Author's Note:
This is a continuation/soft reboot of the time travel tale "Hair of the Grim" by Nightmare Sired Muse, with a bunch of changes. It also contains many concepts, lines and situations from the grab-bag that is "Odd Ideas" by Rorschach's Blot. Both are used with the permission of their original authors. The Harry Potter series belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I do not own Harry Potter or anything else.
.
Rated M for some violence, language, drug use and sexual references. Nothing explicit.
.
Canon-compliant. HP&DH compliant (except the Epilogue). HP&CC compliant (except the conclusion). FB&WTFT compliant. Pottermore compliant (mostly).
.
Recommended Fanfiction of the Week: "A Black Comedy" by nonjon.
.
Question of the Week: Did Harry really name his second son after the two people who'd inflicting more misery onto his life than anyone outside of Voldemort and the Death Eaters? (No wonder he was so angsty all the time in HP&CC, poor kid was handicapped from the very start)
.
.
.
Chapter 14 – Marauding with Marge
.
A mouse does not rely on just one hole.
– Plautus and George Herbert
.
Harry had just sat down to sample Tom's Irish stew of the day, when the doors opened and emptied two men in cheap standard-issue bureaucratic Ministry robes into the Leaky Cauldron. Seeing him, they hurried over to his table.
"Can I help you?" he asked. Automatically, his left hand dropped to seek the reassuring presence of his wand.
"Yes," one of the paper-pushers agreed, pulling out his wallet. It showed an official-looking ID. "We're with the Ministry's customs and revenues sub-section and we're looking for one Peter Pettigrew."
"May I have a closer look at that ID, please?" Harry asked politely. "His too." Harry took the cards and examined them thoroughly. "Well," he said after he was assured that they appeared genuine, "I'm Peter Pettigrew. How can I help you two gentlemen?"
"Were you perhaps named after your father?"
"No," Harry said flatly. "I've never met my father." Damn Pettigrew Sr for running out on his family all those years ago. The two officals shared a meaningful look. "You aren't hear about non-payment of taxes are you? I'll admit that I haven't looked into my finances so I can't be sure it's been dealt with. You need to speak to my tax lawyer, Marximus McKinnon."
"Nothing like that," the man hastened to assure him. "It's just that we expected you to be older."
"Why?"
"You are Peter Pettigrew, expert of predatory birds, are you not?"
"I wouldn't call myself an expert," Harry demurred modestly. "I've only ever had the one." He felt that familiar ache of loss whenever he remembered his beloved snowy owl, the first friend he'd ever had.
Prek! barked the Owl in commiseration.
"What kind of bird did you have?"
"Snowy owl. Bubo scandiacus. They used to think they were the sole member of the nyctea scandiaca until recently, but recent tests have shown that they're very closely related to a horned owl. Males are pure white, females and young have dark scalloping." He may not be Hermione, but he had been very motivated to learn anything that might help him better take care of Hedwig.
"That explains it then," said one of the men with a hint of a smile.
"They've sent you another bird," said his partner, indicating the large crate that they'd levitated in behind them. Tom and the other customers of the Leaky Cauldron were watching curiously. "We aren't sure what it is. Looks a bit like a Pallid Harrier but, well … take a look for yourself." He flicked his wand, and the heavy wooden slats removed themselves from the cage within, stacking themselves neatly in an unused corner.
Harry walked up to the cage and inspected the bird through the bars.
"Well?"
"Most of what I know is about owls," Harry said with a frown. "You're right though, it or rather she looks a lot like a Pallid Harrier or maybe a Montague's Harrier."
"How do you know it's a female?"
"Size mostly," he muttered. "I could be wrong. I definitely think it's from the genus Circus."
"So you're not sure what she is?"
"No," Harry admitted. "I might be able to identify her if I could get a picture or two to some people I know. Sorry I couldn't be more of a help but like I said, if it's not an owl then I don't know much about it."
"No problem, Mr Pettigrew," one of the men said with a grin, "we were just satisfying our curiosity. This magnificent creature was sent to you. It caused some confusion at first, until we checked the records and learned that you have all the appropriate licensing and certification to own and care for predatory birds."
"I do?" Harry asked in surprise. "I mean, of course I do. Thank you then."
"Pleasure to be of service," said the other official. "Sign here please," he withdrew a sheaf of legal papers.
"Of course," Harry agreed, accepting the quill. "Not that I'm complaining mind you, but do you guys usually make deliveries?"
"We were curious to know what she was," the man replied. "Especially after an hour of flipping through books didn't get us an answer. Besides, it'd be a crime to keep this gorgeous girl locked up at the Ministry holding warehouses until you were able to pick her up."
"True," Harry agreed. He pursed his lips as he thought of something. "There aren't any more things delivered to me sitting in that warehouse waiting for me to arrive are there? Especially living things?"
"Not that I'm aware of. If there are, Ministry'll send you or your lawyer an owl advising of it. Have a good day, Mr Pettigrew."
"You too," Harry waved as the officials departed. Harry and his new pet were immediately the centre of attention, many of the patrons cooing and reaching forward to tentatively stroke the bird through the bars. The avian fluffed her feathers and gave a few warning snaps.
"Uh Tom, if it's alright with you, I'd like to take my lunch up in my room. I think all the attention is upsetting her," Harry said to the proprietor. "Do you allow guests to keep pets with them."
"No," Tom shook his head, "but owls are an exception, people gotta have them otherwise they got no way to send mail. I suppose I could extend that a wee bit to cover owl-like birds."
"Thanks Tom," he replied gratefully, and took up the cage, carefully carrying it to his room and placing it on the table. Tom followed and left his stew on the chair to cool. "Shhh, easy girl," he tried to soothe his newest pet. "Don't worry, I won't let any of those other people touch you if you don't want them to." He smiled when the bird settled down a bit. "Why don't I let you out to stretch your wings a bit. Merlin only knows how long you've been in that cage."
Checking to make sure the doors and windows were firmly shut, Harry mumbled to himself, "Now here's the tricky part," and cautiously opened the cage door. "Let's hope she doesn't savage me too badly." He cautiously reached in. To his delight, the bird calmly hopped onto his forearm and allowed him to move her from the cage to perch on the headboard of his bed. "There we go," he said as it made itself comfortable. "It's so nice to have another bird around ever since my last one … suffered her accident," he said sadly.
Harry took a couple more seconds to admire the bird before turning away. The bird watched intently as he took his shirt off, and nearly fell off its perch when his pants followed. Grabbing the towel, he figured he may as well get a shower in while he waited for his meal to cool. Then they could sally forth to procure some supplies for his new pet. Stepping out of the shower a few minutes later, Harry immediately bent down to check on the bird. After assuring himself that she hadn't distressed herself while he was gone, he turned away and bent over to get a clean set of clothing. A long, worm-like tongue snaked out of the corner of her beak as she eyed her newest toy. She'd originally planned to identify herself as soon as she arrived, but this … this was much better.
Harry packed his things and finished his now-cool stew. He checked the cage for shipping labels or feeding instructions. After a few minutes of searching, he finally found the shipping manifest, which was stuck upside down on the inside of the cage for some reason. "Hmmm looks like French," he turned to the bird, "Did Apolline send you, my lovely?" This prompted an enthusiastic nod. "I'll have to remember to thank her then."
"Cree!" she trilled eagerly.
"Well then, shall we be off, my dear?" he asked grandly, proffering his elbow as if he were inviting a lady to take a promenade. With a cheery chirp, she spread her wings and fluttered onto his shoulder. "Such a clever girl," he complimented. The duo strolled out into Diagon Alley and made their way to the pet store. It almost felt like wandering the Alley with Hedwig perched atop him once more. After purchasing a range of birdseed and a water dispenser for the cage, he arranged for the supplies to be delivered to his room at the Cauldron.
"All this talk of deliveries has reminded me that I need to pay a visit to a certain wandmaker in Knockturn," he told his new pet conspiratorially. "You want to come along?"
"Cree!"
"Then we shall be off!" It didn't take long to retrace his original route through Knockturn now that it was broad daylight. "Hello, Mr Whizzpopper."
"Mr Black! So you be back."
"I am indeed, came to check on how my order is coming along."
"It be comin'," the old man said, with a touch of surliness. He turned to squint at Harry's avian companion. "Ye aware that yer bird is a girl?"
"I thought so," he grinned, "based on the size and plumage. You wouldn't happen to know what species she is would you?"
"No, I mean she be really a girl; she be no bird!"
"What?!" Harry made a frantic grab for his wand as the disgruntled bird lifted off him to alight on the back of a nearby chair. Snidely also seized his wand and brought it to bear. Whereupon she promptly transformed into a very familiar-looking girl.
"Zut! Attende, eet eez me, my Pierre!" she cried out, hands raised in surrender. "I weel do you no 'arm!"
"Apolline!" Harry shouted in relief and confusion, wand-arm relaxing. "Hang on – you can speak English?" he demanded.
"But of course I can speak Eenglish!" she sniffed dismissively, lowering her hands. "You think I would be admitted to ze Hogwarts' zird year classes if I could not?"
"But … wait … you … why did you never speak it before? Why did you make everyone think you only spoke French?" Harry felt like kicking himself for being such a monumental idiot. Why hadn't he thought of that right from the get-go?
She shrugged. "I avoid using your barbarous tongue as much as eez possible. And with zat grouchy redhead around you all of ze time, zere was no need to."
"I don't speak French," he grumbled, sheathing his wand.
"And by me only using it around you, encourages you to learn it faster," she said, with the air of someone who knows they've won the argument.
Harry sighed. At least he wasn't alone in his foolishness, the brilliant genius Lily Evans was in the same boat as he in this débâcle. Ship of fools more like. "Alright, you win," he conceded, "Now what the bloody hell are you doing here?"
"I came to see mon chévalier of course," she insisted.
"By tricking me?"
"Eet was no trick! I was planning to reveal myself," she lied, "but zen you decided on an outing. Eet eez not safe for Veela to be wandering ze streets of London in zese troubled times!"
"I suppose that's fair enough," Harry admitted grudgingly. "But you could have just approached me at school if you wanted to hang out, instead of tracking me down in Diagon. I assume my sudden status as a bird expert and carer is your doing?"
"But of course! Zese stupid Eenglish bureaucrats are easy to run ze circles around. And you say I could come be with you at any time – I say, non! No, I could not! You 'ave been ignoring me for ze past month," she declared petulantly. "Always swanning around with zat foul-tempered redhead and zat spacey scientist with 'er Igor. Always running and lifting 'eavy zings with your little club. Never any time for poor Apolline," with tears in her eyes. "You become my 'ero and zen throw me away as soon as another pretty face comes along," she sobbed.
"That's not it!" Harry said, gesticulating desperately. "Not at all! I do want to spend time with you, and I've missed being with you as well –"
"Excellent!" Apolline cheered, her tears disappearing instantly.
Whizzpopper rolled his eyes in disgust.
"In fact, why don't you come join the HA as a full member once term starts again," Harry offered. She offered him a dazzling smile. He couldn't resist grinning back.
"This bird a friend of yours then?" the old man demanded, still not sheathing his own wand.
"I am Pierre's betrothed," she stated condescendingly. "We shall not be parted."
"'S that so?"
"Yes … well, it's a long story, you see. It began – wait a tic, why do I need to explain myself to you?" Harry turned back to the little Veela. "How are you able to turn into a bird? I thought you could only sprout wings and claws and suchlike, not transform completely into an owl-like creature. Are you an animagus?"
She shot him a pitying look. "Do you know nothing about Veela, Pierre?"
"That would be a no," Harry admitted.
"Veela 'ave more zan one form once we 'ave matured. I 'ave two at ze moment, and 'opefully one day I weel achieve a zird. But we can speak of such zings in private," she added, glaring at the seedy old man who was taking far too much of an interest in their private conversation. "For now, let us extract what zis gutter-dweller owes you and be off."
Snidely's brows drew together, but before he could retort, Harry cut in.
"Well, perhaps that was phrased badly, but she does have a point, Mr Whizzpopper. I believe you have some wands for me?"
"Bravo, Pierre," his companion encouraged him. "Très masculine; you show zat peeg who eez ze Lord and who eez ze dogsbody."
The old man reluctantly put his wand away and reached under the counter, withdrawing a mahogany box. "Aye. 15 of yer wands be here. Still haven't found any longma parts or Veela hair for the last 10 cores though. I be warning ye that they be rare."
Harry froze. His rat-senses could feel a buildup of negative energy right behind him, the air beginning to crackle around him. His rat-instincts demanded he cower and flee the building immediately! Whirling around, he turned to see a very agitated Veela staring daggers at him. Her hair frizzed out with static elelctricity, sparks literally flashing from her eyes, crackling balls of blue-white fire forming in her palms. Harry opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but his throat was suddenly dry and closed off. His choked attempt at a response was drowned out by the whoosh of magic. Snidely seized his wand once more.
"Are you saying to me, my dear Pierre," she hissed, in a soft, slow and deadly tone, "zat you were going to obtain new wands … filled with ze 'air of some Veela hussy … instead of asking me for mine?!"
"Uh, well you see, um, I put this order through long before we met so …" Harry discreetly took a step, or seven, backwards.
"Inexcusable! Once we were betrothed, you should 'ave sent zis slime immediately my 'airs to include in your collection!"
"Sorry! I didn't think of it!"
"No," she agreed. "You did not zink. Zat much eez obvious." The fire in her fists disappeared and the level of energy charging the room began to dissipate. Whizzpopper and Harry sighed unconsciously in relief. Whirling to face the old man, Apolline stated in no uncertain terms, "You weel take my 'airs for ze cores of zese wands zat are lacking."
"All 10?" asked the man.
"Oui, all 10."
"But, that be to say …"
"Zat is zat," Apolline said firmly. Reaching up, she deliberately plucked 10 silver-blonde hairs from her head and levitated them onto the counter in front of the wandmaker. "No other Veela shall ever get zeir claws into you," she stated to the Harry. "Zose beeches weel 'ave not even an inch of you; not even in ze core of your wands, nor ze fibre of your robes! Are we clear?"
"Understood," he agreed weakly. "Won't happen again …"
With a firm nod, she transformed back into a bird and flew out of the door and into the Alley.
The was a moment of silence.
"Right. Well, I'll just be takin' these hairs an' finishin' up yer order then," said Snidely faintly. "Should take a week or two to complete. Have a nice day, Mr Black."
Harry absently grabbed the mahogany box filled with his wands then hurried out of the store, hoping there was some way to find and mollify one very angry Veela that he was somehow kind-sorta engaged to.
.
.
˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~
.
.
Harry and Apolline were taking a stately promenade down the main thoroughfare of Diagon, enjoying the sights and sounds and life of the Alley and its denizens. It had taken a day and a half for Apolline to finally calm down from her temper-tantrum; in the end, Whizzpopper's delivery of the first of his new Veela-hair wands had been the final mollification. Harry had made it a point to make sure he only ever used that particular wand whenever she was around, as it seemed to please her greatly. Harry kept raising with her whether her parents knew where she was, and wouldn't she like to be with her family for Christmas, but the wily girl had a dozen different methods of deflecting the topic and steering them onto other subjects.
Harry had finished his physical and magical training for the day, and was enjoying the two-hour break he had until his next session with Mandy. Apolline had insisted on coming along to everything he was doing, although she mostly sat in the background and observed intently, without interference. They were just deciding which restaurant to try out, when they were hailed by an unexpected passerby.
"Heyo!" chirped Lily Luna, making a beeline for them, dressed as usual in her Hogwarts' Gryffindor uniform. "What's happening? Hey, you're Apolline Delacour!"
"But of course I am," Apolline purred, inordinately pleased at being recognised, and with such obvious admiration too. "Pleased to meet you Miss …"
"Lily Luna," the girl grinned. "I'm a … distant relative of Peter and Lily's."
"Eez zat so?"
"So where are the rest of your merry men?" the redhead looked around.
"You want the list? Pandora's gone with Odd and his parents on a trip to the States. Apparently she's lived with his family ever since her parents … passed away. Those two are practically siblings, joined at the hip since they were six.
Is that why they didn't bite when you tried to matchmake them, I wonder? mused the Otter. Makes one wonder why they did end up getting married, at least in some other timelines? Maybe because they were the only ones they'd ever met who actually understood the other?
More like they were the only ones inhabiting whatever planet they're living on! interjected the Grim.
"So the whole family's gone there on some sort of safari," Harry concluded.
"I don't think there are any lions or tigers or elephants in America," Lily Luna said dubiously.
"Just as well they're on safari for chupacabras then. Lily's spending time with her family in Surrey, the McKinnons, Frank and Mary are also having family time wherever they live. Dolores, er your Aunt Hermione, is at work all the time at the Ministry, and Gilderoy, your Uncle Ron, has gone with his 'parents' on a trip to Tibet to visit Shambhala. Seems Mr Lockhart inherited his love of adventuring from them. The other Marauders are all spending the vacation at Potter Manor with Fleamont, Euphemia, Charlus, Dorea and the Tonkses."
"Why aren't you with them?"
Harry grimaced. "That probably wouldn't be for the best. Things are … strained between James and I, to say the least. I think I'm okay with the other two, Sirius at least is treating me the same as usual, but it would probably put a crimp on their Christmas having me underfoot. I'd be a constant reminder to James about Lily."
She winced. "Yeah, I can imagine that'd be pretty awkward."
"So what brings you here today?"
"No reason really – I'm still trying to get the hang of the calibrations. So far, we've been bouncing around all over the place; we still hit the correct year, but we keep arriving out of order from your point of view, as you've probably noticed."
"I may have," he replied blandly.
Apolline quirked an eyebrow. "Calibrations for what?"
"Nothing," Harry said hastily, "just a Science project she's working on with Pandora. Right, Elle?"
But Lily Luna had stopped paying attention. Her eyes had fixed onto the other side of the road, at the entrance of Knockturn Alley. Where a very familiar-looking redhead had just darted into. "Déjà vu," she murmured to herself.
Harry had followed the direction of her gaze and seen her doppelgänger as well. A flash of memory came to him. 'My first visit to this time ... He came right out of the blue, saved me from a couple of glibters in Knockturn Alley … then told me about the time travel and ending up in the wrong body and everything …'
"Borgin & Burkes?" he asked.
"Yes, go!" ordered Lily Luna. "I'll keep Apolline company."
He gave a brief nod, and an apologetic glance at the Frenchwoman, before racing off into Knockturn Alley in hot pursuit.
"Explain," demanded the Veela, hands on hips.
"Sure," she grinned. "Peter may be diffident about telling you, but I already know that you and he will spend a long, long, loooong time together, so there's no point hiding it from you!"
"'Iding what? And 'ow do you know what weel come to pass between us in ze future?"
"Because I'm from there," Lily Luna stated matter-of-factly.
"I … see … is zat why you are wearing ze school uniform during ze 'olidays?" was all that Apolline could manage in her shocked state.
The other girl nodded. "That's right. I never know exactly which location or at what point in time I'm going to end up, so I need to be able to blend in wherever. Luckily for me, Hogwarts hasn't updated its dress code since the 18th century, so I can just use my real school uniform and nobody can tell the difference!" Grabbing Apolline's arm, she steered the stunned girl into Florean's. "Come on, we can share an icecream and I'll tell you all about it while Peter's sorting out those reprobates who are stupidly trying to menace my Past-Self." She shook her head. "I wonder how many months in St Mungos they ended up staying?"
.
.
˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~
.
.
"Everything okay?" Lily Luna asked as a somewhat battered and bruised Harry joined them at their table.
"Copacetic," Harry said cheerfully. "She's on her way, and knows how to find me at Hogwarts in future."
"Bon," Apolline stated in satisfaction. "I always knew you were a noble chévalier, but I 'ad no idea you spent so much time rescuing ze damsels in distress."
Harry shrugged. "It keeps seeming to happen to me, for some reason." He nabbed the cherry from the top of their sundae. "Aha! Looks like I get the cherry this time!" He ate it with excessive pleasure.
"I am glad you are enjoying it, I foresee you will be 'aving a lot of cherries in ze future," Apolline said slyly.
"What do you mean?" asked Harry, completely oblivious.
"You weel find out, I am sure," she smirked.
"Okaaaay … what are you writing?"
Lily Luna was busily jotting down notes onto a long scroll. She pulled out her wand and cast the Tempus spell, then jotted down the time and date. "It's important you keep impeccable records of all your jaunts, or else you'll collapse into a whirlpool of confusion. That's what happened to Al and Scorpius."
"Fair enough. Let's see: aside from your visit to Diagon today – both times – we met up to take care of the Lestranges in the greenhouse, and met in Pandora's lab for our first pow-wow … oh, and there was one other time. I think you winked at me as we walked down a corridor after the Welcoming Feast."
"I did? What else happened?"
"Uh, that was it; we both kept going our own ways."
"I very much doubt I went to all the trouble to go to a different timeline just to walk down Hogwarts corridors and flirt with you!" she said crossly. "I'll mark it down as a 'TBA'."
"You know, I've been wondering," Harry mused to the redhead who had finished her scribbling, stowed her scroll, stuck her quill behind her ear, and was now polishing off the last of the vanilla scoop, "how are you and Al and Scorpius able to keep finding me in this time period? I mean, the timeline is a big place; and so is Hogwarts and the rest of the British wizarding world. Yet you and your confederates have been pretty spot on so far."
"Because of this," she brandished his old holly and phoenix feather wand in triumph.
Harry and Apolline shared a look.
"I don't get it," he confessed.
Lily Luna lowered her voice and leaned forward. "You know how The Device has a bunch of weird cordlike things hanging from the bottom?" she whispered, not willing to risk taking it out in public to show what she meant.
"Yes." He didn't, but pretended to for the sake of getting to the point.
"We discovered they're leads for attachments. You can link other magical devices to it, and use them to direct The Device more precisely as to where and when you want it to take you. We started out using this," she reached into her pocket and pulled out a very familiar device.
"The Deluminator," Harry said, remembering the device that had led Ron back to him and Hermione after their fallout during the Great Horcrux Hunt of '98.
"Yep. Dad always kept it as a memento. It was mounted above our fireplace with his other trophies, like his old wand from the war that he swore he'd never use again."
"Let me guess – you nicked them."
"Got it in one," she nodded shamelessly. "The Deluminator still had Dad's blood in it, so we figured if we attached it to the Device, and then set it to go back to the first time you arrived in Hogwarts, we couldn't go wrong."
"So what happened?"
"It went wrong," she replied laconically. "Instead of taking us to the 1990's it took us to the 1970's."
"Because I'd hurled myself back in time, so my first arrival at Hogwarts was at a point 20 years earlier than when I would've arrived in my ordinary first year, in 1991," Harry realised.
"A minor technicality," she waved it away dismissively. "A tiny blip in the vastness of time and space, something so insignificant and perfectly understandable that it's not worth mentioning ever again."
"If you say so."
She nodded. "I do. As I was saying, the turner kept going all wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey and we couldn't seem to end up arriving in linear sequence, from your point of view."
"Another minor technicality or tiny blip?" he asked dryly.
"Hush, you. I've thought about it a lot, and the only thing I can think of is it's because you're in a different body. Your blood is different – not completely different for some reason, but different enough to the Deluminator's that it keeps throwing off our accuracy. So we then tried it with Dad's old wand, and that worked a lot better." She scrutinised him with narrow eyes. "Your magic's a lot closer to the original than your blood is, it seems."
"Well, we can feex zat!" declared Apolline, taking the Deluminator from the tabletop. "Give me your 'and, Pierre," she commanded.
"Uh, why?" he asked suspiciously.
She did not deign to reply, merely held out her wand and gave him an imperious glare. Finally he reached out, grumbling to himself about being a science experiment for every woman he met. With a quick swish of her wand, and a startled yelp from Harry, the device gave a brief flash and whirr, and then settled into silence once more.
"What did you do?" whined Harry, nursing his stinging hand tenderly.
"I extracted some of your blood and used a switching spell to replace it with ze blood from inside zis device, which I zen banished," Apolline explained smugly. She handed the Deluminator back to Lily Luna. "Zere you go: I zink you weel find zat your device eez now far more accurate and reliable in finding our Pierre back."
"Thanks Apolline, that's brilliant!" cheered Lily Luna.
"Naturellement," Apolline preened.
"Why aren't we being flagged with owls for underage magic?" the boy wondered, looking around.
"Oh Pierre," his would-be bride gave him a pitying look. "You do not zink zat you are ze only student who 'as obtained a wand without ze Trace, non?"
"Well, I mean …"
"Boys," sighed Lily Luna, fondling her untraceable holly and phoenix feather wand lovingly. "What can you do with them?"
Apolline nodded sagely.
"I hate you both," Harry grumbled in annoyance. Then, changing the subject, "You know, I still don't know why you three bothered coming to the past to find me in the first place," Harry mused. "You said something about there being a giant fight in the DoM between my counterpart and his Aurors, and all the dark families, right? And that it somehow revived or resurrected Voldemort? You're going to have to explain that, because it makes no sense to me. I'm pretty sure I killed him. I'm certain I killed him! Or, more accurately, I'm certain he hit himself with his own Killing Curse that refracted from our priori incantatem."
"Zat would seem to do ze trick; I 'ave not 'eard of any living zing zat 'as survived contact with zat curse. Especially when cast by a Dark Lord."
"Normally that would be right," Lily Luna sighed, subtly casting a privacy charm around their table, "but Harry – Peter, and Voldemort are special cases. The very short cliffs notes version is, his mother inscribed herself and him with some unknown rune magic that was embedded into their bloodline, like what Slytherin did with his Parselmouth magical affinity. The Unspeakables are still trying to figure it out, from what Aunt Hermione told me. Lily Evans gave her life to save her son's when the Dark Lord came knocking, the sacrifice powered some sort of powerful countercharm to the AK, and it blew Voldie away. But Voldie unwittingly embedded a bit of his own soul in Peter's head, which anchored his soul to this world and prevented him from dying. Later on, he used Peter's blood in a necromantic ritual to regain his body. So the two of them then shared the bloodline and a soul connection. The Dark Lord hit my father with another AK a while afterwards, which inadvertently killed his own shard of soul. But because Voldie still had the bloodline in him, he inadvertently acted as an anchor for Dad, so Dad didn't die either."
Apolline looked appalled. "Such dark magics," she whispered.
"But then he got hit with his own AK!" Harry protested. "And he didn't have any more soul shards or other you-know-whats to anchor him to this world. Ergo he died."
But Lily Luna shook her head. "No, Peter, he did have another anchor." She gave him a significant look.
Suddenly it hit him, and he paled. "No."
"Yes," she insisted. "You got hit with an AK, and while it did destroy his soul anchor, you certainly didn't have any soul anchors to keep you clamped to the earth. By all rights, you should have died, it doesn't matter whether you were a soul anchor or not. Another bit of soul in a living thing can't just 'take one for the team' and die so that the primary soul can live. Just like when Neville cut off Nagini's head: Voldemort's soul anchor within her didn't prevent her from dying. The death of the living soul container automatically leads to the death of the soul fragment, a two-for-one sort of thing. Again, just like Nagini: she and the fragment both died at the same time. There's no vengeful shade of that snake floating around trying to regain its body. So why didn't you die, or Dad?"
"Ze blood; ze blood anchored zem to each other," said Apolline sickly.
"'Neither shall live while the other survives' the Prophecy said … conversely, neither shall die when the other dies. Your primary souls and magical cores anchored each other to this world, by means of the blood and enchantments Lily Evans embedded into it. As long as you share the same blood, the two of you could hurl AKs (or any other death magic) at each other all day long, and all it would do is knock you down for a few minutes. Frankly, you'd do more damage to each other with muggle fisticuffs. And if one of you got your head chopped off, or drowned, or fell into a sawmill or whatever, the other one would anchor you, turning you into a restless shade that could potentially regain a body once more. The only way to end the cycle would be for both to die simultaneously. And since that didn't happen …"
"Voldemort was still alive after the Battle of Hogwarts," Harry whispered in horror.
Lily Luna nodded morosely.
"But, but he was dead! Didn't move, didn't get back up!"
"And then what happened?"
Harry's face scrunched, trying to remember what was going on with the body in those confused hours after the Battle. "The Ministry dragged his corpse off. To make sure he was truly gone, they said."
"That's right. Or to put it in another, more accurate way, the Unspeakables got their claws into him. To vivisect and rebuild and do whatever else it is that lot do to further their research. According to Aunt Hermione, Voldemort's soul was in such a fragile state from him breaking it into so many pieces, pieces that were now destroyed, that it took him a good dozen years to gradually and painstakingly pull the remaining fragments of himself back together, so to speak. He was Humpty Dumpty though; he'd never be what he once was, but eventually he was able to stabilise his soul as much as it could be. Reintegrate it with his body, so he could feel and move around and so forth. At some point, about the time Al and I were in our early years at Hogwarts, he was a conscious being again."
"Sweet Merlin's snorkacks," Harry breathed.
"Yep, and when he woke up, he found himself in a storeroom in the DoM – only the biggest treasure-vault of rare, obscure and powerful magical artefacts and research! What a birthday present! He was still trapped in there by the wards, the Unspeakables weren't stupid enough to allow him to leave, consciously or unconsciously, so he was stuck in that same body and couldn't abandon it and float away back to Albania or wherever. Nor could he physically break out. But he was able to read, find a workable wand and other magical equipment, and otherwise bide his time. Then, when Delphini and her dark buddies were tearing the place apart, the firefight with the Aurors was so devastating to the building …"
"… zat zey broke ze wards," Apolline finished. "Freeing 'im to go on a rampage."
"And then he ran into Dad again, and they fought once more."
"So what happened?" Harry was on the edge of his seat.
"Did you or your 'Future-Harry' counterpart or whatever ever go into the DoM in your fifth year to get a prophecy, and end up fighting off the Death Eaters?"
He nodded.
"Did you disturb a room full of time turners?"
"Yeah, someone blew it up, if I remember rightly. Everything in the room got caught up in some time vortex, an endless cycle of smashing and repairing."
"Yes, it created an endless loop, repeating a short series of events over and over again," Lily Luna confirmed. "The Unspeakables had to seal off the entire room and hallway to prevent anything else getting sucked into it, in our world's past, at least."
Harry said, "I think something similar was done in mine, but I can't remember."
"So what does zis 'ave to do with anything?"
"While fighting along the length and breadth of the DoM, my Dad," and here her voice hitched, "and Voldemort didn't notice where they were heading. They both blew past the barriers, the fight spilled into the Time Room, and well …
"Non! Zey were sucked into zis time vortex?" Apolline demanded in alarm.
Lily Luna looked down at the floor miserably.
"And zey were both caught in a cycle of fighting each other over and over again endlessly," the Veela finished.
"How long for?" Harry asked, appalled.
"Well, the Unspeakables have been working like mad on getting you out, but you know, better to act without haste than repent at leisure and all that…"
"How long?"
"Well, you two have been in there for about two years now."
"Wait, you mean they still haven't dug me out of there?"
"They're not even sure if that's possible without causing the whole timestream to collapse – or at least collapse the Ministry building and half of London," she replied defensively.
Harry sighed. "Stuck forever fighting Voldemort over and over again, neither one ever achieving victory or closure. Eternal stalemate. If that isn't a metaphor for my whole existence, nothing is."
"'Neither can live while ze other survives'? Zat's certainly one way to achieve zat Prophecy."
"Thanks, you're really helping," said Harry sarcastically.
"It's not all bad," Lily Luna tried to soothe him.
"Not all bad?! Name me one benefit," he snapped.
"You've stopped Voldemort from rampaging through the wizarding world yet again; think about all the people whose lives that's spared. Plus, there's the educational value."
He stared blankly.
Lily Luna nodded. "You've not only provided the Unspeakables with loads of data about time paradoxes, according to Aunt Hermione, but also for the Hogwarts students.
"Hogwarts students?" he asked in a daze.
"Yes, Hogwarts started bringing in groups of students to observe the battle. It became a standard excursion for History of Magic for all years: they can see, in the flesh before their own eyes, the two main protagonists of the second blood war duke it out. It really makes history come alive! My own paper was on your use of Expelliarmus as a means of deflecting Unforgiveables," she added shyly.
"Wait a minute, if my Future-Self's been caught in an unbreakable time loop for two years, how on earth do you have four siblings who are infants? Did Ginny remarry or something?"
The girl looked distinctly uncomfortable, "Well, I don't know all the details, but Mum used a medical spell on you years ago, right before you, Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione went on that Horcrux Hunt. It, uh, extracted a 'sample' from you which was put under a stasis charm and preserved. You know, in case you never came back, then at least there'd be a chance for a part of you to live on ..." She squirmed in discomfort. "Apparently there are some medical spells that are used to, relocate the sample into a womb; it's a variation of the charms mediwitches use to transport potions directly into unconscious or comatose patients' stomachs."
"She used magical artificial insemination to have quadruplets while I – he, was stuck in a time loop?!" This was getting more and more bizarre by the second.
"You have to understand," Lily Luna defended, "that Mum was, well, a bit of wreck after what happened to you ... After months passed and the Unspeakables continued to be stumped, she kinda became obsessed with continuing the Potter line. Decided seven was the most auspicious number of Potters for the next generation; seeing as how she was from a crop of seven herself or something … I don't really know, I can't understand adults! Half the time what they do makes not a lick of sense!" she huffed a loose strand of crimson out of her eyes.
The group sat in silence to ponder the day's revelations.
"At least," Harry offered at last, "we don't have to worry about the blood anchors in this dimension. We don't share the same blood at all – and it's darn well going to stay that way!"
"I don't think you have anything to worry about on that account. Unless Mrs Pettigrew willingly died to shield you after performing some illegal and unknown blood magic."
"I doubt it – she's a charwoman in America, and none too fond of Peter, from what I can gather. "I'm here at Hogwarts on a bursary."
"On the other hand, it also means that if Voldemort or one of his Gourmands of the Grave hits you with a deadly curse or drops a cement-mixer on you, you'd be dead as a dormouse – eh, sorry."
"That's fine," he waved it off. "So then let me guess, Al and Scorpius' little jaunts into the past with The Device gave you three the idea to use it to get your dad out of his time prison."
She nodded. "Yes, I figured that if it's what got us all into this mess, it could darn well get us out of it too."
"So why come all the way back to the first time I arrived at Hogwarts? Surely it would've been better to just go back to before Delphini was sprung from her holding cell?"
Lily Luna shook her head firmly. "No no no, that's exactly the sort of brute-force approach that Al and Scorpius were so fond of using; and look what sort of catastrophes that caused! No, I've come to the conclusion that, when trying to change the past, you need a light touch. Start from the beginning, help Dad's Past-Self right from the get-go to prevent all the disasters that came, bit by bit. Change by minute change. Then, hopefully, the cumulative effect of all those little differences would be: no dead Cedric, no resurrection of Voldie, no using his-your blood, no Death Eaters running free, no war, no muggle concentration camps, the works!"
"That's … extremely ambitious," Harry managed.
"I know," she preened, "Al and Scorpius are so myopic about the scope of potential benefits achievable from time travel done properly. That's why they came to me in the end! The Sorting Hat said I'd be great in Slytherin and wanted to put me there. But after living through all of Al's angsting after he ended up in the House of Snakes, I made it put me in Gryffindor with James. Who needs that sort of hassle?"
Harry turned it all over and over in his mind. "Very well; I will aid you in your quest," he said grandly.
"You will?"
"Yes. I would help anyway – I promised myself I'd do whatever it took to end the Death Eater menace – but you three did try to give Cedric back his life, the least I can do to repay you is help you with this. Could you make sure to thank Al and Scorpius for me next time you see them? Even if they didn't succeed, at least they gave it their best shot. In my book, that counts for a lot."
She smiled. "l'll tell them; even though you're not Dad, I think they'll appreciate it."
"I need to speak to Hermione about all this. Come on, we've sat here and moped long enough! Let's go visit Aunt Hermione at her office; she's been working too hard lately, and it's about time she met the two of you."
.
.
˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~
.
.
Lord Jean-Sébastien de la Roche-Jagu stormed into the Leaky Cauldron, a baker's dozen of burly French Aurors backing him up, ready to give this Peter Pettigrew scum a piece of his mind for his abysmal treatment of his innocent and pure only child. Imagine treating a Delacour in such a fashion? International kidnapping for the purposes of enslavement as a schoolboy's pet? The very thought was enough to send him into a blind rage!
The look of hope in the boy in question's eyes when he saw the murderous cohort, and the way he immediately made a beeline towards them across the room, gave him pause. The agitated way he bit his lower lip and wrung his hand convinced the French Lord to hear him out before dragging him to the Bastille. For a few seconds, at least.
"You must be Lord Delacour, I'm Peter Pettigrew. I'm so glad you're here!"
"Eez zere something you would like to speak to me about?" Jean-Sébastien growled, ill-concealed menace in his voice.
"It's Apolline," Harry agreed.
"What is wrong with Apolline?!" the man demanded. The Aurors bristled and readied their wands.
"Nothing," Harry said quickly, "but she's decided to stay with me over the Christmas Break as my pet."
"Yes," Jean-Sébastien hissed coldly, "I 'ave 'eard about zat."
"So she moved into my room here at the Leaky Cauldron and is insisting we share a bed and that I take her to my gym training, and ghostbusting and Occlumency and anatomy classes and everything! I tried to tell her that her family probably wants her to spend the holidays with them in France, but she just pouted and asked when I'd decided I didn't want her anymore." The words came out in a rushed tumble.
"And of course you broke immediately and apologised, did you not?" Jean-Sébastien couldn't help himself, and started chuckling. His Aurors looked back and forth between their boss and this English kid, getting more confused by the moment. "Apolline learned zat trick when she was four years old. I believe 'er Maman taught it to 'er; and it has been one of ze banes of my existence ever since."
"Perfectly understandable, sir," the boy said earnestly.
"Take me to my daughter, Mr Pettigrew."
"One more question, if I may?"
"Yes?"
"Is there really such thing as a Veela mating bond?"
The man sighed. "We shall discuss zese things later, Mr Pettigrew. Now let us go to my daughter."
Harry acquiesced and led the contingent up the stairs and to his board. It was a bit of a squeeze trying to fit all 16 of them into the one-person bedroom, but eventually they managed. Jean-Sébastien dragged his protesting daughter into the bathroom and slammed the door. What followed was a long, and increasingly loud argument in French. The Aurors pretended they couldn't hear what was being said, and Harry had no idea what was being said. He made do with reading through another one of Dirk's necromancy tomes. A number of the Frenchmen eyed the books queasily, but said nothing. Eventually, after parent and child had managed to scream themselves hoarse, the door opened and a perfectly composed pair exited, not a hair or eyelash out of place, to face the assembled mass.
"I do believe we 'ave reached an understanding," Jean-Sébastien said calmly.
Apolline nodded serenely. "I weel go back to France for ze 'olidays, and Pierre weel accompany me."
"Wha … I mean, I'm very flattered, but I have a lot of things I need to do in London for the next couple of weeks. Errands, House business, training, that sort of thing …" Harry said nervously. Apolline frowned.
"I understand you must be a very busy man, with all your responsibilities," Jean-Sébastien interjected before another argument could break out. "I will arrange for you to 'ave a portkey zat will bring you to our 'ome; once you 'ave finished your business, per'aps you will visit us?"
"Sure, that sounds fine," Harry replied cautiously.
"Very good; Jean-Baptiste, fetch us some portkeys!" Father and daughter casually strolled out of the room hand in hand.
.
.
˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~
.
.
Now that he had regained his blissful solitude once more, Harry lay back on his bed in the Leaky Cauldron and pondered.
Seeing Apolline and Lily Luna like that makes me wonder if there are any other loose ends that I've forgotten about?
Nothing I can think of offhand, the Otter thought.
Prek! suggested the Owl.
You're right! Harry realised. I never got around to 'thanking' the Dursleys for all their 'hard work' and 'sacrifice' in raising me; not to mention ensuring that they can never inflict themselves on any other living thing again! You're a genius!
Prek! barked the Owl modestly.
He thought about it for a bit. In this time, Petunia would be in her early 20's, Vernon would be in his late 20's, and Marge would be in her late 30's.
Let's do this progressively, the Otter said. Start from least to greatest of our foes, Margie to Petunia to Vernon; that way we can learn from any mistakes.
And gain inspiration from whatever makes them suffer the most! added the Grim.
As far as he remembered, in the mid-1970's Marge would still be married to some rich toff whose great wealth she got her claws into in the divorce settlement. After which she spent all her time mooning over that neighbour of hers who looked after her dogs when she was out of town and then taking her frustrations out on Harry because the old coot was smart enough not to be interested.
Colonel Fubster (ret.), you are clearly a half-way sensitive and intelligent human being, to not touch that bitter crone with an 11 ½ foot barge pole, sir, the Grim saluted him.
Alright, I've got a few days with a bunch of free time set aside. It's time to commence Project Revenge-On-This-Version-Of-The-Dursleys-Even-Though-They-Haven't-Done-Anything-To-Me-But-I'm-Still-Going-To-Make-Sure-That-They-Can't-Screw-Over-Any-Other-Child's-Life!
With that, he strode confidently out to Diagon Alley's apparition point and vanished.
He ended up having to pay a visit to the muggle telephone booth outside of the Leaky Cauldron to thumb through the heavy phonebook. It took him a while to remember where she lived; at first he could only remember that it was somewhere in the countryside. Some place large enough for her to breed those 12 bulldogs. Eventually inspiration struck and he remember the name of her husband-that-was: Arlington Spencer. Spencer, just like Princess Di's family. Nooow it's all coming back to me.
Ah! There it was in the listings! Arlington Charles Spencer and Marjorie Eileen Spencer (née Dursley), Lower Bitchfield, Lincolnshire. How appropriate.
"Kreacher!" The surly elf appeared. "Tell me Kreacher, how would you feel about joining me on my little outing today?"
"Kreacher has better things to do with his time, like polishing heads of ancestors on Black family wall, than slumming with mudbloods with his filthy blood-traitor master," the gnarled elf growled sourly.
"Is that so?" Harry blinked innocently. "I was going to destroy a few muggles' lives, but if you'd rather polish heads, then –"
"Master is going to destroy muggles?" Kreacher cocked his head and bugged out his eyes in astonishment. Then narrowed them suspiciously. "This is trick, dirty trick by dirty rat to get Kreacher's hopes up."
"Cross my heart. Some muggles treated me badly, and so now I'm going to wreak horrific vengeance onto them as recompense," Harry said matter-of-factly.
Kreacher started bouncing up and down on the spot (so much as his decrepit bones would allow him) in a way that Harry had only ever seen done by Dobby. "Oh master, Kreacher will come! Kreacher will help filthy master!"
"I don't know," he said dubiously. "You did call me a filthy master, and a dirty rat, and a blood-traitor. Mabye you don't deserve a reward like this …"
"Kreacher will be good! Kreacher will be good, he promises! Good house elf will follow all of master's orders and not insult good master!"
"Alright, Kreacher, I'll give you a chance. Don't make me regret it, or you shan't be coming along on any other journeys of delicious revenge …"
"Thankyou kind master! Master Black is sooo deliciously evil! Kreacher misjudged good master!"
"Then let us be on our path: is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's Lord Black and Kreacher! Up, up and away!"
And with that, the two occupants of the telephone booth disappeared, onward to adventure.
.
.
˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~
.
.
"What are you doing out all alone at this time of night?"
Harry jumped at the voice behind him. "Nothing, Officer," he said innocently.
"You're right in the middle of nowhere." The Officer surveyed the landscape. Nothing but fields surrounded the lonely road in all directions. The only signs of life were himself, his squad car and this thin, frail urchin walking down the side of the road. And a couple of crows. "What's your name?"
"I don't think I should say," Harry bit his lower lip.
"Why aren't you at home?" The policeman questioned. "You can't be more than five or six years old."
"I've just been thrown out. Mrs Spencer said that I was lucky that she took in a worthless brat like me in the first place and that the law wouldn't do anything to help me."
"She did, did she?" The policeman frowned. "Where is this Mrs Spencer?"
"I don't want to be any trouble," Harry hid his smirk. "I'll just go live in one of these fields, Mrs Spencer said that houses are too good to be sullied by my presence."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, Officer. That's why she has me living in one of the outdoor kennels. Until I got kicked out, that is."
"Why don't you come with me," the policeman fought hard to keep all signs of rage off his face, "and I'll get you some food."
"I already ate two days ago, sir," Harry replied politely. "So it would be a waste to feed me until tomorrow."
"Let me worry about that," the Officer replied kindly. "You just worry about getting enough to eat."
The Officer lifted Harry up and placed him in the passenger seat of his squad car. "You and I are going to take a ride to the station."
"Can we turn on the siren?" Harry's eyes lit up, it was something he had always wanted to do.
"If you want," the Officer nodded. "Now why don't you tell me about this Mrs Spencer?"
"She's really big," Harry began, "and her face turns purple when she's angry at me."
"Does she get angry at you often?" the Officer asked as he pulled away from the curb.
"Not very often," Harry shook his head. "Only a few times a day."
"I see . . . does," the Officer took a breath. "Does she ever hit you?"
"I'm not supposed to say," Harry allowed his voice to fall to a whisper. "Mrs Spencer will get angry."
"If you tell me," the Officer gave a warm smile. "I'll show you which button turns the siren on."
"Sometimes," Harry nodded slowly. "But only because she needs to beat 'it' out of me."
"Beat what out of you?" His grip on the wheel tightened.
"I don't know," Harry managed to force out a tear. "But it must be very bad."
"Hit this button here," the Officer indicated a button. "It'll turn on the lights and siren."
"Okay," Harry hit the button and was rewarded by a loud whine and flashing lights. "Are you going to hit me now?"
"Why would I hit you?" The Officer knew that he wasn't going to like the answer.
"Because Mrs Spencer says that nothing good can happen to a bad egg like me without a good beating afterwards," Harry forced himself to shiver. "She said that it'll keep me from getting my hopes up."
"Well, I'm not going to hit you for any reason." The Officer replied firmly, "I forgot to mention but my name is Officer Patrick O'Malley. Why don't you tell me your name?"
"Mrs Spencer usually calls me 'boy' or 'you'," Harry replied. "But my name is Harry."
"Well Harry," the car pulled into a parking space at the station. "We're at the Police Station, why don't we go in and I'll give you that food I promised you."
"Okay," Harry nodded.
Officer O'Malley took Harry into the station house and set him at a desk with a box of doughnuts and a large cup of tea.
"I have to go talk to some people so I won't be here for a little while," the Officer made sure to give a wide grin. "But I'll be back, and when I come back I want to see that you've eaten as many of these doughnuts as you can. Okay, Harry?"
"Okay, Officer O'Malley," Harry nodded.
As soon as he was alone, Harry hissed, "Kreacher!" The elf appeared. "I've got," he consulted his watch, "20 more minutes until the Polyjuice wears off. Do you have the spare vial?"
Kreacher passed Harry the spare vial of the disgusting potion, which Harry stowed away in one of his shoes.
"Where did you get the hairs from?"
"From filthy muggle child in grungy Irish flophouse," Kreacher replied proudly. Making a child bald hardly counted when it came to committing evil deeds on muggles, but it would have to do for a start. He quickly vanished as a female police officer walked into the room.
Harry looked up from the newspaper he pretended to read. "Hi."
"Do you like looking at the newspaper?" She knelt beside Harry's chair and shot him a warm grin.
"I'm sorry," Harry flinched. "I know I'm not supposed to, I'm sorry."
"No one is angry," the woman's voice was soft and soothing. "It's okay to look at the newspaper if you want to."
"Really?" Harry figured that he was overacting a bit, but why mess with what seemed to be working?
"Really," she nodded. "It's very interesting isn't it?"
"Yes," Harry nodded. "But I can't read it yet, just some of the words."
"That's very good," the woman smiled. "I'm Sergeant Samantha, I'm a friend of Officer Patrick."
"I'm Harry Potter," Harry smiled. "Pleased to meet you."
"Those clothes don't look very comfortable," the woman shook her head. "For one thing, they're too big for you."
"I don't have anything else," Harry allowed his shoulders to drop. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Sergeant Samantha patted him on the shoulder. "Would you like some new clothes?"
"Okay," Harry nodded. "But are you sure you want to waste the money?"
"It's not a waste to get you new clothes, Harry," she assured him. "In fact, I can't think of a better way to spend department funds."
"If you're sure," Harry fought the urge to laugh. "But Mrs Spencer says that I should be happy to get Dudley's old things, she says that a wastrel like me should be happy for what I get."
"I disagree." She had to force herself not to frown, child neglect cases always got to her. "I'll have some new clothes for you in just a second."
The policewoman left the room and returned a few minutes later carrying a box of clothing, "why don't you change out of those clothes and into these ones?"
"Will you wait outside?" Harry turned red. "I don't want to do it with you watching me."
"I'll be right outside if you need me," the policewoman agreed. "Just knock on the door."
"Ok," Harry gave struggled pitifully with his shirt for a few moments before conceding defeat. In retrospect, asking Kreacher to give him a few whacks with that wooden beam to add some extra realism hadn't been one of his better ideas. The elf had taken to his task with far too much gusto. Walking toward the door with a sigh, Harry knocked.
"Yes?" Sergeant Samantha knelt down and smiled.
"I can't get my shirt off," Harry admitted. "Could you help me, but only with that?
"Sure I can," the policewoman winced she saw the bruises and cuts that covered the boy's chest and back. "Harry, could you tell me how all this happened?"
"I'm not supposed to say," Harry frowned.
"That's okay," Sergeant Samantha smiled. "But I'm going to have to call my friend in to look at all this, he's a paramedic and he'll help you."
"Okay," Harry nodded.
The woman stepped outside the door for a moment and called in a Paramedic. "Harry, this is my friend Nigel. He's a paramedic, that means that he rides around in an ambulance."
"Hello, Harry," Nigel smiled.
"Hello Nigel," Harry smiled back.
The man spent several minutes checking over and bandaging Harry's injuries before he would allow Harry to resume changing. Eventually, his calm and patient approach coaxed Harry into describing how he'd received the injuries.
"Mrs Spencer says she won't have any of this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it," Harry admitted reluctantly. "Mrs Spencer says a good thrashing is what's needed in 99 cases out of 100. Especially for a good-for-nothing scrounger like me, who's only a burden on other people."
"Have you been 'thrashed' often?" Nigel asked, masking his dread.
"No, not often. Only a few times a week. Mrs Spencer says that if I can speak of beatings in such a casual way, she clearly isn't hitting me hard enough."
"Is that a fact?" he asked slowly.
Harry shrugged. "She says the use of extreme force is necessary in my case. I don't know what that means though."
"Thanks for being so patient, Harry," Nigel smiled.
"You won't tell anyone what I told you, right?" Harry asked anxiously. "Otherwise Mrs Spencer will find out."
"Promise. Now Sergeant Samantha and I will give you some privacy so that you can get back to changing."
"I do have to ask one thing before I go," Sergeant Samantha smiled. "What's your address?"
"Why?" Harry's eyes narrowed.
"So we can drop off your old clothes," Sergeant Samantha answered with a straight face.
"Oh," Harry couldn't believe that they expected him to fall for such a lame trick. "It's the Spencer residence, Lower Bitchfield, Lincolnshire. I don't know the number."
"You walked all the way here from Bitchfield?" Nigel asked incredulously. The policewoman gave him a jab with her elbow to silence him.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"No, you've done nothing wrong. Thank you, Harry," Sergeant Samantha smiled. "You've been a lot of help."
Sergeant Samantha took Nigel by the arm and the two of them stepped out into the hallway.
"Well?" She forced herself to keep her voice down to keep the boy from overhearing.
"I found signs consistent with neglect and abuse," Nigel confirmed.
"That's all I needed to hear," Sergeant Samantha gave a cold smile. "O'Malley, go talk to the Spencers of Bitchfield."
"On it," the Officer nodded. "I have a feeling that these people might resist arrest so ..."
"Be sure to bring a lot of back up," the policewoman nodded. "I think you're right about resisting arrest."
Harry asked to go to the bathroom, and as soon as he was left alone, had Kreacher bring him the note he had prepared earlier. Leaving it on the sink counter, Harry opened up one of the windows and placed a bin under it to make it look as if that was his means of egress. Then he disapparated to his next destination.
Sergeant Samantha would later discover the note which explained, in childish scrawl, that he was very grateful for all the kind Officers' help, but he had to flee as he was sure Mrs Spencer would find him here. The only way to escape from her anger was to go far, far away as fast as he could.
.
.
˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~
.
.
Harry walked up to the Police Station several counties over. He now wore the face of a loner boy living in an orphanage Calais. He checked his watch. The Officers would no doubt be finding his letter about now. They'd probably start the search for 'Harry' shortly. He felt pretty guilty about sending them on a wild goose chase, especially after they'd been so kind to him and that all their efforts were motivated by the desire to help and protect abused and neglected children. He decided he'd have Goldenrod transfer a generous private donation to each of the police stations to support their hard work.
"Hello, sir," he said, as he approached the front desk.
"Hello, lad," the Desk Sergeant smiled. "What can I do for you?"
"Mrs Spencer told me to go out and give a group of lonely men a good time for some money," Harry frowned. "And she said to avoid the stupid pigs because they'd just ruin everything."
"Really?" The policeman fought to remain calm. "Did she say anything else?"
"No sir," Harry shook his head. "But I lost the address and I can't find the lonely men so I decided to come here to ask you, they told us in school that you can always trust a policeman because they're smart and good and I thought you could also protect me from the nasty pigs."
"Why don't you have a seat, lad," the policeman gave a warm smile, "and have a cup of tea. What did you say your name was again?"
"Dudley Doright, sir."
The Desk Sergeant frowned. "Think that's funny, do you?"
Harry blinked in confusion. "What do you mean, sir?"
"Why don't you give me your real name, boy?" he growled.
"But that is my real name … at least that's what I've always been told."
"You've been told?"
"Well, sir, I don't have any parents, so all I have to go on is what Mrs Spencer told me."
"And what did Mrs Spencer tell you?" The Officer was starting to get a sinking feeling that this kid wasn't being smart with him.
"That my parents were a pair of good-for-nothing wastrels who died in a car accident because they were drunk. And on drugs. And that nobody else in the world cares whether I live or die and that in the goodness of her heart she took me in and that if she hadn't I'd be living at St Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. And that they had bad blood and that it's in me too. And that the bad blood will out, but I don't know what that means. And … and that's all I know. If I ask any more questions about it, she whacks my shins with her walking stick."
"And Mrs Spencer told you your name was Dudley Doright?"
"Yes sir, though she usually calls me 'boy' or 'freak'."
"I see. And does anyone else live with you?"
"Yes sir. There's another boy who shares the kennel with me, his name's Harry Potter."
"Did you say kennel? What do you mean by that?" The Officer was gripping his pen very tightly. Harry could see the knuckles turning white.
"Well sir, Mrs Spencer breeds bulldogs, you see. Usually 12 at a time. And Harry and l live in the one of the outside kennels," Harry hid his smirk. "Mrs Spencer said that houses are too good to be sullied by our presence."
"Is that so?"
"Yes sir. It's a lot of fun sometimes, it's like having your own play-fort all year around," Harry nodded guilelessly. "Except during winter. Then it gets really cold and it's hard to sleep. But only good boys get blankets, and Harry and I aren't good," he looked down at the floor sadly. "And there was that one time Ripper chased me up a tree and I was stuck there until midnight."
"Ripper?"
"Mrs Spencer's prize bulldog. I'm glad she sold him," the boy shivered. "He wasn't very nice."
"I … see …"
"Oh, and of course there's Mr Spencer," Harry added helpfully. "Though I've never met him. I've seen him sometimes walking around."
"Why haven't you met him?"
"Harry and I aren't allowed to talk to him or be seen by him. Mrs Spencer said if he ever caught wind that we were there he'd bring in the nasty pigs and that would ruin everything. And that would be very bad." He shivered. "Pigs frighten me." He then perked up. "But it's alright – Mrs Spencer says we won't have to worry about him ruining things soon."
"How's that, lad?" The Desk Sergeant was struggling mightily to keep the fury from his face.
"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "She just says that soon he'll be gone and we won't need to worry about him or the pigs ever again."
The Officer took a deep breath, and carefully placed his pen on the counter. "Why don't you come back here, Dudley. We'll get you something to eat while we check out a few things."
"That's alright sir, I had a box of dog biscuits for tea two days ago. So it'd be a waste to feed me again until tomorrow."
"Luckily we have plenty of food just sitting around back here. It'd be a waste if someone didn't finish it."
"Okay," Harry chirped, and followed the Sergeant.
Another trip to the bathroom and another note later (this one, written in different handwriting, apologised profusely to the nice Sergeant, but explained it would be best if he found the lonely men soon or else Mrs Spencer would be angry) and Harry and Kreacher were on their way.
"Did you take care of all the arrangements in Bitchfield?" Harry asked, as they entered the Leaky Cauldron.
"Yes, master."
"Where did you find all the drugs?"
"From leather-wearing beardy muggles down the street. They be having much of the white powder and blue pills."
"Excellent," Harry whispered sinisterly.
"Kreacher still wishes he could have ripped filthy muggle whale-woman's spine out and nailed it to her front door," the elf grizzled.
"But then she'd be dead," Harry explained patiently. "And then we wouldn't be able to carry out any more vengeance on her over the next few decades."
Kreacher opened his mouth, shut it again. He looked up at his master for the first time with the tiniest glimmer of respect.
.
.
˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~
.
.
Three hours later, the Spencer estate in Lower Bitchfield, Lincolnshire resembled the London International Police Convention.
"Report!" demanded Sergeant Samantha.
"The two kids' stories check out," a grim-faced Officer O'Malley replied. "Two of the outdoor kennels show signs of long-term habitation. Also found evidence of people being handcuffed there in the past."
"What else?"
"The boys also discovered half a kilogram of cocaine and an 80-gram bag of old-school biker meth hidden under her bed. Forensics' initial estimate is both are of extremely high purity."
"My God. Just what was she up to? What about him?" She pointed over to where a very confused Arlington Charles Spencer was sitting in the back of an ambulance being tested by Nigel the paramedic.
"Very mild case of arsenic poisoning. It was in his tea. Looks like she'd only just started up on this bit of her plan, luckily for him."
"Very," she agreed. "You find the rest of the arsenic?"
"We found a bottle of it in her private medicine chest. Enough to kill a pair of donkeys."
"Now all we have to do is find Harry Potter and Dudley Doright. Search turned up anything?"
O'Malley shook his head sadly. "Nothing yet. It's like they just up and disappeared into thin air. Hopefully if they see in the newspaper or on the telly that their tormentor's been arrested, they'll pluck up the courage to visit the police again."
"We can only hope."
A large, confused and extremely voluble Marjorie Eileen Spencer (née Dursley) of Lower Bitchfield, Lincolnshire, aka 'Marge the Barge' according to the her constables, was dragged out of the house by several hulking, humourless officers.
"Toss her in Cell Three," Sergeant Samantha ordered coldly.
"Isn't that the one with the female biker gang?"
"Your point is?"
"Just asking," the O'Malley shrugged. "Wanted to make sure I didn't put him somewhere else by mistake."
"Get to it," the Sergeant smiled. "I want her stay to be memorable."
.