AN: Thanks to anyone who reviewed, followed and favorited my story. I'm really overwhelmed right now with your great response to this little story, as I wasn't really expecting so many people liking it.

I repeat the question that I made the last chapter: What would you change at Hogwarts to make it a better school, if you could? In later chapters, this matter will be of great magnitude and I would like very much if you could share your opinions.

Ah, something that I forgot all the preview chapters:

DESCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter or its characters, I'm just playing with them. If I did, the series would be very different, mainly the ending; and also I would be filthy rich and my real life wouldn't this boring. Hehe : )

"Well-behaved women seldom make history.''

― Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, Well-Behaved Women Seldom Make History

Previously:

When the woman – she still didn't know her name nor did care to – continued there looking as if searching hard for a smart comeback, Florence lost her patience and decided to take the matter in her own hands. With a few steps, she was in front of the door and knocked.

CHAPTER 4

''Enter.''

She opened the door and, wordlessly and wandlessly dispelling the glamour and mentally preparing herself to act as a worried and frantic woman, stepped into the office, the useless assistance already forgotten.

''Madam Bones?'', she asked confirmation upon seeing said witch seated behind her desk. Obviously, Florence knew her very well, though for all appearances now it was the first time they both met.

The woman raised an eyebrow and stared at the incoming stranger with surprise, as it was apparent that she had expected her incompetent assistance.

''Yes. Can I help you?''

Florence stepped further into the room, after closing the door behind her.

''Madam, my name is Florence Peverell and I am cousins with Harry Potter,'' Florence started to spin her tale, tone upset and grieving. She forwent the usual pleasantries, as she was supposedly in distress at the moment and with no mind to trade meaningful words. ''You see, I found out six months ago that he was my cousin from my father's side and I contacted him with wishes of meeting my last living blood family. We got to know each other fairly quickly through letters, as he was forbidden of leaving his relatives' houses for the summer and no one of his friends ever did contact him during the holidays. I quickly realised that he was not happy in that house. Though he never outright said anything, I could understand from some little things he would write, that his family didn't really care about him and I even suspected that they neglected and abused him. I tried to confirm my suspicions; however Harry always ignored my enquiries or simply brushed them off as if it was nothing of importance.''

Amelia had been surprised when Florence stated that she was a relative of the Boy-Who-Lived, and even more when suspicions of abuse were mentioned, though she didn't comment and let her explain herself. When Florence stopped for a moment to gather her breath, acting all along as the proper worried witch about her cousin's well-being, the madam decided to ask questions.

''That is a very serious accusation, Miss Peverell. Are you certain of what you are saying?''

''Yes, madam,'' Florence affirmed before removing an envelope from her cloak's pocket and offering it to the older woman. ''Harry sent me this rather alarming letter yesterday morning. If you'll read it, you'll undoubtedly understand why I had come up with such thoughts.''

Amelia mutely took the offered letter and proceeded to read it, after gesturing for the guest to sit in the chair in front of her desk.

Florence could see that the other witch was still doubtful about her claims. Not even Amelia Bones, who didn't care that much politically for Albus Dumbledore, had believed in the words of the old man about the safety of the Boy-Who-Lived like everyone else had. Nonetheless, that quickly changed as she read the letter that Florence had fabricated beforehand only needing to add a little of Harry's magical signature to make it appear genuine (she had 'borrowed' some of Harry's magic when she had appeared at his side that early morning). She had made sure to make the letter sound as despairing and resigned as she could manage and at the same time claim some hard truths that Dumbledore had ensured that wouldn't be known until now. That obviously had worked, as Amelia paled a little further with each line she read.

Dear Florence,

I have a feeling that this will be the last letter that I'll ever write to you.

You were right all along. My relatives absolutely hate me and make sure to remind me of their opinion about me every time we are in the same room. I'm sorry that I lied to you before. I didn't want for you to see me as some pathetic kid who cannot even stand up to a muggle, when everyone in the Wizarding World calls me the Boy-Who-Lived, the precious saviour that miraculously defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort. Though now they say I am an attention-seeking liar when I tried to warn the Ministry that Voldemort was back.

But that doesn't matter anymore as I fear that I won't survive these holidays. My uncle is still furious about the entire 'Dementors incident' back in the summer and me being forced here for the holidays now, spoiling their plans to travel, and he doesn't lose an opportunity to remind me of that. Until now, it wasn't really that bad: a punch here, a slap there, the continuous demeaning insults and the usual interminable list of chores to do around the house. Though, I have the premonition that something will happen soon and my luck will finally completely run out.

You know, ever since I can remember, I always knew that I would die eventually at the hands of my relatives. Now that I really think about it, if I hadn't had magic, I would have died a long time ago. It was simply not possible to endure some of the beatings from my uncle and cousin. There was just too much blood loss and internal injuries to survive without help. Not to even mention the countless concussions that I suffered through all these years; it's truly a miracle that I had never sustained any brain damage.

I know that my end is near and strangely enough, I'm fine with it. After all, what else is there for me? Selfish friends who don't believe me and accuse me of lying when I tell them that my home life is far from great? Hypocrite classmates who love me one moment and the other shun me and fear that I am the next Dark Lord? A Headmaster who callously forces me back to this hell hole even knowing what treatment awaits me here? A godfather who blindly believes in the Chief Warlock, despite said man had never once taken action to call for a trial for him as was his right as an heir of a Pureblood family? Professors who only care about themselves and their precious jobs and ignore a student when he tries to tell them that he's being tortured daily with a Blood Quill by a cruel Toad Woman?

You see, beyond you, there is nothing else that holds me to the living world and isn't that just pitiful? And I think it's better this way. Really. Contrary to others' beliefs, I am not stupid. I am aware what will be my only fate if I keep on living. When Voldemort finally reveals himself, everyone will turn to me to save their pathetic hides as it should be my responsibility, quickly forgetting that just previously they had utterly despised me. Without any training, it will be my duty to fight a dangerous madman, who already has more than fifty years of experience and knowledge over me. It's not that hard to figure out what will be the outcome, don't you think?

I had enough. All my life I suffered in this prison which others call house. I fought Voldemort several times and the only thanks and reward that I receive is to be sent here once more again. I really don't care anymore. If anyone wishes to be saved, then they should do it themselves. After all, why should I save anyone, when no one saved me?

Maybe you'll think I am heartless by saying this and turn your back on me like everyone else. Or hopefully you'll understand that I am simply tired of being hurt and let down by people. If that is the case, I entrust you several of my memories in this unbreakable vial. Do with them what you wish. If you truly are a fighter as I came to know you, maybe you'll use them to change the world into a better place.

Thanks for your friendship and kindness these last six months.

Forever yours,

Harry Potter

When Amelia finally finished reading the letter, she was silent for a few minutes, no doubt processing all this new and disturbing information. Her expression, though, was one of a woman both regretful and outraged. Florence waited quietly and patiently for the witch to come of her thoughts.

''That was certainly very enlightening, Miss Peverell,'' the woman broke the silence at last, her voice slightly shaken. ''I assume that you are here to press charges against the muggles and to claim guardianship of young Harry?''

''It's unfortunately too late for that, madam,'' Florence said in a grief-stricken tone, her eyes watering slightly.

''Too late? Do you mean…?'', Amelia broke off, her eyes widening in shock and realization of the true gravity of the situation downing on her without need to be stated out loud.

''Yes. As soon as I read this letter, I apparated directly to Privet Drive. However I arrived too late. The street was already full of muggles. The police, an ambulance…'', she broke off, as she restrained a sob for leaving her mouth. Even as some part of her was acting at that instant, another part, one which she usually contained tightly behind her strong Occlumency shields, was truly grieving for Harry Potter and for herself as well – as it could have been credibly Florence in his place, dying alone and forgotten in that wretched house. ''A muggle woman found him this morning, beaten and frozen to death in his relatives' house' back garden.''

Amelia gasped loudly at these words, her hands flying to her mouth in shock and her usual stern and unaffected posture nowhere to be seen.

''Are... are you sure of this?'', she asked shakenly, as if wanting to deny the reality of her words.

Florence merely nodded as she breathed deeply and tightened her shields, which had loosened slightly at this fierce breakout of emotions. It seemed that she wasn't acting all that much after all.

''I need to gather my best Aurors and go immediately to the scene,'' Amelia said strongly and got up from her chair, at last recovering her typical countenance and putting her personal feelings to the back of her mind. Right now, there was work to do and she couldn't let her emotions cloud her impartial judgement.

Florence pulled herself together as well and copied the other witch's action. She also had other things needed to be done that morning. The rest of that conversation could be left for another time.

''I think that you'll like to watch Harry's memories later, Madam Bones. I already did and, let's just say, that most of them shocked me considerably and not for the positive.''

Amelia stared at her for a few seconds, possibly recalling all the condemning statements contained in that disturbing letter – which seemed eerily almost like a suicide note – that could have enough significance to be directly reported to the Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

''If you think so, I'll trust your judgement in that matter for now,'' she finally said in concurrence, before walking towards the door and opening it. ''I can meet with you tomorrow morning at ten, if you are amenable. You may explain the details concerning this situation more in depth then.''

''Yes, of course. Thank you very much for your ready actions regarding this tragic event, Madam Bones, I really appreciate your cooperation'', Florence promptly agreed, before offering her hand for the older witch to shake, which she did.

After spelling the glamour once again, she walked confidently through the hall, returning the fierce glare that the unnamed incompetent assistant threw at her – her own glare several degrees more intense – though the staring down was cut off quickly as Madam Bones sharply called the woman to her office.

The next task was a quick one. She only needed to send an anonymous letter to Sarah Silvers – a reporter from the Daily Prophet that for now was still not much known as she was only out of Hogwarts for about three years, though she had made her career later on in Florence's world with her articles written about the war – with the happenings of that morning at Privet Drive and the woman would certainly write the more shocking and tragic article of the year.

After sending it with an owl from the Post Office at Diagon Alley, she thought about Peverell Manor and apparated there, relieved that her immediate tasks for the day were successfully accomplished.

The manor was exactly as she remembered from her world. It was not as ostentatious or as enormous as Malfoy Manor or other old Pureblood families', nevertheless she loved it. The little time she had lived there before, she felt completely safe and at home unlike at Hogwarts as there was always the threat of danger and other people's expectations. In here, she could absolutely relax and be herself without any worries about anyone else. In addition, there was a portrait of someone that though she had never met physically, Florence quite liked and frequently talked to. In fact, he was the one to suggest and encourage her to follow this unprecedented adventure through dimensions and time.

As soon as she stepped through the ancient wards of the manor –which she noted were as strong and impenetrable as ever, as only someone with the family's blood could enter freely – there was a pop announcing the appearance of a House-elf.

''Welcome home, Mistress Florence,'' the creature excitedly greeted in its' race typical squeaky voice, its eyes alight with the joy of finally having a new mistress to serve. ''I am Missy and I am the Head House-elf.''

Florence let a genuine smile slip through her features. She remembered this elf fondly, as well as the other two. Pinky and Sissy were Missy's younger siblings and they all were very loyal and enthusiastic about their duties and with time the young witch had held great affection towards them, as they were the only alive beings she could minimally trust after everything that happened to her when the second wizarding war was over.

''Hello, Missy,'' she responded in kind, walking leisurely towards the entrance doors of the manor. She took a deep breath and smiled unreservedly again. It's so good being at home again. She thought happily as she watched Missy open the great doors.