AN: I do not own Harry Potter or the Wizarding World Universe.

This story will span several years. How far it will go, even I don't know. I started this story and as of posting, am about 1/3 of the way through the 2nd book. There is of course editing, continuity, and a genuine desire to do this correctly. Posting hopefully will be frequent. I'm also pushing myself as an amateur fan fiction author for a difficult character. The age-appropriate actions of Harry Potter from his situation and at the same time push the story in a different direction. The character does change over time and it isn't all "woe is me" of the first few chapters. I made some hard choices early on for characters that made sense, at least in my mind. It will greatly impact and change the dynamic of the character growth and development. Those changes will also influence the canon time-line.

The usual warnings are here:

There will be no harem, however relationships will develop both romantic and platonic. No lemons.

This is a Mature writing and will have references to: child abuse, violence (both in passing and graphic as the scene requires), character deaths, strong language, contrasting views on difficult in-story topics, bashing of several characters/organizations and uplifting of those same characters/organizations, attempted realistic depictions of: owls, Snapes, magics, and student numbers, vague nudity for plot purposes, third-limited writing perspectives of different characters that increase in number over time, mental age-appropriate views, experiences, and understanding on topics, and finally a compassionate Greater Good Dumbledore (if this is even possible).

Chapter 1

A young boy's braying laugh came through the thin wood panel walls of the boot room off the garage. The single overhead light swayed as the boy's merriment increased, punctuated by heavy thumps. A shrill woman's voice, barely louder than her son and the television's volume, added to the cacophony.

Another young boy sat on a hard bench, looking at the barely illuminated papers scattered across the stone floor. He tried to ignore his aunt and cousin as he carefully wrote his essay on Baroness Thatcher's term as Prime Minister. Mrs. Livingston, his History and Geography teacher at the Royal Grammar School, gave him and his cousin homework. The young boy's job was to write two essays and let his cousin copy the one he liked the best.

A double honk, followed by the sound of the garage door opening, signaled the end of Harry Evan's alone time. He quietly gathered the papers and set them on the high counter by the interior door.

The sound of grunting and a car door slamming foretold his uncle's mood. Harry took a deep breath and waited. The thick door that led into the concrete garage opened to admit a big, beefy man with a large purple face and a double neck. His thick, dark hair, bushy black mustache, and dark, beady eyes squinted at Harry.

"Boy! Clean my shoes before starting dinner," Uncle Vernon demanded as he kicked off his shoes near the inner door. He didn't look back to see if Harry complied.

Petunia Dursley crossed her arms at the kitchen door, directly across from the boot room. The short hallway between the two rooms was the only place Harry could enter, as the downstairs guest bathroom was next to the boot room. Her narrow lips pursed as she watched Harry clean her husband's shoes with a worn rag before putting them away neatly.

Harry watched the rail-thin, blonde-haired woman with a long, slender neck out of the corner of his eye. She was not as physically dangerous as her husband, but her word was law within the house. Harry had long ago accepted his fate within the Dursley household.

James and Lilly Evans, his parents, died in a car crash. His father was a no-good, lay-about drunkard, while Petunia's sister was a freak. Harry was a freak, too. That is why he lived in the boot room. Petunia and Vernon allowed him to eat, sleep, and attend school. That would end when he was eighteen. They'd been perfectly clear on that.

"Good. I think some salmon and broccoli will do for dinner. Ensure you give Dudders extra cheese. I also want mash, and Vernon will want extra helpings of salmon," Petunia demanded before she disappeared into the kitchen.

Harry took a deep breath and complied. He grabbed two cookbooks from the cupboard nearest the inner door. Inside the house, it was significantly warmer than his boot room. It felt uncomfortable on his chilled feet. He silently crossed the small hallway into the spacious kitchen.

Uncle Vernon worked at Grunnings as a Senior Sales Manager. Harry knew he didn't get the position through any skill or networking. Someone bought the position for him and, with it, the current house the Dursley family enjoyed. He wasn't sure how they got the money, but it had something to do with his kidnapping as a one-year-old.

Harry quickly set to preparing a dinner he likely wouldn't get much of. As he worked, he considered, not for the first time, what exactly happened nine years previously. Snippets of overheard conversations and guesses were all he had to go on. Somehow, a friend of his father's abducted Harry for a couple of weeks after his parent's deaths. Then he was caught, and Vernon and Petunia negotiated to take Harry back in. It still made no sense.

Another law of the house Harry learned was that he was not to ask questions about anything. Even when he was punished unfairly for things he had no control over, he still wasn't allowed to defend himself. If he did, the punishments were worse. If Dudley, his overweight cousin, said Harry did something, his parents took him at his word.

Harry would get in trouble if anything unexplained or unusual happened in the house. A shiver went down his spine when he considered the five times something odd happened in public. Sometimes, his nightmares revolved around those punishments whenever they got home from those incidents.

Over time, Harry stopped talking unless directly spoken to. Words did nothing to help him, and he didn't want to talk to them anyway.

What didn't stop was his curiosity. He wanted to understand and knew the only one who would answer his questions would be himself. Laying on a slightly padded hard bench at night with a sleeping bag, he had nothing but time to think, wonder, and question.

"I want popcorn!" Dudley bellowed from the family room across the sizable two-story house.

"Yes, Popkins," Petunia called in a sickeningly sweet voice.

Harry struggled to set the large cast iron pan on the stovetop with both hands. He found the glass covering lid and went back to peeling the potatoes.

"Good, at least you did something right for a change," Petunia sighed before turning on the burner and walking to the locked pantry. She got the key off the hook above the fridge, well out of Harry's reach, and opened the flimsy, collapsing doors.

Harry looked away. Petunia and Vernon locked the pantry because they claimed Harry stole food from the pantry. He did, but he was never going to admit it.

His mother's family hated him, and he felt the same way about them. If they could get away with it without a truancy officer showing up, Harry suspected Vernon and Petunia would likely keep him in the boot room for the remainder of his life if they could. A perfect little servant… a slave to be hidden at all times. He turned back to the kettle that was coming close to boiling and, not for the first time nor the last, wished he'd died with his parents.

The one time he'd attempted to run away was one of the worst experiences of his life.

Harry trudged home from school and kept as far away from his cousin and his gang as possible. Michael Garner, Conner Franks, and West McDougall were the same age as Dudley and Harry. They all had the same class together, and the four terrorized their classmates whenever they could get away with it. Thankfully, the teachers at Royal Grammar School seemed to keep an eye on the troublemakers, but that protection didn't extend outside the school grounds.

Thursdays were always the best and the worst for Harry. He had remedial lessons in the library for speech therapy. Somehow, Petunia had a doctor provide proof that Harry had a mental handicap from the accident that gave him "that horrible scar." The same doctor talked Petunia into making Harry get glasses so he could see the blackboard in the classroom. That was a new experience and one he didn't mind. Harry hadn't realized the world around him was so sharp or detailed before.

The terrible, thin lightning bolt scar was on his forehead. Petunia hated it so much that she made him rub a cream-colored ointment on it every morning before she would even look at him. If he failed to do so, then he would receive a beating from his uncle. It was the only thing Petunia willingly bought for him. Harry allowed that mistake only to happen twice.

Punishments were the only time Harry was allowed in the family room. Often, his cousin would sit and laugh or mock him as Vernon's hand, belt, or paddle with holes cut out of it struck Harry's back, upper legs, or buttocks. Harry understood it was to enforce their law and took it. He tried not to cry or otherwise show any reaction, but it wasn't always possible. Tears wouldn't stop the punishment and only seemed to amuse or entertain his cousin.

Dudley and his gang split off for a pizza place they enjoyed. Harry, not having any money of his own, continued back to his boot room to read his latest book he'd stolen from the school library. No one at the school did an inventory of the books, and so far, no one had noticed his thefts.

On the way up the long, sloped driveway, Harry appreciated how far off the road Vernon's house sat. They had neighbors on both sides and behind, but a thick stand of trees encircled the plot. That didn't mean Petunia allowed her lawn to look shabby. She felt everything must be perfect and normal. For some reason, she blamed Harry for the trees blocking the neighbors from appreciating her home and grounds.

Harry got the mail from the little box on the side of the porch. Then he returned down the path to the wide garage and entered through the side door. He was not allowed to enter the front door for any reason.

Harry always quickly looked through the mail before depositing them on the kitchen breakfast table for his aunt to collect. If he saw a red stamp on an envelope, he knew to stay well away from his uncle. Also, any letters from his uncle's sister, Marge, were an omen of trouble ahead. Harry only got letters when the school sent official notices or updates.

It was a surprise when, in the middle of the stack of envelopes, he found one addressed to a one:

Mr. H. Potter

The Boot Room Off the Manor

28 Harvey Road

Guildford

Surrey

Harry frowned. There wasn't a Potter that lived here. He flipped over the heavy, coarse, yellowing letter to see a red wax seal on the back. What could only be a heraldry or crest of a lion, a snake, a badger, and a bird of some sort drew his attention. It took him a moment to realize there was an H between the animals.

Heraldry and ancestry were important to Vernon. On his father's side, he claimed to be descended from Robert the Bruce of Scotland. He kept a small collection of metal crests, folded tartans, and a heraldry chart in the family room by the fireplace. Harry knew it was for show. He'd heard Vernon coach Dudley about what to say when important people visited. The display pieces always went into the garage when Vernon's sister visited.

Harry flipped the letter back over again and studied to whom it was addressed. Mr. H. Potter. Something nagged at the back of his mind, but he couldn't remember what it was. The boot room was his bedroom, and the rest was also correct. However, that wasn't his name. He toyed with the idea of opening the letter, but he could be in trouble if it wasn't for him. Looking at the wax seal again, he knew he couldn't open it to look inside without destroying it.

Harry decided it wasn't worth it and went inside before depositing the mail on the kitchen breakfast table. He felt his stomach tighten when he realized he hadn't had much for lunch, and it was still a few hours before dinner. Returning to the boot room Vernon allowed him to sleep in, Harry stood on the wooden bench that served as his bed and rooted around the upper cabinet. There, he found the last bit of the biscuits he'd stolen from Dudley's lunch a few days prior.

Two hours later, Harry jumped when he heard an ear-piercing screech. His aunt had never made a sound like that. He froze, wondering if someone had broken in or if there was a rat. When there was silence for over six minutes, Harry began to worry. He would not go out and check on her; that might invite her ire.

The following sounds he heard were the bangs and slams of cupboards, pots, and pans from the kitchen. Harry grimaced. Petunia was in a terrible mood. He took a deep breath. Whatever happened meant, it would be a bad night for all of them. If Petunia wasn't happy, none of them were, least of all Harry.

He adjusted his bent glasses and looked around to ensure nothing was out of place in his boot room. Except for the homework he was struggling to finish for himself and Dudley, he found nothing that wasn't either clean, polished, or swept. He tried to return to what he was doing, but the sounds from the kitchen made him shiver. Petunia wasn't just mad; she was in a towering rage. That only happened when something strange or abnormal happened around Harry. His chest felt tight, and his back itched like a million ants had suddenly appeared under his shirt.

The storm that was his aunt seemed to settle down at some point. Fifteen minutes after that, Dudley returned home. The neighbors could likely hear his bellowed greeting of, "Mum, I'm home!"

Harry listened hard as Petunia fussed over her son. He couldn't hear the entire conversation, but whatever had upset his aunt seemed to have abated some. Harry wouldn't know how bad it was until Vernon got home. If they immediately went upstairs, he knew it was somehow his fault for her anger.

Harry went back to finishing the homework. Thankfully, it wasn't too hard, and most questions were multiple-choice. Per his instructions from Vernon, he ensured that he marked several incorrect choices on his paper and as many correct ones as possible for his cousin. Harry didn't know what to think about the order. Since Harry finished Dudley's homework, it did nothing to prepare Dudley for his tests. Harry didn't mind, as it kept Dudley from getting into trouble with his teachers and, in turn, prevented Harry from getting in trouble. He was happy with that.

As usual, Vernon honked his horn before entering the garage. However, it was a quick beep - a good sign. The car door didn't slam - another good sign. Harry didn't hear the tell-tale grumbling or muttering from the garage before Vernon entered the boot room.

"Boy, good, you've cleaned up. Wait until called to make dinner. We might go out tonight, and you can make soup or something," the beefy man said with a wave of his pudgy hand as he trudged towards the inner door. "Got a bonus for all my hard work. Sometimes, it seems to have been worth taking you back after all. Even with your freakishness," he spat.

Harry remained silent and looked at the far wall. He tracked Vernon's progress out of the corner of his eye and did not speak. He often heard Vernon's last two sentences, mainly when discussing "that night" in passing or Harry's future. Vernon couldn't wait to get rid of him but wouldn't send him to a boarding school. It cost too much money to be wasted on the likes of Harry. They couldn't just give Harry up for adoption, or they might risk losing their home. It was all so confusing to him. Harry wouldn't mind going to an orphanage.

There was a terrible feeling in his stomach that Vernon's satisfaction would quickly vanish once his aunt told him whatever had bothered her. One of three things would likely happen. First, Harry would be blamed and punished. Second, Vernon would also get angry and bluster around for a while before sitting in front of the television. Finally, and not at all likely, things would settle down like a typical night.

"What!" came his uncle's bellow from upstairs. Harry hadn't heard them go upstairs at all. The master bedroom was on the ground floor.

Harry closed his eyes and lay down on his bedding. It was the first option. He prepared himself the best way he could by breathing. His last paddling had been over two weeks ago when somehow Dudley broke an expensive vase in the entrance hall. Harry had been in his boot room and couldn't have made it fall over. There was no point in arguing, so Harry took the three swats and returned to his boot room with no supper.

Thundering footsteps from upstairs echoed around the house, followed by the squeak and thump of Vernon's bulk on the stairs. Harry rubbed his thumb against the meat of his index finger. Sometimes, it helped calm him. Harry watched the singular small picture frame of a four-door car next to the beach shake as Vernon drew closer to the inner door of Harry's allotted space. He did not look and continued to stare at the far wall. The door snatched open, and a purple face appeared in the doorway.

"Boy! Did you see anything in the post?"

Harry cocked his head to the side before shaking his head.

"Look at me when you answer, freak. Your mother should have abandoned such a worthless child. Look at me!"

Harry did as instructed, letting the comment about his mother fade from his mind. She was dead, and it might have been a kindness had she given him away. He did not look in Vernon's eyes. There was a book on animals that he'd read. They might consider it a challenge if you look them in the eyes. Harry always looked at people's noses or mouths.

"Did. You. See. Anything. In. The. Post?" Vernon demanded in a slow, barely contained rage.

Harry slowly shook his head but didn't move any other part of his body. When dealing with wild animals, keeping still was important.

"I see…." Vernon grumbled as he shifted in the doorway before straightening to his full height. "You are to stay here for the remainder of the night. Do not come out for any reason until your aunt or I come for you. We will let the school know that you are sick."

Harry nodded and went back to staring at the wall. The punishment wasn't unusual. The inner door slammed with enough force to rattle the wall. He could hear the latch slam home and the deadbolt turn, locking him out of the house.

Harry sighed and reached under the bench for his stolen book. How Things are Made: Machines was interesting to look at, more for the diagrams and pictures. He couldn't raid his stash of food until later that night, as it was in the garage, and he didn't want the door opening to alert Vernon or Petunia that he might be up to something.

The next day, they ordered Harry to go to school with Dudley. His cousin, somehow getting wider daily, demanded that Harry walk with him at least until the first crossing, where he usually met his gang. Harry complied but kept well out of arm's reach.

When they both returned home that Friday, Petunia had another severe expression on her face in the family room window. Harry checked the post and found it empty. He turned around and went back through the garage as Dudley came huffing and puffing up the incline to the house. "Shove off," his cousin huffed as he tried to push Harry out of the way.

With Petunia watching, he knew stepping out of the way would be a bad idea. Harry grunted as he hit the paving stones of the driveway. Dudley gave a satisfied laugh and continued up to the door with a bounce in his step.

Harry got up and realized that Petunia was still in the window. She watched him for some reason. Typically, Dudley's mother waited by the door for her son. That she wasn't doing her routine worried him.

Harry quickly made his way inside the garage and to the boot room. The regular ritual between Dudley and Petunia resumed, but something strange happened before Vernon came home from work.

Petunia opened the inner door and looked at him while he did homework. Harry tried not to react to this unusual behavior. Petunia did not just stare at him. She did her best not to interact with him if at all possible.

"You are not to get the post anymore," she said after a full minute of standing in the doorway in silence. Harry noticed that her eyes flicked over the small space. "I'm making a pie tonight. You will eat in here."

Harry had no idea what was going on. He nodded and waited. She closed the door without another word.

The uncertainty was worse than a beating. He rubbed the meat of his index finger raw.

Harry heard a commotion from the front of the house the following Saturday morning. The routine he'd come to expect had somehow altered over the week. It set his teeth on edge. Vernon and Petunia were being almost polite to him. This change in their behavior was not a good thing. For some reason, the single bulb overhead went out a lot, and the microwave stopped working. Other strange events at school, like the power going out for an hour for no reason, made him feel like some great omen was about to descend on him.

Harry took comfort in the fact that the other students felt the school was haunted for some reason. He might not have caused the strange events, but after the sixth time the cafeteria lights flickered in one day, his worries only grew. If Dudley told his parents what happened, Harry would be punished severely.

"We will not be having one of them!" Vernon bellowed as he slammed the door. The entire manor rattled from the force. Something glass broke deeper in the house.

Harry sat silently, working through what might have angered Vernon so much. Whoever it had been probably had said good morning and set him off. Vernon did not believe in good mornings. The plastic digital watch on Harry's arm was for show and the only thing he had that could be considered his. He'd won it in a raffle in class. It stopped working the same day, but at least he had something.

Several minutes passed as Vernon shouted and stomped around the house. A soft knock came from the door to the garage. Harry froze. No one should have been able to get in. He'd locked the garage door after taking out the trash the previous night.

"Mr. Potter, if you would," a squeaky voice called. Somehow, he heard the person on the other side of the heavy wood perfectly.

Harry frowned. He was Mr. H. Potter? His name was Harry Evans. He remained silent and did not move.

"I am coming in," the voice said half a moment before the door opened on its own.

Harry stared, open-mouthed. Not only had the door opened on its own, but the tiny man standing in the garage was… well, tiny. Harry knew about small people. He'd never actually seen one. Midget and four-eyes were insults some older students used when talking about Harry and other pupils. However, the small man, dressed in a dark suit that seemed to fit him perfectly, seemed too odd not to stare at.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," the small man greeted with a wide smile. His nose twitched as his smile froze.

Harry wasn't sure what caused the reaction. The man's face looked puzzled as he peered into the dark room. The only light came from a privacy window above the boot cabinet Harry used as a bed. It didn't illuminate the room well, and the overhead bulb had stopped working altogether that morning.

"Mr... Potter?" the tiny man asked haltingly as he stepped into the room and paused again. His nose turned up as his gaze fell toward the dented old eight-gallon pressure pot near the garage door.

Harry hadn't been able to use the bathroom inside the previous day because Vernon locked the inner door. It was too early to take the pot outside and wash it with a hose behind the house.

"This…" the man said before trailing off again.

Harry couldn't see his face clearly, but something resembling rage crossed his small features. He realized that he'd been staring, open-mouthed, and quickly got control of himself. Another angry adult, if a smaller one. That, he was used to.

"Mr. Potter. This is… Albus, what have you done?" the small man muttered. From the corner of Harry's eye, he saw the small man's face fall or at least look sad. "Mr. Potter, would you like to leave here?"

Harry couldn't help it. His head snapped back to the little man. For the first time, he locked eyes with the intruder. It was like the many dreams Harry had. When someone came to take him away. However, this wasn't a dream, and the person who asked that question certainly wasn't someone he would expect to ask it. The man was smaller than him, if barely.

Harry looked at the inner door, still locked, then back to the small man.

A look of fury crossed the small man's face. He seemed to reach down and grab something from his left pocket. A strange, polished, long brown stick appeared. "Please wait here, Mr. Potter," the man said before marching across the stone floor to the inner door.

Harry watched with interest as the small man waved the stick. The inner door swung open, and the loud clunk of the metal lock opening seemed comically loud. He couldn't help it, Harry gasped. The small man turned to him and bowed a little. "Magic, Mr. Potter. That is what I offer you and what I wish to teach you. Let me speak… to your… family," the tiny strange man said slowly as if considering his words.

Harry knew the tiny man was angry and stayed where he was. Anyone who could open doors with a wave of a stick was not someone to offend more. He watched the small man disappear and breathed a sigh of relief. That relief quickly vanished as Vernon's bellow echoed around the house.

"What are you doing in my house!"

"We must talk," the strange man said in a strangely calm tone.

Harry wanted to watch, but that would get him in trouble with the Dursleys once the man left.

"No, you must leave my house, or I'll throw you out!" Vernon yelled, his heavy footsteps rattling the dishes in the kitchen.

"If you advance on me, Muggle. I am within my full right to protect myself. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?"

The strangeness of a small man with a high-pitched voice speaking as if he were completely in control of the situation made Harry uncomfortable. He didn't want to see him hurt. Vernon's beefy fists hurt Harry, and the tiny man was smaller than he was.

"You will not threaten me in my own home!"

"Then you will listen to sense. What you are doing to Mr. Harry Potter is an outrage! Even your own Muggle government would throw you in prison."

Harry frowned. He doubted what the small man had said. Vernon had two incidents he made go away with money and happily told Harry he'd done so.

"You will not tell me how to raise that freak in there."

"He is no freak, as you well know. He is a wizard and, I dare say, a better person than you and your wife are. The boy has to use a pot to relieve himself? That is no more than a prisoner! I am disgusted with both of you."

Harry felt odd. He was used to adults being angry. His teachers, Vernon and Petunia, the man Vernon watched on the television, the neighbors talking about the weather, and even Mrs. Fig, the cat lady from down the lane. Most of the time, that anger was directed at Harry. Never at someone else for Harry.

"We will raise him as we see fit. You lot brought him back after someone took him away. You even paid for us to take him in! Did some of your… stuff… to get me that promotion and even paid for us to move. Why do you want him back now?" Vernon huffed.

"Mr. Potter will be a wizard. You cannot simply… beat it out of him. You have, haven't you? Appalling. I will have words with Albus about this," the stranger declared, his voice somehow rising in pitch.

"He is not welcome here!" Petunia screeched. Harry didn't know if that was for him or this Albus person. Likely both.

Harry felt confused and curious. This stranger might know things about what happened the day he was kidnapped, but something else penetrated his confusion.

Mr. Potter will be a wizard.

Could he open locked doors? Was that what a wizard did? He knew about wizards from books and heard about make-believers dressed in dark dresses. The only time Harry knew Dudley ever got yelled at was one Halloween when he wanted to dress up as a wizard. He'd even found Petunia's blue dress and somehow crammed it over his head and rotund body.

"There's no such thing as magic!" Vernon had bellowed at his son.

It made Dudley cry, and Petunia, strangely, didn't comfort him but instead told her son that it was a bad thing to be a wizard and that her Popkin shouldn't want to be such an awful thing.

"After what I've seen, you may get more people here than you can believe. I cannot believe you treat your nephew, The Boy-Who-Lived, like a criminal or house pet. This is outrageous!"

"Get out, midget! I don't want your kind here either!" Vernon bellowed. His footsteps started again but seemed to stop after only one or two steps. "Now, now. Don't go pointing that thing at me!"

"I have warned you, Muggle. If you approach me again, I will make you regret it. Now, you are going to allow Mr. Harry Potter to join Hogwarts. There will be no," he tried to say before Vernon and Petunia cut him off.

"He will not!" Petunia howled. "Not likely!" Vernon bellowed at the same time.

"He will. And you will sit down and be quiet," the small man demanded.

Harry frowned. A strange silence fell over the house. No sound came from nearer the front of the house. Harry thought the confrontation happened in the entrance hallway that led to the small corridor where he was, but he couldn't be sure.

He sat in silence for five minutes. It felt like an eternity, and he had no idea what the small man might have done to the others. On one hand, he would love for something to happen to them. They deserved it. However, that would mean he must move or be taken somewhere else. Anxiety rose in his chest. Soft footsteps, loud in the unnatural silence, made him look at the still-open inner door.

"I believe I have not introduced myself," the stranger said with an oddly formal half-bow. "I am Filius Flitwick, Charms Professor for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter… even in these circumstances. I have discussed your attendance with your… aunt and uncle. They have agreed to allow you to come study at Hogwarts."

Harry stared at the small man. Professor. His eyes flicked to the general space above the stranger's head. His aunt and uncle weren't in the doorway to the kitchen. Harry thought hard. If he went with the professor to this school, he might not have to return if it was a year-round boarding school. That might not be that bad. He didn't have anything here. However, if he flunked out, he would have to return, and Vernon and Petunia might not keep him anymore.

Is that such a bad thing?

Harry nodded and stood. The tiny man gave him a huge smile. He realized that the professor person was even smaller than Harry initially thought.

"Good. Please clean up and get changed. I will wait by the hallway to ensure you are not… disturbed."

It took Harry less than six minutes to use the bathroom, shower, and get dressed in his second set of clothes. He had three sets of school uniforms and two jeans-and-shirt combinations that Dudley grew out of.

"Off we go," the tiny man grinned as he headed for the garage with a bounce in his step.

Harry noticed the boot room smelled fresh, and the pot he'd had to use was clean as if someone had hand-scrubbed it. That was impossible, as he'd only been gone less than ten minutes.