Chapter 6: The Elf Problem
THE PHILOSPOHER'S STONE IN HOGWARTS!
By Emmaline Stronghardy
The staff and students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, experienced what could be described as a huge explosion, at about one in the morning, and woken up nearly all of its inhabitants. Not much had been said about the affair however, and people could only speculate, until the Ministry representatives came to Hogwarts questioning about the incident, where they were flabbergasted to be met by the immortal alchemist Nicolas Flamel.
Nicolas Flamel informed them, that he had been under the impression that a dark wizard or witch had been attempting to steal his most prized possession—the Philosopher's stone, an artefact which can change any metal to gold, and provide with the elixir of life, which in other words, makes a person immortal. "I, fearing another theft attempt, decided to take the assistance of my former pupil (Albus Dumbledore)", said Flamel. "We thought it was the best to keep the stone protected in Hogwarts, whose security is legendary. However, the new Defence against the Dark Arts professor, Elizabeth Fawley had been under the imperius curse placed by the perpetrator. Albus wasn't present yesterday, because he had an important meeting with the Minister. Taking this opportunity, with the help of Professor Fawley, the dark witch entered Hogwarts and had proceeded to acquire the stone. Albus appeared just on time, and that is when the duel took place, where he was able to best the dark witch, but unfortunately she managed to escape."
However, that is not all my dear readers. Mr. Flamel made the most shocking announcement yesterday too. "I believe, my wife Pernelle and I have lived long enough, and thus have decided to destroy the stone", said Flamel. "We have enough elixir to settle our affairs after which we would let Death claim our lives to meet our loved ones."
Albus Dumbledore was…
Harry sighed in relief on seeing that his name had not been mentioned and thankful that some of the truth had been kept under wraps. He didn't know how the Wizarding World would react to the Dark Lady returning.
After the night's events, Ron, Neville, Hermione, Fay, Daphne and Tracey had come to visit Harry in the Hospital Wing, and they had immediately accosted him with questions. Their expressions turned from shock to fear and finally to awe, as he told them the exact events of the night.
"You seem relieved that your name didn't come out in the Prophet", observed Daphne. The seven of them were sitting under the cool shade of one of the trees by the lake. The article in the Daily Prophet had created quite the stir this morning in the Great Hall among the student body.
"If it did, people would go on chanting my name like I'm the next forthcoming of Merlin or something", said Harry.
"But you did face the Dark Lady", pointed out Neville.
"Neville, she just talked to me", said Harry. "The only thing worth mentionable of what I did was that I didn't die in the crossfire of the duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort. But, at the end, I got knocked out though."
"Dumbledore's duel with this 'dark witch' and this Philosopher's stone fiasco happens on the same night you were admitted in the Hospital Wing", said Fay. Among all of them, Fay was the one who perhaps talked the least, but that wasn't because she was awkward around them. She was just content with being able to listen to others. "People are putting two and two together."
Harry shrugged. "Can't have it both ways."
His gaze fell over the path by the Black Lake. It was here that he had first told anyone about his home-life. He wanted nothing more than to forget that he had even spent some time with his parents' murderer. But he couldn't. The times he had spent with…Riddle were perhaps the happiest he ever had. Could Volde—Emily Riddle have faked everything? It hurt Harry that the person who could perhaps have understood him the most was the woman who had killed his parents. Did she really repent having killed his parents like she said? It appeared so. Despite all of this Emily Riddle was still a human.
Her question still resonated inside his head. She had asked him to join her and she would take him upon as her apprentice. Had it been before the day of revelations, he would've said yes. But now?
It seemed Fay hadn't been wrong and whisperings had started around him. Some older years actually had come bravely and asked him—no demanded him of what had happened there. Dumbledore had advised him before that lying would not be a bright idea, as it was highly likely the student population won't believe him, so he had simply stated, "I had the misfortune of being in the vicinity when the duel took place. The magical backlash had resulted in me getting knocked out." It was the truth, yet it wasn't even ten per cent of what had actually happened there.
The Slytherins ended up getting the House Cup that year, making them win it for seven years in a row, and the Great Hall had been decorated in green and silver flags. Draco Malfoy had come to rub it off on some of the Gryffindors' faces, but he had accidentally fell head first onto the ground, which had also resulted in his pants getting torn and the boy ended up farting in the middle of the Great Hall too. Ron had said that Malfoy's head was so big, that he couldn't even walk properly.
The next day while everyone had been hurrying around to get their trunks packed, there was a knock on their door causing the three first years to look up. Neville had opened the door, and had been shocked to find none other than the Headmaster standing there, smiling merrily.
"Good morning, Mr. Longbottom", said Dumbledore with his grandfatherly smile. "Ah, last minute rush, is it?" His gaze fell upon the half stuffed trunks and clothes strewn around the dormitory.
"G-good morning, sir", Neville had stuttered followed by a greeting of "Good morning professor", from Ron and Harry.
"I must really apologize for disturbing at this hour of rush", said Dumbledore, "but I require to talk to Mr. Potter, I hope you don't mind."
Both of them shook their head dubiously and trotted outside the room with a last nervous glance at Harry.
"My, my, this room really is a mess", said Dumbledore shaking his head. "Although I must not complain, seeing as I have been through this phase of my life. It was a long time ago, though."
Dumbledore seated himself on Neville's bed and seeing Dumbledore's motion, Harry sat on his bed, facing the old headmaster.
For a while Dumbledore spoke nothing and instead stared intently at Harry. He had a distinct feeling as if the electric blue eyes were x-raying him, and it was unnerving to say the least. "Harry, you may not know this but it was I who had placed you with your aunt and uncle", began Dumbledore after sometime, suddenly looking like a man truly of his age. "I knew that your aunt and mother did not have a pleasant relationship but I thought that at the light of your parents' death, she would put their differences aside, and raise you properly. I wanted you to grow out of the fame and spotlight that the Wizarding World would have given you—Mrs. Figg, I trust you know about her?"
At Harry's nod, he continued, "Mrs. Figg told me that they were unpleasant towards you, and that they spread lies about your parents and yourself. But I had been unaware that they had taken things to a different level…that they abused you." Dumbledore sighed. "But besides that, I had placed you with your relatives for another reason. The day when Voldemort had come to kill your parents, after a duel with your father, she had given your mother a chance to step aside. She didn't, and she gave her life for you. However, this form of sacrifice of the purest form of love—it left a protection on you. Despite Voldemort being gone for a while, I knew the Death Eaters were still at large, and they would try to harm you. As long as you stayed with your relatives, because your aunt and you share the same blood through your mother, you would be protected from them. However, I had overlooked the matter of protection from your relatives.
"Harry, after your parents' death, your guardianship should've gone to your godfather, Sirius Black", said Dumbledore. Harry ignored how Ron's pet rat Scabbers suddenly gave out a very loud squeak.
"He's the one who betrayed my parents, didn't he?" asked Harry.
"Yes", said Dumbledore. "The next person who should've gotten your custody was Alice Longbottom. But I understand you already know of her fate?"
Harry nodded.
"Ideally, the next person to receive your custody should've been Remus Lupin", continued Dumbledore. "But he couldn't because of some…special…circumstances."
"He's a werewolf, isn't he?" asked Harry. "The one who went to the Shrieking Shack to change during the full moon?"
Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "How in the world did you know that?" asked the old headmaster, peering at the eleven year old boy in amazement.
"Ron, Neville and I went to the Shrieking Shack one night", said Harry. "We saw all the furniture ripped into shreds and—the claw marks. The browning of the blood and the dust width told me how much time since it had lay abandoned, and for how many years it was in use. Then, I remembered the Whomping Willow being planted in 1971…it's quite simple really."
"Ingenious", said Dumbledore stroking his beard. "You would've made a fine Ravenclaw."
Harry shrugged. "I'm just a big fan of the Sherlock Holmes books. It's the story of a private detective, and how he solves crimes in the muggle world."
"Indeed? Hmm…Sherlock Holmes…" mused Dumbledore interested in what Harry had said. "Well, returning to our topic of discussion, since Remus Lupin wasn't able to take the guardianship because of Anti-Werewolf Laws, which were quite ironically written by Remus' father Lyall Lupin himself, the guardianship fell upon me." This information was new to Harry, and he found himself surprised by the revelation. The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the famed Albus Dumbledore who had too many posts to name, was his guardian? "While I daresay, in the muggle world your aunt is your guardian, I stand as your magical guardian here. It is my responsibility to see that you are being taken care of and treated properly—and with the present circumstances, I find myself in a rather—as the saying goes—sticky situation." Dumbledore sighed. "My defeat of Grindelwald led to me eventually being given the position of Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the Supreme MUGWUMP of the ICW. I didn't refuse it, as I took it as an opportunity to try my best to move the stagnated wizarding society. Once, we witches and wizards were the most progressive beings in our planet, and today people forget the reasons behind why rules or traditions were made in the first place. Their obsession with traditions and the greed for more money and power of those who already have it, has made the society unmoving. They absolutely resist change and refuse to believe that change is the only constant thing in life.
"All of this has made me a tired and still a busy man—with all of these—duties…I absolutely loath doing it but my options are—"
"Sir, it's alright", said Harry softly. "I can survive a few months at my relatives' place…I did so before."
Dumbledore looked at Harry with sad eyes. "I am really sorry, Harry."
"Well, on the bright side they are pretty scared of magic", said Harry with a smirk. "And they don't know about the not-using-magic-outside-the-school rule."
The Headmaster chuckled. However, his visage soon turned serious. "I will give them a warning myself, Harry. It's the least I can do as your guardian."
The eleven year old nodded.
"Sir?" he asked a bit hesitantly. Finally voicing something which had been on his mind for some time.
"Yes, Harry?"
"Emily Riddle had said that I reminded her of herself a lot", said Harry. "And from what she has told me, I-I can't help but agree with her."
"She has told you about her life?" asked Dumbledore.
Harry nodded slowly. "In bits here and there—I guess mostly her time at the orphanage and a first few years at school."
"I would agree with her on that context, Harry", said Dumbledore. "Emily Riddle, even ruling out the similarities in your life situations, was still very similar to you. She was bright, clever and gifted at magic, if I do say so myself. Even Hagrid tells me you have tea without any milk and sugar", he chuckled at his own joke.
"It was a habit I caught on because Mrs. Figg has diabetes", said Harry dryly.
"Oh, does she?" asked Dumbledore. "Anyways let me tell you one thing Harry. You could say that Emily Riddle had been an unofficial apprentice to mine. But despite all this, she was a radical thinker, and she wanted to bring about changes with more extreme ways. She has seen many things, even after Hogwarts. Her life has been hard. We had our differences of opinions and one day she vanished. Fifteen years later, she returns, now as Lady Voldemort. She took advantage of the population who bend to power, and they just happened to be the one with a lot of money and power too. They became the Death Eaters. She fuelled their beliefs to take over the Ministry and break the Statue of Secrecy, although she was a muggle-raised halfblood herself."
"Wait, you mean she manipulates the Death Eaters into thinking that she is fighting for their cause?" asked Harry. "I mean…that's…"
"Quite Slytherin of her, yes", said Dumbledore dryly. "My honest belief is that she simply stopped caring to what would've happened to the muggleborns. And if I may say so, she is without a doubt, one of the most dangerous of the Dark Lords to ever have risen. The power that she holds is something I could've only dreamed of getting had I been of her age. It is only my years of experience that held her at bay. Did you not see it, Harry? How powerful she was even when possessing a mere witch? And coupled with how heartless, cruel and violent she had become…" The old headmaster sighed. "I, myself thought she was far too gone in the darkness…but when your blood protection did not affect her, despite both of you being close together for the whole year, it just proves she didn't exactly mean you any harm."
"Now, I do believe we should continue this conversation later on", said Dumbledore getting up. "Your friends will miss breakfast otherwise, with all the packing left."
"I'll give them a hand", said Harry, looking at Ron's mess off a bed, and Neville's best attempt at packing, which had just turned clumsy into clumsier. He wondered if magic would be enough.
The seven of them had taken a compartment to themselves, which they had spent talking about their summer ahead, their present year, Hermione about their school grades, playing exploding snap, and deciding on a day when all seven of them could meet. Harry had returned the Marauders' Map to Fred and George, who had asked him to tell what exactly had happened. Harry had told them everything except the 'dark witch' being Voldemort part. He had instead told them that the 'dark witch' had been Emily Riddle, but they didn't know who Emily Riddle was…so that didn't really make much of a difference. He owed it to them, at least. The twins, to his relief, had said that they would not reveal the information.
Ron and Neville had apparently told the other four about Dumbledore visiting Harry, so he had to tell them more or less about their conversation except the part which involved Harry's family life. That Dumbledore was Harry's magical guardian, had come as a shock to those in the compartment too.
"So why do you stay with your muggle relatives, then?" asked Daphne. "I mean Dumbledore is your guardian and he should be the one to take care of you."
"I think the answer lies in the Hogwarts letter itself", said Harry dryly.
"What?" asked Ron, seemingly confused.
"Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme MUGWUMP of the International Confederation of Wizards and then he is the Headmaster, of course", explained Harry. "And well…my aunt is my closest living relative."
Harry would be lying if he said that he had not felt an underlying anger towards Dumbledore for placing him with his relatives—assuring him ten years of abuse. But when the old headmaster had talked to him and seeing how he truly felt sorry, he couldn't exactly blame him. And if he had indeed been raised in the Wizarding World he would've surely turned into a spoiled pampered prince like Malfoy or even grown like Dudley. He shuddered at the very thought of it. Moreover, Dumbledore could've very well decided not to reveal him being Harry's magical guardian, and kept him in the dark. But he had not hidden the truth.
And ever since Harry had revealed to his uncle that he knew about magic, his uncle was always at the edge when Harry was near. And Riddle had said that wandless magic couldn't be detected. He would have fun this summer, and he would push that old walrus to the edge and see how much before he finally cracks. A simple wandless levitation on a knife would have his uncle mewling in the corner like a kitten though, when the man finally does lose his temper.
The rest of the journey was spent playing exploding snap, Guess what's the Flavour, and doing as much magic as the six could, before they won't be allowed to do so anymore. Now, it seemed Daphne was also aware that The Trace could not detect who was the person who cast the magic, and since she lived in a pureblood household, the Ministry couldn't tell whether it was her who cast magic or her parents. And she (and perhaps most of the Slytherins) would take full advantage of this little loophole like a true Slytherin. He knew Malfoy would do the same too, and would come back having learnt a few hexes, and Harry could bet he would do no good with those.
'Well, life is anything but fair', Harry thought to himself. 'And I can do wandless magic.'
The train reached London at sharp three o' clock in the afternoon. Harry watched most of the students being reunited with their parents, some seventh years were crying, and he saw more than a few people snogging (Jennifer and her boyfriend Keith McClain had almost progressed to foreplay), and what waited for Harry was perhaps the most boring two months of his life (there was a huge chance Jason would go on a vacation in Tenerife, and won't be here till mid-July).
Daphne and Tracey had sneaked out in the crowd, probably because Daphne's parents won't exactly be thrilled with her choice of friends, and it wasn't wise for Tracey to hang around them too, as Davis were the family friends of the Greengrasses. Harry met with Mrs. Weasley, whom he thanked for the fudge she had sent on Christmas. Neville had introduced him to Mrs. Longbottom, who was rather pleased to meet him, and thanked him and Hermione for helping Neville with his studies.
Across the barrier, Hermione had introduced him and Fay to her parents, who were very excited to meet the ones who were now their daughter's best friends (Hermione wasn't exactly the one who was quite popular in her primary school). Fay had introduced him to Mrs. Dunbar and Mr. Dunbar, who were rather excited in having met the Boy-Who-Lived.
And finally his eyes fell on Aunt Petunia, standing rather stoically in front of the barrier. She greeted him with a rather tight smile, which didn't quite reach her eyes.
"So, how was school?" she asked, her smile shaking a bit, but still managing to remain tightly fixed.
"School was fine", said Harry monotonously.
Without another word the aunt and nephew had walked out of King's Cross Station to her car. The drive to Surrey was uneventful, except there was a rather awkward silence throughout the journey.
On reaching Number Four Privet Drive, when Vernon saw Harry, he scowled at him, gave a grunt, and said, "Make sure the ruddy bird doesn't make a single sound", he said, his scowl deepening on seeing Hedwig. "Or I'll put her under lock and key."
"Yes, Uncle Vernon", said Harry coolly, and went upstairs, while the man returned to reading his newspaper.
Harry wasn't wrong in assuming that Jason had been off to Tenerife (or maybe his aunt's home in Liverpool). It was after all a yearly thing Jason's family did. Either it was Tenerife or Liverpool. He had met up with Ed and Dan though, and it was good to see them again, he admitted to himself. They had a lot of catching up to do, especially with the two of them wanting to hear about 'the private school in Scotland'.
Usually, it was Harry's duty to make the breakfast, and occasionally help clean the windows and make lunch (mostly the Sunday Roast where his aunt needed his help, otherwise it was too much trouble). His Uncle believed it was him earning his keep, and since it didn't necessarily clash much with Harry's time, he didn't mind. The rest of the day, he was allowed to do whatever he liked. He had finished his potions homework in the very first week. Transfiguration and Charms weren't much of a problem, and he had completed both in a few hours alone.
One thing which did cause a bit of a trouble was that Harry had started taking a subscription of Transfiguration Today and Daily Prophet, and his uncle wasn't fond of owls arriving in broad daylight and had thrown a huge…tantrum over it. Harry had made it clear that a newspaper which only arrived once in a day shouldn't hinder their progress, especially since they delivered them in his room, and he didn't care what the neighbours thought. The slight frosting which had appeared on the table despite the summer heat had been enough to convince his uncle.
Transfiguration Today wasn't exactly something you find an eleven year old or twelve year old reading. It was kind of like 'The Economic Times' of the muggle world, but of course more about Transfiguration.
After the first two weeks in Surrey, Harry was progressively getting bored, so he went to London in the Knight Bus twice or three times every week, exploring muggle London, buying cassettes of songs by The Beatles, Queen, Led Zeppelin, the 70s and 80s American Pop, a few American punk rock ones, sometimes he dined out in Muggle London, especially those foods which he had seen Dudley have but never had the pleasure of trying them himself (he had changed some money he had taken from his Trust Vault to pounds). He had also bought himself a Sony Walkman like the one Jennifer had. He sometimes wandered off to Diagon Alley saying "hello" to Tom, having ice cream sundaes in Florean Fortesque's ice cream parlour, and Mr. Fortesque knew a lot about History, so he did his History homework there.
"That ghost Binns still teaches you, does he?" asked Fortesque exasperated. "Merlin's beard, he used to bore me to sleep, and I'd started taking a pillow to his class!"
"It's something about a council of ghosts wanting one of their numbers to be represented in the Hogwarts staff", said Harry. "I guess it's better than letting the ghost of Sir Marlenbrough teach Defence against the Dark Arts."
Jason had returned from Liverpool, and he appeared relieved to be back. Jason absolutely hated his aunt and her family and especially his cousin Julia, and Harry couldn't exactly blame him. Julia had visited Surrey two years back, when they were ten, and she was a right bitch. Much like Pansy Parkinson.
"Well, at least I didn't have her around complaining about everything I do", said Jason. "I couldn't thank God enough, she keeps to herself and her friends, who giggle and do…girly stuff, like nail polish and self-care appointments", Jason gagged. "And then those pretty boys magazines."
Harry, Dan and Ed had laughed at Jason's expense.
Yes, it was good to be back with his friends.
What had disheartened Harry was that none of his friends from Hogwarts had corresponded with him, and hadn't even replied to his letters. Were they all so busy this summer that they couldn't even write to him? Now it had been over three weeks, but still his friends hadn't written him a single letter. Ron's case he could understand. His family had won a prize money of one hundred galleons in a lottery and they had gone to Egypt, so he could understand if they were busy sightseeing pyramids. But what about the others? There hadn't even been a letter from Hagrid!
But as it seemed something else was at play here, as he found out on 23rd July, when he had returned to his room after having dinner.
Perched on his table was a majestic scarlet coloured bird, with tips of golden feathers on its body. It didn't take much time for Harry to figure out what the bird exactly was.
"Woah, you're a phoenix, aren't you?" spoke Harry in awe. The majestic bird inclined its head. He knew Dumbledore had a phoenix who was his familiar. "You're Dumbledore's phoenix. Fawkes, right?"
The phoenix let out a trill, which seemed like an agreement to Harry's statement. There beside the phoenix was a rolled-up parchment.
Dear Harry,
I trust my familiar, Fawkes, is in company of you right now. If you are unaware, Fawkes is a phoenix—magnificent creatures they are. Fawkes usually is not the person who bears my letters, but it calls for a special reason today.
Hagrid was very worried when you had not replied to quite a number of letters he had sent you over the course of the month. I, myself, had written to you but still there was no reply. Then yesterday, your owl Hedwig appeared while we were having our lunch, but quite strangely, without any letter to her person and she seemed to be trying to tell us something. With a bit of investigation, I found out that a certain house elf is preventing letters from anyone to reach you, or yours to reach anyone. The identity of the house elf still remains unknown.
Now, back to the matter at hand, tomorrow at promptly eleven in the morning, I will be coming to visit you and also have a talk with your relatives. So, I trust you would not wander about to London, and stay home at that time.
Yours,
Albus Dumbledore
P.S. Feel free to pen Hagrid a letter. Fawkes would surely deliver it.
The handwriting. It was the same loopy handwriting from the note he had received with his Invisibility Cloak. It was Dumbledore. It was Dumbledore who had sent him the Invisibility Cloak. But, why had he not said so earlier or given it to him, himself?
Does the headmaster like being an enigmatic figure?
The paper was, of course, one of the premium parchments Malfoy used and also liked to boast about. About 175 gsm. The ink was, strangely, a muggle one. The letter previous to this, was sent to the ICW, suggested by a slight stamp of "S", "M" and "W" on this paper which could only mean Dumbledore's title as a Supreme MUGWUMP. But the Annual ICW convention was a month away, so this meant this was to one of Dumbledore's "sources" whom he had put behind Riddle.
And then came the topic of a house elf stealing his letter. Why would a house elf steal his letters anyway? The options weighed heavily on it being a prank. Since house elves were owned by wealthy pureblood families he could narrow the options down to the person who might have been playing this prank on him.
Harry wished that blonde ponce did learn a few spells, or at least a spell to defend himself. Because, he would be giving Malfoy a very practical lesson on spells when school starts.
The next day being a Sunday, the Dursleys had a late breakfast as usual, and so it was when Harry was cleaning the plates, that the doorbell rang. Aunt Petunia had walked to the door, while Vernon barely looked up from the newspaper or Dudley from the television. Harry could very well guess who was at the doorstep, as it was exactly eleven when the doorbell had rung. Uncle Vernon's Telegraph soon lay forgotten though.
"YOU!" came the roaring voice of Vernon Dursley from the living room. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING HERE COMING IN MY HOUSE?"
It was a very calm voice that replied. "Well, you see Mr. Dursley—it remains a fact that Harry stays at your home, and you are his guardian in the muggle world—"
"I DON'T CARE WHAT THE BOY HAS—SHUT THE RUDDY TV DUDLEY! AS I WAS SAYING—"
"As I was saying", continued the calm elderly voice of Dumbledore. "As Harry's headmaster in school and even more so as his magical guardian, I need to discuss with you a few things which have come to my notice—"
"I DON'T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOU FREAKS—"
"—so Petunia, if you could please call Harry."
There was no reply but a moment later an ashen faced Aunt Petunia came to the kitchen, where Harry was cleaning the plates. She looked very nervous. "Y-your head-headmaster's here—from the school."
"Oh", was what Harry said. "All right then."
When he entered the living room he found a purple faced Vernon, appearing as if he would charge with murderous intentions at the elderly wizard standing opposite to him. Dudley was watching the exchange with a look of incomprehension. The headmaster, as ridiculous as he might look in a set of magenta robes and a matching wizard's hat, stood there with a sense of power around him and something in his sharp gaze which made the tall wizard look quite imposing.
"Ah, Harry", said Dumbledore, smiling brightly when he saw the soon to be twelve year old. "I trust you had a good summer?"
"Yes, professor", replied Harry simply.
"I would have come visited you the previous week itself, but not having gotten a confirmation from you because of the letter mishap, delayed my visit", said the older man. He looked at Vernon and said, "I believe our conversation would be quite uncomfortable if we remain standing, so I would just invite myself to sit then."
A sofa zoomed forward and knocked the knees out from under Vernon, so that he collapsed upon it.
"What in the ruddy hell—" began Vernon, but Dumbledore interrupted him by saying, "I believe we can discuss a few matters now—Petunia, if you would please…"
Aunt Petunia took it as a motion to seat herself beside her husband on the sofa. Dumbledore took a couch opposite theirs, and motioned for Harry to sit too.
"Now, I don't think you are aware of this but I am Harry's magical guardian in the Wizarding World, so—"
"Wait you're his—" began Uncle Vernon, but stopped as he did not want to utter the word 'magical' and instead put up a face as if he had swallowed something rather disgusting.
"Yes?" asked Dumbledore politely.
"If you're his—whatever guardian—why is it us that is taking care of him?" asked Vernon. "Shouldn't it be you who should be doing that then?"
"Let me first explain what exactly I mean when I say 'magical guardian'", said Dumbledore. "Harry's case was a bit different from many of the orphans in the Wizarding World. Both his parents were killed, his godfather was incarcerated, while his godmother was tortured to insanity. Harry's closest magical relatives are his third cousins who are Veelas in France—"
"What in France?" asked Vernon, interrupting Dumbledore.
"Veelas—fairy or nymph like creatures", explained Dumbledore patiently. "Now back to the conversation, that option was out of our hand for obvious reasons…" however, the Dursleys didn't seem to have the clue of what the 'obvious' reason was, "so the option left was that he would become a ward of someone the Ministry chose, and that is something I wished to avoid. Now as I have explained in the letter which I left with Harry when he was fifteen months old, at your doorstep—our community was in upheaval. We had just went through a full-scaled Civil War which had continued for ten years. And at the end of the bloody war, stood the Boy-Who-Lived, the first person to ever survive the Killing Curse, and being hailed as a saviour throughout the British Wizarding World and seen as a person to have broken all odds throughout the Wizarding World. I wanted to keep Harry out of the fame and spotlight.
"Moreover, there were great dangers out there for the young child, and I explained to you about the blood protection which would keep both him and your family safe." Dumbledore sighed wistfully. "It seems I forgot about the safety of the boy from his family itself."
When Dumbledore looked up at Aunt Petunia, there was disappointment etched on his face. "I asked you to take care of Harry as your own. I had hoped, Petunia, that you would let go of the differences you had with your sister. And then I said to myself, the worst that could happen would be of Harry growing unloved, but at least having a home. I had never foreseen that someone could ever go so far as to abuse a child—"
"NOW LOOK HERE—" began Uncle Vernon.
Dumbledore's eyes flashed dangerously at the obese man. "You disgust me, Vernon!" He spoke with contempt and venom dripping off his voice. He had never seen the headmaster this angry, and the contempt in his voice seemed so foreign that it appeared like it was a totally different person who sat before him right now and so unlike the cheerful and calm headmaster of Hogwarts. The anger in his gaze had caused Vernon to freeze, and he cowed in fear against the sofa. "You have let your hate envelope yourself so much, that you have led yourself commit the most heinous of crimes." Dumbledore's voice was bitter, and the older man appeared to be repulsed by the mere presence of the lard-arse. "It is mostly because of a necessity which is keeping you from the clutches of the muggle prison. But, mark my words…" the headmaster's voice was dangerously cold, "if I even have a sneaking suspicion that you have mistreated Harry, be it physically or verbally, I will personally make sure that you will face perhaps the harshest of penalties when you go to prison."
Harry heard Vernon audibly gulp, and perhaps he had even wet his pants.
Dudley was fixed in his spot. Despite having no idea about what was going on, he knew his father was in deep trouble, and it all came from how he had treated the 'freak', or that's how he referred to Harry in his head.
Dumbledore sighed, and stayed silent for some time, trying to put his emotions and anger under control. When he spoke, he spoke in a rather tired voice. "The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you."
Vernon confusedly blinked, and then turned around as if to find someone else sitting in the room.
"Us? Mistreat Dudders—what d'you—"
Dumbledore silenced the man with a motion of his hand, and Vernon shut his mouth. Dudley however, was trying very hard to think what damage had been done on him or when his parents had mistreated him, as the old but scary man, albeit in a rather ridiculous outfit, mentioned. Harry had to control himself from snickering out loud.
"Now, I believe your Hogwarts letter would be arriving by the end of the first week of August", said Dumbledore, turning towards Harry. "I trust you would be able to manage shopping for your supplies this year?"
"Yes", said Harry. "I've been to the Diagon Alley a few times, I'm pretty sure I'd be able to manage."
"Very well", said Dumbledore getting up. "That's all that I require here—and I'll try and see what I can do about the house elf problem of ours. But the question is—why would a house elf try to steal to your mail?"
"It could be a prank", pointed out Harry. "And I can think of a few people who would play a prank like that."
"It could be…" trailed of Dumbledore off-handedly, "I must be off now, Harry, have a nice summer."
Harry walked with the headmaster to the door, while the Dursleys remained transfixed in their living room.
"I would be attending an ICW convention in Tokyo day after tomorrow," said Dumbledore. "I won't be coming to Britain a week before school starts, and so I request you, Harry, to keep a low profile."
"Er, a low profile?" asked Harry.
"The word of your involvement in the Philosopher's Stone incident has spread", said Dumbledore. "Not in a bad way, of course", he added, "but the fact remains, it has attracted the attention of a lot of parties. Some powerful politicians of the Wizengamot, which also includes people like the Minister, Lucius Malfoy, Theodore Nott, and even Cyrus Greengrass have caught wind of this piece of information. Politics is not exactly a path I am willing for you to tread just now—"
"But, I'm twelve—"
"Something they would be willing to take full advantage of", said Dumbledore. "This is why I ask when you go to London, try and keep a low profile. See that many people don't recognise you—Tom is fine, but to others—I am rather fond of your James Evans alias." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled briefly and then with a nod he disapparated silently.
Some of the days Harry would walk by Allsmoor Pond, where he would harness his elemental abilities. His elemental abilities were growing and he could feel it within himself. Being introduced in the Wizarding World was making them grow at a faster scale than he could have imagined before. In the beginning, he had believed that among all the magic he could do, he was the strongest at telepathy or legilimency. But now, he had second thoughts about his prior assumption. He made a ball of fire continue glowing inside the water. The flames danced as though the water didn't even exist there. He had made a ball of ice stay intact despite having fire surround it, which should've otherwise immediately melted it. One's power with elemental magic did not lie in how much one could conjure, but how much one could control it. Because elemental magic wasn't something many witches and wizards were capable of harnessing, controlling it could provide Harry with undue advantage in duels or similar situations.
Vernon's mood wasn't the best during the days after Dumbledore's visit, but one day he had returned home in a very cheerful mood. Mr. Mason, a wealthy man who was willing to invest in Vernon's drill company was about to come to his place for dinner. Vernon would typically butter this person up so he invested a huge amount in his drill company, and would pocket fifty percent of those investment and then proceed to use the rest of the money in his company. Of course, about twenty percent of that money would also disappear, no doubt pocketed among the employees in Grunnings. So, only forty percent of the money would only be used in making drills. Typical.
Vernon, Dudley and Aunt Petunia were rehearsing for their specific roles for the dinner pompously and Harry could only sneer in disgust while he watched them. It didn't come as a surprise to him when his uncle asked him to be in his room, and pretend like he didn't exist. As far as he knew, Masons were similar kind of dishonest stuck-up people, and would be investing the whole money in cash to avoid tax (and a person like Vernon would only benefit from that).
The evening when the Masons had arrived, Vernon had shooed Harry off to his room, but much to his surprise he found that his room was not unoccupied as it was supposed to be. Beside his bed, there stood a creature, with bat like long ears and tennis ball like eyes. Its head barely reached Harry's waist, and it was wearing a dirty pillowcase. A house elf.
"You!" snapped Harry, causing the elf to flinch. "You're the one who stole my mail from me!"
"Harry Potter sir, must forgive Dobby", said the elf in a rather high pitched squeaky voice, bowing down to Harry, its nose almost touching the floor. "But, Dobby merely wanted to protect Harry Potter sir."
"Right", Harry snorted, and went on to read the elf named Dobby's mind, but then out of nowhere Dobby started screaming in panic, and banging his head on the bed's headrest. He immediately stopped his legilimency, and was only able to capture a flash of memory of Lucius Malfoy swearing to himself that he would 'make Weasley pay'.
Harry scrambled over to stop the elf from hitting himself. "Hey! Hey! Stop—I didn't know Legilimency would have that effect on you! I'm sorry!"
The elf stopped and started crying. Harry felt horrible that his Legilimency had hurt the elf so much, that he would start crying. "Look, I'm sorry if it hurt you. Legilimency has become kind of a reflex for me and—"
"Harry Potter sir is too kind", said the elf, interrupting Harry. "Dobby has heard of Harry Potter sir's greatness, but this is the first time Dobby sees Harry Potter's kindness. Harry Potter apologising to a lowly being like a house elf? Dobby has been bad to Harry Potter sir, but Harry Potter sir apologised to Dobby?" the elf blew his nose in the dirty pillow rag he was wearing. Harry could make out the bandage wrapped around Dobby's hands, and the multiple bruising on his body.
"Well, I must apologise Dobby, but I don't really believe in the social hierarchy of the Wizarding World", said Harry. "Now, please tell me, why exactly were you stealing my mail?"
Dobby's bat like ears drooped down a little. "First, Harry Potter sir must understand that if someone gains an information from a house elf relating to the family they serve, they will be bound to punish themselves, whether it be under the house elf's will or not", said Dobby. "If Harry Potter sir reads Dobby's mind, Dobby will have to punish himself."
Harry sighed. He didn't know his Legilimency would have such unforeseen results on a house elf. What surprised him was that Dobby had been able to figure out Harry's attempt to read his mind, something the likes of even Master Occlumens like Snape failed. Perhaps it was the familiarity which magical beings like elves had with their magic, something the witches and wizards lacked. And it was ironical that the house elves were considered to belong to the lowest position in the hierarchy of the Wizarding World, just above the magical creatures list.
"Dobby knows Harry Potter sir has faced the Dark Lady a second time", said Dobby. "Dobby has heard whispers of how Harry Potter had made it possible for the great Albus Dumbledore to fight the Dark Lady before the Philo's stone was stolen."
"Well, she wasn't trying to kill me", said Harry shrugging, sitting on his bed. "I'd be toast if that's what she really wanted."
"Harry Potter is so humble", said Dobby.
Harry sighed. Had the elf come here just to sing his praises?
"Look, why don't you sit down and—"
Dobby started wailing again. "Great…Harry Potter sir…asks Dobby…to—to…sit like an eq-equal?" The elf said in between sobs. Harry shook his head exasperatedly. Dobby blew his nose in his pillow case again, and continued wailing for some time, singing praises for the 'Great Harry Potter sir'.
"Dobby would have to punish himself later, sir", said Dobby at last, with a final sob, "for coming here to reveal the truth, sir. Terrible things are going to happen this year, Harry Potter, in Hogwarts. Harry Potter must not go to Hogwarts and stay where he is safe."
"And you can't say what it is because Lucius Malfoy is the one who is plotting this", said Harry. "It's a statement, so don't nod or do anything to me… then you don't have to punish yourself."
Dobby's shoulder sagged in relief in knowing that it meant one punishment less.
"And you thought that by stealing my mail, you'll be able to make me convince to not go to Hogwarts?" asked Harry, sighing in exasperation, as the elf nodded. "But I've got to go to Hogwarts", he said. "Hogwarts is my home and I can't stay in this bloody place forever! They hate me here—a feeling that is mutual—I am like a house elf to them, and I am not exaggerating when I say that they treated me the same way the Malfoys treat you."
"But Harry Potter must understand—"
"Look, I can't let it happen for my friends to be in the same danger, while I sit here doing nothing!" replied Harry hotly, and noticed how the elf flinched at the tone. He calmed himself and replied in an even voice, "Hogwarts is my home. And however big a danger it might be I'll try my best to tackle it, and keep my home safe. And—and—there's Dumbledore there!"
"But it is very dangerous for you to be in Hogwarts!"
"We'll see about that", said Harry. "It is the only place that I've got. And if I am correct in assuming so, he'll do something to the Weasleys, and Ron Weasley is one of my friends! Moreover, I can't hide all my life, can I?"
"It would've been the best if Harry Potter listened to Dobby", said Dobby sadly. "But, Harry Potter sir has left Dobby with no other way."
The elf sprang towards the door and it took a second for Harry to realise what Dobby was about to do. The house elf began bolting downstairs but—
"Petrificus Totalus."
Harry didn't need a wand to perform the spell, and as soon as he said those words, Dobby froze in his spot, and was about to tumble downstairs but Harry wandlessly levitated the elf back upstairs. The hovering elf now floated before Harry, a helpless expression on its face.
"Not so quick, Dobby", he said softly.
Harry hovered Dobby back to his room, and softly closed the door, having made sure no one was coming. "You see Dobby, wandless magic cannot be detected by the Ministry of Magic. I am sure you would've manipulated the magic, so it seemed as if it was performed through a wand. House elves are quite smart creatures after all, however much they might be underestimated." Harry allowed a lazy smile to appear on his face. "But I'm not 'most people', and you are staying here until the Masons go home."
The elf kept hovering inside Harry's room, and the hopeless look in Dobby's eyes almost grew desperate.
Harry sighed, and went over to Dobby and touched the place where the bandages were tied. Dobby flinched at his touch, but couldn't do anything.
"I haven't ever performed a healing spell before, but I do know about the 'Episky' and 'Terego'. But proper healing might work the same way it does with other magic." Harry mumbled more to himself than to Dobby. He concentrated on healing Dobby's hands, and after a while, when he unwound the bandage he was pleased to find that the hand was properly healed. Harry grinned at his success. "Looks like this works."
He continued tracing his hand over the bruises and the cuts under bandages, and watched as they healed themselves. Magic was truly wonderful!
Dobby's eyes were wide as he saw Harry heal the wounds which had been inflicted upon him throughout the years.
"Well, I can't really let you go, so take this as an apology…" said Harry. "Uh…thanks for warning me about…well…whatever is happening—but don't stop me from coming to Hogwarts."
Once he had finished healing the wounds, he sighed and lied down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. "I know what it's like you know—slavery…the hopelessness—and…the unfairness of it all." He allowed a small smile to appear on his face. "Then, magic came to my life—and while I wasn't better off immediately of course, but I did get back one thing—hope. I knew one day, when I'll get older—I will be stronger." He looked at Dobby who was still hovering inside the room. "Don't force me to stay here—or one day I'll end up murdering these bastards."
It was well after three hours when Harry heard the sound of a car start and drive by. He released Dobby from the body-binding spell with just a single flick of his eye, without even moving a single muscle otherwise.
"The Great Harry Potter sir has healed Dobby", said the house elf. "No one has ever shown Dobby such kindness. Dobby understands the Great Harry Potter sir can't stay at the bad man's house, but Harry Potter musn't go to Hogwarts. Your life is too valuable, sir."
"My life holds the same value to any other student there", said Harry. "I will try my best to overcome whatever comes in my way."
"Dobby is sorry for not being able to persuade Harry Potter sir", said the elf hanging its head in shame. A 'pop' echoed from the room, and Harry watched the house elf disapparate.
What a day indeed!
The Hogwarts letter did indeed arrive on the second week of August with the book list.
Harry wondered who this year's Defence against the Dark Arts professor would be, and how good he might turn out to be. They had to buy two books—Dark Creatures and Curses and Counter-Curses for Defence against the Dark Arts. Harry knew they were supposed to do Dark Forces: A guide to Self-Defence for the first two years of elementary DADA. But then again, Fawley (or Riddle) had finished more than three quarter of the book already. The two books in the list were the ones they studied from their third to fifth year. Who knew what the new teacher had planned?
He knew he would have to go for shopping one of these days, but it would had been really great if he could have met up with one of his friends. But he had no idea whether Dobby would attempt to steal his letters again or not. By now, most of his friends might be thinking that he didn't write to them because he couldn't 'care less'. Ron would be one of them and the other one would be Daphne. She would no doubt tell her thoughts to Tracey, who would send him a mountain of letters, until she would finally give up when she would get no replies. Neville would probably think he should not disturb him if he wasn't replying. Fay would be the person who won't make some preconceived notions and would worry over him, but she would send less and less letters nonetheless. Hermione would perhaps be the only person who would immediately deduce that something was wrong. But she would have no bloody idea what to do. Intelligent Hermione might be, but she wasn't practical.
Harry knew his friends too well, and legilimency certainly did help.
As Harry was quite frequent in Diagon Alley, he did not buy everything in one day. First, he bought the books and the next day he visited, he bought himself new parchments, quills and ink along with a few potion ingredients he had run out of. He bought his uniform the last day he went to Diagon Alley. The next few days after his last visit to Diagon Alley, he spent buying clothes for himself in London. Perhaps for the first time in his life he had new clothes or clothes which were not increased in length and greatly reduced in other dimensions with the help of magic.
He did meet up with Neville on the day he bought the new parchments and quills, and relayed to him the story about the elf stealing his letters. It seemed Dobby had given up on stealing Harry's letters, and so the two Gryffindor soon-to-be-second-years kept correspondence with each other. Soon, Hermione and Fay joined in with writing to him, and it seemed to have pumped blood back into their friendship.
However, there was nothing from either Daphne or Tracey's side. From what he had gathered, the three Gryffindors (Ron was out of picture, as what any of them had gotten from him was a single letter about his stay in Egypt and that he would be returning on the thirtieth of August, and so it was understandable for him to not maintain much correspondence from his side at least) had each sent a letter to Daphne in which they got replies in a rather curt manner. Too schooled and curt to be sent to your friends. So, they hardly wrote to each other next. Tracey had written to them a few times, and quite a lot of time asked about him, when that too ceased.
It appeared rather odd to him. It wasn't like the two Slytherins were just his friends. They were friends with Hermione, Neville and Fay too. They even got along with Ron pretty well. So what came by them?
Before Harry knew it, the first of September had arrived, and to say that he was relieved and happy would be an understatement. He wouldn't see his relatives for another ten months, and would finally be back at his true home. Whatever danger was supposed to be waiting for him at Hogwarts was at the back of his mind. Vernon had gone to office early, and so Harry's chore of making breakfast was off his shoulder by eight. So after having had his breakfast, Harry had called the Knight Bus at ten in the morning. It was hardly a twenty minutes journey to Kings Cross in the magical vehicle, but arriving early was a good idea so that he could get himself a compartment early on, and keep seats for his friends.
The Knight Bus arrived with a huge 'BANG!' But none of the inhabitants of Privet Drive questioned the sudden appearance of the purple triple decker bus. They went about their business as usual.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus—emergency transport for stranded witches and wizards. I am Stan Shunpike and I would be the—" When the twenty year old wizard looked up he stopped his tirade. "O' look Ern, 'tis 'Arry again!"
"Hullo Stan", greeted Harry. "How you doin'?"
"Eh—jus' fine!" said Stan. "Lemme' help ya with yer trunk."
Stan helped him in carrying the trunk inside the bus. The bus hadn't changed much since the last time he saw it a year ago—sofas strewn across the enlarged space of the bus. There were three old witches, an aged wizard who was having biscuits, while there lay a broken tea cup beside him with spilt tea and four girls of Hogwarts age, whom Harry remembered were all fifth year Hufflepuffs. While one of them looked very sick, the others looked pretty excited to be in the bus (probably because a ride in the Knight Bus was similar to a roller coaster one). Harry wasn't surprised when the girls instantly recognised him. While most had pretty much gotten over the initial excitement of the Boy-Who-Lived attending Hogwarts, the new rumours of his involvement in the Philosopher's Stone debacle had rather successfully fulfilled the task of making him one of the major topics of juicy gossip yet again.
The bus-ride was bumpy as usual, but it did one good—it made the girls brace themselves, rather than gawk at him or whisper about him while he was sitting two sofas away from them, something which made Harry uncomfortable. People also fail to remember that how rude a thing it is do. He was rather pleased when the Knight Bus, hardly noticed by the pedestrians, stopped at King's Cross, and Harry dragged his trunk with him while Stan helped the girls with theirs.
"Honestly, I can't wait till I'm seventeen", Harry heard one girl say. "Carrying this heavy load without magic sucks."
The other girls agreed.
Without stopping a beat, Harry walked into the crowded King's Cross station. As Tuesday was a working day, it was busier than what it was a year ago on 1st September. He tried his best to duck among the crowd of people when a man bumped into him rather hard. Suddenly, Harry felt a tugging sensation at his navel, and his world was swirling in a multitude of colours. It was unlike anything he had ever felt and nausea was about to overcome him. The swirling around him stopped all of a sudden, without any prior warning (to be fair, neither had the swirling sensation start with any warning) and he landed rather roughly on hard ground, and immediately let out a groan of pain.
A gruff voice spoke from above him. "Wer bist du?"
"What?" Harry asked groggily. He looked up to see a tall, blonde, bearded man pointing his wand at him.
"Wer bist du, und was machst du hier, kid?" asked the man again.
"Er…I dunno—where am I?" he asked panicking a little.
Harry could tell this was a bar of some sort. There was great resemblance between the setting of the bar here and the Leaky Cauldron, except that this place looked cleaner, darker, a bit larger and there were no customers here. He could make out a few bottles on the shelves of the bar, over the counter. His trunk was lying beside him on the wooden floor.
"Englisch?" asked the man.
"You're—you're speaking, er, German?" asked Harry.
"Yoo—in Germany—Hamburg", said the blonde man. "Yoo come here—Pordtkey."
The man pointed towards an empty can of Coke.
"A portkey?" asked Harry. "That was a portkey? It appeared more like a bloody roller-coaster to me and—oh" he noticed the man looking at him questioningly. "Oh, er—" he shakily stood up from where he had landed on his arse, "I was going to school—" he realised that the man might not be able to follow him if he talked too fast "—a man—bumped into me—and the next thing I know—I was spinning—and I landed here. Painfully, might I add."
"Ze pordt—An Seidhr!" the man exclaimed all of a sudden. His wand nearly dropped from his hand, but he managed to catch it just in time. "Du bist Harry Podter!"
"Er, yes?"
"Es ist mir eine—honour do meed yoo, Herr Podter", the man shook hands with Harry enthusiastically.
"Uh…thanks?" Harry barely managed to hide his grimace. Somehow, he had landed himself in Germany. And even in Germany, there were people who fan-girled over him. "But, here's the thing—I don't wanna be here. So, uh, how do I get back? To Britain?"
"Herr Podter—I call—ze Ministerium?"
"The Ministry?" asked Harry. "That would be great, er, Mister—uh?"
"Schneider, Herr Podter", said the man, with a crinkly smile on his face.
"Er, thank you Mr. Schneider."
"Velcome—Herr Podter", said Schneider. "Vud yoo like—zomedthing? Do eadt?"
"I really don't want to be any trouble, Mr. Schneider—"
"Idt vud be an honour, Herr Podter", said the barman, his eyes giddy with excitement. "Vud yoo like—Franzbrötchen, Herr Podter—proper one—ze zpecialidy here—my pub."
"Er, well, if you're insisting", said Harry, seeing that the man had no foul intentions.
"Very Vell—I call the Ministerium doo—"
Harry dragged his trunk and sat by one of the tables in the pub. He dragged his hand through his hair. How on earth had he landed in Germany? And where did the bloody portkey even come from? Could it be the man who bumped into him rather hard? Who was he? And why had the man sent him to Germany of all places? What were his intentions?
These were the questions that roamed his head as he pondered on the situation he'd landed himself into.
How would he get back? The Schneider fellow was calling in the German Ministry of Magic. Maybe they could provide him with a portkey back to Britain?
Schneider brought him a Franzbrötchen, some kind of a pastry which greatly resembled a cinnamon roll, which he had to admit was delicious, and with it he brought him some soda which tasted like ginger, but it definitely tasted better than it looked. The man absolutely refused to take any money from Harry (galleons, sickles and knuts were money which circulated in the entire Wizarding World after all, unlike the muggle world, where the currency differed from country to country), saying that he couldn't take money for 'Harry Podter' and that the meal was on him.
It appeared Schneider's business started mostly at some time around one 'o clock (in the German time, of course), and by half an hour people were beginning to arrive. The German witches and wizards didn't seem so different compared to their British counterparts at first glance, but obviously they spoke German and not English (Harry was trying to catch up with German using legilimency because that was a language he didn't know). But on a deeper look, he could find that the witches and wizards were livelier than the ones in Britain (he had spent quite some time in Diagon Alley this summer after all).
It was nearly an hour later when Schneider appeared with a red-haired man at his side.
"Herr Potter, zeeiz iz Arnold Schreiber—from ze Ministerium", said Schneider.
"Dankeschön, Kurt", said the red-haired man, smiling slightly at Harry. His emotions were schooled, but Harry being a legilimens, could tell that the man was excited and curious to meet him. It was funny because although he was amazingly managing to suppress his emotions, mentally he was screaming. "Id iz a pleazure do meed you, Misdter Podter", said Schreiber shaking his hand in a firm-grip. "I vork in ze Departmente of ze Indernazional Cooperazun in ze German Minisdtry of Magique."
It was clear that the man knew English better than what someone could ever expect from a non-native English speaker (probably one of the reasons he was able to bag a spot in Department of International Magical Cooperation, something he knew was considered very prestigious in the British Ministry of Magic), but he had a very thick German accent.
"Likewise, Mr. Schreiber", said Harry.
"Bud, ze pleazendtries apard, I dhink ve zhould ged do buzzinezz." Schreiber coughed awkwardly. "How exadtly deed you come zhere, Misdter Podter?"
"A portkey", said Harry at once. "Now, how I came by the portkey—well, I am a bit clueless in that regard—but if I had to guess—while I was in King's Cross—" he sensed the man's confusion so elaborated "—it's a train station in London—and that's where we take the…conveyance…to Hogwarts—" Harry knew that Hogwarts Express was a closely guarded secret by the British and the non-Hogwarts alumni or non-British witches or wizards didn't know about it. The man nodded asking for Harry to carry on. "Uh…well, there a man bumped into me quite hard—I mean bumping isn't exactly unusual in a busy London morning—but, in hindsight, maybe it was intentional, now that I think about it…"
"Well, I just remember my world spinning after that", continued Harry, taking another sip of the ginger soda, which he was getting surprisingly fond of. "This was my first time at a portkey, and…I really can't say I like it."
"Yez", said Schreiber chuckling. "Indternationale pordtkey iz very rough." Schreiber frowned. "Bud, zis iz conzerning, Mizdter Podter. I don'd know veder yoo are aware of zis, bud ze indternationale pordtkey iz a clozely guarded zecret—and iz illegal." He shook his head sadly. "Zadt zomeone in England runz illegal pordtkey buzzinezz is vorrizome. Id can even cauze indternationale kidnapping—like in your caze."
"You can't tell me that it's just England there, Mr. Schreiber", said Harry chuckling awkwardly. "Illegal passports and all those stuff are pretty common in the muggle world, and Britain can't be the only country with illegal stuff going on."
"Ze whadt vorld, Misdter Podter?" asked Schreiber.
"Er, the muggle? Non-magical?"
"Ah! Ze no-magique!" said Schreiber. "Britz do give zilly and ovvenzive names zo oderz."
Harry was pretty sure the man knew what a muggle was. This was just a jibe at Britain because of him suggesting illegal activities also being there in Germany. Harry sighed. Nation pride.
"Anyways…how do I return?" asked Harry. "I have school starting today."
"Id vud dake zome dime wid ze pordtkey", said Schreiber. "Ve can zend you dere. Ve could condacd dere wid zpecial floo. Den dake permizzion for de emergenzy pordtkey."
"Thank you", said Harry giving a relieved smile. "But how much time is it gonna take?"
"A few 'ours, Misdter Podter", said Schreiber. "Vud you come do de Ministry? Ve can give you pordtkey from dere."
"Yeah, I guess that sounds about good", said Harry.
"Dake my arm, Misdter Podter", said Schreiber, holding out his arm for Harry. "Ve apparade dere."
Harry grasped the man's hand, and the next moment he felt as if his whole body was being squeezed through a narrow tube in vacuum and he was finding himself unable to breathe. After a second, the sensation was gone. An overwhelming urge to vomit on the spot nearly overtook him, but he managed to get a hold of himself.
Harry found himself in a huge, rather splendid circular hall, with carpeted floor. The ceiling above them was much like the Hogwarts Great Hall itself, appearing to be the clear afternoon sky, the hall being about five times the size of the Great Hall (and that was saying something). The charm-work did indeed impress Harry. There was a huge statue of a Pegasus, its wings spread out, as if ready for flight, and its forelegs soaring up in the air, and the back arched almost vertically. There were numerous witches and wizards bustling about the place, some apparating inside with a 'CRACK!' or some being spit out of green fire from the fireplaces which were lined across one side of the hall (covering about one-twentieth sector of the circular hall, which was a really impressive number of floo-fireplaces, considering the sheer size of the hall itself).
"You have nod apparaded before, Misdter Podter?" asked Schreiber, looking at Harry amusedly. "People are nod comfordable de firzd dime."
"I don't really think I am very fond of Wizarding Transportation techniques", said Harry, still a bit out-of-breath, but mostly though, he was staring at awe around the place which could only be the German Ministry of Magic. Was the British Ministry of Magic as magnificent as its German counterpart too? "Quick…but uncomfortable as hell."
Schreiber chuckled. "Ve zust ged uzed do id vid dime."
"I think I'll prefer flying any day", he added lightly. "Even Dumbledore agrees to me on that regard."
"Dumbledore? Albus Dumbledore?" asked Schreiber appearing a bit bemused.
"Yeah…why?"
"Yoo zeem do know heem vell zhan ze oders", commented Schreiber lightly.
"Well, he is my magical guardian", said Harry matter-of-factly.
"Oh, I zee", said Schreiber, trying his best to hide his surprise. "Diz vud make de job eazier, zince you have heem as your guardian. Misdter Dumbledore iz ze Supremem MUGWUMP of ze Indternationale Confederazion of Wizards."
"I guess…"
"Pleaze follow me, Misdter Podter", said Schreiber.
Schreiber led him down the hall, among the primly dressed witches and wizards. The witches and wizards in the German Ministry of Magic were wearing clothes of darker shades, quite a contrast from the scene in Diagon Alley, where witches and wizards wore brightly coloured robes (even the British Ministry employees had brightly coloured robes from what he knew).
"Hallo Schreiber", said a blonde wizard, grinning at him as they passed by, clapping Schreiber on his shoulder. "Wer ist dieser Junge bei dir?" He turned his curious eyes on Harry.
"Es ist Harry Podter", said Schreiber. Harry watched as the blonde man's eyes widened and flicked to his scar. He was about to say something when Schreiber interrupted. "Ich rede später mit dir, Wagner."
With that Schreiber hurried off with the twelve year old by his side. There were quite a few dozens of doors lined through nearly the whole semicircle of the circular hall. Wizards and witches seemed to be occasionally getting in and out of the doors.
Schreiber opened one of the doors. "Here, Misdter Podter", said Schreiber.
Harry found himself in another huge hall, with dark polished wooden floor, lined with cubicles. Schreiber walked among the cubicles, with Harry trailing behind him. Some greeted the man, but he just muttered an incomprehensible response, barely casting a second glance at them. They came to a stop in front of a wooden door. Schreiber opened it, and the twelve year old found himself in a fairly large room, with a few lined up chairs, and a woman sitting behind a desk. Before them, there was another door.
"Ich muss mit Misdter Dietrich reden", said Schreiber quickly.
"Wieso den?" asked the woman, raising an eyebrow. "Was ist Schreiber?"
Schreiber then went on to speak with the woman in rapid German and Harry felt himself tune out. He heard his name being mentioned at one time, and the woman's eyes flicking to his scar, and then she spoke back. Schreiber nodded to her in reply.
The woman got up from her seat and knocked on the door in front of them.
"Komm herein!" came a male voice, and the woman disappeared inside the room.
"Zid Misdter Podter", said Schreiber showing him to one of the chairs. To Schreiber's words, Harry sat on one of the seats. "Id vill nod dake much dime Misdter Podter."
Harry nodded, and kept waiting. It was after a few minutes when the door opened and the women came out. "Misdter Dietrich vill zee you Misdter Podter", said the woman. Harry and Schreiber walked through the door and found themselves in the office of the head of what he assumed was Department of International Magical Cooperation. The office was fairly large in size, with carpeted floor and walls panelled with polished dark wood. Sitting behind an ornate desk was a man with salt and pepper hair and a goatee which twisted to a rather odd angle.
"Den Minister informieren", said Dietrich to the woman, who nodded and quickly left the room.
Dietrich then turned towards Harry. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter", said Dietrich in a perfectly schooled English. Although there were traces of an underlying German accent, one would have to search hard to look for it. "Despite the rather problematic circumstances which led to our meeting."
"You too Mr. Dietrich", said Harry.
"Please sit, Mr. Potter", said Dietrich courteously, waving his hand to the two chairs across his desk. "We would try our best to see what we can do, but for the meanwhile, may I ask you how you ended here in Germany? I don't believe you were here on some vacation, were you?"
Harry seated himself on the chair opposite to Mr. Dietrich and proceeded to tell him about the portkey and how he ended up here. Dietrich too shared Schreiber's concern over the illegal use of portkey, but this time Harry kept quiet and did not say much about how illegal activities were in all probability, not limited to Britain.
"…is still concerning", said Dietrich. "Maybe we ought to have a talk with your British Ministry about this matter more…deeply at a later—"
Dietrich was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Komm herein!" Dietrich called out.
The door opened and there stood the woman, who sat outside Dietrich's office, and a portly bald man standing beside her. The man wore, what Harry reckoned was considered fancy, pin-striped robes with a monocle on his left eye.
"Minister", said Dietrich curtly, standing up from his high-back chair.
"Dietrich", greeted the German Minister of Magic. "Sie können uns verlassen, Arnold, Rosie."
The woman and Schreiber nodded at the Minister respectfully and left the room.
"An Seidhr! Yoo musdt be Harry Podter", said the Minister smiling at him rather excitedly. "Id iz good—do meed yoo, Misdter Podter."
"How do you do, Minister?" Harry greeted him and shook the portly man's offered hand.
"Ve here—in Germany—have heard sdtories of ze Boy-Who-Lived, ze zurvivor of ze Killing Curze!" continued the Minister excitedly. "Was sagen Sie, Hans?"
"Yes, Minister", replied Dietrich. "As you might have guessed, Mr. Potter—our Minister of Magic—Alois Gründgens."
It was the third time today, that Harry had to narrate his story. Minister Gründgens was a quite cheerful person as it turned out and chatted amiably with Harry, which mostly seemed to him like a pamphlet telling him why Germany was the best place to stay for him compared to Britain. While the Minister praised his fatherland, Dietrich had made an emergency floo-call to the British Ministry of Magic (something which the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation could only make). Within an hour's wait, he had gotten a floo-call from the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation from the British Ministry of Magic, Barty Crouch, telling him that a portkey was sanctioned to arrive at the British Ministry from theirs in half-an-hour.
"Well, Mr. Potter, everything seems settled now", said Dietrich sitting on his chair after having made the final floo-call. "We would give you the portkey, and it would leave in exactly twenty eight minutes, taking you to the British Ministry of Magic. But, perhaps at a later date, we must have a talk with Mr. Crouch. It is their Ministry's duties to regulate the use of portkey. Today it's Mr. Potter—tomorrow it might be some dark wizard."
"Das ist deine Aufgabe, um die du dir Sorgen Machen musst, Dietrich", the Minister laughed, "nicht meine."
Dietrich was not amused.
Author's Notes:
The conversations in German is not something you should bother much about if you do not understand it and they are not anything important but rather normal chit-chat or greeting. Harry has limited understanding of the language, so don't fret about it, as this story is in Harry's perspective. However, I don't know how well I've managed with the English written in a heavy German accent, but it is understandable if you take a closer look.
I am so sorry for posting the sixth chapter so late! Uni is not a joke, and I just got around with my first term exams. As I might have implied in my previous author's notes that these chapters were already completed. But I had to change the whole plot of the sixth chapter because it wasn't up to my likings and it just so happens that while making these changes it occurred to me that I didn't like Daphne's character arc either (which I had previously drawn up) and it is something which I have worked on in this chapter and also plan to work on the upcoming chapters. I will be continuing, of course, but again uni is exhausting so please excuse me if I end up giving irregular updates. I don't want the quality of this fanfiction to deteriorate just because I was in a hurry. I reckon it's gonna take about four or so years to complete, which isn't that long if you go by some of the most popular Harry Potter fanfictions (I want this one to go to the same heights some day, but who knows what'll happen in that long a time).
Thank you for all your reviews and I cannot be more grateful to those of you who are following this story.