May the 4th Be With You
MISSION DUMBLEDORE
25TH JULY 1991, HOGWARTS
"Sending out the letters Minerva?"
Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, was busy duplicating the acceptance letters and changing the names according to the detailed list of the Hogwarts registry. The thick yellow parchment neatly folded itself before zipping into an envelope and immediately an address, in dark green ink, was magically written out in neat cursive handwriting.
She was working in her classroom, a place she felt most comfortable in and since it was the summer break, all the tables and chairs were piled up, one on top of the other at the other end of the room. Half a dozen candles were hovering over her head, giving her enough light to do her work without squinting.
The thick enchanted register had the names of every magical child born in a radius of seven hundred miles with the school as the epicenter since the creation of Hogwarts and it had taken the founders years and untold hardships to ensure the magic remained strong for as long as magic existed. The register was charmed to be read only by the current headmaster or deputy of Hogwarts and a name and current address was what it was enchanted to hold.
Two dozen owls, with seemingly important looks on their owlish faces, stood in line on the floor and one by one flew up to her desk as soon as a letter was ready to be dispatched. The owl's clenched the letter in their claws and took flight through the open windows that had a breathtaking view of the forbidden forest, instinctively flying to the addressees.
"Almost thirty students this year," she said, pleased. "Five more than last year."
"Wonderful," Albus Dumbledore said smiling and he meant it. More students was always good news for the magical world. "And Harry Potter?" he asked lightly.
Minerva glanced at the registry. "Five more before his name," she said.
Both eagerly waited for his turn to come and when it did, Minerva frowned at the address on the envelope.
"Smallest bedroom?" she muttered, her tone clipped with accusation and she looked at Albus, waiting for an explanation. She had seen first hand how horrible those muggles were and assumed the worst immediately.
"Why do you look so stern Minerva," Dumbledore asked, amused.
"Surely you don't expect all the rooms in the Dursley's residence to be of the same size!"
"No," Minerva said, turning pink. "I just thought..."
Dumbledore understood what she was trying to say. "Mrs. Figg has been watching over him, Minerva. And her monthly reports are not negative in the least. If you are so worried, would you like to retake the job of introducing muggleborns to our world again? I'm sure Pomona would gladly hand over the duties back to you."
Minerva paled. "No thank you," she said quickly. "I just... Oh forget it! I might be overthinking things a tad too much."
"The owl is waiting, Minerva," Dumbledore reminded.
"Oh right," she muttered and gave the owl the letter. "Sorry," she added, apologizing for almost accusing the headmaster of allowing the most famous child in the magical world to be mistreated by his narrow minded relatives. Surely Arabella would have alerted them if Harry was being ill treated.
They watched the owl; holding the letter that would mark the beginning of a plan that was born ten years ago, fly majestically into the night, heading straight for the letter box at number 4 Privet Drive.
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26th JULY 1991, 7.00 A.M.
Early morning joggers couldn't stop staring at number 4 Privet Drive. Their wonderful repetitive routine was jarringly disturbed by what lay at the footsteps of number four.
A figure, clearly human, was curled up and fast asleep on the front porch of the house. The style of clothing made it evident it was a he and he was wearing dark jeans and a shirt that had a hoodie covering his head. He was curled up with his hands folded and legs drawn to his chest, radiating an aura of misery.
Mrs Polkiss gasped out loud when she saw the vagrant on the Dursley's porch and she couldn't wait to spread the news about the latest scandal to rock Privet Drive. A homeless man taking refuge at number four?! She laughed, a nasally laugh, and concluded that clearly number four was the dirtiest house among all and that was what had attracted the dirty cretin to those steps!
Harry Potter was oblivious to all the glares he was getting and in his dreams he was cursing Croaker creatively for giving him a task he wished he could avoid like the plague and hence he was camping on the steps of the house he hated as a child in rebellion to the order. Of course he could have acted civilized and come at a time of convenience to the Dursley's to collect his Hogwarts letter but that wouldn't have been as fun as what he had planned.
His sleep was disturbed when the newspaper boy threw the tightly rolled paper at his head and a huge blob of a man tripped over his body and fell when he opened the door to collect it.
At first Vernon was confused and then he spotted the waking boy and his face turned purple. He wanted to shout but the eager stares of the neighbors halted the oncoming tirade.
Harry opened his eyes and sat up sleepily and locked eyes with his dear old uncle Vernon. "Nice to see you uncle," he said yawning and watched in delight as his uncle recognised those vibrant green eyes and the blood drained from his face. "I'll just put on a cup of tea if you don't mind. It's mighty cold this morning."
Vernon crushed the newspaper in his fist, his mind thrown out of sync and the sudden and mind boggling event but then hurried inside after the boy he had hoped never to see again. He banged the door shut and his eyes, wild with fury, swept through the living room and kitchen, where, to his horror, he actually saw him filling the tea kettle with water, put two spoons of tea leaves into the kettle and setting it on the stove to boil.
"Get away from there you freak!" he roared and rushed into the kitchen, his hands raised and ready to strike.
Without looking, Harry, his eyes still crusty and yearning for sleep, shifted half a foot to his left and Vernon's hand slammed into the burning stove. He screamed and withdrew his hand as fast as he could.
Harry heard someone running down the stairs and with a grin stretching from ear to ear, waited for his aunt to show up. When she did she clamped her mouth with her hands, her eyes widened and her body turned cold.
"Is my presence so terrifying?" Harry asked mildly.
Petunia was still shell shocked and Vernon was clenching his hand and glaring at Harry with pure loathing.
Harry turned back to the kettle and waited patiently for the water to reach boiling point. Neither of the Dursley's said a word while Harry busied himself, looking through the cupboards for a cup and saucer.
A couple of minutes later, steam began to rise out of the narrow opening of the kettle and Harry poured the tea into his cup and added a little milk and sugar, giving it the rich brown color that he loved.
He didn't bother putting some for the befuddled couple and raised the cup mockingly at them before taking a sip.
"Please join me at the dining table," Harry said walking past them. "And Vernon, bring the metal tube which father Illiosis gave you all those years ago."
The name of the priest snapped them out of their shock and Vernon calmed himself. His doctor had warned him about letting his blood pressure rise and he took two deep breaths to rein in his temper. "Why are you here?" he asked stiffly. "Did father Illiosis send you?"
Harry laughed. He couldn't believe Vernon had fallen for such a ploy but then Croaker had told him Alan Shaw was a man with incredible powers of conviction. Getting reacquainted with a world of niceties turned out to be harder than Harry had imagined but he wasn't complaining. It was a refreshing change but Croaker had hinted it was going to change soon.
After his task with the Dursley's was completed, he was to be briefed about his first mission with the DOI.
"Well?" Vernon demanded and Harry sighed.
"Bring me the umm.. What did Illiosis tell you it was? Ah, yes, the talisman. Bring the talisman and I will explain everything."
Harry sat down at the head of the dining table and smiled serenely at Petunia. "Could you cook some bacon and eggs please, Aunt Petunia. I've missed your delightful cooking skills."
Petunia blinked. In the short time they had spent together, she had never cooked his meager morsels with any care or love. But his soft, yet persuasive voice made her scuttle to the kitchen and gather the pots and pans without a thought of protest.
Vernon brought the talisman and banged it on the table before settling into the chair opposite to Harry with a scowl on his face.
Harry smiled charmingly in return and sipped his tea after slipping the tube into his pocket.
Bread, butter, bacon and eggs. Harry sighed wistfully when his aunt set his overflowing plate down and nervously took a seat beside her husband.
A question that had been hanging on the edge of Petunia's tongue finally gathered the courage to voice itself. "Why are you so big?" she blurted out.
Harry paused in the middle of piling eggs on the toast.
"You should be eleven years old," she continued with a quiver of fear in her voice. "But you look like you're sixteen or seventeen!"
"I feel comfortable in this form," Harry replied. "Shrinking down to five feet or less makes me very uncomfortable."
Vernon and Petunia goggled. What did that even mean?!
Harry was laughing in his mind. This was one memory he would never forget. He wanted to give them a big scare initially but then changed his mind. He wasn't that vindictive and he barely remembered the time he spent in Privet Drive anymore. He wasn't sure if he had gotten over the treatment they had dished out or had he suppressed the memories?
Whatever the case, his experiences in the Middle East and the Cauldron made him think of the Dursley's with mild amusement now.
"How are your kids?" Harry asked and took a large bite out the sandwich he had made for himself. It was delicious.
"They're fine. Dudley is coming along nicely and Harry got admission into Bart's Academy after topping his class." Petunia said this with pride and Harry was glad to hear that they weren't ill treating his replacement.
"Are you going to make small talk or are you going to tell us why you're here!" Vernon hissed rudely.
Harry glanced at his watch. It was half past seven. "What time does your mail arrive?"
Petunia blinked, then frowned and then her eyebrows shot up in comprehension.
"Pet?" Vernon asked, not understanding what Harry meant.
"You're here for the letter!" she breathed.
"That's right. And knowing what kind of people you are, you would have ignored the letter or tossed it into the fireplace which would result in dozens of letters showing up at your house until you read it and responded, which you can't do."
Vernon and Petunia paled.
"So you're here for the letter and then you'll leave," Vernon muttered.
Harry nodded and polished the remaining bits of eggs from his plate.
Vernon stood up abruptly and marched out of the house to the letterbox waiting impatiently for the post man to show up. He wanted the freak out of his house and fast!
When the postman showed up, Vernon marched over to him, wearing slippers and his bathroom robes without caring what the neighbors thought and demanded the surrender of his post.
The poor postman was alarmed by the scary look on the obese man and quickly dug his hands and gave the letters addressed to number four. But to Vernon's confusion, there was no letter for Harry and he walked back to the house. Before he entered, however, there was a screech above his head and an owl, an owl dropped a thick envelope on his head before taking flight.
Vernon let out a strangled yell and slipped on the steps and fell for the second time in an hour.
Cursing and grumbling, Vernon heaved his massive bulk upright, picked up the letter, forced a smile at the few neighbors who were watching with bewilderment and hurried inside with a terrible temper just waiting to be unleashed.
He had to leave for office at nine and he pitied the poor soul who was likely to test his temper today.
"Here's your sodding letter," he spat, throwing the letter at his nephew's face.
Harry snatched it out of the air with blinding fast reflexes and thanked Vernon. He then opened the envelope, removed the parchment and scanned it with a wry smile. A moment later, he dug his hands in his pockets and pulled out a lighter and burnt the letter to ash.
The black soot floated to the floor, dirtying the carpet and the Dursley's looked completely lost.
"May I have a pen and paper please?" Harry asked Petunia.
She nodded and quickly tore a sheet from the notepad hanging beside the telephone and picked out a ball pen from the shelf below.
"Thank you," Harry said and focused his attention on the letter of refusal that he had to write. He could hear Hugo saying, Make it as insulting as possible. Make it so rude that the old fart loses bladder control.
Harry grinned and ignored the imaginary advice.
Dear Professor Dumbledore, he wrote.
Thank you for the warm invitation to Hogwarts but I'm sorry to have to decline your offer.
As a ward of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and effectively the Ministry of Magic, I have been provided with an excellent education in magic from a very young age.
Under the guidance of the teachers chosen by the ministry I am set to take the ordinary wizard level exams in sixteen months time.
Once again, thank you for the offer but I must decline.
Sincerely,Harry James Potter
P.S: For further communications, contact Glen Savage; my guardian.
Harry read the letter again and appeared satisfied. "What do you think,
Petunia?" Harry said, showing his aunt the letter. "Is it fine?"
"It's fine," she said faintly.
"Now where's that blasted owl?" Harry muttered. "It should be around here somewhere."
On cue a ball of feathers burst out of the fireplace, sending ash flying everywhere.
Vernon gasped and Petunia shrieked.
"My reply," Harry said to the owl and in a smooth movement, the owl grasped the folded letter carefully in its talons and flew out through the chimney, back to Hogwarts.
"If you're done get out," Vernon hissed his eyes glittering with hate and contempt. The knowledge that the boy was leaving reignited his bravado and disgust for all things magical. "Get out and never ever show your face at my doorstep again!"
Anger stabbed Harry in the back upon hearing that familiar tone. It triggered memories of constant degradation. Memories of that voice resurfaced in his mind... Voices that were always followed by pain... and only emoted misery. Maybe he had just suppressed the memories after all.
"Don't worry I won't," he said coldly. "My purpose in coming here was the letter and..." Harry paused and smirked evilly. "And ending the protection spell that has made your house invisible to magical folk. Goodbye and good riddance to you," he said, savoring the identical looks of horror on their faces before activating his portkey and disappearing right in front of their eyes.
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26TH JULY, 1991, 9.00PM, HOGWARTS
Dear Professor Flamel,
I know you intend to destroy your stone and depart for the next great adventure but I must urge you to reconsider. Alarming events have come to light...
An owl swooped through the window and dropped a letter over the letter Albus Dumbledore was composing. He sighed irritably and put down his quill to see what was so urgent that the owl had to interrupt his important letter writing.
He unfolded the letter and his eyebrows disappeared into layers of wrinkles as he read the contents of the letter.
Impossible! This is impossible!
Dumbledore's mind was spinning in reverse. Reviewing all his memories with a speed that defied age, deducing and calculating points of divergence, any point at which his plan portrayed a blind spot.
His faster than light thoughts froze to a halt when a particular memory stood out in his mind. A memory of a man who made him feel a little suspicious but had overlooked that suspicion knowing the man was a muggle.
Arts teacher, 1984.
Of course! He thought furiously, crushing the letter in his hands. He had to be an agent of the ministry. Department of magical law enforcement? What hogwash. This sort of subtlety and intelligence could only originate from the department of mysteries. But why? Why would the unspeakable go to such lengths to take away Harry? What could they possibly gain besides the true knowledge about Harry's scar? It wasn't like they could remove that parasite that infected the boy without killing him so why didn't they return him back to Privet Drive after examining him?
Dumbledore could have slapped himself for overlooking the obvious.
The prophecy! Don't tell me they're attempting to mold the boy into a fighter!
Dumbledore knew, his experience with dark magic told him it was not a one on one duel that would end Voldemort for good. No, destroying the dark lord needed a much more clever approach than a smash and bang one.
The headmaster stood up, thinking about all the plans he had. All the plans which revolved around Harry Potter, all the plans which were most likely ruined thanks to some wizards who didn't understand the root of the problem. He began to pace around his office, ignoring the questions of the magical portraits and laying a new foundation for the future of his plans.
But he was unable to think clearly and it took the song of a Phoenix to calm his nerves.
He had to get Harry Potter back to his side. The only question was how.
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27TH JULY 1991, 9:15 AM, MINISTRY OF MAGIC
"Ch-chief warlock Dumbledore!"
"I'm here to see the head of the department of mysteries," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Is Elaine doing well?"
"She's doing fine sir; we just had our first child."
"My heartiest congratulations," Dumbledore said sincerely. "Boy or a girl?"
"Girl. I'm already preparing a list of spells to repel potential boyfriends," the gateman joked, grinning.
Dumbledore laughed. "I look forward to seeing her at Hogwarts," he said.
"Of course! Oh, didn't you want to meet the department head of mysteries? Err… I mean the head of the department of mysteries!"
"That's right."
"Appointment or social visit?"
"Unlikely business," Dumbledore said, heaving a sigh.
"Just a minute," Fred, the ministry clerk said. He wrote 'Albus
Dumbledore here to meet HOD, Mysteries' and tapped the parchment with his wand. The parchment folded into a paper plane and immediately took off, towards the department of mysteries.
"Would you like to wait for a reply or go on ahead?"
"Doesn't regulation say I have to wait?" Dumbledore reminded mildly.
Fred laughed. "Well it's you sir! The ministry welcomes your presence with a red carpet!"
Dumbledore chuckled. "Well I suppose I could find my way to the bowels of the ministry," he said. "You could send me a memo if Croaker replies."
"Of course, Sir!"
"Good day Fred."
"You too, Sir!"
The perks of power, Dumbledore mused.
At the front office, the place where visitors were allowed to meet with a representative from the department, Dumbledore was guided to the back room where Croaker was waiting with eleven year old Harry Potter.
Dumbledore controlled his emotions. All my brilliant plans, ruined. But not for long. Not for long.
This Harry Potter was very different from the one on the steps of number 4 Privet Drive. He was barely over five feet, seemed well fed with baby fat on his cheeks, had an angry lightning shaped scar in the middle of his forehead, black messy hair reminiscent of his father and vibrant green eyes that could only have been inherited from his mother.
"Harry Potter," Dumbledore breathed. "You look just like your father," he said warmly. "But your eyes ... They surely are your mothers."
"Thank you Professor," Harry said. His heart skipped a beat at the soothing and comforting voice and he felt the need to trust this man and put his faith in his guidance. Such was the power of Dumbledore but Harry saw right through the facade.
Harry could feel the power that was contained in the old body and one of the things he had learnt was those with great power had selfish desires.
His rule of thumb was power equals untrustworthy. And Dumbledore was powerful indeed.
"Why aren't you with your uncle and aunt?" he asked with a frown. "They must be worried sick.
"Ah about that," Croaker said, annoyed at being ignored. "They're perfectly fine without him and I hope you didn't harass them after Harry's lovely letter to you."
"I find it hard to believe Mr. Potter could pen such a letter."
"I did write it, professor," Harry said. "My tutors at the ministry have ensured that I do not need to attend Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts is more than just an education my boy! It is an environment which welcomes a boy and says goodbye to a man who has learnt valuable lessons about life! It is a place like no other and it pains me to hear you say you do not wish to attend! Surely your guardians will reconsider?"
Harry wanted to tell him about all the lessons he had learnt but wisely kept his mouth shut and looked towards Croaker for instructions.
The new head of the DOI and DOM glared at Dumbledore. "Today at noon, Minister Fudge will be issuing a public statement about the Boy Who Lived. About how he was rescued from abusive muggles, where he was abandoned by the venerable Chief Warlock and eventually rescued by the ministry to be raised in a ministry sanctioned environment fit for the defeater of the dark lord."
A dangerous spike of magic flooded the room.
"The minister will also inform the public about the desire of Harry Potter to become an Auror and protect the people of magical Britain in the future. And instead of sending him to Hogwarts, the ministry itself will work hard to make the boy's dreams come true. The public will eat the story blindly and you, Dumbledore, will become very unpopular indeed."
The expression on Dumbledore's was terrible. His face outwardly was devoid of emotion and blank but his eyes were furious and the entire room trembled with the fury of his magic.
Harry shrank into his corner feeling very intimidated. The magic Dumbledore was exuding, stimulated his fear like never before and he was wondering if it was a wise decision to make a man like this their enemy.
"But of course the bit about the abuse shall not be added, unless a certain someone doesn't oppose us," Croaker added, not fazed by the magic in the least.
The magic disappeared and Harry let out a sigh of relief.
"How did you do it?" Dumbledore asked finally. "I know the Arts teacher at Harry's school was your man but how did he get around my wards?"
Shock filled Harry at the words of the headmaster but his reaction went unnoticed by the clashing men. Arts teacher? School? How long had the department been watching me before the priest showed up?!
"It doesn't matter when and how it happened. The point is, Harry Potter is legally a ward of the ministry, specifically the DMLE," Croaker said and he pushed the paperwork towards Dumbledore.
Dumbledore's eyes looked down through his half moon spectacles and read the first few lines before realizing there was nothing he could do to turn things around in his favor.
"Do you think the public will accept an announcement that practically says you're favoring a boy and alienating him from a proper education and friends?"
"He's the Boy Who Lived," Croaker said, smirking. "Normal doesn't apply to him and more importantly you lied about the prophecy. You lied about his importance to our future. You sent him to the Dursleys so that an abused child would show up at your school and all the love and affection you would shower upon him would make him a Dumbledore's man through and through. Unfortunately for you, we like to keep track of things that have a hint of mystery behind them and Harry Potter was one of the biggest of 1980. Do you have anything to say before you leave Albus?"
"I don't see how you have done different," Dumbledore said coldly. It was true. All that had changed was the person controlling Harry's life but the fact that Harry was well aware of it was what made all the difference in the grand scheme of things. "And you let him hear the prophecy? You let an eleven year old child hear the prophecy?" he said, looking sad.
"Actually I was four," Harry piped and then fell silent to Croaker's glare.
"Four years old," Dumbledore said, shocked. "Would you really burden a child with such knowledge?"
Croaker betrayed no emotion and was content to let Dumbledore leap to whatever conclusion he saw fit. The existence of the DOI was a closely guarded secret after all and no one, not even the Wizengamot nor the international community, knew of its existence.
"What have they done to you Harry?" Dumbledore whispered in a broken voice.
"They taught me how saint-like you are."
The sarcastic tone pulled a string of Dumbledore's temper. "And what do they expect from you?"
"Well a first class Auror is the ultimate goal but until then I am going to become the ministry mascot," Harry said. "My existence is to make sure the Minister's popularity skyrockets."
"That's what they want. But what about what you want? Have you ever given any thought to that?" Dumbledore said softly. He was not liking the way Harry was speaking one bit. "Don't you want to discover your own self instead of letting others do it for you?"
"The Boy Who Lived will be personally trained by handpicked Aurors," Harry said blandly, ignoring the nasty little voices that were summoned thanks to Dumbledore's words. "I think that beats going to school a hundred times over."
"What about friends? The experience of Hogwarts? The adventure of discovering magic?"
"Cut the sales pitch Mr. Dumbledore. I'm a ministry mascot through and through."
Dumbledore was done probing Harry's character. It was not going to be easy to bring Harry to his side. He could see what a thorough job the unspeakables had done on him. He would back off for now and collect all the data about Harry's childhood before making a move. He was the only one who could save England from the coming darkness and he would not let some clueless ministry worker get in his way.
"I'm sure you'll change your mind Harry," Dumbledore murmured and stood up. "It was nice meeting you my boy and I hope you can find the time to visit Hogwarts before making up your mind. Croaker, always a pleasure."
"Good day," the most powerful man in Britain said and left.
"So how'd I do?"
"Ministry mascot," Croaker chuckled. "Nice touch."
"Hugo wanted me to say Ministry dog but that's just demeaning to me."
"And mascot is not?"
Harry shrugged.
"Are you ready to meet the minister and start your first solo mission?"
"This is going to be a long year," Harry sighed.
"It's necessary if you want to disappear into the cloud of anonymity once more."
Harry just sighed. A year of interacting with slippery politicians. What joy!
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21ST JULY 1991, ABANDONED HOUSE, BRIXTON. (Before meeting the Dursleys)
A mirror and a mattress. That's all he needed, that's all he felt comfortable with. He had taken up residence in a decrepit house that now belonged to Scotland Yard after a violent encounter with drug peddlers three years ago and was in a state of near ruin.
It made Harry practically feel at home.
The house had two floors, both small and cramped with two rooms. A narrow ladder was squeezed in behind the front door and the two rooms downstairs were once an entertainment room and a kitchen, judging by the mess of appliances all over the dust coated floor. The floor above had two rooms opposite each other with a small platform between them where the ladder peeked and was connected by a common bathroom for all.
Dozens of mattresses, dried up used condoms, bed sheets torn up by insects and nearly half a dozen overflowing ashtrays lay still in both rooms. The walls were covered with graffiti, some good but most pathetic and sprayed with unsteady hands. Clearly there was a massive gap between talent and those who once lived in the house.
There were no ceiling fans and a few table fans were trapped between the mattresses. But it was pointless since electricity to the house had been cut off for years.
When Harry found the place, the first thing he did was empty one of the rooms upstairs by dumping all the junk into the other but he kept one mattress and the makeup table, which had a long mirror and drawers filled with lipstick bottles, underwear and other womanly items he wasn't familiar with. He left them as they were but made an effort to clean the room with the broomstick he had found downstairs.
It took him a while to clear the room but he liked doing the work. It took his mind off other things that involved annoying adults and cleaning strangely kept his mind calm.
Once he was done he carefully removed his new wand from his bag, holding it gingerly and keeping a strong hold on the magic that began to react violently at the proximity of wand to skin.
Harry took a deep breath, channeled the tiniest bit of magic into the wand and muttered, "Scourgify," removing the mattress of all things unhygienic so that he wouldn't have to worry about bed bugs and other mysterious insects when he slept.
As soon as the spell was cast, he threw the wand on the mirror table, not wanting to touch it again.
He had learnt first hand how badly the runes inside his body reacted when he touched a wand. He had discovered One aspect of the runes was to reject magic to keep him safe from harmful spells. While this was generally a good thing in a fight, it also protested against the property of a wand that forcefully pulled magic. His runes perceived the wand as a threat and the first time he held a wand it had blown up violently, taking a few fingers out in the explosion and severely fracturing the bones in his arm. After that incident Hugo had decided to introduce him to his brand of magic and that skill was invaluable in controlling the way his magic followed when affected by the runes. Now he could touch a wand without the fear of losing fingers.
Harry shuddered at the squeamish feeling that rose in him every time he recalled that horrible day in New Delhi. Pain followed by screaming followed by shock followed by emergency surgery followed my magical reattachment and then recovery.
"Stop thinking about it," he said to himself sternly and then lit some candles to brighten the room.
The sun was dipping into the horizon and gradually the light of the candles overcame the light of the sun and night was soon upon him. He looked into the mirror and stared at his current form.
It was Harry Potter staring back at him. But taller and older than he was supposed to be. Croaker had told him to stay eleven years old but when Harry was alone, he almost instinctively changed into a passable sixteen year old. He wasn't comfortable being in any form older than that or else he would have changed into something older. His form was a reflection of how old he felt.
He sighed and let go of all changes, letting his body shorten and become thinner until he was a scrawny five foot little boy that Croaker wanted him to be for his meeting with Dumbledore. He mentally grimaced in distaste at the weakling staring at him and quickly became taller and stronger again.
That's better.
Harry had come to the rundown house two months ago. At first, as is standard departmental procedure, he was given the best room in the hotel Ritz. The same hotel he had visited all those years ago and gawked at the expensive place like an idiot. What a ruse it had been, he thought chuckling. Lure him in with wonder, give him a choice and pretend like he actually had a choice and then take him to the worst places in the world in the name of justice and protection of the common good.
It had been four months since he had left the Cauldron and first two were spent with Croaker and Hugo as they went over all that had been done and all that still remained to be done and further intensive training to hone his budding skills with magic.
Good job Hugo, Croaker said in his emotionless voice. "I am amazed at the man you have become, Harry. It is simply astounding what you have accomplished."
Harry laughed at his reflection. Was that what he was? A man?
"Do you know what this department does, Harry?" Croaker asked gently.
"We spy," Harry replied. "We dig for information all the time and once in a while we find something that could harm this country."
Croaker smiled. "We do this because no one ever knows when someone might plan an attack. There are more than a billion people on this planet. One percent of that billion is magical and this one percent is spread all over the world in tiny pockets of secrecy. Within this one percent are elements that are greedy, violent and dangerous to innocent people."
"Many years ago Minister Leach, the first muggleborn minister, lamented the fact that magical Britain had absolutely no form of intelligence network to stop the multitude of attacks it was faced with all the time. The then head of the department of mysteries took the complaint to heart and secretly formed the DOI. When he told minister Leach about it, the minister made him swear never to let the existence of the department come out and he also made him swear that it would be an organization for collecting intelligence and nothing more. No assassinations and no taking the law into their own hands."
Croaker leaned forward and looked into Harry's fascinated eyes. "You are the first person we have ever recruited so young and I'm sure you've regretted agreeing to join us many times in the past eight years. I'm sure you've seen horrors beyond imagination and felt disgust of the worst kind on many occasions. But thanks to all the information gathered by you and Hugo we have informed the DMLE about eighteen drug rackets and no less than six plots that threatened to harm innocent citizens and the ministry itself. You are a hero Harry and I hope you never think any different."
Harry slipped out of his robes and carefully folded them before slipping them into his bag. He removed dark gray trousers and a light blue T shirt from the bag and slowly slipped them on.
You're a hero Harry. Words that made Harry roll his eyes in amusement. Did they honestly think he was that stupid? He knew they were afraid of losing him. He knew Hugo's report had horrified Croaker and made him regret ever handing over an infant to the hardened agent but the results of the report were just too attractive.
Harry had in return asked just one question. "You are paying me right? Since the time I met you to this day, including the time spent using the time turner... I've been paid in gold right?"
Croaker had been momentarily stunned and then he had given Harry a key.
Harry tucked his shirt in neatly, buttoned the shirt all the way to the topmost button and pondered over where to eat. McDonalds or Burger King?
Deciding to make up his mind on the way, Harry left the house and made sure no one saw him leaving the sealed off building. He ducked under the yellow strip that cordoned off the area and quickly hurried towards the main road.
The street lights were powered on and there were dozens of cars lined up outside all the houses that looked like they would fall to pieces at any second. There were some kids smoking round the corner and Harry was tempted to light up his own joint. But he decided against it. After eating sounded better. Smoking right before eating never agreed with him.
We swear no oaths and we do not bind you to the department, Croaker had told him. We do the things we do because we care, he had said.
Brilliant tactics, thought Harry. If he backed away and abandoned the department then he would feel like a villain. But that poisonous thought never arose in him. Even though his life had been quite crap, he liked it.
He enjoyed doing the things he did and the rush of the experience was unlike anything a boring normal life could give him. He could never have a normal life, not with a prophecy hanging over his head and powerful people, all dying to get a piece of him.
Hugo had laid out his options very early on when they were in the States. Know you are being used and bend it to your liking or blindly follow a voice and end up hating your life. Those are the two paths that lie in front of you. Five year old Harry had chosen the former and ended up liking the life of an agent for the DOI. Even the worst situation would not change that.
A grin lit up his face and banished all the dark thoughts when he saw the McDonald clown pleasantly smiling down at him.
Fried food here I come!
-x-x-x-
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