~oo00oo~
Chapter 5
The Boy Who Lived
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―==(oIo)==―
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28 December 1984
The morning came and with it the expected aches and pains of doing a lot of physical labor with a body that was not quite equipped for it. With that thought, I rose and added exercise plans to my mounting pile of paper. Deciding to take it easy, I took care of grooming and training the cats before doing much of anything else. Eventually, I settled in with some tea and toast to read the letters in my post box. It seemed that there were quite a few expertly recommended brewers out there who could easily make the potions I wanted, but it would cost quite a bit from any of them. I suppose you get what you pay for, I thought as I set those letters aside. Though fixing myself up with the potions would probably be the longest of my long term plans, I had expected to have to wait quite a long time on getting the potions. The recommendations from the St Mungo's healer were obviously very good.
Most of the answers had been affirmatives, but there was one that indicated it would not be wise for a squib to use the potions recommended for eye health. They stated that while the potions could work to correct vision issues in the young, most of the problems with older eyes could only be corrected with a potion that used something of the patient from their youth. A lock of hair or a few drops of blood worked best, but most people did not take such things and keep them so long any more. It simply wasn't fashionable to do so in this day and age. The brewer recommend an optical specialist on Horizant Alley that could fit me with glasses to help correct any issues.
Excepting for the one denial, I was in good straits as far as my health plan went for now. I would have potions to help heal damage to my overall health as well as ones specifically for bone health, vitamin and mineral deficiency, hair health, skin vitality, metabolic rate assistance, and muscle growth. The last of those two were important if I was to gain the physical strength that I really should have. With the combinations of these potions, exercise, and some better eating habits that I remembered from my younger yet future days, I could look ten years younger than my actual age. I would look significantly younger than the age I pretended to be most of the time.
In addition, this meant that I now had access to high level brewers who would make these same potions for a child. Harry was horribly underfed and had been routinely beaten. His eye health was abominable and his bones were no doubt brittle. He would need quite the work up to get him to a truly healthy point. As much as I would have preferred to take him to a true healer, there probably wasn't one in all of Britain that wouldn't report the visit of the Boy Who Lived to Albus and that could not happen.
I sent off a letter to the optical specialist through my post box, as well as money orders to pay for my first month's worth of potions, and then got to work on cleaning the lower level of the house again. With so many furry animals it needed twice daily cleaning to really keep it clean. Then I started on the bigger chore of the upper level. While Privet Drive had houses that were mostly three bedroom plus office on the upper level, Wisteria Walk held significantly smaller homes. My home had one master and one guest bedroom with a bath shared between them. Unfortunately, every odd and end of muggle origin that I had ever obtained had somehow made its way into the guest room. I spent countless hours going over each and every item to see if it should be kept or donated as well as making sure it was actually muggle.
Over the course of the afternoon the boxes of things to keep got smaller and the boxes to go to charity got higher. I paused a time or two for some nibbles and something to drink, but I wanted to get it all sorted in one day so I was back to it before long. I started to take the charity boxes down the stairs to join the others along the sitting room wall, but after a time I felt too weak to do so without risking injury and simply piled them up along the upstairs hall.
It was well after the evening meal by the time that I had completed my task to my liking. I felt the day was fairly successful with all of the work done. There was still much to be done, but I was so tired that I simply completed my evening routine and went to sleep.
Exceedingly late that night, a point where none but the no good stirred, I was woken when a whirring chime sounded throughout my whole house. Then it sounded again. And then again. It was with groggy eyes and tired body that I sat up and tried to remember what the noise meant. I threw on my clothes and pushed my feet into my slippers trying to force my brain to work. It took me stumbling down the stairs to remember that the noise meant Harry was not inside his relative's house by a decent hour. I threw on my overcoat and tied my flyaway hair under a scarf before grabbing my purse and heading to the door. I was once more out on the streets as the little old cat lady who needed another tin of cat food from the corner market. Though how I would explain that away when the market was closed at this awful time of night didn't worry me. I'm a crazy old cat lady after all.
Little paws stepped around me as little voices whispered to me through magic and we set off in search of a missing Harry Potter. The first place to check, of course, was the Dursleys. It was lucky that we found him. It was cold enough that the snow and ice was still on the ground and the poor child didn't have a coat over his ratty clothing. I almost thought him dead when I got there as he was curled up in a ball and so deathly pale. The cats pawed at him and I pretended to call to them as though I was trying to get them to come home, before finally walking up to him. I woke him as gently as I could, calling his name and brushing his hair away. When he stirred I started pulling him up to stand and he acquiesced with no resistance.
We made our sluggish way back to my house where I set him on the couch and began piling blankets and kneazles on him. I then double checked that all of my plans and magical things had made their way back to my closet. I popped the kettle on and made up several sandwiches, knowing he probably hadn't eaten all day. I raced up to my bath and filled the tub with lukewarm water, not hot as that could actually burn someone with frostbite. Harry was still groggy and sluggish when I came back down, but he was less pale. I took him up the stairs, with him leading the way so that in his woozy state I could push him upwards or catch him if he fell.
Ever so slowly I got him into the bath, the warm water shocking him a bit more awake. I murmured calming, soothing things to him about how it would be alright as he worked his way into the tub. I made sure he laid all the way down so that the water covered him entirely, but didn't inhibit his breathing. I grabbed a pitcher I kept under the sink and began slowly pouring the water over the spots of his chest that weren't quite covered. I didn't want to risk filling the bath more as he was already uncomfortable having his head in the water.
For a time this was all we did. As his skin got back a bit of a healthy flush, I went for a large towel and rolled it big. I had him sit up and put the rolled towel along the top of the tub under the water. His little noise of worry let me know that he was thinking a bit more clearly and I explained to him that he would have to turn around the other way too. He shifted onto his knees and then onto his stomach with his face perched up on the wet warm towel, but above the water itself. I poured more warm water over his back and the back of his legs. He relaxed into this treatment for a while. I left for a bit and came back with a long shirt and some old pyjama bottoms. Neither would fit him, but they would be soft and warm against his skin.
Getting him out of the bath was a little more difficult as he was awake and thinking enough to be embarrassed, but too tired and young for me to leave him to do it on his own. We managed in the end and a dry and dressed Harry Potter was bundled back up on my sitting room couch. I took out the sandwiches I'd fixed, poured some cooling tea for him and made my way back to the couch. He ate every morsel. I had to slow him down a few times and emphasize how important it was to not over extend his fragile stomach, but he ate every bite and had three cups of tea. I didn't have a bed for him to sleep on, but I made up the couch with some pillows and waited as he fell off to a restful sleep. I went up to bed myself, carrying my post box with me, and left the kneazles to keep guard over the Boy Who Lived to nearly die of hypothermia.
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―==(oIo)==―
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29 December 1984
Knowing that Petunia Dursley was the type of woman to be up for the milkman, I set an alarm to wake me very early. I had only managed a few hours of sleep total and was still sore all over from the workout cleaning had given me yesterday. As I dressed I thought through my plans, I had wanted to engage with Harry in a week or so when I had more things set up. Now I would have to change plans I had only just set into motion. It might work out better this way, but it was the way with a higher risk of being caught by Albus as well as a higher risk of the Dursleys realizing that their favorite punching bag wasn't in as much misery as he should be. There wasn't anything for it though, it would have to be done.
It wasn't even a true morning yet, as far as I was concerned, but my post box already had my first month supply of potions in it. I carefully took them out, read the directions, took the prescribed doses, and then hid them away in my closet. I was a bit amazed that my potions had come through the very day after sending payment, but if it was the brewer's bread and butter they were likely to have extra on hand for just such an order. Downstairs I tiptoed into the kitchen and set about making some tea and toast. Harry was still asleep, covered in heaps of blankets and at least three cats.
When the table was set I made sure to put on my old cat lady persona before waking him up. Even though I was gentle, he still startled awake. No doubt worried about another beating.
"It's alright, Harry. I know you've had a bit of a frightful night dear, but you look like you're doing well, hmm?" I smiled my grandmotherly smile, my shoulders hunched to give me a slouch and my knees bent a bit to give me even less height. Harry looked around wide eyed and bewildered. "Can you tell me what happened?"
He looked down at his hands, his face flushing scarlet and didn't answer me at all. He looked on the verge of tears. "That's alright, dear. Perfectly fine. But you're going to have some toast with me now and then we will talk some more, hmm?"
He shook his head as though he couldn't believe what was happening, but he let me lead him to the kitchen table in my slow crooked shuffle. We ate in silence and I watched him all the while. It was obvious now that he expected for the Dursleys to punish him for this too. I was going to have to throw caution to the wind and try to explain things to a child. That was going to be a very difficult and delicate task that I had not prepared myself to do. Especially at such an awful hour in the morning and after he had suffered yet another trauma.
After two cups of tea and several slices of toast heaped with marmalade, it was time to get right into it and hope for the best. I pushed my plate aside and poured us both another cuppa, even if just to have something for our hands. Smiling kindly I spoke in a soft wavering voice, "Did the Dursleys lock you out on purpose Harry?"
He looked down at his cup, his mouth pinched shut so tight it screwed up his whole face. Eventually though, after what appeared to be a lot of hard and difficult thought, he whispered, "Yes. I dropped the plate and wasn't to be allowed in to ruin more of their holiday."
That definitely sounded like something Petunia or Vernon would yell at him. He had obviously taken it to heart, perhaps repeating it to himself as he slowly froze. Only monsters let monsters get away with such things. Punishing the Dursleys hadn't even been on my list yet, it was much more important to start with protecting him from them first.
"They aren't very nice people. They don't do very nice things. That doesn't mean that you are bad. They wouldn't be very nice to anyone," I told him as firmly as I possibly could. It was important that he not think their meanness and cruelty was his fault. He didn't really look like he believed me. At that moment punishing the Dursleys not only went on my list, but also made its way up to the top of it.
"Do you know that there are shows on the telly that aren't real?"
His face swung up to meet mine, his knitted eyebrows hidden beneath his long hair as he tried to understand such a change in the conversation. He couldn't seem to work out a response, so I tried again, "There are shows that look like they are really happening. Like Coronation Street looks very real doesn't it? It doesn't have aliens or monsters stomping through. But those people are actors who play pretend, they act out the stories of someone else."
Slowly, ever so slowly, Harry had begun to nod. It was a good thing that he seemed to understand acting at least as far as it was playing pretend. He was only four and a half after all. I very much doubted he had ever been able to really play pretend with the Dursleys either, but he probably pretended in his boot cupboard during the long dark hours alone. And here I was going to take him for another swing in the conversation now that he had that concept figured.
"Do you know what a spy is, Harry? During the wars we had lots of spies. People came from allied countries to train up with our Special Operations to help out. They became spies and the codebreakers at Bletchley." He was looking at me like he had no idea where this was going, but he at least thought it sounded interesting. It almost made me laugh, but it was more important now than ever to keep my persona firmly on. "Spies would go out and pretend to be other people in order to get information to help us win the war. People these days, they think of James Bond," he lit up at the mention of someone he knew. "But really the best spies were people that no one would look twice at, not handsome devil may care types like Bond, James Bond." Harry gave a little laugh at my impression of the super suave spy's catch phrase.
"Do you know who some of the best spies were?" At little shake of his head I continued, "The women were often the best spies. Men forget about us you see? They don't think of us as important or threatening. And so we often slip right through, like we were invisible," I finished with a quaky flourish of jazz hands. As he smiled and huffed a little laugh I creakily got up out of my chair and shuffled an awkward shuffle to the sink to refill the kettle. Then I slowly and carefully carried the kettle back to heat up yet more cups of tea for us to stare at later. After that I walked my favored crooked walk over to the table and leaned one arm on the back of a chair. The performance must have taken nearly five minutes and Harry had fidgeted for three of them, probably thinking he should offer to help but not wanting to get in trouble.
I looked him in the eyes and smiled my soft smile and then I let the persona fall away. My smile got higher and sharper, my back and knees straightened, my posture changed to a strong, if relaxed repose with one arm still casually draped over the chair. His eyes were getting wider and wider as he watched the change, but when I spoke and my voice was clear and low instead of the wispy, raspy softness he nearly fell from his chair, "Harry I'm a spy."
He looked like nothing cooler had ever happened to him in his entire life. His wide eyes somehow comically huge, his mouth hanging open, and his chair was pushed away from the table when he'd nearly fallen over. In my normal voice, I repeated some of the things I said before. "Spies are just people who play pretend and the best spies are the spies that can become invisible to everyone else. That way they can get the information they need to protect people."
I pulled my chair over from the opposite end of the table to right next to him. "I want to teach you how to do that so that we can keep you safe. Would you like to learn?"
"Ye–yes I want to," came rushing out of him in an earnest whisper. Did he ever speak louder than a whisper? What else did the Dursleys do to make him always speak so quietly?
"Then there are some things that you are going to have to learn very quickly this morning because I think we both know that the Dursleys are going to try and blame you for what happened." He nodded sadly, but then looked up at me hopefully. "The Dursleys want you to be miserable so the first thing that you are going to learn is how to act as miserable as possible as convincingly as possible." Now the nodding was earnest. "The next thing we will do is work on looking like you don't want something that you actually want, because you look very happy for a little boy who needs to convince mean people that you are actually miserable."
Harry pouted at that, but I ruffled his hair and we got to work. I took him through several different methods that I had developed as a spy over nearly a decade and a half of work that I had done for the Order. They were based off of different acting methods, surely, but each had my own spin to it. After an hour, I called a halt to the acting classes and had him get dressed in his own clothes. Or rather his cousin's clothes that he was permitted to wear.
The plan for taking him back was simple. If the door was unlocked then I would knock on it and Harry would pretend to open it from the inside. If the door was locked then I would knock on it and distract Petunia while Harry slipped around the back to be let in later or to get in through a possibly open door. Luck was on our side, the door was unlocked.
With Harry positioned just beside it, I rapped on the door and he pretended to open it and greet me with much displeasure. "Oh, 'ello Mrs Figg."
There was a screeching from the kitchen that could only be the lady of the house. "Good morning Harry, you were just the person I was hoping to speak with," I said in my wavering, elderly voice. I didn't get any further however as Petunia was suddenly at the door, her claw like hand grasping Harry's bony shoulder and pulling him sharply back.
"Mrs Figg, it's a bit early to be dropping by," disdain dripped from every word to slip from Petunia's thin pale lips.
"Of course, dear, only I was hoping to borrow your young nephew. I'm having a bit of a clear out and it's gotten a bit much for me. I'm sure you're busy with parties and such as the young crowd do, but I was hoping to get a start on my new year resolution. Would you mind terribly if I borrow him for the weekend? It would keep such a young one out of your hair and be of such a great help for an old lady."
Petunia gave me a long cold stare as though she were doing mental mathematics of how much Harry would hate this chore and how good it might make her look to the neighbors. Things fell in our favor when I mentioned, "I don't have an extra bed in my guest room though, the storage of things has gotten a bit out of control there, but I'm sure such a young lad wouldn't mind kipping on the floor. The cats are very friendly." And then Harry, fast learner that he was, gave a whiny huff to trick his aunt into thinking he hated the idea.
Face transformed by a menacing smile, Petunia gave her blessings and sent Harry off for a change of clothes before he was allowed to totter back to my home alongside me. When we reached the house he collapsed on the couch and was silent for a moment, but before long giggle fits hit him and refused to stop. He got up and literally jumped around, he was so giddy and excited. I just smiled at him, so much for a well deserved nap. Maybe we could get some sleep later in the afternoon.
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―==(oIo)==―
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Harry and I talked about all the things he would need to learn for several hours. Then we talked about ways to trick the Dursleys out of hurting him. But finally, around lunch time, we needed to talk about magic.
Harry was happily dipping his toasted cheese sandwich into a bit of tomato soup when I gathered up my courage and started the minefield laden conversation as gently as I could manage. "Do you understand that the Dursleys are bad people that want to hurt you, Harry?"
Harry breathed in a deep breath of someone much older who was barely holding on to their patience, "Yes, Mrs Figg. We already talked 'bout it. They are mean people who do mean things because they are mean. I'm not mean."
"Exactly. But do you understand that they are trying to hurt you in ways beyond hitting you? You mentioned the frying pan and when your uncle hit you, but you didn't mention how little food you get. That's a way to be mean to you too."
"Freaks don't deserve more food."
"Words are just another way to hurt people. Just another way for them to hurt you. You are a special little boy Harry Potter, there isn't another like you in the whole wide world. You are not a freak." I looked him right in the eye, trying my best to force him to believe what I was saying and knowing that it would never be that easy. Even getting him out of such a place so young, he would probably always struggle with the mental and emotional damage they had done to him.
Harry looked down and fiddled with the crust on his sandwich, not saying anything. We ate for a bit more in silence as I wanted to give him some space to understand what we had spoken about. When he seemed more calm than pensieve I started again. "Do you think the Dursleys would lie to you if they thought it would hurt your feelings?"
He looked up at me startled, as though the thought of the Dursleys lying about something hadn't occurred to him. "They lie to you when you need food or clothes. They call you names that aren't true too. Do you think they would lie about other things if they thought that it would hurt you? Or if they thought that it would keep you from having something that you might want or might like?" Harry had begun to pale and looked a little sickly as he started to take this in, he put the remains of his sandwich back on the plate and wrung his hands together. I pushed his cup of milky tea towards him and motioned for him to drink. This poor kid, my heart ached, things were just so awful for him. I resolved to get things done much sooner so that I could free him from the monsters earlier.
After awhile, his breathing slowed and he wasn't nervously gulping down his tea. "Mrs Figg? What do you think the Dursleys lied 'bout?"
I was amazed at his ability to make such cognitive leaps. That was several year milestones before it really should have happened. He took my hesitation as confirmation that he was right. "They did, didn't they?" he cried. "What did they lie 'bout? What else could they have been mean 'bout?" Great big tear drops were welling up in his eyes, but refusing to fall. So much for gently, I thought a little ruefully.
"I knew your parents Harry."
It was as though the world stopped spinning for the too small boy at my kitchen table. He took a deep breath in, trying to calm himself, and his little fingers clenched into shaking fists and then, and then…
SNAP!
All of my kitchen cabinets suddenly imploded. And it was a lucky thing that they did too, because if they had exploded we would have been impaled by wood shards. The sudden accidental magic had the effect of allowing Harry to more easily gain control of himself. He stared at the imploded cabinetry for a long time, all the while I looked calmly at him. When he whipped back around to stare at me in shock he was met with a cool calm gaze and an amused smirk. "Yeah, your dad used to do that too."
Harry just blinked at me.
"Your mum and dad were magic, Harry, and so are you. I worked with them in a secret society called The Order of the Phoenix. There was a war on in the magical world and we were working to help people when the Ministry of Magic couldn't get off their well bribed arses and do something." I breathed a bit to try and calm myself.
"Your mother was what's called a muggleborn," I explained a bit more calmly. "She was someone with active magic born to a family that had none. When someone is born to a family with magic, but can't use a wand with active magic they are called a squib."
I pointed to myself, "I'm a squib. My parents and siblings and grandparents and cousins all have active magic. It means they can use wands. But I don't have the ability to do that. And your father, he was a pureblood, he came from a family where witches and wizards only married other witches and wizards for generations."
I paused for a moment trying to give him time to absorb all this before continuing on, "When people with active magic are little, muggleborn or pureblood it doesn't matter, they have what's called 'accidental magic' where things happen– like kitchen cabinets implode because a little wizard gets very upset." I gave him a smile again to make sure he knew I wasn't worried about it. Then I doubled down on the sentimental in the hopes he would come out of this conversation more happy than traumatized, "Would you like to see some pictures of your parents?"
A gasp and vigorous nodding followed by a, "Yes, please!" was all it took to get me up from the table. I held out my hand to him and he took it. I thought that was a wonderful improvement, he would never have had such physical contact before. I brought him to the hidden closet and situated him right in front of it.
"Now there is something called The Statute of Secrecy. It basically says that the muggles, people without magic, aren't to know anything about magic and magical people. So I've hidden my magical things away in this closet," I said as I grandly showed off a bare piece of wall. He looked at me like I was crazy and I laughed. "It's magic Harry! You can't see it unless I help you because the door is keyed into me alone. Go ahead and touch the wall though."
He moved up close and felt the wall where I had pointed before backing away with a frown. "There's nothing there," he murmured under his breath.
"Try feeling for the door again, but instead of feeling for something that is solid like a door feel for the magic of the door. Put your hand right there, yes and then close your eyes because your eyes are lying to you. Now feel from your center, is there something there? Something like you felt when you had your accidental magic?"
Harry scrunched up his face and bit at his lip, concentrating with all his might, before gasping, "It is there! Like a soft curtain."
"Very good. Now put your hand back on the door and then I'm going to touch you and the door at the same time. That will let you see the physical door."
As I revealed the closet door to him I watched his face closely, this was his introduction to magic. This was when magic would become real for Harry Potter. It was the right thing to do, no matter what Albus tried to convince me. We wandered into the little room and I went over to my photos, there was an album here that I hadn't looked at in a very long time. It had Harry's parents in it, along with so many other dead.
We sat on the floor and flipped through the pictures. I told him all the good stories about the people in the Order. About the Prewett brothers and the McKinnons having a pranking contest with his father and Sirius Black. About how Dorcas Meadows would sing to herself as she went about her tasks, even if it was in a fight, and all she would ever reply was that she had a tune stuck in her head. He asked why I wasn't in the pictures I pointed to and I explained that I was the one taking the picture and bumped his shoulder as I reminded him that a good spy remains invisible. I told him about the sweetness of the Longbottoms and how Alice was such a good friend to his mother. How I had heard his father worry that his son might have the same explosive accidental magic that he had as a child. On and on I went until I was tired and sad.
"It was a war and people died fighting it. The people the Order stood against were called Death Eaters and they were led by a wizard who called himself Lord Voldemort." I didn't flinch at the name. I would not give the monster the satisfaction, but my memories of my young life had also told me that it wasn't even his name. Why fear the made up name of an angsty teen, no matter what evil he had done later he was still the spotty teen going by an anagram.
"He was so powerful and so terrifying that even now the people of magical Britain are afraid of saying Lord Voldemort, they say things like You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He was a monster who led a blood war to kill muggles and muggleborns. The people in the Order put their faith in another powerful wizard. His name is Albus Dumbledore."
I pointed Albus out in a few of the pictures so he would be able to put a face to the name. "There came a time when Lord Voldemort, or the Dark Lord, started targeting Order families. Your family and the Longbottom family were of particular interest to him and his Death Eaters. The Longbottom boy was born just days before you were. Neville is his name. Your parents had already gone into hiding when your mother was pregnant, your father barely leaving Lily and supplies were secreted to them so it couldn't be tracked." Harry turned the pages of the album again. Wondering, roving fingers skimmed over pictures of his parents.
"But after you were born is when Voldemort began his hunt in earnest. Your parents were convinced to use a special, powerful charm that would hide their cottage. Rather like how I hide my door, but even more powerful. The fidelius charm would create a secret around the house and only the secret keeper would know where it was. People would completely forget that the cottage ever existed. Neighbors would walk right past the place where their home was and not see a thing. Only the secret keeper could tell someone the secret, and only then could that person see the house. Does that make sense to you Harry?"
"They hid the house from bad guys and only one person knew the secret." He whispered it with such an odd monotone that I worried that perhaps I should stop. But I had committed to this path and I would take it. He would need to understand the dangers.
"That's right. There were two people that your parents would choose from, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. A week after the incantation had been cast, Voldemort attacked your home." Harry shuddered and I put an arm against him as he traced and retraced the contours of his parents in the photo before him.
"No one really knows what happened. We do know that the killing curse, which flashes a bright green light, was used three times. We know that your father died first. We know that your mother died beside your crib." He was sniffling now, but I pressed onward, "And we know that some powerful magic was invoked when he tried to kill you, because all that was left of him was his clothes and a pile of ashes." At this Harry looked up at me with a surprised expression.
"I killed him?"
"A lot of people think that you were the one to defeat him. But I think your mother set him up, probably had something planned in case all else failed. She was an incredibly powerful witch as well as being one of the most clever people I have ever met. And I know something that those people, the average witch or wizard on the street, doesn't know." He looked over to me, morose and hesitant. "I know why you were sent to live with your muggle aunt."
"Why?" came the shocked, wide eyed question.
"Mother's magic. Your mother wove protections so tight into you that no Death Eater or Dark Lord can find you or hurt you with magic. Her sacrifice for you, so that you could live, protects you from them even now."
"But I thought I defeated him?"
"With their master a pile of ash the Death Eaters were, mostly, rounded up and sent off to Azkaban. That's the wizarding prison, a horrible place guarded by creatures called Dementors. They suck out all happiness and sanity from a person and leave nothing but a crazy husk behind. But many of the Death Eaters were politically influential people or very, very rich and they said that they had been forced to do those things against their will. Some even claimed to have been under the unforgivable curse Imperious."
"So they're still out there?"
"Yes."
"But mum's magic is still protecting me from them?"
"Yes. But you should think of it as needing a top up every once and a while. Your aunt is your mother's closest blood relative and when she took you into her home and agreed that you would stay, it sealed the magic. As long as you both believe that her home is your home you will continue to carry the protection of your mother's sacrifice for you."
Harry looked back down at the photo of his parents. He was rapidly blinking and fidgeting his fingers on the corners of the album that was sitting across our laps. "But if I run away and stay with you then the magic doesn't work anymore?"
"That's right." I really needed to pick up a child development book, he was leaps and bounds ahead of where I thought he should be at under five years old. He was making logical connections that might make more sense if he was eight or so but not four and a half. I had only ever been exposed to children in either life in a very tertiary hand them back to their parents kind of way and was more than a bit out of my comfort zone.
"So how're we gonna stop the Dursleys from being mean to me then? If I can't go no where?"
"We are going to find as many loopholes as possible. You are going to work on your acting and sneaking. And I was thinking we could get the Dursleys to ignore you completely, make you invisible to them. You would still live there, your aunt would still think you lived there, but they would never be able to see you."
"You can turn me invisible?!" Apparently, this was exciting enough to get over the idea of never being able to truly leave the Dursleys as well as the morbid discovery of how his parents actually died. Children were strange creatures.
"Very few things have the ability to be truly invisible, rather it's about making someone so unnoticeable that they become invisible. Like the door to my closet. We could make the door to your cousin's second bedroom invisible to everyone else but you and they would never be able to open it because they wouldn't even know that it was there. And I know that the Dursleys have that useless attic space that every other house on Privet has, we can use expansion charms to make it taller and wider so that you can have more room. There's a lot that we can do. Of course, I can't cast those charms myself since I can't use a wand. But there are ways to hire out for that sort of thing."
I looked into this child's face, so full of hope and wonder, and realized that this was the hard part. I had thought telling him of the war and the death would be the most difficult part, but I was wrong. So terribly wrong. I had to tell him, he needed to be prepared, but I absolutely did not want to tell him this terrible truth. I looked away and swallowed hard.
"The last tough thing we will talk about tonight is Albus Dumbledore. We all answered to him, all of us in the Order, we followed his direction and we did it because we thought he knew best. Maybe he did, it's difficult to know, even all these years later. War is not so black and white Harry, though I expect you won't understand that until you're much older. But after Voldemort was defeated and Dumbledore left you with your Aunt, he sent me here to spy on you and guard you." I took a deep calming breath that came out as more a shaky sigh than anything else.
"Should anything happen I was to give a report to him. And I have reported to him about you. About how awful the Dursleys have been. Do you remember those photos I took a while back of the bruises? I showed them to him. I told him you needed protection from the people inside the house too. And he decided we should do nothing. His orders are to not interfere with how the Dursleys treat you and to not ever let you know that magic is real." I swallowed again, trying to push down on the bubbling emotions, a mix of grief, disappointment, and anger that swelled with every word.
"Does he not like me too," came the harsh whisper from a boy too small and too often beaten down. It didn't even sound like a question, though he had phrased it as such. It sounded like a certainty, like he believed the whole world wouldn't like him just because he existed. My heart was breaking over the quiet certainty of coming cruelty that no one should expect, least of all a child.
"I don't know luv," I was near crying as I pulled his slight frame closer to me in a tight hug. "I don't understand what he is thinking. He might believe what he is doing is best, to keep you safe from worse people than the Dursleys. But if he isn't keeping you safe from them, then he isn't giving you much of a chance at anything else. The whole magical world is convinced that Dumbledore has secreted you away somewhere and is personally training you. He hasn't done anything to stop the rumors."
"Why would the world care? I'm just… me?"
I huffed out a little laugh and gave him a squeeze, "The day that Voldemort vanished, 31 October 1981, was a day that much of magical Britain was freed from terror. Your mum stopped the biggest, baddest, meanest monster from hurting any more people. But because you were the one who lived it was you who people celebrated. No one had ever lived through an attack once You-Know-Who decided to kill them, but you did. And ever since then people have celebrated The Boy Who Lived, you."
He looked a bit shell shocked and quizzical, but there wasn't much I could do to help with that as I really didn't understand the phenomena myself. Obviously, it wasn't the baby who defeated a fully grown wizard. Obviously, the killing curse didn't "rebound" as the killing curse didn't turn a body to ash. But the public had decided it was Harry that they wanted to latch on to and it was decidedly odd to me.
"What I need you to take away from all of this is that there are followers of a very bad man who would want to hurt you because they blame you for their master being defeated." I turned to see his bright green eyes and with a very serious look I continued, "And that one of the most powerful wizards in the entire world, certainly the most powerful here in Britain, would never want me to tell you any of this or stop the Dursleys from hurting you. If he or anyone else found out that we were doing this it would put both of us in a lot of danger. Do you understand?"
"Yeah–Yes, I understand. It's a big secret from everybody. Just for us two, me an' you."
"Good." I sighed, my joints hurt. "I think that's enough for tonight. Let's get off this floor and get something to eat, I'm starving."
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―==(oIo)==―
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Late that night, with Harry tucked in on the couch, a cat or two to guarding him, I wrote a letter to Albus. I carefully measured every word and made sure to keep it light and even amusing. I told him how Petunia complained about having Harry underfoot as she set about hosting for a new year gathering and that I mentioned needing help with a charity run I was doing. In the end, I told him, Harry was staying the holiday weekend in my home and kipping in the sitting room. He was a big help with all the boxes, but not so much with my furnishings as a bit of accidental magic had brought down all my kitchen cabinets. I told Albus not to worry, I was going to replace them anyway. And because I was sure he was worried about Harry learning he had magic, I told him how I had expressed to Harry my belief that the cabinetry was falling apart and I knew that it was only a matter of time before something like this happened.
I was sure that it would satisfy any curiosity that Albus might have while at the same time serving as a normal report that he would expect after such an event. I put it in a small tube and closed it up before sending it through the floo. The tube had been an invention of his and could be opened only by the people inscribed on it saying the correct passcode. Any attempt to force open the tube through any means would disintegrate whatever was inside of it. The weight of it allowed for it to go through the floo network without getting lost or damaged. This was just one of the security measures for passing along sensitive information that we had used since before there had even been an official war.
I moved back to my plans. I had narrowed down my choices of solicitor and only needed to make appointments to meet with them. They were not going to be open for new clients during the holiday, of course, so I was working on crafting a sort of character sheet for the persona I would need to put on with them. I certainly couldn't be the mad old woman from down the lane. I had to be someone slightly posh and absolutely in charge. I would need new clothing for this and for other characters that I would need to craft in order to sneak around behind Albus' back.
After that, I was finally able to open the book from Gringotts and start reading about their services. Most of these services were things that the average wixen wouldn't think about needing to know or utilize. The book was magically enhanced to hold more pages than appeared possible and it was slow going as I read through each service carefully, marking down interesting ones with their page numbers and cost in a new notebook that I had started just for this task. By the time I finally settled into bed I had filled dozens of pages with useful services and the average cost. I would worry over it more in the morning. I was exhausted and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
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―==(oIo)==―
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