Lonely Together

AN: Harry Potter's upbringing had never been great, but one day things hit a breaking point. With his steadfast refusal to return to the Dursleys, Dumbledore was forced to send Harry to the next best thing – a light-sided wizarding family full of good influences for the Boy-Who-lived. This way he would still grow up to be the hero Dumbledore knew he must become. But when are things ever that simple?

Warnings – This story will contain very dark themes, violence and character death.

Disclaimer – I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 1 – No more Dursleys

Harry shivered slightly in the breeze, ignoring the dog barking up at him. It had been a hot day, but as light turned to darkness, that heat had quickly evaporated into the cloudless sky. Harry's mind wasn't focused on the temperature, however, all he felt was anger. Anger at his stupid aunt, his bully cousin, his abusive uncle, and his uncle's disgusting sister.

This week had already been bad enough for Harry before today's events – even worse than his weeks usually were. Uncle Vernon's sister, Aunt Marge had been staying in the guest bedroom all week and her visits were quite possibly Harry's least favourite thing in the world. The Dursleys were bad enough as it was but they rarely resorted to physical abuse (with the exception of Dudley) – Marge on the other hand was not afraid to smack him with her meaty hands whenever she felt like it, and her favourite dog, Ripper, had attempted to bite Harry on more than one occasion.

This entire week, Harry had been waiting hand and foot on the entire Dursley family while having to put up with Aunt Marge's derogatory comments directed at Harry and his dead parents. He had sucked it up though, not that he had a choice – any argument would lead to him being locked in his cupboard with no meals. Today he had woken up feeling a little relief that this was Aunt Marge's final day before taking the train home the next morning; all he had to do was survive one more day of the insufferable woman and then she'd be gone and he'd be back to just having to deal with three relatives who hated him, rather than four.

As though she was trying to squash any positive feelings out of Harry, Aunt Marge had been worse than ever today, throwing insults and commands around at an unprecedented speed. Harry had ignored the insults but as he was rushing around, trying to bring yet more food to Dudley, he had accidentally trodden on Ripper's paw. The vicious dog, eager for any opportunity to sink its teeth into Harry, chased him out into the garden where Harry jumped into a tree before hurriedly climbing out of reach of the bulldog's jaws. He had shouted for someone to call the dog off and help him, but instead the Dursleys had just watched him through the window and laughed. Their cruelty didn't even end there. Ripper had remained below the tree, pacing and barking up at Harry and yet the Dursleys had refused to call him off. Aunt Marge had even come outside to bring the bulldog some food and smile maliciously up at Harry before heading back inside. It had now been hours. The sun had set long ago despite it being August, and Harry's body was stiff, achy and cold. If he had to hazard a guess, it was probably close to midnight.

Harry was used to how he was treated by the Dursleys by now – it had been the same all throughout his life. Sure, he had spent long days and nights wondering why they loathed him so much, why his cousin Dudley was showered in love, praise, presents, and even had two bedrooms, whilst Harry barely owned anything and slept in the cupboard under the stairs. He had often thought about this and had even come to the conclusion that there was something wrong with him – why else would he be treated like this? However, Harry thought he was beginning to see the light. The Dursleys were bad people, simple as that. No normal people should treat another person like this. The reason they mistreated Harry was because they hated his parents for some reason or another. Harry wasn't the problem, they were, and it made him furious.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the back door swinging open as his Aunt Marge and Uncle Vernon came into the garden. They both wore wide grins.

"Ripper, come here," barked Aunt Marge, and at long last, the ugly bulldog stopped staring up at Harry and ran off to his owner.

"Come down here, boy," said Uncle Vernon. Harry hastily hopped down out of the tree, landing on the grass next to his uncle.

"I hope you've learned your lesson," said Aunt Marge, looking at Harry condescendingly. Fresh anger erupted inside of Harry. How could she possibly act as though Harry had done something wrong? Harry bit his tongue to stop himself from talking back to her.

"Well?" asked Uncle Vernon. "What do you have to say to your Aunt boy?"

"She's not my Aunt," said Harry defiantly, before he could stop himself.

"What did you say?" asked Uncle Vernon threateningly, his face turning purple. Harry glared back at him but stayed silent. "Apologise to your Aunt, now."

"She's not my Aunt," said Harry, louder.

"Boy…" Uncle Vernon growled, but Aunt Marge held up a meaty hand to silence her brother.

"No, Vernon, the boy is right. He's not my nephew. He's only yours because Petunia's sister was a bad egg, that wasn't our–"

"No she wasn't," Harry interrupted, anger now coursing through his veins. "My mother wasn't a bad egg."

"Oh, yes she was," said Aunt Marge with an air of superiority around her. "And your father, too. The both of them were low-life scum, a disgrace to Petunia's family."

"Shut up!" Harry shouted. Ripper growled and Uncle Vernon stepped forward menacingly.

"Quiet down boy," he said quietly, as though people might overhear. "You've already earned one week of no meals, don't make it more."

Harry ignored him and kept glaring at Aunt Marge.

"You're the low-life scum," he said, spitting her own words back at her.

"That's it boy," growled Uncle Vernon, grabbing Harry by his collar and dragging him towards the door. Harry thrashed desperately and managed to escape by kneeing Uncle Vernon in an area he knew it would hurt. His uncle gasped for pain and sunk to his knees. He dodged around Aunt Marge's outstretched arms and kicked Ripper out of the way as the dog tried to jump on him. Harry knew the time had come to get out of there, to escape the Dursleys once and for all.

He dashed towards the fence and clambered up the side of it desperately only to scream in pain as Ripper sunk his teeth into Harry's calf. Harry kicked the dog off and managed to topple over the other side of the fence just before Aunt Marge reached him. He landed painfully, face first into a rose bush in the neighbour's garden. He extricated himself from the bush with difficulty and sprinted to their gate. He opened the gate and ran straight out into the street without hesitation. His many wounds screamed at him to stop, especially the bite on his calf, but he kept running, shaking off the stiffness in his legs from being stuck in a tree for hours.

Harry only allowed himself to stop running when he reached Wisteria Walk and then the pain from his injuries caught up to him. He sat down on the curb and inspected the bite while he caught his breath. The area didn't look good and was bleeding. Harry knew it would have to be cleaned soon or it could get infected.

Harry gritted his teeth and stood up despite the pain, but before he could move any further, the front door of a house swung open and a woman appeared in the doorway holding a cat, which she promptly set down outside. It was Mrs Figg. Harry had been sent to stay at her house in the past whenever Dudley was taken to do an enjoyable activity of some kind. Harry held his breath but the woman had noticed him.

"Harry? Is that you?" she called, leaving her house to walk over to him in her slippers.

"Hello, Mrs Figg," Harry said, trying not to give away how much pain his leg was in. However, he couldn't exactly hide the numerous scratches on his face from the rosebush he had landed headfirst in.

"What happened, boy?" she asked.

Harry didn't answer. Mrs Figg scowled.

"You'd best come inside," she said, motioning behind her. "Those cuts need cleaning up."

Harry debated it internally for a moment but figured he had nowhere else to go. He followed her into her house that smelled strongly of cabbage. She led him to an old looking couch where Harry sat down hesitantly. A cat immediately jumped into his lap.

"Tufty, down," commanded Mrs Figg, and the cat hopped back off. She left Harry for a minute then when she returned she was holding a First Aid kit. Harry didn't protest as she started cleaning his small wounds.

"So, what happened to put you in this shape?" Mrs Figg asked, her tone a little gentler than Harry had ever heard it before. "And why are you out of the house so late."

Harry's first instinct was to hide the truth so Uncle Vernon didn't punish him for it later, but Harry realised that didn't matter now. He wasn't returning to number four Privet Drive again – he was sure of that much.

So, he told Mrs Figg everything that had happened that night. Anger flashed in her eyes briefly but her face kept a grim expression throughout the whole story. He finished his recount of events just as she finished tending to the cuts on his face. She looked down at him with concern.

"You can stay here for now," she said firmly. "I'll take you upstairs to the spare room, then I'm going to make a call."

"Please don't call the Dursleys," Harry pleaded with her. Mrs Figg raised her arms placatingly.

"I wasn't planning to. There's someone else I plan to contact who I hope can help you. Now come on, let's get you to bed."

Harry followed her silently into the guest room and sat down awkwardly on the bed.

"You should try to get some sleep," said Mrs Figg. "You'll need it to recover."

With that, she closed the door and Harry heard her footsteps walking down the stairs. He swung his legs up onto the bed and felt pain throb in the calf which Ripper had bitten. Harry hadn't even thought to mention the bite to Mrs Figg. He supposed he could in the morning. He laid flat on the bed and marvelled at how comfortable it was – he had never slept on a bed before. For a while, he attempted to sleep but it simply wouldn't come – his leg was hurting too much for him to even feel drowsy. After a few more minutes of perseverance, Harry gave in and decided he would have to show Mrs Figg the bite and hopefully she could help relieve the pain somehow.

Harry limped over to the bedroom door and opened it, before noticing he could hear faint voices coming from the living room downstairs. He crept silently down the stairs, moving gingerly on his injured leg. As he approached the slightly ajar living room door, the voices became clearer and he paused to listen in.

"– I'm telling you, Dumbledore, his situation has to change," came the voice of Mrs Figg.

"But that is where he is safest," said a tired voice which sounded as though it had a grandfatherly quality to it. "While he can still call home the place where his mother's blood dwells, there he cannot be harmed by Lord Voldemort or his followers."

"But at what cost?" argued Mrs Figg. "The way I see it, his abusive family pose far more of a threat to his wellbeing than a wizard who hasn't been seen in nine years!"

"Arabella, you know as well as I do that there will come a time in which Lord Voldemort will return. When he does, Harry will become his prime target and the blood protection provided by his aunt may well save his life."

"Well then why can't you just send him back there when he does come back?"

"Because the moment he recognises another place as home, the charms will be broken and I will be unable to recast them."

"Can't a wizarding family keep him safe?" said Mrs Figg. "Are there not charms and enchantments you could place on a wizarding household to shield its location? And in the meantime, the poor boy could be raised rather than neglected. You've heard what I've reported to you, Dumbledore, and I fear I don't know half of what goes on in that house! At what point do you draw the line? How badly do they have to neglect or abuse him before you decide enough is enough?"

The man called Dumbledore let out a heavy sigh and fell silent. Harry tried to make sense of what he had just overheard. Wizards? Lord Voldemort? His mother's blood? And was Mrs Figg spying on him and reporting to this Dumbledore guy?

"I think the time has come to tell the boy who he is," said Mrs Figg, breaking the silence. "And to move him to live with his own kind. He doesn't belong with Muggles and you know it. Not to mention the Muggles he lives with are some of the worst kind."

Dumbledore sighed again. "Minerva said the same thing the night we left him with them. I truly do believe he is safest there. I can write a letter to Petunia about his treatment."

"Dumbledore, he ran away from them today. He begged me not to call them. He doesn't want to go back there!"

"He has just one more year to spend there, then he will receive his Hogwarts letter and will only need to return for summers from thereon in," Dumbledore said calmly. "I knew I was condemning him to ten dark and difficult years when I left him with them. But I assure you, it will all be worth it if their reluctant acceptance of him into their home saves his life one day."

"I'm not going back," said Harry, pushing the door open. Both adults turned to face him in shock. Dumbledore was a very old man with long silver hair and an even longer beard. He wore half-moon spectacles, had bright blue eyes, a crooked nose, and was wearing strange and deep purple robes. Overall, he had quite a strange appearance.

"I'm never going back to the Dursleys," said Harry, more firmly. "What were you talking about all this time? About wizards and stuff?"

Mrs Figg sat back and watched Dumbledore. The old man stood and offered his hand to Harry.

"I'm Albus Dumbledore," he introduced himself. "I'm the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harry's expression must have told Dumbledore exactly what Harry's thoughts were.

"I hadn't intended for you to find this all out so soon, but it appears that fate has declared that now is the right time. You are a wizard, Harry. I am too, as was your father. Your mother was a witch."

"What?"

Dumbledore let out a quiet chuckle before pulling a long, wooden object from a pocket in his robes.

"Please do not be afraid, I am merely healing your injuries and demonstrating magic to you simultaneously," said Dumbledore. He waved his wand and Harry's face felt weird for a moment. However, once that feeling went away, Harry noticed none of the cuts there were stinging any more. He touched his face and was stunned to discover his skin healed and as good as new.

"How?" Harry asked, stunned.

"Magic," Dumbledore answered simply. "I am sure that at some point, something has happened to or around you which you could not explain. That would most likely be accidental magic on your part."

Several instances popped into Harry's head. When his hair had regrown in one night. When his mean teachers wig had inexplicably turned blue. When he had somehow jumped onto the school roof to escape Dudley and his gang. This explained all of that and so much more – like why the Dursleys hated him so much. They were jealous because he had magic and they didn't.

"Can you heal my leg?" Harry asked, still all too aware of the throbbing pain.

He moved so Dumbledore could see and a strange expression overcame his face. Mrs Figg let out a small noise.

"Aunt Marge's dog bit me while I was trying to escape," Harry explained quietly.

Without a word, Dumbledore waved his wand once more. A sharp pain shot through the wound for a second or two, but then when it went away, that injury had disappeared too.

"Thank you," Harry said quietly. Dumbledore nodded, but still looked conflicted about something.

"What did you mean by all of the other stuff you were saying earlier?" asked Harry. "About me being protected from Lord Voldemort? Who's that?"

Dumbledore seemed to steel himself a little bit, before beginning to speak.

"Usually I would suggest this is a story for another night, however I fear that answer would leave you unsatisfied. I suppose it would be best to start from the beginning. That would mean returning to the time before he became Lord Voldemort, when he was a young wizard by the name of Tom Riddle. Like you, Tom grew up without parents, although he had no family at all, thus he grew up in a Muggle orphanage – Muggle is our word to describe non-magical people.

"Now Tom had a troubled childhood, but once he arrived at Hogwarts, all of that seemed behind him. At school he was a very popular student, among the professors as well as his peers, so much so that he became both a prefect and then Head Boy in his seventh year. After graduating, great things were expected of Tom, with many tipping him as a future Minister for Magic. However, he instead went to work at a wizarding pawn shop for a short while before vanishing completely. That was the last anybody saw of Tom Riddle. Ten years later, in his place, returned a dark wizard who wished to be known as Lord Voldemort. Only those who had known Tom best were able to recognise that he and Lord Voldemort were one and the same. Upon returning, Voldemort began to gather followers to his cause and began his attempt to conquer magical Britain. By the time your mother and father graduated Hogwarts, Lord Voldemort was immensely powerful, with many followers whom he referred to as Death Eaters. Some of these Death Eaters joined because they liked his cause, however most simply sought power and saw the opportunity to grasp some by joining his forces. If there is one thing I have learnt in my many years, it is that seeking power is never wise and that those who are best suited to power are most often those who have it thrust upon them."

Dumbledore fell silent for a moment, allowing the point to sink in. Harry was still processing all he had just heard but wanted more than anything to hear how all of this affected him and his parents.

"Your mother and father joined the fight against Lord Voldemort's forces the moment they graduated from Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, as though catching Harry's train of thought. They were both exceptionally talented and good people. However, your mother, Lily, soon fell pregnant with you and they had to retreat into hiding. She gave birth to you and for a while, although the war was still raging on outside, your family was whole. Soon though, Lord Voldemort received some information which firmly set his attention on killing you. On Hallowe'en, three months after your first birthday, he arrived at your house to do just that. He killed your father in the hallway – he had rushed out to protect his wife and you, but to no avail. What happened next, however, is nothing short of remarkable. Lord Voldemort gave your mother the choice to stand aside, to allow him to kill you while living on herself. Your mother refused, and Lord Voldemort killed her too before finally turning his wand onto you. When he cast the curse to finally accomplish what he set out to do, it rebounded, striking the caster instead. That scar you have on your forehead is the spot where Lord Voldemort's curse touched you. Since that day, nobody has seen or heard from Lord Voldemort, and you, Harry, were celebrated everywhere as a hero – the Boy Who Lived."

While Dumbledore told the story, Harry pictured a flash of green light and almost felt like he could hear a high cold, laugh. His mind was reeling. So not only was he a wizard, but he was a famous wizard seen as a hero for vanquishing Lord Voldemort, the dark wizard. Not to mention his parents were murdered by said dark wizard, not by a car crash like the Dursleys had told him. Harry felt anger bubble inside of him – anger at Voldemort for tearing his family apart, anger at the Dursleys for keeping all of this from him, anger at Dumbledore for sending him to live with them rather than with wizards so Harry would have at least known all this sooner. But Harry forced himself to suppress his raging emotions – something he was quite adept at after having to hide his anger and feelings from the Dursleys for nine years – he needed more answers above anything else.

"You said nobody has seen Voldemort since," Harry said, "but earlier you said he's going to return? So he's not dead?"

"I wish that were the case," said the old man sadly, "but, alas, I fear he found a way to survive the encounter, and is indeed still out there."

"And when he returns, he'll come after me?" Harry asked.

"Once again, I fear that will be his most likely course of action," said Dumbledore. Harry pushed down more feelings which sprung up at this realisation – he could deal with those later.

"But why did he come after me in the first place?" Harry asked. "I mean, I was a baby. Why me?"

Dumbledore sighed deeply.

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you that, at least not yet," he said. "I know you will hate to hear this, but when you are older, when you are ready, you will know."

Harry bit his tongue in annoyance, but made sure to stay calm and ask his next question.

"But why couldn't he kill me? Why did the spell rebound?"

This time, Dumbledore's blue eyes lit up and a small smile adorned his face.

"Ah, now this I can answer. The one thing that saved you also happens to be the one thing that Lord Voldemort cannot understand – love. When your mother chose to die for you, her love left a mark on you; not a physical one, but it left a lingering protection against Lord Voldemort, leaving him unable to kill you. It is a truly rare phenomenon and something Voldemort would never have accounted for and thus, underestimated entirely."

"Does that mean … when he returns, will he still not be able to kill me?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Alas, that I do not know the answer to," said Dumbledore. "However, I expect a wizard with such vast knowledge and fierce determination as Lord Voldemort will be able to find a way around such protection, meaning that it should not be relied on, nor taken for granted."

"You said staying with the Dursleys would protect me from Voldemort and his followers – how?"

"I spoke of the lingering protection left by your mother's love – it was this protection which allowed me to practice some more magic of which Lord Voldemort knows so little of. This magic meant that so long as you called home a place where your mother's blood dwells, there you could not be harmed by Voldemort or his followers."

Aunt Petunia, Harry realised. She was his mother's sister, that's what Dumbledore must mean.

"She doesn't love me," Harry said. "She hates me."

"While I do not believe that to be true, the fact of the matter is she accepted you into her home, and it is that which ensures your safety."

That at least went some way to explaining why Dumbledore placed him with the Dursleys, but it still didn't explain why he was never checked on, or why he was never told who his parents were, or who he was.

"Perhaps it is best we all retire to our beds now," Dumbledore said, breaking the silence. "I believe Arabella has offered to allow you to stay with her for tonight. I will personally go and speak to your family and remind them of the letter I left for them almost a decade ago. I believe a reminder is long overdue – and some implied threats never go amiss either."

"What?" Harry asked, outraged. "I said I'm not going back to them!"

"Harry, I believe that –"

"I don't care if I'll be safer from Voldemort there, I'm not going back!" Harry said. Anger caused his face to turn red but Harry could feel tears threatening to fill his eyes up at the same time. "Uncle Vernon already said I won't have meals for a week and that was before I ran away! I want to go live with wizards! Please don't make me go back there."

Dumbledore's shoulders slumped and Harry thought he looked even older than usual in that moment.

"Is there any way I could persuade you that returning to your family would be in your best interests?"

"They're not my family," said Harry, "and no. I'll run away again."

Dumbledore stared at him for a couple of moments and Harry looked back unflinchingly.

"I can take him until you find a wizarding family for him," said Mrs Figg, speaking up for the first time in a while. Harry looked at her gratefully.

"Okay, I can see that your mind is made up," said Dumbledore solemnly. "I shall attempt to find a suitable wizarding family who would be willing to adopt you. Thank you for your hospitality, Arabella."

With that, Dumbledore walked over to the fireplace, threw some dust into the flickering flames and they turned green. To Harry's shock, the man stepped into the fire and spoke clearly.

"Hogwarts headmaster's office!"

The green flames rose to fully engulf the man and when they died down again, he was gone. Harry shook his head in disbelief. Mrs Figg was looking over at him with an amused expression on her face.

"Are – are you a witch?" Harry asked her.

"No, boy, I'm a Squib," she said, "That means my parents were magical but I myself am not. Not a great deal, if I'm honest."

Mrs Figg sent him to bed before he could ask any more questions and despite the wild thoughts running circles in his mind, pure exhaustion finally allowed Harry to drift into the deep abyss of sleep.