Chapter 12 – Aiding and Abetting

Minerva McGonagall was a remarkably busy woman. She was a leading expert and tenured professor of one of the hardest and most dangerous magical disciplines at one of the leading schools of magic. She was the head of the infamously rambunctious house at said school, and the deputy headmistress to top it off. While Albus Dumbledore was a very competent wizard, spokesperson, and scholar, he wasn't particularly fond of his administrative duties, leaving her to pick up most of his slack.

So, when the headmaster asked for volunteers to proctor the Potter boy's delayed exams, she had been reluctant to give up the little free time she had over the summer. Filius Flitwick had immediately volunteered, which didn't surprise her. She knew her long-time friend and colleague harboured intense guilt over his student's kidnapping at the hands of Quirrell. She also knew that the two had something of a mentor-mentee relationship. What exactly the two had bonded over, she didn't know but was glad to see him guide the poor boy, nonetheless.

She too harboured a little guilt towards the boy. When Argus had caught the boy sneaking around after curfew back in spring, she feared she'd overreacted. With the troll from earlier in the year and someone having made multiple attempts to steal the stone, the staff were all on edge. While they didn't know it was Quirrell, they were fully aware of what the troll and the broom jinxing had meant. So, when she found the one boy who was clearly a target in both those cases in the bloody Astronomy Tower of all places, she'd lost her cool.

Minerva had watched her house – the house of the brave and the chivalrous – turn on one of their own at the drop of a hat. It was a stark reminder of the cruelty that children were capable of. She had been very ashamed of her lions then, and a little ashamed of herself for the part she played in Potter's ostracism. She convinced herself it would be a good lesson. She convinced herself it was for his own good.

Thankfully, Potter seemed to have found himself good friends. She'd been ready to intervene when she saw one of her Quidditch players beckon Potter over in the Great Hall. She'd been relieved when she saw the team rally around the boy. While she was ashamed of how Gryffindor had reacted, she was immensely proud of her Quidditch team. Oliver Wood seemed to have a keen eye for not only talented players but good people to boot.

Watching the boy not be utterly friendless and vulnerable, with older students like Spinnet, Johnson, and even the Weasley twins scaring off the more hostile students, did a lot to assuage her guilt.

She knew her punishment had been too harsh – just a little.

She later admitted that to Filius and Pomona Sprout over a glass of firewhiskey. She certainly wouldn't admit that to the Potter boy – Merlin knew what that would do to his ego. She had no intention of turning the quiet and well-mannered boy into another James Potter.

Filius had attempted to convince her to join him, stooping so low as to suggest helping him would make up for her overreaction earlier. It had been him pointing out that the boy wouldn't be able to play Quidditch next year if he weren't in good academic standing that had her standing in front of his house.

Minerva's nose wrinkled as she took in her surroundings. Identical houses greeted her with red brick walls and asphalt shingles on the hipped roof. The same carefully mowed lawns, and even the same make and model of cars in the front. It looked just as dull as when she'd last visited the place eleven years ago.

It brought back memories of a worse time. It was a time that was cause for celebration for most but one of mourning for her. The fall of Voldemort, the death of James Potter and his wife, and the miraculous survival of the boy she was here to see.

The last time she'd met the boy's relatives, she hadn't gotten a good impression. She thought they were rather judgmental and cared too much what others thought of them. That was why she'd convinced Filius to go to Potter's house in the late stages of the evening so that others wouldn't ask too many questions.

They'd been late, and that was why she and Filius were knocking on Harry Potter's door in the middle of the night. They arrived before midnight, so at least they weren't absent.

Just very, very tardy. She blamed Pomona, who'd gotten her into an intense discussion on Pride of Portree's chances of winning the league this year. They'd concluded that the chances were 'very high', but she'd lost track of time and Filius, who she'd promised to wake from an afternoon nap, hadn't reminded her.

The door swung open, and Minerva was greeted with the unpleasant sight of a large man with a hilariously proportional walrus moustache. She vaguely remembered his name to begin with a V. Vincent? Victor? No, this man didn't seem like a Victor.

"Who knocks on someone's door in the middle of the bloody night? What do you want?" The man asked irately, his eyes unfocused in the darkness.

"We're here to see Harry Potter," Flitwick announced cheerily despite the odd hour. The man's face purpled and his expression turned ugly. Immediately, Minerva knew that something was terribly amiss.

"You're his ilk, aren't you?" The man spat, and his hands clenched into fists. Her eyes narrowed. "Sod off then; your kind isn't welcome here."

He tried to shut the door in their faces, but Filius waved his wand, and the door froze in place. The man growled in frustration as he shoved the door with his entire body, just for it to remain locked in place.

"You – you put that stick away before the neighbours see," the man's beady black eyes darted about the street as if expecting someone to pop out of the bushes with a camera.

"Let us see Harry Potter," Filius said again; his usual cheer replaced by a cool tone. "We're his teachers, and we're here to help him make up his exams."

"Make-up exams?" the man chortled, giving up on the door. "Not surprised. The boy was always rather thick. Always had to cheat to beat Dudders on a test."

"Potter is one of my best students," Minerva spoke for the first time, barely getting the words out through her clenched jaw. She didn't trust herself to say more. The next words she spoke might be a statute-breaking curse.

"Indeed, a rather smart boy; like his mother," Flitwick nodded, though his words also sounded strained. "Once again, I must ask that you let us see Harry Potter."

The man's face purpled, but before he could retort, a faint hoot caught their attention. "Ruddy owl! I ought to take that thing out back and put it down!"

If Minerva remembered correctly, Potter owned an owl. Filius seemed to have the same idea, for he smoothly brushed past the large man and started hopping up the stairs. Normally, she would be against such impropriety, but in this instance, she was willing to make an exception. The instincts she'd honed from meeting students from all sorts of backgrounds over decades of teaching told her something was very wrong.

Suddenly, this visit was about more than just some exams.

She followed Filius up the stairs, wand clutched tight in her hand. The large man blustered behind them but didn't make any moves to stop them, warily eyeing the foci in their hands.

She and Flitwick walked down the hallway, listening for the hoot again. She looked at the pictures on the walls. After the initial surprise when they didn't move or react to her presence, she realised that every picture had one of three people: the large man they'd run into downstairs, a boy around Potter's age that she was sure was at least three times his size, and a tall, thin-faced woman who, despite having no resemblance whatsoever, had to be Lily's sister. Notably missing from the pictures was Potter himself.

The foreboding feeling in her gut intensified.

At the end of the hallway was a door with five locks and a bloody cat flap. Minerva knew, from the increased sense of smell afforded to her by her Animagus form, that she was the closest thing to a feline to enter this house in a long time.

"Why do I get the feeling Harry doesn't own a cat?" Filius asked gravely.

"Because he doesn't."

Filius sighed tiredly and waved his wand, and the locks clicked open. She pushed the door and walked into the room.

A startled yelp greeted her as a small boy in far-too-large clothes hurriedly shoved a piece of parchment into his pillowcase. Minerva knew that the Potter men were all rather skinny – as James and his father Fleamont had been – but Harry was criminally so. Rags that would be too large on a boy thrice his size hung off his skeletal frame like curtains.

The only other things in the room were a tiny drawer that doubled as a nightstand, a desk that realistically couldn't be used for much more than reading letters, and a small, spindly bed with thin covers that she knew couldn't be sufficient to keep out even a cold breeze. A tiny plate, with half a boiled chicken breast and a tin of tomato soup, lay on the desk, clearly having been slid through the cat flap. In the corner, a pure white snowy owl sat in a cage soiled with her own droppings. The owl hooted in greeting at the sight of them.

"Professor Flitwick? Professor McGonagall?" Harry Potter asked with wide eyes. "You actually came."

"Of course, Potter," Minerva said dryly, still surveying the room. "Your exams won't write themselves, will they?"

The boy winced. "Right… exams…"

She raised an eyebrow. "Have you not been studying?"

"No, sorry, Professor," the boy said quietly. His eyes didn't leave the floor. "My aunt and uncle locked all my school things away as soon as we came back. I haven't been able to do any homework or study. I'm really sorry."

She'd seen many muggleborns go through rejection from their family. She hadn't expected it to happen to Harry Potter though. She'd trusted Dumbledore when he placed the infant boy with the Dursleys. Clearly, Albus had been wrong.

Minerva's lips pressed into a thin line. "Can you take me to your things?"

Potter looked at Filius. At the other professor's gentle smile, he nodded and took her to the cupboard under the stairs.

"Everything is in here," he said quietly, looking around worriedly.

Minerva cast a quick revealing charm. "Your relatives are all inside their bedrooms. They will not disturb us."

Her guess had been right, for the boy visibly relaxed. Her teeth ground against each other as she tamped down her anger. She cast an unlocking charm on the cupboard, and it swung open. Inside was a beaten old trunk, on which she transfigured legs before ordering it into his bedroom.

What she saw underneath the trunk confused her. There was a mattress and a pillow, both dirty and yellowed. A few clothes – a pair of socks and shorts – were stuffed into a makeshift stand. It was too small for any adult to fit in, but clearly, it had been slept in. Just not for over a year.

For a moment she wondered if Potter's relatives owned a house elf. Then she remembered that they were muggles. She glanced at the boy, who looked at the cupboard with gaunt familiarity. Her blood boiled.

There was no house elf occupying that cupboard. Just Harry Potter.

She marched up the stairs after instructing Harry to get whatever he needed from the cupboard and follow her. She found Filius cleaning the owl and offering it some water. The trunk rested against the foot of the bed. He turned around at the sound of her footsteps, and his frown deepened at the mutinous look on her face. Harry walked in behind her holding his wand and broomstick, looking apprehensive. He flinched at the look on her face. She drew her expression back to neutrality.

"Harry," Filius asked slowly. His tone was tired and weathered with the burden of experience. "Do your relatives treat you well?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally. Filius looked at him sternly, and he wilted under the professor's gaze.

"They say they treat me as well as I deserve," he said quietly. Minerva took in a sharp breath.

"Do they beat you? Do they feed you enough?" Filius asked, looking Harry over. The look on Harry's face answered both questions, even if he didn't respond.

Minerva was certain she could answer at least that second question for him. An entire year at Hogwarts, and she'd never wondered why the boy always wore his school robes. She assumed that he was simply excited to be in the wizarding world. Merlin knew a lot of muggleborns could be found even sleeping in their robes they were so excited. The reality, she now realised, was that he didn't have any decent clothes that fit him and didn't show his malnourished frame to the world.

The two professors exchanged a grim look that clearly asked, "What do we do?"

"We have to speak to Albus," Filius said. "Surely he's unaware of this."

"He left the boy here," she said solemnly and heard Harry gasp. "I doubt he knows, but he still ceded guardianship. The muggles are Potter's guardians. I doubt there's much he can do immediately."

Filius frowned and Minerva continued. "What about the Muggleborn Protection Act? As professors, we're allowed to take a student away from harmful muggle guardians."

Harry looked hopeful but deflated when Filius shook his head. "Muggleborn Protection Act. He's a half-blood."

She cursed, and Harry looked at her, bewildered.

"We can't just leave him here," Minerva said, frustration seeping into her voice despite her best efforts. "Morgana knows what they'll do to him because of our visit."

"I'm not saying we leave him here," Filius said smoothly. "But we are still professors, and we cannot act rashly and reflect poorly on ourselves and the school."

A loud rumble outside caught her attention. The three occupants of the bedroom turned and saw a blue Ford Anglia outside their window. Except, Harry's bedroom was on the second floor. The car was bloody floating.

With a bullshit tolerance built from three years with the Weasley twins and seven with the Marauders, Minerva sighed resignedly. She peered into the driver's seat to find none other than the twins. Their youngest brother, Ronald, sat in the backseat.

"Professor McGonagall! Professor Flitwick! Fancy seeing you here," said the twin in the passenger seat.

"Nice weather we're having," yelled the other twin over his brother. He grinned at them. The youngest Weasley looked positively nauseous at the sight of the professors.

"Keep your eye ahead before you get yourselves killed," Minerva snapped, already feeling a headache coming on. The twin obediently turned back around. "What in Merlin's name are you three doing? How did you get your hands on this – this contraption?"

"Don't you worry about that," said the passenger-side twin. "Just to clarify – you can't give us detention because we're on break, right?"

"Detention? I should report you two to the ministry!" She said, "What were you two thinking?"

"I'm here too!" Ron said indignantly, and the two twins whacked him over the head.

"If I were you, Weasley, I wouldn't volunteer myself for punishment," Filius shook his head. "Mighty irresponsible, flying a car across the country. What are you three doing here, anyway?"

"Hermione and I thought Harry might be in trouble with his relatives," Ron said. "He hasn't responded to his letters all summer, so we were worried."

"You've come to check up on him, or to take him with you?" She asked sharply.

"We were thinking of asking if he wanted to come back with us," Ron said. "I'm sure Mum wouldn't mind."

"I'd love to go!" Harry piped up, flushing under the looks of the two adults.

She hummed her acknowledgement and Filius looked at her curiously.

"Filius, I just remembered I have an urgent task to complete. We must leave immediately," she said, and her colleague's eyes widened. "Of course, we cannot condone you three taking Potter anywhere, but if we were to return all of his things exactly how we left them, and you were to – say, take him away without our knowledge – we couldn't do anything about it."

"For that matter," Filius tapped his wand against the window and the bars disappeared. It's getting a little stuffy in here."

Minerva flicked her wand, and the trunk hobbled back down the stairs.

"I'm just returning the trunk to its cupboard," she said in response to Flitwick's questioning look. "Wouldn't want to be caught aiding and abetting any… tomfoolery, now, would I? Now we really must run. I will trust you boys to lock the cupboard and the trunk whenever you deem it necessary. And Potter, do write either myself or Professor Flitwick so that we may finally be done with your exams."

The two professors walked down the stairs, and Minerva quickly set a low-powered silencing charm outside the master bedroom.

"Wouldn't want the aunt and uncle to be disturbed by the boy's exams, you know?"

Filius snorted and shook his head. The two professors exited to the street, before taking one last glance at the twins, who were piling out of the car into Harry's bedroom. Then, they disapparated with a loud crack and reappeared outside the front gates of Hogwarts.

The gates swung open for them, and they walked back to the castle.

"Did we do the right thing?" Minerva wondered. "That felt rather rushed."

"It was genius, Minerva," Filius said reassuringly. "I'm more concerned with the existence of that car. I need to have a word with Arthur. That man's obsession with muggles is going to cost him his job one day."

"You think that car belonged to Arthur Weasley?"

"Oh, almost certainly," he nodded. "Let us hope this is the last we hear of it."

She snorted, then sobered. "What do you plan to do about Potter's situation? We can't simply wash our hands of it. Bless their hearts, but the Weasleys aren't equipped to take in another child, though they certainly would if asked."

"Indeed. First, we must talk to Albus. I have some questions for him."

"Oh, get in line, Filius," Minerva had a feral expression. "Eleven years ago, I warned him against leaving Potter at the Dursleys. He didn't listen then, but I'll make him listen now."

Filius snickered. "Oh, I would love to see that. How about we go see him now?"

"Sounds like a splendid idea."

The duo diverted from their offices towards that of the headmaster.

"Ice mice," she said to the griffin statue, which shifted to the side. Minerva knocked on the door and opened it, not waiting for acknowledgement. Albus looked up from his desk pleasantly. He had a visitor, however. Standing across from the headmaster, Snape looked at the two new arrivals impassively.

"Minerva, Filius," Albus said genially. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You see, Albus, Minerva and I just returned from a home visit. If you remember, Harry Potter hasn't completed his exams," Filius said. Minerva suppressed an eyeroll at Snape's sneer at the mention of the boy's name. "We just returned from a visit to his residence."

"Ah, splendid," Albus nodded. "I imagine you might not have completed your grading, but I admit to being a little curious. How did he do?"

"I wouldn't know, since we never got around to proctoring the exams," Minerva said, and she enjoyed watching Albus' frown deepen in confusion. Served him right. "He hadn't the chance to study, so Filius and I decided to delay his examination."

"Of course he didn't study," Snape sneered. "Lazy brat, just like his father."

Minerva's nostrils flared. "I seem to remember James Potter differently, Severus. I doubt he could have been top of his class in Transfiguration for three years straight if he was, as you so succinctly put it, a 'lazy brat'. This is a child, not his father. I expect you to remember that, professor."

Snape's lip curled but he was interrupted by Albus before he could respond.

"Minerva, Severus, please. What happened to young Harry?"

"When we went to his residence, we encountered his guardian – the vilest man I have ever met, and I've had Lucius Malfoy argue with me about his son's Transfiguration marks," Minerva said, her tone sour. "He wouldn't let us in, and Filius and I got a bad feeling about the way he spoke of Potter. Like he was some burden they had to carry. So, we went inside and found Potter in a tiny room. The door was bolted shut and locked from the outside. There was a bloody cat flap on the door where they were sliding in his meals. And meagre ones at that, if you looked at the boy."

Minerva a deep breath.

Filius continued, "he told us he hadn't been able to get any homework or studying done because his relatives had locked his things up. Clearly, after they realised he couldn't do any magic because of the ministry warning, they locked him in his room as well. On that topic, I'm starting to believe the warning might have been false if his wand truly was locked away."

"He took me downstairs, and lo behold, there was his trunk, broom, and wand, in this locked cupboard. But that wasn't the worst part, Albus. In the cupboard, I found something else," Minerva swallowed thickly, and Filius looked at her, alarmed. "There – there was a bed. It looked used. There were things in there. Children's toys – all broken and salvaged. I saw a tiny doll stuck together with muggle Spellotape. I think Potter used to sleep there."

Albus had turned as pale as his silver hair. Next to him, Snape's expression had gone blank.

"The Boy-Who-Lived – James and Lily's son – grew up abused, Albus," the grief turned to anger as she looked at the old wizard. "I told you they were not fit to raise him. I told you but you wouldn't listen. I knew they were too different from us, but I'd never imagined this. His lost childhood lies at your hands, Albus. That too from his own family. His mother's sister."

"What?" Snape's impassive expression had been replaced by sheer shock. "His mother's sister – Albus, you left the boy with Petunia?"

"I had to – she was his only blood," Albus said defensively. "The protections – the boy needed to be safe from those from our world who would do him harm. Lily's sacrifice made Petunia the best person for the job."

"What about those from the muggle world, Albus? His own family? If you knew – if Minerva and Severus both knew they were horrible people – why did you leave him there? He's been raised completely unaware. Unaware, not only of the society from which he hails but the very family that died for him," Filius raged, a rare sight for the calm and gentle man. "Until I told him, he didn't even know what Lily looked like, Albus. Until I told him, he didn't even know he had her eyes! Is this how we honour her memory? By letting her son be treated worse than a house elf in the most vile of families?"

Albus looked incredibly frail. Snape too looked weak and conjured a chair for himself to collapse into. The youngest man in the room took long, shaking breaths.

"You are correct," Albus said softly. "You are all correct."

"I was not aware of the extent of the boy's treatment, but I knew he was likely due a loveless childhood. I'd hoped – perhaps naively – that they would love him like their own. I had hoped that the loss of her sister would soften Petunia's heart. I was wrong."

Albus strode to an ornate oak table, upon which lay numerous devices. He picked one up and fiddled with it. "The protections upon the house are weaker than I expected. I suppose that confirms your suspicions. The boy cannot remain there."

He sighed deeply as if feeling each of his many years. "Now the question must be where he will stay? He cannot stay in the castle during the summer. Where can he go if not the Dursleys?"

"Anywhere else," Filius insisted. "Anywhere would be better than there."

"I wouldn't be so quick to judge," Severus said quietly. "Potter might have had a… rough life but it is still better than many. We must not act hastily."

"You are right, of course," Filius conceded. "I suppose we don't have to decide right now. From what I understand, the boy is with the Weasleys now."

Minerva nodded. "He will be safe and happy for the rest of the summer. I daresay that will be a first for him. We have failed him, Albus. No more. We must rectify our mistakes and hope he will forgive us for robbing him of his childhood."

Albus nodded and a morbid silence settled over the room.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I need to drown my sorrows in firewhiskey," Filius sighed and Albus waved him down. The headmaster summoned a large bottle of amber liquid.

"Stay. I imagine that will be on most of our dockets for the rest of the night," Albus conjured four tumblers and filled them. "I, for one, have a lot of guilt to drink away."

Filius and Minerva conjured chairs and accepted a tumbler each.

She raised her glass, "To doing better."

There was an array of clinking sounds and muttered agreements as the professors drank - not to the Boy-Who-Lived - but to Harry Potter.


Fred Weasley and his twin brother George had been called many things in the past. Bloody idiots (courtesy of Ron), incorrigible fools (thanks Mum), bad siblings (though Alicia had retracted it immediately), dunderhead and slow-headed and irrevocably brain-dead (Snape, Snape, and Snape again), and his personal favourite: 'blight on humanity' (that one was Aunt Muriel). Generally, Fred felt he and George deserved whatever names people called him, troublemakers that they were. One thing no one had ever called him was a bad friend.

He felt like a downright terrible one as he chewed on the tail of his quill.

Dear Alicia, read the first line of the letter. The rest of the parchment was blank.

He didn't know what to say. How did one usually tell their friend that their other friend slept in a cupboard growing up?

Fred wasn't as close to Harry as perhaps he ought to be, but he and his twin were the only ones in a position to help. He knew what he'd seen in the cupboard under the stairs. He'd thought McGonagall returning the trunk to the cupboard was a little excessive but had chalked it up to an oversight. In hindsight, he thought she might have wanted them to find the bed and the toys that had clearly once been used by Harry.

Perhaps she thought they, as his friends, could offer some comfort. They weren't the best ones for the job, but Fred was smart enough to delegate to the person who was.

Fred knew Alicia was Harry's closest friend and sat down to write her as soon as he finished degnoming the garden for his mum.

Now, he sat in front of an empty parchment not knowing what to say. He wrote a couple of lines before scratching them out. He repeated the process, nearly shattering his inkwell in his frustration. Finally, he decided to just recount the events of the night and ask Alicia for advice on how to proceed. It was really the only thing he could do.

Somewhere not too far away in the not-too-distant future, Alicia Spinnet seethed as she read the letter Fred sent her.

When the tired old owl arrived on her windowsill, bearing a letter from a Weasley, her initial reaction was surprise. She was friends with the twins, sure, but not close enough that they'd ever bothered to write each other beyond the occasional birthday wishes.

Her second reaction was suspicion. While she was certain that the twins wouldn't waste their prank pass during the summer, she'd still stayed as far away from the letter as possible while opening it, lest it explode in her face. The letter had been painfully mundane in appearance.

Then, she'd finally read it and had been furious. At Harry's relatives, the Dursleys, and at herself. How had she missed the signs? It was so obvious in hindsight. Harry's aversion to touch, his tendency to blame himself, and his propensity to expect people to abandon him. Traits she'd brushed off as insecurities and trivial little idiosyncrasies suddenly seemed so much more sinister.

How could she have been so blind?

She clenched the paper in her fist, rage building within her as she imagined a tiny Harry crying himself to sleep in his little cupboard, with nothing but broken, dirty toys and spiders for company. She let out a frustrated scream and threw a half empty mug of tea at the wall. It shattered into a million pieces and brown liquid splattered. She stared at the dripping tea and took heaving breaths. Her anger dissipated and all she was left with was a deep sadness for the boy she'd come to see as something like a little brother.

She swore loudly, retrieved a rag from the kitchen, and got to work cleaning up the mess she'd made. She thanked every deity that would listen that her parents were both at work and her brother was at a friend's place. She did not want to explain any of this to them. But maybe she should – they might be able to help. She filed that away for later.

As soon as she was done cleaning, she returned to her desk. She wrote out a quick response to Fred and added a note to give to Harry. She wasn't sure why a house elf was blocking her letters, but maybe Fred could circumvent him. That was still hard to believe, but she knew Harry wasn't a liar. Certainly not about something like this.

She'd just sent a letter off with the Weasleys' owl when another flew in. She smiled wide at the sight of the snowy white owl.

"Took you long enough," she grumbled to Hedwig as she petted her feathers. The owl snipped at her fingers, and she laughed. "Sorry, sorry. They probably locked you up. Or was it that house elf? Either way, I'm glad you're back in business."

The owl hooted and stuck out her leg, tied to which was a bundle of letters. She sifted through them, looking for her name. She found letters for Hermione, Katie, Oliver, and Angelina before finding one with her name on it.

She plucked her letter out of the bundle and Hedwig hopped out the window and flew off. She watched the owl soar – with more grace than the Weasley owl – and unfurled the parchment. She scanned through the letter, looking for any mention of the Dursleys, but all he talked about was how wonderful the Weasley home was, with an offhand mention of Dobby the house elf and how he hadn't received any letters. He apologised for a lack of correspondence despite her knowing it was no fault of his, which she found to be painfully in character for him.

How much of that was a consequence of his lacklustre childhood?

She groaned and rubbed her temples. Now that the cat was out of the bag, she knew she'd be analysing every one of his actions for such signs.

She penned a response, mentioning the note she slipped into Fred's letter and reassuring him that he wasn't at fault for his owl silence. She added one last note before tying the letter with a loose string. She pulled another piece of parchment toward her and chewed the end of her quill.

She needed advice – she was completely out of her depth – but she didn't want to spread the word about his circumstances. If he hadn't told her because he was embarrassed, telling others would only make things worse. She didn't want to hang his darkest secret out for everyone else to see. At the same time, what could she do? She was a fourteen-year-old girl who'd never dealt with anything of this magnitude before.

Perhaps one of the two Hogwarts teachers who had seen his living conditions could help. Maybe their head of house, Professor McGonagall? Or Flitwick, the teacher that Harry was closest with – the only other person who knew Harry's other secret: mage sight.

All she knew was that she wanted to see Harry for herself to dispel the terrible images in her mind. Would he look any different? Would he still look like the boy she'd known at Hogwarts? Fred said he looked starved. What the hell did that mean?

She wasn't sure of all the emotions that coursed through her, but rage was one that stood out from the rest like oil in water. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Harry had told her about some of his occlumency exercises and how they helped him with self control. She thought some of the breathing exercises he'd described could help her control her anger.

She'd been trying to replicate the mind-clearing exercises all summer to little success. She doubted she'd succeed now but tried, nonetheless. She didn't want to lash out at her friends again like she'd done to the twins.

In the darkness under her eyelids, her thoughts flashed across her mind.

"Clear your thoughts," Harry's voice echoed in a memory as he tried to coach her into entering what he dubbed the 'Nothing.'

The sound of his voice brought him to the forefront of her mind. Vivid images, real and imagined, appeared before her. A small, skeletal little boy curled up inside a broom cupboard that was barely large enough for him to lay in, holding a doll of Babbitty Rabbit that was missing its head. A boy laying in his sorry excuse for a bed asking why his friends never wrote him any letters.

The rage that filled her was unquenchable, and her attempts to stamp them down were for naught.

Her imagination gave way to memories. First, she saw Harry in the hospital, sobbing as he clung to her. Then she saw him on the Hogwarts Express, trying to hide his obvious emotional turmoil. Realisation hit her like icy water from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Had he been afraid of returning to the Dursleys? Was that why he'd been so reserved on the train? Was he mentally preparing herself for the abuse he would be subjected to?

How could she have been so blind?

The guilt bloomed from within the rage, giving her mind a new subject to latch onto. Arguments with her parents and her friends replayed in her head. Angry gestures she'd immediately regretted and hurtful words she'd never meant. Fred and George's outraged expressions when she'd called them bad brothers burned into her mind before morphing into Katie.

"I see you won't even talk to Harry, but you'll still use his goggles," she relived her own words. Each syllable, accentuated by the shock and hurt on Katie's face, cut into her like a knife. The loud clunk when Katie threw her goggles into the locker nearly made Alicia flinch.

Her mind latched onto Katie and the memories changed direction, reliving their two years of friendship. She revisited their first meeting at Quidditch tryouts, when the tiny first year had claimed she would "make the team or die trying."

She stopped trying to control her thoughts, and rewatched the first time she'd seen Katie cry: when Davies made those comments about her being undeserving of her chaser position. The first time she'd seen the girl cry of laughter: when Angelina suplexed Oliver after practice one time. The last time she'd seen her cry of laughter: at the end of year feast when Angelina turned golden.

Her memories latched onto Angelina next, and her favourite memories with her best friend flashed by.

"Angelina Johnson. I'm also trying out for chaser. What's your name?"

"Alicia, right? We were at tryouts together. Wanna pair up for the term?"

"You're telling me you could convince Hagrid to shave his beard, o silver tongue, but you couldn't get Snape to perform a basic human courtesy?"

"Hey, he'll wake up soon. Madam Pomfrey will have him right in a jiffy and you can yell at him to your heart's content."

"Of course, I bloody care if you and Katie talk to each other. You're my best friend; I hate seeing you like this!"

Then her mind went blank.

Darkness surrounded her, but she wasn't lucid enough to process it. It was peaceful, but she wasn't aware enough to feel it. Surrounding her was nothing. Now she understood why Harry called it that. She felt a moment of humour at the thought.

A thought.

She was ripped out of the darkness and her eyes shot open. She slumped forward on her desk and gulped large mouthfuls of air. The sunlight in her room was blinding and she blinked spots out of her vision as she readjusted.

A laugh bubbled out of her. She did it! It had taken her over a month, but she'd done it.

Excitedly, she unfurled Harry's letter and added a brief note at the end. She cackled as she put the quill down. Then, she had another idea, and she kicked herself for not having thought it up before.

She scribbled one last line at the bottom of her letter.

P.P.S. When are you and the Weasleys going to Diagon Alley?


A/N: Woo we're back. Thought I'd reply to some reviews that have accumulated since the last time.

To BlindJedi on chapter 8: Thank you! I tried to really capture the essence that made us all fall in love with HP as kids - the wonder and magic of the early books. I'm glad that I was successful.

To Smile Giver11 on chapter 9: I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and find the humor and seriousness well balanced. Its something that I tend to struggle with. I dont want things to be too serious and edgy, at the same time I dont want to turn the story into a marvel movie. I'm glad that the balance is good so far, and hopefully that will remain.

To emilysouza221b on chapter 10: I think you've seriously misinterpreted the points thing lol. Only Katie actually cared about the whole shebang. Harry was avoiding the team because he thought they'd be mad, not the other way around. They didn't care all that much, and were willing to accept Harry's reasoning which amounts to 'trust me bro'. Idk about you but if someone that I know decently well but am not particularly close to does something really really detrimental and wont give me a proper reason, I'm at least going to be suspicious.

As for Flitwick - an eleven year old comes up to you and tells you that your colleague (that you've worked with for multiple years) is a dark wizard and trying to kill him, you're telling me you wouldn't be a little skeptical? IMO Flitwick even investigating is a huge sign of his trust in Harry.

Either way, I hope that cleared that up. If not, that's totally fine. Characters have to make bad decisions, otherwise there would be no plot. If that pisses you off, well, that's fair enough. It was an unlikeable reaction. But people cant be perfect, and neither can good characters. Thanks for reading, and thanks for reviewing. Hopefully the next chapters are more to your liking!

To D.J. Scales on chapter 10 and 11: Thank you! And I agree, someone does need to crush the Dursleys. I got a good laugh out of your review, that caught me off guard lol.

To RagingFusion on chapter 11: OH HELLO REDDIT DUDE. You have no idea what an honor it is, as a fanfic addict, to hear that someone is addicted to my story. Holy crap that's an insane feeling. Still, I don't mind the badgering at all lol - as long its part of the review and not the entire thing. Every time I get a review is another time I feel motivated to get some words on paper. Thanks for the kind words and hopefully this chapter satiated you for a little while.

To GreengrassRebel on chapter 11: Welcome back! I used to enjoy your past reviews finding the tiniest inconsistencies and pointing them out. Really kept me in check lol. I fear I've gotten a little complacent since then, but since you haven't mentioned anything, I'll take that as a sign that I'm doing well.

And I'm glad to hear that you loved the letters. I'm so proud of them I could go on a whole rant about all the different stylistic, formatting, and grammatical choices I made to really make the characters stand out. Thanks for the review and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Until next time!