Part 2
A/N There is some head-canon for me here – stuff I've referred to in my other junk, but I don't think you need to subject yourself to that to understand this. Also, I know that I've mucked about with the Potter family tree. It's fanfic. It's not canon. Smile.
Now, back to the melodrama
~~ scene ~~
The Phoenix was a cafe of good reputation in both the muggle and muggleborn communities. Owned by an enterprising St. George's graduate, it had notice-me-not charms embedded into the tables, magical herbs and succulents growing throughout the place that added a calming ambiance. The coffee was brilliant, and the pastries were magical (though, not literally).
Through hard work and networking among the muggleborn in the previous generations, a second magical community had blossomed and flourished. These were muggleborn and squibs and relatives of both who lived with one foot in the magical world and one foot in the mundane. Those who lived this dual life waited until well after school graduation to approach new magicals who attended Hogwarts: only when those alumni realized that the fully magical world had no real use for them did the muggleborn turn from the false promise of Diagon Alley. Beyond the fact that they had largely neglected their muggle training and credentials, anyone who had peered behind the looking glass wanted to keep some magic in their lives. It was, after all, an inherent part of a witch or wizard's person.
And so, the MBD – muggleborn directory, or yellow pages for the magical – was born. It was kept up to date and given to recent magical graduates from both schools. Hogwarts had the diploma that most in the magical world wanted to see, but it didn't have any preparation for the mundane side of things. St. George's Academy was a bit better for the lower class than Hogwarts: it was more practical and kept the muggleborn students up-to-date on their muggle education. It also had a night-education series that allowed preparation for GCSE's and A levels for the muggleborn who had left Hogwarts ill prepared.
That being said, St. George's Academy was a relatively new school, built by the muggleborn and catering to half-bloods, squibs, and those who couldn't afford Hogwarts fees. St. George's graduates were denied spots in the mainstream magical community because of class. They were an integral part of the creation of the MBD. Any magical who lived in both worlds was listed and cross-indexed by any services they sold, no matter where in Britain that service might be.
The new semi-society had blossomed since the fall of Voldmeort, and the Phoenix was one of the places that many of these outcasts met, celebrating their successes and sharing their sorrows.
Amanda Hook was one who had her share of each. She was a good social worker, but that was a career that burned out even the most stalwart with regularity. She'd gotten a reputation in the department: any of the strangest cases, where the parents claimed possession and such, came to her. She was usually able to calm the waters and she could always find fostering for those children. And then she got tapped for the Special Unit.
Within the regular government, units that dealt with the magical world had slowly arisen. Called Special Units, they were present in all branches of the government, and they worked to ease any tensions that muggleborn had living in normal society. King George V, whose butler had a muggleborn sister, had confided the problem of muggleborn who often fell through the cracks on both sides of the looking glass.
Amanda's unit within child protective services, in addition to simply helping children, had been charged with the prevention of the creation of an obscurial. The details on obscurus were rare, but universally horrifying. Child abuse of muggleborn led to the parasite obscurus turning the magic of a child into a bomb. Abuse of children was always tragic, but in the case of a muggleborn, it was extremely dangerous.
Of course, Amanda couldn't keep her heart apart from her charges. Twice, Amanda and her partner Mariam had adopted the children she saved from muggle abuse. Muggleborn were often shunned as children by both worlds, and it made her furious to know that. Mariam had been shunned by her own family, not for being a witch, but for being gay.
Amanda was not at all surprised by the request to help with a muggle-raised wizard, though she wondered at the clandestine and emergency approach to the meeting. She was reading through the evidence from the diagnostic, her excellent tea growing cold, as Zhou explained that the child in question was Harry Potter. She dropped the diagnostic.
"How could any child have these injuries – some of them almost a decade old – and the mediwitch at Hogwarts not address them? Let alone this child? He's from an ancient family!" She was astonished and horrified.
"Ancient and noble, as his great grandmother was a Black," Zhou confirmed, sipping at his own cup.
Amanda's mouth turned down at the acknowledgement of the class structure and its pitfalls.
"Okay." Planning in her head, she started to write notes in her encrypted shorthand. "I'll find his placement – Surrey, you said?"
"That's the rumor. I assume he went to primary."
"If they wanted to stay under the radar, yes, he would have. I'll find his records and his guardian. Primary teachers are just starting to understand their roles in recognizing and reporting abuse. He obviously didn't get reported on the normal side."
"Or he did, and someone magicked it away," Zhou stated her own fears aloud.
"I hope not. I hope it was merely falling through the cracks. But I'll find out."
"That's all I ask. Let me know what you find; I'll keep you apprised of his condition."
"Thanks, Dr. Dan." Amanda left the booth, no longer hungry for the pastry Dan had bought for her. She'd start work on tracking down the Boy Who Lived's family the next day. For tonight, she was going home to hug her own kids. She needed a little peace.
~~ scene ~~
Early the next morning, a small team met. Steppenage had returned to hand-deliver the permission writ for the clinic to proceed with treatment for the child. Through the night, the medical team had got enough nutrient and healing potions into the boy to get him stable. Crispin Fezziwig, the clinic's potions master, had a list of components he'd need to proceed with brewing the potions regimen that Dan had outlined.
Zhou called Dobby the elf from Harry's room. "How is Mr. Potter doing?"
"Master Harry Potter, Sir be sleeping, but be having bad dreamsies, Dr. Zoo, sir."
Dan sighed. "Dobby elf, can you tell me how Mr. Potter got bitten by a basilisk?"
Dobby looked around the room. He studied the potion master, the good healer and the good healer helper. The old man there seemed to want to help Master Harry Potter, Sir, too. Master Harry Potter had not said not to tell. So, he would. He told the story in his broken English – thinking in elvish and speaking English was so hard! – but in the end, he told the terrible story of the Great Master Harry Potter, Sir's fight to death with the stupid snakey thing.
"The snake is dead, then?" Zhou asked, and the elf bobbed his head. "Can you get to it?" Dobby tilted his head, as if in thought. But he popped out of the room, then popped back into the room. "Dobby can."
Steppenage got a wicked smile on his face. As Zhou suspected, Dobby, the elf had that had brought Mr. Potter to them, could take a beast harvester directly to the snake in question. And as a master potioneer, Fezziwig was also certified to render the beast.
With Steppenage's help, they wrote an iron-tight secrecy contract to harvest the snake. The venom was then available for Crispin to work with. "I have some phoenix tears, but I'll rapidly go through my stock. Will you give me funds from the Potter vaults to purchase more?" Fezziwig asked Steppenage. The rendering contract was very generous to the kid, but Crispin was looking forward to brewing with the rare venom. And rendering the beast in itself would be the source for a few publications – once the kid was an adult and agreed to it.
Dobby the elf interrupted. "Dobby sorry, but did Mister Fizzing Wig asked the Fawkes if firey bird would help?"
"Fawkes is the phoenix that helped the lad originally?" Fezziwig asked, and the elf nodded furiously. Steppenage's eyes narrowed, remembering that Dumbledore had a phoenix. Had Dumbledore sent a stupid bird to help that child, when he should have helped, himself?!
"Fire bird Fawkes likes Master Harry Potter, Sir, because Master Harry Potter, Sir be saving school."
As though sensing that they were being talked about, the firebird appeared in a swirl of flaming magic, trilling in greeting. "Great Firey Bird Fawkes, Great Master Harry Potter, Sir needs more of your tears. Does yous have tears for Great Master Harry Potter, Sir?" The phoenix tilted its head, staring into Dobby's eyes.
The phoenix chimed, its song both calming and bolstering, popped away then back into the clinic with a big vial of their own tears. The bird then proceeded to fly through the privacy ward into Harry's cubicle. Phoenix song, being magical, passed directly through the privacy ward. As they sang to the sleeping child, the team paused, listening, taking comfort and making resolve. The two other patients in the clinic smiled (though one was having painful bone re-growth), and the other clinicians, somewhat uneasy by the skullduggery of Zhou and Fezziwig, were contented with the song.
After a brief pause to listen to the chirping, Fezziwig looked down at the flask and ran a diagnostic on it. He nodded. "This will more than do. I can start on that de-aging potion. It should be done within a few hours. Do you think that will undo the various issues with the skeletal system?"
"I believe it will allow us to treat those and the digestive, urinary, and lymphatic issues much more holistically." Zhou postulated. And so, carefully, the team at the clinic started to plan on how to heal the poor lamb that had been laid so low.
~~ scene ~~
When Harry woke up, he was confused. He felt somehow better, but really… weird. Looking at himself, he noted he was smaller - quite a bit smaller! He remembered dying… but he didn't think this was heaven. Or hell.
Then he remembered Dobby, forcing him to live.
Fawkes, who had kept watch these last few days, began to trill. Despite the peaceful song of the bird on the perch next to him, Harry felt unbearably sad. The tears, something he always avoided, spilled down.
"Oh, dear, are you in pain?" Abby had come back on duty. They had read Lipscomb and Cartwright into the situation, and they all took turns sitting with the lad. The timing of each treatment had been critical. The boy was responding marvellously. Now, when the child looked to be a healthy five or so, the challenge was to keep enough nutrition in him to keep the healing and growth on track.
But all those growing pains at once had to be painful. Abby patronused Healer Zhou that Harry had come out of his coma.
"Why?" Harry asked as she took his vitals and twitched the covers around him.
"Why what, dear?" Vitals well within acceptable range, weight and height, too. She summoned a tasty nutrient potion. "Do you think you can drink this, dear? Or some water?"
Harry ignored the flask and stared at the seemingly-kind woman. He wouldn't be fooled by fake-nice people again.
"Why did you bwing me back? What did I do to you to make you want to tortuwe me? I know no one careth about me. But why do you hate me tho much?"
The young mouth – currently regrowing some teeth – couldn't express all of the words, but the sentiment was there.
This poor child, Abby thought. He's going to need a mind healer.
Just then, the healer entered the room.
"Hello young man. My name is Healer Zhou, or Dr. Dan if you prefer. You're at a place called HC, the Healers Clinic. We've de-aged you – taken you back to when your bones and muscles and organs were still forming – so that we can fix any problems that have happened over the years. Your eyes should already feel better, right?"
Harry noticed he could see without his glasses and nodded warily.
Dan sat next to the boy and touched Harry's hand lightly.
"I know you're angry, hurt, and confused. But we're trying to get you as healthy as possible here. We are on your side. I promise you. We are here to help you."
No one had actually ever promised that. McGonagall had implied it with the whole "your family" speech, but Harry knew just what family could do. No adult – no one ever except maybe Hermione – had ever been or even seemed to be on his side.
He fell back asleep with a strange feeling in his gut. Though he didn't know it – wasn't very familiar with it – it was a feeling of hope.
~~ scene ~~
Amanda Hook looked down at her newest charge. She had been working within the muggle system, interviewing and documenting; getting evidence with the local bobbies and giving medical records to the Special Unit prosecuting barristers. The Dursleys and some others (soon-to-be-former Chief Constable Blakely was one) were in some deep trouble with the crown. Though child welfare enforcement had been rare in the past, it had become more paramount in the last few years. Any time a magical child was involved, it was given high priority, immediately.
No one wanted an obscurial on their hands.
That being said, this was the not the first time Amanda had been in the clinic as a representative. But usually, she brought the children. This time, the clinic had contacted her. It was her first time meeting the boy hero. She looked down at the small child in the cot.
From her debriefing, she knew Harry Potter had been de-aged to about 24 months a week prior. The healers administered some serious healing and strengthening potions as their patient gradually was brought back to his proper age. He looked to be about seven now, and though he was still quite wan, he was leaps and bounds better than the images that she had presented in court that morning.
She watched him for a second, listening to the plotting and planning of the potions' master and the healer as they tried to plot the best course of action for the next phase of Harry's healing.
Amanda cleared her throat, bringing the child's attention to her.
"Mr. Potter, my name is Amanda Hook. I am a witch but I live in the normal world, and I work for Child Services."
"Here to take me to an orphanage?" Harry asked sullenly, without making eye contact. "Uncle Vernon always threatened me with that."
"There really aren't any orphanages, as such, in this day and age," she stated in a neutral voice. Then she leaned to him and smiled a little as she twitched the blankets on him. "And any group home would have been loads better than the Dursleys, right?"
"Put me wherever. It doesn't matter," Harry said, listlessly. There was no window to look out. At least his Privet prison cell had a window so he could see the sky.
Disinterest was harder to deal with than anger. She truly hoped that this child would be able to recover, mentally and emotionally, from what was done to him. But for now, they had to concentrate on getting him safe and physically healthy. Time would tell. "Why do you think I won't be able to find you a better situation?"
"You don't know me. You don't care about me. No one ever has. My own parents left me with the Dursleys." That conclusion had been one of the hardest for Harry to face. In spite of the stupid story of his parents sacrificing themselves for him, it was pretty obvious they didn't really give a toss, if they put him with the Dursleys.
"They didn't," she denied flatly. His brow furrowed and he showed confusion. "I don't have a copy of the will – Mr. Steppenage does, though. You'll meet him in a mo. The only thing I know for certain is that your aunt and uncle were not mentioned by your parents. I also know that Albus Dumbledore has been listed as the wizard in charge of your well-being. He was supposed to keep you safe."
Harry's face hardened. "Safe, yeah, sure."
Amanda nodded perfunctorily. "We've challenged his guardianship on the magical side. The Dursleys are being held and their custody of you has been dissolved. You're currently a ward of the crown."
"Where am I to go?" Harry asked in a small, resigned voice.
"Well, we've time to figure that out. You'll be here at the clinic until 1 September, if Dr. Dan has anything to say about it. We have until next June to find a place you're comfortable with. We'll figure something out. If nothing else, you can come home with me. My partner and I have two younger kids we've adopted – muggleborn who were abused in their own homes. Muggles are so often afraid of magic, sadly. Mariam's a teacher and I'm a social worker; we couldn't get away with any sort of mean treatment. Except sometimes we sing off key in the house. My singing voice is punishment for anyone."
He didn't smile, but he didn't look quite so angry.
Just then, the voices of the potions master and healer were clear.
"I still say we should test the potency of the venom on those evil muggles." The fury in the voice of the man was clear.
"I understand the sentiment, Fezziwig, but we need to find a way around live testing. Our patient will need the new round soon and I want the maximum potency with the minimum danger…"
Harry furrowed his brow.
"What's wrong?" Amanda asked.
"Why are they so angry? I get why they're helping me: you all are being paid to, right?"
"A lot of people want to help you and wouldn't need money to do so."
Harry held back his humorless chuckle, but still rolled his eyes. "No one ever has helped me. No teacher did anything except blame me or ignore it. Not in Surrey. Not at Hogwarts. Sometimes…"
"Three," she interrupted his bitter diatribe. "Three of your primary teachers reported suspected abuse to your headmaster."
"There were teachers that tried to help?" Harry seriously doubted anyone had even noticed, but if they had, why hadn't they done anything?
"Yes. Your first, third and fifth form teachers: Miss Rachel Poder, Miss Emily Christchurch, and Mr. Joshua Tanner."
"That's odd."
"No, teachers are required to report if they suspect anything like this. It was odd that your headmaster didn't take it further. But he went to school with Vernon Dursley. He's up on charges along with Mr. Dursley now, and has had his license to be with children revoked."
"Mr. Groves could go to prison? Maybe he'll get beat up there, like he used to let Dudley and his gang do to me."
Amanda nodded, "Several of the neighbors reported those incidents to the police. But again, the chief constable is old friends with Vernon, and he hushed it all up. So, no, it wasn't odd that your teachers reported. It was odd that it was all covered up. It was incredibly wrong that it was all covered up."
Harry took a shaky breath through his nose. People had tried… he couldn't think about that right then. "I said it was odd for a different reason. You said years one, three and five. Odd numbers. Right?"
"With humor like that, you should be taking arithmancy, Mr. Potter." The jovial voice matched with the older man who stepped into the room. "My name is Asa Steppenage. I work with Wizarding Child Services. I'm the Ms. Hook of the magic side. I knew Fleamont Potter, your grandfather, quite well."
"What kind of name is Fleamont?" Harry wanted to know about his family. He wanted to trust these people as he did feel loads better than he could remember feeling, ever. But seriously. What kind of name was Fleamont?
"I'm going to go. I'll be back with some things for you tomorrow, Mr. Potter." The CPS rep smiled down at the young boy and gave into the impulse to muss his already messy hair.
"Okay, Ms. Hook. Thanks." He gave a little frown as she walked away. He didn't want to admit it, but she made him feel a little better.
Asa was still chuckling at Harry's rejoinder. "Fleamont was his grandmother's family name. She was the last of her line. He was named in honor of her. Just as James was named after someone from Euphemia's – Flea's wife, and your grandmother's - family. I am not certain why you were named Harry; tradition would have had you as Evan, or some other family name."
"Maybe my dad didn't like my mum's family. They are fairly awful."
The child was a master of understatement, it seemed. "I remember Flea saying that he thought Henry was a good bloke but Rose reminded him of a more traditional pureblood, without magic."
Harry nodded seriously. "Aunt Petunia was worse to me than Malfoy's ever been to my muggleborn friend, Hermione. That's saying something."
Steppenage pulled up a chair next to Harry's bed, to be eye level with the child. "Well, I know Ms. Hook will make certain that woman pays for what she did and allowed to be done to her own blood." Asa shook his head then pulled out a sheaf of parchment. "This is a certified copy of your parents' wills, with all of the codicils."
"What's the crocodile thing?" Harry asked, confused, while looking at the parchment almost hungrily.
"Codicil. It's extra parchment that gives more detailed instructions on things like the investments and property leases and loans that the family holds. It gave the goblins what they needed to keep your vaults flush and contributing to the economy."
"OK, so my family helps people and stuff?"
"Of course, they do. While you aren't as well off as the Blacks, you have investments in several strong businesses, own a good deal of rented property, and you have patents on inventions and potions. Why, Flea, himself, patented Sleakeasy potion. Even though it doesn't quite control Potter hair, it does the trick for most others and is quite lucrative."
"My family was good at potions?" The question seemed almost absurd to him. Potions was the worst.
"Several members of your family, including Flea, were excellent brewers and quite innovative in their creations. Your mother, was, too. It was one of the things that Flea approved of most in her. She was brilliant at magic, but especially excelled at charms and potions. Your father was better with runes and transfigurations – good for enchanting, like his mother's family." Asa had spent a good deal of his off time going through his old journals, reviewing memories of his last meetings with Flea just so he could tell this child stories. And it was working. The child's eyes were bright and engaged, not dull and withdrawn as they had been with Amanda.
"Shall we see what they say? They are written, as tradition dictates, in your parents' hands."
Harry nodded eagerly. He'd never seen their handwriting before.
His dad's was strangely perfect. It was his mum's that was scratchier, like Harry's best efforts. Maybe it was because his dad grew up using a quill, but Mum didn't?
"If you take apart the legal speak, it comes down to this: Everything, including Potter House with all contents, has been left to you. Other bequeathments were only to occur if you, also, passed."
"I have a house? Can it be lived in?" Harry looked at Mr. Steppenage with the question in his eye. Could he hide in his own house?
"The house is under wards – that's protection – and is unplottable, meaning you have to know where it is to find it. But it was under quarantine when that awful man… It needs ritual and physical cleansing. Flea and Euphemia died of dragon pox." At Harry's questioning look, he explained, "Dragon pox is a very contagious and often deadly disease. The germs can linger for a long time after an infected person passes through a place. Since they were living in that house…"
Harry nodded. "That's why my parents weren't there. What was the house they were living in?"
"They were in a small village called Godric's Hollow. The cottage was one of several properties owned by the Potter family, and it was usually rented out. I lost track of James after Flea died, but what I have been able to piece together indicates they moved a great deal, trying to hide. They had a charm called the fidelius put on that property and moved in there. Now, it's a ruin and a monument to the war; the government pays the rental fee to your vaults yearly for that privilege."
"I think I'd like to see it. Are they buried there, or wherever the original house is?"
Asa swallowed fury as he affirmed Harry's question about the Godric's Hollow cottage and graves: the child hadn't been able to pay respect to his parents' final resting place? How could Dumbledore deny the child that simple act of closure? Speaking of the git: "We shall do our best to get you there this year. Moving on, you see here that the will gives Albus Dumbledore the right to place you where you will be safest. It also requests visits with and lessons in Potter family from your godfather – Sirius Black – who is to be your magical guardian, even if he is not the person you live with. They had some doubts that Mr. Black would survive the war, intact, as many of their friends and family had already fallen."
"Serious? I've never heard of that kind of name or that person. Wizards have weird names."
"Sirius, like the star. The Black family traditionally looks to the heavens to name their children. I believe he is Arcturus's grandson. And Bellatrix's cousin…" Asa trailed off, thinking that poor Sirius had succumbed to the madness that often fell the Blacks. "Sirius was James's best friend, and he's been in prison almost since James died. He was convicted of killing Peter Pettigrew and thirteen innocent muggles surrounding that wizard."
"I never heard of him, either. Why did Sirius kill Peter Pettigrew?"
"You remember I said they were under the fidelius charm? That is a charm that requires someone to be a keeper of your secret. They are the only ones who can disclose what is hidden. No one could find your family – even if they were standing right at the window of that cottage – unless the secret keeper gave away the information. At the time, it was believed that Sirius was their secret keeper. That he betrayed your family and his other friends. He was brought down at the scene when he killed Pettigrew."
"But he wasn't? Their secret keeper?"
"He wasn't." Asa confirmed, and pointed to a small line in the will. "Pettigrew was. James thought that no one would think of Pettigrew as the secret keeper. But apparently, the Dark Wizard figured it out."
"Which was why Black had killed the guy," Harry supposed, aloud. "That Pettigrew guy betrayed my dad and mum, and Black wanted revenge. Why did no one ever know about Pettigrew, if it's right here?"
"The financial pieces of the wills were enacted by the goblins, but Dumbledore took magical guardianship of you and hid you with those people." Steppenage never said the Dursleys' name, if he could help it.
"I don't suppose this Sirius guy could be released to do the job?"
"No, well. He was convicted by war tribunal and sentenced to life in prison. The prison he's in, Azkaban, is not a particularly good place. He'll never get out," Asa finished.
They finished going over the rest of the documents and Harry rolled them up and put them in his bag with all of his other precious items. "That's an interesting bag. Space expansion, stasis… Security?"
Harry's brow furrowed. No, he'd not had security. He'd get security, though. Weasley wouldn't be stealing his stuff, ever again.
Seeing he wasn't going to get an answer, Asa stood. "Well, I'll bring you some books on enchanting, then. And maybe try to get your family journals from the Potter vault for you?"
"They had journals?" Those vibrant green eyes sparked with interest again.
"Oh, yes. Most magicals keep journals. We have such long lives, you see, that remembering things becomes a trifle challenging. I looked at my own journal to refresh my memories of your family before talking with you. One of these days, if you're interested, I'll tell you about some of the mischief your granddad and I used to get up to."
Harry smiled, for the first time. "I'd like to hear that. Could you bring me the journals? Do you know if my mum had one?"
"I will bring you what I find, I promise." He stood to leave, just as Crispin Fezziwig, the potion master of HC came in the cubicle.
Fezziwig had talked to Harry a few different times at that point. Harry was surprised to see that a potion master could be so kindly, but now he knew, even his mum had apparently been one. Or at least, she liked potions.
"Mr. Steppenage, I didn't mean to interrupt your conversation." He bowed to the older man.
"I was just leaving. I shall see you all soon!" He waved and walked away, through the privacy field and out of the clinic, feeling lighter as he went. He thought just maybe that child had a chance at a full recovery.
Crispin turned to Harry. "Hello young chap. Looking a little older today – maybe eight or so?"
Harry shrugged and rolled his eyes. It was hard being a thirteen-year-old in an eight-year-old's body, but it was better than when he first woke up. Then, he couldn't even say his words right.
Magic was so weird!
Aloud he said, "You know, you all treat me like a cute little kid, I think I could get away with murder if I needed to."
The kid had some sarcastic wit brewing, that was for sure. "Well, you have skill there. That monster you killed was amazingly huge."
"The basilisk?" How had the potions master known about that?
"That's the one! Great Mordred! Your elf took me to render it down to ingredients. They're mostly stored in stasis in your Gringott's vault now, though some pieces are being sold to pay for your treatment. Hope that's okay?"
"Well, it's not like I was going to make it a keepsake or anything," Harry said.
"We kept most of the venom out. It's stored here. Your blood is so strange. It has venom and phoenix tears in it. Where's that phoenix, anyway?"
"Fawkes?" Harry shrugged at Crispin's nod. "Dunno. Comes and goes as they please, I suppose." Fawkes had gone to Dumbledore when the man had called, and had taken the man to the continent, where he would be required to stay to protect his familiar wizard until school term started. But Harry didn't know that.
"You, sir, have a strange roster of dedicated friends. A phoenix, a house elf, an owl – who dive-bombed Amanda Hook today when she tried to take post for you."
Harry snickered. "Hedwig is the best. Can she come in here?"
"Absolutely," Fezziwig confirmed.
Harry worried at his lip. "The venom in me can't hurt her?"
"The venom is in potions. You need venom and tears in similar measure because your blood chemistry is off, and we can't fix it until you're fully healed. By then, your system might just produce them itself, given how odd you are."
"Ha. Well, at least there's some use to that poison. The phoenix tears can be used for tons of things, right?"
Crispin nodded. "Oh, the venom can, too. It's really not at all logical, but basilisk venom is used in some crazy healing potions – usually to counter dark curses. Like, there's one to regrow limbs that have been cursed off. When it comes on the market, it gets used up almost immediately."
"Could you get rid of my scar?" Or any of his scars, really. He would like to put his past away, but visible reminders… well…
"Your scar is almost gone, already! Here, let me show you." He conjured a mirror and Harry looked at his face, familiar but wrong as it was still too young. As his eyes rose to the reflection of his forehead, he was stunned. Touching his hand to the formerly-aching region, he noticed that the lightning bolt was white against pale now, not red, and might even fade further. He had noticed that most of the scars from Privet drive were gone, while the basilisk wound and the scars from burning up Quirrell were faded just like the one on his forehead.
They were there, but they didn't show so much. He hoped that meant something more than just the change in surface appearance.
"Do you want some of the basilisk venom to make these other cures?"
Fezziwig looked at Harry. "That venom is for you for the potions you need."
Harry flattened his lips, then spoke. "I saw that snake. I know how much of that stuff you must have gotten. I can't need it all."
Fezziwig slowly sat on the seat vacated by Steppenage. "No, you got several liters, and potions usually take microliters – err, less than a drop – of the stuff. It's wicked potent."
"So, maybe if you teach me how to make the potions, I'll let you have a gram to work with?" Harry posed the deal. His granddad, his mum – they were good at potions? He'd try harder to be good, too, starting with taking whatever help he could get.
Fezziwig smiled. "I've heard about the potions lessons you guys get. I'd love to give you a crash course."
"Anything to alleviate the boredom of the sick room!" Harry said with a grin.
After all of his visitors left, Harry mentally called his owl to him. He didn't know how she did it, but she came into his room and brought with her a pack of notes. The last one from Hermione was long and a bit frantic. Why hadn't he written back? Was he okay?
His heart warmed that someone was so concerned. He quickly penned a response with the notepad and pen Ms. Amanda had left for him – he was fine but had just gotten all of his mail. He'd write more later after he wrote to everyone. Hedwig winged off with that response, then Harry moved to the other letters.
There was an official thank you letter from Ginny Weasley, for saving her life. She would have written sooner but had been in the hospital getting healing for what the diary had done to her. The letter was stilted, as though she were terribly embarrassed to write it. But she did the job and wished him a happy birthday and a good holiday. She didn't think they'd meet again until Hogwarts as she and her family had won a bunch of galleons and were going to Egypt to visit her brother, Bill, for a month.
Harry remembered the thief saying something about a curse breaker and a dragon handler for his oldest brothers. Then, feeling angry, he put the thief out of his head. He ripped up that git's only letter without reading it.
Neville had written once, and asked if it was okay to write. Harry felt bad that he hadn't been able to respond. He took his time penning a letter apologizing for the unintended slight – he hadn't been able to get his post when he was with the muggles. He would truly enjoy exchanging letters – he could tell Neville about the muggle world if Neville would answer his questions about the wizarding one.
When Hedwig returned, he asked when she would be able to fly again. She barked and cuffed him with a wing. She hadn't been able to fly much that summer, though she'd been free. She'd stayed with the big-man-who-carried-mice until Boy needed her to help him. Then, she'd tracked down crazy-elf-who-rightly-adored-Boy. Then, she'd kept guard outside the clinic, only hunting when she needed to, making sure Boy got better.
Now that he was better, if too small, she was ready to do her job.
"Hed, it's so good to see you." Boy's eyes watered. Hedwig barked again and held out her leg. She'd take this one – ahh, the Longbottom estate. Very long flight, but good hares there. She'd feast tonight. "I'm going to get a perch in here for you. But you come and go as you please, yeah? We both aren't going to be prisoners.
He tied the letter to her and she flew, out of the clinic's owl window to the fresh air, and winged north.
~~ scene ~~
Several days later, Harry was back to looking thirteen, but now he was a healthy thirteen. He had good color, musculature, weight (50th percentile) and height (80th percentile! He was finally not short!). He didn't need glasses any more, and although he was serious most of the time, his laugh was also heard a few times. He had some normal clothes (and several boy-centric muggle books) courtesy of Ms. "call me Amanda" Hook.
When he ventured from his room on the second floor of the clinic – he'd upgraded from the treatment cubicle – he wore a glamour necklace. Most of the people in the clinic knew he was an important patient, but they didn't delve, just called him "kid" when they talked with him. He tired easily still, but spent a few hours per day helping Crispin and learning about potions both from practice and from books that man provided.
The first time Harry went into the lab, he was surprised to see several caged animals along the wall. He studied each of them in turn, but the three-headed-snake interested him most. "I'm trying to get that little runespoor to give me her shed skin. But she's not having it."
Harry turned to the snake in question, speaking in parsel, then turned back to Fezziwig. "She wants a warm rock and a cavern that is permanently dark and cool. She'll give you the skin in exchange for a pygmy hamster. She had one once and likes their flavor."
"You're a parselmouth." Crispin breathed it in his excitement.
Harry rolled his eyes. "I thought everyone knew that."
Crispin raised an eyebrow at Harry. "I think we've proved that almost all of what 'everyone knew' about you was utter codswollop. But you truly can speak parseltongue. Do you know what that means?"
"It means I can talk to snakes," Harry stated flatly. "And everyone thinks I'm an evil nutter because I lost some genetic lottery."
"Oh, please. You are aware most people are gormless mouth-breathers." The sarcastic vitriol was the first evidence Fezziwig had any sort of resemblance to the other potion master Harry knew. But the eyeroll and smirk was clearly kind, as Harry knew his mentor to be. "You speaking snake means that you can increase the potency on any venom-laced potion by orders of magnitude! Didn't anyone give you any information on parsel magic?"
"I was told that I got it from Voldemo… oh, not you, too" Harry ribbed at the man's shudder.
"Sorry, there's a taboo on the name," mock-offended, Crispin justified his craven shudder then tilted his head in curiosity. "Not sure why you're immune. Hearing the name creates fear and revulsion in any magical who's not marked, any time they hear it. Saying the name out loud also allowed his servants, death eaters, to pass through any wards protecting the speaker."
"Really? No one told me that!" Harry was astonished, and wondered why no one ever explained. "Well, I'll call him Riddle, then. That's his name. Tom Riddle." Crispin wasn't going to ask how Harry knew that information. He just went with it.
"Riddle wasn't the only famous parselmouth. Paracelsus and Ascelpius were both famous healers who could speak parseltongue, though Paracelsus is given credit for the language. And of course, Merlin was one."
"Huh. I only heard of V.. Riddle and some Harpo bloke."
"Herpo the Foul. Yeah. Seriously bad man. Just like Riddle. Maybe worse than Riddle?" Fezziwig stopped his prep and stared out into space in contemplation. "But still, 4 to 2 you good guys outnumber the bad."
Harry chuckled. "Yeah, I'm like Merlin and those other blokes. Sure."
Fezziwig paused, his normally excited and happy demeanor suddenly very serious. "Harry, you killed a twenty-meter basilisk, almost dying, to save another kid. That makes you a hero in anyone's book. Now…" he went from his prep table, ignoring the embarrassment in the boy, to his desk looked through his library index. Choosing a book, he pulled it from the library trunk that stored and protected his books from the fumes of the lab. "I picked this up years ago, for a song. It has some sort of compulsion on it, I think, to make it so people who can't read it don't throw it away. Can you read what it says?"
What was squiggles to any normal fellow was English to Harry. "Spells, Rites, and Incantations for the Snake Speaker." He opened it up, carefully (though Crispin had said it was a sturdy book), as it looked ancient. In fact, it had been copied from scrolls by monks in Ireland. Saint Patrick was also a snake speaker, and he had, apparently, collected all of the parselmagic tomes he could get his hands on. They were all combined here in this book, several copies of which had been disseminated through the world. How this particular copy ended up with the potion master could have been happenstance or it could have been fate. Whatever the reason, it was now in Harry's hands. "Yeah, there's a spell here to increase the potency of a potion. Do you want me to try it?"
"Have to clear with Healer Zhou when you can cast, but, yeah. I'd like to try it! You can have that book. I can't use it. I've just been waiting to see if I ever came across a parselmouth who could."
"Thanks!" Harry said, knowing he would cherish the book, along with the other books that Master Fezziwig had gifted him as he taught the art and joy of brewing to Harry.
The two plotted while Harry prepped and Crispin stirred (clockwise for this particular potion) and explained the brewing process whys and wherefores to Harry. Harry wondered why he had hated potions so much before, then remembered the drama queen of the dungeons and shuddered. He had almost a month left before he had to deal with that creep. He'd enjoy while he could.
A few days passed, with Harry still sleeping a lot, taking a vast number of horrifyingly terrible potions, sleeping, reading, and sleeping.
Major healing took a massive toll on a kid's need for sleep!
His birthday passed with a few quiet well-wishes. Harry Potter's birthday was famous, and they were still trying to keep his real identity hidden. But he was gifted a few things – his own auto-filling fountain pen from Abby, who hated quills. Some classic fiction from Dr. Dan, who insisted that Harry keep his adventures between the covers of books from then on, graphic novels from Ms. Amanda, and some plants for his room (both in the HC and at school) from Master Fezziwig.
One afternoon, he'd gone back to his room (after playing sous chef to Fezziwig for an hour or so) to take his own lunchtime potions (he was down to four potions a day) and rest for the afternoon, when Asa Steppenage came to visit.
"Hullo, Mr. Steppenage," Harry said, putting down the book he had been reading.
"Mr. Potter! You look very well! I've heard marvellous stories of your progress. I have a few things and a few updates for you."
Asa sat down next to Harry's bed and put a leather satchel between them. "This bag has your parents' and grandparents' journals. Magical journals expand and most contain at least a few years or even a decade of information. I also brought your copy of the Potter grimoire. The goblins put it in this bag that they have locked to Potter magic. Once you open it, it will attune to only your blood."
"Cool. Can I use this as my school bag?" The satchel was a nice dark brown (walnut was the color name Harry didn't know) and had several compartments for different things. Ignoring the small bite from the clasp, Harry looked through the bag. The journals were all in one compartment.
"You may, if you wish. This," Steppenage brought up a sand-colored leather book, "is your own journal. A gift from me to you." Harry noticed the crest on the front and binding that matched the crest on the bindings some of the other journals – except the reddish-one didn't have a crest at all. That one might be his mum's.
Harry ran his hand over the supple leather and thought of what he could write – if he would write. He nodded, "Thank you."
Asa smiled a little. "You may, once you start to read your families' stories, want to write down your own. Or you can just draw pictures or make up stories. Or take notes in class. Or nothing at all, if that is what you choose." The mind healer Asa'd spoken with – in general terms of course – had stated that journaling was an excellent way to begin coping with mental trauma. "Ms. Hook – Amanda – wanted me to pass her regrets and this bag of clothing."
Harry smiled as he looked through (the obviously magical) duffel to see normal pyjamas, smalls, socks, slippers, trainers, jeans, hoodies, and other normal clothes. It was more clothes than Harry'd had his whole life, put together. "She already got me two outfits and two sets of pyjamas. She's getting money from my vaults to pay for these, right?"
Steppenage nodded. "I fully reimbursed her. Except for those 'graphic novels.'" Asa pointed to the book Harry had just put down. "They were supposed to be a birthday gift. Anyway, she can't make it in. She's been busier than a blood donor at a vampire convention. Those people have been sentenced." The abrupt change in conversation confused the child momentarily, then he realized Mr. Steppenage was talking about the Dursleys.
Harry furrowed his brow. "I've been here less than three weeks. How did they get through the trial so fast?" Harry remembered the talk he'd had with Amanda a few days previously. She'd wanted to protect him, but he asked her to give details about everything they were charging the Dursleys with. The list astounded him. He didn't know that locking him up in the cupboard and room was really a crime. Or that they actually got money for his care and didn't use it for him, and that was a crime. Or that anyone would care that they tried to kill him. It made him strangely happy to know that the bobbies were trying to get the Dursleys for everything that they'd actually done.
"There were so many charges against them that their barrister advised them to plea. And the special courts – the ones dealing with our world – always move more quickly, as there's not many cases to go through. The crown dropped most of the charges in exchange for a guilty plea to felony child abuse. Those people will avoid trial and go straight to prison – they were sentenced ten years, each." One year for every year they tortured him. Harry nodded slowly, absorbing it. His evil aunt and uncle were paying for what they did to him. But…
"What about Dudley?" Asa could hear the concern in the child's voice. All he'd gone through, and he still cared about the cousin who helped make sure his life was atrocious.
"Dudley is with his aunt – Marjorie, I believe her name is?" Harry nodded and thought that might be as bad as prison. "I wanted to ask about Arabella Figg. Did you know her?"
"Yeah," Harry nodded. "She's a crazy cat lady. Babysat me. But she never fed me anything no matter how long I stayed at her house. I didn't like her eyes. They were mean. She would see bruises on me and look happy."
Steppenage inhaled sharply through his nose. Albus, trusting the wrong sort, again. "She's a squib. That's a person born to a magical family that can't do magic. She was placed in the neighborhood by Dumbledore to keep an eye on you. For years, she told him all was well, but that you were a notoriously dull boy, who was a finicky eater and was always accident prone."
Harry's eyes flashed. "Are you trying to give the headmaster an excuse? Because I asked him to get me a new place to live three times. He turned me down three times."
Steppenage held up his hands in a calming gesture. "Agreed. We have vacated his guardianship of you, Mr. Potter, though he is not aware of this yet, as he is working on the continent with the ICW for the remainder of the summer holidays. But do keep in mind that it is possible that he did not mean to harm you as he has obviously done."
Harry's jaw firmed. He had an enemy, and he wasn't going to be talked out of his righteous anger.
Looking gravely at the boy, Steppenage broke some bad news. "There is another situation. Sirius Black has escaped custody. The ministry believes he is coming for you."
Harry was perplexed. "The will said that he's my godfather and that he wasn't the secret keeper. He went after Pettigrew for revenge, right? Why would he come after me?"
"I told you a little of the prison he's been in. Azkaban is not meant for rehabilitation. It is meant to torture. Most go crazy within months. The guards are demon-like creatures called dementors, and they suck out the happiness and sanity of prisoners there. He's been there over a decade. The only information we have is that Black stated 'he's at Hogwarts' before he escaped."
Harry rolled his eyes. Right. Now he had a nutter after him. He noticed that Dr. Dan had come into his room. "Do you guys want me to leave then? Am I too dangerous to have here?"
"No, we don't," Dan interrupted. "You are through your initial rounds of physical treatments, but your body needs time to stabilize, to get used to your new state of health."
"But our wishes have been overridden by ministerial decree," Steppenage finished. "Minister Fudge was furious when he couldn't find you – the muggle side trial has been obscured from magical law – and he has demanded that you be placed in ministry custody for your safety as soon as you are found. I have been charged with finding you. He wants you staying on Diagon Alley."
"He wants me for bait." Harry quickly concluded.
Steppenage chortled. "You are definitely a Potter. The ministry will pay for a room at Silver Chalice – it's the higher-end hotel on Diagon."
Harry wrinkled his nose. "I'd rather stay at the Cauldron. That way I can get back to the Muggle side and buy stuff there. And come here and work with Master Fezziwig. Do I have to leave now?"
Dan sighed when Steppenage answered. "He wants you installed over there by tomorrow morning. If you get your own accommodations today, he will accept that."
Harry breathed in through his nose, wanting to rage, wanting to cry. It wasn't fair.
But then, life never was.
After closing his eyes for a moment and centering, Harry nodded. He wouldn't be bait, or a prisoner. He chose, instead, to think of it as an adventure.
"Well, I guess that's that." He stood and smiled a little. "You guys have been the best to me, and honestly, someone could probably use this bed besides me. I'll still come every day to work with Master Fezziwig, right?"
The potion master crowded into the room just as Harry said that and smiled, winking at Harry. "You'd better. I'm looking forward to making sure you can knock Snape's greasy socks off when term starts."
Harry chuckled.
"You still have people who aren't so glad that Riddle is gone," Harry's name for Voldemort had swept through the clinic. Asa remembered tales of Tom Riddle, and was not at all surprised at the bad end that particular orphan had come to. It was one of the reasons that Asa had pushed for earlier intervention with muggleborn magicals. But few people wanted to acknowledge the needs of mudbloods, so he could never get traction on it. "I want you to wear the glamor charm when you're walking through the alley or through muggle London. It isn't a complete answer, but should protect your comings and goings, at least," Asa said.
Harry nodded. He'd wear the glamour as he left buildings and take it off once he was with people he trusted. Packing up everything in the duffel that Ms. Amanda had bought for him, Harry said a quick farewell, stating he'd see everyone tomorrow. Then he turned on his necklace and walked with Steppenage to the Leaky Cauldron, not five blocks away.