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Chapter 8: The Crow
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Summary: What if Harry wasn't taken in by Petunia? What if, instead, he was taken in by another wizard who moved into number four after Petunia forced her family to move to avoid taking in the freak? Neutral!Harry
Beta: Cauchy! Big thanks to her for being my beta! This means less confusing words and spelling errors and brains flying around.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own character.
A/N: Seven chapters and almost 100 reviews! Thanks guys! I love you all!
Thanks for being patient! Here is a new chapter. I'll hopefully be posting weekly again, as I am finally caught up.
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Draco woke with a chilling start. He buried his head in his hands, his bottom lip between his teeth. He was covered in sweat, his body both chilling and burning. He could still see the enormous troll, the giant club, and Potter defending him. He could still hear the resounding smack against the stone walls of the Slytherin Dorms, the roars of the troll, and his own screams. He could still see Potter slumped on the ground, unmoving, blood and brain matter pouring out of his head. Except this time, he had not survived.
The nightmare had played over in his head, again and again, Draco always dragged down on the Lift Debt he owed Potter; that he died with him. He knew it was unreasonable—the Life Debt, even if Potter had died, wouldn't drag Draco down or kill him, but Draco felt a shiver play through his body and looked at his clock. It was still very early. Draco struggled to wash away the memories that came with having Harry almost flattened by the troll and the nightmarish aftermath. He needed the extra three hours of sleep to make sure he would be awake for the New Year ball.
Life Debts were ruled by magic. So those with Potter's magic—namely his children, would inherit the Life Debt. Potter, as a child, had no children, unless Potter had been doing something that Draco wouldn't like to imagine behind closed doors…
Having Harry nearby seemed to quell the nightmares somewhat. It was partially why Draco had been so insistent that Harry stay with his family for the holidays, but Harry had refused. Since Harry wasn't here, Draco had to suffer through the nightmares.
It was all Harry's fault, now that Draco thought about it. If Harry hadn't acted like the hero, Draco wouldn't have these crazy nightmares about him dying or waking up at impossible hours. He wouldn't have bags under his eyes, sweat pouring from his body, and the echoing screams.
This couldn't go on, Draco thought. He had to find a way to sleep peacefully through the night. Harry wouldn't always be around to soothe his nightmares, and he wasn't going to worry his mother any more than he already had!
Draco fell into fitful sleep, waking up mere hours later.
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Dumbledore sighed deeply as he saw the letter from the Ministry. Harry Potter had been adopted by Mr. Cygnus Rowan. Apparently, the young wardist was quite aware of his situation, and had taken action to adopt Harry officially.
Dumbledore had miscalculated. He had expected Cygnus to consult someone before stepping up to adopt Harry. Cygnus was, after all, not well-versed in British culture.
Well, Cygnus would have been ignorant of British Culture ten years ago. After spending so much time in Britain, he would have definitely picked some things up. But Cygnus was also quite a shut in. The only beings he talked to outside of his home were muggles and goblins. Muggles would know nothing about magical adoption, but Dumbledore supposed that the goblins could at least direct Cygnus to where he should look to begin the process. It was very likely that Cygnus had taken that route in his quest of adopting Harry.
It was also possible that Cygnus had read books on British Magical law or appealed to the Taiwan Magical community. Adopting an orphan wasn't hard and, to Dumbledore's dismay, it did not require permission from his magical guardian, as long as the adopter in question could reasonably provide for the adoptee. Cygnus, being a warding specialist, would be quite rich, as warding was something of a lost art in Britain. Goblins would pay him well and stay on his good side for as long as possible.
This meant that Dumbledore had to revise his plan. He had to place Cygnus close to him so Cygnus wouldn't think that joining Voldemort was a good thing. That way, by extension, Cygnus would tell Harry to fight against Voldemort, as that would remove the threat looming over their heads.
However, Cygnus was quite a fickle man. He didn't like the Britain magicals—that much was clear, but he was willing to work for their bank. Cygnus also didn't seem to be the kind of person who was impressed with titles or money, though he possessed both. He was a hard man to read, even with Legilimency. If Albus was to gain his trust, then he would have to do it the old fashioned way.
Granted, befriending the man was probably a lot easier than Albus thought it would be. Cygnus didn't seem unreasonable or cruel in any sense. He would not willingly throw Harry into danger. So it should be relatively simple to convince him to join the Order.
There were two things wrong with Albus' current plan. One, Cygnus had a rather negative viewpoint of Albus at the moment. Albus knew he should have told Cygnus about the magical adoption, but at the time, it had seemed like the more advantageous option was to remain silent. That mistake had cost Dumbledore.
Two, the troll in the dungeon, the endangerment to Harry and all the other Slytherins… Needless to say, Cygnus had not been impressed. While it was a good idea to try to get Cygnus to ward the dungeons, Albus didn't think that Cygnus would truly do it. Cygnus had proved that he cared far more about his own child's safety than about the other children, as the wards Cygnus had set up were on the trunk that belonged to Harry. Cygnus had anticipated dangers or, quite possibly, known that being the Boy-Who-Lived would attract all kinds of attention.
Dumbledore had yet to give Cygnus an answer on who had let the troll in. Privately, Albus agreed that the troll had to have been let in by one of the staff members, but no one had any idea who. Albus was very tempted to use Legilimency against Quirrell, but he was slightly hesitant to do so. Quirrell was already so mentally and emotionally fragile. Breaking into his mind might damage the man beyond repair.
Dumbledore sank into his chair. And then there was the problem of Harry's lack of desire, as had been shown by the Mirror of Erised.
Originally, the mirror had been placed there so that Dumbledore could see what kind of person Harry was. There was nothing more telling about someone's personality than a person's desires. One who sees oneself surrounded by money is greedy and one who sees a possible future has a goal.
In his own case, Dumbledore knew that his wish for the past to be undone revealed his selfishness. Dumbledore wondered what would Cygnus see in such a mirror.
Cygnus wasn't someone who was particularly greedy. He also didn't seem like a man who made lasting friendships. That being said, it was very possible that a deeper friendship he had in the past had ended in misfortune. It was also possible that he was keeping in touch with a friend over muggle mail.
Harry was the main problem though. If he didn't see a desire, then what did that mean? It wasn't just the lack of desire though, it was the lack of… self. Harry didn't appear to be lacking any self-confidence or self-awareness, so what would cause the mirror to show him absolutely nothing? What exactly did that mean? Did it mean he had no deep desire of his heart? Or that what he desired was to disappear?
Dumbledore sighed, but Fawkes gave a musical thrill, looking at him curiously. Dumbledore smiled and raised a hand to pet the phoenix.
"You know," he said lightly, looking at the magnificent bird. "I think I should speak to Cygnus more. He seems like a reasonable person."
Fawkes gave a trill of agreement.
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Classes resumed. Draco had, once again, taken to following Harry around, but Harry had taken to avoiding the other boy. For some reason, that had made Draco even more insistent on following him. Harry caught him sliding back the curtains at night to check if he was there and staking him out between classes.
Harry put up with it. He did his best to ignore the looks that other classmates gave him and the strange glances Snape shot at him during Potions.
In fact, it wasn't until early May when Harry finally had a chance to get rid of Draco for a few brief hours in the day. Professor Quirrell had asked him to stay behind class so Harry had told Draco to move on to Herbology without him.
"Professor… Dum-Dumbledore would li-like a word wi-with you," Quirrell stammered, offering Harry a note. Harry sighed, opening the note and reading the short message.
Please come to the Transfiguration Classroom tonight at seven.
"Did he say what he wanted, sir?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
"N-no," Quirrell quivered. Harry nodded and sighed.
"I'll be there. Should I come alone or is it alright to bring Draco?" Harry asked, folding the paper.
"I-I think you should come a-alone," Quirrell said. "Professor Dum-Dumbledore may speak about-about private matters."
Harry nodded, sighing deeply. "Alright then."
Cygnus didn't trust Dumbledore, so Harry was suspicious of him as well. Harry debated on not showing up or asking Cygnus for his advice, but for Hedwig to fly to and back within the few hours he had left would put stress on his poor owl. In this case, Harry tried to think of what Cygnus would do.
Cygnus wasn't a particularly trusting person. He would definitely leave the house with some kind of protective ward. Cygnus would also make sure to arm himself with some kind of weapon, most likely his physical abilities in martial arts. In Harry's case, he could bring his wand, but he felt that it might be a bad idea. If things got violent, Harry was positive that Dumbledore knew more spells and hexes than he could ever dream of. Harry needed the upper hand in a different way.
Perhaps… it would be better to appear unarmed. After all, Dumbledore was a sucker for those who appeared weak and helpless, right? And if things got rough, Harry could always use his wandless magic. Dumbledore may know about it, but he had no idea the extent of his control.
Harry tucked his wand into his bag. It would be better to have his wand close by, though to remain visually unarmed would be an advantage.
It was a few minutes to seven when Harry arrived in the Transfiguration Classroom. Dumbledore showed up precisely at seven. Harry was in the middle of fantasizing what to do if Dumbledore had not shown up when the man walked through the doors, bright blue robes and all.
"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore said, smiling gently at him. "I see you got my note from Professor Quirrell."
"I was debating on not showing, considering that my dad isn't here," Harry said honestly, scowling a little. "What did you want to talk about?"
"Do you remember what I said in the beginning of the year regarding the third floor corridor?" Dumbledore asked, apparently not at all bothered about Harry's mood.
Harry fingered his book bag and frowned. The wards were inactive at the moment, but Harry could activate them at any moment's notice. It was also inconspicuous enough that Dumbledore wouldn't question why he had it. All Harry had to say was that he had been in the library studying. "What about it? You said something along the lines of it being out of bounds."
Dumbledore nodded. "You see, I had brought something to the school and needed to hide it here."
"Why tell me?" Harry asked warily.
"Because I wish to show you what it is. I brought it here to protect it and would greatly benefit if you were able to ask your father about it too," Dumbledore said calmly, his blue eyes twinkling.
Harry scowled and pushed up from the wall he was leaning against.
"Then I suggest you contact my father directly," Harry said, his tone icy, "I don't appreciate you trying to use me like this."
Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "I would, but, you see, I found out this morning that someone was trying to steal the stone. It would be very risky to leave it unguarded for the time being. I was wondering if I could borrow your trunk, but it would be optimal if you saw where I was keeping it first."
Harry paused and nodded slowly. This reasoning made sense, and, though Harry didn't like it, he grudgingly admitted Dumbledore had a point. He wouldn't want to leave some dangerous artifact unguarded and, to Harry's knowledge, Cygnus was the only warding specialist that Dumbledore knew. Cygnus had mentioned that warding was rare in magical Britain. And now that Harry knew that for every object that Cygnus warded he might die from it, it was no wonder.
"Fine," Harry said, frowning. "Let's go and see where my trunk would be placed then." He followed Dumbledore through the mostly deserted corridors. They arrived on the third floor relatively quickly. Dumbledore was taking strong strides, forcing Harry to jog behind him to keep his pace.
When Dumbledore arrived on the third floor, he opened a door. There was a monstrous three headed dog inside, but that barely fazed Dumbledore. He merely flicked his wand and transfigured a plank of wood into a harp, enchanting it to play. The dog swayed before slumping on its side, fast asleep.
Harry gaped a little as Dumbledore opened a trapdoor and gestured for Harry to jump.
"The bottom has Devil's Snare," Dumbledore said kindly, holding his wand. "I will close the trapdoor behind you. Just try not to struggle. Have you learned about Devil's Snare?"
"In Herbology," Harry said, jumping. He would have waited for Dumbledore to jump first, but he really didn't want to be in the same room as the three headed dog for any extended period of time. After all, Harry didn't have any food to offer it but his own flesh.
His book bag swung against his side as he landed and Harry relaxed against the slithering plant. It released him after Harry remained still and let him pass through, relatively unharmed. Dumbledore arrived just a few seconds later, lighting a fire instead of waiting for the plant to release him.
The fluttering of wings made Harry look up, frowning. Dumbledore smiled kindly.
"Can you fly, Harry?" he asked. "I know you didn't have much time to during your first flying lesson. Have you practiced at all?"
"No," Harry said shortly.
"That is alright, I'm sure you'll do fine," Dumbledore said, his hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry let the old man guide him, slightly regretting the fact that he had not brought his wand in his pocket. Having it in his bag meant that it wasn't readily accessible.
"Should I take my wand out?" Harry asked, looking at Dumbledore.
"No," Dumbledore said. "You won't need it on a broom." He opened the next door and Harry was greeted with hundreds of flying keys. "There is a large silver key. Would you catch it for me?"
Harry frowned and swung one leg over the broom, but Dumbledore added.
"Would you like to leave you bag here? It would be less weight on the broom."
Harry didn't respond to the asked question, kicking off from the ground. His bag swung around when he turned, but Harry kept it mostly out of the way, withdrawing his wand when he was sure Dumbledore couldn't see him and sliding it in his pocket as he searched for the large silver key. He spotted it after a few moments, catching it and passing it to the old man, scowling.
"Thank you, Harry," Dumbledore said, the twinkle back in his eyes. He unlocked the door and headed inside. Harry followed him, wary, tossing the broomstick aside.
Standing by an old chessboard was a shock in the next room. Harry looked up at the tall, imposing figures of the game and gulped a little.
"We need to win," Dumbledore explained. "Let me do this. You just follow my lead."
Harry replaced a Knight while Dumbledore took the Queen's position. Harry looked on in amazement as Dumbledore took piece after piece. He was apparently quite good at the game, because in ten minutes, they were headed towards the next room.
Black fire sprung up in front of Harry towards the next room while purple fire sprung up behind them. Dumbledore didn't seem concerned though. Evidently, he knew what to do, so he offered the smallest bottle to Harry, smiling. "You go first, Harry," he said. "I'll refill it and come with you after."
Harry frowned and did as he was told. He tilted his head back and gulped the small bottle's contents and immediately shivered as he felt ice run through his veins. He passed through the black flames quickly, arriving at a room with a very familiar mirror.
"Professor Dumbledore," Harry said warily. "There's nothing but that mirror here. Unless that's the thing you wanted my trunk for, but I'm pretty sure it won't fit." He turned to the older man and Dumbledore gave a laugh. Harry felt his temper rise in irritation at the sound. Was Dumbledore mocking him or something?
"There is something special inside the mirror," Dumbledore explained, walking up to it. "I… put it in, but I cannot obtain it. But you can, with your pure heart."
Harry made an exasperated noise.
"Did you not learn in January that I can't see anything in this mirror?" Harry asked, scowling.
There was a silence as Dumbledore stared at him, seemingly surprised. Harry felt a chill run through his body, goosebumps rising to the surface of his skin, his stomach turning unpleasantly. He swallowed heavily, one hand flying to his book bag and the other hovering over his pocket.
There was no way Dumbledore could have forgotten something so important. Harry could still vividly recall that conversation, as the missing reflection seemed to be something that had shocked the older man at the time. Maybe Dumbledore was going senile in his age, or, more likely…
This was an imposter.
"Who are you?!" Harry demanded suddenly. "Why did you bring me here? Clearly state your demands."
A completely blank look crossed Dumbledore's face. Then his face morphed into a sneer, a foreign and creepy expression on the normally kind elder.
"So, Potter, you did notice. I had hoped it would last until I could obtain the stone, but I suppose this is far enough. I had wondered about your abilities," 'Dumbledore' said, his blue eyes narrowing. He flicked his wand and blocked the exit, walking closer to the mirror. "You said you saw nothing, hm? You really are completely useless in the end."
Harry activated the wards when the fake Dumbledore sealed the exit. He frowned deeply and took a step backwards, cursing himself internally for falling for such an easy trap. In being wary of Dumbledore, Harry had completely avoided him instead of look into his mannerisms and personality.
Whoever it was, Harry was sure that they wanted the stone, whatever this stone was. Draco would, no doubt, notice him missing, but since Harry had told him about his meeting with Dumbledore, he would not call attention to it until Harry ended up missing curfew. Perhaps Harry could keep the person behind the mask talking until then.
The only problem was, curfew was about an hour away.
"Why do you want the stone?" Harry asked, keeping his eyes on 'Dumbledore'.
"I wish to obtain it for my Master," the fake said, inspecting the mirror. "Unicorn blood has strengthened him enough where he no longer needs me as a host, but has a temporary form. To get him a more permanent one requires the stone."
Harry felt his body plunge into the imaginary icy water again and he slowly backed away. The fake Dumbledore seemed to be morphing, twisting, and changing his face. He became shorter, the vibrant blue robe appearing to drape over the figure. With a flick of his wand, it became a plain black robe.
It was Quirrell. Harry gaped in shock, his eyes wide in surprise.
This was a very different Quirrell than he had seen all year. Harry was half convinced that someone was impersonating the Professor like they had impersonated Dumbledore, but then Quirrell smiled, almost kindly.
"There, there, Harry. I brought you here to meet my Master," he said calmly. Harry realized with a jolt that Quirrell's trademark stutter was missing. "So even if you are useless to me, you can still die for my Master."
Quirrell slashed with his wand in a quick motion, firing spells at Harry. Harry screamed, backing away, trying to avoid the spells as they were being fired, but several of them hit the ward. He took out his wand, trembling, trying to think of a spell that would do sufficient damage, but his mind went blank in panic.
"Wait," came a high, cold voice from the shadows. Quirrell immediately stopped and lowered his wand.
"Master, you are not strong enough," he said, turning.
"Shut up, you incompetent fool," it said coolly. "If you kill the boy, the Ward Master will never join us."
"For-forgive me," Quirrell said, the stammer back in his voice. Harry's brain finally caught up with the situation and he started taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself.
So Quirrell wanted the stone, whatever this stone was. This stone would help his Master who was coincidently in the same room as them, somehow. Harry failed to see how a rock would help anyone, but he decided to withhold judgment until he found out exactly what the rock was.
Quirrell impersonated Dumbledore, possibly copying his handwriting and giving it to him earlier in the afternoon. Then he brought him to the third floor to… what? Stare at a mirror? Harry had already told him that he saw nothing. Then he wanted to kill him…
But why? The only person who wanted him dead was Voldemort and he was dead, wasn't he? Cygnus had also expressed the dangers of the followers so it could have been a follower. But since when did Dumbledore hire Voldemort's followers to teach classes? Ironically, Defense Against Dark Arts. It would, at least, explain Quirrell's abysmal teaching. After all, he wouldn't want to teach them anything that could potentially be used against him.
This Master apparently wanted Cygnus on his side. Enough that he had stopped Quirrell, who seemed especially determined to wipe him off the face of the Earth, from killing him. However, Harry was pretty sure the wards would hold, at least for a while.
So, who was his Master anyway?
Harry got his answer as something walked out of the shadows. At first, Harry thought that it was a baby and the brief thought of 'Why is Quirrell taking orders from a baby' crossed his mind. Then he got a good look of the baby's face and recoiled.
It was pasty white, as if someone had taken a piece of white chalk and scribbled all over the poor baby's skin. Its eyes were blood red and it had no nose; just slits. It was wearing a pale blue robe, looking almost like a blanket on the small body.
"Harry Potter… We meet again," it said, its lips cracking just a little as it spoke.
Harry gaped and then cleared his throat. "Sorry… have we met?"
Before the strangely deformed baby could reply, Quirrell spoke.
"Forgive me for speaking out, Master, but would it be worth it for the Ward Master to be on our side. From my testing of the wards earlier in the year, they were quite weak," Quirrell said, looking at the baby, more specifically, its naked feet.
"You fool. That proves nothing against his true abilities," the baby said, the red eyes flashing at Quirrell, evidently displeased. "Why would such a young boy need such powerful wards against schoolchildren?" He baby looked at Harry again and spoke. "Potter, I can't believe you forgot me already. Is your memory truly so lacking? After I tried to kill you as a baby."
Harry's confused expression didn't change, but he did notice the flinch that Quirrell had given when the baby turned to him. Then he looked at the baby again and said, "Err… I don't remember what happened to me as a baby. Sorry." He looked slightly abashed. "I'm sure, whoever you may be, that you weren't the first person to try to kill me."
"I better have been," the baby hissed out, much like a snake. Harry blinked slowly and twitched in confusion, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall what had happened to him as a baby, but came up with nothing. Evidently, the baby's patience had run out because it almost flat out snarled: "I am Lord Voldemort, you daft boy! Unicorn blood may have strengthened me, allowed me to regain enough strength to move to a temporary vessel, but it will not be enough to give me a proper body."
Harry blinked slowly, confusion written all over his face. "But… you can't be Voldemort. It was said that the Killing Curse he shot at me had backfired. And it's the… Killing Curse for a reason, right?"
Voldemort growled, but through the baby's mouth, it sounded mostly like a gurgle.
"There is more than one way to obtain immortality, boy!" he sneered. Harry looked blankly at him and scratched his head, frowning a little.
"Okay, so… you're immortal?" Harry asked, his brain trying to catch up with the situation. "Err… And the Killing Curse didn't kill you. That needs to be renamed." He flinched at Voldemort's glare, unnerved by the silted eyes and the lack of nose. "Er… What happened to your nose?"
Voldemort's eyes widened with shock. Quirrell snarled out a curse and Harry yelped as it hit the ward, alarmed. Then a raspy laughter cut through the air. Quirrell lowered his wand and looked at Voldemort, who seemed to be highly amused.
"You are not what I expected to be, Potter," he said, shaking his tiny head. "I need the stone. You will help me get it."
"And how would I do that?" Harry asked, wanting to hear the answer before he shot Voldemort down with "So you can try to kill me? No thank you." He had to keep them talking until the hour was up and Draco contacted someone. "I don't see anything in the mirror and I'm sure your… er, servant? Professor Quirrell? He could probably do a better job. I'm just a kid."
Voldemort looked at him and Harry stared back. Then Voldemort turned to Quirrell and said, "He speaks the truth."
Harry wasn't sure how Voldemort, if this was Voldemort, knew that, but he was, at least, immensely grateful that Voldemort seemed to be alright with letting him live.
Voldemort turned back towards Harry, eyed him with those blood red eyes, and added, "Potter, you can stop with the gratitude. I'm still going to kill you. Just not now."
"Because you haven't got the support of my dad yet?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. Then he slapped a hand over his mouth and looked rather embarrassed about his outburst.
"Well, well, the Potter can think," Quirrell sneered. Voldemort ignored him.
"I very much doubt your father would agree to join me if I did curse you," Voldemort said calmly, flippantly. Harry wondered why Voldemort was sharing the information with him as the baby continued. "So I will… refrain from doing so."
"So… what now? I'm rather useless to you and Quirrell is… er…" Harry looked up at the older man with the wand and trailed off, not wanting to say "useless too" or "a burden" and risk getting cursed. Voldemort twitched, almost looking amused.
"We will retreat," Voldemort said after a long pause. "And find other means. Potter, you are smarter than you appear. I trust you will make the right decision when the time comes."
Harry wasn't sure what happened next, but within a few seconds the door to the exit had exploded inwards, Dumbledore rushing in. Harry raised his hands instinctively to block any flying wood or plaster from his face, but they bounced off the ward instead. Dumbledore was wearing a blindingly purple star-speckled robe and was holding his wand up. Quirrell and the creepy baby vanished somehow, disappearing into thin air.
Between Voldemort being a baby, Quirrell being a follower of Voldemort, and Dumbledore's apparent unneeded rescue, Harry was left feeling like he had missed something important.