A/N: *shuffles awkwardly* …hi guys! Long time no see? So, I'm not dead. Or an inferi. I've just been on an extended, accidental hiatus. Life got in the way, as the pesky thing is wont to do. With finishing my degree, moving continents, moving again, and starting a job with educational software, I've been a busy little Wrackspurt. Not that I'm actually a Wrackspurt. Though, if that meant I could buzz around Harry Potter's head…
Anywho, I'm back! I'm amazed and incredibly grateful to still be getting favourites and comments after all this time, and am so beyond sorry that I've been gone. All I can say is that this story is definitely NOT abandoned. On the contrary, I've edited and updated all the chapters. Scenes have been tided, beginning 'excerpts' added, and coverphoto!Harries now exist and are highly unamused. While I removed the chapter revealing some of Rita Skeeter's grand plan, it's now going to pop up later in the story instead. On that note, I'm almost done with the next five chapters!
I am SOSOSO incredibly sorry for not getting back to everyone! There are some reviews from over a year ago (sweet Merlin) so instead of giving odd replies to comments you surely don't remember making, I want to give an enormous thank you to MuggleCreator, anthony37, Stromsten, Lily13, mwinter1, hollyentirely, MelodySong231, TheSpectrumSings, lilyflower1345, AmeliaJane14, Gundum M, and the three Guests! I cannot begin to say how appreciative I am for all of your comments, and am tremendously sorry that I missed your messages.
General Disclaimer: With a hiatus this long, I'm more likely to be George R.R. Martin than J.K. Rowling. Not that I'm actually either of them, or making any money from this.
"'Keeper of the keys, I am. At Hogwarts. But yeh'll be knowing all about that!'
Harry stared for a bare moment, wondering if he was being insulted ('Hogwarts'? What did he take him for?). Or if he should admit to his ignorance. But this huge intruder could be a threat and, as he didn't yet know how to manipulate him, it was best to gather information. 'All about what?'
'Blimey Harry, didn' you wonder where your parents learned it all?'
'He won't be learning any of that!' His aunt found her strangled voice.
This cued the rapid descent into a shouting match between the stranger and Harry's relatives. Dudley used this distraction to swipe the cake box and huddle in a corner, trying to prove that the unappetising birthday treat was edible. The Boy Saviour didn't join his cousin. Not only was he holding onto a hope that the cake was as poisonous as it seemed, but he was too busy staring at the new man to do anything else. He didn't even chide himself for not focusing on what mad thing they were all talking about. Because he was far too preoccupied with how this person barely resembled a man.
Because of this, Harry wasn't sure who he wished would win the argument. Normally he'd have gleefully backed anyone who challenged his relatives. But it seemed like this 'not-really-a-man' wanted to take him away. Again, this wasn't something the boy would usually protest. The only issue was, as horrid as his relatives were, they hadn't managed to kill him yet. He was far less certain that he'd survive an encounter with—whatever this monstrous person was. For an ordinary man wouldn't have burst through the door as though it was made out of toothpicks. A regular man wouldn't have beetle-like black eyes, an enormous ratted beard, and start shouting about how Harry didn't know anything. Any normal man wasn't closer to seven than six feet tall, while having the girth and ferociousness to match.
Harry backed away from the giant as his uncle got out a gun. The boy was brave, yes, but he wasn't stupid. With any luck, they'd finish each other off."
—From Chapter 4 of R. Skeeter's The Rise and Fall of Harry J. Potter.
A figure stepped out of the telephone box into the Atrium. The place was brimming with frenzied people, which was in stark contrast to the usual calm, congregating workers. For today, the entrance to the Ministry of Magic was cluttered with exclaiming reporters, flashing cameras, and curious crowds craning to spot any of the wizards and witches of the hour.
The nondescript man couldn't help but wince at the paparazzi. Dressed in highly muggle attire of dark-washed jeans and a casual black jacket, no one paid him any mind. Still, as he shuffled his brunet fringe forward in an automatic movement (though his forehead was unmarked and unremarkable), he kept to the edge of the courtyard. Slowly but steadily he made his way to the side-entrance…until his movement into the Ministry was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Off-limits, mate." The auror spoke up, twisting the other wizard away from the door a bit more roughly than needed. He'd clearly had to turn away mounds of media and was impatient for it.
But the man wasn't intimidated. He was more impatient than anything. Giving the guard an unimpressed look he flicked out his badge. "It's a glamour. Let me through, Wilson."
Auror Jack Wilson's hand dropped from the grip. Though startled, uncertainty lingered. The other wizard sighed and slipped the badge back in his pocket.
"Your second month here?" He drawled, giving a glance at the throngs of clamouring reporters. None were paying any attention to them. "You turned me into a chipmunk. When Weasley managed to stop laughing, he rejected your resignation and fast-forwarded you through training."
Wilson had paled through this statement. By the end, he was all-but shrinking away from the man. His voice came out tinged with nervousness. "Can't say how sorry I am about that, sir. Again, that is, though it really was an accident. But I swear I haven't told a soul, sir, and any rumours about photos are—"
"Stop. Just stop." The wizard rubbed at any emerging headache. "I don't care, alright? So enough with the 'sirs' and let me through."
"Right! Sorry." Wilson stepped away from the door. His colour returned as it appeared he wasn't about to be hexed or fired.
"Thanks. Oh, and?" The man paused to give the auror a steely look. His voice lowered considerably. "If a word gets out that I'm here, I'll know exactly who to blame."
"Got it." Wilson hesitated. Just as the other wizard was entering, he cleared his throat. "About the—"
"I don't want to hear it." Was the gritted out answer. But the slamming door was kept open by the auror, who continued talking even over the protest.
"About Smith's rubbish? None of us believed it for a moment." Wilson said bluntly, albeit quickly (knowing his boss was about to race off). "As for Skeeter, we have better things to do than gossip."
The glamoured man held the stare, remaining twisted around in the doorway. After a long beat his expression softened. "Look Jack, I appreciate it. But you're not a convincing liar."
The auror gave a wry grin. "Maybe there's a few rumours. But they're harmless and, honestly? About the wrong things. Pfft, drama. Give me mad magical creatures over that any day. So I've gotta ask: Cerberus. A Cerberus in the Highlands. Real or not real? Terrifying or 'fluffy'?"
The Head Auror gave a low chuckle, turning away into the Ministry. "Real and dangerous. Though nowhere near as scary as, say, acromantulas."
Jack blanched. "You mean huge spiders? You're not saying there are actually giant spid—"
The door slammed mid-question, leaving a queasy auror staring at it and hoping that these mystical spiders didn't exist in Britain. Because, compared to that, even the escalating loudness of the reporters (who had finally realised someone had made it through the Ministry's side-entrance) was easy to deal with.
Harry strode through the crowded corridors and up the lift (that is, up and sideways). Nerves frayed and anger bubbling, he tapped his fingers restlessly against the swinging elevator's wall. Made worse was the lift's frequent stopping for minutes at a time. As the ride was typically fast and smooth, he could only assume this had something to do with the reporters (as they were typically to blame). Had some managed to sneak in and were clogging the lifts? Were they stopping each lift to search through it? Or was this a typical maintenance procedure and he was working himself up over nothing?
Whatever the case, this meant that Harry was stuck going at a snail's pace. He was also 'trapped' against the back wall, as the witches in front of him facing the door had no problem swinging their massive purses without a care. But he wasn't in the mood to focus on any of that. Indeed, his thoughts were so distracted that it took him awhile to realise what the two were happily gossiping about.
"Doreen once told me," said the woman with a sloping flamingo hat. It kept sliding into her beehive of blonde hair. Harry snorted that their mad accessories matched the colours of their equally flamboyant purses (all in contrast to their neatly tailored but dull Ministry wardrobes) "you know, Doreen? Snooty girl with unfortunate teeth?"
The other nodded, jangling her bright blue necklace as she did so. "Course I do. Heard she tried to hex off an overbite. You'd think someone in Magical Spell Removal would—"
"Doreen," the first witch cut back in with an impatient twist, "ages ago told me her mum was a neighbour of Arabella Figg when they were kids. Not good friends, Doreen was keen on this, what with Figg being a squib. How she told it her mum took pity on the woman and visited her years later. That's nonsense, of course. We all know what she was after a glimpse of."
Harry and the necklaced witch both froze, one with irritation and the other with anticipation.
"Figg?" She gaped out. He backed up even further, checking his hands and a strand of hair to double-check he didn't look like himself. "The one in the book? Sweet Circe, did her mum spot him?"
"In the flesh." The first woman said primly, pleased with the reaction. "Years ago, before Potter was at Hogwarts. According to Doreen, her mum wasn't impressed. Scrimpy little boy. Thank Merlin he's filled out."
Necklaced woman was growing impatient. "Don't drag it out, Marcie. Either tell me the gossip you clearly want to, or I'll go find Doreen myself. Chit's probably making it up anyway."
Marcie pursed her lips, annoyed at having her story questioned. "She told me this before Skeeter published anything. Thought she'd lost it at the time, but it matches the book. Her mother snuck over to Potter's relatives when Figg was trying to find a pet of hers. She couldn't get too close with the wards and all, but she got a good look in the backyard."
"What? Was the muggle beating him?" Necklaced woman was hanging on every word, even leaning towards her friend. Harry twisted his mouth in anger, trying to ignore them and how gleeful they were chatting about him being hypothetically hurt. He didn't want to think about how many conversations just like this had been happening. All he wanted was to get out of this bloody slow lift. He was no longer quite as happy to be under a glamour.
"Oh no, better." Marcie spoke in a mock whisper. "Potter was sitting there on the grass, a kitten in his arms. Doreen's mum first thought it was the cutest thing, a little boy petting this tiny animal. But then he took it, gripped the mewing neck, and with one good twist—"
BANG!
Both witches gasped, twisting around at the sound. Harry rubbed his hand from where he'd hit the wall, glaring at them both.
"Did anyone," he growled. Even as he said this, he knew he'd regret involving himself, "teach you it's rude to gossip?"
The women seemed taken aback. But then Marcie recovered, huffing and turning away back to the door. "Not as rude as eavesdropping."
"You're calling the man a psychopath!" Harry ranted, staring at the unapologetic witches disbelievingly. He had just enough control over his words to be careful with pronouns. "You just said he killed a cat!"
"I don't see how that's startling." Marcie sniffed, though her companion seemed sheepish. "Potter was a disturbed boy. Circe only knows how many he's murdered over the years."
"There was a war! That's not the same as being a murderer—not that he even killed many! With spells flying about, people get hit. That's what happens in a battle!" He ignored his inner voice (one that sounded very much like Hermione) shouting for him to stop talking. He knew he should let it go and not draw attention to himself, but he couldn't stand this. It was bad enough that so many people thought of him like this, but if he could knock some sense into even one person… "But you try having a megalomaniac after you. I'd like to see your high horse then."
Necklaced woman hesitated before speaking in a determined voice. "Doesn't change how he killed a poor kitty. Or that professor—"
"HE DIDN'T KILL THE BLOODY CAT!" Harry exclaimed, losing control of his tightly wound anger. "He didn't kill any animals, because guess what? He's not a blasted psychopath! Tell that to Doreen's clearly mental mum. Also, what professor? You mean Quirrel? He had Voldemort on the back of his head! It was self-defence. Good lord woman, what's wrong with you?"
Both winced at the Dark Lord's name. Marcie quickly recovered and turned around, staring at the ranting man with an unimpressed gaze. "I suppose you'll say you know all that because you're best mates with Potter?"
"Well, I—" Harry hesitated, anger slightly diminishing as he remembered that he really, desperately didn't want to relinquish his glamour. Though the looks on their faces might be worth it, he didn't need another thing to deal with. Also, shouting at women in lifts wasn't going to help his already controversial image.
"Don't even try." Marcie turned back to the door, primly crossing her arms. "So you're one of the Potter fanatics, I really don't care. Much like how I don't give any mind to eavesdroppers. So will you kindly shut up?"
Harry began to angrily retort, before the door opened. Though it wasn't his floor he charged forward through the protesting, waiting crowd. Scowling, he didn't look back at the two women. So annoyed was he that he undid the glamour and grabbed the Invisibility Cloak from his pocket. Spinning it over himself, he headed for the stairs with an irritated stride.
"Mr. Potter!" The secretary practically jumped from her seat (frizzled hair flying and eyes thrown wide) as a pale Harry Potter appeared feet from her.
"She's in a meeting?" Harry paced forward, repocketing the Cloak. With only a modicum of patience, he eyed the closed office entrance past the woman. He knew he was mere moments for barging in, but figured Hermione wouldn't appreciate it.
"Yes, but she said to let you in if…" the witch glanced at the day's Prophet on her desk and made the obvious connection. "Mr. Potter, I thought you were out for the weekend?"
Harry blinked at the words. He finally took in her presence and gave a small, apologetic smile. "Orla, it's just Harry." She continued staring at him. He fidgeted, already regretting not just barging forward. "I'd planned on not coming in until Monday but then another thing came up. So, ah, here I am."
Orla Quirke gave him a sympathetic look, not so discreetly putting an arm over the Prophet's blazing headline. "I'll ring you in. Just in warning, Hermione's on the warpath."
"She and I both." He gritted out, patience again dwindling.
"Mrs. Granger?" Orla chimed into her desk's speaker, her hesitance showing through. Having a sense of self-preservation, she scooted her chair as far away from the stormy Head Auror as possible. "Mr. Potter's here."
"Send him in!" Hermione's growl sounded before cutting off. Harry took this as his cue to barge ahead, deathly glare now in place. But the door clicked open before he could reach it. Aidan Lynch waltzed out without a care, taking a single curious look back at the office behind him.
"Harry!" The Head of Magical Sports then proclaimed merrily, having turned around to face the impatient wizarding hero. A broad grin shone through the bludger- and wronski feint-induced scars. "Blimey, everyone's in moods today. Suppose it's on the Manchester match. Poor Goldstein lost 20 galleons on the Falcons, you believe that? Stupid blighter."
"HARRY!" Hermione's shout came, perfectly timed to stop Harry from shoving past the Quidditch chatter into the room. Her scream also halted the stupefied Aidan short. The Head Auror gave a tight, forced grin, before side-stepping him into the office. Slamming the door behind him he spun around, his sudden glare matching the seated woman's heated expression.
"Are you kidding me?" Harry paced towards his old friend, arms waving in fury. "So help me if Smith isn't already charged, not to mention the blasted paper! Mounds of libel, at least. What were they thinking, accusing us of the Unforgivables?"
"Technically speaking," Hermione cut in, her anger likewise seared within her words, "it's not entirely false. We did use them during the war."
"Don't give me that!" He retorted. "You know what I meant and what Smith claimed. We never taught them, especially not to teens!" He ran a hand through his hair, anger blistering down to tiredness. "Just, just tell me there's been any good news."
"I'm looking for Zacharias Smith."
"Hermione…"
"Don't 'Hermione' me." She huffed, her anger at the situation clear. "I've been doing everything I can while you've been away! But that becomes difficult when I can't find Smith and when I can't charge him with libel or slander. He wasn't the one who wrote anything, he just said it! That's not illegal. Nor is much of the press storm I'm trying to deal with."
"The Prophet's protecting him." Harry immediately answered.
"We've already issued the paper with lawsuits. They're peppering the Ministry with apologies and a full retraction will be in the next few issues." Hermione picked up a file and slid it over the desk. He ignored it for the moment. "They're claiming this mess was due to an out-of-control reporter. As I see it, if the newspaper had Smith they'd have turned him in for a plea bargain. They don't play around when there's this many galleons at stake."
Harry stared at her for a beat . He then slid into a seat in front of her desk, pushing his glasses up and tiredly rubbing his eyes. "How many more will there be?"
Hermione hesitated, her anger also diluting. She eyed him as though uncertain what to expect. "How many what?"
"You know what." He released his glasses. "Skeeter comes out with a book—which yes, I've skimmed—claiming that because of an awful past I'm deranged and evil. Following this, an old classmate runs to the Prophet insisting that you founded an army of students and that I taught them Unforgivable Curses. So what I want to know? How many more people will follow Skeeter's and Smith's leads."
"There's no way I can answer that."
"You can't know how many will lie for money. But I'd bet anything you've spent the morning listing who would gleefully throw us under a lorry for old grudges."
"This morning?" Hermione said in dark amusement, pointing at the file still lying untouched in front of him. "I've been working on it since hearing about the book! The third through tenth pages are people who wish to see you humiliated or on the wrong end of a blasting curse. Pages eleven through thirteen contains anyone who knew significant facts about your childhood. These are the short, unfinished lists, and they're still enormous."
His mouth opened in surprise, but quickly changed to a matching grin. Taking hold of the file he began flipping through, not dwelling on the long list of potential enemies. "Always a few steps ahead. You think someone on here was who originally talked to Skeeter?"
"I'm almost positive. But still, there's not much overlap between the two lists." She paused to find her words as he skimmed the first two pages, wanting to get to the main affair. "Harry, listen. We can't dismiss the possibility that Skeeter obliviated whoever she 'interviewed' for the books. For example, if they were muggles—"
"The Dursleys!" Harry squawked at the first names on the list.
"—exactly my point." Hermione sighed. "We both know Skeeter wasn't completely lying about your childhood, which means she had a source. Your relatives would make sense. Oh, don't look at me like that. I know they wouldn't paint themselves as abusive monsters. But still, memory charms."
Harry, partly overcoming the startle, flipped over to the second list as his surprise heightened. "How'd you find out my primary school teachers? Neighbours? Even Marge Dursley's on here. I guess that one's less surprising, but still."
"All public record." Hermione answered simply. "If I can get their names with little effort, Skeeter could have done the same. With that being said, any names you could add will help."
"Uh huh." He mumbled in vague agreement, distracted with flipping back and forth between the lists. He was rather amazed to see that she even had 'Thomas Ferguson: London Zoo's Reptile House Keeper' noted down.
"There is another possibility." The anxiety layered in Hermione's tone was enough for Harry to glance up. "Skeeter was too thorough and detailed. She knew far too much about your life. None of the muggles knew about Hogwarts and none of us really knew about what happened at Privet Drive." She bit her lip, getting to the part she obviously didn't want to say. "The accuracy is iffy, of course, but honestly? I think you should be checked for obliviations."
It took a moment for Hermione's meaning to come through. Once it did, Harry couldn't help but snort (much to her annoyance). The idea hadn't even occurred to him. But now that she said it, a spark of utter conviction entered his mind against it. "Skeeter didn't question me and wipe my memory. I'm positive."
She didn't look convinced by his dismissive reassurance. "I know you don't like it, but we can't underestimate that cow. Ron and I have already been checked, so if we get you and Ginny—"
"I haven't been obliviated." He cut in with stubborn certainty. But she didn't share this conviction. He frowned, trying to figure out how he could persuade her. "If Skeeter had questioned me there would have been even more 'scandal' for her to write about."
"What? You—" Hermione paused in realisation, "there's something that was left out that only you know. Is that it? Are you sure Skeeter would have included it, and in the first book?"
"Absolutely." Harry sighed when she kept looking at him expectantly. He tried nailing down exactly why he was so convinced, but it was more of a general feeling. An instinct that there were definitely events Skeeter would have included if she'd known about them. "Look, I know you want more proof. But Skeeter's making a lot of my life a literal open book. Can't I keep a few things to myself?"
"But you—"
"I'm not the leak. I swear." He gave a reassuring grin, discarding the small nagging in the back of his mind that he couldn't quite recall what memories he was so certain Skeeter hadn't included in the book. But the events in question were from when he was eleven or younger, so it was hardly odd that he couldn't remember everything. The feeling of certainty was enough, as there'd been plenty of times a subconscious instinct had led him right or even saved his life. "I'm just sick of having to spill every detail."
"Right." Though Hermione still seemed apprehensive. Looking a moment from speaking (likely with a suggestion that he get checked anyway), she instead paused. Catching his expression she changed course. "If you're sure, I guess that's good enough for me. But it puts us back on square one. I'm hoping you didn't come back just for Smith?"
"Like you'd let me run away." Harry gave her a wry smile, one that quickly faded. The curiosity at his vague certainty also dissipated. "Yeah, the vacation's over. All the articles made Ginny and I realise how explosive this really is. Insane, though. It's just a sorry excuse for a biography." He closed the file, tapping his hand against the desk. "Do you need help with the Wizengamot? How badly has this hit the aurors?"
"The Wizengamot can wait." Hermione was clearly not looking forward to opening that can of nifflers. "Ron's been on top of the auror situation, though there's plenty of confusion and you should talk to them straight away. That is, after you go to—"
"As for Skeeter, the press?" He cut in. She sent him a keen look but diverted the topic.
"Her publishing house is stone-walling us. Believe it or not, it's becoming a diplomatic problem." Her voice raised into a huff. "Even better, the press refuses to see this as a privacy issue and, due to this, the public agrees. But that isn't a pressing concern."
"Like privacy and I ever got on." Harry said tonelessly, unpleasantly familiar with this. "So I'm seeing plenty of press conferences in the future and no successful libel suits. Fantastic. Unless we can prove Skeeter made up facts?"
"Which is why you and I are going to go through every line of this book." Her angry determination then shifted to hesitation. "But all of that's for later. Another situation's risen."
"Tell me there's not another Smith."
"No, no. Nothing like that." Her words were decidedly hedged. This, more than anything, made Harry suspicious.
"Why're you acting like I'm going to attack you?" His patience had disintegrated long ago. "Don't tell me you believe that 'Dark Lord' stuff as well!"
"Of course not." Hermione sighed, talking him down. "But since you're already behaving like this, why do you think I'm hesitating at telling you more?"
"I'm 'behaving like this' because Skeeter's making a damn good attempt at ruining my life!" Harry shouted.
"No need to be melodramatic. It's been blown out of proportion and, besides, we're fixing this." She tried to put reassurance behind her words. "But just listen, something's come up that's time-sensitive. You know how Skeeter published private addresses?"
"Which is quasi-illegal in itself." Harry muttered before pausing, glancing up in knee-jerk terror. "There can't be anything wrong with the protections!"
"The wards are fine." Hermione reassured him, exhaustion shining through. Harry, calming slightly, wondered how long she'd been here cleaning up this mess. "The problem is that, though some wizards think you're going dark, most people are horrified that you had to live through abuse."
"It wasn't abu…" he dwindled off in seeing her annoyance. He wisely backtracked, "whatever, I'm sick of arguing about this. But if this is about Privet Drive, it's still protected. No mob could get through a blood ward, weakened over time or no."
"I'm not talking about Privet Drive."
"Then what?" Harry creased his brow. "Dudley?"
Hermione remained silent.
"He was just a kid." The wizard said disbelievingly. "A stupid one, yeah, but a kid. Even if someone did read into it, his address wasn't even published."
"Doesn't mean someone couldn't find it." She said quietly.
"Yeah, it does mean that!" Harry stared at her, not understanding any of this. "I still doubt people are going to 'seek revenge' for me or whatever you're hinting at. But even if they did, they'd go to Privet Drive. No one would bother with anything else."
"Oh Harry." Hermione closed her eyes before reopening them, rubbing them grimly. "You always underestimate how much people revere you."
"Wha—"
"Late last night, advertisements were intercepted from a new fanatical group." She spoke now with a hurried reluctance, as though ripping off a plaster. "They likely sprung into existence following Skeeter's book, but there could also be significant ties to pureblood muggle baiting. These wizards, they call themselves 'Harry's Hunters'."
The two words shocked him into speechless.
"They're targeting the Dursleys and making it out to be a sport." Hermione said the words with disgust, looking apologetically at her dumbfounded brother-in-law.
"Advertisements?" Harry at last breathed out. "These lunatics are advertising this?"
"They view them as stupid muggles who, I quote, 'Signed their death warrant by brutalising one of our own'." Hermione said the words bitterly. "These wizards want to hunt them down for what they did to you. The Dursleys aren't angels, but what was described in the pamphlet? No one deserves that."
Harry had paled. "Protection's been sent out, yeah? Any leads on who's behind this?"
"Yes to the first, at least partly, but we can only send indirect guards until we get their consent." Hermione sent him an understanding look. "No hard leads yet. But your aunt and uncle are safe on Privet Drive and your cousin should be fine, at least for now. Though it's only a matter of time before someone tracks down his address."
"Where basically no one's guarding him and his family." Harry leaned back in the seat, frustration pounding on his temple.
"We only just found out." Hermione said with a helpless shrug. "If you didn't show up I was going to warn them myself over lunch. But I, ah, wasn't sure how they'd take me showing up."
"To you? They'd be pleasant enough. My Aunt would scream at your 'freakishness' and my Uncle would threaten you with a frying pan." Harry reluctantly began to get up, choosing to ignore her pitying look. "I'll go now, can't put that off. I'll talk to the aurors and take care of everything else when I get back."
"At least you're on better terms with your cousin." She said, optimistically and apologetically. "You really don't even need to go to Privet Drive. The blood wards are still powerful."
"Yeah yeah." Harry paused on the way to the door, rubbing his forehead. Hermione's gaze narrowed in concern.
"You okay?" She asked softly, making him turn back to her and break out of his thoughts. "We've been so focussed on controlling this mess. I'd hate if I overlooked how personal it is for you. Is there, is there anything you want to talk about?"
Harry had a flashback to Dumbledore and a similar question. 'I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you'd like to tell me. Anything at all.' As it was back when he was twelve, there was plenty he wished to say. The sheer madness that the 'biography' was on top of every nation's bestseller list. That two women had been gossiping that he'd killed animals for fun. That countless wizards and witches were now convinced he was a psychopath. That even if they could halt further publication this book would still be around, and his sons might someday read it…or Teddy had already gotten it…or his unborn child would one day look at him strangely and he wouldn't know why… "No, I'm fine."
Hermione was the exact opposite of convinced.
"I'm taking care of things." He shook his head, discarding the rumours. He also told himself that, no matter how he wanted to shout out that Ginny was pregnant, he ought to ask her before telling anyone. Besides, this really wasn't the moment (no matter how much he needed something brilliant to grasp onto). "It's not that big a deal."
Hermione huffed, distracted (he was silently thankful that she was tired and not thinking straight). "You call this nothing? I'm glad you aren't taking this too hard, but it's really turning into a disaster. Try and be back soon."
"Don't worry, I'll be quick." Harry opened the door and made a speedy getaway. So relieved was he that she hadn't questioned his blasé answer, he didn't realise he didn't have his Cloak or a glamour on until he accidentally faced a lift full of reporters.
Slamming the door on their stunned faces, he sped for the stairs.
Materialising in a small alleyway, Harry paused to glance around. There were recycling and trash bins, time-worn stone spiralling over him, and soft murmurings in a grocers next door. There was also a distinct lack of people staring at him in amazement, making him grateful that there wasn't another problem to take care of.
Making his way out onto the street he frowned at the street sign. Roseneath Terrace…no, Street. No, Roseneath Crescent? The names in Edinburgh were altogether too similar. He had an unpleasant flashback to getting lost in the US whenever he'd visited. In the States the names were all presidents, in Scotland it was royalty and plants. He couldn't understand why some people found London confusing: once you found a Tube Station you were home free.
But this city had neither an Underground or tram, so Harry could only stride off in what he hoped was the right direction. He kept his eye open for the florist where Cass had made the flowers talk the previous year. Or the pub where he'd had one too many (meaning one) heart-to-heart/drunken brawl with his cousin. Ginny and Renee had had their own bonding session with their joint fury at their husbands, but they hadn't been so cruel as to withhold sobering potions for long. Dudley would later admit this had given him a new appreciation for magic—mainly, for magical potions that cured pounding headaches.
'World's End'. Harry read the sign, glanced ahead at the shabby flower shop, and stepped across the street to number 7. So it had been Roseneath Street after all. The bright blue door with painted pink stars at the edges (as they'd refused to come off, the unusual decor had been embraced) proved this beyond a doubt. He only hesitated for a moment before buzzing.
A minute lated he buzzed again.
"Anyone home?" He at last called out, face to the doorframe. A slight anticipation filled him at the continued silence, even though he knew it was near impossible for the fanatical group to find this address. Still, when he heard hurried footsteps, relief swept through him. "Sorry for barging in. I—"
The door was slammed open and a blonde child launched herself into his startled arms.
"UNCA 'ARRY! UNCA 'ARRY!" The young girl shrieked. Harry scrambled to keep her and himself from falling. This problem was solved when she wrapped her arms around his neck in a monkey's hold. "'S YOU!"
"Yep, it's me." Harry grinned. He shot an amused look at the second person striding into the now wide open doorway.
"Cassie, let him breath." The bemused woman swept her protesting child away while sending Harry an apologetic glance. "Sorry, you know how excited she gets. I was on the phone and mustn't have heard. Were you waiting long? But don't just stand there, come in!"
Harry followed the chatting woman and babbling child inside. Glancing around, he had to smile at the all-too-familiar chaos. Not that the flat wasn't charming with delicately antique furniture, but this was off-set with toys scattered across the floor and finger paint at the lowest parts of the wall. It reminded him of home.
"Were you out there for awhile?" Renee repeated, sweeping papers off the table and dumping them on top of a chair. "Tea, we have tea somewhere. No? Are you sure? I must've missed—CASS! No turning Bernard blue! Honestly, you silly bairn."
Harry glanced over just in time to spot a sullen girl turn the goldfish back to its proper colour. He stifled a snort, one that he knew wouldn't be appreciated. "How's everything been?"
"Fine, fine." She eyed her hyper daughter (who seemed ready to pounce her unofficial Uncle again) before looking around for a distraction. An action figure was then neatly placed in her squealing arms while a tray of biscuits was passed to the wizard. "Same as always: balancing the pub and classes and taking care of this crazy girl. But lord, it's been ages! How's Ginny and the kids?"
"Everyone's good, they say hi." Harry nibbled at a treat while sitting down. Looking at mother and daughter, he mused that at first glance they couldn't be more different. Renee was petite, her kindly round face circled by loops of brown hair. Cassie was a little fireball, forever bouncing off the walls as her long blonde hair whirled behind her. "There's something I need to talk to you and Dudley about. He around?"
"Should be." Renee frowned down the hallway. "Probably exercising. Never hears anything with those dratted headphones. But like I'm to speak with the phone! Give me a mo." With that she went off to investigate. Instantly, Harry found himself with his beaming, unofficial niece in his lap.
For the next few minutes Harry nodded randomly at a spew of information about the array of colours Cassie's poor fish had found himself in the past few days. It was only the entering footsteps that stopped Harry from relating Jamie had recently turned everything and the kitchen sink into dragons. This was probably for the best, as the little girl would take this as a challenge to be met. No doubt, the Dursleys wouldn't be pleased at whatever chaos resulted from that.
"Harry." A deep voice intoned, causing the wizard and small witch to turn.
There was still an air of awkwardness between the two cousins. This was abundantly seen in the wizard's reluctant exhale and the muggle's shuffling. But Dudley's half-smile was genuine (albeit confused), and the man standing before Harry couldn't have been more different from the teenager he'd once known. Back then, no one would have been shocked that Dudley became the owner of a pub. Nor was it startling that much of his old weight remained (though now amongst new muscles) and it was wholly unsurprising that he hooked up with his pretty barmaid. What no one would have expected was that this one-night stand would turn into a lasting relationship, one with a daughter to boot.
Nor would Harry have ever bet he'd be making sporadic trips to the Dursley household of his own free will. That is, more or less. He still wasn't a fan of Dudley, but at least he'd had the good sense to marry a lovely woman. That Renee was a squib and had a pleasant enough view of the wizarding world was even better. Then they'd had an adorable kid, so that'd sealed things. The wizard figured his sons and Cassie really ought to get along. He wasn't about to toss away family because of old grudges.
"Big D. Good to see you." Harry's grin flickered in glancing down at his niece. "I know it's been awhile but I can't stay long. I'm here on some business about…I guess it's about the past. Might not be best for Cass to hear."
Dudley frowned at the cryptic statement. Renee gave a harsher frown at the cousins' tendency to tip-toe around issues. Bundling up her protesting daughter ("But Unca 'arry's here to pway!") she sent the men a pointed and all too perceptive look. "Right then, we'll be in the kitchen making biscuits."
"Bu', bu' mummy—"
"You can have some of the dough." Renee added, to which Cassie instantly changed her tone and raced ahead of her mother. The woman sent another glance at the two men. "Talking about the past? Joy. Promise you won't get drunk again, and there'll be no broken bones or hexes! I won't care who throws the first punch, I'll floo Ginny and end it."
There was an awkward silence.
"Do you promise?" She huffed, squinting at the two.
"Promise." Harry and Dudley said in unison, not quite looking at each other. Neither had felt so much like schoolboys in detention in many years.
"I'm sure." Renee replied, unconvinced. But she did turn towards the kitchen. "Keep your word and you'll get some fresh biscuits!"
The door shut behind her.
Dudley slid into a seat, shooting a befuddled look at his cousin. "What's going on?"
"Has anyone been bothering you lately?" Harry instead asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. "Mentioned your parents or me? Spotted anyone odd around the house or pub? Renee mention anyone lurking around the uni?"
"What? No. Why?" Dudley's forehead creased in confusion. "This is weird even by your standards."
The wizard made a small sound of relief. But his frame remained tense. "Good, they don't have your address."
"Harry," Dudley stressed. The tension became contagious, "what's wrong? What's this about my address?"
"It's complicated." Harry shook his head to stave away the inevitable panicked questions. "A reporter has been writing a biography of my years at Hogwarts. My, ah, childhood with you lot is mentioned. There were details."
Dudley froze. "How—"
"I don't know." Frustration pierced his words. "Skeeter shouldn't have known about any of it. But how it affects you? You might come across some angry mobs in the near future. Very angry, very magical mobs."
"Christ." Dudley leaned back in his chair, brushing his blond hair. "What did this person write? I mean, I…I was wrong. I was a right bastard to you. But if anyone finds out where we live…?"
"Renee and Cassie. Yeah, I know." Harry scowled, trying to piece together how the situation could be salvaged. "I'm hoping it might still blow away, but I'll keep you aware of what's going on. If you want protection, I'd recommend it. I can set up discreet guards."
Dudley didn't answer. He stared at the door through which his wife and daughter had gone through.
Harry sighed, wishing he hadn't seen that look. He tried to determine whether he'd regret his next words. He knew he most likely would, but said them anyway. "It's not your fault, you know. We were both kids. Sure, you were a bully. But it's in the past and…and we're family. I'm going to do everything I can to make that last bit clear to the media. But even if I can't, it's my mess you've gotten dragged into. I swear you lot will be safe."
Dudley shifted his gaze away from the door and back to his cousin. He chewed his lip before speaking. "I bet my parents aren't getting the same deal."
Harry found his mouth suddenly dry. He cleared his throat. "Their, ah, address isn't as secret. But it has protections over it. So they're safe. Mainly."
Dudley didn't believe this for a moment. "By 'mainly', you mean the Weasleys will hunt them down themselves?" Silence met this statement. The bigger man grimaced, also looking like he'd regret his words. "I get it, I do. But they're still my parents."
"Yeah."
"No, not yeah!" Dudley retorted, his anger coming through. "You don't think I hate how dad treats Renee and Cassie? That's what really made me realise about you…" his voice trailed off into a final groan. "About how wrong they were. But it doesn't mean I want to see them hurt. What did this reporter even write? Is it as bad as all that?"
Harry opened his mouth but no answer came through. Coughing, the words spiralled out. "Rita Skeeter, the author, exaggerated everything. Made it seem like there was, ah, blatant abuse going on. But she hit on a few truths. Like my, my first bedroom. So it's more difficult to refute her."
Dudley winced through this statement. "That doesn't sound far off."
"Come off it." Harry sent him an impatient look. "It was exaggerated, all right? I'm not getting into this with you as well."
"It was abuse, how'd this writer exaggerate that?" Dudley glanced at the still-closed door as though making sure his family couldn't hear. "You could've gotten them sent away. You probably should have."
"But I didn't want to." Harry gave a low exhale. "All I want is for this to disappear, alright? I don't want to drag up the past, I don't want you to be hurt for what you did as a kid, and I certainly don't want your family to be anywhere near this. So let's get back to the point."
"We can take a vacation." Dudley spoke slowly, reluctantly leaving the other topic alone. "Renee's been wanting to visit her parents. But it'll take, I dunno, at least a few weeks to set up."
"That's alright. Hell, give me the details and I'll pay for it. Or put it on the Ministry's tab. Also, do you want guards? Protective detail? They can be nonintrusive; you won't even see them. Or there's Fidelius or Unplottable Charms, things that would make your flat nonexistent to anyone not in on the 'secret'. Though that's fairly extreme." Harry said. His cousin nodded at the guard part and shook his head at the rest. The wizard made a mental note to arrange that pronto. "Listen, I hope I'm blowing this out of proportion. But you should be careful. Some wizards really want to hurt you for what they think happened. Added to that, Skeeter published the Privet Drive address and we're praying she doesn't know yours."
Dudley frowned at the last. "Do you know how this woman got all that? A, err, spell or—"
"We think she got access to a source, which brings up something else." Harry sent him an apologetic look. "Remember Hermione, she was at Al's birthday and interrogated Renee about teaching? She doesn't want to dismiss the idea that Skeeter might've put a memory charm on her source. That is, she might have made this person forget they ever told her anything. I really doubt it was you, but I can check to make sure."
Dudley's simultaneous look of surprise and horror made it obvious he wasn't involved. "Someone might've changed my memory? That's possible?"
"Unfortunately. But I'd be shocked if it turned out Skeeter got to you."
"Why?" Dudley creased his brow. Before the other man could answer, an epiphany dawned. "There was something I didn't know about? Like about your school."
"Basically, yeah." Harry blew out a breath of annoyed air. "Doesn't matter. Don't worry, I'm taking care of it."
Dudley had an oddly shrewd look about his face as the pieces slowly came together. "You're talking to my parents next, aren't you?"
Harry shrugged, not having to answer. "Not next. Right now, they're protected enough. But I might have to eventually."
Dudley gave an unamused, empathetic chuckle. "Good luck, mate. You'll need it."
Harry felt a small, reluctant smile grow. "Thanks Big D."
"Hey, do me a favour if you do see them?" Dudley scowled as he spoke. "Last time we were over, dad had the nerve to say Renee was pudgy. Called her a bloody walrus! So could you, ah—"
"—make him resemble his comment?" Harry smirked, maybe a touch too pleased at this prospect. "My pleasure. Though, considering it's Vernon, I'm not sure how much there'll be left for me to do."
A/N: Is it wishful thinking that Dudley married a squib and that he and his cousin made something resembling amends? Absolutely. But with everything else I'm about to throw Harry's way, a break of awkward family bonding became the peace before the storm.
