AN: A small change of pace today with some varying POVs. I didn't quite get as far as I wanted this week, but what I did finish was decent enough that I've decided to post it. Hope you enjoy it. As always, thank you so much for the follows and favorites. It is incredibly motivating.
—
Harry's new surroundings were brighter, but not by much. Probably because it was already night. Actual nighttime and not just the dark aura that Knockturn Alley had given off.
There were a few candles lighting up the room he was brought to, which was a comfortably warm hue that gave the impression of warmth. The room was lavishly furnished with two dressers, a hope chest covered in dark pillows, a four-poster bed and two sets of drapes covering the windows. Harry was laying on the bed now, surrounded by an array of very dark green pillows.
It was bright enough that he could see his kidnapper, who was stretching the duvet over his body. She was a woman with a pleasant look to her and long, dark black hair and blue eyes that sparkled by the candlelight. When she caught him staring at her, she winked and smiled.
That wasn't right. Good things did not happen to Harry.
"I'd love to know what a child as young as you was doing outside a dark magic shop," the lady said. "But for now I've managed to work out that your voice is cursed as well as your body. All that's left is to find out the proper counter. Unfortunately for you, I am much better at potions than counter-curses, so you will have to wait for me to brew something that I think will be able to free your body of these afflictions. You might as well get some sleep. We will speak in the morning."
She poked him with her wand and his nausea and confusion faded to a sleep devoid of dreams.
—
Hermione had no choice but to dive into the books about her new magical world. She read all of the six books she bought her first day in Diagon Alley. She knew the history of her school, of the magical world, and had read about all the things that had happened in the recent past.
Apparently there was a war in the wizarding world that ran parallel to WWII. The strange thing was that, while she just thought the world was normal before this point, now she knew that it was designated by witches and wizards as the muggle world. After the Grindelwald war, came another that encompassed nearly a decade from 1970 to 1981. The entire thing ended abruptly by, of all people, a one-year-old child.
That child was known as the Boy Who Lived, because legend has it that he survived a curse that was known to kill with no way to come back, or defend from, other than just getting out of its way.
It was peculiar that three different books described the event in the same manner, but each and every one of them suggested that there were no other survivors of the incident besides the child, so how did they know it was the truth when the child was too young to remember?
More concerning to her was the name of the supposed child who had survived. Harry Potter. Harry. Like the name of the boy she had supposedly made friends with her first day in the wizarding world.
And every time the name came up, she slammed her books closed because it always made her think of the poor, starved visage of the boy from the bookstore.
She turned to her textbooks and devoured them, studied them, and by the end of the summer, she would doubtlessly memorize them completely. She would have tried all the spells, but when she opened her wand box, there was a paper inside that warned her that the use of magic from someone under the age of seventeen outside the confines of school was illegal.
How could they just let people buy wands at random, then? There had to be some other aspect of magic that would alert them to the usage of magic in places that would otherwise not have any need for it.
After every read through of her textbooks, she became bored and looked again towards her extracurricular texts. She tried to skip over the parts about Harry, but he just kept coming up.
Apparently he was a big deal in this new world. Almost as talked about as the entire royal family put together. He was like a mix between royalty and celebrity.
Why then was he starving and destitute?
It made no sense!
For goodness sake, this was going to be a long three months.
—
BOY WHO LIVED SIGHTED IN MINISTRY
Article written by Rita Skeeter
The Boy Who Lived has been at the heart of countless controversies. A question that has baffled many a great mind for near a decade has been how a baby had even done such a marvelous feat in the first place. Was it just sheer luck that allowed him to manage such a feat, or is there something darker at play? There are a lot of rumors to sift through in the pursuit of such a elusive mystery.
No matter what the explanation is, there are a lot of other things left to consider. For example, what has The Boy Who Lived been up to for all these long years?
More theories have tried to put an answer to it. Nearly ten years since his disappearance, and in that time our world has wondered and dreamed of the many different things he has been doing. All these fantastical stories were just that and nothing more: a fantasy born from the desire to qualm a whole generation brimming with curiosity.
It's recently been learned that the tragic story of the Boy Who Lived does not just end the night his parents were taken from him. It seems his woes have only increased. For nine years and change, Harry Potter has lived not in a mansion, surrounded by servants, and not on a deserted island trying to learn the ancient secrets of our world. He has lived in a cupboard under some stairs.
His only time allowed outside was to attend school or otherwise be treated like a house elf, and every bit of magic he performed was scorned and punished by his muggle relatives. The very idea of his treatment can make even the hardest criminal shudder. Being kept locked in space too small for human habitation has left the boy with a chronic hunched posture. His meals have been scraps not adequate for the growth and development of a child, and the clothes on his back are worn and tattered. What reality presents in place of our heroic saviour is a malnourished, beaten and bruised little boy with unmistakable fear glazing his eyes.
That leaves our venerable hero in dire circumstances. Not only has he found himself unable to claim his inheritance for reasons yet unknown, but the boy has applied for the Student Assistance Program to help him afford his supplies to go to Hogwarts. That is what our champion has had to resort to.
As an avid reporter and fellow concerned witch, what comes next is important. We have been letting undeniably vile acts to be committed against one of our own. By the same kind which have been persecuting witches and wizards for generations. It's up to our own selves to determine if that's the line we keep toeing.
—
Albus sat there for a while, staring at the papers. Both of them. The application from Harry and a copy of today's Daily Prophet. The paper was saying all these horrible things about muggles. He sighed deeply. There was very little that could go right with what had just happened. He was wracking his brain trying to figure out how anyone knew about all this.
No one knew about Mrs. Figg, that much was obvious. She didn't talk to anyone in the magical world, and no one would give her the time of day, being a squib and all. Such an underutilized workforce, squibs. So desperate for just a glimpse of a world they can never touch. Just like the muggles. Every witch and wizard alive knows it, they just had different ideas of how to deal with them. Albus was smart enough to pay the woman to keep a watch over the boy and alert him to any unpleasant happenings.
Sure the kid had run away a time or two, but nothing a few untraceable memory charms couldn't fix. Harry was overreacting. Albus' own sister had it so much worse than he did, when she had still been alive. The boy just needed to appreciate what he had, and be even more appreciative when he found the magical world. Which had apparently already happened.
It was more exhausting cleaning up after Harry than Albus had ever imagined. Who knew that keeping a boy in one place for his own good was going to be so difficult? The Dursleys weren't the best of people, but they were family. Family took care of each other when no one else would.
The entirety of magical Britain was ill suited for the boy's safety and uncorrupted upbringing. His family should have been a better environment. The muggles were ignored on the whole, and the wards he had placed on the house were foolproof. Not once has a witch or wizard even seen the house since that night. A clever trick Albus designed based on the common muggle-repelling charms used all over the wizarding world.
Now Albus was stuck. He didn't know where the boy was, which was a terrifying thought. The boy was struggling to gain access to his vault; another problem Dumbledore could have done without. By this point, the entire wizarding world knew about it. So it was going to be a delicate procedure.
Dumbledore stood and flooed to the ministry. This was going to have to be put to an end, and the only person for it was himself.
After he promptly denied the application, he turned towards the real problem. The key to Harry's vault was given to the boy along with his letter, another clever trick of Dumbledore's own design. It was supposed to make things easy, but he supposed that goblins never were. Even now, they were still providing the wizarding world with problems. Every hundred years or so. They didn't have the right to hold a wizard's property hostage. It was part of the last treatise with them.
He strode past the secretary's desk for Minister of Magic, seeing their brief indignation and smirking as they realized who he was. No one stopped Albus Dumbledore from speaking with whomever he wanted to.
Inside the office, the portly man was frantically waving his wand this way and that, sending papers flying in and out of the office.
"Busy today, Cornelius?" Dumbledore asked.
The man stumbled and sent papers scattering throughout the room. "Dumbledore! Wizard of many talents. I assume you're here to offer advice after the shocking news we've all had. It's all a bit of a mess today, thanks to that Skeeter! She's not allowed in the ministry. Confound it all, she still managed to sneak her way in. Jugson at the check-in desk is to blame for that."
"Now now," Dumbledore tutted. This was no time to get sidetracked with unnecessary details. "Everyone makes mistakes. You can only do so much before wards and detections spells become muddled and ineffective. What we can do is figure out what can be done to mitigate. We do not need an upheaval of our world where none is needed. We must make sure the boy remains in safe hands. He's been lucky to have lasted for ten years without being found by unsavory folks."
"You mean death eaters, don't you?" the minister asked with a sour look on his face. "We've already dealt with their lot. All those left have been cleared of charges."
"A fact I mean to bring up as many times as I can," Dumbledore said, trying his best to sound exasperated. Cornelius was such an easily manipulated man, but Dumbledore wasn't the only one to have succeeded in doing so. "We could argue the specifics all day, but I think the fact remains there are certain families who cannot be allowed to take the boy in. We have to think of his safety now more than ever. With all the trouble the Prophet has unleashed regarding the muggles, we must not let them control the narrative. There is no reason we should forget ourselves and what has happened in the past. If we must take the boy from his legal guardians, then we should consider the best environment for him."
"That would be something to think about if we even knew where the boy was!" Cornelius exclaimed. He waved his arms around the mess around him. "It's what all these papers are about. If we could figure out just where he was, then I could turn my eye towards such things. Not now. I've got enough problems as it is. I don't suppose you would know where the boy is now?"
"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore said. This was turning out to be most unhelpful. "I thought if he was anywhere, he would still be here. This having been the last place he was seen."
"No," Cornelius sat in the chair by his desk and rubbed his head. "He's gone once more. Has a knack for avoiding attention. Last he was seen was leaving the Leaky Cauldron. No one can verify where he went afterwards because no one, outside those he's talked to, knows what he looks like. We've had aurors watch the memories of Ms. Rickman and they're on the lookout, but no one has seen him since yesterday before dinner."
Albus frowned. He'd come here with the intention of being a role model for the boy, saving him from his unfortunate circumstances. Now the boy was poor and he was missing. No chance to save him yet.
Maybe Albus could still reach the the Department of Magical Education before the paperwork was moved into the archives. At least then he could help the boy afford the bare minimum. He shuddered at the parallels being drawn from another boy Dumbledore once knew. If he had any say, this would not end the same way.
—
Harry tried to move, but he still couldn't. Tried to talk, but nothing came out. Aside from his eyes, he was a useless lump. Thankfully he could look around as much as he wanted. He could see strips of light threatening to break through the drapes covering the two windows and a dark, heavy looking door leading out of the room.
It wasn't a totally terrible situation compared to those he'd been in before. Still would have preferred the Leaky Cauldron over this, but that may just be due to the whole not being able to move thing.
Not long had passed before the door creaked open, letting in a soft light and the same woman who had brought him here. She drew the curtains open and Harry's eyes watered from the shock as light came rushing in, flooding the room from end to end.
"Good morning," the lady said. Harry was feeling rather uneasy about being in such a vulnerable state, but her sweet voice had a calming nature to it. "I would ask you how you're feeling, but I think we should start with fixing one problem before we start on another."
She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled a bottle from the folds of her dress. He barely felt her as she lifted him into her arms and poured the bright purple drink down his throat. It felt unnatural and tingled as it traveled down. Of course, she had promised to help him, to rid him of the curses that were placed on him, but that didn't mean he trusted her. He would have fought if he had the strength or ability to. Whatever the concoction was, it was making his whole body feel cold. Even the touch of her skin gave him no warmth.
Without anywhere else to think of looking, he watched the lady as she forced this unnatural liquid into his body. Her posture was a bit heavy, and her eyelids red. He wondered for a moment if she had slept at all last night.
When the last drop trickled its way through his esophagus, she closed her eyes and muttered something under her breath. He could feel a rush of power, and the heat that had been escaping him all came back at once. It burned like running his hands under warm water after being outside in the snow all day.
Harry blinked and let out a groan. This time he actually made some noise and he drew in a helpless breath. He tried to sit up, but all he managed was to lift his head. The rest of his body remained still, but he could at least feel his muscles tense up.
"Not so fast," she whispered, rocking back and forth with tears streaming down her face. He couldn't help feeling that what she was doing was just as much for her own reasons as it was to help him. "It's working, but it takes a while to return to normal. Let us talk for a minute, and perhaps afterwards you will be strong enough to follow me to the dining room. I think you might be due a proper breakfast."
"W-why?" Harry croaked.
"I suppose that is as good a question as any," She sighed and placed him back on the bed. "You probably think me silly for crying over you, but suffice to say that I've always wanted a boy. I even had one, and I daresay you remind me a lot of him. He died when he was about your age. Ten years ago now. I thought I would never get over it, feared for the longest time that the same thing would happen to my daughters. Thankfully they are still alive, and well enough. Not sure I will ever stop being afraid for them.
"I shouldn't allow myself to think of you as though you are Leon. You are someone else. Another boy with his own problems and his own mother. It doesn't mean I can't at least try to help you. I could take you to your family after you're better."
Harry shook his head and tried to push himself back, but his arms trembled and gave out. "Not th-that. Please."
The woman reached out and grabbed Harry's hand. He was still too weak to crawl away or wiggle out of her grasp. "Hush now. It's okay, you'll be fine. You're not the first who has wanted to get away from their family. The Blacks alone had two runaways. So which is it then? What family do you come from?"
Harry struggled with the question. He hated the Dursleys so much. They were not his family, not really. There was another name he could say, but he wondered whether it would do him any good. Michael Travers certainly seemed to think that Potters were detestable, so maybe they were just as hated in this world as he was with his aunt and uncle. He frowned and stared at the lady.
"Don't feel like sharing?" she asked. "It matters not what your name is, so long as you are pure of blood and heart."
Harry had heard that phrase before, or some alteration of it. It was only a recent thing he read, but he remembered it well. It wasn't anything he truly understood, but at least he knew what it was associated with. "Slytherin."
Harry could feel the world coming back into focus. It was like he was recovering from a very nasty illness. Everything ached and although he had just slept through the night, he still felt extremely tired.
"Yes, just like Slytherin." She appeared to approve of his response, whatever it had meant. "He had it right back then, and it's just as true in our world today. We can't let the muggle world destroy our way of life. For every new witch that is born from a muggle family, a dozen more could be killed by the same family, and their friends, just for the sake of having associated with a witch. If that is how they wish to treat us, then we must protect ourselves by only associating with those of magical family lines. It's a matter of self-preservation for the longevity of our entire society. Dark or not, that is the true aim.
"Us Greengrass folk do not dwell in the light or the dark. We aim to secure our family and the traditions we hold. For our own safety, we have only associated with others whose families are pure by at least two generations. It has allowed us to be one of the few strong and lasting families."
Silence took over the room. He thought he understood her, and it did make sense. Judging by the actions his uncle had taken in vengeance of the mere thought of magic, it sure sounded like it would be best to avoid interacting with him altogether.
"So you see, though I may have been a bit brash in bringing you here, I would like to know what family you come from. To protect my own. Who are your parents?
He tried to look anywhere but her eyes. They pleaded in a manner that suggested she wanted something so badly, but whether it was good or bad he couldn't tell. She'd only been nice to him so far. Maybe he could trust someone, the way he should have trusted Hermione.
"My dad's name was James Potter," he finally said. Maybe this time it would be different. "He had a vault at Gringotts, so he must have been a wizard. I don't know much else. I only just learned I was a wizard a few days ago."
The lady's eyes opened wide. "If James was your father, that must make you Harry Potter, defeater of the Dark Lord. Not that we had any hands involved in that whole business. Like I said, we Greengrass folk are neither light nor dark. Magic does not discriminate between one or the other and neither do we."
The way she was talking was much different from before. It was like she was trying to convince Harry that she wasn't against him, or like she was afraid of him thinking she was. It didn't change the fact that she had helped him without his asking. Just like Hermione.
"Maybe you can help me," Harry said, going against everything he had learned his whole life. "In September I'll be going to Hogwarts. Until then, do you think I could stay here? Just until I find some things out."
"I'll do you one better, Harry," she said. There was a glint of an idea in her eyes as she continued. "I'll clothe you, feed you, and give you a home that you are free to come and go from. It's really no bother. We did have a son your age, after all. We still have all his clothes in his room. I just couldn't bring myself to clean it out. Perhaps you could find it in you to make it your own."
Harry didn't say anything. He really didn't know what he could say to that. For what felt like forever, he sat there speechless.
"Helena! Helena, where are you love?" a man's voice called from outside the doorway.
"In here!" The lady responded in kind and when she turned to the door, her face became hidden as the door opened.
"There you are," a tall man said. He had dark brown hair and hazel eyes. He still hadn't looked up from what he was holding. It looked like one of those newspapers with the moving pictures on them. "Have you seen the Prophet. You'll never guess what happened. Harry Potter's been sighted."
"Is that so?" Helena said. Something about her voice drew the attention of the man, and when he saw her, it was like they shared a private conversation without actually speaking. "Sounds fascinating. Anyway, I would like you to meet someone who is going to be staying with us for a while. Dear, this is Harry Potter." She turned so Harry could see her face once more. She was back to the way she had been the first he ever saw her face, smiling in a sweet manner. "Harry, this is my husband Damond."
"Would you look at that." Damond chuckled. "Oddly coincidental this, wouldn't you say? We ought to have a proper conversation about this at some point, but I trust my wife has thoroughly vetted you. Shall we go have some breakfast?"
"I think that sounds like a splendid idea," Helena said. "Would you like to join us, Harry? You can meet our daughters. One of them will be starting Hogwarts with you."
Breakfast sure sounded amazing. Meeting more people, on the other hand, was more than a little daunting. Helena and Damond, as nice as they had been so far, were a lot to take in as it was. His stomach growled, and he tried to hide his face beneath the covers.
"I thought it would interest you," Helena said. "Let me grab you a change of clothes and you can come down and meet the girls."
The two adults left and Harry was alone for once. He tried to just stay hidden and out of sight, but in the end his curiosity overtook him. He got up and looked at each of the dressers, which looked very well made. One had a mirror on top of it, etched all along the outside with strange markings. When he looked into it, the mirror began to speak.
"My my. That will make quite the statement, young master. You have a very bold sense of fashion."
Harry jumped and backed away. When he was sure it wasn't going to talk anymore, he let his attention drift towards the windows. Outside he could see a forest very similar to the one he found Ciara in. His thoughts flashed to his friend. The blood filling his vision, he could remember the warm splatters as her blood splashed onto his face. He wondered if it was still there and tried to wipe it off on his clothes.
A soft knock and the door opened. Harry hadn't realized that he was crying until his dirty clothes came up wet.
"Don't worry Harry," Helena said. She set down a pile of clothes on the bed and knelt in front of him. "You'll be fine. There's a bathroom just across the hall that you can wash up in. When you're done, just follow the hall and take the stairs. The dining room will be towards the left and down the hall. There's no need to rush it. We can always do this another day if you would prefer."
He shook his head. After all she had done for him, the least he could do was not offend her on the first day.
"The girls are excited in any case," she said, trying to brush his hair to one side. She froze when she saw his scar and paled. "I'll try and calm them before you get downstairs."
"Thank you," Harry said. He tried not to think too much about it, but this was the kindest he had ever been treated, even by Hermione.
As she left, part of him wanted to curl back up into the bed and stay there. But he couldn't hide forever. Least of all since apparently hiding wasn't even an option. He was already in the paper, which was never something he would have thought would happen. What was so interesting about him?
Harry took the clothes and walked across the hall. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see a shadow down the hallway, but when he looked, it wasn't there. He remembered what Ciara said about the presence of another soul within him. It didn't quite feel like that, but now that he knew it was there, the shadow was alarming.
He shuddered and got ready. Today was bound to be an interesting day.
