Harry Potter Returns
A Harry Potter/Superman Returns Crossover
Chapter Three
Home is Where the Hurt Is
Updated 22 May 2010
Harry shot into the air, adjusting his upward angle of flight so he would clear the atmosphere by the time he passed over the northern shores of Antarctica. He flew steadily for a few seconds at 150 MPH, the maximum speed of his Firebolt, before putting on a burst of speed, accelerating up to 750 MPH, just under the speed of sound, until he reached the edge of the atmosphere. Now he could travel as fast as he wanted, without worrying about potential damage to the environment due to sonic booms and backwash.
Going to hypersonic speed, just past Mach 5, Harry looked down on the planet below him with a sense of excitement and exhilaration. He was flying under his own power! Not with a broom or a hippogriff beneath him, but by himself! He'd practiced flying around the Fortress, of course, and the nearby mountains surrounding it, but he'd always done so under Clark's watchful eye. Now, he could fly as fast as he wanted, with nothing to hold him back!
It was something Harry had been itching to try ever since he'd gained control of the ability. He wanted to cut loose, to see how fast he could propel himself, before heading back to the Dursleys and pretending to be meek and mild Harry Potter once again. Looking above the curve of the Earth below him, Harry selected a star at random and willed himself toward it.
He felt himself accelerating, but without any air going past him it was difficult to gauge just how fast he was going. The stars, being light-years away, didn't change perspective as he flew toward them. After a minute or so he slowed to what seemed like a halt and looked down, to see how far north he'd traveled.
The Earth was gone.
Oh, crap, Harry thought, turning slowly and looking around for the planet. How fast did I go? He found the sun without much trouble — it was still the biggest star in his field of view, visible as a disc rather than a point. But the Earth… How could I lose an entire damn planet? Harry berated himself. He was tempted to sigh gustily, but remembered he was in the vacuum of space, and held his breath. Not that he felt oxygen deprived, but Clark had suggested that he take a deep breath and hold it while out of the atmosphere.
At last, a plan to locate the Earth came to mind. Starting with lights nearest the sun from his perspective, Harry used his enhanced vision to magnify each one in turn. Eventually, he knew, he would come across — there! One of the points of light had become a blue-green crescent, reflected sunlight from the nearby moon showing him the rest of the Earth in shadow. Now he simply had to move toward it, keeping his speed from going into overdrive so as not to overshoot it once again. Within a few minutes he was hovering over the Earth once again, only a few hundred miles above its surface. Moving in an arc, he approached Great Britain until he was directly above it, then allowed himself to begin descending toward the surface. A bit unnerved by his experience, he was still smiling at how fast and far he'd gone in that one minute burst of speed. It was going to be a very interesting few days at the Dursleys!
It was nearing dusk in Surrey, where Little Whinging was located, and as Harry descended he watched carefully for landmarks to tell him when he was above the city, then traced the roads to his neighborhood. From a few thousand feet up he located the play park located about a half-mile from number four, Privet Drive. That was where he planned to set down, assuming the park was empty. He could see no one around, either on the swings or loitering about near the entrance; the park was a favorite location for Dudley and his gang to hang out, waiting to ambush smaller children or randomly vandalize the swings there. Rather than risk someone seeing him floating down slowly, Harry planned to drop fast, pulling up at the last moment for a soft landing. It almost worked.
Harry hit the ground harder than he'd intended — his feet went into the dirt past his ankles. A bit annoyed at his imprecision, he pulled his feet free, then looked around. Nobody seemed to have heard the loud thump his landing had made. Harry walked casually over to the railings on the park's west side and "pretended" to vault the gate (actually, he let his flying power lift him over, in an approximation of a vaulting jump), then walked south on Magnolia Road toward its intersection with Magnolia Crescent. He was not in a particular hurry; he wanted time to rehearse what he was going to say to his uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia when they questioned him about where he'd been. It was going to be the hard part of this homecoming, especially since he fully expected Vernon to shout at him for a long time before sending him up to his room. Things would go a lot smoother, Harry considered, if they'd just send him up to his room without comment.
"Hey, Potter!" a voice behind and to his right called out, and Harry winced, angry with himself for not being more careful. The voice belonged to Piers Polkiss, Dudley's best friend and the number two member of his gang, after Dudley himself. Harry stopped and turned, seeing Polkiss with two other members of the gang, Dennis and Gordon. The trio had apparently been standing between two houses, for purposes unknown, until they noticed Harry walking by. "Whatcha doing out so late?" Polkiss asked him, as the other two boys grinned, anticipating the fun they intended to have.
Usually at this point Harry would take off running, either making it back to number four before Polkiss caught him (he was the fastest of the group, the one Harry had to beat if he was to escape their clutches), or begin brought down and pummeled by the gang until they decided to let him go. It hadn't happened recently, mostly because Dudley was now scared of Harry and that "thing" he carried (his wand), though none of the other boys knew that Harry was a wizard. And now, even though they didn't know it, they had even more reason to leave Harry be. "Just going home," he answered, trying not to give them a reason to start a fight, though he knew full well none of Dudley's friends needed a reason to pick on him — it's just what they did. "Where's Big D?" Harry asked, looking around as if expecting to see Dudley.
Piers didn't answer immediately. The three boys had surrounded Harry by now, and Piers was grinning at him like the Cheshire cat. "Dudley said you went missing. Been gone a couple 'a weeks. So, where ya been, Potter? Off visiting your boyfriend, Cedric?"
How could they remember something Dudley must have mentioned to them over a year ago, Harry thought incredulously. These blokes could barely tell what day of the week it was! Annoyed at Piers' disrespect for someone he didn't even know, Harry snapped, "Cedric died over a year ago!"
"Awww," Piers put on a sad face while Dennis and Gordon laughed. "I'm sooo sowwy for youw woss, Hawwy," he said, in a mincing voice meant to mock. "Did you cwy at his funeral?"
Harry shook his head. "I'm leaving," he announced, but as he turned to walk away Dennis and Gordon blocked his path.
"Nuh uh," Gordon said, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You ain't goin' nowhere."
Harry looked at Gordon's hand on his shoulder for a moment, then back at Gordon. "Watch me," he said, flatly.
The next moment things got very confused as Harry seemed to slip away from Gordon's hand even as a sudden gust of cold wind slammed into the large boy's chest, throwing him backwards onto the ground. Dennis, who'd begun to grab for Harry as he spoke, was also knocked unceremoniously off his feet by another gust.
Piers, who'd been leaping forward, fist clenched, to smack Harry in the back for daring to cheek them, connected only with air, nearly overbalanced, then spun around, only to be lifted off his feet by a third gust that dropped him on his back between the first two boys.
Dazed and confused, the three boys stared up at Harry, who appeared unaffected by the sudden bursts of wind. "Kind of breezy tonight, isn't it?" he asked them, a smile playing across his lips.
"Potter!" Polkiss cried, staring at the skinny, bespectacled kid who'd somehow dodged all three of them. "H-how'd you move so fast?"
Harry chuckled. "I've always been able to run fast. I outrun you most of the time." He turned and started to walk away, but stopped and added, "If you see Big D tonight, tell him I'll see him at home." He walked away.
He was almost to Magnolia Crescent when they began shouting at him, calling him names and telling him to come back and fight, but they weren't running after him, so Harry ignored them. It was probably just as well they weren't following him — if they had, Harry would have chosen to run home, avoiding another fight. Not for his sake, but for theirs.
Clark had warned him about getting in fights with people with normal strength, especially when you were angry or upset. It was easy to misgauge your strength in such situations, until you'd had enough practice at using just the right amount of force. Remembering that, Harry had avoided using his fists at all, choosing to simply move at enhanced speed, knocking Dennis and Gordon off their feet with puffs of super-breath, then dodging Piers' sucker punch and stepping behind him to repeat the breath maneuver just as Piers regained his balance. The result was three opponents lying in the dirt with no punches thrown on Harry's part.
Unfortunately, it had also got his adrenaline pumping, just when he needed not to be aggressive—as he was about to see his aunt and uncle again after two weeks of being gone from number four Privet Drive. Harry made his way to the street where the Dursley house was located, drew a slow, calming breath, then walked up the front walk and rang the doorbell.
But nearly a minute later, no one had come to the door. Harry put his vision and hearing powers to work, to find out what was going on. The doors and walls of the house became almost completely transparent under his gaze. He found Vernon in the living room, dozing in front of the television. His aunt, as usual after the evening meal, was giving the kitchen its first of several compulsory cleanings; and lastly, Dudley was up in his bedroom, playing a video game on his television set. Either none of them had heard the doorbell, or had assumed someone else was answering it. Harry hit the doorbell again, and knocked on the door as well.
At the sudden thumping Vernon jerked awake. "Petunia!" he called. "The door!"
"I'm cleaning!" she shouted from the kitchen. "Get Dudley to answer it!"
"Dudley!" Vernon bellowed. "Get the door, NOW!"
Harry smirked as upstairs, Dudley huffed and threw down his game control, rolled ponderously to his feet and tromped slowly down the steps, muttering about being treated like a slave now that Harry was gone. He yanked open the door, snapping out a annoyed "What—?" before realizing who was standing on the front step. Harry almost felt like laughing as he saw recognition, then surprise followed quickly by apprehension and fear, on his cousin's face.
"Hiya, Big D," Harry said, cheerfully. "How's that diet going?" He let a beat pass, then added, "Not so well, I'm guessing."
"You!" Dudley snarled, almost like an accusation. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Did you miss me?" Harry sneered.
"Dudley! Who's at the door?" Vernon yelled from the living room.
"It's Harry!" Dudley yelled back.
"What?" there were screeches from both the living room and the kitchen, and within seconds all three of the Dursley had appeared before Harry at the front door. "Where the devil have you been, boy?" Vernon demanded.
"Out," Harry said, simply.
"Out where?" Petunia asked, her voice as close to a shriek as she could get while keeping it low enough so the neighbors wouldn't hear her.
"Just out," Harry repeated, not wanting to give them any information about what he'd been doing.
"Well get inside he—" Vernon grasped Harry's shoulder and tried to pull him inside, but Harry didn't budge. "Urggh — what the ruddy hell are you doing, boy?" Unable to move Harry, Vernon finally released his shoulder and glared at him.
Once his uncle had let go, Harry stepped into the house, walking past them to the staircase leading upstairs. He stopped on the bottom step, turned to them, and spoke. "I've had some things to take care of for the past couple of weeks, and to be honest, I didn't think you really cared where I was or what was happening with me."
"You've got that right, boy!" Vernon said, gruffly. "As far as I'm concerned, you might as well just stayed where you were!" He reached over to a lamp table standing next to the stairs, grabbing a small parchment envelope. "And I'm telling you this for the last time — no more bloody owls better come swooping into our house!" He shook the envelope in Harry's face, then threw it at his feet. "D'you hear me, boy?"
Harry looked down at the envelope, only mildly surprised. He recognized the handwriting as Professor Dumbledore's. "When did this come?" he asked.
"It was earlier today," Petunia answered, her voice filled with disgust at the thought of the horrid beast that had shot through her kitchen window, dropped the envelope on the kitchen table, and flew out again without pause. "It took me a whole hour to clean the kitchen again, afterwards!"
"What does it say?" Vernon demanded. "We couldn't get it open!"
"You tried to read it?" Harry said, both annoyed and amused. He reached down and picked up the envelope, examining it. There were scratches and creases along the envelope's edges, as if someone had tried to pry or tear it open. "Weren't you afraid it would curse you or something?"
Vernon glanced warily at the envelope, as if that idea hadn't occurred to him. "Bah," he snorted, dismissing it as unimportant. "I don't know what your freak friends could have to say to you that we'd care a whit about!"
"Good," Harry said, turning to walk upstairs. "Because it probably says that Professor Dumbledore will be by this Friday night—"
"What?" Both Vernon and Petunia looked startled, then apprehensive. "Why's that old coot coming here?" Vernon blustered.
"To take me to my friend Ron's house, the Burrow, for the rest of the summer. So you won't have to put up with me for much longer," Harry explained.
"He'd better be here before dinner, is all I've got to say," Vernon threatened, waving a beefy finger at Harry. "There's no use in us feeding you if you won't be doing your chores that night!"
Harry, having already scanned the letter by looking through the parchment envelope, said in a diffident tone, "He won't be by until eleven p.m., so I'll have my chores done for the day."
"How do you know he'll be by then?" Petunia demanded. "You haven't even looked at the letter yet!"
"Magic," Harry told her. Without further argument he went up to his room. When he got to his door, however, Harry found it was still magically locked. A quick glance through the door told him the window to his room was still open — he could fly in through there, though he'd have to do it fast enough to avoid being seen, and he'd risk damaging the room if he wasn't exactly precise in his movements. After a moment's thought, however, Harry saw a simpler solution: the hinges to his door were on the outside, so that Vernon could remove the door if necessary. Harry simply reached up, removing the two hinge pins; then a pull with only a bit of enhanced strength easily removed the door from the frame. He then replaced the pins, leaving the door open. He'd have to leave it that way, slightly ajar, until he left for the Burrow, but he doubted if the Dursleys would bother him much between then and now. He lifted his legs from the floor, letting his flying power float him over the bed, where he crossed his legs beneath him and settled onto the bedcovers. I wonder how Clark's doing right now? Harry thought, looking out the window into the growing twilight.
=ooo=
Clark, having many more years of experience in the use of his abilities than Harry, spent only a few seconds streaking northward until he was above the wheatlands of Kansas. It was the middle of the day in central United States, and Clark stayed below radar level, moving invisibly fast until he was directly over the Kent farm, then slowing so he could land lightly behind the barn, out of sight of the house.
He'd placed a change of normal clothes in the rafters of the barn, in case of situations where he might need civilian clothing before entering the house. His mother would know him instantly, even in costume, but being home again gave Clark an overwhelming urge to embrace his human side once again, something he'd been unable to do while exploring the ruins of Krypton. Removing his costume, he put on the flannel shirt, blue jeans and work boots, as he'd done so many times in his youth, enjoying the feeling of normalcy they gave him.
He glanced toward the house, checking to see if anyone was visitng Martha Kent. She was alone, he saw, although he noticed a dog resting on a doggie bed in the kitchen, watching her roll out a pie crust. Clark smiled; he'd certainly timed his arrival well — she was making apple pie!
He walked quietly toward the back door of the house, where the kitchen was located, but before he'd covered half the distance from the barn to the house Martha had glanced up through the window and, seeing him coming, ran to the door and threw it open. "Clark!" she called, her voice filled with emotion, and held her arm out toward him. Clark ran the final few yards, scooping her up gently. "Oh, my boy!" she cried, hugging him tightly. "You're back!" Clark nodded, taking in the scent of her — the smell of baking and fresh fruits, the touch of perfume his father had liked, which she still used; it had been too long since he'd seen her. It also slightly chilled him as he realized that she might have died anytime in the past five years, while he was gone.
When she released him, Clark found her staring into his eyes with motherly concern. "When did you get back?" she asked. "Just now?"
Clark shook his head. "I've been back a few days," he told her. "I needed to secure the ship I returned in." He hesitated a moment, then continued, "I also had a — small problem, when I got back. There was a piece of kryptonite stuck to the ship, it weakened me once I'd entered the solar system and nearly killed me as I tried to exit the ship."
"Oh, no!" Martha exclaimed. "How did you get away from it?"
"Well," Clark admitted, smiling a bit sheepishly, "I had some help." He told her how when his powers returned, as he entered the influence of Earth's yellow sun, he realized that he was weaker than normal, and guessed that there was kryptonite somewhere on the ship's hull. What he hadn't counted on was that it was right over the exit hatch from his ship — as he'd started to climb out, he was bombarded with the k-radiation, weakening him still further and causing him to collapse. He had tried to crawl away but the ground around the ship was muddy and too steep for him to climb out, until a young man named Harry Potter had shown up and rescued him.
"A boy rescued you?" Martha said, as Clark described his benefactor to her. She smiled mischievously. "He must have been quite amazed to find himself rescuing Superman, wasn't he?"
"Surprisingly," Clark recalled, "he didn't seem to recognize me at all, at first. My costume was rather muddy at that point — and it was covered in grime and dust from the journey." He sighed. "I really should have checked the ship for basic necessities, like a shower stall, before taking off to find Krypton!"
"You haven't had a shower in five years?" Martha asked, shocked. "My goodness, Clark!"
"I cleaned up in the Fortress, Mom," he assured her. "And, I —" he hesitated a moment "I showed the Fortress to Harry, as well."
"Did you?" his mother said, starting to wonder just what kind of relationship Clark had forged with this Harry Potter. "You know what problems that caused last time, when people found out where your Fortress was."
"Well, something happened when Harry rescued me, Mother," Clark explained. "Something very strange." Briefly he described the accident with the kryptonite and the lightning, and how it seemed to transfer some of his powers to Harry. Martha listened with growing anxiety.
"How did he handle them?" she wondered. She ran her hands along Clark's arms and chest. "How are you handling it, Clark? Do you feel weaker?"
"I'm fine," Clark replied. "I measured my current strength, it's about three-fourths of what I had before. Strangely, Harry's strength is about half of my original strength, not one-fourth. Plus, some of Harry's powers were siphoned off into me as well."
"Harry's powers?" Martha was intrigued by this revelation. "You didn't mention anything about them before! What kind of powers does Harry have?"
"He's a wizard," Clark told her. "He has magical powers." He went on to describe what little information he'd gotten from Harry about the Wizarding world: it was a society hidden away from the world at large, yet scattered all across it, from the Far East to the Americas. Harry lived in Britain, where Clark's ship had first entered the atmosphere, and he seemed to do a lot of things wizards were known for: he'd flown on a broom to catch up with the ship, and had used a magic wand to cast spells. From what Harry had told him, there were thousands of wizards living among other humans; he had even met another wizard, Harry's principal, or headmaster, at the school Harry attended in the north of Great Britain.
"That's amazing, Clark!" his mother was fascinated to hear of an entire society hiding from normal people even while they lived among them. "To be honest, I'd been worried when you began going out as Superman — it seemed like people would recognize you immediately. But that hasn't happened."
"For the most part, no," Clark agreed. "But Lois has gotten suspicious a few times…"
"Lois," his mother repeated. She gave him a motherly look. "Have you talked to her yet, Clark?"
Clark looked surprised. "Mom, I just got back from five years in another star system!" He put an arm around her. "I thought I'd come see my favorite girl first."
"Oh, you —!" she smiled at his words, honest as she knew they were. But her expression quickly became serious again. "Does she remember who you —?"
"No," Clark said flatly. "After the problem with General Zod and the other Phantom Zone criminals, I realized the danger to her was just too great for me to continue being with her. I … removed her memory of my identity as Clark, with super-hypnosis. It was right about that time I saw the announcement that scientists believed Krypton had been located, and I made quickly made preparations to go. Perry gave me an extended leave of absence." Clark shrugged slightly. "Well, he pretty much said he'd see if there was a job for me, when I got back," he smiled, touching his mother's cheek. "Then I came and said goodbye to you, and went to find Krypton. And now, I'm back." He sighed. "And things are, well, complicated again."
Martha was giving him a quizzical look. "You did say goodbye to Lois before you left, didn't you?" she asked, slowly.
Clark cleared his throat, looking sheepish again, and didn't answer her. "Oh, Clark," she said sadly, shaking her head. "Why not? Couldn't you face her?"
Clark didn't reply for some time. He'd turned away, seemingly lost in thought. Finally, he looked back at her. "I don't know, Mother," he answered. "I guess I just didn't know what to say to her. Even though she doesn't remember who I am, she's — she's still in love with Superman."
"And you're still in love with her," Martha added, quietly. It was not so much a question as a comment. After a moment, Clark nodded, slowly.
Martha moved close and hugged him again, enjoying being close to him once again, and the maternal feelings he evoked in her. "It will be okay, son," she whispered softly. She held him at arm's length, her eyes looking into his. "So, what are you going to do now that you're back?"
Clark smiled warmly at her. "For a while — nothing, I hope," he said. "I thought I'd stay with you for a few days, get my 'Earth legs' back, and do some things around the house for you." He took a deep breath. "Especially if we're having apple pie for dessert tonight," he grinned.
She grinned. "Well, that one's for Lana and her son, Ricky." At Clark's surprised look, she added. "They moved back to Smallville a couple of years ago — she's been working as a secretary for a firm over in Concordia, and she and Ricky help me with a few chores around the farm on weekends. Sometimes Ricky stays here during the days, when she needs a sitter. He's a sweet little boy," she smiled fondly, thinking of him. "It's a shame things didn't work out between Lana and her ex — Ricky needs a father," she continued, giving Clark a look he couldn't help but feel wasn't entirely guileless.
"Well," Clark said, determined not to take the bait, "I'll look forward to seeing her again sometime, and meeting Ricky, if I'm still around —"
"Oh, they'll be here this weekend," Martha said brightly, turning back to continue making the apple pie. "I could hardly expect you'd be back, Clark."
Clark gave her a wry grin. "I'll try and stay out of the way, Mom."
"Oh, don't be silly," she said, wagging a finger at him. "Of course you're always welcome, dear — you know that! I'm sure you and Lana will have a grand old time reminiscing about your days at Smallville High. And you can stay as long as you like."
Clark walked over and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Mom." He gave a nod toward the barn. "I'm going to go check some things out, see what needs to be fixed. Give me a holler when dinner's ready?"
She smiled and nodded, watching as Clark walked back out to the barn. Inwardly, she was very grateful that she'd been allowed to live long enough to see him return to Earth. It was good to have Clark back home again.
=ooo=
By Friday night, Harry found himself about as bored as it was possible for a fifteen-year old boy with newfound superpowers to be — which, considering that he had no intention of discussing them, or anything else about his life to this point (which rather sucked, all things considered, he felt, given that he was living with relatives who hated him and that the closest person he'd had to a real family member had been murdered a few weeks ago), left Harry with little to do but sit in his room at his desk and mope.
His room was almost exactly the way he'd left it when he'd left last year, when members of the Order of the Phoenix had come to collect him while the Dursleys were out — due to a ruse Nymphadora Tonks concocted, inviting them to a nonexistent awards dinner for the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. Harry grinned at that memory, wondering whatever had come of that, since when they got to the place where it was purportedly being held, there would have been no such dinner being held.
There was a knock at the door to his room, and Harry turned around, surprised to see Dudley standing there, giving him an apprehensive look. "What?" he asked, wondering what his cousin wanted; they hadn't spoken since Harry returned home, three days ago.
"Hey," Dudley muttered. He glanced back over his shoulder, as if checking where Vernon and Petunia were; Harry, with his enhanced sight and hearing, knew they were both watching a show on the telly. "I heard you saw the guys the other day," Dudley said.
"Yeah," Harry said, in a flat voice. "They sort of 'welcomed' me back into Little Whinging," he said, in a sardonic tone.
"Yeah, well…" Dudley shook his head, looking unhappy. "I told 'em they oughta lay off you from now on."
"You did?" Harry was a bit surprised to hear this. "Why?"
Dudley appeared as surprised by Harry's question as Harry was by his. "Well…" he frowned, looking as if he were trying to work out why Harry had asked the question. "You — you saved my life, remember?"
"Oh." Harry now realized what Dudley meant — he was referring to the two dementors that had attacked them last summer. That was the last time he'd spoken to Dudley for any length of time, until they'd returned home from King's Cross a few weeks ago. "Yeah, well, they wouldn't have killed you — just sucked out your soul."
"Well, whatever they woulda done," Dudley said earnestly, "I'm glad you kept 'em from doing it."
"No problem," Harry said, offering his cousin a small smile. "And thanks for telling your friends not to bug me, though I probably won't see them again this summer — I'm leaving tonight to visit my friends for the rest of the summer."
"Well, maybe, but —" Dudley glanced out Harry's bedroom door again, as if worried someone might be listening. He turned back, speaking in a hushed tone. "Dad said he's going to give your teacher, or whoever's coming to get you, a proper talking-to, to straighten him out."
"Oh, he is?" Harry asked, secretly amused at the idea of Vernon Dursley lecturing Albus Dumbledore. "That should be interesting to see."
Dudley was looking at Harry anxiously. "He — he won't do anything…bad, will he — this teacher of yours?" he asked, real concern in his voice. "Dad can get a bit…well, overenthusiastic when he's complaining about something."
"Don't I know it," Harry muttered, under his breath. But to Dudley he said only, "Don't worry about it. Professor Dumbledore isn't going to let Uncle Vernon provoke him into a fight or anything. He doesn't like to fight."
"I wish I could say the same about Dad," Dudley replied, and went back into his own room, leaving Harry alone once again.
Harry checked the alarm clock on his desk, an old wind-up he had repaired a year ago; it was only seven-thirty, over three hours before Dumbledore was expected. He glanced at the letter from the headmaster, once again reading the words that he'd already gone over at least a dozen times already.
Dear Harry,
As I mentioned during our last talk, I shall arrive at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven p.m. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holiday.
Also as I mentioned, if you are agreeable, I should also be glad for your assistance in a matter I plan to attend to on the way to the Burrow. I will explain more fully when I see you again.
In addition, I look forward to meeting your friend Clark once again, and hope he is well. Please send your reply by means of this owl. I hope to see you this Friday.
I am, yours most sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Harry had, of course, sent off his "yes" with the owl; now it simply remained for him to wait for what would probably feel like an interminable time, though it was only a little more than three hours until eleven p.m. However, with whatever his uncle was planning to say to Dumbledore, according to Dudley, Harry wasn't that eager to have the headmaster come by the house.
Not that Vernon could do anything to Albus Dumbledore, Harry thought — it was more a matter of him planning to say anything to the headmaster at all, given that Vernon loathed the very idea of magic itself. Anyone that practiced it, like Professor Dumbledore or even Harry himself, was automatically on Vernon's bad side. Harry was beginning to wish he'd never mentioned that the professor was coming to collect him.
Harry stared out the window, wondering what he could do to keep his uncle and Professor Dumbledore from meeting. Images began forming of Vernon acting tactless, uncouth, or downright rude to the professor, who would very likely do nothing to stop him — unlike Hagrid, who'd very quickly put an end to Vernon's harsh words against Dumbledore, by casting a spell that gave Dudley a pig's tail (though Hagrid had told him afterwards that he'd intended to turn Dudley into a pig altogether)! Harry shook his head slightly, dismissing the images from his mind — Professor Dumbledore would not let someone like Vernon Dursley get under his skin! He shut his eyes, thinking about the professor's twinkling blue eyes and easy smile that would completely disarm his blustering, bullying uncle. And if it didn't — well, Harry knew, the headmaster was not someone to be trifled with.
The sudden sound of the doorbell ringing jolted Harry, and he sat bolt upright, realizing that he'd been dozing. How could I have fallen asleep? Harry wondered. But it had happened — he heard the professor's deep voice at the front door. A quick glance with his x-ray augmented vision showed Dumbledore standing on the front step, smiling at a scowling Vernon Dursley, who looked prepared to refuse him entrance.
"Good evening," he heard the professor say. "You must be Mr. Dursley. I daresay Harry has told you I would be coming for him?"
"He has," Harry heard Vernon reply, gruffly. "But now see here, I don't mean to be rude —"
Harry jumped up from where he was sitting, rushing into the upstairs hallway and was almost to the bottom of the staircase when he realized he was moving at superspeed. He stopped on the landing, though a gust of displaced air whooshed through the hallway as Professor Dumbledore said, "And yet, accidental rudeness sadly occurs alarmingly often, I am sorry to say," completing Vernon's sentence. "Best remain quiet, my good man, and avoid all such unexpected gaffes." He beamed as the kitchen door opened and Harry's aunt stepped into the hall, stopping dead when she saw the headmaster. "Ah, this must be Petunia! Good evening," he nodded to her. "We have corresponded, of course."
Harry glanced at his aunt, remembering that their last "correspondence" had been a Howler from the Professor, reminding her that Harry must be allowed to stay at Privet Drive as per her agreement with him.
"And Harry!" Dumbledore said, apparently just noticing him, though he couldn't have helped but felt the sudden gust that had blown through the hallway and out the front door, fluttering his robe and waist-length beard. "Excellent, excellent!"
Vernon, who'd been scowling at Harry, wondering how he'd caused the gust of wind inside the house, turned back to stare at Dumbledore, who smiled engagingly back at him, saying, "We best not to spend too much time in the open, in these dangerous times. Shall we assume that you have invited me warmly into the comfort of your sitting room?" Without waiting for an answer he stepped into the house, shutting the door behind him, while Vernon stared at him, dumbfounded, as Dumbledore walked into the Dursleys' front room.
"Er —" Now that Dumbledore was here, Harry realized that he'd fallen asleep before he'd packed the last of his things. "I can be ready to go in…a few seconds Professor," he said, jerking a thumb towards his room. "Really, I can!"
"I don't doubt it, Harry," Dumbledore said, with a knowing smile. "And yet, there are a few matters I would like to clear up with your aunt and uncle, before we leave."
"Oh, is that so?" Vernon, who had followed Harry and the professor into the living room, said in a rather belligerent tone. Petunia looked at him, her eyes wide, as if she couldn't believe he was daring to speak to the headmaster of Hogwarts in that tone.
"Yes, that is so," Dumbledore said simply. In a fluid motion he waved his wand, and the sofa that was behind them suddenly shot forward, knocking their legs out from under them, so that they fell onto it. Another wave of the wand and the sofa slid back to its original position. Harry heard a soft gasp and realized it had come from the top of the staircase. A quick glance with his x-ray enhanced vision told him that Dudley was watching fearfully from the upstairs hallway. Deciding it was best to let him stay there, he began concentrating on what the professor was saying.
As Dumbledore put his wand away, Harry noticed his hand, which was blackened and shriveled, almost if it had been burned up. It had not been that way the last time he'd seen the headmaster. "Sir," Harry began, "what happened to your —"
"Later, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted him. "If you would take a seat, please." Harry complied, taking the last armchair, watching Dumbledore carefully. He did not want to look at the Dursleys. Vernon, who seemed stunned speechless by what had just occurred with the sofa, was beginning to look like he would start shouting at any moment, while Petunia simply looked scared.
"Some refreshments would be quite welcome at this point in our visit this evening," Dumbledore said, looking at the Dursleys pensively. "Yet, I sense that waiting for our hosts to offer something would be optimistic in the extreme. Therefore —" His wand came out again, and a few deft flicks he had materialized four glasses and a dusty bottle, which quickly poured its contents into the glasses and floated to each of them in turn. Harry took his and sniffed, then sipped. It tasted quite delicious, though he'd never had anything like it before.
"Madam Rosemerta's finest oak-matured mead," Dumbledore nodded to Harry, then sipped from his own glass with a satisfied sigh. Harry snuck a quick glance at the Dursleys; neither of them had touched the glasses floating in front of them — both seemed rather scared to touch them. "It's quite tasty," Dumbledore offered, seeing their hesitance, but neither moved to take the glass. Dumbledore took another drink, finishing the glass, which then disappeared from his hand.
The headmaster turned to look at Harry. "First of all, I should tell you, Harry, that your godfather Sirius Black's will was discovered a week ago. He left you everything."
Harry sat back in his chair, not surprised but not happy at this news, either. He could feel his uncle's beady eyes on him, and knew that Vernon Dursley was wondering just Harry had been left. He didn't know if Dumbledore intended to tell him what he'd been left but he'd rather his aunt and uncle not hear it. "Er, okay," Harry said, uncertainly.
"Normally, this is a straightforward situation," Dumbledore continued. "But, there is a difficulty —"
"Wait a minute," Vernon spoke up, finally having regained his voice. He pushed the glass of mead floating before him aside. "His godfather's dead?"
"Yes," Dumbledore answered.
Vernon was getting a crafty, cunning look in his eyes. "What did he leave the boy?" He watched Dumbledore, leaning to one side as the glass of mead floated back in front of him.
Dumbledore looked at Harry to answer this. "You inherit a fair amount of gold from him, which has been transferred to your vault at Gringotts, and all of Sirius's personal possessions, as well as number twelve, Grimmauld Place, the Black family home, which brings us to the somewhat problematic part of the legacy —"
"He's inherited a house?" Vernon said greedily, giving Petunia a triumphant smirk. She simply stared at him, then turned back to look fearfully at the glass of mead still floating in front of her.
Harry was shaking his head, however. "I don't want it," he said, firmly, causing Vernon to swell with indignation. "You can have it," Harry continued, to Dumbledore. "You're already using it anyway, aren't you?"
"You are generous, Harry," Dumbledore said, softly. "But there is a problem, nonetheless, and we have temporarily vacated the building."
"What for?" Harry wanted to know.
"Black family tradition decrees that the home was to be handed down in a direct line to the next male with the name 'Black.' Sirius was the very last of the line; his younger brother Regulus having predeceased him; neither of them had children. His will makes it clear that you should have the house, Harry, though there may be a spell or enchantment upon the house to ensure that it could only pass to a pureblood."
Harry was nodding, remembering the portrait of Sirius's mother screaming at them for being in her house. "I'll just bet there is," he said sardonically.
"Yes, and if so," Dumbledore went on, "then such an enchantment would most likely cause ownership of the house to pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would be Bellatrix Lestrange."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "No," he said. "She's the one who —" who killed him, he didn't say aloud. "So," he asked instead, "how are we going to figure out who owns it?"
"Fortunately, there is a simple test," Dumbledore said, but before he could explain, Vernon said loudly, "Will you please get rid of these ruddy glasses?" Harry and the headmaster both turned to look at his aunt and uncle, who were both trying to push away the glasses of mead, causing them to slosh onto their clothes and the sofa.
"Oh, I am so sorry," he said, and with a flick of his wand both glasses disappeared as well as the spilled mead. Though Vernon looked almost ready to explode, Dumbledore simply turned to Harry and continued as if the man hadn't spoken. "If you have inherited the house, then you have also inherited —" and with another flick of his wand, there was a loud crack, and a small, ugly humanoid appeared, with enormous ears and bloodshot eyes, and a snout for a nose — a house-elf, Harry realized.
Petunia screamed, an ear-splitting shriek, and Vernon's beady eyes grew wide as he stared at the nasty little being that had appeared on his living room carpet. "What the bloody hell is that?" he shouted.
"It's Kreacher," Harry breathed, recognizing the ugly creature from Grimmauld Place.
"Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't!" the house-elf was saying over and over again, refusing to look at any of them.
"Yes," Dumbledore concurred. "He is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership, Harry."
"Well, I don't want him," Harry declared, as Kreacher stamped his foot and declared he would not work for Harry, only for Bellatrix, his new mistress.
"Bear in mind, Harry," Dumbledore pointed out, "that Kreacher has lived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year."
Harry paled, seeing the problem. "So what do I do?"
"Give him an order," Dumbledore suggested, as Kreacher continued to rant that he wouldn't listen to anyone but Mistress Bellatrix. "If he has passed into your ownership, he must obey it. If not — well, we must think of other alternatives."
"Kreacher won't, won't, won't!" the house-elf kept saying.
Annoyed, Harry turned to it and shouted, "Kreacher, shut up!"
Kreacher's rant cut off in mid-statement. His bloodshot eyes grew large with surprise, then he flung himself to the floor, giving in to a violent but completely silent tantrum.
"Well, that makes things simpler," Dumbledore said, cheerfully.
"But now what?" Harry asked. He looked down at the house-elf silently screaming and kicking on the floor. "What do I do with it — him?" Harry really didn't want to have anything to do with the foul little house-elf.
"May I suggest sending him to Hogwarts?" Dumbledore replied, diffidently, "to work in the kitchens? The other house-elves can keep an eye on him there."
Harry nodded, agreeable, then looked at Kreacher and said, "I want you to go Hogwarts and work in the kitchens there with the other house-elves." Kreacher gave Harry a look of deepest loathing before disappearing from the floor with a loud crack.
"Very good," Dumbledore said. "We have a few other matters to discuss, but can do that while on our way. Is your trunk packed, Harry?"
"Yes — er, mostly," Harry said, remembering he had a few things to finish up. "I can be ready in a few seconds." An idea occurred to him as he said this, and from between his nearly closed lips he sent a short blast of air silently at the curtains covering the front window, which fluttered loudly. When Dumbledore and the Dursleys glanced toward the noise, Harry left his chair as fast as he could, moving up the steps and around a motionless Dudley, who was peering down the steps at the going's-on in the sitting room. Still at super-speed, he slipped into his room, stoppered the inkwell on his desk and placed it and a few clothes still scattered on the floor into his trunk, closed it and grabbed the handle, taking it downstairs (carefully avoiding hitting Dudley, still motionless at the top of the stairs) and dropping it next to the cupboard door before sitting back in the chair he'd been in, before anyone looked back toward him. The only thing that gave any indication something had happened was the gust of wind that passed through the sitting room, which Harry had displaced as he entered the room.
"In fact," he said, as they turned back to him, pointing into the hallway. "My trunk is right there. All I need to do is get Hedwig from my room."
"Excellent," Dumbledore said, coming to his feet. Vernon rose as well, however.
"When is he getting all of this inheritance he's supposed to have?" he demanded, glowering at Harry.
"It is done," Dumbledore answered. "A wizard's will, once read after his death by any interested party, immediately confers the terms of the will to its benefactors. Harry now owns number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and all of its contents."
"But — but he's only a boy," Petunia protested.
"It is true he will not be considered an adult for another year," Dumbledore conceded. "But that does not make him incapable of ownership. The gold from Sirius's vault has already been transferred to him, as has the house, as shown by his ownership of Kreacher."
"But that can't be righ!" Petunia insisted. "He's younger than Duddikins, who's only sixteen. It will be two years before he's an adult!"
"Ah, I see the misconception," Dumbledore said, gently. "In the Wizarding world, a person is considered an adult when they turn seventeen."
"How preposterous!" Vernon rumbled, but the professor seemed not to notice.
"I do have one other matter to discuss with you," he said after a moment, looking at Harry's aunt and uncle, "concerning Harry's stay with you over the past fifteen years. I hope you are both aware that Lord Voldemort has returned to this country and is operating in the open once again, creating a state of open warfare among his factions and those of the Wizarding government of Britain, along with anyone seeing fit to oppose him.
"This same Voldemort has already attempted to kill Harry on a number of occasions, and he is in even greater danger today than when I left him on your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as if he were your son."
Dumbledore sighed, and Harry felt a chill pass through him, in spite of the professor's calm manner and words. The Dursleys may have felt something too, because Vernon and Petunia edged closer to one another.
"However, you did not do as I asked," Dumbledore continued, peering at the other two adults over his half-moon glasses. "Harry has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands."
Petunia was shaking her head, and Vernon's black mustache was bristling with his anger. "We've never beaten the boy!" Vernon snapped, "though lord knows he deserved it sometimes! You've no right —"
"I have every right," Dumbledore interrupted coldly, his patience rapidly ebbing in the light of what Vernon had unthinkingly said. "The magic I evoked fifteen years ago gives Harry powerful protection while he can still call this house his home. However miserable you made his life while he stayed under your roof, however unwanted his presence here was, however badly he was treated, you have at least grudgingly allowed him homeroom.
"This magic will cease to operate the moment Harry turns seventeen — that is, the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this last thing: that you allow Harry to return, once more, to this house before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the magical protections I have placed upon him will continue until that time."
Neither of the Dursleys spoke. Vernon's expression was odd, as if something were caught in his throat. Petunia, on the other hand, looked at Dumbledore, and seemed to bow her head slightly, in agreement.
Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Well, Harry… I believe we are ready to go." He smoothed his black cloak and doffed his wizard's hat to Petunia as Harry walked into the hall to grab his trunk.
Seeing Dudley's eyes peering at him from the top of the staircase, Harry called up to him, "Hey, Dudley, want to bring down Hedwig's cage?" Dudley's eye blinked and disappeared, and a few moments later he reappeared carrying the cage, an alert Hedwig looking around with annoyance at the disturbance.
"Here you go," Dudley said, handing the cage to Harry, who took it and placed it on his trunk.
He turned to his aunt and uncle, still standing in front of the sofa. Both looked cowed by Dumbledore words to them, though Vernon was staring incredulously at Dudley, as though he could not believe what he'd just witnessed his son do.
"Good luck, Harry," Dudley said, and stuck out his hand for his cousin to shake. Harry stared at it a moment, unable to process what Dudley wanted, then finally understood and gripped it carefully, being sure to apply only normal human strength.
"Thanks, Big D," Harry said, smiling. "Take care." Dudley nodded and walked into the living room to join his parents, as Professor Dumbledore stepped over to glance at Harry's belongings.
"I will send these on ahead of us to the Burrow, Harry," he said. "We will travel more easily without them for now." He lowered his voice slightly and added. "However, I would like you to bring your Invisibility Cloak along. Just in case."
Harry complied, opening the trunk and extracting the silvery-gray cloak, being careful not to show Dumbledore how messy the rest of his trunk was. He closed the trunk, folding the cloak and placing it in an inside pocket of the jacket he was wearing. Dumbledore nodded and waved his wand over the trunk, cage and Hedwig, and all three vanished from the hallway. With another small flourish of his wand, the front door opened and he and Harry stepped outside into the cool, misty darkness.
As they began walking down Privet Drive, Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Now that we are no longer with your aunt and uncle, Harry, were you and Clark able to do any training with your newfound abilities?"
"Yes," Harry answered immediately, almost bursting to tell someone about the things he could do now. "He showed me a lot of stuff about how to use these powers. They're completely amazing! I can hardly wait to show Ron and Hermione what I can do!"
"Harry." Dumbledore stopped, placing a hand (his left one, Harry noticed, the one that wasn't blackened and withered) gently on his shoulder. "I do not want to forbid you from telling them, but showing your friends your new powers will only raise questions about how you got them and where they came from. If our friend Clark is to come to Hogwarts to be given the opportunity to learn how to use the magical ability he obtained from you, he will naturally be a suspect as part of that mystery."
"But we can't reveal who he is!" Harry objected, disappointed that he wouldn't be able to show Ron or Hermione what he could do now.
"True," Dumbledore allowed. "But they could still figure it out for themselves," he added.
"I thought the Fidelius Charm kept that knowledge hidden," Harry said, confused.
"It does," the headmaster told him. "But one of the drawbacks of having the Secret Keeper hold his own secrets, even indirectly, is that it is possible for him to unknowingly reveal information about himself, through actions or deeds which, however innocent in appearance, may allow someone to deduce or infer the hidden information. If Clark unconsciously wishes someone to know his secret, he may unwittingly drop clues or tidbits of information to them. The charm prevents anyone else who knows the secret, such as you or I, from doing this."
"Huh," Harry said, absorbing what Dumbledore had said. "I suppose we better make sure he knows that, too — so he can avoid letting anyone know unconsciously who he is."
"Do you know when you'll see Clark again?" Dumbledore asked, as they resume walking along Privet Drive.
"I was going to visit him after I got settled at the Burrow," Harry replied.
Dumbledore nodded agreeably. "Do you know where he is now?" he then asked. Harry glanced at the headmaster, wondering what the reason was for his sudden curiosity in Clark.
"He was going to visit his mother," Harry answered the question, though unsure why the professor had asked it. "In Smallville, Kansas, in the United States. At least, that's where he said she lived."
"I do recall that, Harry," Dumbledore smiled brightly at him. "I am just a bit in awe of the fact that you'll be able to travel there with as little effort as I might travel from Three Broomsticks to the Hogshead Inn, in Hogsmeade.
"But for now," the professor said, "I have another destination in mind — one I hope you'll be able to help me with."
"If I can," Harry agreed. They were now at the corner of Privet Drive, and Harry noticed that none of the street lights seemed to be working at the moment.
Dumbledore gave him a sideways glance. "You have not yet, of course, passed your Apparition Test."
"No," Harry shrugged. "I thought you had to be seventeen."
"You do," Dumbledore said. "So, you will have to hang onto my arm very tightly. My left arm, if you please," he added, as Harry reached for his wand arm. "As you may have noticed, my wand arm is a bit fragile at the moment."
Harry took hold of his headmaster's left arm. "Where are we going?" he asked.
"To see an old friend, and make a request of him," Dumbledore said. Without another word he turned in place, and both he and Harry disappeared from the corner of Privet Drive.