the presence of his feathery friend to fill his soul with a completeness he still could not understand.
In that moment, and ones like this, when he felt trapped and so far away from the world he had grown to accept as his own, Harry Potter would look at the photos before him. For they were the links to magic, friends, and family, that he could never get in the prison he resided. He despised that he was forced to live here, but knew that Dumbledore was right. If anything, the events of the last two years were enough evidence to suggest that his concerns about his safety had merit: Quirrell and the Basilisk were glaring enough.
The future was a tantalising and sweet remedy that had him counting down the days, hours, and minutes until he could taste the fresh, saccharine flavour of his new normality. Until then, he would take life as is came, day by day, and lament in secret while grasping at what would lay before him.
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Minerva McGonagall was not a happy woman. She had not returned to this house since that cold night so many years ago.
It had been her choice to meet with her student at home with the unfair information that she was to deliver.
She knocked on the door to Number 4 with a heavy heart, and a frown on her face. She straightened her robe and tweaked her hat so as it would sit properly. It opened to the scene of a meaty looking man with a purple face and a scowl. He paled considerably the moment he took in his visitor.
"PET!" he shouted.
Minerva's lips pursed tightly as Lily's sister squeezed around her large husband.
"Hello again, Petunia. I am here to speak to your nephew."
"Are you taking that fre-, that boy, away for good now?" the man asked in a hopeful tone. "Or is he expelled?"
"No, it is nothing to do with that." Minerva was not liking this. Not one bit. "If you would get Mr Potter for me, I will be able to discuss with him what I came for."
"I thought you knew," Petunia whispered, expressions of terror coursing over her face. "He's gone."
"Gone?" Minerva blinked in surprise. "Start talking."
"Vernon," the voice that came from within the premises was slurred and slow. The woman speaking was blatantly drunk. "Vernon, I don't care if he is your nephew. That piece of filth needs more than what you give him. Bastard should have been rid at birth."
McGonagall's fury was showing. Her wand had slid into her hand covertly and was now being raised slightly. "Where is Harry?"
The tone brokered no questions. It was direct, and it had no implications or threats, only promises that if she were to be denied then there would be hell to pay.
The door closed behind Petunia as she stepped forward. She had nudged her head at the voice and her husband retreated into the hallway.
"Answer me truthfully, Petunia. If I find out you have hurt Harry more than you already have..." She took a sick sort of pleasure at the sight of the woman flinching. Harry Potter was one of her cubs, and she did not take kindly to her Pride being messed with.
"We tried. When that man came here, demanding that we..." her face was pinched, pained, even. Though McGonagall held no sympathy. She knew well enough that Albus could be quite intimidating when he chose to be, and she knew him enough to know that when he returned from this place not too long before, there had been a rage in his eyes. "We left him alone. We let him do what he wanted. We...
"It was Vernon's sister, Marge. Her opinion on Potter is the same as Vernon's. I knew. I knew what would happen if she tried to do what she always did." It was too easy. A simple silent casting and the woman was opening up and revealing more than she would normally; each syllable that was spouted inflamed the anger inside her. "She was raving, demanding that the boy do what he would do normally, but we knew what your kind would do. He only cooks for himself. He only cleans his room, not the house. But, Marge didn't care. Then the bird. Her dog smelled the bird."
McGonagall knew, she knew, that there was something wrong in this place. But Albus had always thrown off her and Filius' concerns. There had been something in his eyes that belied what he told them, and a hurt of a man who was filled with shame, but she knew Harry was suffering here, and to her own disgrace she simply forgot about him when not in school. Her knuckles became white, and her brows furrowed, and her teeth started grinding against each other.
"Marge, she had been drinking, and she near threw the door down. She saw him. I don't know what he was doing, but the dog went in. There was shouting, and screaming. He ran out, the stick was in his hand, and that huge case with all his things in. That bird was under his arm, completely red. And Marge's dog, it's dead. It looks like it was beaten to death!"
Minerva McGonagall turned on the spot. Disappearing before the woman's very eyes, such was her anger. She had to find him. She had to find him fast.
Miles and miles away, Harry cradled his struggling owl close to his body. He had to get to Diagon, and he would be there as quickly as this 'Knight Bus' could get him there.
"It'll be alright, girl, it'll be okay." He was shaking uncontrollably as Hedwig would blink slowly as she stared at her human. "We'll get you to the Alley and we'll find someone to help." He smiled weakly as he gulped in air unevenly.
The conductor had practically shoved him onto the bus after he accidentally summoned it the moment he ended the driveway and hit the street. Stan, the conductor, had jumped at the tone and volume of voice that Harry had shrieked at him. The pain and heartache he protruded out had him hurry the driver directly towards Diagon Alley post-haste.
Harry took no note of what was going on around him. He could barely feel the bumps and turns of the erratic driving taking him to his destination while he stared almost crazily down at Hedwig. He refused to let this happen, not after making it through 12 years of hell, would he let this happen. Hedwig was his. She was his friend, his owl. She would not die. Not on his watch.
"We're 'ere!"
Harry opened up his coin pouch, pouring what must have been an incredibly generous tip out to Stan's cupped hands, causing much of it to the floor. But Harry cared not for this. He did not even stop to grab his things; only his wand and his Hedwig were added to his person.
He slammed the door to the Leaky Cauldron in, swivelling his head side to side, desperation on his lips. The barman, a friendly, earthy looking man who's name escaped him, came sprinting towards them.
"Come, Mr Potter, follow me out back. I'll run ahead. I know Ms Eilhart quite well, so I will go on and get her ready for you. Come on, follow me."
Harry hurried along, trailing in the wake of the kind man amidst supporting looks by the patrons still residing in the bar area.
"Philippa! Philippa, come quick."
A dark-haired woman appeared from a door behind the counter, a long flowing dress billowing behind her, and milky-white eyes prominent on her face.
"Tom, I may not be able to see, but that does not mean that I am incapable of hearing." She paused for a fraction of a second. "Bring her here, quickly now."
Harry rushed toward her, and the woman, Philippa, skilfully taking Hedwig from his arms.
"Attacked? A dog, I would say."
"Can you save her?" Harry's voice was thick and watery, the words rushed out.
The woman inclined her head, tilting it towards him as her wand waved over the now stilled form of his owl. "It is lucky that you healed her, as haphazard and incomplete as it was. You did the correct action to bring her directly to me. Leave her with me for the night and I tell you, she will be as healthy as before."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief, becoming light-headed as the adrenaline burst out the dam of his body.
It was a more than highly comforted Harry Potter who left the woman to nurse his owl back to perfect help, following Tom the Barkeep back to the Leaky Cauldron.
"Stop thanking me, Mr Potter, for considering your story, I should really be able to do more." His grin was affable and infectious, enough for Harry to mimic him tiredly. He never knew that owls could make such noise...
"Ah, Harry, do you mind if I call you Harry? Well, it's so good to see you here safe." Harry recognised the squat man who was waiting for them at the bar. "It is such a pleasure to see you again. You gave us all quite a fright when you left your Aunt and Uncle today." His tone grew stern and sharp, while Harry visibly retreated into himself.
'Uncle, please, stop!'
He shook his head clear of the thoughts plaguing his mind, refusing to let such memories consume him. "I'm sorry, sir. I just... I had to get Hedwig help. I had to get somewhere... safe."
It was just a flash, but it was there. A dark look crossed the Minister's face, a glint of something Harry did not like emanating from him. But it vanished as soon as it appeared.
"Yes, well, it is a little dangerous at the moment, and as such, it is best for you to remain somewhere you are confirmed to be safe." He slapped his hand on the bar as Harry began to stutter a response, though not antagonistically. "Well, not that it matters much now. Black would not be aware of the Dursley residence's location, but I cannot see him descending on Diagon at any point. Not with the accelerated Auror presence.
"So, you have my permission to remain here until September 1st – there will be protection here of course. But Harry, my boy, there will be no deviation from this course. You will not enter anywhere except Diagon, and that is my foot hitting the floor, I'm afraid. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," he replied meekly. He saw in his mind's eye the traces of blurred movement and inky blackness of the cupboard under the stairs. "I... understand."
"Good lad," he ignored the blatant flinch of the young Potter as he pat his shoulder three times, all a hard smack. "Can't have the icon of Wizarding Britain come to harm now, can we? I heard of the extravagant tale of the 'Chamber of Secret's' of course." He waved goodbye to each patron as well as Tom. "Mr Shunpike brought your things in. Very silly of you to leave them on the Bus, but never mind. Anyway, to fight a Basilisk," he shuddered as he slipped on a large overcoat. "Well, let's just say that a lot of heads have been turned even further." He placed his bowler hat upon his head and moved away to the door to muggle London. "Farewell, Mr Potter. Oh, before I forget." He rolled his back, an audible crack filling the room. "Professor McGonagall was originally coming to tell you, but due to current circumstances, we have had to replace you in the Scotland match, as well as a word from Wilburr that he must insist that you temporarily cease your House team. McGonagall agreed, and you will too."
Cornelius Fudge left a silent Harry, whistling a jaunty tune as he went on his merry way.
Harry thanked Tom for his assistance profusely, after the distasteful man had vanished from the premises, much to the bashful man's chagrin.
"Think nothing of it, Mr Potter. And congratulations on your first dabbling in politics." He gave Harry a once over, noting the out of place look on his face. "The Ministry is paying for your room for the summer. Something about you not saying anything about why you left home?"
It twigged, the reason why Fudge was there and how he worded the conversation between them.
"I can't just be me, can I?" he muttered, though not quiet enough if the wry chuckle from Tom meant anything.
"I've sent your belongings up to the room, number 11 for your information. The cost covered is only breakfast, dinner, and board, so anything else you'll have to pay." He leaned in conspiratorially, "Though I won't say no to a few butterbeers going missing here and there if you keep us lowly lot company every now and then."
Harry's lips twitched upwards slightly, but his mind was elsewhere.
"Listen, Mr Potter... May I call you Harry?" He smiled broadly at Harry's tiny nod. "Excellent! Well, Harry, I've known Ms Eilhart for a lot of years, she's the best at what she does, even if she don't look it."
"How can she-"
"Some kinda magic, I suppose. Never really explained it to me. She likes her secrets after all, but don't worry, she loves owls, and she likes you too. If she didn't, well, she would have most likely ripped you a new one for how the poor thing was."
"How did she, you know, lose her sight?" Harry asked in his soft tone.
"I don't know the whole story, jus' that one of the Black family did her in. Some kind of curse."
"Sirius Black?"
"Aye, most likely." Tom paused, contemplating if he should say any more. "Fudge is right about one thing though." He tittered kindly at Harry's incredulous face. "Black is not one to mess with."
Harry listened with rapt attention to what was being told to him, shock and disgust developing the further the story went. 'He killed those muggles and that poor man just for trying to stop him.'
"Um, Tom, do you have an owl I could use at all here? I can't use Hedwig," his heart burned and welled with a sharp, stabbing pain, "And I need to tell my friends where I am."
He knew everyone was going to be at home except for the twins considering the compensation pay-out from the Ministry and the school from Ginny's possession. Apparently, Kate and Alicia had been practically ordered to charge their school lists directly to the Board of Education because of their attacks. The Weasley family was currently in Egypt, trying to help Ginny heal, so he wanted to wait a bit to mail Fred, George, and Ginny.
"Ah, I'm afraid not, Harry. Though I would say to write the letters now and go see Ms Eilhart in the morning. Check up on your owl at the same time."
Harry giggled at the thought. "Hedwig's a proud friend, she won't like another owl taking my letters."
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Neville and Fay managed to receive their letters at the same time, which was not much of a coincidence considering that at that moment, Fay was lounging about Longbottom Hall while trying (failing) to complete her summer Transfiguration assignment.
"Why can't Harry be here with me?" she whined petulantly. "I'd be finished last week if I had his help."
Neville gave a sideways glance of faux annoyance as his attention was diverted by the large Barn Owl dropping through the open sunroof of his extravagantly designed living room.
"It's Harry."
"Finally," Fay threw her arms up in delight.
They read the proffered letters, ignoring the indignant owl that shot off with a loud bark of complaint, and both felt the mood turn icy cold as each line was read.
"Nev," Fay's voice was hesitant. This was a conversation that the two had had frequently but never came to a worthwhile conclusion. "I knew he should never have gone back to them. After Quirrell, and now the attacks..."
"I know, Fay," Neville crumpled the parchment in his fist. His voice was a quiet as Harry's, and his face sunk as he read between the lines. "But what can we do? Harry always said that it was Dumbledore who makes him go back for his safety. He's not an idiot, but if what the Minister himself was saying, then it could be more."
"Er, Nev, you remember that, yeah, my family is pureblood, but we don't get involved in all this political mumbo jumbo."
"It means," an aged, yet powerful voice came from behind them, "That there is more to this tale than you realise." Augusta Longbottom cast an intimidating presence, even now. "There is something afoot involving Harry Potter, my dear. Many believe it is to do with potential retribution. Blood Wards I heard, magicked into reality by the power of Lily Potter and Albus Dumbledore." She sat down, a House Elf popping into existence and placing a steaming cup upon a saucer.
"What do you mean, Gran?"
She sipped her cup, enjoying the strong and sweet taste of the tea within. "I mean, Neville, that there are many who believe that the Dark Lord has not completely vanished as well as we would hope." Their faces paled instantly, their eyes darting hurriedly to the letters sent by their best friend. "The Potter boy would be under a great deal of danger, even if He-who-must-not-be-named were dead; his followers were brutal and loyal." Her face twisted into a snarl, hidden behind her cup. "It was the decision of the betters of the Magical World, that Harry Potter must remain away, both for his safety, and the safety of... others."
"But he suffers so much," Fay whispered. Neville may defer to his Grandmother when at home, but she had no such reason to adhere to social rules. "It doesn't matter who wants what for him. I want him away from those foul muggles."
"Yes, yes, Neville has told me of what your friend is, or was, like. Do you really think that the voices of children can sway those who believe themselves better? No, you foolish child. I am not the only one who has tried to help the boy." Not even Neville had been aware of that if the raised brows had any indication. "No, just because some things aren't seen, does not mean that there aren't things being done."
The two Gryffindors were mute for the rest of the hour, while Augusta Longbottom sat with the Wireless on, enjoying the tunes of her youth as the sound filled the room.
"Gran, may we have the match on, please?"
"The England versus Scotland match? Whatever for?"
"Harry is the Seeker, and even though he's said he can't play, we should really listen to it," Fay spoke meekly.
"Yeah, Gran, he might not be playing, but it's still a qualifier. They won their last set of matches, so they're top of our group, but Harry will be playing with them eventually. It would be nice just to be involved somehow."
It was difficult to fully explain the depth of the connection that brought Neville, Fay, and Harry together. Originally it was for a sense of social preservation, and over time it developed into a burgeoning friendship, and then a connection that increased in intensity over the path of two years.
They were afraid. Not of him, of course, but for him. He was so fragile and held an innocence in their eyes that advanced into a form of protectiveness that warped all sound judgement. There was something about how he was, who he was, that bled emotion and wrapped them in a need to defend him.
He was always so open, and too forgiving. Though he had his enemies, he tried mostly the path of conciliation over antagonism. Even his spats with Malfoy and his cronies, he never spoke ill of, nor attacked them. It was as if he believed that with enough time, they could put aside their differences. Though that time was getting further and further away with each comment, each attack, and each ugly, snarling assault on their emotions and person.
They saw his utter dejection when Snape would hound him – they both remembered when Harry threw away the advanced potions book he had after a particularly bad bout. The way he stared at the burning pages as the fire took it in. There was no hate there. No rage. Only sadness. Only anguish.
He was kind to them, they thought. His was a pure, innocent soul that had had people attempting to corrupt it to their brands of wanted darkness, but they knew that Harry was strong. He was who he was, and they knew that no one would change that.
They could almost touch the pain from his letters at his hurt of the dog that went after Hedwig, who's condition they were both glad was apparently steadily improving. Fay had laughed out loud when he told them that she had indignantly cuffed him with her wing when he came to visit.
That wasn't to say that they saw him as naïve, far from it. It was instead a blind hope, a certain amount of altruistic wishing, that proved that no matter what he thought, or others hoped, he was not as damaged as initially believed. There was a power that was separate from his magic. And Neville and Fay began their plans to storm the fortress, as it were. Distance and time meant nothing if they could alleviate the pain from their best friend, of course.
Author's Notes
So I'm entering territory now where I am starting to catch up with what I have already pre-written. As such, Book 3 will have 8 days between chapter releases, just so I can adhere to my schedule and, hopefully, get quite far in further chapters which should allow me to reduce the time between chapters in later Books. Thank you for understanding.
So here we go, a small look into why people 'ignore' Harry's poor home life. I've said before that I don't like constant exposition for exposition's sake, and details will be released sparingly, or will even be left with questions. Some may think this as 'plot holes' but know that in real life, not everyone gets all the information they desire. Sometimes, things don't always go the way we want them to. But in this case, there is a little taste of what I know some people have been questioning. This, as I believe I have already said, will become universal information later on in the fic. Just because I haven't said something yet, does not mean I will not later on. There are still another 6 Books to go through to get all info out.
I'm not one for adding much for other fiction's characters in, but every now and then we will see a cameo of another universe enter Harry's. However, they will be relative to this Harry's world, and won't be of any true contribution to the story. I could have well given the character a completely different name, and they would effectively be the same person. Just thought it'd be nice little addition to my story.
Next Chapter: The Train