Part 8
A/N With A Roadmap: Two updates in such a short time! It was spring break for me this week. So don't complain if you don't get another til Summer Break. This is primarily a third-year story. (Ergo, there will be implied shipping, but come on: they're waaaay too young to do more than gaze, starry-eyed). However, the last… third? Quarter? Of the story has several in-depth scenes, and they range up through seventh year. I'm thinking an epilogue will be far enough into the future for adulting. Mostly, this is a healing fic. Showing an adult relationship in the end will show the culmination of that healing. I hope.
~~ On with the show. ~~
The Gryffindor team won their opening match against Hufflepuff, though it was close, and not uncontested. Diggory was a good seeker, but a bit too conservative, and Harry outflew him by a minute. They both had been racing toward the snitch (that Harry had seen first, but that had been just a bit closer to Cedric) when the winged little bugger had dipped below both of them. At the same time, one of the bludgers had come screaming toward the two seekers, Forge having smacked it trying to get Diggory's attention.
Harry had turned upside down, avoiding the bludger, and hanging by his knees, grabbed the snitch. Cedric had taken the bludger to the shoulder, and the torque had him falling off his broom. Harry let go of the snitch, flew down and grabbed a plummeting Diggory, but couldn't save Diggory's broom.
The refs said that it was a Gryffindor win. Harry had caught the snitch. Diggory's father, some arse named Amos, had protested, saying his boy hadn't had the chance to catch it. Sirius almost walloped them man, but was saved from the action by Mrs. Diggory walloping her husband herself. "As though a match is more important than our Ceddie's life. Amos Diggory, you shut your pie hole."
At first, Harry thought it was the scandal of the match that had people staring at him. The PotterSpotters had become more numerous, more obvious, and more voluble. But the pointing and whispering had started before the match and continued after it. It had started, come to think of it, just the week before the Halloween feast he'd skipped. And now, it was everywhere.
He couldn't know that, a few weeks prior, when McGonagall had dressed down Snape in the anteroom, when Snape had furiously stormed away, he had taken the privacy charm but left both Dumbledore and McGonagall, talking, behind. Harry wasn't aware that Tracey Davis, concerned that this might have something to do with her friend Daphne, had put an eavesdropping charm on, and had heard that Harry's guardians had beaten and starved him to such a degree that they were facing prison sentences of a decade. He hadn't realized that Davis shared everything with her best friend, Daphne Greengrass, who told her cousin, Mandy Brocklehurst, who had a massive crush on the boy who lived, who told her best friend, Padma Patil, who told… well, Harry had no idea how much interest his private pain had garnished. Or that it wasn't private anymore.
By the time the celebrations of the win were done (and Harry had another reason to resent Dumbledore, as the bearded meddler had stuck like glue to Sirius after the match, and Harry couldn't talk to Sirius at all with the jerk in residence), the gossip about Harry's trials and tribulations had made it to Lavender Brown, queen of gossip. And she spread that fodder to all who would listen – quietly, of course.
Everyone now knew of the fact that Harry was abused. Neville and Ron flanked him, refusing to talk to anyone who asked for details. Neville actually served two detentions after punching Michael Corner, who poked fun of Harry's situation. But Hermione was the last to realize everyone was talking.
It was just after supper, on a Friday night, where Ron was talking with Seamus about quidditch, Harry and Neville were playing a game of backgammon, and Hermione was taking a much-needed break her endless school work, just petting Crookshanks next to the fire and next to Lavender and Parvati, that she finally started to parse the incessant blather that Lavender produced.
"I should have known that he didn't have good muggles. I mean, his clothes alone were terrible. He must have found someone to do tailoring charms because every year his clothes were rags and then they got fixed. This year he's at least dressing like he should. He could be almost cute, well, I guess they somehow fixed what the terrible muggles broke…"
Stiffening, Hermione finally, through her haze of taking all the classes, understood what was going on. Somehow, people had found out about Harry. Her stomach tightened; her eyes watered. Putting her cat down, she made her way to Harry and Neville's table just as Neville won.
"I've got winner!" Dean called and made his way across from Neville. Harry got up awkwardly and Hermione pulled him over to a corner, not realizing that they were being listened to by Lavender and Parvati.
"Harry, I don't know how they found out. I swear, I didn't say anything to anyone. Even when Professor McGonagall questioned me. I didn't tell. I didn't write anything… but people are gossiping. About…"
Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "You're just noticing? It's been a few weeks. I never suspected you. I imagine Dumbledore told Snape – maybe that's why he's not being a super-arse to me anymore? – but then Snape told his snakes. It was only a matter of time before people found out."
"But I can't believe that people are talking about it. Gossiping. It's terrible." Her eyes filled with tears and Harry awkwardly hugged her.
"It's ok," he pulled back and wore a wry grin. "Really? My misfortune has been the prime fodder for entertainment since I've come to this shite school. Didn't they just have a great big feast celebrating my parents' murder? Bunch of vultures."
"I'm sorry, Harry." Hermione whispered, rubbing his arm. Lavender heard him dismiss her gossip – and her – and felt shamed. It didn't stop her spreading gossip, but she only tried to say positive things from then on out.
~~ time passing ~~
Winter hols were rapidly approaching, and professors were cramming in as much information as they could. Harry barely had time to keep up with his classes, his studies, and quidditch. He didn't have time to read his family journals, even. But his letters from Sirius were a constant source of happiness. He thought they would get on well together.
Sirius was living with his cousin in town but had been granted permission and was looking forward to a stay in the castle over the winter holidays. Harry was glad to have the time to get to know his godfather in person before committing to staying with the practical-stranger long-term.
"Letter from Sirius?" Neville asked.
Harry looked up at his friend and smiled. "Yeah. Dumbledore's invited him to stay at the castle over winter break."
Neville smiled as he dropped onto the bench across from Harry, who was still petting Hedwig and feeding her bacon.
"That's good," Hermione looked up from the book she was studying. "I was going to invite you to my house for holidays, but we're having my French cousins over… and they're… well, they're snobs. It wouldn't be a vacation."
Harry smiled wryly, "I bet my cousin is worse than yours," Hermione blushed slightly then paled, looking down at her hands. Harry kicked her under the table. "Stop it. Dudley was a great bully, is all I'm saying. You can bring it up."
"Speaking of great bullies, my Uncle Algie and the last of the Crouch cousins will be at Longbottom Manor – that's why I didn't invite you. I wish I could stay in the castle!" Neville heaved a sigh and pulled the tea pot to himself.
"We're staying again," Ron added through a mouth of porridge. "Mum and Da are visitin' Charlie in Romania."
Harry shook his head. "Swallow before you speak, please? Gross. So, you'll get to meet Padfoot."
"Padfoot?" Ron asked.
"Mmm," Harry finished his bite of egg, swallowing. "Nickname he had in Hogwarts. My dad was Prongs." Harry didn't notice Ron's brothers listening to the story. "They and Professor Lupin were thick as thieves in school, apparently."
"Professor Lupin? Really?" Ron looked up at the head table, studying the well-worn defense professor. He was a good teacher – the best they'd had in the subject (which wasn't saying much), but he didn't look like a barrel of laughs.
Harry shrugged. "He's not talked to me, but that's what Padfoot said. Anyway. We can cross-examine him at Yule." Harry was hoping that they all got along. He really wanted a place to stay over holidays that he felt safe in.
Of course, no matter who he stayed with, they would be a practical stranger. Harry knew from a letter from Ms. Amanda that, though Sirius was close to passing the requirements to house Harry (he still needed a full clearance from the dementor exposure), Harry had an open offer to stay with the CPS worker and her family.
At the bank, Sirius had checked for properties that were viable options for a home for the two of them. The cottage in Godric's Hollow was not salvageable, and the government had paid more than a reasonable rent on it to make it a memorial. The Potters had other properties, but they were all rented out, and the goblins were rapidly putting the rents to where they should be. None of the tenants were balking; some even increased their payments voluntarily. There was no cause to evict.
The Blacks had a few properties outside the isles, the wretched town home in London, and his grandfather's estate, currently occupied by a few of his aunts and uncles. Sirius, accepting the mantle of The Black, Lord Blackmoor, made Harry his heir, until (if) Sirius had sprogs of his own. The newly exonerated Black hired cleaners for Potter manor, where Fleamont and Euphemia had passed of dragon pox, with the plan that he and Harry could live there. It was better than any Black property, so far as Sirius was concerned, and he had good memories of the place he could share with Harry.
The twins, having heard Harry tell their brother that Padfoot was coming to visit over yule, so he would have family, cornered Harry in the hallway that afternoon.
"Harrikins." "Slayer of Snakes." "Seeker of Snitches."
Harry looked over his shoulders, searching for backup and escape routes, and wondering what he'd done to raise the attention of the terrible two. "Oh, crap. What did I do?"
Innocent grins shone on two identical faces, all the more concerning due to the lack of mischief.
"You didn't do anything." "Why would you think you've done anything" "Forge, did Harrikins disappoint us in some manner?" "Why, no, Gred, in fact, he has given us information we have sought."
"Can you stop with the table tennis talk? Please?" Harry was getting a headache.
One of the twins held out a ratty piece of parchment.
"This is yours." "Use it well." "We just ask that you introduce us to Padfoot."
Harry looked at it. Ratty piece of parchment. Padfoot. Missing Marauder's map.
"I solemnly swear I'm up to no good," he whispered, pointing the wand he'd popped out of his holster (to raised eyebrows from the twins) at the parchment. The map began to fill and Harry grinned. "Mischief managed," he whispered and accepted the precious heirloom from the twins. "Thank you, thank you so much. I read about this in my dad's journal. And I've asked Sirius what became of it. Even broke into Filch's office to see if he still had it in the confiscated and dangerous section."
"We liberated it two years ago – back when you were a tiny firstie."
"So, yeah. I think Padfoot would love to meet you guys. And thank you. I have very few things from my parents. So much was destroyed with the house."
"You are obviously the rightful owner. And we pretty much know all the secret passageways and stuff now."
Harry had his father's notes and Padfoot and Moony to help – he was going to make a new copy (it was the project for Yule already.) He'd gift the new copy to the twins. They deserved it.
Harry had really enjoyed getting ready for holiday. There were so many presents he wanted to give. Aside from the friends he had at Hogwarts, Harry had a bunch of people that he wanted to wish a happy Christmas or Yule to. Once Sirius came to the castle, after most of the other students had journeyed back to London to celebrate at home, Sirius and Harry took a few day trips to Hogsmeade, Edinburgh, and London so Harry could do his shopping and just get away from the castle and the people in it.
Harry had a good time wrapping and giving presents. He found it more fulfilling than almost anything he had ever done. His friends were a pleasure to buy for, and the courtesy gift to Neville's Gran – just to stay on her good side since Sirius had his problems with her Crouch cousins – was the only sour grape in the bunch. He had sent a long letter of thank you to Amanda and a big fruit and sweets basket to her family for the holiday. He sent another thank you to Mr. Steppenage, with a fountain pen like the one Miss Abby had gotten him. He'd sent another basket to HC and personal gifts and thank you notes to Ms. Abby, Dr. Dan, and Master Fezziwig. He sent a warm cardigan to Tom at the Cauldron and greetings to the other shopkeepers who'd given him a chance over the summer.
Thinking on all those people that helped him, on all the great things that had happened in August, Harry felt peace come into him. Not all of the magical world was bad.
For Yule, Sirius gave Harry a Firebolt, one half of a set of communication mirrors, and a small library trunk. Among other things, it contained Harry's copy of the Black grimoire, the marauder's prankbook, and a handful of parselmagic books.
"Parselmagic is not dark. Dark wizards use it, sometimes. But dark wizards are blue-eyed, sometimes, too. Doesn't mean all blue-eyed people are dark."
Harry's eyes welled with tears. It seemed like Sirius really did get him and really did care. Maybe.
Harry gave Ron the Nimbus for Yule.
"What, I can borrow it whenever?" Ron asked, not quite believing the note ("This note is an official transferal of one Nimbus 2000 from Potter, Harry to Weasley, Ronald.") attached to a Quidditch Weekly subscription.
Harry rolled his eyes. "No, weirdo, you already do that. It's not a loan. It's yours. Sirius got me a new broom for Christmas. I can only put my butt on one broom. Now we need to train. We need a roster of Weasleys on the team!"
The break continued in this manner – Harry studying some, hanging out with Sirius, flying with Ron and sometimes the twins, and playing some of the games he'd got the twins. (As their dad was a muggle artifacts expert, he'd been surprised that they'd not seen games like this before. And he was almost afraid of the maniacal grin they'd had as their eyes met after one particularly intense game of Cluedo.)
Of course, there had to be some gloom in such a bright vacation from the reality that was Harry's life. He trudged beside Sirius up to the headmaster's office. It had been a condition of allowing Sirius to stay in the castle over winter break – Sirius had to agree to meet with Dumbledore and Harry had to be there. That Sirius had put it off to the last day of break showed he believed that Albus would evict him when the headmaster didn't get what he wanted out of the meeting.
"It has been touching to watch you reconnect, over this blessed holiday," Albus began, his smile somehow both amiable and condescending.
"Yes, I do thank you for the opportunity of us getting to know each other in a neutral environment. A decade late, but appreciated nonetheless." Sirius was not about to let Albus think that Harry and Sirius were somehow indebted to the headmaster for an opportunity that same man had a large and imposing role in denying them for those long twelve years. Albus's smile fell.
"We are here to discuss young Mr. Potter's living arrangements for the summer break."
"Well, before we get to that, I need to inform you that I will be pulling Harry out of school on Sunday mornings. We have prior appointments with healers that he needs to keep up with. As for the summer hols, we will be staying at Potter manor starting next summer. I have the cleaners starting on it; all signs of pox will be well and truly gone by then."
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and sighed. "You know I have final say on location, and I will not approve of this location. It is not safe enough."
Sirius raised an eyebrow in challenge. "One could say that your judgment is clouded, as evidenced by the last placement you approved."
Time had allowed Albus to mute some of the details of what Harry had gone through and justify his own actions and inactions in his own mind. He tried those justifications aloud. He raised his head slightly, preaching from the pulpit of self-assuredness.
"I know the child had difficult times there, but now he's fine. I do apologize, however," he continued, in a tone that was anything but apologetic. He wanted the subject closed. "I believed Arabella when she stated that Harry was just a finicky eater and fine-boned, like his mother. I observed him here in the castle…"
"Shut up."
It was the first thing that Harry said to the headmaster since he had been treated by Pomphrey in the hospital wing, when he'd asked again to avoid going to the Dursleys. But his was no plea; it was more a whispered growl than anything.
"I beg your pardon?" The headmaster looked, startled at the child. No one had told Albus Dumbledore to shut up in his recollection
Harry then looked at Albus for the first time during the meeting, and the hatred in the child's visage was palpable.
"Be quiet. Shut your mouth. You… awful person."
"Harry," Sirius tried to calm his ward quietly, rubbing his back.
"No!" Harry protested, shaking off the calming influence of his godfather. He continued to glare at the headmaster. "You were supposed to protect me. That's what the will said. You were supposed to choose a place where I would be safe."
"I was assured…" the headmaster attempted to justify, to placate, to avoid.
"You were assured that the Dursleys were the worst muggles ever." Harry rolled over that justification with a voice dripping with disdain. "McGonagall said so to you. She apologized to me months ago. You didn't listen to her then. You didn't listen to me over the last two years, when I asked to not go back, when the twins and Ron told you how bad it was. You NEVER listen. You're the worst! They hated me! They starved me! They beat me!"
Albus wilted under the truths that he had been exposed to. Asa Steppenage had forced him to read through the evidence, to watch memories. He still could not quite process it. Had to deny what he'd allowed – encouraged – to happen. "My boy, I apologize. Arabella…"
"I am NOT YOUR BOY! You filthy nutter! You trusted a bitter squib and a few magic-hating muggles and never even checked! NOT ONCE! And when I asked for help, you turned me away!"
"I know." The headmaster deflated. "I was wrong." Albus admitted it quietly. It was the first true admission, without any caveat, that the old wizard had made. But it wasn't enough for Harry.
"You're always wrong. You always stand for bullies. Filch threatens us with whipping, with torture, and you say 'Argus has my complete trust.'"
This, Albus felt he could defend. "Argus would never…"
"SHUT UP! HE WOULD! Snape gives detentions and takes points for things like breathing too much and blinking too loudly. You let him. Filch, Figg, Vernon, Petunia, Snape, Malfoy, Higgs… they're all terrible people. And you always side with them."
"They may be gruff on the outside, but they must have hearts. Do you not see that?" Dumbledore's voice was calm, almost pleading. And his eyes didn't twinkle, but were dull with sadness and disappointment.
Harry lost his tension, and tears filled his eyes. "I see that you care more about mean people than you ever did about me, who you were supposed to protect." Harry's whisper was bitter. "And I hate you. I hope someday you're powerless, and someone beats and starves you, and when you complain, the people in power just brush you off. I hope you die. And I hope it hurts." He turned to Sirius. "Can I leave?"
Sirius was holding his breath, tears in his eyes. Albus had gone pretty far in ruining his boy. He swallowed over the lump in his throat, letting out a shaky breath. "Yeah," he whispered. "Head back to Gryffindor tower."
"Sirius…" Albus protested
"This isn't about school, so he doesn't need to stay. Being in your presence is not helping." Sirius was firm in his statement, and after a brief pause, Albus nodded in acquiescence.
Harry left the room with one last glare at the headmaster.
After the door closed, the clock ticked loudly. The whirring instruments filled the room with a buzz. Albus finally broke the semi-silence. "He has a great deal of anger. It could turn the wrong way…"
"Whose fault is that? Take away the vitriol, and every statement he made was completely true. His life has been one torture after another, and you are at the center of all of it." The fact was irrefutable, and the older man simply shook his head in sorrow.
"He needs help…"
Sirius nodded. "Yes, I want him to work with a mind healer. It's why I'm telling you I'll be pulling him out every Sunday morning – for mind healing. I've interviewed several to find one I think he'll be comfortable with. Hopefully, he'll learn to process his feelings. But as far as he's concerned, you're the source of his abuse. Don't call him to your office again. We'll work through McGonagall from now on."
Brows furrowed, the headmaster protested. "I don't believe that this is the wisest course. Mr. Potter needs to learn to forgive."
Sirius eyes flashed with temper, and he took a breath before answering. "Albus, when you've gone through half of what Harry's endured, you can lecture him on forgiveness. Right now, you need to step back before you make him turn dark."
That warning was the one thing that seemed to get through the sanctimonious old wizard's protestations.
"Changing the subject," Albus started again after a moment's silence, "I would like to know if Potter House has war wards? The wards at Privet Drive were derived from Lily's sacrifice. They repelled several death eaters who made attempts on Mr. Potter. Indeed, when Voldemort possessed a teacher here, he was unable to murder Harry because of those protections."
"Lily was utterly brilliant and dedicated to Harry in a scary way. Harry told me about Quirrell burning up from his touch. That was the wards?"
Dumbledore nodded shortly. "Alas, they are gone now. Fallen due to the actions of those wretched muggles." He mourned the loss of those magnificent wards, which had fallen with Harry's death - or so Albus believed. The ward that he built tied into Lily's sacrifice, but when Dr. Zhou cut off the drains on Harry's magic, Lily's gift fell completely back into Harry. He was more protected at that point than he had been since his mother had first cast the ritual circle. But neither man in the office knew that. They both, instead, thought of what caused the wards to fall.
The less said about that, the better, so far as Sirius was concerned. "Potter House does not have war wards. But Black Townhouse does. It was my parents' house. It's a complete mess." Sirius sighed. He hadn't wanted to go there – it was his own Privet Drive – but he would, for Harry. "I'll clean it up. Get the dark objects out, do a physical purge of pests and the lot. I think Harry has an elf that has decided to adopt him." Dumbledore chuckled at that and nodded, thinking of the crazy elf and all the problems it'd caused the last year. "He'll help, I think, if I say it's for Harry. Meanwhile, you need to stay away from the kid. You make him mad, and he doesn't need that right now."
Through his century of adulthood, Dumbledore had, by necessity, learned patience and how to play the long game. He nodded sorrowfully, "I agree. For the time being. Harry is generally happy, doing well in classes, but wants nothing to do with me. Indeed, I sometimes feel grateful he didn't inherit the stare from the basilisk when he looks at me. There wouldn't be enough mandrake in the world."
"You're a convenient target. He never got to face the Dursleys. He'll move on, I think, once he begins talking about it. But it's too soon, too fresh right now. Give him time with the mind healer, ok?" Sirius pled. He knew that Dumbledore's motivations were good, but he didn't often see the individual in his plans for the protection of society.
"I cannot believe that you're going to live in that pit of torture."
Andromeda Tonks's dander was up. Her cousin, the only decent Black she knew, was going to voluntarily reside in Creepy Central, otherwise known as Black Townhouse. He'd spent most of the last two days there, assessing, facing memories.
Memories he shouldn't have, yet alone have to relive.
Andi had several memories of her own of the place, and none were less than horrifying. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like to grow up there. The elves, Circe's sake… the elves tortured the kids. How depraved did a wizard have to be to so corrupt the purity that was elf magic to the point where it would torture children?
Not that Walburga and Orion should have been blessed with Siri and Reg to begin with. The boys must have been stolen and blood adopted, Andromeda was convinced. Her own parents were heinous, but even they didn't reach the depths of depravity that Orion and Walburga did.
"Drom, I know it's not ideal. But Dumbledore is right." Sirius sat on the sofa gracefully and fixed himself a tea from the set she'd had out.
Bringing up that man in the conversation couldn't ever end well, and a bit of the Black Madness seeped through in his cousin's feral growl.
"Hear me out," Siri pled before taking a fortifying sip. "Through no fault of his own, Harry is the focus of the ire of the dark. They've been after him since before he was born. Lils did some amazing magics to protect him, but those cursed muggles destroyed it. Say what you will about Grimmauld, but it has war wards."
"And you'll soon have several thousand galleons fungible thanks to today's decision," Andromeda's husband, Ted, came into the room. "It's the talk of the ministry."
Sirius nodded.
"Tell me the right people are actually going to pay? They're not just going to push through new taxes," Andi demanded as she lifted her face for a greeting kiss from her beloved.
Sirius averted his eyes, attempting to give some privacy to the tender moment. "Mmm, Robbie flooed earlier with the details. He went after the Fudge, Crouch, and Bagnold estates directly. He believed – and I agree – that he was more likely to get a decision in our favor if he went after individuals and not the government in general. He's also pushing for laws that would put checks and balances in even in times of war."
"He also put forward the papers to block the Boy Who Lived garbage," Ted informed them as he sat next to his wife, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. She smacked at his legs and he laughed, trying and failing to move out of her way.
"Our cousin won't take that at all well," Andromeda murmured as her hand rubbed on her husband's leg, soothing the small smack she'd given him.
Sirius sighed, hating being a third wheel, but loving the relationship his cousin had found. "Malfoy's already pissed I've blocked his access to all the Black accounts. My will is iron clad, too. He'll never see another knut."
"You've not neutralized Fudge. You've cornered him and pissed him off." Ted nodded. "He's a pathetic little weasel, but he got the top spot somehow. He has friends in low, dark, dank, dirty places. You'd do well to watch your back."
"I'm a Black. I'm always watching every direction. Paranoia is our major religion." Sirius chuckled then put down his cup. "I'm going to have a lie down before the evening meal, if that's alright?"
Andromeda knew what her cousin was doing and appreciated him giving her privacy with Ted. They'd been used to acting as they would since Dora moved out. "I'm serving at 6:30 sharp."
"Excellent."
The following week, after classes had resumed, Sirius picked Harry up from Hogwarts and escorted him through Professor McGonagall's floo to London.
"I see by the mulish expression on your face – remind me that you need some basic occlumency lessons – that you aren't fond of the idea of going to a mind healer?" Sirius asked as they were exiting the floo in the Leaky Cauldron. Sirius nodded to Tom and Harry waved as they passed through to the muggle side.
"I'm not a nutter," Harry grumbled.
"No, you're not. But you're super angry – righteously angry!" Sirius corrected at the glare he got. "Still, it gives us an excuse."
Brow furrowed; Harry semi-glared up at his godfather. What trick was Padfoot trying to pull? "Excuse me?"
Oh, how that cold voice reminded Sirius of Lily. He held in his smirk. "How else am I supposed to get you to Fezziwig?" Sirius stared straight ahead as they moved in the direction of HC.
"I'm working with Master Fezziwig?" For the first time since he got up that morning, Harry grinned.
Sirius returned that grin with interest as he glanced down at Harry after they crossed the street. "Indeed." He inhaled long through his nose and regretted it, instantly. Muggle civilization had its definite perks, but rubbish bins after a night of drinking were not one of them, and they were out in force that Sunday morning. "But if Albus knew you were getting outside potions tutelage, he'd balk. He likes to be in control, see?"
Harry rolled his eyes.
"To keep up the charade, you're going to have to meet with a mind healer. Just listen for half an hour or so. Then you can go work on potions."
Harry knew he was being played, and his jaw firmed, but he puffed out a breath and nodded shortly.
Sirius smiled inwardly. He still had it.
When they got to HC, Harry greeted some of the crew with Happy New Years and thanks and they thanked him for what he had sent for the holiday. Putting it off no longer, he went to his appointment. After all, sooner begun, sooner done.
He sat in an office on the third floor of the building – he'd not been up here much in the summer. It was more an office than a medical station, or so it seemed to him.
The woman was of average height – taller than Harry, but not too much so – and comfortably padded. Her eyes were warm and not at all judgmental. Harry felt his back loosen just a bit as she held out a hand with a warm smile.
"My name is Fiona Crenshaw. I'm a mind healer and a doctor of psychology – on the not-magic side." Harry looked at her and nodded briefly then back to the walls, studying the paintings there. Blues, greens, greys, calm… it really was a very peaceful space. But Harry was having none of it. He just had to listen. He didn't have to participate. "Today, I'm just going to tell you about myself, and you can ask questions. Ok?"
Harry nodded again but said nothing. The chair was obviously magical as it comfortably sized to Harry when he sat across from her in the small seating area. There was no desk between them, just a little area rug with a table on it. There was a tea setting, and the doctor prepared her own while he denied wanting any.
"My parents were both muggleborn." She stated as she stirred some milk into her brew. "I went to school with your parents." That got his interest, and he looked straight to her. "I was in Hufflepuff. I didn't really know them." She didn't lie, didn't try to make a false connection, and that got Harry's respect. He continued to watch her as she spoke. "I also was really, really busy, getting ready for O levels alongside OWLS; A levels alongside NEWTS. My parents wanted me to blend, you see, since it was pretty obvious that the blood war would target people like us first."
Harry couldn't imagine how many people this lady – doctor – Dr. Crenshaw knew that had died because of the dark tosser. But he wasn't going to say a word. He didn't want to be here. Noting that she had somehow reached her client, Fiona kept speaking.
"I have worked with Amanda – Ms. Hook – with a lot of students like you. You certainly aren't the first magical child to be abused by intolerant, or simply terrified, nonmagicals. Of course, most of my patients are at St. George's."
Harry perked up at that. He was going to do his regular-side testing through St. George's, but he still didn't know what it was.
"What is St. George's?" It came out before he could stop it, and Fiona hid her smile, answering his unintended question.
"It's a technical school. It has lessons in practical magic as well as what you need to pass GCSE's and even get to uni."
"Wish I'd gone there." Harry muttered to himself.
"Ah, there's the rub. Hogwarts is for the mages who want to hob and knob. And you're legacy. If you'd gone to St. George's Academy, well, the traditionalists would probably close it. We've stayed open in the interest of educating low-end magicals and squibs so they can live in the normal world and still do magic. Many muggleborn send their kids to us. But the traditionalists don't think squibs and mudbloods should be educated. Most of them don't want squibs and mudblods to exist. If you'd applied to St. George's, you'd have been denied admittance."
Harry wanted to rail that it wasn't fair, but he'd plenty of evidence that life was never fair.
She continued on in her calming voice, talking about the magical world, the mundane world, and how she and people like her – such as Dr. Dan – bridged both. She talked about some of the mental arts and some of the skills that non-magicals had perfected. Before she ended the session, she told him of the paintings that were on the walls and where they had come from. Then, without prodding him at all, she stood.
"It's been lovely chatting with you today. May I call you Harry?"
Harry nodded, looking for the trick. He was done? But she just smiled. "I think Crispin is waiting for you in his lab. It wouldn't do to keep the potion master waiting. His revenge could be terrible!" Her eyes twinkled, showing she was only joking, but Harry nodded. Keep Snape waiting and you'd be scrubbing cauldrons or dissecting toads for hours.
He made his way down to Master Fezziwig's lab, shaking his head. Though he didn't know it, seeds had been planted: the peaceful, open room; the calming, interesting paintings; The view into other parts of magical society. They would all remain, in the back of his mind, and he wouldn't be so against going back to talk to Dr. Crenshaw.
Through the fall term, Harry's habits had changed slightly. He spent some time with Ron, playing games, but not nearly as much as he had in previous years. He spent more time with Neville, practicing magics and talking about the magical world and their families. He spent a great deal of time studying – often with Hermione – in the library than he ever had in the past… though by the end of term she'd been so busy that sometimes she couldn't meet with him. In his bag, he always had the books Mr. Steppenage and the others had got for him. And when he was alone, or feeling down, he read through some of these.
Finally, after exchanging letters with Sirius a few times, he was able to open his parents' journals without trepidation. He started with his dad's – James was so like Fleamont, James's father, though James the boy who wrote in a journal wouldn't have known that. Harry enjoyed the parallels and the differences. And soon, he felt strong enough to read his mother's journal. He had never heard either of his parents' voices, in his memory. But reading their words was a balm he didn't know he needed.
Harry would spend a block of time between writing subjects reading his parents' journals or his grandparents' journals, at a table that had become his in the library. He learned his family's past and some of the adventures his parents had.
Along the way, he gathered prime blackmail on Sirius and Professor Lupin if he ever needed it. Not that Professor Lupin had introduced himself to Harry, personally. He'd figured out the man was a werewolf. And Lupin himself had a terrible issue with it. But that was no reason for him to ignore Harry's existence. He was supposed to be best friends with Harry's dad.
Harry didn't know why Lupin had never said anything, but he'd wait for that man to figure out which end was up. Harry had enough of adults who didn't do right by him.
One afternoon, Harry was reading his mum's journal when Hermione sat next to him.
"What are you reading?" She whispered as she started to organize the materials she'd brought. She looked a little less tired than she had before winter hols, but not much. Harry wondered what was wrong – if she was sick or something – but knew he'd hate people poking at him. So, he just answered her question.
"My mum's journal. Mister Steppenage got family journals for me to read from the vaults at Gringotts."
"Oh! That's wonderful!" She reached over and squeezed his hand. Then she got out her runes books and started on the assignment. Harry put his mum's journal away and worked companionably with Hermione, finishing runes (and proofing each other's work), doing the practice work for arithmancy, reading ahead a little for charms and transfigurations.
They were meeting Neville and Ron for practice with the spell work in just twenty minutes, so they packed up and put the borrowed books on the return platform. As those books magicked back to the proper shelf, they nodded a farewell to Madame Pince, who simply sniffed in return.
As they left the library, Harry muttered, "She wasn't Petunia's full sister."
Hermione looked quizzical. She knew he wasn't talking about the stuffy librarian.
"My mum. Petunia's dad was killed in a factory accident before she was even born. Their mum, Rose, married my granddad when Petunia was like a year old. They were half-sisters. I think maybe my granddad was a squib – or his mum was. Mum repeats some of the stories her own gran used to tell."
Hermione nodded encouragingly. "My gran used to tell stories, too. I sometimes play 'what if' in my head, because some of her stories were spot on. Of course, they could just have been fairy tales?"
Harry was quiet for a minute. "I didn't want to read it, you know. I read my granddad's first. Then I started on my dad's. But when he talked about marrying Mum, I had to read it. But I didn't want to."
"Why not?" Hermione encouraged. She figured this was one of those times she was supposed to listen, but she wanted to help him understand that she was listening, not demanding.
"Well, first, Dad talked a lot about her and her slimy friend that Dad hated – Snivellous Snape." The disgust in his voice was palpable.
Hermione wondered she didn't have to pick her jaw up off the floor. "Your mum was friends with Professor Snape?"
"Yeah, I was pretty horrified, too. I didn't want to hear nice stuff about him. And I thought she'd have a lot to say about Petunia. They were sisters, and I really didn't want to hear about that. I just started it at Halloween." He paused as they changed hallways, then continued when he didn't see other students around.
"She tells her family history first. The stories her gran told. How Tuney hated them but Lily loved them. She thought Tuney didn't like her gran. How she found out about magic from the poor boy down the street whose father was a mean drunk."
Hermione slowed and looked at Harry, who looked down in shame. They stood, down the hall from the classroom they were going to meet their friends in.
"I don't want to be like him, Hermione," Harry whispered.
She knew what he meant. He didn't want his anger and bitterness to rule his like as Professor Snape obviously had done.
She squeezed his hand. "You never could be," she whispered. "You forgave Ron."
Harry looked up sharply. Hermione nodded to him with a small smile. "It's just going to take time. But you'll be okay."
He was quiet for a minute. "Pinky swear?" He asked with a small smile.
She laughed. "Come on. I want to practice the color changing charm!" They heard Ron haranguing Neville about something as the two boys made their way to the room. And the four friends had a fun hour before the evening meal, practicing some of the magics they'd learned.
The second Sunday after break found a very tired Sirius escorting Harry from Professor McGonagall's office.
"Why do you look so tired?"
"Oh, I had to start work on our house. We're going to live in the house I grew up in."
Harry knew from his dad's journals that Sirius hadn't had a good home life.
"You shouldn't have to go back there." Harry muttered. Sirius looked at him with a questioning eye. "I'm reading Dad's journals. You shouldn't have to go back there. They were mean to you."
Sirius rubbed Harry's hair and smiled sadly. "They're all gone. Well, except the terrible elf. Speaking of, do you think your elf would help me? It's a ton of work."
Harry nodded. "Yeah, he'll help. He loves dangerous stuff, especially. I think the Malfoys damaged him. Anyway. I'll tell him to listen for your call if he wants. His name is Dobby."
Sirius nodded and opened the door to HC. They greeted the receptionist – the medicals were obviously busy in treatment rooms – and made their way upstairs.
As Sirius knocked on the door to his own therapist, Harry inhaled deeply.
Then he raised his hand and knocked at Dr. Crenshaw's door.
"You came back." She smiled as she greeted him. Harry shrugged.
"Well, this time, I want to work a little with you." As she guided Harry to the seating area, he noticed the tea tray with some of his favorite scones. His stomach rumbled – he hadn't eaten enough at breakfast to satisfy the need the healing potions put on his system.
Harry remained silent, though he wasn't as stiff as he'd been the previous week.
"Please, fix yourself some tea. I can hear that stomach rumble from here. The scones are quite good, I promise."
"Thanks," Harry whispered and fixed himself a small plate and cup. As they settled, he noticed some books on that table that hadn't been there the prior week.
"Ah, I see you've noticed your presents. These are for you." She pushed two books at him, but he made no move to take them. The top book, interestingly called "Wherever You Go, There You Are" was obviously muggle in origin. But at least one other – "Magicks of the Psyche" was magical. "Though I know that Hogwarts keeps you busy with work, and that you're trying to keep up on the non-magical side, you have an assignment. I want you to learn to meditate. It's essential for you to learn some control over your emotions."
"Sirius said the same." Harry admitted reluctantly, then took a small sip of tea, thinking. He thought about the anger that still ruled Snape's life. Harry needed to do something. He didn't want to be like that. "He wants me to learn something called occlusion or something?"
"The art is called occlumency. The first step is to be able to meditate quickly and master violent emotions at will. And though you haven't asked why, I'll tell you my reasoning: it's twofold. You've had a few… frustrating… interactions with adults, since the summer?" At his nod, she continued. "Your reaction is almost certainly anger, correct?" Harry's jaw firmed, but he nodded again. "Quite understandable," Fiona concurred. "They all make me angry, too. However, if that anger controls you, you aren't able to regulate your reactions. You could very well do or say something that could irreparably damage your psyche. Also, you're extremely powerful. If you do something fueled in hate, you could seriously harm or kill someone else. Then you'd have to live with that."
Thinking on how he still had nightmares about killing Quirrell, though Quirrell brought that shite on himself, Harry paused. He didn't want to be a killer.
"And as a bonus, upon talking with Mr. Black about what he hoped you to gain from these sessions, she handed Harry the bottom book, which was titled 'Your Inner Animal.' "Meditation is the first step to animagus training. I understand that your father achieved this incredibly difficult transformation. You'll have to ask Mr. Black for more details, as I don't have them."
Harry reached out a trembling hand to accept the book. He looked at the other two, the muggle and the magical. Then he nodded. "OK. I'll try."
They got to talking – or rather she did. She talked about the different types of meditation she'd studied, and how different things worked for different people. She talked of how some magical families had rites or rituals that increased meditation abilities, and Harry thought of the grimoire he'd yet to really delve into. He'd been more interested in history than reading about family magic.
And there were only so many hours in a day.
The rest of their time together passed quickly, and Harry made his way to Fezziwig quickly, his mind full of possibilities.
"Neville, have you ever heard of Occlumency?" The two boys were studying for a charms exam in an unused classroom. Harry felt well prepared and had put away his notes, not wanting to over-study, in favor of the meditation book.
"I have. I read about it in a book on esoteric magics that my mum had. Where did you hear about it?"
Harry sighed, looked down at the meditation book again. "Sirius is taking me for mind healing." His whisper hinted at shame, but Neville heard none of that.
"Lucky," Neville muttered.
That shocked Harry. "What?"
Neville sighed, sitting back in his chair. "I still have nightmares. About my parents. My uncle. My gran. It was bad, this hol, since school has been so good this year, and I could see the difference." Neville and Harry didn't share much of their traumas, but each knew the other and that they could trust the other. Neville shook his head, looking out the stained glass window. "I think there might have been some spell damage from the attack that hurt Mum and Dad, which is why I have some memory problems. I wish I had someone who could take me to a mind healer."
"God, Nev, I'm so selfish. I'm sorry." Harry shook his head, running his hand through his birds' nest of hair.
"No, no. You've had it worse," Neville assured his friend.
"No, I haven't," Harry said, sternly, remembering how Augusta treated Neville. He then mitigated his statement with a wry grin. "I think we're tied in the shite Olympics."
Neville chuckled but kept his gaze on the table.
"You want to borrow my meditation books? We can learn together?"
Neville looked up. "Seriously?" At Harry's nod, he smiled. "Yeah. Yeah," he repeated with a nod. I'd like that."