Chapter 4: And it all comes tumbling down

When a little boy entered Old Tom's pub, no one paid him much mind, even with the strange contraption wrapped around his body. He was probably going to be tailed by a harassed parent in a few moments. Or maybe his parents were already there and he'd been out for a bit of a wander.

No one expected him to approach the bar and struggle up onto the stool.

Old Tom laughed as he polished one of the mugs. Things worth doing were done by hand and not wand. "I think you're a bit young to be at the bar, kid. What did your parents put you in, anyways? Odd fashion choice muggles have."

Except, the boy didn't laugh and go on his way. Instead, he hunched in on himself, almost shaking like a leaf. "I-I'm sorry. I-I just- I mean- I need to talk to an adult. My teacher says to go to an adult when you're not safe. I'm not safe."

Tom set the mug down carefully, staring at the boy with the tussled hair and odd muggle garb. It was almost like a dress but it looked funny with the bright yellow ducks on it.

Looking over his glasses, Tom noticed dark bruises on the child's uncovered arm. He was waifish, way too thin for a child.

Tom could count each bone if he wanted to.

"What's wrong young sir?" he struggled to swallow. The usually carefree man had gone quiet, deathly serious.

The boy's bright green eyes welled up with tears. He looked like someone Old Tom had seen before… "It's my aunt. She- she- my uncle's dead. A-and she did it. I d-don't want to die. But, if I go back, she'll kill me. I know it."

Old Tom discarded his last thought in favor of more pressing questions. Like how the boy found his shop. "How did you get here?"

"I popped."

"You popped?" the word felt strange on his tongue, but if he were a kid he knew that was exactly how he'd describe apparition. There was no way a four year old had apparated.

The kid obviously didn't see the shock on Old Tom's face because he only nodded. "Yeah, I pop when I'm scared. Will you help me?"

"Don't worry. We'll get you some help. Don't worry," he had to repeat the first part, more for himself than the kid. That kid couldn't go back to his family, not when he had a murderous aunt on the loose. Hopefully, she wouldn't use a tracking charm to find the kid. If she did, he wouldn't be responsible for his own actions. Tom had a sudden urge to get the kid away from the prying eyes of the crowded bar. "Here, come round the counter."

When the child was safely around the counter, Old Tom took him into his kitchens. He pulled out a three legged stool for the child to sit on. Casting a warming charm on a glass of milk, he handed it to the still-quivering kid. For himself, he accio-ed a very strong glass of fire whiskey. He knocked it back before saying, "My name's Tom. What's your name, young man?"

"Freak," the boy muttered casually around the glass.

Old Tom's eyes grew hard like diamonds. "Freak? Your parents named you that."

"W-well," the little boy shrank away from the man. "At school I'm called Harry. Harry Potter. But I think they have me mixed up. Aunt Petunia never calls me that at home-"

"Harry Potter?"

The man looked at the little boy as if he'd grown two heads. He silently accio-ed the entire bottle of fire whiskey.

"The Harry Potter?"

The boy nodded uncertainly. "Like I said, the teacher might have me mixed up with another kid maybe. Who knows. Maybe my teacher doesn't like my real name?"

"Harry, I think you should come with me."

"Please, don't make me go back. I won't go back. I knew it was a bad idea to go to an adult. They always think I'm lying. I-"

Old Tom took a drag of whiskey before setting it on the table. He offered the child his hand. "You will not be going back to your aunt. We'll get you sorted. Just wait and see."

Suddenly, the boy flew back, convulsing wildly. Milk crashed to the ground, shattered pieces too close to the child's quaking form for comfort.

Old Tom barely got ahold of the boy, sending a silent bombardo at the door. It flew open, allowing everyone in the bar to hear him yell for someone to get a mediwitch.

He really was getting too old for this.

"What'd you do that for?" Tom growled as he stormed over to the prone form of the little boy by the lake.

The boy jerked upright, blinking sleep from his eyes. "What? I didn't do anything!"

Tom just scowled at him. "At least I got us into Diagon Alley before you bloody well threw me round the bend. That hurt."

"Why are you talking like that?" Harry asked, returning to his sprawled positioned. The sun had come out and the warmth felt nice against his skin.

"Talking like what?"

Harry mimicked the hissing, thinking it reminded him of a snake. "This. You keep talking like this." His tongue lingered on the s and formed the words round and round and round. He was certain he wasn't actually speaking English, but Tom must know what he meant because he wasn't speaking English either.

"Parseltongue. Of course, you speak bloody parseltongue. And why did that man recognize you? You know anyone else named Tom?"

Harry shrugged, sitting up. "Tom's a pretty common name."

The boy sneered. "So's Harry, but you don't see anyone gasping and saying Tom, the Tom Riddle!"

"What's parseltongue anyways?"

"Oi, I forget how much you don't know. Come here and I'll tell you."

And that was how their history lecture began.

"He isn't awake yet, sir."

Old Tom pushed his way into the room anyway, much to all three mediwitch's distaste. They knew he just wanted to make sure the kid was okay, but, really, he was only getting in their way.

"This isn't the same kid."

One mediwitch huffed. The chart outside the room should have told Tom it was the same kid. Sure, the small form of the boy in question looked nothing like the Harry Potter he'd seen earlier, but magic did all kinds of odd things when children were involved. "We're in the process of a diagnosis, sir," the mediwitch bit back any additional shrewd comments.

Another mediwitch, who was in the process of cleaning Harry's wounds, cleared his throat and shifted so that Old Tom was further from the bedside. "He is the same child. Trauma does all sorts of odd things with a child's magic. We'll know more soon."

Old Tom apparently didn't like their stilted assurances. "Is there anything wrong with him? Just-just make sure the poor kid's okay. Maybe he's a metamorphmagus. You'd think they'd mention that in the news, though. Those are rare."

The third mediwitch huffed. "Sir, kindly quiet down or you'll be asked to leave the room."

This particular mediwitch was positioned beside Harry and a cauldron full of clear liquid. Her wand trailed the boy's prone form, but her focus was entirely on the cauldron. None of the preliminary diagnostics looked good. He'd be hospitalized for a whole month at this rate, maybe more.

"Tom," the mediwitch finally muttered. "Please don't mention any of this to the press. The Prophet will have a field day if they find out Harry Potter is hospitalized. He's a minor without a proper guardian. At this point we'll have to hand it over to the Child Relocation Service and they don't have the personnel to protect him from those vicious sharks."

Old Tom took an oath of silence. Somehow, it still ended up in the Daily Prophet by the end of the next day.

It took less than a week after that announcement to bring Albus Dumbledore to his knees. The newly appointed Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, all too happily ripped his greatest competitor to shreds. With the bang of a gavel, Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore was stripped of his numerous titles.

Then, he was tied up in hearings for the next six months as he fought against the fraudulent charges placed against him. Willful neglect and intent to harm a minor? Really? Why would he, champion of the light, see fit to harm a child in such a unscrupulous manner?

Most of the purebloods sneered at his defense. He had to have known better, placing a wizarding child in a muggle home. Everyone knew muggles were a vicious sort- the worst really. They hated wizards.

Albus could honestly say he hadn't expected for any of this to happen. He'd had Ms. Figg watch over the boy for the past four years. She'd reported a few problems, but they were minor. Dudley, the big oaf, wasn't the nicest to Harry (most big brothers weren't the nicest to their younger siblings anyways).

Harry himself was awfully clumsy (but James had been, too, Albus remembered. He'd get at least three reports from Madam Pomphrey each week that the Potter boy had been in her office again and he really needed his own portable medical kit).

Harry preferred staying inside most of the time (probably too busy reading to enjoy the outdoors), but he was a polite boy (like Lily). A bit on the thin side maybe, but Harry was constantly eating when he was with Ms. Figg. Petunia was always going on about how Harry had a high metabolism.

Even so, the pieces were there. Little things that shouldn't have been dismissed so readily. Unfortunately, they were coming to bite him in the arse.

Honestly, how was he supposed to know? Petunia was Lily's sister. How could she let something like that happen to a little boy? Lily and Petunia didn't have the best relationship, Albus understood, but he hadn't thought…

That was just it. He hadn't thought. He'd given the muggles a second chance and they'd completely blown it. Maybe they all deserved what they got.

He didn't mean that, of course. Once, once he'd believed in blood purity. Once, he wouldn't have ever left a child with a group of muggles. That was a long time ago. He was different now. They were different. Muggles weren't all the same.

He had to believe that.

And any muggle, maybe even the Dursleys, would be better than the Malfoys or Knotts. They'd killed children; they'd surely kill little Harry. Of course, the killing was done under the imperius, if their testimonies at the Ministry were to be believed. Albus wasn't dumb enough to believe that Tom Riddle would ever tolerate puppets for followers. His ego needed willful adoration, just like Gellert's. If his own suspicions weren't enough, mere physics was. That many imperius' would have drained Tom well before his final fight against the Potters.

That logic fell on deaf ears.

Many things fell on deaf ears, including Albus' innocence in the whole affair. For once, he really was telling the truth. Of all the possible scenarios he had planned for, this hadn't been one of them.

Who would ever have thought that Albus Dumbledore could be toppled by the Savior of the Wizarding World?

And now… now Harry was in danger. Grave danger. Every Death Eater Albus had fought to keep the boy safe from was clawing at the chance to house the Savior. Unfortunately, he was so tied up in hearings, Albus was unable to protect poor Harry. He barely rescued himself by the skin of his teeth. Another failure on his part.

It would be one of many.

So, like always, Dumbledore fails us. I can't get completely on the bandwagon that Dumbledore is an evil dictator that is just as bad as Tommy boy. But I think Albus Dumbledore has a great many enemies and, given the chance, they would absolutely destroy him. Hindsight is 20/20. What has become of our wizarding savior now?