In which there are a lot of letters exchanged, and the Ministry matter has to be settled.
Enjoy,
A_A
Harry,
You must be joking. You moved out from your relatives to move with someone who just showed up on your doorstep and declared to be a distant relative? I sincerely hope that you can still read this. I'm on my way, and you better be alive because you and this "relative" have a lot of explaining to do.
I want the address with the returning owl. If you don't send it, I will come even more pissed than I'm now.
Seriously pissed,
Sirius
"Great," Harry muttered, tossing the letter on the table and reaching for another one filled with equally messy handwriting.
Harry - DAD GOT THE TICKETS! Mum said that Dumbledore said that you're no longer with the Muggles. What's with that, Mate? Mum said we could pick you up any day. Just say where you are.
Write back soon, you can't miss the World Cup!
I wrote to Hermione, and I wait for her to tell me when she's coming.
See you soon –
Ron
"You've got one from Ron as well?" he asked, putting Ron's letter aside.
"Yes, he writes that there's a mess because you're missing, and no one knows where you are…" she sighed, "I guess you haven't told him anything?"
"No, I thought they'll never know before we can tell them everything."
Hermione nodded from over one of her letters.
"Reasonable… Dumbledore asked my parents about you. Have you written anything to me… They told him I'm visiting my Aunt, we agreed on that, but they promised to call me and ask."
"I could use an alibi as this one myself," Harry said, opening the last of his letters and moving closer to Hermione to let her read.
Dear Harry,
I was unaware you had any magical family members, but your Aunt Petunia confirmed that you had left their house with her Great Aunt Helga. Your relatives were quite shaken after her unexpected visit and your sudden departure. However, they assured me you would be welcome back immediately after your short vacation. They expect you to be home by tomorrow evening at the latest.
Hope to talk to you then,
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
"Is he for real?" Harry snorted. "Like I'm coming back there. Ever."
"Of course, you're not," Hermione replied evenly. "However, we need to tell Helga and Rowena about that. Because 'tomorrow evening' is in a couple of hours, and Ron, and my parents… The Quidditch Cup. It would be weird if you'd skip that."
"And Sirius," Harry passed her the letter.
Harry wasn't in the best mood since they returned from the meeting in Voldemort's house. He put on a happy face, especially when Helga or Hermione asked about his feelings, frame of mind, or something equally annoying. He needed time. And peace. And quiet. And to be left alone. But, apparently, that was an impossible dream to have.
Yesterday and today, he woke up late after a sleepless night filled with such a tangle of thoughts… Everything he heard put his whole life in a completely different light, and Harry honestly had no idea what to do with this. Yesterday, he sneaked out to fly, avoiding other people, not wanting to 'open up' and 'talk about it' or get his scar poked and prodded by Rowena.
Flying didn't help glue anything back together, but it made him feel better. The hills and valleys surrounding Badgers Keep were beautiful and somewhat deserted. He had to look out for the muggle walking routes and stray muggles wandering around. But besides that, it was him, his broom and plenty of space to just… be.
But today, they were handed a pile of letters just after lunch (breakfast for Harry), and Rowena said she wanted him for at least an hour this afternoon, so the chances of sneaking out for a flight were rather slim.
"Harry!" Hermione patted him, "Are you listening to me?"
"Hm? Sorry, I thought you were reading."
"It's just a few lines. I was saying we should show this to Helga and Rowena. We need to write all of them back, but I don't know what."
"Sure, let's go," Harry stood up immediately, shaking off the feelings.
"Are you alright?" Hermione asked the immortal question, and Harry felt like rolling his eyes.
"Sure," he said instead, "All fine. They're upstairs, right? Working on the large room?"
Hermione didn't insist, but judging by her look – she wanted to. But what would he say? That he felt guilty not only for killing but also for not even thinking, knowing that he did? That he couldn't piece together anything since suddenly the person he trusted the most turned out to be untrustworthy? Even if only half of what he heard was true…
Harry again shook the thoughts off, marching up the stairs with new determination. He was confident that he could trust Helga. And Hermione stopped seeing plots and ploys around every corner. It was good to have her around. Her presence was like… like an assurance that he wasn't stuck in some weird dream or alternate reality. It was just… It would be better not to make any decisions or moves for a few days. Come to terms with everything.
"You're so fast with your quills, or is there some problem?" Rowena's voice dragged Harry out of his head. Again.
"A problem," Hermione replied, passing their letters to both women. Harry walked past one of the loose stones taking up the majority of the floor and looked around the room. The place hummed with magic, and one of the walls was carefully disassembled, presenting them with a beautiful view of the valley in the midday sun. Harry came closer to look around, his mind drifting again, this time to his Firebolt. It would be so nice to fly…
"Well, you're certainly not coming back to Petunia," Helga said somewhere behind.
"We could introduce you as Petunia's aunt for now," Rowena said. "It's close enough to the truth to not be hard to explain later on. Write to everyone that Auntie Helga asks you to stay for the rest of the summer…" Here, Harry almost interrupted, but Rowena stopped him with a raised hand. "Except for the World Cup Final, naturally. Don't worry, you will both go with your friend. I suppose we could get you to them by Floo on the evening before the match. How does it sound?"
"Great," Harry smiled, relieved. "But it won't be enough for Sirius. And I think it won't be enough for Dumbledore either."
"Don't worry about Dumbledore. We are going to take care of it. Just stick with the story of Auntie Helga," Rowena said, sitting on one of the stones with such grace as she would be sitting on the throne. "But tell us more about Sirius."
So Harry did, telling all he knew, and Hermione supplied a couple of her own observations, mainly focused on 'reckless' and 'insane'. Whatever both of them said seemed to balance itself quite well, as both women agreed on the best course of action, which made Harry smile broadly.
"I'll go write those letters," he said instantly. "The sooner the better."
"Hedwig could take all of them, right?" Hermione asked, following him down the stairs.
"Sure, she can make it. It'll take a bit longer, but it's better than having her fly there and back with each."
"I wonder how they do it…" Hermione mused.
"Magic," Harry shrugged, not interested in the details. The perspective of seeing Sirius was way more exciting. And his letter was first, as he sat down.
Sirius,
My Aunt said to invite you over. Let me know when you could visit Elan Village as Padfoot. I'll explain everything in person. If you could keep it to yourself, it would be great. I'm sending a letter to Dumbledore with the same owl.
See you soon,
Harry
He sealed the letter, dropping a quick look at Hermione, working on something that already looked like one of her essays.
"You know, I'll write to Ron telling him that we'll come together."
"And how will you explain that?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
"Easy, I'll tell him that you asked me to pass the message cuz you don't have owl. We would have to write something like that anyway, sending both letters with Hedwig."
She smiled and nodded while Harry grabbed another piece of parchment.
Ron,
I'm visiting my Aunt. Long story. Tell your Mum I'm fine.
I could Floo over in the evening on the 17th if that's okay. Hermione will tag along. She wrote me she could go as well, but Pig flew back before taking her letter. You know you should tell her to wait for a response, right? Or maybe she's just too excited to wait.
See you soon,
Harry
The most challenging letter he left for the end. It was exciting to see Sirius and go to the Quidditch Cup. Dumbledore… not so much. He bit on his quill, watching the clean page, peeking at Hermione occasionally. She reached half a roll already and she was fast scratching her way to the end. A lock of her hair was dipped in ink, leaving funny marks on the top of her hand. Harry observed it for a while before…
"Are you done?" Hermione asked, looking up. "All three?"
"Dumbledore's left. You have ink on your hair, you know?"
She laughed and cleaned it with a spell before returning to her writing. Harry sighed and put the quill to the parchment.
Professor Dumbledore, he wrote reluctantly and sighed, not knowing what to write next. There were tons of questions in his head that he would like answered: have you lied to me? Have you killed my family? Did you know Sirius was innocent? Have you killed Voldemort? What is it all about? Could you tell me the truth?
A piece of enamel broke off the quill's tip under Harry's teeth. He took it off his lip, only now noticing that he had destroyed almost one-third of the scarlet wood. And it was his last one. Great. How did he go through his quills faster than other people went through their nibs? No matter if he bought a feather or a wooden quill, once he got nervous about something, anything, he either bit or broke his quills.
The letter. Dumbledore. He wanted to write, 'Are you nuts? I'm not going back to Dursleys!' but forced himself to put into more civilised words.
I have agreed with Aunt Helga to stay for the rest of the Summer, so I won't be able to make it to Dursleys. I won't be coming back there at all, and we are all happy about that. I suppose that, as usual, I will see you on the 1st of September.
He struggled to write the usual 'yours sincerely', but he did, reluctantly, and sealed this letter as well. While Hermione worked on the last parts of the essay to her parents (letters getting smaller and smaller with each line), he went to the highest part of the Keep, where in a small tower in the South-Western corner, Helga arranged for a miniature owlery, currently occupied only by Hedwig. He was just tying to her leg the last little scroll instructing Hedwig on their recipients when Hermione joined him.
"Now, you can go to Sirius, Ron, and the Grangers in whatever order suits you best, but take the letter to Dumbledore last, okay girl?" he asked, petting Hedwig's soft feathers.
"Why?" asked Hermione.
"Dunno… I just have a feeling that he could read all of them, you know?"
"Harry, he wouldn't do that!"
"How do you know? From what we know, he could. It's far less of a transgression than killing my family, right? And it looks like he had no problem with that."
"Harry…" she started, but Harry turned from her and went to the battlements to release Hedwig there.
"Harry, would you talk to me?" Hermione asked, "You must feel awful, I understand. It changed a lot for me as well."
"Yeah, and I need to think, not talk. I don't even know what to talk about, okay? So, thanks, but no thanks. I think Rowena wanted to do those things with the scar and all…" he started to back towards the stairs, but creeping guilt stopped him. "But I'm glad we're in this together, so… y'know… we can talk in a couple of days or something?"
"Sure," she smiled, joining him on the way down. "I think I will read some more about the oaths. I found the whole book on them, but it's written in such an old language that it'll take me at least a week to read through it."
Harry nodded and hummed, not really eager to engage in the topic. It was interesting, just not now. Accepting his own fate, he entered the room to ask if Rowena wanted to get to the poking and prodding now.
"In the evening, dear," Helga said in response, "I was thinking that we need some herbs and other things. So grab that broom of yours, and we'll go on searching. I wonder what still grows around."
That sounded much better, and Harry joined her eagerly. What surprised him was the incredibly old broom that Helga showed him. Next to the Firebolt, it looked positively ancient. Firebolt had a precisely profiled ebony handle and smooth, even hazel switches held together by goblin ironwork. It was in perfect condition. The other broom… Well, it looked like a common branch that someone picked up from the ground and used a leather strap to attach a few crooked sticks to one end. Some of them were broken. And there was moss on the wood here and there.
"Would you like to switch, Harry dear?" Helga asked sweetly as they stepped out of the Badgers Keep.
"Sure, I'd like to try it out," Harry handed her his Firebolt without hesitation. The old broom felt weird in his hand, more… magical somehow. Like holding her would tickle his fingers. "Anything I should know?"
"It's just a bit restive. You should mount it and start flying. Use a firm hand, dear. Anything I should know?"
"Speeds up to one hundred and fifty miles an hour in ten seconds, so you'll need a moment to get the feeling and keep the speed you want."
"One hundred and fifty miles?" she raised her eyebrows, "My, my… You could get to Hogwarts in less than four hours on that broom! Incredible! We used to travel for over a week, you know? I mean, when you can use apparition, it's a different story, but without it…"
Her words turned into laughter that faded quickly in the distance as she mounted the broom, and it sped forward.
"Nice talk," Harry chuckled, trying to follow on the old broom. It was a completely different experience. The broom seemed to have her own mind and reacted stubbornly and reluctantly. And it flew sluggishly in comparison to Firebolt. Each turn was wide and even broader if the broom wanted to keep flying straight forward. Flying longer distances or – Merlin forbid – playing Quidditch on this broom would be physically and mentally exhausting. Additionally, the broom seemed to prefer a certain height of around sixty feet.
Harry followed in the general direction of Helga, and the flight felt like a pleasant stroll, although quite challenging. Helga joined him after a few minutes: braided hair billowing behind her, dress fluttering in the wind, and a huge grin on her face.
"Fantastic!" she exclaimed, slowing down. "Takes just a little of getting used to. And you, dear?"
"Relaxing," Harry responded with laughter. "Where are we heading?"
Helga pointed in the direction, and Harry followed. He was adjusting to the broom quite quickly, and the broom responded better with the growing distance behind them. They flew all around the place, climbing with hills to the highest parts, hovering over bogs and mires, stopping on the edge of the forest to wander around with brooms following behind them like faithful dogs, and strolling over a mile through the moors in search for some flower. Just in the beginning, Helga conjured two large baskets that, on their way back, dangled off the handles of the brooms and were filled with various flowers, berries, stems, roots, leaves, and bark.
They talked about nothing important. Just a little bit of this or that here and there. The properties of various plants, wand production in the Middle Ages, and sports using brooms. Harry was especially amused by the Creaothceann, a Scottish game in which players flew with cauldrons strapped to their heads and aimed to catch as many of the stones flying around as possible. It was quite deadly (imagine!), but Harry couldn't hold the laughter, imagining people with cauldrons strapped to their heads...
It was a couple of hours free of all the weird things and serious issues that were going on in Harry's life.
On the next day in the morning they had a meeting in the Ministry of Magic to solve a little matter of Harry's suspension from Hogwarts. Helga emerged from the fireplace right after Harry and placed a hand on his arm, carefully looking around.
"Oh dear," she whispered.
And that was all she was able to say, seeing the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. It felt… disturbing. The high arch of a ceiling above their heads, peacock blue and patched with various runes and symbols that made little to no sense placed together in these combinations. Together with dark wood covering floors and walls, it created an impression of being locked in an expensive box. And the fountain placed in the middle… well, that was a statue of humiliation and undeserved pride. Every goblin would be ready to crack the head of the wizard responsible for this abomination, if he wouldn't be already dead from the Centaur's arrow. How could anybody imagine such a proud creatures in such an adoring pose before a wizard?
"Straight ahead," instructed Augusta, leading them along the crowded hall as other witches and wizards were popping out of the fireplaces on the left or disappearing in those on the right. Helga looked carefully at those people. They wore simple robes in a similar cut, usually open, over distinctly muggle clothes. Only a handful, like Augusta, were dressed in something that could be considered wizarding fashion.
Additionally, they all looked nervous, hurrying somewhere, ignoring their surroundings and other people. Everything about them seemed so… forced, fatigued, artificial. Stiff. Like the life around them wouldn't matter, only the thought they were currently chasing.
When they reached the set of golden gates and stopped in the line, all the people before them looked impatient, ready to run at the given sign.
"What's wrong with everybody?" Helga asked.
"Whatever do you mean?" Augusta seemed surprised.
"Has something happened? Everybody seems so nervous and rushed."
"Just daily life," Augusta laughed bitterly. "Everybody is on the clock. Everybody has plenty to do, plenty to report. However, now they are a bit more tense with two grand events to organise. The Quidditch Cup alone is plenty of work, and the Triwizard Tournament only adds to the pressure. I talked with Bartemius Crouch just two days ago. He's the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. They have plenty of trouble, but so do in the Magical Transportation or Magical Games and Sports. But if I am to be frank, even if they don't have anything major on their plate, they are busy chasing their tails... Now, take out your wands. We're next."
Helga observed with bemusement as their wands were checked and registered. She tried to inquire about their purpose, but the man sitting behind the desk said only, "Paperwork, ma'am. I just do what they tell me to." When she wanted to know why he would do work for which he did not know the purpose, the man just gave her back her wand and shouted, "Next!"
In another line, people were equally anxious to go ahead, and the way of transportation through the Ministry of Magic was the most peculiar. They entered the box Harry called 'elevator', which took them through the floors in such a chaotic manner that Helga had trouble keeping herself upright.
"What happened to the stairs?" she asked as they entered the corridors of the 'Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services.'
"Got out of fashion," Augusta chuckled. "Now, this way. Amelia has only half an hour for us."
'All in such a hurry,' Helga thought with a heavy sigh, following the elderly woman to the more representative part of the Department, where the thick carpet muffled their footsteps. They passed a comfortable area with a few chairs and a young man behind the stylish desk, who invited them into the office of Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Despite seeing two women occupying a set of lounge furniture next to the window, Helga had no problem identifying Amelia Bones. She was a stern woman with sharp eyes and thin lips, one of those dressed in stylish magical clothes well fitted to her figure and character. The second woman looked rather mousy, and she was dressed—as the majority—in muggle-like clothes.
Augusta took the lead.
"Thank you for meeting us earlier. Avoiding the presence or influence of any third party was a priority for us all. Please allow me to make introductions. Amelia Bones, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, is a dear friend of mine. Mafalda Hopkirk, assistant in the Office of Improper Use of Magic. Helga Hufflepuff, one of the Hogwarts Founders, and her heir, Harry Potter, the student in question. Now, let us begin, Amelia."
"Please, do," the woman sat down, and Helga noticed that she paled a little, her eyes wide in disbelief.
"That's impossible…" Mafalda whispered.
"Please, restrain yourself from such comments. If I tell you that this is Helga Hufflepuff, then this is Helga Hufflepuff, girl," Augusta replied sharply and claimed the armchair nearest to the window. Helga sat down as well, leading Harry with her. He was a little anxious. She could tell. He trusted her assurance, but when the time came, and they had to actually visit the Ministry to explain the issues, the doubts grew bigger than trust. Helga squeezed his arm gently.
"I and other founders took appropriate steps to avoid permanent death and be able to return in case our worst predictions about the future came true. I could confirm my identity with an oath, but I hear they are illegal now. Am I right?"
"Let's make an exception," Augusta ordered sharply, "What say you, Amelia?"
"Considering the extraordinary nature of the situation and your request for discretion, I barely see any other way. Petitioning for the use of Veritaserum would be hardly discrete. Let's make an exception, then. I allow it."
"Very well," Helga smiled at them and received three smiles back, although two were a little strained, nervous, and uncertain. "I hereby swear to you on my life and magic that my name is Helga Hufflepuff, and I am one of the four founders of Hogwarts."
"I hereby accept your oath and call you upon it," Amelia responded matter-of-factly. Helga felt a familiar pull in her chest and saw how incredulity was replaced by wonderment on the faces of both women.
"Astonishing," Amelia said, "It's a great pleasure to meet you. My family has been sorted into your house for generations."
"I'm pleased to hear so," Helga replied. "Now, to solve the issue that brought us here. Mrs Hopkirk, all the spells Harry is accused of using were my doing. I was unaware of all the peculiar laws currently in force and used magic at his place of residence quite freely."
"You were in your right," Mafalda assured her eagerly, clumsily searching through a stack of papers in her briefcase. "In that case we have no case. We were simply unaware of the presence of any adult wizard in the proximity. I'm really sorry to cause such a problem for you, of course, but it's such an honour. I will only need a couple of signatures, and the matter will be closed permanently, I assure you. Now here…" she scribbled something here and there on the form dug out from the pile, "here you sign, saying that you are the adult that used magic at Mr Potter's address…"
Helga was handed the piece of parchment, and then a few others stating exactly the same. She took her time reading through each of them before signing.
"And here," Mafalda looked slightly embarrassed, "Here we need the signature of Mr Potter's guardian."
"Who might that be?" Helga asked, surprised.
"According to my documents, that would be… Albus Dumbledore," Mafalda said, looking up from another parchment.
"You must be joking," Harry said. "Shouldn't it be my Aunt or something?"
"No, Mr Potter, it says here that it's Albus Dumbledore. For the muggle offices, that is your Aunt and Uncle; however, for the Ministry of Magic, your appointed guardian is Albus Dumbledore."
"Why would…" Harry started, but Helga hushed him.
"How can we change that?" she asked.
"I don't really know if that is possible right now…" Mafalda said hesitantly, "In the standard procedure, you would submit an application, the current and potential guardian would have to go through the hearing, and…"
Helga listened to her mumbling, to all this absurd chatter
"What is it with your love for forms, papers, and applications!" Helga exclaimed. "He is my family. He has no relationship with Dumbledore. What's more, Harry didn't even know that Dumbledore was his guardian. Whatever responsibilities this title implies, one of them is certainly making the child in question aware."
"Now, now," Augusta stopped her from saying anything more, and she was probably right about it because Helga had a few more things to say after that. And some of them shouldn't be said. "I'm sure we can figure something out, Mafalda. Think a little."
"I… Uhm…" The woman squirmed under Augusta's stare, her eyes darted to Helga, she swallowed, then looked at Amelia pleadingly.
"Dear Merlin," Amelia sighed, "You will need a form about the negligence of the guardian, a form for the adoption of a minor family member, and two forms for witnesses, Mafalda. Hurry up, please." The woman stood up and left in a rush, and Amelia looked at them with frustration. "I've been saying for years that we need a separate department for family matters. It usually falls into somebody in my department's hands, which is truly frustrating. I have two workers assigned to care about such cases, but in this situation, I'd say we don't want the engagement of another person… I would gladly hear why, as we're waiting."
"The matter is simple," Helga said, "Dumbledore doesn't have Harry's best interest in mind."
"I would like to hear more than this," Amelia insisted. "A proof, if you have any."
"There's much we cannot and will not say at this time, Amelia," Augusta said, "For the purpose of this case, it must be enough to say that we are confident of what we say."
"Augusta, you know that I can go far for you, but the law is clear, and we need an argument that would be sufficient to…"
"What is a guardian anyway?" Harry asked suddenly. "What does he do?"
Helga smiled internally. If Amelia Bones needed any proof of any kind that Dumbledore wasn't fulfilling his duties (whatever they might be), the question itself was certainly it. As if hearing Helga's thoughts, Augusta huffed, "As if you need any proof other than this."
"That is quite simple, Mr Potter," Amelia said. "A guardian is responsible for the well-being of his charge. Assuring that the basic needs of the charge are met, meaning that the charge is fed, clothed, and has a place of residence. Besides that…"
"Um… Sorry to interrupt, Ma'am. Are there any specifics about those? I mean… any clothes will do? And when can you say that someone is fed precisely? Or what is the place of residence?"
Now Harry's tone was matter-of-factly, detached, poorly hiding the clear embarrassment. While Augusta and Amelia exchanged confused glances, Helga furrowed, wondering where exactly was that heading.
"Well, Mr Potter, I don't remember the wording of the law to the letter," Amelia corrected her monocle. "Its intent, however, is clear. The child should have a place to sleep, which means a bed, preferably a separate room if possible, and a place to study or engage in other activities of their choosing. It should not go around hungry, by which we do not mean late meals, but permanent negligence in food, such as not providing three meals a day, among which at least one should be warm. Finally, I meant clothes in fine condition, appropriate to the child's age and size, as well as weather and social standards—normal clothes. Does that answer your question?"
"Yeah. So Dumbledore left me with Dursleys, and I ate mostly the leftovers. Last summer, it was a can of soup once a day. This summer, it was usually a carrot or something like that, so I asked friends to send me food by owl. So I think we have the reason covered?"
"Excuse me?" Amelia asked.
"Well, the matter of food, right? It's wrong, so we have a reason."
"Yes, Mr. Potter, that is a serious enough issue. It also raises some other questions about your childhood circumstances. Could you tell me what your childhood looked like?"
"Um… but I thought it would be enough, so…" Harry said uncertainly. Helga saw how uncomfortable he was, but she also remembered what Petunia said and how Harry looked when she visited. She was aware that there were different standards for raising children in her times. However, the conditions mentioned by Amelia Bones weren't that different. Of course, there were years when everybody had trouble with putting any kind of food on the table, there were families poor enough to wear the most miserable clothes, and plenty of people slept in a one-room cottage, often shared with farm animals… Yet there weren't today's standards, and judging by what she saw, the Dursleys had no issues in this regard. The expressions on the faces of Augusta and Amelia suggested that the situation was completely wrong nowadays. That's why she placed a hand on the boy's arm and squeezed gently.
"Tell us about it, Harry dear. It's important that we know."
"But you have everything you need, right?" Harry looked hopefully at Amelia, "You said it's serious enough. So there's no need."
"It is serious enough, Mr Potter. Serious enough to wonder what else there was. Now, tell us what else you remember."
Harry shrugged, looking away.
"I dunno… I… what do you want me to say?"
"The truth, Mr Potter," said Amelia, "On a normal day, how much have you eaten?"
"On a normal day? Some breakfast, something in the evening," he shrugged again. "It doesn't really matter."
"And on the unusual day?" Amelia kept asking.
"Nothing. If I misbehaved, Uncle would lock me up in my cupboard, and that's it."
"What does it mean 'misbehaved'?"
It took much longer than Helga could expect. Amelia sent her assistant away a couple of times, Mafalda started taking notes, and Harry squirmed, stuttered, and avoided giving answers as much as possible. What he finally squeezed out created a very unpleasant picture of a neglected and abused child, even if said child insisted that 'it wasn't all that bad' for some reason.
Helga met plenty of such children in Hogwarts. Yes, punishments were harsher in her time. Children were expected to do more work and to grow up faster. Yet there still was a line. There were children taken care of and loved, fulfilling the obligations placed on them by society. And there were unloved, neglected children, abused children, fulfilling the commitments exceeding the expectations usual at the time. The line was drawn in a different place now and then.
Yet somehow, children knew exactly what was and wasn't normal, what should and shouldn't happen to them. Those for whom the line was crossed came out scarred to some extent, ashamed of what happened, twitchy, distrustful.
Helga signed all the papers the modern world wanted her to sign and took Harry back to Badgers Keep, allowing him to change the subject as soon as he wanted (so right after they exited the office). She walked. Harry darted to the elevators like a bear was chasing him. And when they were back, he said to the floor something about the birch bark and the broom.
"Something happened?" asked Hermione, "Oh God, he's not expelled, is he?"
"No, no, dear, none of that," Helga smiled, "We gathered too little of the birch bark yesterday. I like having a solid supply, and Harry was so nice to offer to collect some for me."
Hermione squinted her eyes, and Helga knew that the girl didn't believe a word. But it wasn't Helga's story to tell, so she found her own excuse and left.