KEYnote: I typically hate flashbacks, but y'alls read every decent Harry Potter fic out there despite many people having not seen the Fantastic Beasts movies, so I've plotted this so it unfolds like a mystery. Every scene of summer correlates with what's happening in the present.
The present will largely be told from outsiders' perspectives.
P.S. I highly recommend looking up Leta Lestrange's childhood arch on youtube. It's a beautiful subplot that the directors regrettably fridged (Leta Hogwarts Scene and Leta Family Tree)...
Summer 1995 - Helga's Cup
They needed food and they needed clothes.
Luckily, Leta was a hell of a lot better than he was at transfiguration.
She changed his glasses to frameless, his hair blonde and slicked back and his eyes a muddy-blue.
She spelled her own hair straight and brown, added a pair of false glasses.
Still, they went to Hogsmeade in the invisibility cloak.
Harry didn't have his Gringotts but Leta did.
"Tell me again, about the Horcrux?"
"We need to deactivate the trap somehow," he said.
She waved that away, "A strong counter curse will work before it's activated, you just need to know it's there."
"And you are sure the goblins will let you take whatever you want?" he asked as he shuffled forward under the cloak.
"Yes, as everyone else in my family is dead or in prison."
"Splendid," Harry said.
"Shut it, it's my money," she said.
"Not when the Lestrange brothers and Bellatrix break out this winter."
"You know, eighty years ago, that was impossible, now you're telling me there were three separate break outs?"
"Four, I think, I don't know, once I was on the run it was hard to keep track of. Gringotts isn't safe either."
"Voldemort, again?" She asked.
"Once him, and once me and my friends. We robbed the Lestrange Vault."
"Ballzie."
"You know…" he mused, but trailed off when he thought how she might take it.
She stopped, "What?"
He hesitated a moment longer before saying, "We could have the Goblins empty your vault into mine. You would have to trust me to let you access your funds but…"
"But I will lose it all anyway," she concluded, continuing to walk forward. She said nothing more on their way to the pub.
This early in the morning, not many people were here.
Leta grabbed Harry's hand, leading him toward the kitchen, where the fireplace was hooked up to the floo network.
Harry placed an avoidance charm on the fireplace, one of the advance spells that wouldn't necessarily make it invisible, it was more like a notice-me-not charm. Hopefully, it would disguise the flash of green and give them time to escape unseen with the cloak combined with an invisibility charm.
They fell into the Leaky Cauldron. Harry quickly pocketed the cloak as they made their way into Diagon Alley. No one found it odd for them to be there.
No one stared at him, no one was able to identify him. Leta's magic concealer did wonders and what girls kept in their pockets continued to amaze him.
Leta had been delighted by the magic pouch Harry had spelled for her from the charms Hermione had taught him.
Crossing into Gringotts was a bit more challenging.
"I would like a private audience," Leta said, politely but firmly.
The Goblin at one of the side desks, looked down his long nose at her, his eyes widening as he noted the key.
"Right this way, Ma'am," the goblin said before leading them back into the interior of the building.
The room they entered was large and every surface from the marble floors to the plated walls gleamed.
"Who are you?" the Goblin demanded.
"Leta Lestrange," she said. "And you are?"
"Geyren," he answered, narrowing his eyes. "You are wearing glamours."
"As is a woman's want," she said.
"Leta Lestrange has been missing for eighty years," Geyren said.
"Is that a crime?" she asked.
Geyren hesitated.
Leta held out her wand, "You can weigh my wand, you may even do a blood test, but unless you have my death certificate, I have every right to my vault."
Geyren grumbled, going to a cabinet in the corner and pulling something out. He stomped back to Leta, taking her wand and handing her a thumb-stick.
As the goblin weighed her wand, she pricked her finger on the tiny needle, it glowed a bright blue.
Geyren returned with her wand, "Congratulations, Miss Lestrange, you've just become one of the wealthiest individuals of the Wizarding World."
For as long as the other Lestranges remain in prison, Harry thought.
"Take us to my fault," Leta said.
Geyren glared at Harry, "Who is he?"
"My friend," Leta said. "Who I give permission to take what he wills from my vault this day."
Harry raised a brow, but she shook her head minutely.
When Geyren simply grunted and motioned them to follow. Leta snagged an umbrella by the door, earning a dirty look from the goblin who didn't verbalise a protest.
Which is when Harry put it together, by Leta's invitation, the goblin's were freed from any liability on their end.
If Harry was a con-artist, it would be Leta's fault not the goblins, which allowed him the freedom of remaining anonymous. He also thought Leta's plan was genius, a goblin would have no reason to question the glamours of a woman in her nineties who had successfully been able to disguise her age.
Women's beauty standards continued to have its uses.
They loaded onto a cart and as they barreled down the tracks, Leta opened the umbrella over them, that was large enough to cap the cart so the waterfall of disillusionment affected them not at all.
Geyren kept his silence, clearly glad not to be soaked.
Harry dreaded the approach to the dragon.
He wished he could free it again as it cowered away from the tiny goblin, its shackles scraping along the stone floor.
What a horrible life to half, prisoner for no crime of its own, just the greed of humans and goblins.
Harry remained on the outside of the vault with Geyren, he simply couldn't risk a repeat of last time.
The door remained open this time.
Leta made quick work of the charms and protections. She stooped to pick out a few books, then shovelled a few armfulls of coins, subtly making her way to the cup. If Geyren recognized Hufflepuff's Cup for either its dark properties or historical value, his face gave no tell of it.
Leta didn't touch the cup directly, scooping something behind it to push it into the near bottomless pouch of magic.
"Who did the spell work on that bag?" Geyren asked as they climbed back into the cart.
"I did," Harry said. "But it was my friend who is the true mastermind behind it."
Geyren grunted, "You could make a fortune with spellwork like that. Most don't have the technical skill or power for charms like that to stick."
Harry shrugged, "I'm not a merchant."
"Shame," Geyren lamented.
When they got out of the cart, with no sirens being rung, Leta handed Geyren the umbrella.
"I have another task for you," Leta said, voice even.
Geyren just stared at her.
"For the price of any goblin forged weapon in my fault, I would like all of its containtments, everything, money, heirlooms, and whatever other junk my ancestors collected deposited into the Potter Vault."
Geyren brows shot up, "You do realise that it would become his property, you would have no access to it or right to it unless Mr. Potter granted you permission?""
"I know," she said.
Geyren nodded, "Very well, it will be done, but I will need you to sign a waiver, assuming of course, you wish to close your vault as you will be unable to continue payments on the space."
She nodded.
"Wait here," Geyren said, leaving them alone for a time.
"All of it?" he asked. "I don't want you to feel pressured-"
"Women in my family don't own anything, if I can take from the men who valued their gold more than their daughters, mothers, and wives, then I will do so gladly. That money wouldn't have been mine anyway."
Harry nodded, "I feel like I should apologise."
She half smiled at him, "Thank you."
Geyren returned with another goblin who signed his name next to witnesses.
Leta signed her name and the paper was handed to him.
"I can't," Harry said.
"You must," the two goblins said in eerie unison.
"Only if you swear on your names that you will tell no one you saw me," he insisted.
The goblins nodded.
Harry signed his name.
The goblins didn't seem surprised.
"Good day," Geyren said.
Harry looked at Leta, "What next?"
"Clothes," she said, taking his hand and pulling him through the streets.
Harry took in a breath, as if he could breathe for the first, as if he were free. No one stared at him, at them. No one was looking for him and his friends to kill him.
Well, Voldemort was still out there, but he wasn't Undesirable Number One and thanks to Leta with him, no one thought twice about two teens out shopping for the day.
Leta took them to Madam Malkin's and Harry was thankful Leta had had the foresight to spell his voice to sound a bit higher pitched.
Truly, given Leta's skill and spell set, Harry had to wonder if she was a Weasley twin level, or maybe even Marauder level of trouble maker.
Madame Malkin asked, "What will it be?"
"My brother and I need a new wardrobe, ashwinder infestation," Leta said assertively.
"Oh, that's a shame, you poor things," Malkin said, though her eyes were gleaming with the knowledge of how much money there was about to drop here.
"Let's start with the boy, he'll be done sooner," she said, the tape already taking measurements on its own.
"Any preferences, dear?" she asked.
"Yes, three school robes, Hogwarts, no house colours, I just want them black with the school crest," he said.
"Ah, old fashioned," she said abscently, noting down his measurements. "Very good, I thought I would see more of these orders coming in when the Tournament happened, but house rivalries proved more pressing."
Harry winced at the reminder, Cedric's death wasn't as fresh as it had once been, but it was yet another reminder of what he stood to lose.
"I want the Slytherin crest," Leta said, redirecting the conversation.
Malkin looked at Harry, "Any preferences on everyday clothes?"
"Yes," Harry said. "I want casual robes, formal, and athletic, all of it comfey and nothing muggle style. In greens and blues."
Harry had only begun to understand how Dumbledore had shaped him, how he made Harry into an irreverent example of the old world and what he wished to be the new.
But Harry had learned his lessons; they, the Hogwarts' students and staff had otherized Slytherin House, had treated them as their enemies; and so they had become their enemies.
Fifth year, Umbridge, had been the true turning point, where Slytherin had made definitively separate from the rest of the school which had left them Snape who had to keep his role as a Death Eater.
Harry wouldn't give Umbridge the satisfaction.
"Should I gather some sleeping clothes?" Malkin asked.
He nodded, "And riding clothes, please."
"I'll take your foot measurements and send it over to the cobbler." She gave a tug on his old t-shirt, "I'll have a basic set of robes ready for before you leave."
She shooed him and Harry sat down as Leta listed what she wanted.
Harry zoned out, watching the people on the street pass, utterly unaware of the danger and fear that was months away from descending on them.
He wondered if the Order had realized he had disappeared yet.
Probably, they had been watching his house after all.
"James?"
Harry turned, and realized Leta was using his middle name, "Ready, then?"
Leta held out a bundle of robes, a deep blue and black, simple yet soft to the touch. He inclined his head, going to the changing room.
He was grateful for underpants Malkin's had thought to include as he changed.
Harry shivered, staying in the back room for a moment more than he needed to.
The only clothes he had ever worn were either Dudley's or formal or Mrs. Weasley's slightly itchy Christmas sweaters. Sure, once he had magic, his clothes fit better because he could shrink them, but he had to wear them under his school robes even under his Quidditch uniform.
He didn't realise how different it would feel to have clothes that were new, made for him. He felt as if he had shed his former skin like a snake, and now his new skin was stronger, fitting better; his.
Harry shook himself, stepping out of the changing room feeling as if he finally belonged.
He wasn't a pretender, this magical world wasn't going to disappear. As flawed as it was, it belonged to him and he to it. He had fought and bled for this world, he may have been famous for his parents' heroism, but Harry had died for them too.
And he would defeat Voldemort this time around. Harry had to believe that he had the power, he was that bastard's equal after all, and maybe he didn't have the years of experience or wealth of knowledge.
But he could learn, and he could push Voldemort into revealing himself, in tripping him up.
At the end, Voldemort had been the most dangerous he had ever been, but also quite mad, barely a sliver of a soul left.
Unstable.
"James?" Leta whispered.
Harry shook his head, he had to pull himself together.
"Come back in the afternoon, dearies. I'll have your order ready. Thankfully you came well before the school rush."
"Thank you," Harry called as they stepped back into the street.
Leta eyed him, "You look different in real clothes."
Harry huffed, "What's your middle name? You only guessed I had been named after my father."
He had told her last night before turning in about Voldemort and all that he had done.
Leta sighed, "Lyra."
"Leta Lyra Lestrange? Did your parents hate you?"
She stuck her tongue out at him, "Come on, we need new trunks before we get our books."
He snagged her arm in the curve of his own, "Owl treats first, Hedwig is going to be infuriated with me."
"Your owl?"
"She is the best."
"And you think she will notice you disappeared?"
"Absolutely," Harry said.
Leta raised her chin, "Then I'll get a familiar as well."
"An owl?" he asked with a smile.
"I have no one to write to, and even if I did, I would just use yours."
"Nice of you to ask," he said dryly.
She hugged his arm, "You hold my dowry now, Jamsie."
"Dowries aren't a thing any more, and if they still were, I wouldn't care. Once I get a hold of my key, you can have a copy."
She looked at him, her dark eyes unreadable, "You'll trust me?"
"You trusted me, and as you said, we are in this together."
They entered Magical Menagerie, Harry snagged a bag of owl treats off the shelf, and stayed arm and arm with Leta as she paused to look at every animal present.
The birds squawked, things chirped, a couple ferrets made eyes at him like they were planning his demise.
Get in line, ferrets.
Then they approached the snakes.
"Oh, look how beautiful," Leta said, pausing at a snake that looked like a lily.
The shop owner came over, "Aye, it's a lovely one. They are non-venomous but live beneath Cobra Lilies, which are."
The snake coiled, her scales shimmering between white-pink and black-brown.
"But it'll still take your eye out," the story keeper finished.
'I'll rip both your eyes out if you keep feeding me dead rights. I eat frogs! And I'm not an it. I am Lilianna Female! You are an it, you fat hag!'
Harry swallowed a laugh.
The store owner glared at him, her hazel eyes glowering at him, "Got something to say, boy?"
Harry shrugged, "She's a female Lilianna. You can tell because of the way her colour shifts within the white and pink spectrum."
That was complete bull shit.
But the store keeper clearly didn't know any better, because she said shortly, "Do you want it —her?"
'Can you hear me? Understand me?' the snake asked.
Harry nodded mintuly.
"Yes," Leta said, opening the cage without permission and held her hand unflinching to the snake.
When the serpent remained still, garnet eyes focused on Leta's every movement, as she slowly stroked the snake's back toward her lower half.
Harry sighed, hissing in that exhale, safe.
The snake curled up Leta's arm with no more prompting needed.
Leta passed Harry the purse so he could pay for the serpent and a home for it —a small basket spelled into a terrarium.
'My name is Li-Li,' the snake —who was still on Leta's arm— told him as they left the shop.
"Her name is Li-Li," Harry said to Leta.
"You're a Parselmout."
Li-Li let out a pleased hiss that was just a happy sound not a word.
"Shsh," he shushed, though he was smiling. "Not here."
"You are full of secrets."
"Too bad most of them aren't mine."
She shushed him, "Shush now, you're destroying the mystery."
"I'm more of a man of adventure. I've never tolerated mystery well."
She rolled her eyes, tugging him forward, "Come on, it's time for books."
They spent an inordinate amount of time at the Flourish and Blouts. Harry had never been able to be here without people gawking at him through the shelves or someone pressuring him to hurry up. Not even at Hogwarts did he have a real reprieve from that.
Leta and Harry purroused every shelf, laughing quietly over some titles and frowning at the ones with truly bizarre titles, such as 'Poppies & Puppies' or 'Milking Snakes.'
It made him remember his childhood when he had hidden in the school library— the one place Dudley and his gang never thought to look for him. Although, now that he thought about it after having been on the run for more than a year, he kind of felt like he owed them all a thank you.
"What classes did you take?" Harry asked, the Divinations books making him feel slightly queasy.
"You mean electives? Magical Creatures and Arithmancy. I was taught Runes at home so I didn't see the point intaking it."
"Do you think I could catch up in Arithmancy?"
She raised a brow but didn't voice a question, "To take the class, sure, however, I wouldn't be hopeful about your OWLs. Are you any good at maths?"
"I'm decent."
He was more than decent actually. In order to score lower than Dudley Dursley, one had to know the answers to purposely fail. Something Harry had discovered the hard way when through guessing on an exam he barely bothered to read, he had scored thirty percent higher than his cousin.
He had fallen into the same patterns with Hermione and Ron. Hermione, who tied her identity to being the best student, and Ron who hated studying.
To appease them both, Harry had dampened his own desire to learn magic. Afterall, Hermione and Ron, his friends, were more important than his education. Something he hadn't acknowledged to himself that he was doing until they were on the run and Harry learned how practical magic could be and how he was lacking.
If he wanted to keep his friends, he couldn't spare their feelings this time around. Besides after everything they had been through, even just up to fifth year, he knew they would always be friends.
"You alright?" Leta asked, touching his arm.
He nodded, swallowing hard before saying, "Yeah, I'm alright. Are you ready to check out?"
"Yeah. We are about to make this shopkeeper extremely happy."
Harry smiled at that, and she was absolutely right. The shopkeeper was overjoyed to make such a killing on a slow day, and almost equally amazed at Leta's purse.
"Ye could make a living off of spellwork like that," the store keeper said.
"Thanks, my friend came up with it," Harry said.
Li-Li popped out of Leta's hair and the book keeper screamed.
"Sorry," Harry called as he and Leta darted out of the shop, "Keep the change!"
Leta laughed, it was a great sound, and he found himself relieved to be with someone who didn't make him feel guilty about having and using his money.
He didn't resent Ron for how he felt because Harry understood poverty. He new what it meant to be hungry, cold, and working for nothing, but Harry also knew there was so much more that was important.
Something Ron had an abundance of, like parents who loved and siblings who didn't hate him.
He was wealthy in a way would trade every knut in Gringotts for.
They made there way back to get there clothes from Madam Malkin's sometime between them reentering the shopping, paying, and leaving the shop, pandemonmia had broken out on the streets.
Leta gave him a look like it was his fault.
But of course, it was his doing.
At the centre of the chaos was the Daily Prophet.
"DAILY PROPHET! Special edition! HARRY POTTER'S GONE MISSING!"
Harry was amused —until— the paperboy continued.
"HIS MUGGLE COUSIN FOUND DEAD!"
Harry accioed a paper to his hand. He scanned through the article, then reread, and reread again.
This proved that his younger counterpart had, in fact, disappeared, but in his absence, his cousin had had no protection against the Demontors. There was no mention of Mrs. Figg.
Dudley had been kissed and when his parents had taken him to the hospital, the doctors had seemed to have been killed but whatever they had tried to revive him with.
It was perhaps a mercy that Dudley had died rather than live on with a fate considered worse than death.
Dolorus Umbridge would pay for this.
Chapter 3 - A Thousand Cuts
Hermione woke up the next morning determined.
She would talk to Harry, and he would sit down and tell her what was going on, no matter how he got, or what he said, she wouldn't let him run away.
Ginny met her in the hall, "How is he?"
Ginny had been one of the only girls to talk to her directly, everything else she knew about her female classmates was from overhearing the conversations.
Hermione shook her head slightly, we are going to find out, "Come on, he gets up early."
Sure enough, as soon as they got downstairs, they spotted Harry leaving with a small group of people.
Hermione tried pushing through, but a group of lost first year Ravenclaws trying to find their way to the great hall blocked her and Ginny getting through.
"Hi, Harry," a female voice asked.
Ginny grabbed Hermione's hand pulling her forward, and the crowd parted well enough to see Harry walking down an empty hall with Cho Chang.
Ginny's sudden panic made a lot of sense now. She had told Hermione over the summer that she planned to date other boy's with the hopes of getting over her crush on Harry.
Hermione had known that had meant she planned to garner Harry's attention by making herself desirable and Harry jealous.
Hermione didn't know if that would work, but she had read enough books to know that girls who shaped themselves to fit the partner they wanted to date often worked.
Though only in he adult novels she read got into how messy that could be unlike the fairy tales that simply ended with the happily ever after.
But who was Hermione to tell Ginny how to live her life? She knew Harry had no interest in her and didn't —or hadn't known much about girls.
Hermione stopped Ginny, pulling her against the wall so they could listen.
"Oh, I just— I just wanted to say hi and good morning," Cho said, sounding terribly flustered.
"It's alright, but I wanted to talk to you," Harry said.
Ginny's breath caught and Hermione wondered when Harry had become so brave and comfortable around girls that he could talk to his crush, who last year could barely approach her.
"Oh, um- bout what?"
"The end of last year. I was in shock about what happened. I didn't know Cedric Diggory well, but I know he was a good person. He didn't deserve what happened to him, it should have been me."
Hermione bit her lip to stop the protest forming on her tongue.
"No!" Cho exclaimed. "I mean— it was a tragedy, none of it should have happened."
"Agreed, but I wanted you to hear from me, that I am truly sorry for your loss. I can't imagine how this has all been for you."
Cho sniffled, "I've been a mess."
There was a pause then a choked sob.
"It's okay, Cho," Harry soothed. "I didn't know him that well and I dreamed about his death all summer. But I know what it is to lose someone close to you, and I'm so sorry you have to go through this. Don't let anyone make you feel guilty about mourning him, no one has that right."
Cho hiccupped on another sob, "Thank you… And, I'm sorry too, about your cousin."
"Thanks. It's hard, you know, to think we're all just kids, but they will never get the chance to grow up now, like they should have done."
Hermione peeked around the corner, and saw —to her surprise— Harry hugging Cho as the girl cried into his shoulder.
Any irritation she had felt with him faded away.
Harry was kind and good, even if he had been acting like a prat, he was still the person she knew him to be.
Harry rubbed Cho's back the way Hermione mum did when she was upset, completely platonic, almost fatherly, which was a bit odd, seeing as Cho was older than Harry.
"You can come to me if you need to talk about this some more. Just know that Cedric wouldn't have wanted you to give up on enjoying life. Cause life goes on, even when it feels like everything is burning down around you."
Cho nodded against his shoulder then stepped back, wiping her cheeks with her sleeves, "Thanks, Harry. I— thank you."
Harry flashed her smile, "Any time." He turned his head slightly, catching sight of Hermione.
His eyebrow arched.
She spun back against the wall, feeling her cheeks flood with heat, completely mortified to have spied on such a private moment. Hermione hoped like hell that Cho hadn't seen her or Ginny.
"I'll walk you down to breakfast," Harry said to Cho.
As the two walked out, Harry put himself in Cho's line of sight. He didn't look at either of them, saving them all from more embarrassment and possibly ruining the moment Cho had clearly needed.
A moment had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with shared mourning.
Ron got down to breakfast, not even bothering to sit by Harry who positioned himself at the end nearest to the high tables. He was seated next to Cormac of all people as well Dean and some sixth grade girl Ron didn't know.
Harry wasn't talking to them and they weren't talking to him as Harry flipped through another textbook.
Hermione and Ginny sat together, staring down at their plates as if they were at a funeral.
"Oi, what did the git say now?" Ron said, sitting down.
Ginny said in a voice so small he almost couldn't hear her, "Nothing, he's perfect."
Great, Ron thought, and here he thought Ginny was getting over her obsession with Harry.
He looked to Hermione who blinked fast before straightening her shoulders. "I think we just need to give him time."
"Time…" Ron said slowly, not sure how he would get through the year without his best friend in the whole damn world.
Hermione nodded and opened her mouth only for an exclamation from Angelina Johnson.
"What the bloody hell do you mean you're quitting the Quidditch team!?"
The room went dead silent as everyone turned to look at Harry and Angelina who was menacing over Harry.
Harry —who sipped from his pumpkin juice before— saying mildly, "I mean, I won't be playing Quidditch this year, or next year, or the year after that."
"Why?"
"Oh, I don't know," Harry said. "Wait, let me think… hmm… I knew I had a respectable reason…" He snapped his fingers, "Oh, yes, I remember now, because every damn year someone or something has tried to assassinate me. Multiple attempts have been made on the Quidditch pitch, specifically."
Angelina opened her mouth, then shut it.
Because, yeah, Harry had a point.
Sure, one could say Quidditch was a dangerous sport, but it was fun enough to offset that, but now that Voldemort had a body again…
First year, Quirrel had cursed Harry's broom, second year Dobby had bludgeoned Harry off a broom, third year had been attacked by Dementors, and then the Final Task on the Quidditch pitch.
So, even Ron had to concede that if Harry didn't want to participate in the sport anymore, it made sense.
A damn shame, but it made sense.
Angelina seemed to think the same as she appeared completely deflated and all the onlookers, including the professors at the high table, looked a bit uncomfortable.
Then something happened that took all attention away from Harry Potter.
The high table randomly flipped over toward the professors who scrambled to get out from the chairs as plates, glasses, and silverware along with the food and drink contents clanged, shattered, smashed, and spilled onto the professors.
In the echoing hall, it was a thunderous cacophony of noise.
Ron was close enough to see the professors' various expressions. Snape looked furious, while Dumbledore and McGonagall looked caught by shock and fighting not to laugh, Flitwick who had been quick enough to dodge the mess completely seemed to be actually laughing silently. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout were just staring open mouthed at the mess, they hadn't reached their seats yet.
Doubtless the other professors who weren't present would be glad of their choice to either have breakfast in the apartments or sleep in.
Then there was screaming filling the hall. As Umbridge, who was so short as to have been completely buried by breakfast and its trappings, rose from beneath the plates and food, screaming.
She was screaming, because one of the candles had somehow lit fire to her hat thing.
She was waving her hands about when the table suddenly righted itself, all the plates, foods, and plates righting themselves in orderly fashion. Even the liquids and food stains that had gotten Snape, Dumbledore, and McGonigal covered, were pulled out like someone had turned back the clock, so everything was as it had been.
It was a damn impressive show of either illusion or enchantment, either would have been a feet.
Ron doubted even his brother could have pulled it off.
That should have been the end of the drama, of course, a good laugh and show, but where the other professors had stepped away from the table, Umbridge had remained and thus was caught up with the table.
So the new Defence professor was pulled over the table, sent shooting forward, face first through the breakfast spread, so there was a second crash on the floor.
Insult to injury?
Her hat was still on fire.
Harry stood from the front of the Gryffindor table. Brandishing his wand, he yelled, "Aguamenti!"
And the screaming professor was half drowned by a blast of water. It was as if the water was exploding from a busted pipe.
Umbridge was left in front of the room, completely soaked through, on plates of soggy breakfast, her hair charred around the edies, the pink ornament in her hair was completely blackened as if she had stopped midway through washing her hair with a piece of coal. Her makeup made her look like a sad clown, her chubby hands were held stiffly in front of her, curled into claws as if she were impersonating a drowned alley cat.
Her expression was snarl, the whites of her eyes flashing.
"Sorry, Professor," Harry said. "I overdid it a bit. But I didn't want you to burn to death."
Ron frowned.
Harry was good at charms, like really good at charms, even though he held back sometimes. He should have been able to perform that spell regularly without creating a veritable fountain in the Main Hall.
More than that, the last thing he said had sounded… well, a bit sarcastic.
But surely he couldn't have really meant he wanted a professor to burn to death, that was… dark.
Ron looked at Hermione who shook her head, she was confused as he was.
Albus Dumbledore had rarely been thrown so far off kilter.
If he thought the summer had been… well, eventful, he wasn't quite sure he would be able to handle this year.
Shaking his head, he pulled the Elder wand from his breast pocket, magicking away the mess as he rounded the table to help Dolorus.
Albus hated this woman as he very much believed it had been her to send the Dementors to Surrey.
Harry's overzealous charm made him wonder if the boy somehow knew it was Dolorus who was responsible for his cousin's death?
Which naturally, would put Harry at the top of the list for the high table's morning acrobatics.
Only, there were a few, alright, many, problems with that theory.
The table, for one, had been spelled against pranking charms for many hundreds of years. It was far too bold for the Weasley Twins to even have attempted it, nor the power to do so if he had wished.
Which left a few handful of students, but then none of them, including Harry, should have had the power to override the protections against it.
Leta was a possibility… and yet, though Leta's case was under extreme scrutiny, the old runes book about time travel and dimensions that had been seized eighty years ago by the Ministry, supported the likelihood that the book itself and the magic of the Forbidden Forest had acted and responded to Leta enacting the ancient runic language, not any ability she innately possessed.
It's why ritual magic was so highly restricted, because sometimes powers were called upon that no witch or wizard could ever hope to control.
No, Leta was a sixteen year old girl, and she didn't have the raw power to do this…
But Harry?
Oh, Harry.
…And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not.
Had Albus underestimated him as he had once underestimated Tom Riddle?
Albus was so lost in his thoughts, that he didn't realise until Dolorus scrambled to her feet that the cleaning charms he had used with the Elder Wand had not worked. Well, the floor was clean, but Dolorus still looked as if she had pulled herself out of the sewers.
Albus looked to Harry, who seemed the picture of concern as conversation and stifled laughter built up in the room as Dolorus Umbridge limped out of the hall, leaving a trail of water in her wake.
But in those emerald eyes, Albus thought he saw a spark of viscous vindication; pleasure at seeing another person suffering.
Albus prayed that he was mistaken, that Harry wasn't behind this attack, because an attack it had been. It went well beyond a prank, no, too much malish planning had gone into this stunt.
The purpose behind it, clearly targeted at Dolorus who had been put in mortal danger and humiliated.
The help Harry had offered her had only served to further that humiliation.
Albus hoped his suspicion was wrong, because it did not bode well for the Wizarding World if Harry Potter, the Dark Lord's equal, grew a taste for spreading misery.
AN: Thoughts, doves, or feedback, pretty please?