Chapter 5 – Welcome to Hogwarts
Minerva's POV
Minerva thanked Merlin, Morgana and every other great wizard out there for being in cat form. If she'd had the body language and facial expressions of a human when Harry answered, it would have been the end of the tough image of herself she'd always given the rest of the world.
It was, however, at least a sign that she'd done something right: she had expected him to be much slower than that to trust her, especially after that rather spectacular entrance. Perhaps, she thought with more than a hint of sadness, he'd just jumped at the first chance he'd ever known.
As Mrs. Figg let her in, she commented: "Oh. I see what you mean, Harry." Then, smiling widely: "So, Professor... did your errand go as expected?"
In order to answer, she would need the ability to speak, so she simply took the question as her cue to transform back.
"Let's just say that my list of other errands just got a lot longer. I would love to stay and chat, Arabella, but we're just passing by. Do you mind if we use your fireplace?"
Harry's eyes went wide at that last remark, but she couldn't tell whether he was more puzzled or excited. He had probably understood that yet another piece of magic was involved, but he still couldn't connect the word 'fireplace' to travelling. If he got too scared to step into the roaring green flames, Side-Along Apparition would be a good alternative, but then they would have to walk all the way to the castle, and neither tiring him nor wasting time were in her plans for the immediate future. The sooner she could get Poppy to give the boy a complete check-up, the happier she would be.
"Not at all, Professor! Now... where did I put my Floo Powder again?" She retrieved a small vase that was almost at its fullest: either she received more visits than she made, or she'd just refilled it―perhaps she expected something like this to happen. But if she did, then she definitely knew more about the Dursleys than she was letting on... Merlin, she would end up worse than Mad-Eye Moody if she got any more paranoid!
"Harry," she said in the most reassuring tone she could muster, "what you're going to see is just one of the most common means of transport among wizards. I told you I won't hurt you, and I'll keep my word. Remember, it only looks bad. You won't feel a thing."
"Okay." His eyes darted from the powder to her face and back.
"If you don't want to do this, there are other ways to get to Hogwarts. I won't be the least bit disappointed in you if you say no."
"I'm not scared." Small as he was, he still managed to look much older than seven as he said that, a steely glint in his eyes that shouldn't have been there at all. But then again, those eyes had seen things that no child should ever see.
"Good. Now watch." Pointing her wand at the fireplace, she muttered: "Incendio." A bright, crackling fire lit the room and―was that a low whistle of admiration he let out? That was a positive sign, for sure: maybe they hadn't yet drilled into him that all magic was bad. It would be hard to get him to talk about his past, but as soon as she did, she made a mental note to find out exactly how and how much they had influenced him on that point, since it could be of vital importance for his future education.
Then she dropped a handful of powder into the flames, making them turn emerald green and rise higher with a loud roar.
Harry backed away a bit, probably realising what would come next. "Do we have to... ?"
"I have a feeling you guessed right. If you want, I can go in first, then you can join me. And remember to hold on tight."
He nodded, staring at the fire. She'd gained some of his trust, but admittedly, asking an abused child to step into a fireplace with an adult woman he'd just met was probably too much.
"I-I don't understand, Professor. Are you sure we won't be burnt?"
"Yes, Harry, I am entirely sure of that. This is how I got here in the first place, and I don't look hurt, do I?"
"Well, no, but then... do you have to use magic to stop it from hurting or something? I don't think I can do that."
"No, the fire is already magical in its own right. Look."
She stepped in and smiled at him, silently praying it would be enough to prove that she was perfectly fine. Awestruck, Harry inched towards the flames and stretched out a hand, not quite touching them yet. Minerva reached out and took it, hoping it would increase his confidence. He started a little at the physical contact, but relaxed almost instantly and let her tug him gently. He was in the fire up to the wrist now.
"Hey, it barely tickles!" And with that he all but dived into the fireplace, allowing her arms to envelope him. The soot made him cough a little, but other than that, he looked at ease, even happy. That was a look she'd rarely seen on his face – too rarely, in fact.
"Hogwarts Castle, Hospital Wing!" she stated, making sure one last time that her hold was firm. Arabella's house disappeared in a green whirl and they landed not too gracefully several miles away, in the desired part of the building.
Harry coughed furiously, having inhaled a little too much dust, but a few gulps of the clear air of the Hospital Wing soon set things right again. It didn't escape Minerva's notice that he lingered in her arms just a second longer than necessary.
"It didn't hurt, did it?"
"No, it didn't. Actually, I sort of liked it, because―" The rest got lost in a low mumble she couldn't decipher.
"Excuse me, Harry, I didn't quite catch that."
"It felt a little like a hug. When you had to hold me, I mean. I've never really... you know..."
It seemed her heart couldn't decide if it was more appropriate to break at the thought that he'd never been hugged before, or beat faster in a new fit of rage towards the Dursleys.
As he started taking in his surroundings, a very surprised Poppy Pomfrey rushed in. "Minerva! I thought you said you were away on research."
"In a way I was. In fact, I found someone who needs your services."
She stared at Harry, probably wondering what a small boy could possibly have to do with a Transfiguration teacher's research, and recognition flashed across her face.
"Goodness me! Is that―"
"Not now, Poppy. Forgive me for inconveniencing you at this hour, but he needs a complete check-up. The rest can wait."
"A check-up?" Harry put in timidly. "But I'm okay, right?"
"That's what we're going to find out. This is Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse."
"Good evening, Madam," he said politely. Wherever he got his manners from, it definitely wasn't from his pig of a cousin. He was probably used to being very formal to adults, though: she'd come to realise that, despite her giving him permission to use her first name, he hadn't done it once.
"Why don't you undress and lie down on one of these beds, dear?"
Harry's eyes went wide, darting wildly between Poppy and the closest bed as he processed what she'd said. In his mind, there were likely several things wrong with that one sentence.
"Please, Harry, do as she says. I promise she won't hurt you either."
If she took the name as a confirmation of her suspicions, she didn't show it. Instead, she looked outraged: "Hurt him? Quite the opposite, I'd say!"
As if those words had encouraged him a little, Harry sat gingerly on the bed, looking very reluctant to take his newly Transfigured T-shirt off, though it was hard to tell whether he was hesitant to undress in front of adults or he feared it would disappear. Considering how he held it for a moment as if making sure it was real, it was probably a bit of both.
As soon as she saw his bare back, Poppy's eyebrows shot up higher than Minerva thought humanly possible. The marks of several old beatings formed a criss-cross pattern that sent shivers down both their spines.
"Now I see why he needs a check-up," she muttered to herself. Then, a little louder: "Now, Harry, if you would just lie down and try and stay still..."
He obeyed for the most part, but couldn't help but squirm a bit when she pulled out her wand. It was worse than either of them thought. Usually, when running the standard diagnostic spells, it would move when it sensed something wrong as if it had found some sort of invisible obstacle in the air; this time, it gave more violent jerks than they could count, as the enchanted quill floating beside her scribbled so furiously it very nearly set the parchment on fire.
"Um... what was that?" he asked, dumbfounded.
"That, Harry, was something that I'm sure will prove very helpful in finding you a new home. If I may have a copy, that is, Poppy."
"Of course!" The nurse stopped reading the list just long enough to make a duplicate, then picked up where she left off, horror and anger mounting on her face. "Who... who did this to him, Minerva?"
"The very people who were supposed to keep him safe."
"What? But surely the Headmaster―"
"The Headmaster, as you'll have realised, isn't perfect, and apparently hasn't considered that, while protected from outside threats, he could be exposed to ones that came from inside. And now, to business. What can you do?"
"I'll be right back with all the potions I need." She hurried to get them, leaving Minerva and Harry a few moments' privacy. That pleading look could only mean he had a couple thousand questions to ask.
"Yes, Harry, potions exist too, and I promise that none of those will harm you, but I have to warn you that they taste awful."
He gave a weak smile. "That's okay. But what did Madam Pomfrey do, exactly?"
"It's called a diagnostic spell. We have to know exactly what those Muggles did to you."
"But..." The thought seemed to distress him.
"What's wrong?"
He looked away and hesitated, but finally managed to say: "W-well... you won't think bad of me now that you know, will you?"
"Why would I? You couldn't help any of that."
"I could have tried a little harder not to make them angry, though. Or I could have done... I don't know, something. Some wizard I am if I couldn't stop them for myself."
"Now, listen to me very carefully, Harry." He perked up at that, probably realising the importance of what she was about to say. "I don't know what they told you, and we'll talk about it only if and when you're ready, but none of the bad things that happened to you in that house were your fault. They were wrong, not you."
"They always said I was bad, though."
"I'm a teacher, Harry. Don't you think I've seen my share of bad boys?"
"Yeah, I suppose you have."
"Exactly. And firstly, I know a bad boy when I see one, and you aren't. Secondly, I have never treated any of them like that, simply because no one ever should. There are other ways, ones that don't hurt. They didn't have the right to do that to you. Do you think you can understand that?"
"I can try. But then, why did they always tell me I deserved it?"
"Because they wanted you to think so, Harry. But that doesn't mean they were right."
"But they've been telling me that for so long, and―" Something was obviously keeping him from saying what came next, but Minerva had a pretty good idea of how he intended that sentence to end.
"And I've stormed into your life with no warning, reversing everything they've ever told you, and you're not sure who of us to believe, is that it?"
He gasped. "Did you read my mind or something?"
"No, I can't read minds. But I'm pretty good at reading faces."
"Was I that easy to read?"
"After everything you've been through, anyone would be thinking that if they were in your place."
"So... how do I choose?"
"Be completely honest with yourself. Who do you want to believe?"
"I want to believe you, but I can't just decide that you're right and they were wrong just because it would be a lot better."
"That's a very good start, Harry. I know it will take longer than this for you to realise just how wrong they were."
"How can you be so sure, Professor? You keep saying all these nice things, but maybe someday I'll start making you angry too, and you'll think they were right all along and... and send me back to them."
"That is not going to happen. I intend to speak to the Headmaster as soon as I can, and together we will find you a new place to stay. Nothing you can possibly do will change that."
"Really?"
"I give you my word, Harry, and one thing you'll learn about me is that when I promise something, I mean it."
"Sorry for the delay, it took me a while to find my last bottle of Skele-Gro," Poppy announced herself, rushing in again with a small tray that held a variety of potions. Minerva would have cursed her luck in Troll and Mermish if only she could speak them. She'd promised Harry several times that no one would ever harm him again, and he just so happened to need a healing product that worked miracles, but hurt in the process! Of course, it was for his own good, but he'd never known any pain that ultimately led to good results. Would he be able to tell the difference?
She looked at the boy and saw the desire to ask: 'What's that?' burning in his eyes, but for once, his endless curiosity would have to wait.
"May I have a word with you in private?"
"Of course. Follow me."
Once in the safety of her office, she allowed herself to whisper: "Is it really necessary?" She didn't want to risk underestimating Harry's hearing, even in the relative privacy of the room.
"Absolutely. I found a couple of fractures that never healed properly. He won't need more than a spoonful, but it'll help. That, and nutrient potions in his diet starting tomorrow. The scars are too old for me to do anything. I could have prevented new ones from forming, but he's going to have to keep those."
"But Skele-Gro is―"
"Not the most pleasant drink in the world, I know."
"I was making some progress, Poppy. It will all be lost if you give it to him."
"Not necessarily. I'm hoping some Dreamless Sleep Potion will be strong enough to make him sleep through the night without feeling any of it."
"It's not my field of expertise, and far be it from me to teach you how to do your job, but aren't you afraid they'll react badly with each other?"
"Do you think I'd be suggesting it if I had even the slightest doubt? Your mistrust offends me."
"I'm sorry. Harry is a difficult case... not my first, but a difficult one. I barely trust myself, let alone others."
"You really do care for him, don't you?"
"Was I that easy to read?" She realised she'd imitated him only after the words were out of her mouth.
"I'm not blind, Minerva. Your inner cat is dying to grab him by the scruff of his neck and take him somewhere safe, am I right?"
"The cat metaphor was a tad obvious, but other than that, I couldn't have said it any better myself."
"Let's get back to my patient, then."
Minerva felt the sting of something akin to jealousy at those words, but shook it off: what right did she have to consider Harry hers in any way? Sure, it had been the other way around for a while―she'd been his pet. But would that ever be enough for him to accept her as part of what she hoped would be his new, real family?
She watched as Poppy poured a small dose of Skele-Gro into a spoon and prompted Harry to open his mouth; he eyed the contents as though they were about to jump out and attack him. Before a single drop of it touched his lips, she warned him: "I'd hold my breath if I were you."
He held his nose to feel as little of the horrid taste as he could, but still winced. "Eww! That's terrible!"
"Congratulations on not spitting it out," said Poppy. "Most people do the first time."
"Hurry, before it starts taking effect," Minerva whispered.
"There's one more you have to take―don't worry, it's a bit better." Poppy retrieved a vial of Dreamless Sleep from the tray and handed it to him. "Then I suggest you get some sleep. It's getting late."
Harry obediently gulped it down. "Sleep? But I don't really―" he was interrupted by a yawn, "feel like sleeping... whoa, what's this doing to me?" His head hit the pillow and he was fast asleep before he even had the time to take his glasses off. Minerva gently deposited them on the bedside table.
"He looks so innocent..." Poppy commented. With all the odd things she'd seen throughout her career, she wouldn't have pegged her as the sensitive type, but she supposed she must like children if she'd accepted the post as school nurse.
"He is. And look what they did to him. Now, if you'll excuse me, a confrontation awaits me. What password has he come up with while I was away?"
"It's 'Fizzing Whizbees', but I doubt it'll last long."
"I'd better go before he changes his mind again, then. Good night, Poppy."
"Good night."
After the gargoyle hopped to the side at the mention of the Headmaster's latest sugary obsession, Minerva all but stormed into his office, holding her copy of the list of Harry's injuries much like she'd wield a weapon.
"Why so upset, Minerva? I take it your research hasn't been successful." The ever-present twinkle in his eyes told her that he knew it wasn't precisely academic research she'd been doing; his surprise, though, seemed genuine. Perhaps there was still hope that he wasn't aware of what exactly she'd been up to.
"Quite the contrary, Albus. I have succeeded in my task. It's what I found along the way that upsets me so much." She was still holding her anger in, but she could feel the much-deserved yells pushing to come out.
"Well, then, by all means, tell me."
"I suggest you sit down. This could take all night."
He sighed as he took place on his throne-like chair. He'd realised it was serious―that was something, she supposed.
"For my research, if we still want to call it that, I had to go somewhere I daresay you know very well. Does Little Whinging, Surrey sound familiar?"
"Too familiar, as it has been one of your greatest worries for the past six years."
"And with good reason! If any of your little devices warned you that Harry has left the supposedly safe area, it's because he is currently in the Hospital Wing, healing from only a small part of all this!"
She slammed the list on his desk with all her might. "This is what they did to him, Albus, and there are wounds in the boy's heart much deeper than the ones Poppy found on his body. You were so concerned with protecting him from Dark wizards that apparently it just slipped your mind that threats could come to him from those despicable Muggles as well. Look! They beat him for the tiniest infraction, made him work like a house elf, didn't feed him properly and made him sleep in a blasted cupboard infested with spiders! And you call this safe? If this is safety, I shudder to think of your definition of danger. Are you going senile? Is that it? Because in all honesty, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, you were insane to think they could ever treat him right!"
Admittedly, she felt much better after her long rant. She rarely allowed herself such disrespect towards him, but this time he deserved that and much more.
"But surely you understand that the blood wards―"
"The blood wards will do no more than a Squib attempting to cast a basic Shield Charm if the boy dies inside them!"
He inhaled sharply. "You think the Muggles endangered his life?"
"Here's the list, see for yourself. I think they have, and if you don't believe me, then at least believe that if you send him back to them, they will. What if that whale of his uncle, who by the way is several times bigger than him, ends up beating him too hard? What if Petunia 'forgets' one too many meals? Even in the Muggle world there are ways to make murder look like an accident, Albus. The sort of magic that Lily triggered is unparalleled and I know that. I realise the importance of the blood wards just as well as you do, but we can't let him live that poor excuse of a life any longer. Find him some new guardians and make their house as protected as ordinary magic possibly can. That will have to do. Your precious Harry Potter needs safety, of course, but I say he also needs a real childhood."
As Albus read the parchment, a long, painful silence ensued. Each item on the list seemed to dim the twinkle in his eyes a little, and when he let go of it, allowing it to roll itself up on his desk again, it was gone.
"How long has this been going on?"
"I didn't ask, but Harry seems to remember nothing else."
"Did you see any of this happen with your own eyes?"
"I saw some of the consequences. Earlier tonight I prevented one more beating from appearing at the bottom of the list. And there are things Poppy's diagnosis doesn't say."
"What kind of things?"
"I'm willing to show you through your Pensieve, if you take it out. He doesn't recall having any clothes of his own. They wouldn't replace his glasses when they were broken. He's never received a kind word or a hug from any of them. They somehow drilled into him that he deserved what they were doing to him. They barely used his name and mostly called him 'boy' or 'freak'." She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyebrows rise slightly at that last word.
"Surely not because of―"
"His powers? Accidental magic was what earned him the worst punishments... not that he knew what it really was."
"Is he at least aware of what he is now?"
"Not thanks to them! I had to tell him. He took it quite well so far, but still has the impulse of calling himself a freak rather than a wizard. Just think what it could do to his education, and therefore, to his future role in the fight against him." Let's see what he has to say to that. Minerva was distinctly starting to visualize the conversation as a huge game of chess between the two of them, and was pretty sure that was a checkmate.
Albus pinched the bridge of his nose, as if for an incoming headache.
"This isn't going to be easy, Minerva. You've been warned. I suppose there are plenty of families who would be willing to take him, though. Let's see... what about the Weasleys?"
"They have seven children of their own, for Merlin's sake! I'm not saying they would be bad parents for Harry, but an abused child needs his guardians' undivided attention. Moreover, Molly is known for using rather harsh disciplinarian methods on occasion. Her heart is in the right place, but nothing, and I do mean nothing, must remind him of his previous life."
"Very well, we can scratch one name off the list. The Diggorys, then?"
"Exemplary parents, I'm sure, but they dote on their own son far too much to make him feel welcome. He already thinks little of himself without having to live up to the model of someone who can do no wrong in their eyes. And Cedric is older. I don't need that load of guesswork that is Divination to foresee trouble in the period when he starts attending Hogwarts and Harry has to stay home... I believe Muggles call it an inferiority complex."
"Another family that won't be getting an owl from us anytime soon. What about Amelia Bones? Her niece should be in Harry's own year when he starts."
"Amelia Bones is a busy enough woman without the burden of a difficult child on her shoulders. Besides, with all her important contacts at the Ministry, the Prophet would get wind of it in a matter of days, and we don't want any attention, do we?"
"True. Augusta Longbottom, then? You've known each other since your school days. Surely you trust her, at least. Age doesn't pose a problem, either, as Neville is older than Harry only by a handful of hours."
Minerva bit her lip in thought. He had a good point, but as much as she loved Augusta, she needed to find something against her as well. She'd instinctually tossed every name back like a Quaffle, and that, more than anything else, made her realise that, whoever Harry's new guardian would be, she'd be sorry to see him go. They'd bonded more than she had ever thought possible during her days as Tabby. She couldn't kid herself any further: she wanted to be much more than one of his teachers.
"Yes, Albus, Augusta and I go way back. In fact, we are on visiting terms, and I've had more than one chance to see what her attitude is doing to little Neville's self-esteem. She expected great things from Alice and Frank's son, but now that he's about to reach the age of seven without one single sign of magic, she has basically convinced both herself and her grandson that he's destined for failure. Just imagine what she would expect from the Boy Who Lived! The moment Harry disappoints her in the least, disaster is going to strike." Speaking of age, if Neville's birthday is approaching, then Harry's will follow. I wonder if I can give him his first proper party.
"Alright, Minerva. As much as I'm enjoying this little game of ours, I daresay we've both had enough of it. Just say that you want this child yourself and be done with it."
"I never could hide anything from you, could I?"
"Very well. I have nothing personal against it. If you think you can handle him as well as your duties as teacher, Head of House and Deputy Headmistress, then by all means, the spare room in your quarters is his. But are you really up to this task?"
"I think I am, and if I'm not, then I swear to Merlin I'll find a way to be."
"Ah, I see you're determined."
"When have I been anything but determined?"
"You wouldn't be Head of Gryffindor if you weren't. Speaking of which, I've seen your relationship with every single one of your students, and even though you have no children of your own, they all are as good as your sons and daughters. If you were wondering, that is why I'm not being resistant to the idea. I'm confident you will be a good surrogate mother for Harry as well."
"Oh, no, Albus. I don't mean to replace Lily at all. She was, is, and always will be his only mother. But I do intend to honour her memory a thousand times better than her wretched sister did."
Author's Note: special thanks to: JustSidonie for making that lovely new picture that I will be using as the cover for this story from now on; Katzztar for suggesting Minerva's argument against Amos Diggory, about which I was honestly stumped.